Cowboy Under Fire

by LENA DIAZ,

  “That we’re aware of,” Mason repeated, not sounding pleased.

  Kira shrugged. “Tapping into their security camera feeds would be risky, at best. I don’t recommend trying, especially since she could show the pictures to someone else even after leaving the station. We’d have to keep her under 24/7 surveillance to be positive that she’s keeping her word. Even then, if she has electronic copies, she could email them.”

  Mason nodded. “Understood. The benefits of viewing the police video don’t warrant the risk at this time. Even involving our contacts to legally hunt down that information might not be necessary. As damaged as Dalton’s reputation already is around here, I’m not sure the pictures would make much difference. Not that it’s your fault, Dalton.”

  “Thanks for that,” Dalton said dryly.

  Mason smiled, his demeanor much improved now that he was back in the huge cabin that served as their office building and not sitting in a police station. Of all the Seekers, their leader was the one with the most to resent when it came to his past life in law enforcement. Any time he had to make the trek downtown to deal with police, or other officials, his mood turned sour.

  “Bishop,” Mason said to one of the others at the table. “How are you making out with the murder list? Figured out any patterns? Can you make any predictions?”

  Dalton knew the answers before Bishop spoke. It was obvious by his haunted expression that he hadn’t made any real progress. After he finished speaking, his bleak gaze spoke volumes. He was growing just as disheartened as the rest of them.

  “What about you, Diaz?” Mason motioned toward the man a few seats to Dalton’s left. “What’s our former Marine MP got to report on the Miller case today?”

  Jaxon Diaz, third-generation Cuban-American, recently dishonorably discharged from his job as an MP in the Marines for refusing to follow orders—even though those orders would have resulted in the deaths of half his unit—sat forward in his seat and provided an update on the research he’d been conducting.

  Dalton listened to Jaxon, then Brielle, then LeMarcus as they each took turns giving reports. Unfortunately, they all had one thing in common—none of them were making much headway.

  The sound of footsteps echoing through the room had all of them turning to see former FBI profiler Bryson Anton coming through the same door that Dalton had recently entered.

  Bryson gave Dalton a subtle nod, before taking his seat to Mason’s left.

  Never one to miss anything, Mason’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Bryson to Dalton. But he was savvy enough not to say anything right now, and motioned for another Seeker to provide updates on their work on the Miller case.

  Normally, they each worked on separate cases or teamed up in twos or threes as needed. Not this time. They were all working the same investigation and would be until the bitter end. Because this wasn’t just about justice for those who’d already died and preventing the deaths of more to come. It was about justice for one of their own, the man who would normally be sitting in the only empty chair at the table—Seth Knox, also known among their team as the Rancher.

  The same man who’d been in the last photograph that Hayley had pressed against the glass earlier today.

  “Are you ready with your report?” Mason asked, indicating Dalton.

  In response, Dalton tapped on the computer tablet in front of him. There was a collective gasp in the room when the picture he’d taken with his phone in the lineup booth appeared on the bank of large screens behind the round table, as well as their individual screens.

  “When was this taken?” Kira demanded.

  “Where?” another asked.

  Mason held up his hand. “Everyone, settle. Let Dalton explain what you’re seeing.”

  Dalton motioned toward the former prosecutor. “Kira told you about the photographs that Miss Nash has. You all know that Mason and I interviewed her today at Gatlinburg PD and that she signed a nondisclosure agreement to keep confidential the pictures she showed us. The picture on the screen is one that she had. I took a snapshot of it on my phone.”

  He tapped a few more keys, making the frame zoom in on the bottom right, where the date and time stamp were displayed. “This may be the last known photograph taken of Seth.”

  He zoomed back out and pressed his finger against the screen, drawing a red circle around a person in the background. “That’s Bethany Miller. This picture was taken in one of the bars where she frequently met with contacts during her investigation into the drug-and gunrunning that she was hoping to reveal during a prime-time news special. I’m sure you all recognize some of the men she’s talking to. Many have already been arrested, partly due to our help. And notice where Seth is looking. Right at them. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, or the timing, or the fact that this was with other photographs from Miller’s cameras she hid and used to record her meetings.”

  Jaxon tapped his screen. “You think Seth might have stumbled onto this ring even before Miller officially brought us onboard? And some of the thugs killed him?”

  “Possibly. We’ve never found a thread of anything to explain why he disappeared, even after we found his body. I think he could have stumbled across something that he wasn’t supposed to see or hear, and whatever that is could be related to our case. I don’t believe in this big of a coincidence, that the same people we’re investigating are in the picture with him and he’s killed after that picture was taken. We need to switch gears, reanalyze his daily routine and figure out where this bar comes into play. Why was he there that particular night? We need to go back several more weeks and build a new timeline, figure out what made him go there.”

  Mason sat in silence a moment, then spoke to the man on his immediate right. “Caleb, I think our special friend may know something about Seth’s disappearance, or at least what led up to it. I want answers.”

  “Yes, sir.” He typed on the keyboard in front of him, probably sending a copy of the picture to his phone.

  “Go now and take Kira with you,” Mason added. “Given her prosecutorial background, that might make the questioning go more smoothly.”

