Page 20 of Midnight & Mavericks

“A case?” Bucky sounded skeptical. “You’re in Jessup Peak. What kind of case could possibly warrant holding up your return? A missing chicken?” There was a pause and then the chief spoke again. “Knowing you, it’s probably got something to do with a girl.”

Beau didn’t know if he should be insulted or proud. He hadn’t been aware he had such a widely known reputation with the ladies. Regardless, this case had nothing to do with a girl he told himself, ignoring the poke to his conscience when thoughts of Abbie came calling. “Not at all, sir. This is a possible arson and sabotage case,” Beau replied. “It’s tied to a local ranch, and there are layers to it. I’m pretty sure there’s some financial fraud at play too. I can’t walk away right now. If I leave, the whole thing will go cold.”

Bucky sighed. “Elliott, we’ve got bigger fish to fry back here. You’re one of my best detectives if notthebest and you can rest assured I made Janet fully aware of that fact. But I’m not going to argue with you. Finish up whatever hayseed drama you’ve got going on, but make it quick. I want you back in two weeks—tops.”

“Understood,” Beau said, his jaw tightening.

Bucky hung up, leaving Beau staring at the phone. He should feel relieved—his ticket out of this small town had just beenhanded to him. But instead, his gut churned with something that felt suspiciously like regret. Because as much as he’d resisted this assignment at first, the ranch’s troubles and the fiery, infuriating Abbie Carter had hooked him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. He had to see this case through, if only to put his restless mind at ease and to get justice for Mr. Carter. It had absolutely nothing to do with the old man’s granddaughter.

He picked up his phone again and scrolled through his recent contacts until he found the goat herder’s number. It had been saved simply as “Goat Lady” because he couldn’t remember her name when she’d left the office earlier in the day. He tapped the call button and waited.

“Hello?” the woman’s bubbly voice came through the line.

“It’s Detective Elliott,” Beau said, keeping his tone professional. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh my gosh, Detective. I’m so flattered, but I have a boyfriend, but I can tell you right now, if I didn’t, I’d be all over you like stink on?—”

“What? Oh. No.” Beau pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not that kind of proposition. This is about a favor I need to ask you. It won’t take long and I’ll buy you a good steak dinner. That is, if you think your boyfriend wouldn’t mind? You can tell him it’s police business if it helps.”

There was a beat of silence before she squealed. “You want me to go undercover? Like onLaw & Order?”

“Sort of,” Beau said dryly. “But I’ll need you to look the part. We’ll be heading to the steakhouse where I’ll need you to blend in. Think you’re up for it?”

“Absolutely! Oh, this is so exciting. I’ve always wanted to be in a police drama. Should I wear something glamorous?”

“No,” Beau said quickly. “Just something casual. And I’ll need your help with something else. Where’s the best place in town for me to buy jeans and boots?”

“Oh, the hardware store, of course. They’ve got a little bit of everything.”

“Perfect. Meet me at the steakhouse at seven,” Beau instructed. “And don’t be late. And tell your boyfriend not to come to the steakhouse to spy.”

“I’ll be there, Detective,” she said, her enthusiasm practically bouncing through the phone. “And I’ll tell Willard not to come to the steakhouse. Ooooh, maybe this is just the push he needs to propose. Wouldn’t that be hysterical?”

“Sure, yeah, hysterical.” Beau started to hang up when he stopped himself. “Hey, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Wanda. Wanda Pennington. Most people around here just call me, well, Wanda, ’cause that’s my name.”

Beau blinked. “Wanda, it is. I’ll see you tonight at the steakhouse. Seven sharp.”

“Got it. I’ll be there.”

He hung up, shaking his head. If nothing else, this would be an entertaining evening, for sure.

That evening, Beau pulled into the steakhouse parking lot, dressed in faded blue jeans, new boots he’d worked for at least half an hour to make them look well-worn, and a flannel shirt he wore over his plain, white T-shirt.

The boots felt foreign since he usually wore dress shoes or tennis shoes on the job in the city, but he found them strangely comfortable, a nod to his ability to adapt to any situation. He might have to consider buying a pair for when he returned to work in the city. Start a new fashion trend at the station.

He smiled at the thought of Big Earl Carmichael in a pair of cowboy boots. Earl used to play center for an NFL team. He was three-hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle with a neck like a chopping block. If he could turn Big Earl to boots, the rest of the force wouldn’t bother to argue. He grinned at the challenge.

His “undercover partner” was waiting in her pickup in the parking lot. When she exited the vehicle, Beau blinked back his shock. She was wearing a bright green and orange plaid shirt that clashed with the inconspicuous, laid-back vibe he’d envisioned.

“Um, do you have a jacket or something?” he asked as he approached her.

“Too much?” she said, looking down at her shirt.

“Maybe a little.”

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