Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I should have been pissed he invaded her privacy, but sometimes you had to do the wrong thing to protect what was right.
“She was up researching a couple things last night after you left. I presume it was after you left, or else you’re a real dud in bed.”
I glared. “Shut up, asshole. What did she research?”
“She read up on a certain Viking weapon called the Alfson seax.”
“What the hell’s a seax?” I asked.
“A dagger. A big, fancy, old knife with jewels and gold and stuff. It was just sold at auction to Lucas Straight.”
“The actor?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And guess where he’s keeping it?”
“Just tell me, fuckface.”
Kennedy had the nerve to pause for dramatic effect. I swore for a serious badass SEAL, he was such a girl. “At his second home, about ninety minutes from here. Straight spends his summers playing cowboy.”
I whistled. “Whoa. Okay. What else?”
“Her other search was for Lucas Straight plus Conifer, Montana.”
“Okay, so…she’s what? Planning on stealing this thing? Is that what we’re thinking?”
I wouldn’t have pegged Megan for a thief. Ever.
Kennedy shrugged. “Either that, or she’s on his security detail. But somehow I don’t think Gabriel Burns is Straight’s hiring manager.”
Fuck. I scrubbed a hand across my face then pulled up my phone. Last night I’d been dastardly enough to install a tracking app on Megan’s phone when she’d used the bathroom. If she didn’t notice it and kept her location service on, I’d be able to keep tabs on her.
Again, totally breaking privacy laws, but I didn’t give a shit.
“Maybe it’s her dad who’s doing the job, and she’s going to arrest him,” I offered up another option.
“Maybe, but why would Burns show up at her house? Why would a guy like him go to a law enforcement officer? It makes no sense.”
I didn’t like where he was going. I pulled up the app for tracking Megan’s cell and–
Bingo! I found her. Fuck. Driving out of town in the direction of Conifer.
I held up my phone, and his eyebrows winged up.
“Text me the address for Lucas Straight’s place?” I asked.
“She’s headed there? This doesn’t look good.”
I glared, and he raised his hands.
“Sure.” He spun back to his wall of monitors. “What are you going to do now?”
“Follow her.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
MEGAN
I pulled down a long drive to Lucas Straight’s vacation home about ninety minutes from Sparks. Considering how much money the guy was supposed to have, the place wasn’t as fancy as I expected. I guessed he had about twenty acres and a house with four or five bedrooms. It was the river that ran through the land that made the place valuable. I guessed he was a fisherman as much as a Viking lover and wanted better water access than a state-of-the-art kitchen.
That boded well for me, but I didn’t guess when it came to a job. Expect the unexpected, my father always said. While he wasn’t a Boy Scout, he also used their motto, always be prepared.
That was why I was here. I glanced around, took in the two-story farmhouse to validate everything my dad had shared. Security cameras in the eaves aimed at the front door. I’d recognized sensors as I turned onto the driveway. If someone was home, he or she knew I was here.
I parked my older Subaru far enough away where the license plate couldn’t be seen by cameras, slid on a pair of fake tinted glasses, fluffed the red-haired wig I’d put on beneath a cowgirl hat, and made my way to the front door. I rang the bell and took in the door. Solid wood. Deadbolt. Sensor in the top right corner. The windows that flanked it were new. Double pane. Closed even though it was eighty degrees out.
A woman came to the door wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Fifties. Not from around here based on the stylish cut of her hair and the designer brand on her jeans.
“Hi. I’m Lacey, and I’m here for the interview.” I smiled, trying to appear as benign as possible as I took in everything beyond the woman inside the house.
The woman frowned. “Interview?”
“For the farrier job,” I replied. Over her shoulder, I took in the entry, the stairs rising directly behind her with a hall beside that led, I assumed, to the kitchen. On one side of her was a den, the other a living room. They were simply furnished but professionally styled as if out of a magazine. Artwork hung on the walls. Even a tapestry by the fireplace.
“I’m sorry, I don’t even know what that is.”
I laughed, waved it off. “No one does. I’m a horse shoe-er.” I glanced left and right, pretending to be lost and scoped out the other security on the front. “I am at the right place, aren’t I? This is the Chalmers spread.”
The woman looked relieved at my words. “The Chalmers? I think they’re the next ranch down. Maybe the one after that. I’m only here a few weeks in the summer, so I haven’t met them yet.”