Page 28 of Deacon (Men of Clifton, Montana #52)

Johnny’s voice was low, nearly swallowed by the oppressive hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. He sat hunched at the steel table, fingers drumming against its scarred surface.

Deke leaned forward, the brim of his Stetson casting a shadow over his eyes.

He set an evidence bag with a cattle tag inside, on the table; the edges still flecked with dirt.

“We found these on a property down the road from where the cattle were hidden. We’ll dust them for prints, and just in case you forgot, we have yours, your brothers, and Smiths, to compare them to. You’d better tell the truth.”

“Fingerprints? Shit.” Johnny’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists.

“Is that your way of admitting you helped remove them? Like I told you, interfering with ear tags is a federal offense.” Deke’s tone was cold, precise.

Johnny swallowed hard. “So… what happens now?”

“Will I find your prints on those tags?” Deke snapped.

“Yes,” Johnny whispered as if he’d just realized the severity of his crime.

Deke’s reply was softer but no less firm. “I need details, who else was involved.”

“I don’t have more,” Johnny snapped, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Stop fucking around with me,” Deke barked, slamming a hand on the table. The clang echoed in the tiny room.

“Alright, alright!” Johnny raised his hands in surrender. His voice trembled. “My dad’s beef never sold as well as Hollister’s, and he was pissed. He figured, if we could lift Hollister’s cattle and sell them on the black market, he’d put him out of business.”

Deke frowned, rubbing his jaw. “Hollister had insurance. You didn’t hurt him, moneywise.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Who was there the night the cattle were stolen?” Deke asked, his gaze unflinching.

Johnny exhaled a shaky breath. “Me, Teddy, Smith, and Tommy.”

“Smith?” Deke leaned even closer. “He was actually there?”

Johnny nodded, his eyes downcast. “He planned it. Dad handled the money; we handled the cattle.”

“Have you retained counsel?” Deke’s voice was softer now, measured.

“Our father hired a lawyer for us.” Johnny’s shoulders sagged.

“Then your attorney will negotiate a deal, if you cooperate fully. But since your brother’s silent, he likely won’t get anything.” Deke paused. “Do you want a deal?”

Johnny’s gaze flickered up, hope and fear warring in his eyes. “Yeah. I want one.”

Deke nodded. “We’ll see. I can’t cut you a deal, that’s the lawyer’s job, but I can vouch for your cooperation.”

Johnny blinked back tears. “I… I don’t want to go to prison.”

“I get that. But you admitted this wasn’t your first time. I don’t know what penalties you’ll face.” Deke’s voice softened for a moment, noticing Johnny press his head to the cold metal table, shoulders shaking. “I’ll say you cooperated since we can’t bring up charges on any previous thefts.”

Johnny lifted his tear-streaked face. “Thanks.”

“I’ll do what I can for you.” Deke folded his arms. “But MDOL takes rustling very seriously.”

“Teddy’s too scared of Dad to talk. He’d rather rot in a cell.”

“What about you?” Deke tilted his head .

“I’m scared too but not of Dad. It’s the thought of prison,” Johnny admitted, voice small. “I’m twenty. If I get twenty years, I won’t get out until I’m forty.”

Deke studied him. “You should have thought of that. You knew it was illegal.”

“We did,” Johnny whispered. “But Dad swore we’d never get caught.”

“He lied.” Deke’s jaw tightened. “We won’t rest until every head of livestock is accounted for. No matter how long it takes.”

“Teddy’s not going to snitch, Agent Anderson. He said he’d sooner take a twenty-year stretch than flip on Dad.”

Deke exhaled. “Then that’s what he’s probably going to get, and once he sees how bad it is, he’ll wish he’d helped us, but by then, it will be too late.”

“Will we end up in the same place?” Johnny’s voice cracked.

“Depends on the charges,” Deke said. “Testifying helps. Your sentence could be lighter but no promises.”

Johnny shook his head. “I hate snitching, but I can’t stay here.”

Deke gave a slow nod. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you. I’ll be in touch, Johnny. For now, I need to get Tommy.”

Johnny rose slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Deke stood and opened the door. Jeff leaned against the wall; arms folded. “He’s yours.”

“How did it go?”

“He’s talking. I’m going to Winchester’s place to get Tommy. It seems he was in on this one. ”

“Damn. Well, good luck, Deke. I’ll take him back.” Jeff motioned for Johnny to follow him. Johnny stepped from the room, blinking at the sudden brightness of the hall.

Deke walked out into the muted bustle of the lobby.

The receptionist glanced up from her paperwork as he passed, offering a weary nod.

Outside, the fall air felt crisp. He was bone-tired, as his dad used to say.

