Rowan stuffed his spare shirt into his duffel bag with more force than necessary, the fabric bunching against the worn canvas. The Mountain View Motel room looked exactly like what it was—a place where people stopped when they had nowhere else to go. Water stains decorated the ceiling, and the carpet held the accumulated odors of forty years of transient guests.
“Well, this has been educational.” Saxon closed his laptop and stretched his arms over his head. “But I found us something better than this five-star establishment.”
“Define better.”
“Four walls, running water, and no one complaining about domestic disputes through paper-thin walls at three in the morning.” Saxon gestured toward the laptop screen. “Furnished rental house on Aspen Street. Month-to-month lease, available immediately. Owner’s a widow who moved to Phoenix and doesn’t want the house sitting empty.”
Rowan paused in his packing. “Us?”
“You didn’t think I was going to let you handle this mess alone, did you?” Saxon’s grin was all teeth. “Besides, I like drama. Very entertaining.”
“This isn’t entertainment, Saxon.”
“No, it’s a tactical situation requiring backup and intelligence gathering. Two things I happen to excel at.” Saxon stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the faded curtain to peer out at the parking lot. “Plus, someone needs to keep you from making any more brilliant strategic decisions, like announcing your resurrection in the middle of Main Street.”
“Technically, we were in the police station. And I’m not the only one who was dead.”
“I didn’t leave behind a girlfriend who was clearly waiting for me to return.” Saxon quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, okay, that was…that’s on me. But I was planning on returning.” Rowan’s jaw tightened. “That operation in Syria was supposed to be our last.”
The memory of Sierra’s scream hit Rowan in the chest again. The look on her face when she’d seen him—pure shock morphing into something that might have been betrayal. Or rage. Or both.
“She screamed when she saw me.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
“Oof. That’s rough.” Saxon’s tone gentled slightly.
“She thought I was dead, so I get it.”
“And now she knows you’re not. Question is, what are you going to do about it?” Saxon turned from the window, his expression more serious.
“I told you. I’m staying.”
“Even though she made it clear she doesn’t want your help.” It wasn’t a question. Saxon knew him too well, had seen him make the same choice too many times in too many dangerous places.
“Those cattle rustlers are real.” Rowan sighed. “And if they killed her grandfather and Tom Hendrick to protect their operation, they won’t hesitate to kill her too.”
“So you’re staying.” Saxon nodded like this was the answer he’d expected.
“I’m staying.”
“Good. Because I already put a security deposit down on the house.” Saxon’s grin returned.
“You what?” Rowan’s head snapped up.
“Relax. It’s refundable if we change our minds in the next twenty-four hours. But something tells me we’re not changing our minds.” Saxon reopened his laptop and turned the screen toward Rowan. “Three bedrooms, two baths, furnished kitchen. Previous tenant was a teacher who kept the place immaculate.”
The house looked normal. Ordinary. The kind of place where people lived regular lives and worried about regular problems like mortgage payments and lawn care.
“How much?”
“Less than we’d spend on hotel rooms if we stayed at anything decent. Plus, it gives us a base of operations if we’re going to figure out who’s behind this cattle-rustling operation.”
“So you’re really sticking around to play detective?”
“Yeah. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me since we left Afghanistan. Besides, I checked into getting a license. I just have to pass an exam and get a background check.”
Rowan cocked his head.
