Page 32 of Deacon (Men of Clifton, Montana #52)

Deke maneuvered his truck into the driveway of Anthony Dyer’s last known address, at least the one listed in Maple Ridge.

The sprawling property looked like it belonged to a man with assets scattered across the map.

The lush green lawn was neatly trimmed, and the house itself was a grand structure of brick and glass, exuding an air of opulence.

The black market must be lucrative, Deke thought, as he exchanged a glance with Rawley.

“Some place, huh?” Deke remarked, his eyes sweeping over the impressive facade.

“Hell, yeah. He must make a ton of money off the black market,” Rawley replied, nodding in agreement.

“The only thing I could find on the man was that he was a bank CEO and he had no records. Let’s have a chat with him.” Deke stepped out of the truck with Rawley trailing behind, their boots crunching on the gravel path as they approached the imposing front door.

When it swung open, a tall man stood framed in the doorway, the light casting long shadows across his sharp features.

“Gentlemen, what can I help you with?” he asked, his voice smooth and confident.

“Are you Anthony Dyer?” Deke inquired, his eyes steady.

“I am,” the man confirmed.

“We’re with the Montana department of livestock. I’m Agent Anderson and this is Agent Bowman. We need a few minutes of your time.”

“What does MDOL want with me?” Dyer asked, curiosity piqued.

“Could we come inside?” Rawley interjected, his tone polite yet firm.

“Sure, come in.” Dyer opened the door wider, his gesture inviting them into the cool, polished interior of the house.

Deke glanced at Rawley, raising an eyebrow, to which Rawley responded with a slight shrug.

“Thank you,” Deke said as they stepped over the threshold, the scent of polished wood and leather enveloping them.

“Would you like something to drink?” Dyer offered, gesturing toward a sleek bar in the corner.

“No, sir. Is there somewhere we could sit and talk?” Deke asked, scanning the elegant furnishings.

“We can go into my office. Follow me.” Dyer turned and led them down a long, dimly lit hallway adorned with framed artwork. After a few moments, Deke and Rawley followed, their footsteps echoing softly.

“What the fuck? He doesn’t seem like he’s worried about us being here,” Rawley muttered under his breath.

“I know. Let’s see what we can find out,” Deke replied, determination etched on his face.

After an intense conversation with Anthony Dyer, Deke and Rawley exited the house, their expressions grim as they climbed back into the truck. They sat silently, staring through the windshield at the disappearing light of day.

“He lied. He fucking lied,” Deke said through clenched teeth, his jaw tight with frustration .

“Yeah, he did. Son of a bitch. Now what?” Rawley asked, looking over at Deke.

“We’re going back to Smith,” Deke decided with a resolute nod.

Deke drove to the sheriff’s department, the tension in the cab palpable.

Once there, he and Rawley entered the building, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over everything.

After a brief discussion with the sheriff, they made their way to the interrogation room to wait for Smith to be brought in, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken questions.

A deputy in a khaki uniform guided Smith through the steel-reinforced door.

The overhead fluorescent light buzzed, casting a sickly glare over scuffed gray walls.

The deputy clipped the handcuffs to the metal bar bolted on the table.

The sharp clank echoed, then the deputy nodded to Rawley and Deke and slipped out, the door thudding shut behind him.

Deke yanked a dented metal chair away from the scarred table and sat, letting it scrape on the floor. Rawley remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, eyes half-hidden under the brim of his hat. A faint whiff of stale coffee and musty sweat hung in the air.

“You want to try again on who Winchester was dealing with on the black market?” Deke’s voice was low, controlled, but every word stung.

Smith frowned, the dim light catching the worry lines around his eyes. “I told you. Anthony—”

“Bullshit. That man doesn’t know anything about it. You just pull a name out of a hat?” Deke’s chair creaked as he leaned forward.

“That was the name I was told.” Smith swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

Deke’s gaze flicked to Rawley. “Dyer has no prior records of any kind. He’s a hell of a lot cleaner than you and the Winchesters.”

Smith’s voice cracked. “I swear, that’s the name I was given.”

“By whom?” Rawley’s tone was slow, accusatory.

Smith’s gaze darted between them. He flattened his lips. “Teddy Winchester.”

Deke let out a long breath. “Figures.”

Rawley rolled his eyes. “The one who won’t talk but still leads us on a wild goose chase.”

Deke stood without warning, the chair scraping back. He opened the door and waved down a passing deputy in the corridor’s flickering light. “He can go back to his cell, but I want Teddy Winchester in here.”

