Renegade: Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance Novel (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 5) Page 4

  It was another hour before Detective Williams arrived in a black, unmarked sedan.

  While Mark made client calls from the front seat of his truck, Delilah read her Kindle beside him. Sawyer sat in the backseat, passing the time researching serial murderer personality traits on his cell. The fact that many infamous killers were charmers gave him the creeps. Hell, that pretty much made everyone a suspect—especially, Mark who had been nothing but ultra-helpful. He was also a pillar of his community. What he didn’t seem to be was a control freak, braggart or manipulator. Jersey, however, could be the total package.

  Not wanting Delilah to be alone with anyone—no matter how long they’d been friends, he opened Mark’s extended cab truck’s rear door, then said, “Dee, how about you come with me. I want to introduce you to my friend.”

  She nodded.

  Mark was engaged in a heated debate and didn’t seem to notice they’d gone.

  It was a short walk to where the detective had parked near the RV.

  “Good seeing you,” Adam Williams said, shaking Sawyer’s hand. Without a breath of breeze, the day’s heat had grown oppressive. The detective loosened his tie and unbuttoned his white shirt’s collar. “What’s it been? A couple years since we worked the mayor’s reelection campaign?”

  “Sounds about right.” They’d both served on the personal protection detail for the incumbent mayor when a disgruntled constituent delivered death threats. It had been a cut-and-dry case. Once the letter writer had been captured, the campaign’s remaining month had been uneventful. “Good seeing you again.”

  “Likewise. Although, I wish it were over a couple beers as opposed to a potential murder weapon.”

  “Before we head inside,” Sawyer pressed his hand to Delilah’s back. “I’d like to introduce the RV owner’s daughter.”

  “And you earlier said the vehicle is in the process of being repossessed?” Adam took a notebook from his suit jacket’s inside chest pocket.

  “Yes,” Sawyer said.

  Adam nodded toward Delilah. “You were also the woman who found Lola Graham?”

  She bowed her head. “It was awful. Whoever did that . . .” Hands pressed to her chest, she shook her head. “They’re beyond sick.”

  After writing more notes, Adam asked, “You were also present for . . .” He consulted his notebook. “The death of the Nelson girl?”

  She asked, “Should I have a lawyer?”

  “Why would you think that?” He scribbled a new note.

  “You’re making me feel as if I’ve done something wrong.”

  “My apologies,” he said with a cheesy bow.

  What the hell? Sawyer couldn’t get a read on his supposed friend. Was Delilah an official person of interest in the case? If so, why? He knew her. On a soul-deep level, he knew her. Sure, they may not have seen each other for years, but that didn’t change the fundamental fact that this was the same girl who’d run out to the road after a storm to save worms. She rescued kittens and puppies and horses who’d been left for dead. At her core, Delilah wasn’t about taking lives, but preserving them.

  “Sawyer,” Adam said, “mind showing me what you’ve got?”

  “Sure. This way.” He gestured for Delilah to follow.

  She shook her head.

  He nodded.

  Adam sighed. “You lovebirds gonna stand out here and bicker or show me the goods? It’s gonna take a minute to get it logged, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather get started.”

  “Don’t recall you being such an ass,” Sawyer said once they’d all entered the RV.

  “Occupational hazard,” Adam said with a tight smile. “Don’t take it personal. Plus, the bean burrito I bought at a convenience store about thirty miles back is burning its way through to my lungs.”

  “Whatever.” Sawyer brushed past him. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Delilah perched on the built-in sofa’s edge.

  Figuring she was safe enough with him fifteen feet away, Sawyer moved on to the bedroom. “There it is.”

  The box holding the plastic sack, along with the second box it had been nested inside were both in the bed’s center. He’d advised Delilah to leave the clothing immediately under the box and surrounding it.

  “Interesting,” Adam leaned over the items for a closer look, but didn’t get too close, to avoid contaminating the evidence. “Unfortunately, no knife was used for any of our victims.”

  “Could this have been used in a related crime?”

