Karen Rock - A Cowboy To Keep

Thirty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the one-story bond office and cut the engine beside a black Denver Sheriff Department SUV—Lance’s. He’d called ahead, since Butch’s warrant stipulated that he’d enter into custody. A department member had told him an officer would meet him. Could be his cousin had come to do the honors.

Butch spewed another stream of expletives when Jack jerked open the door and hauled him out. When he pressed the door buzzer, Lance opened it with a relaxed air that belied his serious intent, his badge glinting. The creases in his blue uniform were as sharp as knives. He wore that smug, got-you look Jack recognized from their boyhood days. He still had the same freckles and left-sided cowlick.

“Sheriff Covington.”

“Nice work,” drawled Lance, cocking a dark eyebrow at Jack before stepping close to the criminal. “I’ll take it from here. Butch, let’s walk.”

Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle and watched them march to the SUV, satisfied. Justice served. The repeat offender wouldn’t be burglarizing homes in the area for a long while.

He took off his sunglasses and headed inside for his bounty. Considering money from his share of the family ranch revenues was dumped into his account every quarter, he wasn’t in a hurry for a payout. He did look forward to getting his next assignment, though...and returning to his trailer for the baseball game and TV dinner that waited on him.

“Jackson Cade for...”

“I know who you are,” interrupted the secretary. He’d clearly made quite the impression, since he’d only been to this bond office once before, when he’d taken this case. She averted her eyes behind large-framed glasses that covered most of her pinched features. Short little thing, scrawny, shoulders curled in. Fidgety fingers, twisting at her skirt. She snatched up her phone, spoke into it, then pointed down the hall without looking back up at him.

“Kind of you, ma’am,” he muttered, conscious of the office staff’s gazes fluttering his way. The paused conversations. The whispered comments that rose like a chorus when he passed. His jaw clenched. He should be used to this, yet somehow he wasn’t. He seldom ventured out in public anymore, and much preferred being on his own or hunting runaways—the one job where looking this scary worked to his advantage.

“Hey, Jack,” boomed the bond agent, Randall Cook. The gray-haired man smiled and stood, revealing a row of crooked teeth. His line-free face told of years spent indoors crunching numbers, and a touch of pink around his nose hinted at evenings afterward. “Can I get you a drink?”

When Jack shook his head, the talkative man continued, “Was almost ready to call it with Butch. Three other bounty hunters couldn’t nab him. Glad the sheriff recommended you.”

He shifted in his boots, uncomfortable with praise or anything else that called attention to him. “Glad to help.”

“I’ve got another one for you.” Randall shoved a folder across the cluttered table in front of Jack as Jack grabbed a seat. “Bill ‘Smiley’ Reno. Alias Ned Terrill.”

Words jumped out at Jack as he scanned the warrant.

Wanted for drug possession and dealing.

Fifty-thousand-dollar bond.

Known to carry a .45.

Considered armed and extremely dangerous.

A rap sheet that included assault with a deadly weapon, gun possession and armed robbery. Just as bad as he liked them. And he’d been caught with heroin—the same drug that’d ensnared Jack’s younger brother after he’d gotten hooked on oxycodone following surgery.

He shoved the folder under his arm and stood, determination firing through him. “A real sweetheart. I’ll get him.”

Randall pushed to his feet and extended a hand. “I believe you will. There’s more to his story, but I’ll let Sheriff Covington fill you in.”

Curious, he pumped Randall’s hand and strode outside where Lance leaned against his SUV, Butch slumped in the backseat.

“So. Smiley.” Lance nodded at the folder. His mouth flattened at Jack’s nod and he stepped closer. Dropped his voice. “An informant fingered him in the Remy Phillips case.”

The name sounded familiar. It rolled in his mind, then fell into place. He whistled. “The double homicide last month. A home invasion, right? Big society couple.”

Lance’s brow lowered. “Remy Phillips owns the largest investment firm in Denver and it looks like a professional hit. Since our snitch is unreliable and motivated to exchange information for a reduced sentence, I didn’t give it too much credit, especially when Smiley agreed right off to come down to the office to answer questions. Problem is, he never showed. I’d planned on chatting with him the following day at his court date.”

Understanding dawned and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Then he jumped his bond.”

A frustrated breath escaped Lance’s clenched teeth. “Looks suspicious. He’s still just a person of interest, but let’s just say, I’m real interested. Bring him in, Jack.”

“I will.” And he would. Forget the ball game. He had much better plans with Smiley’s family, the last known address for the runaway and alleged killer. It’d been his mission, since Jesse’s murder, to get opiate dealers like this off the streets and make sure no one else died like his brother had.

“Got something else to tell you.”

He turned back to his cousin.

“This is between us. Ballistics and crime scene evidence suggest we’re after two men. A .45 and a 9mm were used at the scene. Plus, the Phillips’ safe was broken into, but the family can’t identify what’s missing. Whoever wanted it hired two pros for the job, so it must be important. I’m hoping that where there’s one...”

“Got it.” Jack nodded. Grim. This case looked better by the minute. He’d always liked two-for-one deals. Technically, he couldn’t bring in the other wanted man, but he’d hold him. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

Lance squinted at the sky. Spoke to the sun. “Keep me in the loop, okay? And, uh, heard the family reunion is at your ranch this year. Want to be my plus one?”

Jack’s gut clenched and he was glad his sunglasses hid his expression. “You’re not my type.”

Lance clocked him on the shoulder. “Come on, Jack. How long before you go home? You know they miss you. Especially your mama. And no one blames you for...for...”

“I blame myself.” Jack swung into his truck and slammed the door. Engine revved, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward Smiley’s address. No sense dwelling on family and loss. Action was what he needed.

And retribution.

He glanced down at his forearm. Black ink sketched out a belt buckle with an intricate pattern, the scripted letters aJc in the center. It was an image of the buckle Jesse had won in a junior bull-riding championship the year before he got hooked on painkillers and then heroin. Every time Jack looked at it, he was reminded of happier times...of what his brother could have been...how Jack wanted to remember him.

When Jack left the ranch to become a bounty hunter, he’d vowed that with enough persistence, he’d someday catch the two lowlifes who’d ambushed him and later killed his brother on a back road. Sooner or later their paths would cross and he’d make them pay.

His pickup bounced up a rutted, dirt drive that ended at a listing two-story farmhouse. A tan-and-white pit bull lunged on its chain, snapping and growling, as he strode past and clomped up the steps. With the sun gone now, he needed to secure this house before Smiley slipped away into the night.

The door swung open before he raised his hand to knock. A sour-faced woman peered at him through the ripped screen door. Her worn-out appearance matched her sagging porch. The color leached out of her face when her flat pale blue eyes rose to meet his. They were a little too wide, not enough blinks. She backed up a step and looked down at the Glock holstered on his hip. Something unpleasant worked on her top lip.