Page 42 of Silos and Sabotage

“Nope.” It made Gage more determined than ever to hear what the man had to say. “Do you think there’s a chance Mr. Bolander might’ve taken his own son out of the picture?”

Gil stood. “If I did, I wouldn’t allow him inside the building.”

“Glad we got that out of the way.” Gage stood and faced his boss. He agreed it was illogical to assume Creston Bolander had anything to do with his illegitimate son’s death. If he hadn’t wanted the boy to live, the odds were that he would’ve done something about it a long time ago.

“Even though we’re agreeing to Creston’s terms, don’t forget about the panic button beneath your center drawer.” Gil pointed at Gage’s well-worn oak desk that probably qualified as an antique.

Gage nodded, though his prickling of panic had nothing to do with his own safety and everything to do with Ella’s. After Gil took off, he paced the room, marinating in his own thoughts, until the next knock sounded on his door.

Gage paused his pacing. “Come in.” Since it was three o’clock on the dot, he could only assume his VIP guest had arrived.

A white-haired gentleman stepped across the threshold. He was wearing stone-colored trousers and a pale blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. It was unbuttoned at the neck — no tie. He was alone.

Gage stood riveted in the center of the room. He might as well have been facing a twenty-year-older version of his late friend, Mick Lawton. He’d been hoping there was no truth to Gil’s shocking revelation, but the resemblance between the two men was undeniable. They were similar in height and build and shared the same silver-blue eyes.

For a moment, Gage felt like he was staring into his late friend’s piercing gaze again. He mechanically held out a hand and stepped forward. “Mr. Bolander.”

“Mr. Hefner.” Mr. Bolander shut the door behind him and closed the distance between them to grasp his hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He wasn’t smiling. Sadness was etched deep within his gaze and in the lines around his eyes.

Because I have.Gage sensed that this was the very reaction the man had been gunning for. “You look familiar, sir.” There was no point in beating around the bush. “Have we met?” He motioned for him to take a seat at the small conference table on the side of the room. His mind raced over everything Mick Lawton had told him about growing up at Bolander & Sons ranch —how he’d been raised by a single mom in one of the employee cabins there. She’d been employed as one of their master gardeners. For all Gage knew, she still worked there.

“No. I don’t believe we have.” Mr. Bolander walked to the table with the leisurely pace of a man who was accustomed to taking his time. He pulled out a chair. “You’ve met my son, though.” He took a seat.

Gage’s temper spiked, but he tamped down on it. “I don’t think Billy Bob enjoyed our meeting.” It was a leading statement, designed to get the conversation rolling as he pulled out a chair beside the guy. He turned it so he could sit facing him.

Mr. Bolander flicked a hand irritably. “I’m not talking about the black sheep of the family.” The corners of his mouth turned down in distaste. “I’m talking about Mick Lawton. At one point, he served as your company commander, did he not?” He sat forward in his chair, eyeing Gage intently.

So, it’s true. You’re his father.Gage’s head felt like it was exploding. “He did, sir. Later, he became my friend. A friend,” he repeated, “who died never knowing who his father was.” He wasn’t sure that was true, at least not on Mick’s part. He’d only said it so he could watch Mr. Bolander’s reaction to the statement.

To his astonishment, tears filled Mr. Bolander’s eyes. He took out a white, monogrammed handkerchief to mop them dry. “It’s a regret I’ll take to my grave.”

Gage was silent while the man finished collecting himself.

“I’ve been wanting to speak to you for months.” Mr. Bolander’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and continued, “But you aren’t an easy man to stumble into around town.” He spread his hands. “You don’t fish. You don’t golf. You don’t attend community events. All you do is target practice alone out there on those fifty acres you bought on the far side of town.” He snapped his fingers as if just remembering something. “Oh, and you go horseback riding once in a blue moon with Jordan Jacobson at the animal sanctuary.”

“You know an awful lot about me, sir.” Gage resisted the urge to squirm. Squirming was for amateurs.

Mr. Bolander’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been watching me just as closely.”

It was true. Gage wanted to ask him why he’d ignored all of his phone calls, but it seemed like a moot point now. “What do you want from me, sir?” He had his suspicions, but he was curious to know if the guy would admit it.

“The same thing you want.” Mr. Bolander’s eyes grew as cold as glaciers. “To find Mick’s killer.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.Gage’s heart pounded in excitement, though all he did was incline his head to acknowledge the request. He didn’t miss the fact that Mr. Bolander was only asking for help to find Mick’s killer. He hadn’t said a word about the killer’s subsequent arrest. Was it because he had other plans for him? Or her? Or them?

Gage kept his voice neutral as he clarified, “I want justice for my friend, sir.”

“As do I.” Mr. Bolander’s smile was gruesome to behold. The predatory element would’ve sent chills down the back of a lesser man.

Gage wasn’t convinced that their respective definitions of justice were aligned, but he’d worry about that later. “Do you have any idea who was behind the hit?”

Mr. Bolander’s gaze narrowed. “That’s an interesting choice of words. Why call it a hit?”

“Because it was too clean.” It was the only thing that made sense to him. “The killer got in undetected, caught everyone by surprise, disappeared into thin air afterward without leaving a shred of forensic evidence, and remains in the wind five years later. If that’s not the textbook definition of a professional hit, I don’t know what is.”

“I happen to agree with your assessment.” Mr. Bolander continued to frown in contemplation. “The man behind it would’ve wanted to keep his own hands clean. Paying a hitman would’ve accomplished that.”

“You have someone in mind?” Gage wasn’t expecting him to show his hand so quickly.

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