Then he looked closer and noted bits of blackened, corroded wire broken in many places, but seeming to run through parts of the skeleton, and he noted the shape—too large to be human—and an elongated skull. He remembered the story the grumpy waitress at the diner had told him, and it dawned on him what he was staring at—the dead horse of Dead Horse, Montana.
This plot of land had to be part of the founding father’s original parcel of land. No wonder Nadine’s ass had been fried that outsiders had bought the tract.
“Boss, what you want us to do?” The job foreman asked from across the circle.
Cage stared downward for a few seconds longer then glanced up. “Does anyone know a good taxidermist?” he asked, knowing a town as small as Dead Horse would have few people capable of reconstructing a dead animal.
The proud taxidermist at Better Off Dead brought a team of taxidermy enthusiasts to excavate the site. While it meant that pouring concrete would be delayed for a few days, Reaper seemed happy with Cage’s resolution of the problem, including his suggestion that they contact the local Chamber of Congress to figure out where the completed skeleton could be erected. A spot was selected on the grassy lawn beside City Hall.
Cage hoped that their donation would result in a friendlier response from the locals.
On Wednesday morning, Fetch arrived, and together with Reaper, Fig, Brian, Felicity, and Cage, they descended on the courthouse in Bozeman to support Elaine. They all wore Montana Bounty Hunter T-shirts in navy with the gold target logo embroidered on their chests. Reaper had tossed Cage one that morning before they’d left the motel, telling him they were making a show of support to sway the judge.
When she was led out a side door in a short line of prisoners, his heart did a nosedive. While her hair was brushed, and she looked clean and healthy, her face was pale and her expression anxious. Before she sat, her gaze roamed the courtroom, landing on the group seated together.
Cage lifted his hand to wave at her. She smiled back, but then quickly took her seat as all the prisoners were directed to do.
The judge was quick to work his way through the prisoners, listening as defense attorneys and prosecutors argued, then assigning bails. When Elaine’s name was called, she sat on the edge of her chair as her defense attorney described the events that prevented her from appearing before, and then the prosecutor took a tough stance, warning that she had little respect for the court and was a flight risk.
Cage tensed. The judge’s expression didn’t change. He looked bored and irritated. Then his gaze went to Fetch. Cage watched as Fetch dipped his chin to the judge. He didn’t know what was going on there, but when the judge set her bail at $100,000, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. She’d be free until her trial date. Free to come home with him.
One worry taken care of. One more to go. The defense attorney he’d hired because of Fetch’s recommendation seemed to think he could bargain for a lengthy parole. He hoped he was right. She didn’t belong there.
When court was adjourned, the group waited outside while Fetch handled the bail with Cage’s blank check tucked into his pocket. When they retrieved Elaine from lockup, they convoyed back to Dead Horse and assembled at the diner.
“Dead Horse needs a better grade of restaurant,” Reaper griped as he glanced at the menu. “Or a food truck. I’d die for a taco.”
A man sitting at the table beside them scooted back his chair and turned to Reaper to say, “My wife makes tacos in our kitchen. She delivers, too.” He slipped a handmade business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. “She makes tacos, menudo, barbacoa, enchiladas—”
“Got another card?” Cage asked.
Nadine approached the table with a tray of water glasses. “His wife, Rosita, is a good friend of mine,” she whispered, nodding to the man as he handed a card to Cage. “Can’t go wrong with anything she makes.”
Cage gave the woman a long stare, and Nadine gave him a toothy smile. “Folks are excited that you fellas found the horse.”
When she walked away, Reaper chuckled. “See? You’re already making friends.”
After so many days spent looking at the same four walls, Elaine felt antsy. So, when Cage asked if she’d like to go shopping for flooring and carpeting for the new building, she jumped at the chance.
The small showroom on Main Street didn’t have a lot of product on display, but they pored over catalogs, sitting shoulder to shoulder. She imagined what it would be like choosing paint, carpet, and appliances in some future home they might share. The thought brought her down to earth with a hard bump. Her future was still in limbo, no matter how good the lawyer was that Cage had hired to try her case.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Cage asked in a low tone, bumping her shoulder.
“Nothing,” she said, not wanting to put a damper on his mood.
“Elaine,” he said, locking his gaze with hers.
She let out a breath. “I was thinking this is fun…and how much I’d enjoy picking out things for our home.” She waved a hand. “Not that I’m trying to get ahead of anything. I know we have a long way to go…”
He reached for her hand and held it gently inside his. “I’m glad you’re thinking about our future. Because we will have one together. And believe me, I’ll need you to do all the choosing, because…”
“Yeah, I hate white walls and beige rugs…” She gave him a little smile. “Although, I kind of like that dappled beige carpet for your office…”
“Ah, so you decided—”
“I will recommend it. It won’t show a lot of dirt. You know, you guys track in a lot of dirt on your boots…”
He smiled and shook his head. “Let’s ask for some samples. We don’t have to make any decisions today. How about we call Rosita and stay in today and maybe look at the classified section of the newspaper, see what homes are for sale, because we’re going to need someplace to live. I’m getting tired of the motel.”