  Kira looked eager to get started as she shoved back from the table.

  Dalton stopped her. “Check the emergency car, see whether it’s been driven anywhere. Maybe check the hood for warmth, the gas gauge. It was full last time I checked.”

  “Not my first rodeo, cowboy.” She winked and headed for the door.

  Mason motioned toward their former Gatlinburg police officer. “Brielle, you put together the original timeline around the weeks before Seth’s disappearance. You’ve spoken to his friends, already have a rapport with his family. Can you get started on the new, expanded timeline?”

  “You bet. I’ll need help though. That’s a lot of ground to cover and we’ll need the timeline ASAP to assign out more interviews to the rest of the team. I’ll start at the bar where that picture was taken. Bryson, can you assist?”

  Bryson glanced at Dalton. But before either of them could say anything, Mason interjected, his gaze directed at Dalton even though he was still talking to Brielle. “Take Jaxon. He’s younger and might fit in at a bar better than our profiler. Besides, I need to speak privately to Bryson and Dalton for a few minutes. Everyone, thank you, as always. I’ll see you back here in the morning. Hopefully we’ll have made some progress by then.”

  There was a collective look of surprise at the abrupt end to the meeting. But the room soon emptied, leaving Mason, Dalton and Bryson alone.

  Mason tapped the virtual keyboard on his computer and all of the tablets went dark. He leaned back, gently rocking his leather chair as he steepled his fingers in front of him.

  “Okay, gentlemen. What’s going on? Why were both of you late to an emergency meeting? And what’s with the secretive looks you kept exchanging? Spill it.”

  Dalton rested his forearms on the table. “M
ason, although you’re inclined to think Hayley’s in this as deeply as the criminals she works for, up to and including that she could even be The Ghost, I’m still skeptical. We did enough surveillance on her early on to know she doesn’t go out much, other than to follow me. And there’s nothing in her background to indicate relationships with mastermind criminals.”

  “Other than her creating websites for many of the criminals coming up in this investigation, and using a ghost icon to mark her work?” Mason arched a brow. “Seems awfully coincidental since we’re looking for a criminal who calls himself The Ghost.” He held up his hand to stop Dalton’s reply. “But I do agree, she doesn’t fit the profile of our serial killer. Our very own profiler has said as much.” He motioned to Bryson, who nodded his agreement. “So I am open to other possibilities. Just not as open as you are.”

  Dalton didn’t appreciate that gibe. Mason had already mentioned after their interview at the jail that Dalton seemed too considerate of her, as if his emotions were involved. His denials had fallen flat, probably because he was beginning to wonder himself if he was losing his objectivity around her.

  “Go on,” Mason urged. “You were going to explain what you and Bryson are up to.”

  Dalton exchanged a quick look with Bryson, then continued. “I’ve always been skeptical that tricking Hayley into revealing her personal little corner of the dark web will lead us to The Ghost. But if there’s any chance it will, it’s become even more critical with the discovery that Seth’s death may be related to our case. Somehow, we have to accelerate this and get her on board. The Ghost has never waited this long between kills before. Another victim’s going to die soon if we don’t figure out the killer’s identity and stop him. Hayley’s side job could be the key, even if she’s not aware of it.”

  “Agreed,” Mason said. “I take it you have a plan, something you and Bryson cooked up together?”

  They both nodded.

  “But you’re not going to like it,” Dalton said. “I know I don’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  Bryson cleared his throat. “It means sharing far more information with Miss Nash than we ever intended. Though, not the whole truth, of course. But the worst part is that you’ll have to cash in one of those hard-won favors the bureau owes you, along with our main Gatlinburg PD contact.” He started to say something else, then hesitated.

  “Go on.” Mason frowned. “Finish it.”

  Bryson cleared his throat. “You, ah, might have to grovel to make this happen. And, honestly, I’m not even sure they’ll agree if you do.”

  Mason grimaced at the mention of groveling. “I’m already being way nicer to our insiders on this case than I’m comfortable with. And I’ve never made a particularly good lapdog for the official agencies, even when it was part of my job as chief of police in Louisiana.” He idly tapped the table. “Is what we want them to do legal?”

  Dalton nodded. “Technically, yes. It involves lying to Hayley, even more than we already have. We all know that law enforcement is allowed to lie in order to trick criminals.” He rubbed his stomach, wondering if he was starting to get an ulcer because of what he was doing to her. It would serve him right. “The real danger is if she tries to call the FBI or the police to double-check the lies. It could get our friends in trouble.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen to them?” Mason asked.

  “They could lose their jobs.”

  Mason nodded, looking somber. “Make sure they know the risks. But also let them know that if they do get fired, I’ll make sure they’re generously compensated financially. That’s the best I can offer. I’m not hiring more Seekers.” He glanced at Seth’s empty spot at the table. “Not yet.” He sat forward in his chair. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even with a fire roaring in her tiny rental’s fireplace, and a thick blanket wrapped around her as she sat cross-legged on the couch, Hayley couldn’t quite shake the bone-deep chill that had settled inside her at the police station earlier today. Another shiver had her sighing heavily and tossing aside the blanket. She stuffed her feet into her fuzzy yellow slippers before padding across the scarred hardwood floor to throw another log onto the fire.

