Renegade: Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance Novel (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 5) Page 6

  Sawyer wasn’t sure what he was thinking—no doubt he wasn’t. But the barn’s aroma of sweet oats and hay and worn leather had him melancholy for the reservation’s stable. As a child, it had been the one good place where order ruled. He took Delilah’s hand, easing her fingers between his. “Remember when you used to help me with the reservation horses?”

  “Yes.” She laughed, and thankfully didn’t protest their physical connection. “There was that old bay mare who was mean. No matter how many apples I brought, she liked you more than me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She cocked her head. “Whose boob did she bite?”

  Sawyer burst out laughing. “I forgot.”

  “Uh huh. I rest my case.”

  They walked in silence, rounding the long row of horse trailers. The sheer amount of red and blue strobe lights temporarily blinded them. “Holy shit. What did we miss?”

  “I don’t want to know.” Delilah wrapped her free hand around their clasped fingers, drawing him back. “Whatever happened, I’m scared.”

  “Want me to walk you back to the RV?” Sawyer asked.

  “No. I have to see. I care about these people. But at the same time, I don’t feel strong enough to learn there’s been another killing.”

  “Dee, I get it.” Sawyer pulled her into a hug. “So, like ripping off a bandage, we’ll be fast. We’ll ask around, see what we find, and I’m betting it’ll be no big deal.”

  Lips pressed tight, she nodded.

  “Come on. Guaranteed rowdy cowboys broke out in a brawl and busted something to kingdom come. It’s taking this many cops to haul them all in.”

  “You’re probably right. Thanks for talking me down.” She stepped back.

  But he leaned in, not planning to kiss her, but when she parted her lips and her breath still smelled of Juicy Fruit, he couldn’t stop the inevitable. Experimenting, he turned his head sideways, slanting his lips softly to hers. With barely-there pressure, he gave her ample opportunity to protest. But then she stood on her tiptoes, meeting him more than halfway. Moaning, she parted her lips before slipping him her tongue. He could have died from the pleasurable sensation of her long, slow sweeps.

  “Mmm . . .” She grazed her leg up the length of his thigh. He caught her leg, pressing closer, breathing in her very essence should he lose the opportunity to taste her again. “Until just now,” her voice spilled out breathy from lack of air, “I never realized how much I missed you. I’ve been with other guys, but they didn’t mean anything. In the background, you were always the one.”

  “Ditto.” He kissed her again and again. “As soon as this case is over, you and I are making a fresh start.”

  “Why wait?”

  “Why not? Everything’s so complicated. You just lost your home and horse. God only knows what kind of trouble your dad is facing. Your family rodeo circuit could be going under. For all you know, you might even be losing the ranch. As if all of that isn’t enough for you to handle, we have three dead women whose killings have yet to be solved.”

  “I hate you right now.” She dropped his hand and stepped away.

  “You think I don’t hate myself? I’d love nothing more than to load you into my truck, drive you back to my Denver condo, then make love to you till we’re both too hungry and exhausted to do anything more than share a bath and order Chinese delivery.”

  “Yes. That’s what I want. Please, let’s do that. I’ll load up Smoky and we can leave tonight. Jersey and Zeb can stay in Mark’s RV. They’ll love it.”

  “Babe . . .” Sawyer rubbed his suddenly throbbing forehead with his thumb and forefingers.

  “I know. I need to be strong—I want to be strong. I want to run right into the thick of things and do whatever I can to help with whatever’s wrong. But then there’s this other part of me who wants nothing more than to run. To just be safe. Normal.”

  “Trust me, you’re not alone in feeling that way. If anything—”

  A figure emerged from the gloom. When he stepped close enough, Sawyer recognized Mark. “There you two are. I’ve looked everywhere.”

  Sawyer asked, “What’s with the lights?”

  Delilah once again slipped her fingers between his.

  Mark looked away before dragging in a deep breath. “I don’t know where to start. It’s bad . . .”

