Zane paged through the file, distraught by the lack of information.
“I can save you some time.”
Zane glanced up at him and nodded.
“This is the fifth time your daddy’s found evidence of trespassers on the ranch. Same place every time. We don’t know what they’re doing, or why they’re doing it. There’s nothing out there.”
“Why do you think the encounter was violent this time and not ever before?” Zane asked. He pushed the file into his laptop case.
“Well, this was the first time he’d caught them in action. Before, it was always after the fact. Harrison came across them, challenged them, and they fired at him. He was hit, but managed to get away. Tied himself to the saddle in case he passed out before his horse could make it back to the big house.”
Zane couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the account. His dad was a hard man. Zane wouldn’t want to meet up with him on the open plains, that was for sure.
“What about the scene itself?”
The sheriff winced. “Not much to it. Two days from everything. Ground’s been baked harder than cement. Summer rain washed away what was left. I got some good trackers here, but there was nothing to find.”
Zane nodded. He knew a pretty good tracker himself. Maybe he could convince his boss to allow Ty to come out here and help him.
He kind of doubted it.
“And there’s nothing local going on? Nothing your guys have caught wind of?”
“Couple brawls between the ranch hands at the establishments. Couple boys with more money than they should have. Their names are in that file, but it’s nothing a little backdoor gambling won’t explain.”
Zane thanked the sheriff, shaking his hand before retreating from the stifling trailer and into the open air. The sun was blazing down, making the blacktop appear to waver. But it felt cooler out here than it had in there. He hurried to the truck, one of the ranch’s fleet, and fumbled to get the engine running before he burst into flames.
He sat in the cab, waiting for the air to kick in and ruminating over what he’d just learned. There was no rhyme or reason to it. He’d looked at a map of the area where his dad had encountered the trespassers, and it was near nothing but an old pump house. The underground river that had once fed the spring had long since changed its course, making the area just another barren corner of the massive ranch that served no purpose but as a riding trail for visitors.
Zane got the truck moving, heading back to the ranch and the guesthouse he had claimed as his while there. After a shower to wipe away the dust and massive, massive amounts of dried sweat, he settled at the kitchen table and pulled out his cell phone to check the time. Nine at night—still early enough to phone Ty without waking him.
He hadn’t been diligent with keeping in touch, and Ty had sent text messages to check on him rather than risk calling at an inopportune time.
Zane found that he couldn’t wait to hear Ty’s rumbling, easy voice in his ear. He’d been in Texas three days, and he was starting to feel almost homesick. He couldn’t recall feeling like that before, even as a child.
For the first time, he had a home he actually wanted to call home. The thought made him both ecstatic and melancholy.
He pulled up Ty’s number and hit the button. When Ty answered, it sounded almost like a pair of plastic Solo cups cartwheeling down stairs. A moment of background noise later, Ty answered with a breathless, “This is Special Agent Grady, hang up and call 911 if this is an emergency.”
Zane chuckled. Apparently, Ty hadn’t even been able to look at the display to see Zane’s name.
There were a few banging sounds and another tumble of plastic, then a muttered oath from Ty. Again, he spoke into the phone. “One second.”
In the background was a piercing shriek, then a round of raucous laughter, and another woman’s scream to top it all off. Ty, sounding far away, like he was holding the phone near his hip, shouted, “Just let me shoot it!”
A rustle, and then Ty was the one screaming. Zane remembered the last time he’d heard that sound coming from Ty.
“It can’t be a mouse in the house with Smith and Wesson on duty,” he said, although he knew Ty wasn’t listening.
He dismissed the idea that Ty was at home after being treated to several people screaming, cursing, and banging. Some voices were overcome with laughter, some screaming bloody murder.
“Who the hell brings a ferret into a bar?” Ty shouted, and someone shouted back that all the shouting was scaring the ferret.
Zane frowned as he listened to the chaotic scene for another minute before most of the activity ceased.
When Ty returned to the phone, he was out of breath and sounding quite contrite. “This is Agent Grady.”
“Hey, doll,” Zane said, lips curving into a smile just at hearing Ty’s voice.
“Zane? Thank God. I knew I was going to get written up for that.”
Zane laughed. “Having a rough night?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“A ferret, huh? Well, I was close.”
“Not as close as I was. How’s your dad?”
Zane sighed. “He’s all right. They’ve got him in a regular room now. Talking about sending him home in a few days.”
“That’s good. How are you?”
Zane considered how to answer that, though the pause told more of the truth than any words he could speak. “More tired than I should be.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do,” Ty said in the whispered, intimate tone Zane had been so desperate to hear.
“Got a few minutes to talk to me?”
“Yeah, give me one second.” Ty said good-bye to whoever else had been involved in the business with the ferret, and a moment later Zane could hear traffic and a breeze brushing over the speaker of Ty’s phone. He’d obviously been at a bar, been assaulted by a ferret, and was now walking home. It was a typical night for Ty. “I’m all yours.”
Zane hummed. “That’s nice to hear.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “Listen, the situation down here appears to be a little more . . . complex than I first thought.”
“How so?”
“They’re saying that Dad getting shot was a byproduct of trespassers, but I’m not buying it. Something feels . . . weird.”
“Like, ‘our job’ weird, or ‘you’re in Texas’ weird?”
“Both?”
“Tell me.”