  “No telling. But with a case this big, I want everything done by the book.”

  “Understood. Which is why I called.”

  “You did good,” Adam said. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were alone, then lowered his voice. “Sorry about earlier. Literally everyone connected with this rodeo is a suspect. Jesse told me you’re here to protect Delilah Bowing, but her DNA was found all over the victim. Could be a coincidence, but you never know.”

  I do. She’s not guilty.

  “It’s going to take me a couple hours to document all of this and get it ready for travel. Mind pitching in?”

  “Not at all—as long as Delilah is welcome to stay in the RV. I worry that some of her friends could be enemies.”

  “Walk with me to my car,” Adam said. “I need to get my kit.”

  “Dee,” Sawyer said on his way past. “Do me a favor and chill in here while I help Adam. We’ll be right back.”

  Lips pressed angry-thin, she saluted.

  He blew her a kiss.

  She flipped him the bird.

  Good to know their fragile new friendship was progressing nicely.

  In front of his vehicle’s trunk, Adam said, “Humor me—who’s at the top of your suspect list?”

  “Kid named Jersey. This afternoon he went off—and I mean with the potential to be lethal—on the guy trying to repo this RV. I’m surprised Randy isn’t pressing charges.”

  “Interesting.” Adam made a note. “Where is he now?”

  “No clue. Right after the incident, he turned calm as the proverbial cuke. Took off in Delilah’s truck and we haven’t seen him since. That was at least an hour ago.”

  “Who else?”

  “After cursory online serial killer research, I’m kind of creeped out by Mark Peters. He’s a family friend and—”

  “Attorney. Known him for years. He’s clean. But I see what you mean about him being a possible match for the charm and control factors. He’s a pit bull in court, yet chairs a half-dozen Denver charities. Considering your work with kids, I’m surprised you’ve never crossed paths.”

  “It happens. It’s a big world.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Do me a favor,” Adam approached his car.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Keep an eye out for a big blond bull rider. Name’s Cal Bowing. He’s my chief person of interest. He destroyed Lola’s crime scene. I’ll spare you the gory details, but my boss suspects the kid might have done it on purpose to cover his tracks.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. He’s currently out on bail, but it wouldn’t surprise me to see him show up to visit old rodeo friends.”

  While Randy and his men glared from the flat bed’s cab, Sawyer helped Adam gather his evidence collection gear. There was a high-quality camera and bindle paper. Biohazard bags and consent to search forms for Delilah to fill out. Blood collection kit. Fingerprint kit. The list went on and on.

  While Sawyer served as Adam’s pack mule and secretary, Delilah curled up on the RV’s sofa, watching a sappy Hallmark movie. City Slicker had come and gone, and was now picking up burgers for all of them—even Randy’s steaming crew.

  By the time City returned, Adam had finished. The evidence was bagged and stored in his trunk, and he was off talking to Randy about Jersey’s attack.

  “The way Randy’s laying it on,” City said, setting three plastic bags on the dinette table that easily sat eight, “Jersey might be needing a lawyer.”


  “I still can’t believe he went off like that.” Delilah hugged herself. “Everyone says he has a temper, but I’d never seen it up close and personal.”

  “Eat up. I already delivered Randy’s. The rest is for us and that cute detective.” City unloaded burgers, fries and onion rings. The smell had Sawyer’s stomach growling. The cute detective comment also had him wondering. “Del, hon, you know I love my ladies, but he might be a good catch for you? What do you think?”

  “Bite your tongue. He’s an ass.”

  City feigned shock at her language.

  Sawyer pictured Delilah hitting on Adam and damn near lost what little remained of his lunch.

  The detective returned, washed his hands at the full-sized kitchen sink, then joined them at the table. “Isn’t this cozy. Thanks for the grub, Mark.”

  “My pleasure.” He bit into his burger. “What do you think? Does Randy have a case for assault?”

  “Absolutely, but he says he’s not pressing charges—no time for a trial.”

