Page 94 of Shadow Sabotage
Vance looked up from his computer. “Really?”
“Really.” I pushed to standing and slipped my feet into the boots I’d discarded earlier, bending to tug the suede up my calves.
After watching the video, Vance had drafted a warrant request for the Sage County SO storage locker and the McGraths’ home. We had debated long and hard about whether we were ready to tip our hand. Both of us would have preferred to find rock-solid proof of Serena’s guilt before letting them know we were onto her. But the only hard evidence might be on that snowmobile. So he called Judge Barrington and pleaded our case, asking him to keep the request quiet so we could execute the warrant without giving them time to get rid of potential evidence.
Judge Barrington had been shocked and said he needed to process all of it before he made a decision.
All we could do was wait—and plug away at every potential lead we could think of. I’d called motels and cabin rentals, trying to find out where Katelyn had stayed when she got here. Vance had called snowmobile rental places and checked with the storage unit to see if they had footage from back in March. We’d combed through photographs on Katelyn’s phone, looking for anything that might give us proof of her affair with Sheriff McGrath.
It had been a long day with very little to show for it. Some businesses had been cooperative, but others hadn’t. Vance had submitted warrant requests for a couple of hotels and some cabin rentals in between the park, and he had sent them over to Judge Barrington to sign, too. The judge had signed those right away—those didn’t threaten to blow up our entire town with controversy.
Everything we’d done was important work, but I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get a break. “Come on,” I said, pouting. “Let’s get some dinner.”
“Sure,” Vance said. “On one condition.” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that made my heart beat just a little bit faster.
“What’s that?”
He closed his laptop and tossed the papers beside him onto the coffee table, then stood. “Your mom said I was invited to dinner anytime, even if it was just the family.”
“Oh, no,” I began, shaking my head.
“Oh, yes.” He gave me a pleading look, but there was humor in his eyes. “Come on. We already did Whiskey Creek for lunch. Don’t take away my chance for a home-cooked meal.”
“Fine.” I relented. “But I have a condition of my own.”
“Anything,” he said, giving me that charming smile.
“Eat fast.” I winked. “And as soon as we’re done eating, you tell them we have more work to do and we leave.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
We locked up, then slowly walked up the driveway toward the two-story eastern-white-pine cabin that made such a pretty picture against the background of the Bighorns. The ranch was winding down for the day. A handful of people milled around the front of the horse stables, likely just back from one of the daily trail rides Rhett and Cheyenne provided for guests. A mom snapped photographs of her kids petting the horses that had meandered over to the pasture gates. Travis and Jonathan were in the pasture, leading horses one by one to take their saddles off. Behind it all, the sun hung low in the sky, painting the mountains purple. It was one of my favorite times of the day—both because of the beauty of a Wyoming sunset and because it meant the day’s work was nearly done. As a ranch-raised kid, you learned to appreciate that more than most.
Vance glanced my way. “You’re happy here,” he commented.
I took a deep breath and let it out, smiling before I answered. “Yeah. I am.”
“But it’s not enough. You want more.”
I looked up at him in surprise. How could he know that when the people closest to me didn’t seem to have a clue? “Yeah,” I finally said. “I do.”
He focused his eyes on the mountains ahead, sticking his hands inside the pockets of his black jeans as he walked lazily toward the house, like he wasn’t in any hurry to get there. “It’s hard. Being torn between two things you love.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Silence hung between us until he finally answered. “Yeah.”
“What did you choose?” I held my breath, waiting for an answer—maybe because I was hoping his answer would tell me what mine should be.
He looked back at me with a strange expression on his face. “The job. I chose the job.”
There were layers of emotion there. Pride. Regret.
I knew some of the choices he’d made. He’d chosen between Maine and New York, between his mom and dad. Now, he was choosing New York over staying in Wyoming and pursuing a relationship with his father.
But something in his eyes told me he was talking about more than that. Something even deeper. Something that had truly broken his heart.
I wanted to pry. But something stopped me. Maybe I was afraid to know. Afraid to hear the truth. Afraid that there was someone else he’d loved but left anyway.
