Page 91 of Savage Rancher
Harper takes a breath, then reaches into her jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She hands it to me. "Cole Turner's schedule. Where he goes, when he's alone, when he's vulnerable. I've been tracking him since he came back to town."
I take the paper, unfolding it. It's detailed—times, locations, patterns. The kind of intelligence that takes days to gather.
Harper points at the paper. “He’s been driving out every night to the north ridge. Always alone. Always the same route. I couldn’t get close enough to see where or why without being discovered.”
I fold the paper and slip it into my pocket. "We’ll run through this."
"Good." Harper steps back toward her cruiser. "I was never here. We never had this conversation. And if anyone asks, I'll swear I spent the evening at home watching Netflix."
"Understood."
She opens the cruiser door, then pauses. "Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"Keep Emma safe." Her gaze flickers toward Luke before returning to me. “Take care of yourself too.”
I watch her drive away, the taillights disappearing down the driveway.
"Well.” Luke folds his arms over his chest. "That was unexpected. She just gave us a green light to take out Turner.”
Mason comes on over the comms. “Turner said he watched Emma’s house burn from the north ridge.”
I pull out the paper Harper gave me, studying the schedule. “We need to do this smart. No mistakes. No evidence. No blowback on Emma."
“Or Harper,” Luke adds. Then he flashes a wicked grin. “This is gonna be fun.”
92
EMMA
The north ridge. The old cottonwood line. The dry creek bed.
I slow Smoke to a walk as we approach, my eyes scanning around me. The road that leads from the Turner spread through to the Circle H is ahead, past the thicket of trees. The clearing where I saw the abandoned barn is just a ways down the road, I think. It’s a short walk from here.
I dismount and tie Smoke to a tree, far enough back that he won't be visible or heard from the road. He nips my shoulder, as if telling me not to go.
“I’ve got to.” I stroke his neck. "Stay quiet, boy. I'll be back soon."
The camera comes off my shoulder. I check the settings—ISO 800, shutter speed 1/500, aperture f/5.6. Fast enough to capture movement in the late afternoon light, wide enough for depth of field if I need to document multiple subjects.
I’m ready.
I move through the tall grass, staying low, using the cottonwoods for cover. When I get close to the road, I drop to my stomach behind a fallen log and bring the camera to my eye.
Through the 200mm lens, the barn jumps into sharp focus.
Two pickup trucks are parked outside—both newer models, both with Montana plates. A third vehicle, a white cargo van, is backed up to the barn's side entrance.
Men are moving between the vehicles and the barn. Four of them, maybe five. Dark clothing, work gloves, moving with purpose.
I raise my camera and start shooting.
Click.A man carrying a wooden crate from the barn to the van.
Click. Another man checking his phone, his face visible in profile.
Click.The license plate on the van—clear and readable.
