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  “You have got to be shitting me!”

  Pratt left Keogh standing slack-jawed in the hallway. Stomped his way for the door beside him.

  Banged on it with the ball of his fist.

  “This is Sheriff Jacob Pratt, I’m coming in.”

  Before his hand reached the handle, the door swung open from within.

  On the bed sat Lukas Webb, very much awake and alert. Beside him was his sister, the girl Pratt spoke with a week before.

  Around them were two guys in their mid-twenties Pratt had never seen. He did a quick assessment and figured the one with blonde hair to be the lawyer.

  None of the four looked surprised by his entrance.

  “Lukas Webb, I am here to place you under arrest for the shooting that occurred on December 22nd at the Hamilton Town Hall.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

  The slightest of a smirk lifted Webb’s head back an inch. He glanced over to the blonde guy.

  “He knows you’re standing here, right?”

  Pratt felt another flush of heat beneath his skin.

  “Yeah, but he has to say it,” the blonde replied. “We can get the whole thing tossed if he doesn’t Mirandize you.”

  “Ah,” Lukas said. Tilted his head back in understanding. “So, we’re good here?”

  At those words, Sara and the other young man both rose. Walked from the room. Didn’t look at Pratt or his deputies.

  The blonde lingered a moment longer. Glanced to Pratt. Nodded.

  “Remember what we talked about. We’ll see you soon.”

  The blonde exited. Nodded to each of the deputies as he went.

  Pratt turned and watched him go. Leveled his gaze on Webb. Stood there for a full moment.

  “Obviously we can’t move you right now, but you are hereby placed into custody. My men will be here around the clock from now on and will supervise all visits until you are physically able to be moved.”

  Webb nodded.

  “I understand.”

  Pratt hooked his thumbs in his belt. Shook his head. Muttered under his breath. Turned to Walsh.

  “You boys stay in position here.”

  Walsh pressed his lips together. Nodded.

  “Where are you headed, sir?”

  The words barely reached Pratt’s ears. He was already headed for the door.

  “I’ve got to make a phone call. And she’s not going to be happy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ten after nine.

  Almost a full hour before she expected to arrive.

  Even despite a bevy of last-second phone calls, a good ten minutes before any media from Missoula would be on hand.

  Paula Goslin slid her Chevy Silverado into the Memorial parking lot. Saw Pratt’s cruiser parked front and center.

  Scoffed.

  She gave her hair one last check in the rearview mirror. Saw a mess of grey curls that weren’t ready to come out of their rollers.

  Scoffed again.

  Taking up a leather briefcase from the seat beside her, she stepped out of the truck. Let the bag swing free by her side.

  There was nothing in it. It was just a prop for the morning ahead. People expected to see a briefcase when they saw a lawyer interviewed on television.

  At the moment, Goslin thought she might use it to hit Pratt upside the head.

  Nostrils flared as she walked towards the front door. Saw Pratt step out to meet her, hands already raised in front of him.

  Felt the same anger as when he’d first called well within her.

  “How the hell could you let this happen?” she spat. Kept her voice low. Spoke through her teeth. Squeezed the handle of the briefcase in her hand.

  “He’s new,” Pratt said. Shook his head. “He had explicit directions to call if anything changed, but I guess he got confused.”

  “Confused? You asked him to pick up the phone and make a call, not perform Chinese algebra!”

  Pratt looked away. Sighed.

  “I know. I know. But the important thing is, Lukas Webb is now awake and in our custody.”

  Goslin turned away from Pratt. Muttered under her breath.

  She wasn’t surprised that he was shifting the blame onto some nameless kid with a badge. He’d been doing that the entirety of the twenty years they’d worked together.

  This was just the first time his incompetence had negatively impacted her chance at recognition.

  “No thanks to you,” Goslin said. Turned to see a van from KMSL News pull into the lot. “Good thing the kid just got out of a coma, or he’d be halfway to Mexico by now.”

  The remark found its target. Dropped Pratt’s jaw towards the ground.

  Goslin left him gaping outside the front door. Met the KMSL van by the curb.

  From it emerged two people, neither much older than twenty. Out of the front seat climbed a girl with too-blonde hair. Too-white teeth. A stylish coat and scarf combo.

  Stumbling from the back was a guy with curly hair. Patchy beard. Net trucker’s cap turned backwards. Puffy vest and jeans.

  Smelled fresh off an all-night bender.

  Behind the wheel sat a slovenly man who made no attempt to climb out.

  It took an extreme amount of effort for Goslin not to roll her eyes at the scene.

  She had requested media on hand to cover a very important arrest, not to send the local high school’s A/V department.

  “Good morning,” the girl said. Stuck her hand out. “I’m Kelli Morris and this is my cameraman Beau Axle.”

  Axle stopped moving for a moment. Thrust his chin upward in greeting.

  Goslin returned the handshake. “Charmed. Thank you for coming.”

  Made sure her tone relayed that they were not who she was expecting to see.

  It went right past Morris.

  “Okay,” Kelli said. “So while Beau gets us up and ready, is there anywhere in particular that you’d like to do this?”

