Dressed in jeans and a knit sweater, he was dismissed just as fast. Another concerned family member, nothing more.
In the corner of the room, a hand went into the air. With dark red curls shaped into a widow’s peak and a thick scar running right at his hairline, there was no mistaking its’ owner.
Rink.
Drake raised his chin in recognition and cut a path through the tables towards the back. Rink rose from his seat as he approached, thrusting a hand out in front of him.
“Thanks for coming,” Rink said as way of a greeting. It was far and away the most formal thing Drake had ever heard him say.
This couldn’t be good.
“Absolutely,” Drake said, returning the shake. “I just hope I’m able to help.”
Rink nodded and released the shake. Extended the same hand towards a young woman with dishwater blonde hair across from him. “Drake, this is Sara Webb.”
Drake extended a hand towards her. Took in the puffiness around her eyes, the red-rimmed nostrils. Noticed that while she was slender and appeared to be of medium height, there was no way of knowing either for sure.
An oversized cardigan was wrapped around her, seeming to swallow her whole.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Drake said, her hand cold within his. He grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and pulled it up on the end. Sat facing forward, Rink and Sara on either side.
A dozen thoughts ran through his head as he did so. He could tell by the girl’s expression, by Rink’s stilted approach, that this was serious.
Decided to let them take the lead.
A moment later, Rink did so.
“I don’t know how much you’ve been keeping up with the news the last few days,” he began.
Drake felt the feeling from before kick up in the back of his mind. Kept his face neutral.
“But I’m guessing by now you’ve heard about the shooting that took place night before last?”
Pieces clicked into place in Drake’s mind. He leaned his head back an inch or two, twisted his gaze to Sara.
“Webb.”
She nodded. “My brother.”
“And I’m guessing since you asked me to meet you at Memorial...” Drake said. Let his voice trail off, the implication clear.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s here.”
Drake flicked his gaze over to Rink, back to Sara. “How’s he doing?”
She swallowed hard, lines forming on either side of her mouth. If she’d slept at all the last two days, it hadn’t been much. “He’s in a coma right now.”
That was true to the story he’d read in The Missoulian that morning.
Still, he’d had to ask.
“I’m very sorry.”
Sara pressed her lips together as if to mumble a thank you. No sound came out though.
Silence fell over the table.
Not easy, amicable silence.
Heavy, awkward silence.
Drake turned his attention away from the table. Looked at a family eating nearby. A harried mother trying in vain to corral two young children, a third with food smeared all over her face.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.
He was stalling and he knew it.
“Forgive me if I sound harsh when asking this, because I don’t mean to,” he said. “What is it you were hoping for me to do though?”
The news reports stated that Lukas Webb had been shot at the scene. If he was now in a coma, that meant his injuries were far more severe than they had let on.
Drake had never been a fan of doing estate work, but if drafting a will was what Rink had called him in to do, he would.
Without question.
There was a pause as Sara and Rink stared across at each other. The silence between them lasted long enough that Drake gazed at each one in turn, his brow furrowed.
After what seemed an eternity, Sara nodded.
Rink leaned in close. Lowered his voice. Cast a gaze about to make sure nobody was listening.
“Right now they’re keeping Lukas in a coma for his own safety,” Rink began.
As he spoke, Sara’s eyes slid closed.
“One of the bullets pierced his lung. They’re keeping him sedated and on a breathing machine until he is strong enough to be taken off.”
Drake nodded, pretending to follow.
This complicated things tremendously. If they weren’t looking for a will to be drafted, there wasn’t a lot else he could assist with.
“Standing watch outside his door right now is a pair of armed deputies,” Rink said. “The second he comes to, they intend to arrest him, send him over to Deer Lodge.”
Drake nodded again. A few lines in his mind connected what he was hearing. Still, there were a lot of gaps.
“And so?” he prompted.
“There’s no doubt my brother walked into that meeting and fired those shots,” Sara said.
Drake shifted his gaze to her. Was almost taken aback by the intensity of her stare on him.
“But if he did it, he damned sure had a good reason.”
“Okay,” Drake said.
Once more Sara and Rink exchanged a glance.
“I want you to find out what it was.”
Chapter Nine
Drake’s jaw dropped open.
Not in an attempt to make a point.
A completely unrehearsed, natural reaction.
His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open as he stared at Sara.
“Look, I truly am sorry for the predicament you’re in. I am. But I’m a law student, I don’t think this sort of thing is in my job description.”
Sara fell silent. Looked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap.
Drake watched her a moment before rotating his head at the neck to look at Rink.
Rink met his eye. Motioned towards the service area with the top of his head.
“Buy you a cup of coffee?”
Anybody that had met Drake knew he didn’t drink coffee. It was a thinly-veiled attempt to get him alone for a moment.
Drake knew it. Nodded his ascent.
“Excuse us,” Rink said, rising from his chair.
Across from him Sara sat in silence, her attention still aimed down at her hands.
