Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)

Looking out the window, she saw the noontime sunlight overhead, making the green pastures around the cabin look emerald. There were no trees in the pastures and no cattle right now. The five acres the cabin sat on were bracketed to the north and west of it. Straight ahead, to the east was open ranch land without fences. In the distance, Shiloh could see the mountain peaks of the Salt River Range. To the south of the cabin, a half a mile away, sat Pine Grove. Earlier, Roan had told her that no one could sneak up on the cabin and explained why. It had made her feel better. More settled.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to write today, she was too upset over the situation with Anton Leath. Roan had made sure that the deadbolt locks on the front and back doors worked and had asked her to keep them locked when he was gone. Further, he’d checked all the windows and made sure they were locked as well. Shiloh felt trapped, Hunted, just as she’d felt in her small apartment.

She had to do SOMETHING. Anything to get her mind off what was going on around her. What would Roan find out from Sarah? Did they know where the monster who was stalking her was at? Had they located Leath? Roan had promised to call her and Shiloh waited on tenterhooks, her iPhone in her pocket, never to leave her side.

Unable to remain quiet, far too restless and nervous, Shiloh decided to deep-clean the cabin. Not that it needed it. It was brand-new, never been lived in before she stepped into it with Roan. But she couldn’t remain sitting. She felt like a target, her gaze darting from one window to another. Shiloh hated the idea of pulling the drapes and curtains across all the windows. She loved the light that flooded the cabin, making it so alive and beautiful with color and radiance. For her to close the curtains would be admitting she was scared out of her mind. So, she kept looking at the windows from time to time as she dusted, frightened if she saw Leath’s big, heavy face, his heavy-lidded eyes staring back at her.

She was coming apart at the seams. Shiloh’s imagination was going wild and she could barely control it as her hands shook as she took the dustcloth over the coffee table.

The phone rang.

Jerking, a gasp escaping her, Shiloh dropped the cloth. She jammed her hand into her pocket, frantic to pick up the iPhone.

“Roan?” she asked, her voice low and strained.

“Yes, it’s me. How are you doing?”

Shiloh grimaced. “Not well. My damned imagination is scaring the hell out of me. Did you find out anything about Leath?”

“A couple of things. No one has seen him. With the rifles you identified and the pictures I sent to Sarah, there’s one gun shop here who sold a .300 Winchester Magnum, to a man. It wasn’t Leath. Sarah thinks he was a shill who was sent to buy it and they’ve got the man in custody and are talking to him right now. He did identify Leath’s picture. The sheriff’s artist put out an updated drawing of him with the brown beard and hair. The man said he was the one who gave him money to go buy the weapons.”

Her hand crept against her neck. Throat tight, Shiloh asked, “How many guns did he buy?”

“He’s got a pistol and the .300 Win Mag. The man in custody said he also bought a SOG.”

“What’s a SOG?”

“It’s a black ops knife that a lot of operators prefer when they’re hunting tangos. It’s a short blade, maybe seven inches long, but very easy to maneuver in tight quarters.”

Shiloh’s stomach clenched. “Oh, God, Roan.”

“What?”

“Anton had an arsenal of knives when he lived with us.”

“You’d mentioned that to me earlier. Does that SOG ring a bell?”

Tightly shutting her eyes, her voice tight and low, she said, “Yes. It was his favorite knife. He called it a gutting knife. He used to try to tell me about how he gutted his kills over in Africa. My mother would walk in and hear him telling me this horrible stuff, get angry, and tell him to shut up, that it was upsetting me.”

“What a sick bastard. Your mother was right to stop him.”

“Yes, well, believe me, I had nightmares for months after that because he described it in such awful, bloody detail.”

“So, he had a SOG knife?”

“Yes.”

“What kind? Do you remember?”

“I-I don’t . . .”

“If I sent a JPEG of the knife to your phone, could you look at it and see?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on . . .”

Shiloh saw the color photo of the knife pop up on her screen. “Yes, that’s it.”

“It’s a SOG SEAL knife,” Roan said.

She heard the grimness in his tone and it sent chills scattering through her spine. “What does it mean?”

“It means nothing at this point, Shiloh.”

“Did they find Leath’s rental car?”

“Yes. It was abandoned alongside the highway at a rest stop about two miles from the town of Wind River. It was dusted for prints and they are his prints.”

Frowning, she said, “Then where did he go?”

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