He crouched beside the drainage ditch where they’d found Morrie twelve hours ago, dawn mist rising from the rain-soaked earth around him. The storm had passed, leaving behind a world washed clean and gleaming. Water pooled in tire ruts that scarred the muddy ground, and crime-scene tape fluttered in the morning breeze. The air smelled of wet pine and disturbed earth, tinged with the metallic scent of violence that still lingered despite the rain’s best efforts.
His tactical training kicked into overdrive as he studied the bloodstained rocks where Morrie had fallen.
Rowan stood, mud squelching under his boots as he surveyed the junction where three ranch properties met. The natural ravine carved a deep channel between rocky outcroppings, scattered with pine trees that provided perfect cover for an ambush. “This isn’t exactly on his way home from anywhere.”
“Nope.” Detective Martinelli took pictures as he walked the site. His rumpled suit jacket hung loose over rain gear, and coffee stained his white shirt despite the early hour. “Question is, what was Morrie doing out here in the first place?”
Saxon emerged from behind a cluster of boulders, a new Nikon hanging around his neck and a professional-grade metal detector in his hands. His dark clothing was soaked through, and red-clay mud caked his boots to the ankles. “I found the shell casings.”
Rowan’s chest tightened as he joined Saxon, who pointed to three brass shell casings that lay scattered in the mud nearby, their copper gleam catching the weak sunlight filtering through storm clouds.
“Bottleneck casings. From a .308.”
“Could be a hunting rifle,” said Saxon.
Rowan sighed.
“Everything okay?” Saxon said.
“Sierra called. She thinks her grandfather was murdered.”
“That’s not news,” said Saxon.
“Yeah, but she says she found a file of evidence that Elway tucked away. She’ll meet me at the rodeo and I’ll get the details.”
Saxon set his metal detector on high and continued to scan the area.
“You’re really committing to this PI thing, aren’t you? Next you’ll be carrying a magnifying glass and wearing a deerstalker hat.”
“Mock me all you want, but this equipment is top-notch.” Saxon hefted the metal detector and grinned. “And it’s already paying dividends.”
“Please tell me you actually know how to use that thing and aren’t just waving it around hoping for the best.”
“I’ll have you know I watched three YouTube videos before we got here.” Saxon’s grin stretched wider. “Plus, I read the manual.”
“On audiobook?”
“Funny, Hammer.” He moved away down the ravine as Martinelli walked over with plastic bags. A crime-scene technician followed him.
“Any word from the hospital?” Rowan said to Martinelli.
And he definitely didn’t let himself think about the fact that Martinelli had dated Sierra. Kissed Sierra.
Nope, he needed to let that go.
“Morrie made it through surgery. Still unconscious, but the docs think he’ll pull through.”
“Hey, guys! I found something!” Saxon shouted. “Looks like someone was conducting water analysis out there.”
“Water analysis?” Rowan followed Martinelli down the ravine, toward Saxon.
The equipment Saxon had discovered was sophisticated and expensive—portable testing units, sample collection containers, and what looked like a chemical analysis station partially concealed behind a fallen log. Everything was scattered as if someone had abandoned it in a hurry, leaving behind thousands of dollars’ worth of scientific equipment.
“This isn’t ranching test gear.” Martinelli pulled on latex gloves to examine one of the testing units. “This is laboratory-grade stuff.”
The crime-scene technician had followed, carrying the shell casings. “Water contamination testing, from the looks of it. Probably checking for mineral content, maybe pollutants.”
“Or maybe checking to see if their pollution was working,” Rowan said, his jaw muscles bunching. “Testing to make sure the lithium levels were high enough to kill livestock.”
