The smart play was to drive away and never look back. But no, Hammer found himself knocking on the open doorway of the office of Detective Martinelli, of the South Eagle Police Station, watching the man sort through a stack of incident reports.
Mostly because he couldn’t get the guy’s words out of his head…She’s been having some trouble lately. Cattle rustling, equipment vandalism. Nothing too serious yet, but it’s got her on edge.
And there was the bit about Elway Blackwood dying under his ATV vehicle…What?
So yeah, there Hammer stood as the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across case files that probably told stories of desperation and bad choices. Same kind of desperation and choices that had driven him out of this place ten years ago.
“Mr. Wallace.” Martinelli looked up from his desk, gesturing toward a chair. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Still thinking about that job offer?”
The detective’s office was cramped but organized, with case files stacked neatly on metal shelving, and a coffee maker that looked like it had seen better decades.
“Maybe. Depends on what you can tell me about Elway Blackwood’s death.”
Martinelli frowned. “That’s an odd question from someone who’s just passing through.”
Hammer settled into the chair. “Elway was good to me when I was a kid. Just want to make sure his death was really an accident.”
Good to him? For cryin’ out loud, the man had saved him. Old Elway had been the one constant source of stability during the worst years of his childhood, the neighboring rancher who’d shown him what real strength looked like, that a man’s worth was measured by how he treated those who couldn’t fight back.
And Sierra…No. He wasn’t going there. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Any reason to think it wasn’t?” Martinelli asked.
“Dunno. He was a big deal around here for many years. Made enemies. Was there an investigation?”
Martinelli pulled a file from his desk drawer and opened it. “ATV rollover on a steep section of pasture. Elway was out there alone. Machine flipped, pinned him underneath. The hired hand found him.”
“Mechanical failure?”
“Ground was soft from recent rain, probably lost traction on the slope.” Martinelli closed the file. “Coroner ruled it accidental death. No signs of foul play.”
Hammer nodded, though something in his gut still felt unsettled. “What about this cattle rustling I heard about? Connected to anything bigger?”
“Doubtful. We’re talking about small-time thefts, probably opportunistic. Cattle prices are high, security is low.”
“Any pattern?”
“Smaller ranches, mostly. Places without full-time security or sophisticated alarm systems. For what it’s worth, we’re keeping an eye on things. Extra patrols, coordination with neighboring counties. These rustlers will slip up eventually.”
“Any suspects?”
“Few possibilities, but nothing concrete. Could be local, could be outsiders who’ve scouted the area. Hard to say.”
Hammer stood, extending his hand. “Appreciate the information, Detective.”
Martinelli leaned back in his chair, studying Hammer with the kind of attention that made seasoned operators uncomfortable. “Why the interest?”
“Like I said, just…he was a friend.”
“More than a friend.” Martinelli’s tone carried the weight of someone who’d done his homework. “Funny thing about South Eagle. This part of Renegade is like a small town—people remember things. And after you left the diner today, I made a few calls. Rowan Wallace and Sierra Blackwood. High school sweethearts.” He raised an eyebrow.
Hammer kept his expression neutral. “I told you I knew Sierra in high school. Natural to be concerned about old friends. And I’m not sure why this is any of your business.”
Martinelli held up a hand. “Just watching my backyard. People care about Sierra and her son. Especially since Elway’s passing. I just…it’s curious, you coming back from the dead now, of all times.”
Hammer blinked at him. “Why now?”
“Just…you know. Life isn’t easy. She’s lonely. And has a big ranch?—”