Her vision blurred a little, and she blinked away the moisture. “Will you bring me pictures of paint and rugs on visiting day?”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll bring you to Helena where there’s a better selection. We’ll do it together.”
“God, I hope so,” she whispered.
“Count on it, babe.”
They left with a large sack filled with paint cards and a stack of carpet samples and headed out. He called Rosita on the way and placed an order, which she promised to deliver within the hour.
Once back at the motel, they lay on the bed, waiting for the delivery, talking about what they’d want in the way of a house.
“I’d like a big yard,” he said.
“I want trees.”
“Country or town?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Country, but not too far from town. I don’t like driving very far in the winter.”
He nodded. “How many bedrooms?”
She shrugged. That depended on how big a family he wanted, and she was over thirty; they might not have unlimited options.
“Guess we should decide how big a family we want first, right?” he said, a smile stretching his mouth.
She smoothed a finger over his bottom lip. “I like seeing you smile,” she said. “Whenever I thought about you, it was never with a smile. I saw your intense, sexy face or that scary frown. I want more smiles.”
“Kids, Elaine,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “How many?”
“I’m thirty-two. Practically, how many do you think I can have?”
“I’d like at least two—and I’d be okay if not all of them were ours.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You’d adopt?”
“If you’re the mom, and it means you’d be happy…”
“Isn’t it funny we never had this conversation when we were married?”
He snorted. “I was thinking about it every time we fucked. Whether this time would be the one when we made a baby. But you were all about the work, always on the move.
I figured kids were probably the last thing on your mind.”
“I thought about it. I just didn’t know how I’d work it in or whether I was willing to risk…” She inhaled slowly. “Growing up like I did, with my dad always working on the next big fight or running books… We were always living out of suitcases.” She gave him a level stare. “I’m glad I’m out of that life. I’d like to see what else there is to do out there.”
“You don’t have to work, you know. I think I’ll be making bank. You can take your time deciding what’s next or decide to stay home. I’m okay either way.”
She sat up on the bed and crossed her legs. “I want you to think realistically. Worst case stuff. If I go to jail…” She pressed a finger against his mouth to keep him from interrupting because she knew he was going to tell her it wasn’t going to happen, but she needed to say this. “If I go to jail, do you really want your kids to grow up knowing their mother was an ex-con, a criminal? Someone who did hard time? Please, take a minute to think about that.”
“I don’t have to think about it, Lainey,” he said, his voice husky. “My kids will grow up knowing their mom’s smart and tough. That she’s loyal to a fault. They’ll be as proud of you as I am.”
She inhaled then let the breath go. “Okay. Kids, lots of them. So, I’ll need a big house.”
Cage grinned. “I’ll get in touch with a realtor and tell him we need a big damn house.”
“Seriously?” she said. “No baby steps, no starter house? You might need time to put some money aside. And my credit history isn’t going to be of any help.”
“My credit’s golden, and I’ve got money put aside.”
“One other thing.” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t want you fighting anymore. No more MMA, no bare-knuckle anything.” She tapped his forehead. “You’ve been lucky so far that you haven’t rattled that brain. I don’t care how big the purse is—no more fights.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have a real job, huh?”
“You call bounty hunting a real job?” she teased.
He arched an eyebrow. “I was told by an expert in the field that there’s plenty of job security.”
She wrinkled her nose. “As long as there are people like me, right?”
“My cut for your bounty wasn’t anything to sneeze at, babe.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Cage took care of Rosita’s bill. They spread the take-out containers on the bed and ate their meal, talking about the future, and about the house they wanted, the pets they’d have.
Later, when they turned down the covers, Elaine reflected that the day was probably the happiest one she’d ever spent. And for the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful for their future.
Chapter 12
With the concrete foundation cured, building began in earnest on the office building. Weeks passed, each day filled with its own challenges.
Reaper had left at the end of the previous week, satisfied that Cage would be okay on his own. “I’m just a phone call away, and until you hire more hunters, you call when you need backup.”
He had a stack of applications to go over. Two in particular looked promising. Dylan Priestley was ex-Delta Force, and Pierce Hardman was another SEAL he’d known from another team. Both files had been sent by Fetch for him to consider. Fetch liked hiring ex-military, especially spec ops types, because he said they knew how to work in a team and had weapons and hand-to-hand skills. He had reminded him, however, that Lacey had none of those qualifications, but had turned out to be a brilliant asset for the Bear Lodge office.
He’d met the contract hunter, Martika Mills—Marti, as she preferred to be called—last week after she’d finished a hunt in the Yellowstone area. He had yet to hear how all of that had turned out, because she’d hit the ground running when she returned, working the database for some easy, fast jobs—mostly people who had skipped their mandatory drug tests.