Drake rose and followed Rink. They waited until they were almost to the door of the serving line. Turned to make sure Sara wasn’t paying them any mind.
Ducked around the corner.
“They need somebody that can keep Lukas out of jail,” Rink said.
No preamble. No lead in. Straight to the point.
“No, what they need is a private investigator,” Drake said.
“Since when has that made any difference to you?”
Drake opened his mouth to respond. Closed it just as fast.
Rink wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it.
“Still,” he said, “I almost got my partner killed twice doing that sort of thing. That’s the reason she got on a plane back to Louisiana yesterday.”
Rink’s face betrayed surprise. “What? Ava’s gone?”
“Ava’s gone,” Drake said. Nodded for emphasis.
“Damn,” Rink said. Stared off into space a moment. Allowed his face to twist into a half smile. “And I never got a chance to take her out.”
“Exactly,” Drake said. “That’s not what being a lawyer is about. I can’t keep poking bee hives, getting my friends in trouble, over this stuff.”
Rink stared right at him. Bore his eyes into Drake’s. “You know if you need anything, anything, on this one, I have your back.”
“I know that,” Drake said. “And I know I owe you-“
He was cut off by a wave. “Bullshit. We don’t keep score and you know it.”
Drake shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Exhaled through his nose. Stared at Rink a moment.
Shifted his gaze past him to Sara sitting in the corner.
“Are you kidding me?” Drake asked. Made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.<
br />
“What?” Rink asked. Turned to see what Drake was staring at.
“Stay here.”
Drake left Rink standing in the corner. Walked back through the dining room.
Came to a stop behind his chair on the end of the table.
One side sat Sara, her hands still folded in her lap.
On the other sat a woman with white-grey hair cut short. Wire-rimmed glasses. A leather jacket and blouse with jeans.
Drake recognized her the moment he saw her sit down.
The woman turned and smiled as Drake approached. Extended a bony hand towards him. “Good morning, Paula Goslin.”
“Good morning,” Drake replied. Tried to keep his voice curt, but not hostile.
Didn’t do a very good job at it. “Drake Bell.”
“Nice to meet you,” Goslin said. “And how do you know Ms. Webb here?”
“I’m her attorney,” Drake said. Spat the words out. Wanted the woman to know he knew what she was up to and he wasn’t going to stand for it.
The smile fled from her features.
The skin around her eyes tightened as she stared at Drake. Reached for a purse on the chair beside her. Rose to go.
“Well, it was very nice meeting you Sara. I do hope we can speak again sometime.”
The tone of her voice did not match the expression on her face. She stared daggers at Drake as she departed, pure venom in her eyes.
Drake matched her with every bit of vitriol he could muster.
As she left, Drake felt Rink step up behind him.
“Who was that?” Rink asked.
Drake ignored the question. Shifted his focus to Sara. “Have they said yet when they expect to wake your brother?”
Sara’s mouth dropped open a half inch. She stared at Drake a moment before closing it, her mind grasping his question.
“Um, a doctor this morning said probably a week. Let his body recover a full seven days before attempting to let it fend for itself.”
Drake nodded. “That’s good. As long as he’s sedated, we know where he is. They can’t try to arrest him or move him anywhere.”
“Dude, who was that?” Rink repeated.
“Paula Goslin,” Drake said. Turned his attention back to the door. Looked to make sure she was gone. “Ravalli County Attorney.”
He blinked. Shifted his focus down to Sara. “The woman that will be trying to prosecute your brother the minute he wakes up.”
A look of shock passed over Sara’s features. “I knew she looked familiar,” she whispered.
“Does that mean you’ll look into it?” Rink asked.
Drake stared out through the windows above Sara. Watched as Goslin walked across the parking lot. Climbed into a Silverado truck with all the bells and whistles, at least three sizes too big for her.
Leather jacket and oversized pickup.
Telltale signs of a wannabe rancher.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Ten
Saturday afternoon.
Every single week, Holt Tierney met with his ranch supervisor. Didn’t matter what time of year, whether it was Christmas or his wife’s birthday.
Saturday was the end of the work week. Tierney met with his supervisor.
Sometimes it took less than a half hour. Others, it could go for two or more.
Either way, they sat down in Tierney’s office and hashed things out until they were done.
On this particular Saturday, Tierney’s mind was a hundred different places.
Christmas coming in two days time. The expected snowfall just a few hours off. The next round of vaccinations for his herd.
The shooting the night before.
The second meeting on his afternoon agenda.
Tierney sat with his polished Ropers propped on the corner of his desk. Ever the gentlemen rancher, he was dressed in starched Wrangler’s. Green and brown plaid pearl-snap shirt. Buckskin colored blazer.
A snow white Stetson sat upside down beside him.
A plain manila folder was open on his lap. In it were the usual printouts his supervisor had prepared. His eyes danced over the numbers as his right hand tugged at a bushy grey mustache.
“As you can see, things are still plugging along,” Rex Johnson said. The words were said with a bit of finality that raised Tierney’s gaze from the pages.
