Page 141 of Fire Fight
We skidded to a stop in my gravel drive next to Trey’s truck a short while later, and I pushed out of the SUV into a cloud ofdust, leaving my brother and Aspen behind. The front door was open, the keypad for the security system bleating on the wall.
“Trey?” I called.
“Office!”
Fuck. That couldn’t be good.
I was proved right a moment later when I entered the room to find it in complete disarray. The murder wall had been destroyed, torn corners of pages clinging uselessly to the tacks. My computer was a heap of twisted metal, glass, and wires on the floor, smashed irreparably.
A gasp behind me had me turning to Aspen, who stood in the doorway with her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide. Lane hovered behind her, jaw clenched as his eyes swept the space.
“Everyone out,” he barked.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“It’s a crime scene now, baby bro,” Trey said with a hand on my shoulder, steering me from the room. Lane was already on his radio, calling deputies and CSI as he stomped back outside. A minute later, he returned with yellow crime scene tape, barricading the door to the office with a few strips before ushering us all back to the driveway. Then he placed another across the front door.
Trey’s vehicle was outfitted with a mobile command center, and I stood next to him, hand cradling Aspen’s, as he tapped away on his laptop, pulling up the feed from the cameras on my property.
“See anything?” I asked.
He pressed a few more keys then angled the screen toward me.
I watched the playback from the camera mounted on a tree in the yard. For several moments, everything was still. Then, a figure entered the frame. They were cloaked head to toe in black, their face obscured by a mask. An oversized coat with the hoodpulled up hid their body type, making it impossible to determine anything about them.
They strolled right up to my front door like they owned the place, fiddled with the handle until it popped open, and disappeared inside. Less than five minutes later, they returned, the sheaf of papers they’d stolen from my office clasped in their gloved hands, and disappeared from view.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“We don’t have cameras inside,” he reminded me. “And the footage from the ones mounted to the exterior of the house and garage don’t catch anything else of use. This guy is a fucking ghost.” Then he grinned. “The good news is, it’s not Ward.”
“Fuck!” I screamed, yanking my hand from Aspen’s and shoving my hands through my hair, tugging until sharp pain bloomed on my scalp.
A hand settled against my spine briefly before Aspen’s touch snaked around, coming to rest against my stomach as she pressed her face into my back. I calmed, if only a fraction.
“Guess it’s a good thing we’re moving to the ranch for the foreseeable future,” she said quietly into my skin.
I let out a chuckle, more tension easing from my shoulders as I did, then spun to embrace her properly.
“Guess so.”
Lane letus in the house long enough to pack a few bags of necessities, and by the time we loaded into my truck to head for the ranch, my property was crawling with cops.
Deciding I needed the fresh air and freedom of the backroads, I eased us onto the two-track that cut across ranch land instead of around it, rolling the windows down as we bumped along. Riley Green crooned softly from the speakers, the sun wasshining, and my girl was at my side. Despite the fact that the comfort and safety of my home had been violated, I was living the dream.
“I can’t believe this is all ranch land,” Aspen said, her hand out the window, riding the wind.
“It’s the largest privately owned acreage in the state,” I admitted.
She looked at me then. “What do you do with it all?”
“Not much, honestly. There are grazing pastures for the dairy cows, fields of soybeans Mama uses for the self-care products she sells, hay we harvest for the cattle and horses. Otherwise, it’s untamed wilderness. We’ve got herds of wild horses, buffalo and bison, moose, deer, and all sorts of other wild animals.”
“So why haven’t you sold any of the land off?”
“Because the only people rich enough to purchase the kind of acreage we’d even consider parting with are developers who want to grade the land and build on it. My brothers and I refuse to let that happen in our lifetimes. Consider it a…privately owned wildlife sanctuary.”
Aspen nodded. “Fair enough.”