He went back to the list and scrolled downward until the town name, Dillon, caught his eye. The skip’s listed hometown was nearby. The bounty would only bring in five grand, but he was ready to get out there. The couple of hunts he’d done with Reaper had piqued his appetite for the chase.
He clicked on the name of the skip, Robert “Bobby” Wallis, and read his list of charges: aggravated assault with a weapon and illegal possession of a firearm—illegal because he was already a convicted felon.
He picked up his cellphone and tapped Marti’s number in his speed dial list. He might as well get to know her while watching her work.
The trip to Dillon proved frustrating. He’d tried to start a conversation with the woman several times, but her curt answers weren’t conducive to getting to know her any better. All he knew about her was what was inside the thin file Fetch had passed along—a copy of their contract and her contact information.
Marti was a mystery. With blondish-brown hair that glowed red when the sun struck it and brown eyes, she could’ve been a pretty girl—except for the fact of her perpetual scowl and the lack of care she took with her appearance. Like now, her long hair was in a tight ponytail that pulled at her features, making them appear sharp, she wore no makeup, and her clothing was serviceable but left her a bit lumpy looking because they appeared a size too large. When she moved, he could tell she had a wiry, muscular frame with small breasts and a trim waist.
While they were driving, Fig was busy making calls, using the points of contact listed in Bobby Wallis’s bond application. His bond had been guaranteed with the deed to his wife’s house, so Fig was starting with the wife, because she had the most to lose if he wasn’t recovered soon.
“How long you been hunting skips?” he asked, watching Marti out of the corner of his eye.
She glanced out the passenger window. “Maybe four years.”
“And before that?”
She shrugged. “This and that.”
Feeling like he was pulling teeth, he persisted. “How do you know Fetch?”
She leaned her head against the headrest. He figured she was probably rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, which made his mouth twitch. This hunt for a clue about her story was kind of fun.
“Fetch and his guy, Mace, in Kalispell arrived at a skip’s cabin at the same time I did. We ended up having to take him down together. Afterward, Fetch asked for my number. Since he didn’t cheat me out of my cut, I gave it to him.”
More than a yes or no. Progress. “How’d he talk you into working for him?”
“I don’t work for the agency.”
“I know, but you have a contract. How’d he talk you into freelancing for him?”
“He mentioned his database. I’m used to having to call a dozen bondsmen to see what’s outstanding, but the database—that’s gold.”
“Fetch said he offered you a permanent position…”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What’s to think about?”
Her head turned to give him a glare. “Whether I can work with you. You haven’t been doing this as long as I have, but Fetch put you in charge. Makes me wonder if the only thing he values is a pair of balls.”
Cage nodded, appreciating the honest answer.
When they reached Dillon, Fig called to pass along directions Bobby’s wife had given her for a bend along the Beaverhead River where her husband liked to fish for trout. They found his truck parked along the road and passed it, not wanting to alert Bobby that he had company should he return to his truck for anything.
They geared up standing at the back of his newly purchased Yukon. They donned Kevlar vests, holstered handguns, and radio earbuds. He handed Marti a shotgun with an orange stock.
“Seriously, you want me to use bean bag rounds?” she said, staring down at the weapon.
He handed her the special shells to load. “You have your Remington in your holster as backup, but I want to know whether I can work with you, too. I’d prefer to bring this guy in alive. If he doesn’t surrender, hit him with a bean bag round in the
torso.”
Although she frowned, she began to load the weapon.
When they were ready, they headed toward the sound of water. The hills surrounding the Beaverhead River were mostly bare of tall trees. Grass and bushes hugged the banks, so that’s where they stayed for their approach, needing cover and concealment until they were close enough to take Bobby down.
As they neared a bend that jutted toward the water, Cage heard voices and held up a fist.
Marti walked into him, bumping him, and he shook his fist. “You not see this?” he whispered.
Her eyes narrowed. “That supposed to mean something to me?”
Realizing she’d never had any military training, he shook his head. “Holding up a closed fist means halt.”
“Got it.” She pointed her chin toward the bend. “Sounds like he’s got company. I’m shorter. I could go higher up the bank and keep hidden while you come from the side.”
Cage didn’t like them splitting up. “You’ll follow my lead?”
“Someone has to be in charge.”
By her expression, she would’ve preferred that she was the lead. “Go get in place. Let me know when you have good line of sight.”
While bushes rustled softly with her movements as she left, he continued following the edge of the bank, crouching down in the tall grass to keep from being seen. “I hear two voices,” he whispered.
“I see only two,” she responded. “Not close enough yet to get off a round.”
He moved a few feet closer and eased up. Now, he could see Bobby sitting on cooler with a friend in a canvas camp chair right beside him. “I don’t like how close his friend is sitting. I can’t take a shot without risking hitting the other guy.”
“I haven’t fired this shotgun before. I won’t know until I pull the trigger if it even shoots straight.”
“I fired it last week. It’s good to around fifty feet.”
Cage: Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT Page 9