He’d barely heard a word Johnson said.
Still, he knew enough to know when it was his turn to speak.
“Mhmm,” Tierney said. Studied the man across from him, supervisor of his ranch the last twelve years. Employee for a dozen more before that.
Johnson was an affable man. He was thick throughout, a quality that extended even to his lips and hands. His cheeks were always rosy tinted and a thick shock of light brown hair was fast approaching white.
For whatever reason, Tierney had always liked him.
The enormity of that fact, given that Tierney very rarely liked anybody, was not lost on either of them.
“Yes, everything looks good,” Tierney said. Closed the folder and tossed it down on the desk. Made a show of sighing and rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been a long couple of days.”
“No apology necessary,” Johnson said. Waved an enormous paw for emphasis. “That would have shook up anybody.”
“Hmm,” Tierney said. Felt blood flush behind his cheeks. “Big plans for the holiday?”
The statement was a blatant attempt to change the subject. They both knew it, but pretended not to.
“Just the usual. The kids are driving down from Missoula. Mary Beth’s cooking dinner. Thank you very much for the generous bonus, by the way, sir.”
This time it was Tierney’s turn to wave a hand. “No thanks needed Rex. You earned it.”
Hat in hand, Johnson rose. Offered a downward nod so intense it bent him over at the waist.
“You have a Merry Christmas, sir. I’ll see you back here on Wednesday.”
“You too,” Tierney said. The words sounded hollow even in his own ears. “Please give my best to the family.”
“Will do,” Johnson promised. Retreated from the room without another word.
He was gone no more than a minute when a knock sounded at the door.
Tierney returned the thumb and forefinger to his eyes and pressed them down hard. He kept them there until bright lights started to pop behind his eyelids.
“Come in, Hank.”
The door slid open a few inches as the second appointment of the afternoon entered.
These meetings had started two months prior. They followed right on the heels of the meeting with Johnson, though the two couldn’t have been more different.
As far as Tierney could tell, Johnson had no idea who McIlvaine was or what he was doing there.
There was no reason to give the answer to either question.
Tierney pulled the hand away from his eyes. Blinked several times in succession. Waited as they adjusted back to the late afternoon light. Turned his attention to the visitor.
Hank McIlvaine walked across the room and dropped himself into the chair Johnson was just using without a sound. After the oversized appearance of the man before him, his wiry build was a harsh juxtaposition.
Everything about him stood in stark discord from Johnson. Dark hair and beard shorn all the same length. Grey eyes. Skin that never tanned. A frame that didn’t deviate from one hundred and sixty five pounds.
In two months, Tierney had yet to see him smile.
The air was heavy between them for the better part of two minutes before either side said a word, both surveying the other.
Tierney anxious, his blue eyes probing for any indication of an opening.
McIlvaine bored, his face indiscernible.
“Anything new to report?” Tierney asked. His voice was a bit higher than necessary, his brow pinched a little tighter.
“He’s in a coma,” McIlvaine said. “They intend to keep him there for the
week.”
“He’s alive?” Tierney asked. Shook his head in disbelief.
McIlvaine raised his eyebrows. Rolled his eyes beneath them. “Guy’s a week out of special forces. Pretty tough sumbitch.”
“Still, how many rounds did he take?”
“Three.”
Tierney’s brow pinched a bit tighter. “Three? That’s it? How many did you fire?”
“More than three,” McIlvaine said.
He made no attempt to elaborate.
Tierney didn’t push it.
“Channel 3 called today and asked to do a brief interview tonight,” McIlvaine said.
“What did you tell them?”
“Told them I had to check my calendar. That, of course, being you.”
“Mmm,” Tierney said. Nodded. Tried to hide his pleasure at being consulted before any decisions were made. “You alone?”
“Me and some lady named Goslin.”
Tierney nodded again. “Do it. Paula will cover most of the talking. Just look at the camera and try to appear sorry. Be humble.”
“Anything else?”
The comment wasn’t quite a sneer. Wasn’t far off either.
Tierney decided to let it pass.
“I’ll be here with my family the next couple of days. Feel free to take off. Be back first thing Tuesday morning.”
“Nowhere to go,” McIlvaine said. “I’ll be around if you need anything. Keep an eye on Webb at the hospital.”
A grunt of agreement was all Tierney offered. “Also, my annual Winter Ball is next weekend. You’ll of course be on hand.”
“Guest or employee?”
“Yes,” Tierney replied.
McIlvaine nodded in understanding. Rose to go without further comment.
Tierney opened his mouth to add something more. Decided against it.
Watched the man leave without a sound.
Chapter Eleven
Blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
Drake watched with a bemused expression as it splashed across the television screen. Sprayed in various directions. Dripped from every possible surface.
“Remind me what the point in this one is again?”
Across the room, Ajax stood front and center. He held a video game controller in his hand. Stood on the balls of his feet, body coiled for action.
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