Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Six deaths in a week.
That thought gnawed at Logan as he stepped toward the log home, searching for any trace of life. He’d left Max with Skylar to protect her and her brothers while he was gone. Normally the war dog would have his backside. They’d been able to infiltrate the enemy easily, knowing their six was always covered by Max, so Logan turned to his side to keep an eye on his back and front.
Darkness had settled fully. With no light on in the front yard or the home, the gloom was as thick as mud. Logan scanned the area looking for Chance’s truck and didn’t see it. He took a cautious step toward the front steps, palming the gun tucked into the back of his jeans out of habit. He’d also strapped his combat knife to his belt loop and had zip ties in his pocket. His gut told him not to confront Bear without his usual tools of engagement.
He took the steps up to the front door on silent feet. The boards creaked beneath his weight, the only sound of his approach. He stilled before knocking, glancing to his left. An eerie calm had shaped the night. No sounds of wildlife threatened the silence. No owls made their presence known. Only stillness and a sense of foreboding filled the air.
Squinting into the inky gloom, Logan pivoted and started to draw his weapon just as a shadow rushed him with an arm raised, bearing a knife glittering off the moonlight. He dodged the strike, losing his gun in the process, as he thrust out with his foot, his boot glancing off the shadow of a man as it melted into the pitch-black and disappeared. Logan immediately released his knife from its harness instead of searching for his gun, turning the blade toward his body, ready to dance.
“This is Chief of Police Logan Storm,” he told the night. “Come out with your hands up.”
Silence.
He hadn’t seen the man’s face but he was sure it was Chance Bear. “Chance Bear. Come out with your hands raised.”
Nothing.
Logan centered his attention on his surroundings, listening for sounds of his attacker. The night felt empty. Void of life. He waited a moment longer, then sheathed his knife and stepped off the porch to his truck. He turned on his headlights and scanned the porch. It was as empty as the night, so he bounded back up the steps and located his 9mm. As he stepped off the porch, headlights coming from the direction of the highway broke the night, so he waited until the vehicle was closer then drew his weapon and signaled it to stop.
The driver’s side window lowered as he approached, and an old man with graying hair stuck his head out the window and growled, “You point that thing at a man you better be ready to use it.”
Logan produced his badge and flashed it at the man with his free hand, not lowering his weapon. Inside the cab with the old man were two younger men, both wearing identical looks of anger.
“I’m here to inform Chance Bear that one of his employees took a header off the ridge earlier this afternoon and died. I was attacked by an unknown while in the process of notification, so until I have your cooperation, my weapon stands at the ready. Do you know where I can find Chance Bear?”
“Jesus H. Christ,” the old man muttered, making the sign of the cross. “Not another one. First Rip and now . . . Who was it this time?”
“Do you know where I can find Chance Bear?” Logan barked out again, ignoring his question. His gut told him it was Bear on the porch, but he couldn’t be certain. He needed confirmation Bear was on the ranch.
The old man swallowed then shook his head. “Ain’t seen him since this afternoon. Said he was headed into Twin Bridges on business and intended to stay the night. He’s got a woman up there he visits from time to time.”
Logan lowered his weapon and stuck it in his waistband. “Dead man’s name is Butch Johnson. The paramedics on the scene said he worked for Chance Bear. Is that correct?”
“Jesus. Yeah. Decent worker but he constantly moaned about moving to Florida. I told him Florida ain’t no place for a cowboy, though.”
“He have any enemies?”
“None that I know of,” he replied, then turned to the man next to him. “You know of any, Cobb?”
“He was too laid-back to piss anyone off,” Cobb replied. “Are you sayin’ this wasn’t an accident?”
“Just crossing my T’s,” Logan mumbled, putting out his hand for the old man to shake. “If you hear from Bear tonight, let him know I need to talk to him.”
“My name’s Mac. Mac Macey. I’ll let him know the minute he gets back.”