  There weren’t that many logs left. Her remaining stash wouldn’t last more than a few days. Soon, she’d be forced to buy another cord of wood. Thankfully, she’d just finished making some of those overdue website updates that her clients had wanted. So she’d have money wired to her bank account tonight.

  More shivers had her tightening her robe and staring with longing at the thermostat near the fireplace. As if on its own free will, her right hand inched up toward the lever to turn on the heater. No. She jerked her hand down. The last time she’d run the central heat, she’d ended up with an energy bill that she was still trying to pay off. What little insulation the cabin had was enough to keep the pipes from freezing, but that was it. The heater would run nonstop once it was on, just trying to keep up.

  Instead, she plodded into the kitchen to make a second cup of hot chocolate. As she mixed the ingredients, her thoughts once again wandered back to the harrowing day that she’d had. She still wasn’t sure what to think of Dalton. Which was why she’d changed her mind about giving those pictures to Detective Olson.

  And then she’d come home and searched the internet for information on Mason Ford in Beauchamp, Louisiana, as he’d told her to do. And came away with a whole new respect for him. And, surprisingly, a healthy dose of sympathy as well.

  The man had been an island in a swamp of unethical, backstabbing hypocrites. When he uncovered the illegal schemes going on in his own police department, his brother had paid the price, being framed for murder and sent to prison. Mason had secretly brought in the FBI to help, but it was too late for his brother. He’d been murdered in prison. The town paid a hefty price for their deeds, with many of the deputies and town leaders going to prison, and their insurance policy paying millions to Mason in a civil lawsuit. He’d used that money to move hundreds of miles away and start over, forming his group he called the Justice Seekers.

  Of course, that last part, about the Justice Seekers, wasn’t on the internet. She’d filled in that gap based on what she’d been told today at the police station.

  The microwave dinged, startling her. She took out the cup of hot chocolate. A deep whiff of the sweet confection helped ground her in the present, and ward off thoughts of Seekers and crooked towns and the worst week of her life.

  But not all of it was bad.

  Dalton had turned out to be the bright spot. She wanted to dig back into her investigation not to prove his guilt anymore, but to hopefully prove his innocence. Knowing his alibi would help. But since he wouldn’t share it, she’d have to keep digging.

  And if she really could prove his innocence, what then? If he was innocent, then what she’d done to him was unforgiveable. For now, until she could be sure, she had to push that potential guilt aside.

  She sipped the delicious liquid, not even caring that it scalded her throat. Then she returned to the couch to continue her perusal of the pictures spread across the coffee table that Dalton and his boss had been so interested in at the jail.

  Especially the last one she’d pressed against the glass.

  Dalton’s voice had sounded so thick, so...odd...when he’d asked her to put that picture back up so he could see it again. She picked up the picture now, wondering what he’d seen that had him ending the interview just a few minutes later.

  Was there something in the photo that had surprised him? Upset him? Angered him?

  She tilted it to catch what little light shined down from the outdated, one-bulb fixture above her. It was one of several dozen pictures taken by a hidden camera that Bethany had used, showing a bunch of thugs in a bar. And Bethany, talking to them, doing her best to infiltrate their inner circle and get them to open
up about their criminal enterprises and the bosses they worked for.

  The group of men around her were familiar because Hayley had spent a considerable effort in identifying everyone she could in these photographs. Most had records and were already back in jail for one reason or another. Some of the same men appeared in many of the photographs and even videos that Bethany had collected, and Hayley still didn’t know who they were. But this picture didn’t seem any different than the others. So why had Dalton fixated on it?

  She set the picture down and sorted through the others, separating them by date and time stamps. When that didn’t provide any aha moments, she re-sorted them based on the people in each photograph. The ones where she’d identified everyone went in one pile. The rest, where at least one of the main people around Bethany was someone she didn’t recognize, she put in another pile. Little by little, she whittled down the stacks until she ended up with one lone picture that showed a man that wasn’t in any of the others.

  The photograph that Dalton was most interested in.

  Excitement flashed through her, warming her enough that her shivers finally stopped. She grabbed the photo. According to Bethany’s notes, her hidden camera took still shots every fifteen seconds. Pretty much everyone in that bar was in three or four pictures, at least. Except this guy. Had he realized he’d stumbled onto something and quickly hid? Was that why he didn’t appear in any other shots? Or did someone else realize he didn’t belong, and did something to him? Or was there another explanation?

  “Who are you?” she murmured, staring down at him.

  She dissected his appearance into a laundry list of attributes: deeply tanned, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors; average height since he didn’t tower over anyone else in the bar, and no one else towered over him; dark brown hair in a military-style cut, light-colored eyes, although she couldn’t tell in the dim light exactly what color they were. He didn’t wear a hat and was clean-shaven. His clothes were simple: jeans, a dark button-down shirt and a waist-length jacket. Inexpensive, everyday clothes that blended in with pretty much everyone else in the place. Nothing about him stood out.