McDonald was boring.
Too boring?
He pulled into the remote property and parked next to a few trucks. Four men stepped out of a large building fifty feet away, and Truman immediately identified the girth of Tom McDonald. Two others were the men who always accompanied McDonald. To his surprise the fourth man was Mercy’s brother, Owen.
As they got closer and he recognized Truman, Owen missed a beat in his stride. His jaw tightened.
“Morning, Chief.” McDonald held out his hand to Truman. “What brings you all the way out here?” He didn’t bother to introduce the other two men, who hung back a few feet behind him. Big guys who wore bulky outerwear that could hide a multitude of weapons.
Truman nodded at the silent trio, his gaze lingering on Owen, who looked away.
Fine. I’ll play it your way.
Truman shook McDonald’s hand, ignoring his obvious hint that Truman was stepping outside the Eagle’s Nest city limits. “We recovered a red Ford pickup a couple miles down the road from here,” he said, stretching the truth a bit. “Was wondering if any of your men know anything about it?”
McDonald didn’t look at his men. “Who’s the owner?”
“Joshua Pence.”
“Don’t know the name. Why’d you come here instead of going to his house?”
Truman didn’t flinch at the obvious lie. “The home address is in Nevada, and the registration is out of date. I’d heard he was working for you.”
“I don’t have any employees by that name. I don’t know where you got your information, but it’s not right.” McDonald held his gaze, his face expressionless.
“Joshua Pence was the man whose body was found at the Jackson Hill fire last week.” Truman watched McDonald carefully.
“Is that the guy the FBI harassed my employees about the other day? They were poking around, asking if anyone knew him. Why’s everyone think I know something about him?”
“I don’t know anything about the FBI’s visit. You’ll have to ask them.” Truman felt Owen’s stare on him. “I’m here about the truck.”
McDonald finally glanced at his men. “Anyone know about an abandoned truck?”
Three heads shook in unison.
McDonald turned back to Truman. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Sounds like it. I appreciate the help.” Truman let his gaze wander across the ranch buildings. “Looks like things are coming along. I heard you’ve got some good employment opportunities going on. Planning on lots of building?”
“Some.”
“I can put the word out around town if you’re looking for workers.”
“I’ve got plenty at the moment.”
Behind McDonald, the man wearing a camouflage parka shifted his stance and intensified his glare at Truman. Truman met his gaze and gave him a friendly smile. “I think the red truck was involved in an accident the other day. Someone nearly killed an FBI agent when they ran her off the road. They got real lucky she wasn’t hurt.”
The guard’s glare turned into a subtle smirk.
“Don’t know anything about that,” said McDonald. “Not our truck.”
Truman eyed the camo-wearing guard and decided to see if his fast-food theory was right. “Well, it’s been driven since Pence died. Whoever took it for a joyride left all sorts of garbage inside. Soda cans. Straws. Cigarette butts.” Camo’s smirk evaporated as he realized the items Truman mentioned could harbor DNA, and Truman contained his grin. Gotcha. “It’s got some front-end damage too. With residual paint from the federal vehicle it hit.”
Tom McDonald kept his cool. “Sounds like you’ll have plenty of evidence when you catch whoever stole it. Probably teenagers.”
“Probably,” agreed Truman. He took a last quick glance at Owen. Mercy’s brother looked slightly nauseated.
That’s right. You’re hanging around with guys who nearly killed your sister.
Truman touched the brim of his hat and made polite good-byes. He felt their stares burn hot on his back as he walked back to his SUV. He sat in the cab for a while, pretending to work on his computer, letting them sweat about what he was doing. As he fiddled with his console, he realized he hadn’t experienced an ounce of anxiety about confronting the men. None. Zip. Nada. Pleased, he tried to identify what had changed since he’d fallen apart the other day.
I care. I care about justice for Joshua Pence. I’m not thinking about myself.
Mercy too. He was determined to find out who’d tried to kill her in that car accident, because he didn’t want it happening again.
He started the vehicle and pulled a tight circle to head back the way he’d come. He noticed that one of McDonald’s two guards was still in the spot where they’d spoken, waiting for him to leave.
Go tell Daddy I left.
He fumed as he drove off. He suspected all four of the men knew where the truck had been for the last week. Possibly Owen did not, but without him opening his mouth to defend himself, Truman would group him with McDonald’s crew.
No matter that he was Mercy’s brother.
Tom McDonald watched the police chief drive off his property. The asshole had sat in his truck for five minutes before leaving and completely screwed with Tom’s peace of mind. The chief didn’t have any authority here, and both of them knew it. He’d come out only to stir up trouble and try to intimidate him and his men again.
He’d heard good things about the police chief of Eagle’s Nest, but now Tom had his own opinion. The chief wasn’t afraid to overstep his bounds to harass innocent men. Just like every other cop. He might have his townspeople snowed about the type of man he was, but Tom knew he had the inflated ego that always came with the badge.
Unnecessary. Cops were government tools to enforce its extraneous laws. Tools to protect itself from the very people who’d given it power.
Soon.
Owen Kilpatrick paced in the small living room of the farmhouse as Tom watched him out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to believe Owen was with him 100 percent, but in the last few minutes Tom had started having doubts. The police chief had rattled Owen. Even Deke watched Owen, distrust settling into his features.
Did I bring him into the fold too fast?
“What’s going through your head, Owen?”
“A lot of officials have shown up here,” said Owen as he continued his pacing. “First the FBI, then the state police looking for dynamite, and now the local police chief. It’s getting hot.”
Tom wished he hadn’t told Deke, Al, and Owen about the state cop looking for dynamite. All three men had started to sweat and then had grown angry at the thought that there might be a traitor in their midst. Their reactions had felt genuine to Tom, and he was nearly certain none of them had reported the dynamite. But that left forty other men and women who might have made the call.
“Are you worried?” Tom asked. “None of the cops had any facts. They were all just following rumors.”
“Who’s spreading these rumors?” asked Owen.
Al came through the farmhouse door, his face full of annoyance. “Don’t know why the chief waited so long to leave.”
“He was trying to intimidate us more,” said Tom. “More proof that he’s got nothing on us. He was just blowing hot air.”
“We should have cleaned out the garbage,” muttered Al.
Owen froze midstep. “What garbage?”
“Nothing.”
Owen stared at Al for a long second, and disappointment flashed across his face. Tom knew he’d suspected that his two men had run his FBI-agent sister off the road, but now he was positive.
What will he do about that?
“Do you have a problem with my plans for the dynamite?” Tom asked Owen.
The tension in the room tripled. Al and Deke slowly turned toward Owen, waiting for his response.
His hands clasped behind his back, Owen looked at Tom and then the other two men. “I don’t. You can do whatever you want on your own property.”
“But it’s not my property yet.”
“It will be soon,” said Deke. “She’ll come around.” He nodded emphatically, as if he could will it to happen.