“Right away.” The deputy removed Smith’s cuffs, hauled him upright, and marched him out. The door slammed behind them.

“I can’t believe this shit,” Deke muttered, rubbing his temples as he sat down. “I am so fucking tired of dealing with this kid.”

Minutes later, the door cracked open again. The deputy ushered in Teddy Winchester. He looked pale under the harsh light; his clothes hanging loose. The deputy cuffed his wrists to the bar and exited.

Deke leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, eyes locked on Teddy until the boy started shifting, uneasy. A bead of sweat rolled down Teddy’s temple.

“So,” Deke said, voice soft but hard as steel, “who’s Anthony Dyer?”

Teddy shrugged, glancing at the walls. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You told Smith that Dyer was who your father was dealing with for those stolen cattle.”

Teddy’s lip curled into a smirk. Deke’s jaw twitched; Rawley stiffened behind him.

“You think this is funny?” Rawley snapped, stepping closer. “We’re not stupid. We check every lead, and you lied about Dyer.”

Teddy continued to smirk. “So?”

Deke’s voice dropped a notch. “So? That’s your answer? Let me spell it out for you; I’m going to make sure you get the full sentence. Ten to twenty for theft, and another ten to twenty for tampering with ear tags. You’ll be lucky to see your forties outside a cell. If you think I’m joking…”

He let the threat hang in the stale air. Teddy’s face drained of color.

“My dad won’t let that happen—”

Rawley cut him off. “Your dad will be in the cell next to you.”

Silence pulsed in the small room. Deke met Teddy’s wide-eyed stare. “Why did you implicate Dyer?”

Teddy shrugged again, voice barely more than a whisper. “I just knew his name. I told Smith so if it came down to it, Smith would give that name, and my dad wouldn’t get in trouble.”

Rawley laughed, harsh and mirthless. “How fucking touching. Too bad your old man doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about you, does he?”

Teddy’s shoulders sagged as the two agents watched him shift uncomfortably in the flickering light.

“I will give you one more chance to tell me your father was behind this. If we walk out that door, there will be no deal for you. At all.” Deke leaned forward and put his arms on the table.

“I thought you said I couldn’t get a deal?”

“I’m feeling generous. Talk.”

Teddy sighed, then cleared his throat. “It was all my dad. He hates Hollister and wanted him to go out of business. We lost a lot of sales because his beef sold for more.”

“So, no black market? You just decided to lie more, right?” Deke stared at him.

“I told you, I didn’t want my dad to get in trouble.”

“What about your stepmother? Is she involved?”

“No. That woman has no clue about what’s going on. She only cares about the money Dad gives her.” Teddy shrugged.

“Did you get your brothers involved?” Rawley asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I bet that feels good. Knowing you’re putting them in prison.” Deke shook his head.

“Tommy only went one time.”

“That’s not what I heard, but it doesn’t matter how many times, it’s still theft. Rustling is a serious offense. How many times do I have to tell you that it’s a felony?”

“My dad said he’d never let us go to prison.”

“Your dad is not the law. He might have had judges in his pocket before, but for this, you’re all going away for a long time. ”

Teddy’s eyes widened. “How long?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let them know you cooperated, but don’t expect much.”

“It’s not fair,” Teddy murmured and Deke shot to his feet.

“Not fair? You stole a man’s livestock! His livelihood. That’s what’s not fair.” Deke sat back down.

“If you weren’t taking the cattle to someone to sell on the black market, just what were your intentions?” Rawley asked as he placed his hands on the table and glared at Winchester.

Teddy shrugged. “We were going to let them go.”

“Bullshit,” Rawley snapped.

“We’re done here. I’ll see you in court,” Deke said as he stood, then he and Rawley walked toward the door.

“Will you help me get a lighter sentence?”

Deke turned to look at him. “If you want me to say you cooperated, I need more. I want to know where those cattle were going.” Deke headed toward the door.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Gary Walsh was who we were going to sell them to.”

“Who the hell is he?”

“I don’t know him. Dad was in touch with him.”

Deke walked back to the table, leaned forward; tone icy. “If you’re lying again—”

“I’m not. I swear it.”

“We’ll check in with him and so help, if you are lying, I will not tell anyone you cooperated. We clear?”

“Yes. ”

Deke looked at Rawley. “Let’s go. We’ll head back to the Winchester house first thing in the morning. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be there if we went now.”

Rawley nodded, and they walked out of the room.