Page 87 of Savage Rancher
Cole's smile doesn't waver. "Like I said, I like to ride by moonlight. Though firelight was unexpectedly lovely.” His gaze slides back to me. "Except for the destruction."
Asshole. Only Mason edging closer to me keeps me from damning Cole to hell.
"Well." Cole takes a step back toward his SUV. "I should let you deal with this. If there's anything I can do—anything at all—please let me know. We're neighbors, after all."
"We're not neighbors," Jake says, his voice deadly quiet. "And you need to leave. Now."
Cole's expression doesn't change, but I see his jaw tighten. "Of course. I didn't mean to intrude." He looks at me one more time. "Take care of yourself, Emma. These are dangerous times."
He climbs back into his SUV, starts the engine, and drives away.
None of us moves until the vehicle disappears down the driveway.
"He just confessed," Luke says quietly. "He basically admitted he was watching the house burn."
Mason shakes his head. "Not enough for an arrest. Circumstantial at best."
"I don't give a fuck about an arrest." Jake opens the passenger door and practically lifts me into the seat. "He came here to threaten her. To make sure she knows he can reach her."
"He succeeded," I say, trying to smile.
Jake's hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "He's not going to touch you. Understand me? He's not going to get within a hundred yards of you ever again."
I nod even though I know it's not that simple.
Because Cole Turner just made a mistake. He confirmed the location. The last time I went up there, I’d only missed whatever was going down. If Cole was up there this morning, I have a decent shot at finding out what’s going on. If I can document what's happening on that ridge, I might have the evidence I need to stop him before Jake and the guys get more deeply involved.
Jake climbs into the driver's seat, and Mason and Luke get into Luke's truck behind us. We drive back to Blackthorn in convoy formation, and I stare out the window, my mind working.
The north ridge. The cottonwood line. The dry creek bed.
I need to go back there.
I need to see what Cole was overseeing.
And I need to do it before Jake decides to eliminate the threat permanently.
89
JAKE
The hum of monitors fills the storm cellar as Mason rewinds the footage for the third time. Emma will be pissed when she finds out we’re doing this without her, but I finally convinced her to take a nap, and I’m not waking her up.
"There," Luke says, pointing at the screen. "Three twelve. That's when he enters the frame."
I lean closer, watching the masked figure move through the Circle H property with professional efficiency. Dark clothing, gloves, face completely obscured. He knows where the cameras are—moves just outside their optimal range, keeps his head down, his gait controlled.
"Professional," Mason mutters. "Look at the way he's carrying the accelerant. Two containers, balanced. He's done this before."
"Or he's smart enough to plan it properly." I scrub a hand over my face, frustration coiling tight in my chest. "Can we get anything? Height? Build? Gait analysis?"
Mason shakes his head. "Five-ten to six feet. Average build. Not Turner. The clothing is generic—jeans, dark jacket, work boots. Nothing distinctive."
Luke leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "The setup is textbook. Multiple ignition points, accelerant spread for maximum damage, timing designed to ensure total loss before fire department arrival. This wasn't some drunk asshole with a grudge and a gas can."
"It was Turner," I say flatly.
"We know that." Mason's voice is calm, methodical. "But knowing and proving are two different things."