Deke forced a grin, recalling the struggle to assemble Ellie’s new furniture, his father cursing every time something didn’t go together right.

Deke had ribbed him mercilessly; his dad shot him a glare that cracked him up.

He swung open the pickup’s door and climbed onto the seat.

The engine’s low growl vibrated through his bones, but somewhere in the damp ache of exhaustion, he unearthed a piece of calm.

Outside, the sky bled soft pink along the horizon as the sun sank behind low hills, promising something like hope.

He backed out, tires crunching gravel, and steered down the drive toward the Winchester homestead.

The two-story house loomed under a fading sky.

He killed the engine, and the sudden silence pressed in on him.

With a steadying breath, he stepped up to the door and knocked.

Why did some people need such a big house? Deke shook his head.

The door swung open. Mrs. Winchester stood framed in the dim hallway light, her shoulders slumped, the lines around her eyes deep with worry. She exhaled, a soft hiss of resignation. “What do you need, Agent Anderson?”

He nodded once. “I need to speak with Tommy.”

Behind her, Chet Winchester filled the doorway. His jaw tightened when he saw Deke. “Anderson, what are you doing here? You’ve already jailed two of my boys. You’re not taking another.”

Deke met his glare, voice low and even. “Winchester, that’s Agent Anderson to you, and you’re lucky I’m not arresting you right now. I know you were involved in stealing Hollister’s cattle—”

Winchester’s face hardened. “That’s a lie.”

Deke’s lips curled in a smirk. “Not according to John Smith… and one of your sons.”

Winchester’s eyes shifted to his wife, then back. “None of my sons would speak against me.”

“One did,” Deke said quietly. “He wants a deal. With his cooperation, you’ll go down with your sons and Smith.”

“Which one said I was in on it?”

“I’m not saying, but what I will say, is that your time is coming.”

“Then arrest me,” Winchester barked. “If you have proof—”

Deke folded his arms. “I will. Right now, I’m here for Tommy. He took part in rustling those cattle.”

Winchester’s face turned red. “You’ve got nothing.”

“Oh, but I do.” Deke folded his arms across his chest. “Fingerprints, ear tags—”

“When do I get my phone back?” Winchester demanded, changing the subject.

Deke glanced at him. “Call the sheriff’s department.”

“I want it now.”

Deke grinned. “Then go get it. I’m sure Sheriff Jones will hand it over.”

Winchester’s lip curled. “I wouldn’t speak to that man for all the money in the world.”

Deke’s eyes glinted. “Funny, I hear you’d do just about anything for money. Like selling stolen livestock to Anthony Dyer.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Winchester spat.

“You can keep lying,” Deke said softly, “but I know who has done what. And you’ll go down for it. Now get Tommy, or I’ll search the whole house again. That warrant’s still valid.” He placed his hand over his weapon on his hip, and casually tapped his finger against it.

Winchester let out a weary sigh. He glanced at his wife, then shrugged. “Go get him.”

Mrs. Winchester’s shoulders rose. “Alright. He’s upstairs.” She slipped away down the hallway.

Deke watched Winchester turn and lumber toward his office. He wanted that confrontation, but tonight his focus was on the younger boy. He listened to distant, hesitant footsteps on the staircase, then saw Mrs. Winchester descending alone. Deke’s jaw clenched.

“Where is he?”

“He won’t come down.”

“Fine.” Deke stepped past her and bounded up the stairs two at a time.

At the end of the landing, he paused by Tommy’s closed door. He shoved it open without knocking.

“Get out of here!” Tommy’s voice cracked. A half-made bed sagged beneath rumpled sheets.

Deke’s gaze was all business. “Stand up. You’re under arrest for rustling Hollister’s cattle.”

Tommy paled, shoulders hunching. “I wasn’t there.”

His tone was flat. “You’re lying. Once we’ve got your prints, we’ll match them with the ones on the ear tags you and your brothers removed from the cattle.” He watched the blood drain from the kid’s face. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Tommy’s defiance trembled. “I was only with them once—”

“I don’t care how many times,” Deke cut in. “I’ve got you for this. You’re going to prison.” He pulled the metal cuffs from his belt. “Turn around.”

Tommy’s breath hitched as he turned from him, and Deke snapped the cuffs around his wrists. The click echoed through the room.

Without another word, Deke led him down the stairs. Each footstep thudded in the silent house. At the door, Deke paused, glanced back into the hallway where Mr. and Mrs. Winchester watched in stunned silence.

“Your father’s support is remarkable,” Deke murmured, voice laced with sarcasm.

Then he guided Tommy around to the back door of the truck, swinging it open and helping the boy onto the seat. Tommy sat down, staring at the floor.