“Surely you don’t think she’ll come back here after all this commotion tonight?” Mac snorted at that. “Not a chance, man.”
“I don’t even have a last name or phone number.”
“Still nothin’? Damn it!” Mac finally looked furious. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Nicholas flicked pebbles and grass off his jeans and shirts. “Well if this isn’t typical. You can take a good beating and get slung out of a club haybale-style and what ruffles your feathers?”
“Don’t fuck with me right now, Speed. I’m in no mood.” Mac dug his truck key out of his front pocket.
“Where are you going?”
“Down to the local police station. I’m finding out who owns this club and why Sable is important to them. Whoever wanted her out of here went to a lot of damn trouble.” His voice raised an octave and he jabbed his finger at the ground. “They landed a helicopter right here, Nicholas. Right where we’re standing. Who the hell does that?”
Nicholas considered the only practical answer. “A jealous husband with a lot of money.”
* * * *
“Any luck in Drover, sweet boys?” Markie was filing his fingernails when they entered the barn the next morning.
Mac grunted and kept walking. Nicholas paused for a moment of reflection. Markie pretended not to notice him and continued shaping and filing. Every few minutes or so, he’d release a deep breath, flutter those false lashes like a drama queen, and return to his task.
Nicholas had more patience for Markie than Mac, but Nicholas hadn’t put up with Markie for well over half his life. Markie had practically lived with the McCall family and called them out as brothers.
“Okay, I give up,” Markie said, tossing aside his lone nail care product. “Tell me what happened.”
“We need you to do something for us.” No sense in dancing.
“Well of course you do. Are you just figuring that out, sugar?” Markie grinned, fluffed his cotton-like hair and whispered, “I’ll be your power bottom and we’ll have unforgettable sex. Promise.”
“Markie, knock it off.” Trevor entered the barn flipping through a few documents. After he shuffled through them once more, he thrust his arm forward. “Everything I could find about the club and its owners is right there. There isn’t much to go on.”
Nicholas took the stack of papers. “Thanks for trying.”
“Who we talkin’ ‘bout now, baby boy?” Markie focused on Trevor.
“I’m not your baby or your boy.”
“Ah now,” Markie drawled. “You could be.” He winked, twirled around in search of—who knew what—and then stalled in mid motion. “Tell me somethin’, Mac. Have you gone to your brother about this?”
“Who, Allister?” Mac forced a bit between an ornery mare’s teeth and pulled the bridle over her head.
“Allister? Psht.” Markie rolled his eyes. “As if Allister is capable of doing much more than his left hand, right hand, or Ellie’s—”
“Mornin’ Markie.”
“Speak of the devil.” Markie waggled his brows and turned around to greet Ellie with open arms. “Mornin’ sunshine. I was just talkin’ ‘bout you.” He kissed both cheeks and patted her face.
“I heard,” she said, studying the mare next to Mac. “You still planning to sell her?”
“I am,” Mac replied.
The balance of horses stirring in their stalls and cowboys pacing seemed to work in time. No one said anything else for a couple of minutes until Ellie asked, “What’s up with you guys?”
Trevor shrugged. Mac saddled the mare. Harley and Nicholas remained quiet. Finally, Ellie turned to Markie. “You always seem to be the one in the know. What’s up, Markie?”
“Don’t know, baby cakes.”
“Figured you had the inside scoop.”