Page 27 of Fireline

He turned his attention back to the sheriff. “Who’s hired Walsh before?”

“Never had enough evidence to convict, but rumor had it that it was an anti-government group known as The Brothers.” Hutch crossed his arms. “They’re Russian sympathizers and under FBI and Homeland investigation for their dealings with the Bratva. That’s the Russian mafia.”

Booth’s pulse kicked up. He knew where this was going, and it was nowhere good.

Hutchinson continued, “These two brothers, the Blackwell brothers, have been vocal against federal overreach. Their daddy lost the family ranch in a dispute with the Bureau of Land Management. I guess the older one, Floyd, never forgave the Feds for that. After high school he got pretty radical, talking about revolution this, Russian allies that.”

Hutchinson leaned back against his cruiser. “Floyd did a couple years for selling explosives to an undercover agent…got out maybe ten years back? He dropped off the radar after that. Then his brother, Earl, shows up local a few months ago talking a big game. I figured Floyd was up to his old tricks somewhere and Earl was the bag man. Probably why he was at the camp that day.”

Booth swallowed, thoughts churning. “When he died in the fire out at the Wildlands Academy,” he finished.

Yeah, he definitely remembered Floyd Blackwell from his days in Homeland Security. They’d compiled a thick dossier on him and his anti-government activities. Placed him on the federal watch list.

“You think Floyd hired Walsh to torch jump base to get back at us for Earl’s death?”

“Could be.” The sheriff pinched his lips. “We’ll keep pulling on loose ends. Meantime, you and your crew watch your backs. Call me if you catch wind of anything else strange.”

Booth nodded as Hutchinson climbed into his cruiser and pulled off, the cruiser disappearing down the drive in a plume of dust.

He sighed, spine rigid with frustration. Every minute delayed gave criminals time to cover their tracks and get away while Crispin’s fate hung unknown.

Glancing toward the plane, he spotted Nova lugging more supply crates. He’d planned to offer his help, but quite frankly, he wasn’t sure his heart could handle the inevitable rejection right now.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the protectiveness that welled up inside him when he looked at her.

With no idea of Crispin’s location, and without any leads, all Booth could do was hope his friend turned up soon, preferably before whoever was after him. Sticking close to the ranch in case Crispin came looking seemed the smart play.

Physical exertion might relieve the tempest whirling, and since Nova didn’t need help, he’d ask Sophie. He found her in her kitchen, cutting apples.

She smiled when she saw him. “Hey, I thought you’d gone to town with the rest.”

“Decided to hang around here awhile.”

“Fresh coffee if you’re interested.” She nodded to the pot on the counter.

“Thanks.” He poured a fresh cup and took a long, appreciative sip. “Mind if I help with the horses?”

Sophie’s hand went to her hip. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I dunno. Something about being around them relaxes me.” Besides, mindless labor should give him time to get his thoughts in line.

“I know exactly what you mean.” She grinned and tossed an apple core in the trash can. “I was just about to feed and water them, but if you can handle that, I’ll get breakfast out of the oven.”

“You already made breakfast? What time did you get up, woman?”

“Early. Same as always. You remember what to do?”

Booth had helped Houston take care of the horses while Sophie had been away for a weekend retreat. “A scoop of grain. Two squares of hay.”

“Perfect.” She squinted and held up her index finger. “Annnd…I think I’ve got some leftover apple crisp. I’ll set it aside for when you’re done.”

“Oh, you rock. My favorite.” Booth tossed back the remains of his coffee and handed the cup to Sophie. “Better get to it.”

He crossed the pasture and headed for the weathered barn. Already the sun was beating down through high clouds. Reports of lightning in the mountains promised more fires and another brutal shift. At least the horses would offer some measure of balm for his psyche.

Sure enough, the familiar earthy aromas of hay and grain managed to clear his head the moment he walked in.

Equine noses appeared over stall doors. “Morning, folks. Who’s ready for some breakfast?” He paused and rubbed the forehead of a black mare. She nuzzled velvety lips against his palms. “Okay, okay. I got it. Food first. Affection later. Simple priorities. I get it. Eat. Move. Sleep. Repeat. Not so different than my life…minus all the complications.”

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