And the letter was printed on WSP stationary.
It would be traceable, if he was willing to let the lab know he’d been threatened.
Which he wasn’t.
He’d known going in to this investigation that it would be a long-term assignment, and that he’d be almost entirely alone.
Except for Weatherby, Clint had no real backup. That had just bitten him in the ass.
There was no way he was ever going to bring Violet and Maggie and their unborn baby back to Masterson anytime soon. No matter what. Not now.
He had to find a way to keep them safe.
Clint climbed into his truck and slid his key into the ignition.
A strange clicking sound was his only warning.
One he’d heard once before.
Clint dove out of the still open door and hit the concrete, rolling as far away as he could.
Smoke rolled out from the hood seconds before the truck ignited.
Clint pulled himself to his feet as people came running, demanding to know if he was ok. He slipped his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial button. “We have a problem.”
“What?”
“My truck just exploded. I think I’ve been made.”
He disconnected, with Weatherby’s curses ringing in his ears.
Watch for Clint and Maggie’s story, coming 2020 from Calle J. Brookes
Watch for the next PAVAD title featuring Jac and Max coming from Calle J. Brookes, too.
Masterson County Book 1
SEEKING THE SHERIFF
Sheriff Joel Masterson wanted to kick the kid’s ass seven ways to Sunday, but he controlled himself. Barely. The boy was too old for this stupid shit.
Joel was, that was for sure. He grabbed Phoenix Tyler by the back of his collar and dragged him to his feet. “Come on. I haven’t got all night.”
Tyler protested, curses ringing out through the night. Main Street was fully deserted except for him, Tyler, and the man twice the kid’s size who he’d started the fight with.
The two wannabe wrestlers smelled like the whiskey distillery on the outskirts of town, and Joel’s eyes burned from the strength of it. But his hands were steady on the kid.
Best to get Tyler out of there before Rutherford got the idea to give the kid the beating Tyler most likely deserved.
Rutherford wasn’t known for Friday night barroom brawls.
Neither was Tyler, for that matter. Now, underage drinking…well, Deputy Lowell had picked him up for that a time or two already, hadn’t he?
Nothing Joel hadn’t seen a hundred times in his two years as the sheriff of Masterson County.
Time to return this boy to where he belonged, so Joel and the deputies could get out around the county. They needed to make certain the floods that were impending hadn’t washed out the access roads. Five thousand people resided in the county, and if too many roads were flooded out, the entire county would be impacted.
He didn’t have time for some punk wannabe with a chip on his shoulder right now. The floods headed their way were supposed to be record breaking. And he didn’t know if the dams were going to be strong enough to keep the waters at bay.
It was going to get bad in Masterson County, Wyoming— really bad.
And it was his job to keep the people in his county safe. It wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.
He cuffed the Tyler kid and shoved him in the back of his SUV, thankful for the metal grill that separated Tyler from his seat. It took a call to his dispatcher to find out where the boy lived—while he’d had a few brushes with the law, Joel hadn’t dealt with him personally before—and then he headed his SUV toward the far southwestern corner of his county. As he covered the familiar territory, he wondered about the kid in his back seat. There were a bunch of Tylers out past his family homestead, but he’d never met all of them.
The boy was one of those Tylers, then. They’d been contentious sonsofbitches since before the county was formed. He’d had more than a few run-ins with the boy’s uncles and cousins.
Looks like Phoenix Tyler was following the family footsteps right down a bad path.
Joel sighed, wishing the world he lived in could be a hell of a lot different. Part of the problem with the Tylers he knew was a simple lack of economic opportunity. They were ranchers, pure and simple, and in Tyler Township, where they lived, the lands were barren and inhospitable. Nothing worth a damn would grow there, and nothing could live there.
Except for ornery Tylers, that was. Despite the odds, the Tylers kept on.
He’d been to this corner of the county numerous times, but not to the particular address he was headed toward now.
The kid continued to mouth off in the back of the SUV. Joel just kept driving. It wasn’t the first time a dumb kid took a ride home in his SUV. At least this one wasn’t puking everywhere.
It was a forty-minute drive from Masterson to the Tyler ranch. The kid ended up snoring in the back before they were halfway there.
Maybe he’d sleep off most of it and be able to deal with his parents then?
Parents were sometimes the hardest part of his job. Especially parents of screwups like the boy drooling in his back seat.
He reached the Tyler ranch and turned down the pitted and rutted lane. They needed about four loads of gravel to even make it halfway passable, didn’t they?
The house was sprawling but in such disrepair on the outside that he wondered why it hadn’t been condemned yet. Although it did look like someone had planted flowers along the walkway recently.
That saddened him more than anything. The flowers spoke of hope and a desire to at least try. The house screamed of neglect and despair.
He looked around one more time. He wasn’t so certain he wanted to leave the boy here.
The yard was trimmed neatly and free of clutter at least. That told him a lot. Someone, at least, was trying.
Joel tensed when the light flicked on
