Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

“Because I just got one helluva good idea.”

“What kind of idea?” he asked.

Laughing, Stella poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. “As I said, little brother, the less you know, the better.”

Sky and Beau had taken the ranch pickup to check the place where Jasper had been shot. At this early hour, a whisper of coolness lingered on the morning air. They rode with the pickup windows rolled down, the air blasting their faces, drinking in the freshness before the rising sun could burn it away. Beau was at the wheel, Sky scouting the parched landscape for anything that looked out of place.

“We don’t even know for sure if we’re dealing with smugglers,” Sky said.

“True,” Beau said. “But somebody’s been leaving tracks and cigarette butts out here. Something’s going on—I’d say either drug running or illegal immigrants. Whatever it was, Jasper must’ve gotten too close.”

“So why didn’t they make sure he was dead?” Sky argued. “I’m with Will. I’d bet on a bunch of fool kids who got scared and ran when they

saw what they’d done.”

“Maybe we’ll find some answers this morning.” Beau steered the pickup around a jutting rock. A collared lizard skittered clear of the wheels. In the near distance, swallows skimmed and darted above the muddy seep where Jasper had been found. They scattered as the truck drew closer.

“Tell me something.” Beau’s voice had taken on a mischievous note. “How did that little earring really manage to fall out of Lauren’s ear and roll behind the computer?”

Sky glanced away to hide a flush of heat. “None of your damned business,” he said.

Beau guffawed as he pulled the truck to a stop. “Have it your way. Your secret’s safe with me. But if the congressman gets wind of it, you’d better have a place to run.”

“I wouldn’t back down from Garn Prescott—not even if I wanted his daughter, which I don’t.”

“Then you’ve got more pride than sense.”

“Leave it alone, Beau.” Sky opened the door and swung out of the truck. He hadn’t been here since the night before last, when they’d found Jasper. He was curious to inspect the spot by daylight. And he was anxious to escape Beau’s ribbing.

“I see plenty of tracks.” Beau studied the ground. “But most of them look like yours and mine.”

“We had to free Jasper. And then I had to come back and load the ATV. If I’d been thinking about clues, I’d have been more careful.” Sky crouched to look closer. “The paramedics left tracks, too. See, here and here? They were wearing sneakers. But unless the shotgun fell off the ATV, somebody had to get close enough to steal it. Here’s where the roll bar landed. They would’ve had to reach—”

He broke off as he found the track. A dozen paces short of the seep, it was almost obscured by the others. It was the shallow imprint of a cowboy boot, the toe long and pointed, the sole and heel worn around the edges, maybe a narrow size 8. Not a big man; maybe even a boy. Or . . .

A sense of unease crept over Sky. He didn’t like what he was seeing. And he didn’t like where his thoughts were leading him.

“Let’s see what else we can find,” he said, rising. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Here.” Beau had started a wider circle of the spring. He’d dropped to a crouch and was gazing at the ground, where the crushed stub of a marijuana joint, hand-wrapped in brown paper, lay in the dust.

“We’d better collect this.” Beau had worked for the DEA between his army stint and his return to the Rimrock. This was his area of expertise. He whipped out his cell phone and snapped a photo. “If they were smoking weed, they could’ve been dealing it, too.”

“I saw a sandwich bag in the truck.” Sky found what he was looking for and returned. After turning the plastic bag inside out, Beau used it to scoop up the joint.

“With luck it’ll have some traceable DNA on it,” he said.

“You’re not going to turn it over to Abner Sweeney, are you?” Sky asked.

“Sweeney wouldn’t know DNA from his own rear end.” Beau rose, slipping the bagged evidence into the pocket of his shirt. “I’ll hang on to this until we learn more. It’ll come in handy for matching if a suspect turns up.”

Sky bit back what he’d been about to say. It was too soon to borrow trouble, too soon to make assumptions. He’d need to do more investigating on his own before he voiced his suspicions. But in the end he knew where his loyalties lay. Somebody had trespassed on ranch property and shot an irreplaceable old man—and somebody, whoever it might be, would have to pay.

“Maybe I can find the casing from the shot,” he said. “If we don’t collect it now, it’s liable to end up in some pack rat’s midden.”

“Good luck with that,” Beau said. “It could be anywhere within a couple of hundred yards, and we need to get back before long.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”