“What?”
“A man. I chased him, but he got away. Had a truck parked down the road.”
Her eyes widened. “A truck? A black one?”
“Maybe. Tough to tell, but dark, in any case. Why?”
“Shit.” She wasn’t usually one to curse. “Abilene’s ex—he drives a black truck. Casey had a run-in with him this evening. He just said.”
Shit indeed.
“Guess he found out where she’s staying.” Miah mounted the front steps. His mom turned for the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned back around.
“You think we should tell her?” he asked.
She glanced down the road, worry creasing her brow. “Better she be scared than left in the dark.”
He nodded. “Goddamn shame, though—she barely gets any sleep as it is.”
“Tell your dad to turn the security cameras back on.” Three C had about two dozen of them positioned around the house and stables and barns, as well as out on the range, for catching burglars and poachers alike. They rarely kept the ones near the buildings on. Waste of electricity and computer space; their threats usually came from four-legged predators, and more recently from those suspected drug dealers, two demographics who preferred the vast anonymity of the badlands.
“Good idea.”
“Shall I talk to her?” his mom asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, I can. Ought to describe what I saw, anyhow. Ask Case if the truck sounds like Ware’s.”
She propped the door wide and he passed by, stepping inside. First things first, he stowed his rifle and got his dad up to speed, then went to the kitchen, where his mom was finishing loading the washer.
“You know where Abilene is?” he asked, shutting the fridge and twisting open a longneck. Christ knew he could stand a drink just now. He’d been hoping to cap off a long-ass day in front of the fire, put his feet up, nurse this beer with nothing on his mind except how good his bed would feel under his achy back. It was one drama after another today.
“Den,” she said.
“Thanks.”
He’d expected to find Casey there with her and to find the both of them on high alert from the shouting, but instead it was just Abilene, sitting cross-legged on the couch. The baby was nestled on a blanket between her thighs, nursing a bottle of its own. She looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” He sat on the coffee table, facing her. “You hear all that commotion just now?”
Her brow furrowed. “No. What happened?”
“Where’s Case?”
“Upstairs bathroom.”
The man appeared just then, on the landing above.
“We have a little situation,” Miah told the both of them.
Casey’s expression darkened and he jogged down the steps. “What do you mean?”
“Ware was just here.”
His blue eyes widened, hands curling into fists at his sides. “What?”
“I didn’t talk to him—didn’t even see his face. But somebody was creeping around the side of the house when I pulled up. I chased the guy but couldn’t catch him. He was white—I saw his hands when he jumped the fence. And he was driving a truck with the plate taped over.”
“Black truck?” Casey asked. “A Ram, maybe? I ran into him this afternoon, but I was too busy memorizing his plate number to catch the make. Sounds like I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“It was dark, for sure. Older. Not a Ford—that’s all I could tell you.”
“I can’t remember what brand it was,” Abilene said. “But it wasn’t new. And it wasn’t big, not like your truck,” she said to Miah.
“This was midsized. Probably mid-nineties.”