“I’m on it, boss.”
Josh turned to Noah and Cole. “I thought you two could work in the new barn today, maybe get a few stalls put up, stay out of the weather.”
“Sounds good,” Noah said.
Cole just nodded. He’d been in a dark mood all morning. Josh had a feeling it had something to do with Brittany, but he didn’t ask. Cole wasn’t the type to share his feelings, at least not often. Hell, neither was he.
Which made him think of Tory and what had happened between them last night. As soon as she’d figured out the bikers could have been hired by Damon, he’d known she was going to run.
What he hadn’t known was how much it would upset him. He tried to tell himself it was just his protective instincts kicking in, but it was way more than that.
He cared for Tory and little Ivy. The thought of Damon Bridger hurting either one of them made him physically sick. That she would put herself and Ivy in danger to protect him made him a little crazy.
Fortunately, she was staying. She had given him her word and Josh knew she would keep it. He trusted her in the same soul-deep way he trusted the men who’d fought beside him in the war. He didn’t know how it had happened, only that it had.
Ty brought the horses in and he and Josh saddled them. Josh retrieved the hunting rifle he kept in the gun safe in the bedroom he’d set up as an office, a .308 Winchester with a Sightron long range scope. You never knew what you might run into out there. Snakes and wild boars could be a problem.
And there was Damon Bridger.
He slid the rifle into the scabbard at the front of his saddle and swung aboard. Ty swung up on Red. As they rode away from the barn, the kid sat straight in the saddle yet relaxed, holding the reins loosely but clearly in control.
Josh gigged the buckskin, heading for the trail that wound through the grasslands. There was an old cabin out there that overlooked the river, a place he liked to go when he wanted to think. He’d check the stock ponds on the way, make sure they were accessible.
They had just reached the first gate when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. “Hold a minute,” he called out, pulling rein.
The buckskin danced, eager to get moving, a little uneasy with the uncertain weather. The sorrel snorted and sidestepped, but the kid held him easily.
Josh looked at the screen but didn’t recognize the caller number. He pressed the phone against his ear. “Josh Cain.”
“Josh, it’s Iceman. I’ve got bad news.”
His stomach contracted. Iceman was Kirby Waldruth, a marine vet and friend. They’d talked at Pete’s funeral. “What is it, Ice?”
“Coy Whitmore is dead. Rifle shot through the driver’s-side window of his pickup. Bullet struck him in the temple.”
His mouth went dry. “Jesus. Jesus, Ice, what the hell happened?”
“Not real sure. Cops haven’t figured out who did it.”
“Sonofabitch.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “First Pete, now Coy. What the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Neither do the cops. They think the killings are unrelated. Just coincidence. They’re calling it a possible hunting accident. The police in Gainesville are all over it, but so far no leads.”
“Two of our guys murdered in just a few weeks? Doesn’t sound like coincidence to me.”
“Two different towns, hundreds of miles apart. Two different weapons used in the murders. It could be.”
Josh made no reply. His instincts were screaming. He had learned to listen to them a long time ago.
“Can you make it to the funeral?” Kirby asked.
“A hundred armored tanks couldn’t keep me away.”
“I’ll call as soon as I get word when it is.”
“Thanks, Ice.” Josh ended the call. Coy wasn’t married, didn’t have any kids. But his parents were great people and they would be devastated.
Josh softly cursed.
“Bad news?” Ty asked.
“Real bad. Friend of mine was murdered.”
“Jeez, that’s fucked up.”
Josh cast him a glance.
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. It really is fucked up.”
The kid looked out over the rippling grasses in the pasture, obviously disappointed the ride would be canceled. “So I guess we won’t be going.”
“Oh, we’re going. The last place I want to be is cooped up in the house. I need some air and this is the best way I can think of to get it.” He nudged the big buckskin through the gate, into the open field. “I need a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the stock pond. Wind’s picking up. Red may get a little nervous so stay alert.”
“I will,” Ty said, clearly eager.
Josh urged Thor into a trot, then a canter. Soon he was bending over the animal’s neck, the buckskin running flat out, black mane and tail flying, the ground rushing beneath them.
Thor was a damned fine horse. He would fetch a good price when it was time to sell him. Or maybe Josh would keep him.
The buckskin’s hooves pounded the earth. It gave him something to think about besides the murder of one of his best friends.
*
Damon paced the floor of the wood-paneled office where Izzy Watkins clattered away on his keyboard, working his seemingly limitless Internet magic tricks.
Izzy was a real kiss-ass. The guy would do just about anything to be included in Damon’s pussy posse. He loved the women Damon’s money and good looks scooped up, loved the booze and the drugs.
Damon liked him well enough, and his skills as a computer geek, combined with his unshakable loyalty, made him a real asset.
“How’s it coming?” Damon asked, stopping to peer over Izzy’s bony shoulders. Already losing his blond hair at the age of twenty-nine, Izzy wore round-rimmed glasses and was slim, not much to look at, but he knew the deep dark secrets of the computer world inside and out.
Izzy rubbed his hands together. “Got some good stuff going on here. Guy won’t know what hit him.”
Damon found himself smiling. Izzy knew about his engagement to Victoria, knew about her betrayal and who she was currently fucking, Joshua Cain.
Izzy had been the one to come up with the mercenary-for-hire website called The Dark Side. An ad on the site had led Damon to the Street Marauders. The cell phone pictures he’d received from the raid showed the vandalism, including the shot-out windows in Cain’s barn. It wasn’t enough to stir the cops into a frenzy, just enough to tweak Cain’s nose and let him know who was in charge.
The hassle of identity theft was going to be even better. Given the distance between him and Cain, given the fact he couldn’t get to Tory—not yet—it would have to be enough.
It was the same way he’d felt about the trashy little redhead. His dick stirred to life as he thought about the things he had done to her, the way he’d had her on her knees, the way she had begged him to stop.
He hadn’t been sure he was ready to see it completely through, but in the end, the pleasure he’d found had dissolved any misgivings he had.
“All finished,” Izzy said, leaning back in his chair. He chuckled. “That ought to keep the bastard busy for a while.”
Damon nodded, though he had no idea what Izzy had actually done. It didn’t matter as long as it caused Cain trouble. “Good work.”
Izzy shot him a look. “We still heading for the Peacock?”
Damon’s favorite hangout. He wasn’t really in the mood but he had to keep his minions happy. He still owed Izzy for the alibi.
“Sure, why not? It’s still early. Night hasn’t really gotten started yet.”
Izzy grinned and got up from his chair. Damon headed down the hall of the cheap, nineteen-fifties, flat-roofed house where Izzy lived.
He thought of the redhead and how she’d made him feel, and his mouth watered. He hadn’t expected the itch to start again so soon. He needed to get to Tory, end his obsession with her. Once he’d dealt with her, he could bring himself back under control.
Perhaps it was time to start planning.
*