“My guess is that our friend Uncle Sam might have tidied that up for me. If not, maybe Jamie Winters can help.”
“You think Jamie is going to flex her tech muscles to get you a job taking pictures of cheating husbands?”
Saxon’s mouth opened. “And bail jumpers. C’mon.” But he grinned.
“Seriously. You want to be a PI? You’re just bored.”
“I’m professionally unfulfilled. There’s a difference.”
“And you think investigating cattle rustling is going to fulfill you professionally?”
“I think investigating cattle rustling that’s connected to multiple suspicious deaths might be exactly the kind of challenge I’ve been looking for.” Saxon closed the laptop with a snap. “Besides, someone needs to watch your six while you figure out how to apologize to a woman for letting her think you were dead.”
“I can’t tell her why I had to stay dead.”
Saxon was quiet for a moment, processing the implications. “Maybe just say deep cover?”
“I guess that works. Frankly, I don’t think any explanation is going to cut it. But I can’t live with myself if something happens to her and I could have prevented it.”
Saxon stood and shouldered his own duffel bag. “Fair enough. Let’s go look at the house, then you can decide what your next move is.”
“I already know my next move. I need to talk to my stepfather.”
“The mayor? Why?”
“Because he’s in a position to know about local crime. And because something about the way Detective Martinelli described the cattle rustling didn’t sit right with me.”
“What do you mean?”
Rowan grabbed his jacket from the chair by the window. “I mean professional cattle rustlers don’t usually operate in areas where the mayor is actively working with law enforcement to stop them. Unless the mayor isn’t actually working to stop them.”
“You think your stepfather is involved?”
“I think my stepfather is capable of anything if it benefits him. And I think it’s worth asking some questions.”
He took the highway out to the Jenkins ranch, not driving by the Blackwoods’ and…fine, maybe he’d swing by on the way back.
The ranch looked even more impressive in the daylight. The honey-colored logs gleamed in the late-afternoon sun, and the professional landscaping was immaculate. Everything about the place screamed money and success.
He hated it.
“Impressive,” Saxon said as they pulled up. “Your stepfather’s done well for himself.”
“My stepfather’s always been good at taking things that don’t belong to him. This place was built with corrupt money and kickbacks, even before he became mayor.”
Mayor Alden Jenkins opened the front door before they reached the porch steps. “Rowan.” His voice held just the right note of surprised pleasure, but his eyes remained cold. “Mack said you might stop by. It’s good to see you, son.”
Son. Whatever. This man had never been his father, had never earned the right to use that word. Rowan managed not to hit him.
“Alden.” Rowan kept his voice neutral, professional. “This is my friend Luca Saxon. We’re in town for a few days.”
“Any friend of Rowan’s is welcome here.” Jenkins extended his hand to Saxon, who shook it with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to dealing with authority figures. “Come in, both of you. Mack’s in the den.”
A woman appeared behind Jenkins in the doorway—petite, blonde, probably mid-fifties, wearing an apron over a floral dress. Her smile was genuine, if nervous.
“This is my wife, Catherine,” Jenkins said, his tone warming slightly. “Cat, this is my stepson Rowan and his friend.”
“Oh my.” Catherine’s voice was soft with surprise. “Mack’s told me so much about you. Please, come in. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
