Page 20 of The Tracker (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #5)

DAWSON

D awson knew trouble by the way it moved—fast, quiet, and always aimed for the softest damn spot.

He’d felt it building since they left Shaw Petrochemical, since Evangeline read that message on her phone from an unknown number and went pale beneath the fluorescent lights.

She hadn't told him what it said—not yet—but he saw the shift in her eyes. The mask sliding back into place.

He’d held her all night, waiting. For her to open up.

For the next shot to fire. For whatever game their enemies were playing to take its next brutal turn.

Each time she turned in the bed, he watched the lines of tension in her shoulders, listened for the stutter of her breathing.

She was unraveling, but she wouldn’t let herself fall apart.

Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

There was a moment before dawn when he nearly woke her, thumb hovering over her cheekbone, wanting to say—You can let go.

I’ll catch you. But instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the faint city glow beyond the window, cataloging threats.

The sense of looming danger pressed down on his chest, as familiar as the weight of his old service weapon.

He remembered the rhythm of a cartel cleanup back in Laredo, bodies dropped silent, comms going dark just before the storm hit.

This felt the same—an invisible line tightening around their lives.

He rolled out of bed without waking Evangeline. She lay tangled in the sheets, one bare hip just visible, golden hair spilling across his pillow like a banner someone might follow into battle—or madness. Her phone was still in her hand. When he carefully eased it free, the screen lit up.

A text thread from an unknown number. A threat. A taunt.

He didn’t wake her. Not yet. She deserved a few more minutes of peace before the world came crashing in again.

His own phone pinged and he moved into the main room. He muttered a curse against mobile phones—useful, yes, but always intrusive.

JESSE: We’ve got a problem. Bring her in. Now.

Dawson moved through the loft with quiet precision, scanning sight lines, checking exits.

Habit wasn’t something you outgrew—it just adapted.

He returned to the bedroom, and saw that she had awakened and gone into the bath.

He began to dress in silence—jeans, T-shirt, Glock.

The usual. Every motion was smooth, automatic, shaped by years of training.

Evangeline emerged as he finished buttoning his jeans. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her jaw clenched tight enough to leave a headache in its wake. Still, she held his gaze—fierce, unyielding.

She was ready. Or close enough.

He caught her reflection in the mirror as she fixed him with a look—sharp, smart, unbothered even with the weight of exhaustion pressing on her.

“You always get dressed like the world’s about to end?” Her voice was thick with exhaustion, but a spark of her irrepressible wit glinted through, cutting the heaviness in the air like a blade.

“Only when it is.”

“What now?” she asked, voice rough.

“Jesse just confirmed what we already knew,” he said. “The letter opener—your letter opener—was the only weapon.”

Her breath caught. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” He tossed the burner on the bed. “They didn’t just kill him. They staged it. Used your letter opener and then sent you that picture to make sure you knew what was coming.”

Her jaw hardened. “They want to rattle me. They think I’ll run.”

Dawson shook his head. “Not necessarily. They want to box you in. And if we wait too long, they’ll make damn sure you look guilty from every angle.”

"But I was with you..."

He smiled softly. "Yes, you were, but they don't know that. You have an airtight alibi. The police may try to break it and say I'm covering for you, but the alibi will hold. It's solid."

"It's also true. I say we don’t wait.” Her voice steadied in a way that made him want to shake her. “The cops think I did it.”

“Maybe, but so far they’re not saying that. They're keeping their cards close to their vest.”

She nodded but was moving before he could stop her, dragging on the same tight black jeans and oversized sweater she’d worn last night. No hesitation, no tears. Just sharp movements and clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

Silver Spur’s headquarters was all controlled chaos—light flickering off too many monitors, the low hum of voices and keyboard clicks.

Dawson led Evangeline inside, feeling the change in the air: a mix of adrenaline and fatigue, that sense of circling wagons before a siege.

Gavin hunched over three laptops, cursing at a frozen progress bar.

A junior tech—Lia, barely out of college—met Dawson and Evangeline with coffee.