  A heavy sigh rolled out of Goslin. She turned over her shoulder. Glanced at the sign welcoming visitors to the Hamilton Memorial Hospital.

  “We can do it right here, if you’d like. Get the sign in the background.”

  The morning was already turning into a disaster. Might as well add a bout of hypothermia to it.

  “Perfect,” Kelli said. Returned to the van and extracted her microphone as Axel rummaged through the back.

  Goslin stepped away for a moment. Debated going inside to wait. Opted against it so as to not be flushed bright red from returning to the cold.

  Off to the side she could see Pratt lingering. Made a point to avoid eye contact. Not to go anywhere near him.

  Let body language relay her ongoing disgust with his handling of the situation.

  Ten minutes after arriving, Axel positioned Morris and Goslin under the sign. Hefted the camera to his shoulder. Counted backwards from three.

  Goslin took a deep breath as he did so. Waited for the red light.

  Put on her best grim face as it blinked on.

  Beside her, Morris was nothing but smiles. A ray of sunshine on a grey Montana morning.

  It almost made Goslin sick.

  “Good morning, this is Kelli Morris reporting on-site at Hamilton Memorial Hospital for KMSL News. With me is Ravalli County Attorney Paula Goslin to announce that a week after the horrific shooting that took place at a local Agriculture Commission meeting, an arrest has been made.”

  Morris thrust the microphone over.

  Goslin felt her eyebrows go up a half inch. It was a better lead-in than she expected.

  “That is correct Kelli. As of eight o’clock this morning, Lukas Webb, the man that opened fire on a peaceably assembled civic meeting last week, has been placed under arrest.”

  Morris pulled the microphone back.


  “And just to remind viewers, this was a bit of an unusual situation that called for such a delay, correct?”

  “It was,” Goslin said. Nodded. “A local man with a concealed carry permit returned fire on Webb, striking him three times. His combined injuries led doctors to place him in a medically-induced coma.

  “This morning, a reversing agent was applied and upon his waking, the arrest was made.”

  Morris looked right at her with a look of faux concern.

  “This is a big win for the people of Hamilton,” Goslin continued. “Even though we have been monitoring Webb all week, it is important for them to see that he has been formally apprehended. Justice is and will be served.”

  Goslin look right into the camera as she spoke. Used the tone reserved for courtroom theatrics.

  “You mentioned a few days ago that the state will be pursuing maximum charges for this offense,” Morris said. “Is this still your intention?”

  “Absolutely,” Goslin said. “This was not a mere instance of someone discharging a weapon in a public place. Lukas Webb left the meeting, went to his truck and obtained a high-powered rifle, returned and began shooting.

  “This was nothing short of attempted murder, and I intend to prosecute it that way.”

  Morris nodded. Pulled the microphone back away from Goslin once more.

  “I understand Mr. Webb was a returning veteran,” she said. “Is this true?”

  Goslin pressed her lips together. It was a question she didn’t really want to answer. Had prepared for just in case.

  “It is true, and it speaks to a much larger issue in our society today. We must commit to take better care of our discharged veterans. We have to ensure their physical and mental well-being so they are not a danger to themselves or others once they return.”

  One final time Morris pulled the microphone back. Stared into the camera.

  “Reporting from Hamilton, this is Kelli Morris, KMSL News.”

  Axel paused a moment. The red light blinked out. He lowered the camera away from his head.

  “Looked good. Thanks a lot,” he said. Voice much higher than expected.

  “Thank you so much,” Morris said. Pushed the microphone into her left hand. Thrust out her right.

  Goslin accepted it. Gave a stiff handshake.

  Nothing about the morning had played out the way it was supposed to. Now it just needed to be over.

  “My pleasure, thank you for being here.”

  Less than twenty minutes after arriving, the news crew waved goodbye. Goslin stood in place and watched as they left the parking lot.

  Noticed Drake Bell standing by his truck, listening to every word.

  Chapter Forty

  WB.

  Two letters side-by-side.

  The brand of the Webb Ranch.

  Constructed from bent Rebar, it hung down from the gate across their driveway. Passed less then two feet above the cab of Drake’s truck.

  Swayed back in forth in the wind.

  Gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pulled in and came to a stop beside Rink’s rig. Climbed out and headed inside.

  Even though he’d never been there before, the place wasn’t hard to find. Most of the roads in Hamilton were laid out in a basic grid.

  The entirety of Sara’s direction to him were “third light, make a right. Two point eight miles out on your left.”

  To his surprise, it really was that simple.

  True to the descriptions given by both Sara and Lukas, the WB Ranch was a far cry from the Tierney spread. A modest house sat at the end of a gravel lane.

  Single story. Ranch-style. Brick halfway up. White siding the rest of the way.

  A small handful of barns sat out back. Painted red. White trim.

  A mid-sized cluster of cows milled about one of them. A pair of tractors were parked by another.

  Everything was clean, but lifeless.

  Drake knocked on the front door. Let himself into a screened-in porch. Knocked a second time on an inner door.

  Heard Sara call from within to enter.

  Turning the door knob, he stepped inside to find the home small. Cozy. A bit outdated.