  “Interesting.” Mark narrowed his gaze. “Wonder what he’s hiding? Most folks with a legitimate case love their day in court. It’s been my experience that the ones who actively avoid it are usually guilty of a lil’ something themselves.”

  Adam chuckled, grabbing two burgers from the pile.

  Delilah picked from a bag of fries. She wasn’t even bothering to dredge them in ketchup. As long as Sawyer had known her, she’d drowned most everything in the stuff.

  He tossed her a couple packets of Heinz.

  She smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes.

  Sawyer wanted her alone. He craved cradling her in his arms while watching a movie. Or just hearing about her day. For so many years he’d hated her, yet now that the foundation had been ripped out from under that hatred, he found his former fascination roaring back. Her green eyes, bow-shaped lips, hair that was perpetually messy, yet still managed a simple elegance all combined into a package he’d never been able to resist.

  Damn Walter Bowing for igniting the fuse that had blown them apart.

  But Sawyer couldn’t fully blame him. To be fair, he had to shoulder a major part of the blame. After all, he’d been the one leaving town without so much as giving Delilah the courtesy of refuting Walter’s lie.

  Darkness had fallen.

  Headlights flashed through the windows. From outside came a diesel truck’s steady chug.

  “Is that Randy growing restless?” Mark peered out the side of custom curtains. “I’ll be damned . . .”

  “Who is it?” Delilah asked.

  Mark rose with a smile. “Your daddy.”

  6

  DELILAH DROPPED HER latest fry onto its waxy paper wrapper without taking a bite. More than any man in the world, she loved her father, but at the moment, she also equally despised him.

  Not wanting to lose her cool in front of the detective or Sawyer, she pushed herself up from the table, slid out of the booth, then ran to her former room, slamming the door behind her.

  She wanted to fling herself across the bed, but even that had been tainted by the too-fresh memory of the bloody evidence touching the mattress and her clothes. She sat in her chair, drawing her feet up and hugging her knees. Why was this happening? Her entire adult life she’d worked toward the goal of becoming a professional barrel racer. Yet now, just when her goal seemed within reach, everything felt as if it was falling apart.

  “Filly?” Behind the door, her father’s muted voice should have been her greatest comfort. Now, he represented still more tension. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, her childhood nickname did little to ease the knot in her throat.

  The door opened. Even in the shadows, her father was larger than life. At six feet tall, it wasn’t his height that made him impressive, but the way he carried himself. Head held high and shoulders back. He had a barrel chest and strong legs honed by years in the saddle. He wasn’t a gentleman rancher, but the real deal—entirely self-made. He owned a vast acreage and at times had run up to a thousand head of cattle. When her mom had been alive, their family ranch had been the largest employer in Coach County.

  “I understand why you’re upset with me.” He sat on the bare mattress’s corner. Taking her hands, he gave them a squeeze. “Filly, I’m mad at myself. I made a few bad deals. Got too cocky and lost my shirt and then some. Even the land and house are mortgaged. But don’t you worry, sugar. I’ll get it all back. Your daddy’s not too old to still have a few tricks up his sleeves. All I need is a small favor from you, and we’ll be back in the black. Shoot—you’ll single-handedly be responsible for rescuing the entire rodeo circuit. Just think of all the jobs you’ll save.”

  She had a sick feeling in her stomach. If he was in a money crunch, there was only one thing she owned of value. But technically, she didn’t own Powder Puff. Her father did. And the horse was worth a small fortune.

  “Daddy, no . . .” A keening wail started low in her soul. She hadn’t felt pain like this since losing her mother. “You can’t take her. Please, no.”

  He rose, clamping his hands to her cheeks, then kissing her forehead. His breath smelled of whiskey. His shirt of cigars. “I’m sorry, Filly, but it’s already done. Smoky Joe is in Powder’s stall. He’s just as good. Last time you were home, you said how much faster he’d gotten.”

  “Please . . .”

