Page 16 of Deacon (Men of Clifton, Montana #52)

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. It must be the very edge of town,” Killian said.

Deke soon spotted their quarry two cars ahead, skillfully maneuvering to maintain his position. The chase continued as the vehicle took another turn, veering onto a narrow gravel road devoid of any street signs, a cloud of dust trailing behind them.

“Now what?” Rawley asked, concern lacing his voice. “We can’t follow them down that road. Our dust would give us away.”

“I’m going to park, then we’ll go in on foot,” Deke decided, exchanging determined looks with Killian and Rawley. “Get your vests on and check your weapons.”

“You got it,” Killian affirmed, reaching for his vest that Rawley handed over from the back seat.

Deke parked the truck, cut the engine, and stepped out. The air was tense with anticipation as he donned his protective vest and checked his gun. He noticed Killian and Rawley mirroring his actions, each preparing for what lay ahead.

“Let’s hope there aren’t any cameras,” Killian remarked, scanning the surroundings with a wary eye.

“Yeah,” Deke agreed, shaking his head slightly. “We’ll stay off the road for as long as we can. ”

“I hope it’s not a long road,” Rawley quipped, eliciting a chuckle from the others.

“Not in the mood for a walk, Rawley?” Deke teased, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Hell, I’m never in the mood for a walk,” Rawley replied, half-jokingly.

“You have the wrong job,” Killian laughed, lightening the mood as they prepared to move quietly and cautiously.

“I’ll head up the left side, and you two take the right, spread out a little.

” Deke’s voice was low but firm over the whisper of the wind through the tall grass.

Rawley and Killian gave curt nods and melted into the rippling fields that flanked the gravel road.

Blades of grass brushed their legs. Deke moved with measured steps, eyes scanning for the dull sheen of camera lenses hidden among clumps of sagebrush or strapped to tree trunks in camo casings.

Each man searched relentlessly, fingers itching at holsters, breath held in silent anticipation.

A buzz in Deke’s pocket startled a robin into flight. He eased the phone free and read Rawley’s text by the glow of the screen.

There’s a small house about fifty yards in front of me and the two brothers and another man are on the porch. Trailer full of cattle beside the house.

Deke sent a text back. Have you ever seen the man before?

No. You two need to come to my position. Now.

On my way. Text Killian. Deke texted, dropping the phone back into his pocket.

He darted across the dusty driveway, gravel crunching under his boots, and plunged into the cool shade of the wood line. He froze at the snap of a twig, heart thudding, then sagged in relief when Killian emerged from behind a stand of pines, his gun in his hand, but he lowered it when he saw Deke.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it was you. Rawley has to be close.”

They threaded between trunks carpeted in pine needles, the earthy scent sharp in the air. Soon Rawley appeared ahead, stepping into a shaft of sunlight. They met halfway.

“I have no idea who the other man is,” Rawley murmured, eyes shifting to the cattle trailer’s ribbed metal sides, “but that herd, I can’t tell if they’ve got ear tags.”

Deke studied the low-slung trailer through binoculars, sun glinting off its corrugated panels. “I’d bet my year’s pay those are Hollister’s cattle. Let’s move in closer.”

They closed the gap of the property, hearts hammering beneath their protective vests. Under the oaks’ dappled shade, Deke leveled his binoculars at the porch, three figures clustered by the heavy oak door.

“Can you see inside the house?” he whispered to Killian.

Killian looked through his binoculars. “It looks empty and clear.”

“Good. No need for backup yet.”

They watched the younger brother pass a thick envelope to an older man with salt-and-pepper stubble. Deke’s jaw tightened.

“Cash, I bet.”

“You’d probably win that bet.” Killian’s voice was hard .

Rawley, at the tree line, shook his head. “One Winchester is heading toward the hauler. What do you want to do?”

“You and I head for the porch to grab the kid and that man. Killian, you cut off the hauler.”

“Alright. Is there ammo in the truck for the rifle, Deke?” Killian asked.

“Yeah, in the center console.”

“Okay. I’m getting that. He might not stop for a pistol.” Killian slipped away like a shadow, vanishing toward the gravel road.

Deke glanced at Rawley. “As soon as that truck is out of sight, you get Winchester, I’ll handle the other guy.”

Rawley’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m going to have to run after him, aren’t I?”

“Probably.” Deke’s lips twitched in a wry grin.

“Damn.” Rawley sighed, then squared his shoulders. “Good thing I stay in shape. Whenever you’re ready.”

They waited in silence as the rumbling engine of the livestock hauler grew distant, then Deke sent a quick text to Killian.

It’s on the move. Deke checked his pistol’s slide one last time and nodded to Rawley.

“Let’s do this.”

They stepped from the woods just as the hauler rounded the bend. The older man and the boy on the porch were still deep in conversation. Deke and Rawley pressed close to the nearest oak, breaths steady, eyes locked on their targets. At Deke’s signal, they swept into the clearing, weapons raised.

“Montana Department of Livestock. Put your hands where we can see them!” Deke’s voice cut through the afternoon stillness.

The younger Winchester’s head whipped up, panic flaring in his eyes. Before Deke could say anything, the boy bolted, jumping off the porch and disappearing around the house. Rawley let out an exasperated sigh; Deke felt a grin tug at his lips as he watched Rawley run after him.

“Sir, put your hands on top of your head and interlock your fingers! Do not move!” Deke told the man on the porch as he aimed his Glock 19 at him.

The sun beat down on the dusty lane as the man lifted his hands without protest. Deke’s boots crunched over the gravel as he kept his gun trained on the suspect until he reached the wide wooden planks of the porch. Weathered paint peeled beneath their feet.

“Turn around,” Deke said, his voice low and steady. “You’re under arrest for rustling.”

The man’s eyes glanced defiantly over his shoulder. “I didn’t do any rustling.”

Deke put his gun in his holster but held firm. “You might not have driven the cattle off the range yourself, but you’ve got the Hollister herd here. That’s enough. Now, where’s the hauler headed?”

“I don’t know,” the man spat.

“Yeah, right.” Deke snapped handcuffs onto the man’s wrists, the metal clicking cold against his skin, then patted him down, and removed the man’s wallet.

He flipped it open to see the man’s name, then put the wallet back into the man’s pocket and gripped the crook of his elbow and guided him down the sun-bleached steps toward the road.

Ahead, the dusty trail stretched toward a hauler idling in the road.

Killian stood before it, a rifle steady in his hands.