  8

  DELILAH’S SKIN BURNED. Full-on panic raised a rash on her forearms that all at once stung and itched. She didn’t want more bad news. Couldn’t process it.

  Regardless, Mark rambled on. “I’m so sorry, Del, but another barrel racer was found dead.”

  “Who?” She was already storming toward the grounds’ main entry. She didn’t care that Sawyer and Mark scrambled to keep up. Now that Mark had involved her, there was no way out. “Who?” she demanded again when Mark didn’t speak fast enough.

  “Your friend, Brandy. Turns out she won best time of the night.”

  No. Not kindhearted Brandy who made cookies for all the girls when it rained and styled the best French braids.

  “Sugar,” Mark prodded. “She beat you. What if people think you’re killing off your compet—”

  “Who cares if she beat me? How did she die?”

  “Police initially believed it was an accidental choking death on a piece of polish sausage. But that detective? Adam? He’s not convinced there wasn’t foul play and has already shipped her off for an autopsy.”

  Delilah’s throat felt crushed from the effort of choking back a wall of tears. But she couldn’t afford the luxury of a collapse. She had Brandy’s grieving family to console. Rodeo employees to counsel. “Is my dad here?”

  “Yes. He said he came specifically to see you ride.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  Mark said, “Walter’s in a meeting with police and local officials. In light of the violence surrounding the circuit, they’re asking that he cancel the season.”

  “I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing.” She charged deeper into the fray. Police lights were chaotic. Five news vans from nearby stations had set up live remotes. Many detained attendees were crying or openly angered. “I agree with police. This nightmare has to end.”

  “You have no right holding us here!” A man Delilah recognized as one of the night’s bull riders waved his fist at the police line stretched across the arena’s main gate. Was he the killer? Or any of the other hundreds of men present? Her mouth dried with the realization that the killer could literally be anywhere—anyone.

  Adam passed through the barrier, zeroing in on Sawyer. “I had one of my men radio me as soon as Mark found you. I assume you heard there’s been another victim?”

  Expression grim, Sawyer nodded.

  “Let’s continue this over there.” Mark nodded toward a gazebo that was last used to crown yesterday afternoon’s rodeo queen. It was poorly lit, but well away from the police and media circus.

  Once they were all seated on wooden benches, Adam said, “Locals are calling Brandy’s death accidental. I got a good look at her and I’m telling you straight up—there’s no way a woman would voluntarily cram that amount of meat into her mouth. Local uniforms made plenty of off-color jokes at her expense and I intend to see every last one of them lose their badge. Until then, Miss Bowing, I believe this rodeo circuit has a real problem on its hands—possibly two killers.”

  “What?” Delilah leaned closer to Sawyer, needing his quiet strength. “Why would you say that?”

  “Think about it. The elements don’t fit. According to your statement, Lola’s murder was calculated down to her nail color matching her dress. Yet, you said she wasn’t wearing her own dress, boots or hat. Even her makeup didn’t seem her own. Which means whoever killed her spent enough time with her to fashion her into his preferred image. Statistically, posing victims is very rare. I’ve got an entire team of folks back in Denver looking for cases wherein the victim was posed and branded. Trouble is, if the murder happened pre-internet, not all case
s are that easy to find—especially, if the crimes were carried out in rural areas without computer access.”

  “What about news clippings?” Sawyer asked. “More and more are being digitized.”

  “True.” Mark leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Just the other day we had a client fighting a cold case charge. I proved his innocence from pertinent information found in a 1958 copy of the Miami Herald. Truly extraordinary. I’ve got a stellar research team. Adam, I’ll have them look into this matter ASAP.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  “Where does that leave police in regard to Lola and the other victims?” Sawyer asked.

  “Nowhere good. After Cal’s stunt tonight, he’s back in the top spot for Lola’s murder, but Miss Bowing, after reading your initial report, the way you described how the victim was so perfectly posed, my gut feeling is that a hothead like Cal doesn’t have the patience. Lola was killed by an artist. Someone who views murder as artistic expression.”

