Page 33 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

She couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

Mike crossed the kitchen in three strides. He glanced at the box on the table, then crouched in front of her, hands settling on her knees, grounding her. "Hey. Look at me."

She did. Barely.

"You're scared," he said quietly. "I get it. But it’ll be okay." His hands tightened. "Who sent these? Who's looking for you?"

"I don't—" She pulled in a breath that hardly filled her lungs. "I witnessed something. A crime. Something I was never supposed to see."

Mike's eyes darkened.

"He's connected," she whispered. "To people who make problems disappear."

“Like a mafia?”

She nodded.

"And they're looking for you?"

She nodded again, eyes filling. "I got a text. A few nights ago. 'We know where you are.' I thought. . .I hoped they were bluffing. But this . . ." She gestured toward the box.

Mike stood slowly. Opened the box.

Inside sat a pristine bouquet of white peonies and baby's breath. Carefully arranged. Unmistakably deliberate.

And wrapped with a single blood-red ribbon.

Liv's breath caught like hands were choking the air from her throat.

Mike's jaw clenched as Heather handed him the delivery slip.

"Langford," he said quietly.

Liv slumped into the chair. "That's my real name."

"The drunk at the rodeo," Mike said. "He was telling the truth."

"I didn't want to lie. I just. . .I thought I had more time."

She stood, nearly toppling the chair. "I can't stay here. I have to go. I’m so sorry."

"Hey." Mike's hands framed her face, made her look at him. "You're not going anywhere."

"Mike—"

"You're as safe as possible here, Liv. With us. With me."

Her eyes filled and her voice broke. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Detective Sanchez assured me I’d just be biding time until the authorities worked out a plan. I changed my name. I haven’t used any credit cards. How in the world did they find me?"

He pulled her in, wrapped his arms around her like he could hold her together through sheer will. She pressed her face into his chest and tried not to fall apart.

"Breathe," he murmured into her hair. "I've got you."

Heather slipped quietly out the back door, giving them space.

Mike paced the length of Joe's office, boots scuffing against the worn wood floor. The door was shut, the blinds drawn.

Joe sat at his desk, laptop open, fingers still on the keys. Lyle sprawled in one of the leather chairs, his shirt covered in white dog hair and dried blood. He'd just stitched up the Millers' Great Pyrenees after a tangle with a coyote. Kenny stood at the window, arms crossed, watching the driveway like he expected trouble to roll up any minute.