  The furniture was sturdy. Covered in fabric with patterned designed. Spots worn down from repeated use.

  Brown loop carpeting covered the floors. Made the entire place seem a little darker.

  A pot-belly stove stood silent in the corner.

  Drake followed the sound of papers rustling through the living room. Found Rink and Sara on either side of a cherry dining room table. Each had a stack of pages in hand.

  A pair of printouts were set aside.

  “How’d it go?” Sara asked. Looked up from the documents in hand.

  “About like you’d expect. This is a big win for justice, the people of Hamilton can now sleep easy at night, all that crap.”

  Sara rolled her eyes. Went back to her work.

  “You’re going to make her eat those words, right?” Rink asked. Didn’t look up from what he was doing.

  “Oh, yeah,” Drake said. Let the corner of his mouth play up into a smile. “The last thing she did was go on this tangent about how we need to do a better job caring for our returning veterans. I’m going to have a lot of fun with that one.”

  Rink nodded. “Good.”

  Drake twisted his neck to the side. Looked down at the pair of printouts on the table.

  Picked them up and studied them close.

  “You found them.”

  Neither person answered as he stared down at the papers. Full color copies of original photographs.

  Both were close-up shots of a cattle brand.

  Both resembled the WB Drake had driven under a moment before, but just barely.

  “What’s Tierney’s brand again?” Drake asked. Tried to decipher what the original symbols might have been.

  Sara put down the stack she was looking at. Moved to Drake’s shoulder. “TR, for Tierney Ranch.”

  “Original.”

  “Right?” Sara asked. Outlined with her finger what the initial brand had looked like. How it had been doctored to resemble theirs.

  Drake followed her finger, picking out the first brand.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Stared at the new design.

  To someone that might not know better, the brand resembled what it was supposed to.

  Once the forgery was pointed out though, it was impossible to ignore.

  “This is good,” Drake said.

  “Yeah?” Sara asked. “Everything we need?”

  Drake pulled the photographs away from his face. Raised his gaze. “Yes and no. These copies won’t get us anywhere. Just looking at them you can tell the brand’s been messed with. There’s no way the Sheriff would believe we didn’t do this ourselves.”

  A stack of papers slapped against the table. Rink sidled up on the opposite of Drake. Studied the pictures.

  “You’re right. Those look like bad Photoshop pictures.”

  “Mhmm,” Drake agreed.

  “You said yes and no,” Sara said.

  “Right,” Drake said. “The only way photographs ever get admitted as evidence is through a chain of custody. An official record of certified personnel handing them off one to another.

  “These pictures came from the State Department of Ag. We can get them to show the originals to the Sheriff.”

  “Okay, so let’s do that,” Sara said.

  Drake shook his head. “There’s the problem. This is Saturday and Monday’s a holiday. The first chance we’d have is Tuesday.”

  Rink shook his head. Stepped away. Picked up the stack of papers again.

  “At least he’s in the hospital and not actual jail?” Sara said. A small crack in her voice. Tears not far off.

  Drake barely heard either.

  His attention was focused on the barn outside. On the cluster of cows huddling behind it.

  “Unless...” he whispered. Let his voice trail off.

  Sara and Ri
nk both looked at him. Remained silent.

  Rink turned at the waist. Followed Drake’s sightline out the window. Back again.

  “Unless what?”

  Drake blinked twice. Flicked his gaze over to Rink.

  “Lukas said the two cows that tested positive did so at slaughter. What if there are more out there that haven’t been found yet?”

  Rink turned all the way around. Stared at the cows standing in place.

  “Sara, how many head do you have here?”

  “This time of year?” Sara said. “I don’t know exactly. Maybe just shy of a thousand?”

  She glanced from Drake to Rink and back again.

  “You think?”

  “No way to argue the authenticity of a living, breathing cow,” Drake said. “We find one, we can load it up and take it right to the Sheriff. Even call up their friends at KMSL if we have to.”

  A snort rolled out of Rink.

  “I like it. Sonsabitches.”

  Sara’s mouth hung open. A look of worry crossed her face.

  “I do too, but like I said, there are over a thousand cows out there, and only three of us.”

  Drake smiled. Pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “True, but I know how we can have three more here in less than an hour.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Paused.

  Holt froze the screen in place.

  Left the image of Paula Goslin standing with her mouth half open on the television. Made sure the banner across the bottom could be seen.

  White letters on a blue background.

  Lukas Webb Arrested.

  Holt waited several seconds. Swiveled his chair to face forward. Leveled an accusatory gaze on McIlvaine across from him.

  “Care to explain?”

  McIlvaine looked bored. Disgusted. Glanced to the screen. Back to Holt.

  His entire attitude burned Holt to no end. Made him want to grab up the nickel-plated Colt he kept in his desk drawer.

  Do to McIlvaine what he’d done to Webb.

  Only difference being he would finish the job.

  Still, for as much as he was fast coming to loathe the man, to regret hiring him in the first place, he still needed him.

  A little longer yet anyway.

  “Nothing to explain,” McIlvaine said. “I got in unnoticed, but his sister showed up before I could do anything.”