Cody taps a ruler against the bench, considering. “And what’s in it for me? Besides the obvious thrill of helping my favorite idiot?”
“Eternal gratitude,” I say. “Also,” I hand him the box in my hands, “donuts. And I’ll never leave my muddy boots in your tidy hallway. Again.”
That gets a snort. Cody rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Oooh, these are the good donuts.”
He stands, shoves his glasses up properly, and starts grabbing cables before I can say thanks.
“Fine. But you break one camera, and I will personally make you watch the entire roll of footage from the Colter Creek Rodeo of ’09. Twice.”
“You monster,” I say, mock-horror. “I’ll sign anything you want. Cable tie me to the fence if it makes you feel better.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Also, and listen to me, no livestreaming to conspiracy forums. No heroic night vision vigilante nonsense. Keep it clean. And don’t let Clint near the encryption keys. He can be clumsy at the best of times…”
“Clint won’t go anywhere near it,” I reassure him. “I’ll do it all myself.”
Cody gives that half-grin he hates showing. “Good. Because if Clint gets his hands on my config, I will uninstall his sense of humor.”
I nod. “No problem.”
“Alright,” he mutters, hooking a camera mount to a strap, “you owe me more than donuts. You owe me lunch. And if you do something stupid, I’m calling you out in front of the whole ranch. Public humiliation is on the table.”
“I’ll take that.” I stand, slinging the bag of gear over my shoulder. “You’re the best, C-dog.”
Cody’s glare sharpens at the nickname. “Don’t call me that,” he says flatly.
“Sure thing, C-dog,” I shoot back, because obviously I want to live dangerously.
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “idiot” and turns toward the back of the barn. I follow, trying not to grin too hard, because I know what’s coming next. The cavalry.
Silas is already there, leaning against the open truck bay with a smirk playing on his lips. He’s got that quiet, stoic thing going, arms crossed, one brow raised.
Duke’s the opposite, perched on a toolbox, halfway through a cookie, the human embodiment of sunshine and poor impulse control.
“What’d you drag us into this time?” Duke asks, crumbs falling down his shirt. “Please tell me this isn’t another one of your ‘we’ll just borrow it’ missions.”
“Technically,” I say, holding up a finger, “we’re borrowing with permission.”
Cody snorts. “Conditional permission. Remember, I have rules.”
I throw my hands in the air, surrendering. “I know, I know. You were very clear.”
Silas shakes his head, but he’s smiling now, the kind of small grin that makes you think he secretly enjoys the madness. “Let’s just get it loaded up before one of you actually breaks something.”
We pile into the truck. Cody driving, me riding shotgun, and Duke and Silas in the back seat with the gear stacked between them. I leave my truck behind without a second thought. Right now, sticking together feels like the smarter call.
The drive to High Ridge takes about twenty minutes, long enough for the banter to loosen everyone up. Especially when I fill Duke and Silas in on what’s been happening.
“So,” Duke says, kicking his boots up, “who do we think’s behind all this sabotage? My money’s on Buck, but I don’t know… feels too clean for him.”
“Too clean?” I glance at him in the rearview. “You’ve met the guy, right? He wears loafers to cattle auctions.”
“Exactly,” Duke says. “He doesn’t get his own hands dirty. He hires people to do it.”
Silas nods slowly. “Could be someone working for him. Someone local. Knows the layout.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking it through. “Every time something’s happened, it’s been fast. Precise. No sign of tracks, no tire marks. It’s someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Just don’t underestimate him. Guys like Buck don’t build empires by accident.”
