Rough Rider. B.J. Daniels

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       Chapter One

      Boone McGraw parked the pickup at the edge of the dark, deserted city street and checked the address again. One look around at the boarded-up old buildings in Butte’s uptown and he feared his suspicions had been warranted.

      Christmas lights glowed in the valley below. But uptown on what had once been known as the richest hill on earth, there was no sign of the approaching holiday. Shoving back his Stetson, he let out a long sigh. He feared the information the family attorney had allegedly received was either wrong or an attempted con job. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to cash in on the family’s tragedy.

      But he’d promised his father, Travers McGraw, that he would follow up on the lead. Not that he believed for a moment that it was going to help him find Jesse Rose, his sister, who’d been kidnapped from her crib twenty-five years ago.

      Boone glanced toward the dilapidated building that reportedly housed Knight Investigations. According to the family’s former lawyer, Jim Waters, he’d spoken to a private investigator by the name of Hank Knight a few times on the phone. Knight had asked questions that supposedly had Waters suspecting that the PI knew something more than he was saying. But Waters had never met with the man. All he’d had for Boone to go on was a phone number and an address.

      The phone had recently been disconnected and the century-old brick building looked completely abandoned with dusty for-lease signs in most of the windows and just dust in others. No lights burned in the building—not that he’d expected anyone to be working this late.

      Boone told himself that he might as well get a motel for the night and come back tomorrow. Not that he expected to find anything here. He was convinced this long trip from Whitehorse to Butte had been a wild-goose chase.

      His father had been easy prey for twenty-five years. Desperate to find the missing twins who’d been kidnapped, Travers had appealed to every news outlet. Anyone who’d watched the news or picked up a newspaper over the past twenty-five years knew how desperate he was since each year, the amount of the reward for information had grown.

      Boone, suspicious by nature, had been skeptical from the get-go. The family attorney had proven he couldn’t be trusted. So why trust information he said he’d gotten? His father hadn’t trusted the lawyer for some time—with good reason. He swore under his breath. All he could think about was how disappointed his father was going to be—and not for the first time.

      But he’d promised he would track down the PI and follow up on the information no matter what it took. And damn if he wouldn’t, he thought as he started his pickup. But before he could pull away, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A dark figure had just come around the block and was now moving quickly down the sidewalk. The figure slowed at the building that housed Knight Investigations. He watched as the person slipped in through the only door at the front.

      Across the street, Boone shut off the truck’s engine and waited. He told himself the person he’d seen could be homeless and merely looking for a place to sleep. It was late and the fall night was clear and cold at this high altitude. Butte sat at 5,538 feet above sea level and often had snow on the ground a good portion of the year.

      Boone hunkered in the dark, watching the building until he began to lose patience with himself. This was a waste of his time. The cab of the truck was getting cold. What he needed was a warm bed. A warm meal didn’t sound bad, either. He could come back in the morning and—

      A light flickered on behind one of the windows on the top floor and began to bob around the room. Someone was up there with a flashlight. He squinted, able to finally make out the lettering on the warbled old glass: Knight Investigations.

      He felt his pulse thrum under his skin. It appeared he wasn’t the only one interested in Hank Knight.