  “That’s sick,” Delilah said.

  “No kidding. There are even websites set up to sell serial killer art to even sicker collectors.” He shook his head. “Makes me glad I don’t have kids in this twisted world.”

  “How about forensics?” Sawyer asked. “Anything solid there?”

  “A lone bloody boot print in the bathroom of Lola’s camper. Odd—because it’s looking like she was poisoned. Anyway, blood from the print is still out for testing. The branding was performed after she was dead.”

  “Thank God.” Delilah shivered.

  When Sawyer slipped his arm around her, she leaned as close to him as possible before she collapsed. This entire chain of events was terrifying. The more she wanted it to end, the more the horror escalated.

  “Where did the blood come from?” Adam asked. “Same question for the knife you inadvertently found. Nothing’s adding up. Might be they’re unrelated.”

  “Earlier,” Sawyer said, “you mentioned specifically wanting Mark to find me. Why?”

  “You’re here to protect Miss Bowing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. If my hunch is correct, even the so-called accidental killings are related. The deaths might be vastly different, but the fact that all of the women were barrel racers and all ride exclusively with this circuit has to be significant. For now, I’m treating Lola almost as if she were a cold case. I believe her killer reawakened. I just have to find out where he’s been—and pray that until then, he doesn’t strike again.”

  9

  Thirty Minutes Outside of Ashdown Flats, Colorado

  THREE WEEKS PASSED without incident.

  From his seat behind the wheel of the one-ton rig Delilah used for towing the horse trailer, Sawyer would have preferred listening to Mudvayne rather than old-school Hank Williams, but he was so happy to be away from the last seedy rodeo grounds and on the road to a new location that he’d have listened to the phone book being read.

  Mark was back in Denver, so Zeb drove his RV. Jersey drove Sawyer’s truck.

  Delilah sat with her bare feet propped on the dash, tapping along to “Hey, Good Lookin’.” The trip had taken hours. Winding roads combined with Smoky Joe’s break stops meant Sawyer was itchy to stop for the night.

  On the bright side, Delilah seemed in excellent spirits. Her hopes were high that this new location in the state’s fairly remote northwest corner would breathe new life into the circuit’s lackluster season. Although with each week that there wasn’t a new death, attendance had steadily been rising. Sawyer wouldn’t tell her, but he suspected now that word had gotten out about the mysterious deaths, freaks and reporters were swelling the circuits’ numbers.

  Since the rodeo was now one of his primary income streams, Walter had convinced police and state rodeo officials to let the show go on. Additional security had been hired and barrel racers were asked to take extra precautions with their personal safety. Either no new evidence had been found concerning the first deaths and Lola’s confirmed murder, or if it had been, Adam wasn’t talking. He’d officially been named the point man on the task force assigned to all the circuit’s victims.

  “I’m excited for this week’s ride.” Delilah’s sideways smile did funny things to Sawyer’s heart. Backlit by late afternoon sun, her high-cheeked beauty took his breath away. Lord help him, but he was falling for her all over again. He prayed that as abruptly as the killing started, it would now stop. What that would mean for them, he couldn’t say. But if his still raging case of blue balls was any indication, he was long past ready to kick this flirtation up a notch. “Smoky’s getting stronger, don’t you think?”

  Sawyer cringed.

  “What’s that mean? You don’t think he’s looking good?”

  “Honestly?” He laughed. “A horse is a horse. When you’re in the saddle, the only thing I see is you.”

  Her smile was radiant, flooding her eyes with warmth, turning them the inviting exotic green of jungle pools he’d seen in his travels. She calmed his wanderlust. Made him feel as long as she was beside him, he’d found home.

  She reached for his hand, sliding her fingers between his. Their connection felt comfortable. Natural. It carried the ease of two people who had known each other most of their lives. Yes, there was a long gap, but the more they were together, the less it seemed to matter.