Reed stood by the main ops desk, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He didn’t move when Dawson approached, just gave him a long, heavy look—the kind that said he already knew everything and wasn’t happy about any of it.

“Letter opener?” Dawson asked.

Reed grunted. “Jesse said the prints were partial. Enough to cause what they were hoping was a slam dunk, but not enough to clear her.”

Dawson felt a cold weight settle in his gut.

Partial prints were enough to leak to the press.

Enough to seed doubt in the minds of corporate officers, board members, and shareholders.

Hell, even her own legal team might start treating her like a liability instead of a client.

One misstep, and she'd lose more than her place with Shaw Petrochemical—she'd lose her freedom.

“"They were planted. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing," Reed said, his voice flat and certain.

“And they knew how to get in and out clean,” Jesse added, flicking the toothpick between his teeth. “Somebody inside’s helping them. Or at least looking the other way.”

Evangeline’s expression didn’t shift, but Dawson felt the heat rolling off her—a restless, furious energy that vibrated beneath her calm.

He saw the way her hand hovered over her phone, fingers curling so tight her knuckles blanched, like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

For a heartbeat, he wanted to take it from her, to ease the burden, to shield her from the next blow that was coming.

But he knew she’d never forgive him for that kind of kindness.

She’d rather break her own heart than be seen as breakable.

“You think it’s someone on my board?” she asked.

“I think someone wants this to trace back to you and is playing a long game to make it stick,” Reed said. “Could be someone on your board. Could be someone in legal. Could be a janitor with the right key card and the wrong motive.”

Dawson looked between the two men. “We lock down the internal access logs yet?”

“Already on it,” Jesse said. “But someone scrubbed the last forty-eight hours. I’ve got a partial log that might give us something, but it’s a mess.”

Lachlan swept through then, tablet in hand, expression sharp and focused. “Gavin’s pulling server backups from last week. He found a fragment—might be a list of admin logins, but it’s encrypted. We’ll need Evangeline’s access to break it.”

Evangeline nodded, stepping forward, her voice taut. “Let’s do it.”

For a moment, she paused beside Dawson, who murmured, “Don’t let them see you flinch. That’s how you survive this.” His hand landed on her shoulder—a silent, unspoken reassurance.

As they huddled over the data, the mood in the room shifted.

The team closed ranks, each person working their specialty, the atmosphere humming with urgency and camaraderie.

The evidence wasn’t enough to clear her, but it wasn’t enough to convict, either.

For now, they were chasing ghosts through firewalls and half-erased audit trails.

Jesse’s desk was a mess of sticky notes, empty Red Bull cans, and a screenful of scrolling code.

Gavin muttered under his breath about packet loss and digital ghosts.

Jesse muttered, “Whoever did this knows how we think. They’re always one step ahead, or we’re chasing our tails for show.”

Lachlan leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

“I’ve seen this before. In Scotland, we had a leak inside a bank—looked like an amateur until you realized the pros always leave a little noise, just enough to blame someone else.

” His accent sharpened. “Don’t get caught staring at the wrong hand. ”

Evangeline leaned over the monitors, frustration tightening her mouth. “Someone’s still inside. Feeding them information.” She was acutely aware of the team watching her—some with hope, some with suspicion.

Dawson put a steady hand on her back. “We’ll catch them. We always do.”

She glanced back at him, gratitude flickering in her eyes—small and fleeting, but so real it made his chest ache.

For just a heartbeat, she let down her guard, and he saw everything she was too proud to say: 'Thank you. I trust you. I can breathe, because you’re here.

' It was a moment that carried more comfort than a hundred reassurances, a silent thread of connection binding them tighter than words ever could.

As Gavin worked, a new chat window opened suddenly on one of the screens—a blank field, cursor blinking, then disappearing. Jesse swore and slammed his fist on the desk.

Lia jumped. “That wasn’t me,” she said, pale.

Lachlan moved to calm everyone, but even he was tense. “Someone’s watching us,” he muttered, and Dawson felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.