  “I’m here to tell you in person. But hon, it’s been a long drive and I’ve got rodeo business waiting at the steakhouse. Sorry about the RV, too. But we’ll get another. Hell—it’ll be twice this size with way more bells and whistles. You’ll love it. We’ll get Powder back, too. Don’t you worry. Daddy has this handled.”

  “Just like you handled Sawyer?”

  “What?” His gaze narrowed. “Jesse told me that kid was standing in for him. As soon as I get our money back, I’ll pay Jesse or one of his brothers so much that they’ll have to sign on to protect you.”

  Where her heart had once beat sat a lifeless chunk of lead. How could her father do this to her? How could he be so cold as to act as if he was oblivious to her real question? “Why did you tell Sawyer I’d aborted our baby?”

  “I would never say something like that. He must’ve misunderstood.”

  “Stop lying.”

  “He’s the one who’s—”

  “Stop lying!” She childishly covered her ears with her hands, pretending that if she couldn’t hear his voice, she might no longer ingest the falsehoods. How many more had he told over the years? Were there more bombs waiting to explode?

  Sawyer entered. “Dee? You okay?”

  “She’s fine,” her father said. “She certainly doesn’t need you.”

  “Yes, Daddy, I do. It’s you I’d like to leave. But wait—guess since we no longer own the RV, guess we’ll all be going. Thank God for Mark—I at least have a place to sleep.”

  “Come to the motel with me, darlin’. I’m sure they’ll have two rooms.”

  “What are you going to pay with? Please, just go.”

  Sawyer positioned himself between her and her father.

  The great Walter Bowing sighed. “This is nonsense. Filly, if you feel like talking, I’ll be in town for dinner, but then I’m heading back to the ranch. Smoky Joe has been fed and watered. He’ll be ready for you to ride come morning.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” She stood. Messy tears lined her cheeks. “Let me at least say goodbye. Powder will be confused. Let me help with the transition.”

  “That would have been nice, but like I told you, she’s already gone. Has been for a few hours. I thought it would be better that way.”

  Delilah roared in frustration, lunging at her father much the same way Jersey had at Randy. Only this was personal. Far deeper. She wanted to hit her father. Hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. But Sawyer was holding her back, and even if he hadn’t, her father was already gone.

  “Why?” She sobbed against Sawyer’s chest, fisting his shirt. “How could he be so cr
uel?”

  Sawyer didn’t say a word. He just wrapped his arms around her as if he were a protective gate, refusing admission to any additional pain. He could have trashed her father nine ways to Sunday. Now would have been the perfect time for him to join her in a verbal beatdown of all of Walter Bowing’s many wrongs. But Sawyer wasn’t that man. He showed his strength through deeds. Through silly gestures like spelling out her name in ketchup on their school lunch trays. Seeding the sides of the ranch’s dirt road with wildflowers because she’d once said she hated weeds. Holding her through the night when her mom died. Telling her how beautiful she looked after having her wisdom teeth removed. The past ten years without him felt hollow, yet she’d only just realized how lonely she’d been.

  “Not sure how,” Sawyer said, smoothing his hands over her hair, “but I’ll get Powder Puff back.”

  Sniffing, she shook her head. “You’re sweet, but she’s gone. She comes from rare stock. At auction, she probably earned a quarter-million or more. Neither of us have that kind of money.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, breathing him in. He smelled of sweat and sun and the burger he’d abandoned for her. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Being here. You’re a good friend.” Would they ever again have a chance to be more? Only time would tell. For now, he was her only bright spot in a world where even the moon had dimmed.

  After Mark cleaned up the remains of their meal and Adam left, promising to keep in touch, Zeb peaceably turned over the RV’s keys and Sawyer drove her to their new temporary home, following Mark.

  Mark’s RV was half the size of her father’s, but it was still richly appointed with all the bells and whistles save for her beloved tub. But it was funny, with Powder gone, the loss of her tub seemed ludicrous in comparison to losing a horse that had been like family. Her eyes stung and her throat ached, but she fought through the pain. Her father had been right about one thing. Their rodeo circuit employed a lot of people. She refused to let them down.