Page 43 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)

Even so, Wade drove to his brother’s address at the start of his shift.

Last Chance Trailer Park wasn’t the worst place to live in town—the apartments on Orange enjoyed that distinction.

The trailers were well-maintained and spaced out along a meandering gravel road next to a wilderness area known as Lost Creek.

Wade pulled into a parking spot behind Billy’s truck and exited his squad car.

The hair at the nape of his neck prickled as he approached the residence.

The front door gaped open as if someone had left in a rush.

Wade rested his right hand on his service revolver and listened.

He heard only a whisper-soft sound like a faucet dripping.

He announced his presence as he crossed the threshold but got no response. He continued into the kitchen, where silent mayhem greeted him. His brother was face-down in a pool of blood on the scuffed linoleum floor.

Wade blinked several times as if to clear his vision.

He inhaled a sharp breath and stood very still.

He didn’t stumble forward, or cry out in shock, or flee the room in horror.

He didn’t check his brother’s pulse because he knew a dead man when he saw one, and he knew better than to disturb a crime scene.

He reacted professionally, which was stranger and sadder than reacting emotionally.

He backed out of the kitchen and checked the rest of the trailer for intruders.

He didn’t expect to find anyone. Billy had probably been lying there for hours.

Evidence of the previous evening’s festivities abounded.

Vinyl records were scattered around the bedroom.

The living room smelled like weed and cigarettes.

A glass tumbler lay on the carpet with a faint lipstick mark at the rim.

Wade returned to the kitchen and forced himself to take a closer look at the body.

No weapon was visible. The congealed blood around Billy’s head appeared dark, almost black.

Delicate paw prints dotted the floor as if a curious feline had tracked through the mess.

Wade noted shattered glass and spilled booze across the countertop.

There were smears of blood and boot scuffs on the linoleum.

Wade returned to his squad car and surveyed the surroundings.

He didn’t see signs of a break-in or any tire marks.

The gravel driveway wouldn’t show them. In the field beyond the lot, a cat with white markings sat and licked its paws.

Wade’s stomach turned at the sight. Billy hadn’t owned a cat, as far as he knew.

He thought of his mother, an animal lover who collected strays of all types, and he had to close his eyes to collect himself.

He took a deep breath and made a mental list of Billy’s contacts. Who’d been partying with him last night? Who might have visited? Gabe Luna. The Stoddard brothers. Natalie’s babysitter and her hippie friend.

Jason Reed.

Wade had to consider Jason the prime suspect.

He’d been involved in a physical altercation with Billy.

Jason thought Billy had been following Natalie and threatening her.

Billy might be a loose cannon, but Jason was a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate.

What were the odds that the two of them had met and exploded?

Wade wouldn’t mind putting Jason Reed behind bars. He knew his father would go for it. As soon as the sheriff caught wind of this, all hell would break loose. He would go on a rampage. He loved his younger son unconditionally. He’d want to make someone pay.

The idea of being in lockstep with his father, just as Jason had accused, gave Wade pause. He had to tread carefully here. He had to follow evidence not impulse. He had to find Gabe Luna.

Wade didn’t report his brother’s body. He locked the front door and called another deputy to keep watch on the residence.

Then he drove to Gabe’s house. His sister answered the door, her hair sleep-mussed, and said Gabe hadn’t come home the night before.

She had no idea where he’d gone. They tried to track Gabe’s cell phone with no luck.

Gabe had either grown wise to this strategy or ditched his device.

Wade thanked her and moved on. He cruised up and down the streets of Last Chance with growing frustration.

A spark of inspiration struck near Jensen’s Junkyard.

Wade had responded to vandalism calls at the location several times.

Teenagers liked to go there to blow off steam.

Wade entered the yard and drove along the rows of damaged vehicles. He spotted a dark-haired head ducking behind a rusted Chevy.

Bingo.

Wade accelerated, and the figure bolted.

A tall kid in baggy pants cut across several rows, hurdling car hoods with surprising grace.

Cursing under his breath, Wade parked his squad car and continued the pursuit on foot.

He knew where Gabe was headed; a piece of broken fence offered the only exit.

He jogged toward it and caught another glimpse of the kid as he dove toward the fence line.

Gabe was faster than Wade had figured. He’d almost wriggled through the hole in the chain link.

Wade grabbed Gabe’s ankle and yanked it backward.

Gabe’s thin arms flailed as he tried to scrabble away on the hard-packed dirt.

Wade didn’t let go. He pulled Gabe free of the fence and dragged him across rough gravel.

“Police brutality,” Gabe panted. “I can’t breathe.”

Wade pinned his arms behind his back. “Why are you running?”

“Because you’re chasing me!”

“Are you going to stay down?”

Gabe nodded.

“I’m going to check your pockets. Do you have any sharps?”

“Fuck off,” Gabe said. Despite his impressive athletic display, he sounded winded and smelled drunk.

Wade winced at the damp feel of the denim jeans as he removed a pill bottle from Gabe’s front pocket. The prescription was written in Spanish and bore a familiar name. “Where did you get this?”

“None of your business.”

Wade considered reading him his rights and putting him under arrest on the spot. Instead, he helped the kid to his feet. Judging by his tense face and tortured brown eyes, Gabe knew he was in trouble, and the drugs in his pocket were the least of his problems.

“Let’s talk,” Wade said.

Gabe didn’t argue as Wade led him to the squad car. He opened the side door and directed him to the back seat. Underneath the booze, Wade detected the slightly fishy smell of creek water.

“Did you go swimming last night?”

“No.”

“Your jeans are wet.”

Gabe inspected his elbow, which was bloody. Wade found it odd that he was wearing damp jeans and a T-shirt on a chilly morning, but kids his age dressed weird, and drunks were often immune to cold.

“I went to Billy’s this morning,” Wade said.

Gabe’s face went sickly pale. Wade stepped back just in time to avoid the splash as Gabe leaned forward and heaved. There wasn’t much in his stomach, just a few mouthfuls of spit and bile, but he kept retching until nothing came up. Wade gave him a bottle of water and waited for him to recover.

“This will go better for you if you’re honest,” Wade said. “I don’t think you want to wait around and talk to my dad. You should talk to me right now.”

Gabe sipped the water and seemed to weigh his options. Wade was the devil he knew. Sheriff Hendricks was just the devil. “OK.”

“What happened last night?”

Gabe recounted the events in sparse detail. He’d been hanging out with Billy and the same girls Wade had driven home last week. They were drinking and partying in Billy’s trailer. The girls left at some point, and Gabe passed out on the couch.

“Then what?” Wade asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything else.”

“How did you get wet?”

Gabe shrugged.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I was trying to sober up.”

“Bullshit,” Wade said. “You know more than you’re saying. You’re scared shitless.”

Gabe stared at him with hollow eyes.

Wade wanted to grab him and shake him. “My brother is dead, Gabe. You were there. You know what happened to him.”

He shook his head jerkily. “I was passed out.”

“When did you wake up? What did you hear?”

“I heard shouting,” he admitted, his voice dull.

“What else?”

“Gunshots.”

“How many?”

“Two or three.”

“Who was shouting? Billy?”

“Billy and someone else.”

“A man or woman?”

“Man.”

“What did you do when you heard the shots?”

“I waited until it was quiet, and I left. I didn’t look at him.” Gabe moistened his lips. “I was scared. I ran toward the creek.”

“You’re lying,” Wade said.

“I’m not,” Gabe said.

Wade waited for him to say more. Sometimes, silence was the best strategy in interrogation.

Gabe’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t kill him.”

Wade believed this, if nothing else. “Who did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was that guy…”

“What guy?”

“The one Natalie is dating.”