  He raised her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “This is good.”

  “Define this.”

  “You and me together. Doing your rodeo thing. Just throwing this out there, but what if next season you did go pro? What if we got you started on one of the bigger circuits? I could help with your driving and gear. You’d be free to work with Smoky and legions of adoring fans.”

  “Legions, huh?” She closed her eyes and smiled. “I do love the sound of that. You always were the best at spinning dreams. I only wish a few more had come true.” She cupped her free hand over her lower belly. The place where their baby had once grown. Was she thinking about that lost infant now? How different their lives might have played out if they’d become young parents?

  “What would you do about your job?”

  He slowed for their approaching turn. “No clue. I’ve got a fair amount of cash saved. My boss would probably work something out on a case-by-case basis. He’s good like that.”

  “Sweet.” Minutes of companionable miles passed. She then asked, “Do you think the killings are over?”

  He didn’t have a clue. But for her, he said, “Yes.”

  The knot in his gut told him he wasn’t so sure . . .

  10

  “EEEEK!” FRESH OUT of the arena from her ride, Delilah leapt from Smoky Joe to hug the horse, then Sawyer. “Did you see my time? 14.248! That’s incredible for an unproven mount. Smoky and I might even win. I have such a great feeling about this. Everything is going nowhere but up.”

  “Great job,” said the next rider in line. “That’s gonna be tough to beat.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Delilah teased.

  Sawyer couldn’t get enough of seeing Delilah like this. Smiling and confident. If this is how she would be after every winning race, he’d follow wherever she led.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said.

  “Thank you.” On her tiptoes, she went for a kiss, but their cowboy hats bumped, forcing them apart. Laughing, she jerked his hat off and kissed him anyway.

  “Hey,” he halfheartedly complained before going in for another. “You want all the other cute racers to see my hat head?”

  She groaned. “I want them to see you’re taken.”

  “Good plan.”

  From behind them, a man cleared his throat. “Hate to interrupt,” Mark said, “but I wanted to let you know Jersey got in another fight—this one’s pretty bad.”

  “Oh no.” Delilah covered her mouth with her still-gloved hands. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. Only in the city jail. The other guy was taken to the ER by paramedics. This all went down while you were ra
cing. Great time, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She should have known better than to believe her natural high could last. “What happens now? Do we bail him out?”

  “I’ve got an associate working on it. You don’t worry about a thing. I want you and Sawyer to enjoy this special night. The crowd is enormous and those barbecued ribs down by food truck row are sinfully delicious. I refuse to have Jersey ruin an otherwise great Saturday night. Hell, looks like I might even be in the prize money.”

  “That’s awesome!” She included him in her round of hugs. “So what’s the plan? There are a few more categories needing to ride. Should Sawyer and I tuck in Smoky for the night, then meet you back here for a few beers and BBQ?”

  “Sounds good.” Mark patted Sawyer’s back. It made her inordinately happy to see them on friendly terms. The attorney was an acquired taste, but she’d always considered him a close friend.

  In the weeks they’d been together she and Sawyer had fallen into a working routine.

  In that regard, this night was no different.

  She brushed Smoky Joe while Sawyer handled cleaning and tack storage. Once finished, most nights they walked hand-in-hand to the RV to wash up, then shared a simple meal of takeout or sandwiches. Tonight, she was excited to vary the routine. One of her friends had told her there was dancing in a makeshift beer garden. The thought of swaying in Sawyer’s arms made her even happier than the possibility of her winning tonight’s top barrel racing time.

  While Sawyer talked on his cell in the RV’s living area, Delilah took her time prettying up. She put her long hair in twin braids. Changed from her riding gear of jeans and a long-sleeved white shit into a full-skirted, sleeveless red-gingham dress. After adding cherry red lipstick and dangly earrings, she emerged to find Sawyer not ready to go, but sleeping.