Cold Case Cowboy. Jenna Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ her, the rearview mirror showed only snowdrifts and white-tipped trees. How could she have lost both Max and the sheriff?

      “I e-mailed you last night,” Barbara said above the static. “You didn’t answer.”

      “I was too tired to switch on.”

      “Now why is that, I wonder? Did you go out partying? Honestly, Sasha, you and your brother—”

      Slapping her phone closed, Sasha tossed it aside. She considered pitching it in a drift when it rang again.

      Without looking, she flipped it up. “What now, Mother?”

      “Let me guess. You’ve got issues.” Instead of her mother’s annoyed tone, she heard Nick’s humorous greeting.

      Sasha tilted her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. “This day just keeps getting better and better. In case you haven’t noticed, Nick, it’s not dark yet.” Still, the encroaching snow clouds cast a dull gray shadow on the road ahead. Tired of fencing, she asked, “You didn’t call to nag me, did you? Because my mother’s already done that. I’m not in the mood to be polite.”

      “So that’s a no to dinner then.”

      “You just want to make sure I come back to Painter’s Bluff as promised.”

      “You really aren’t in the mood to be polite.”

      A laugh slipped out. “Doesn’t anything rile you, Detective?”

      “You don’t want to see me riled, Sasha. Seven o’clock?”

      It would be well past dark by then.

      “Okay, seven’s good. Now, hang up. I want to let my mood simmer for a few more miles.”

      “Drive safely.”

      “I always do,” she said, and ended the call.

      She managed ten, maybe fifteen seconds of broody silence before she noticed headlights approaching through the snow. Not the Sickerbies this time. These lights were higher off the road, and much more powerful.

      Whoever was driving, however, had apparently gone to the same school as the Sickerbie boys. The vehicle barreled through the ruts in the middle of an already tight road.

      “This has not been my week,” Sasha muttered. And for the second time in two days she yanked the steering wheel hard to the right.

      “HARVEY?” Dana pushed through the stuck office door of the town’s oldest service station. “You in here? No? Well, hell, Nick, I don’t know where he can be.”

      Nick made a wary circle of the shop. A gray truck—probably the Sickerbies’—sat high on a hoist, with an F250 halfway up beside it. He heard a scraping noise in the corner and motioned for Dana to halt.

      Eyes combing the shadows, Nick wove a path through the clutter of mechanic’s tools. A moan emerged from behind an oil drum.

      “Harvey?” As a precaution, Dana picked up a tire iron. “Is that you?”

      Nick drew the gun from his shoulder holster. He pointed it at the ceiling as he rounded the drum—and reholstered it a moment later when he spied Harvey’s body.

      “Over here.” Crouching, he checked the man’s neck for a pulse. It was strong and steady.

      Harvey groaned, his eyelids fluttered. Nick spied a rusty wrench and saw a gleam of blood on the end.

      “Help him,” he told Dana.

      His own eyes were already scanning the garage. With his gun out again, he watched for movement inside the bay. Catching one near the office window, he whipped the gun down.

      “Police.” His eyes flicked to the bay door. “Move away from the tires.”

      A tense few seconds passed before a young man in a snow hat and heavy coat sidled out. His hands went up and his eyes widened with fright.

      Nick regarded him over his gun. “You’re a Sickerbie, aren’t you?”

      Dana’s head popped up. “Randy, what the hell are you doing here?”

      “Waiting for our truck.” The boy’s gaze remained glued to Nick’s hands. “I was in the bathroom when I heard a ruckus. I thought it was my dad come to bust my butt, so I stayed inside.”

      Nick lowered his weapon. “Did you see anything?”

      “Not much. A guy. He was wearing a cowboy hat, kinda like my dad’s. He was sort of big, but not real heavy. He wanted his truck.”

      Nick scoured the remaining shadows as he indicated the Ford on the hoist. “That truck up there?”

      “Yes, that truck up there,” a voice behind him growled. Harvey sat up, supported by Dana, and gave his head a rub. “The guy grabbed a wrench, whacked me when I told him it wasn’t ready. Friggin’ jerk.” He glared. “It isn’t like I have a hundred kingpins sitting around my shop waiting to be installed. Had to order one from—”

      “What was his name?” Nick interrupted.

      “Rush. And that’s what he wanted me to do. Rush, rush, rush. Well, I told him off fast enough. Said my piece, turned my back, and bam, he walloped me.”

      Nick motioned the frightened teenager aside. “Where did he go?”

      “How should I know?” Harvey grumbled. “I was out cold.”

      Randy used one of his raised hands to point. “He took off in a big silver Chevy.”

      Harvey snorted. With Dana’s help, he climbed to his feet. “Didn’t make the best choice. I siphoned off most of the fuel out of that truck this morning so’s I could flush out the tank. He won’t be going far.”

      Nick reholstered. “It won’t take much fuel to get to Smoking Gun Pass.”

      Dana gave Harvey’s arm a squeeze. “Will you be okay if we leave?”

      “Hell, I drove monster trucks when I was your age, Dana. I got an iron skull.” He scowled at Nick. “What’s this guy’s problem, anyway? He knock over the liquor store?”

      “I doubt it. Come on, Dana.” Nick started for the door. “You can run the plate on the Ford while we chase him down.”

      “Chase who down?” the mechanic demanded. “What’s going on?”

      Dana jotted the number of the F250’s license plate. “Trust me, Harv, you don’t want to know.”

      LUNATICS, SASHA DECIDED as her Land Rover skidded to a halt next to a large drift. Didn’t anyone around here know how to drive in snow?

      The vehicle she’d avoided by mere inches had its back end jammed against the rock face. Irritated, she shoved her door open and hopped out.

      “Don’t you dare be injured.” She СКАЧАТЬ