Morrie’s mouth tightened. “It’s my fault I got shot.”
“What?” Sierra frowned at him.
“I found more tracks, by the river, near where our water supply got fiddled with, and started to follow them. I saw a man in the distance—didn’t get a good look at him, but my guess is that he got a good look at me. Shot me off my horse. I broke my radio in the fall—and then…the next thing I remember was waking up here.”
“That’s not your fault,” Sierra said, standing up.
“Yeah, it was. I was on Jenkins land.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and efficient movements.
“I’m sorry, but the party is over. Mr. Morrison needs to rest,” she said, checking his heart rate monitor tape.
“We’ll go,” Martinelli said, standing and gathering his folder. “Morrie, thank you for the information. We’ll need a formal statement when you’re feeling stronger.”
“I’ll be here.” Morrie’s voice was getting weaker as the pain medication pulled him toward sleep. “Sierra, you take care of yourself. And Huck.”
Sierra leaned forward and kissed Morrie’s forehead. “Thank you. For everything. For watching over us all these years.”
Not alone.
In the hallway, FBI Agent Quinn Morley stood talking quietly with another agent near the nurses’ station. Sierra had met her on the way in. Pretty, with black hair and dark eyes, she wore dress pants and a white shirt. When she saw Martinelli approach, she excused herself and walked over.
“Detective. Ms. Blackwood,” Quinn said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been through an episode of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to need your full statement about the kidnapping and what the perpetrators said to you.” She took out her phone. “Anything you can remember about their conversations, their plans, their associates.”
Associates? “Like Tank, the guy who hit my son? And Billy, who wanted to just shoot me? Or how about Alden Jenkins, my son’s sort of grandfather who tried to burn him alive? Those perpetrators?”
Quinn held up a hand. “I understand this is personal?—”
“This isn’t just personal. This is…it’s…” She stared at her. And then…“Justice.” She stepped back. “Rowan’s justice. Finally. If Jenkins hadn’t come after him, we’d never know that…” She looked at Mike. “The land belongs to Rowan. All of the Jenkins land. It’s his.”
Mike nodded. “That makes terrible sense.”
She turned back to Quinn. “Alden Jenkins wanted me to sign papers transferring the ranch to him. Said he’d kill Huck if I didn’t.” Sierra’s voice steadied as she recounted the events. “He knew about the lithium deposits under our property. Said the ranch was sitting on top of something valuable.”
“Okay.” Quinn put away her cell phone. “Ms. Blackwood, I want you to know that we take these threats very seriously. We’ll have agents monitoring the situation until all perpetrators are in custody.”
“There you go with the perpetrators again. Alden Jenkins is behind this. Find him. He’s the perpetrator.”
“Yes. What happened to you and your son was just the latest in a long pattern of intimidation and violence. But it’s not just him. There are others behind this.”
“The Shadow Syndicate,” Sierra said.
Quinn frowned.
“It was in my grandfather’s notes.”
“I’ll get a copy for your office,” Mike said to Quinn.
Sierra looked at Mike. “I need to get Huck.”
The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and they rode down in silence, Mike shifting weirdly. Finally, “For the record, Rowan is a good man.”
She glanced over at him. And then gave a small laugh. “What is that—your approval?”
