Page 83 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

“You’re kidding,” I gasp. “Jake?”

“Jake Miller himself, yeah.”

“That was our inside guy, then,” Mitch concludes. “What do we know about Officer Reyes?”

Colton goes through his phone, but I’m not sure I like the sour look on his face. “Not the most exemplary record. He got a few citations and complaints filed against him, but he was in charge of evidentiary lockup for the Ainsworth Police Department until a few months ago.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“He’s had a fatal accident,” he says. “Died in a car crash. Horrible way to go, I imagine. I think that’s why Jake was so desperate to get to you, Melissa.”

“We spoke to Reyes’ colleagues,” Ethan adds. “That cocaine was destroyed at the end of the year. He missed his precious window, so was short with the cartel and was trying to survive because it all went to shit.”

“It blew up in his face,” Colton says. “Had Reyes gotten the drugs out before they were destroyed, Jake would’ve had his ticket out of here.”

“But he didn’t because he died,” I mumble.

“So Jake had to figure out another way to get out from under the cartel’s heavy boot. Once he learned about you getting into the Path to Freedom Initiative, he knew he had one last shot to keep the whole thing pinned on you while also keeping the cartel off his back,” Colton says. “He’s probably still moving drugs forthem, facilitating deals and whatnot, but the cartel is short two million dollars’ worth of cocaine. Jake is playing a stupid game here.”

“You know what they say about stupid games,” Ethan sighs, glancing down at his glass.

“Stupid prizes or not, I’m still legally responsible,” I say. “How do we get closer to the truth, then? I need to find Laurel, right? That has to be it.”

“Or we find a way to comb through Reyes’ personal life, his bank accounts, his home,” Mitch suggests. “There’s got to be something there.”

Time is running out.

Colton covers my hand with his. “Don’t despair, Melissa. We’re getting closer to the truth.”

“Are we, though?” I scoff, lowering my gaze. There is comfort in his touch, yet the dangers surrounding us are too imposing, too frightening to overlook. “We have no witnesses, no physical evidence. We have stories, memories, but nothing that will hold up in court, especially with Reyes. The last thing Ainsworth PD will ever corroborate is that they had a corrupt cop on their payroll.”

“We are closer today than we were yesterday,” Colton insists. “We may not be able to find Bruce, but we still have a chance to find Laurel. Rest assured, we’re going to dig through Reyes’ stuff, too, until we find something. Jake is anything but a criminal mastermind, Melissa. He caught a few lucky breaks, that’s all.”

“We’ll find something,” Ethan says. “They’re not invincible, not the cartel and certainly not that cowardly prick. We’ll bring him down one way or another.”

And while I would like nothing more than to blindly believe them, part of me knows there’s always that one chance, no matter how slim, that things will not go the way we want them to go.

Running away is still an option, but it’s also the worst option. I’d be putting myself in too much danger on top of the danger already there. At least I’m relatively safe at the ranch. We’ve got neighbors who are willing and eager to help, the sheriff and his deputies, too.

“What about that DEA investigator?” I ask, remembering snippets of our last conversation with Kavanaugh.

“He’s tripping over red tape with the Justice Department,” Mitch mutters. “But he is trying to open a RICO operating point in Long Pine. If he gets that going, we’ll have a few more boots on the ground to work with if the cartel tries to come after you again.”

I need to go to church and light a candle for my sorry ass. For all the progress Colton says we’ve made, I feel like we’re struggling up a creek without a paddle.

26

Melissa

Back at the ranch, nothing feels out of place.

Everything is precisely the way we left it, and the days that follow bring us closer to February. Kyle and I take the tree down, return the decorations to their boxes, and carry everything upstairs to the attic. But I leave the colored lights on the windows as well as the decorative snowflakes. They speak of winter, not just Christmas, and I need as much seasonal cheer as I can possibly get under these wretched circumstances.

“Well, here’s to hoping this winter’s out of blizzards,” Darla says as she wanders into the kitchen. “I can’t wait for spring.”

“It’s still January,” I chuckle softly as I take the dishes out of the washer and put them away in the cupboards.

“Upside is we only lost two heads of cattle throughout,” Darla says. She stops by the coffee machine and brews herself a cup. I find comfort in the gurgling sound. “It’s better than last winter, for sure.”

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