Smith shrugged; his eyes haunted. “Can we talk deal now?”
Deke clicked off the recorder, stood, spun thechair around and tucked it under the table. “Get an attorney. This isn’t your first rodeo, so don’t expect to walk free anytime soon.”
Smith’s lip trembled. “I don’t want to end up in the same prison as the Winchester boys. They’re dangerous.”
Deke shrugged. “Not my call. Good luck, Mr. Smith.” He slipped through the door without glancing back.
Outside, the sheriff leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded. “Sounds like you’re onto something.”
“I want Chet Winchester,” Deke said. “But I need the boys’ side of this.”
“I can ask them,” the sheriff offered, then shook his head. “Hell, come with me. You can ask them yourself.”
They threaded down a dim hallway into a block of steel-barred cells. The smell of disinfectant mingled with something sour in the air.
“They’re right there.” The sheriff nodded toward two of three adjacent cells.
Deke stared at the prisoners; Teddy Winchester, lean and scowling, and Johnny, younger, his eyes darting nervously.
“Want to talk yet?” Deke asked, voice echoing.
“No,” Teddy snarled, arms crossed.
“Smith named you both, along with your old man.”
Teddy laughed, a harsh bark. “Yeah, right.”
“He did.” Deke stepped back and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “Does Anthony Dyer ring a bell?”
Both boys paled. Deke allowed himself a small smile. “So, you know him.”
Johnny’s voice cracked. “I’ll talk.”
Teddy snapped, “Shut up, Johnny.”
Deke leaned close. “Tell me everything.”
“My dad will kill me,” Johnny whispered.
“He won’t get the chance. I’m charging him too.” Deke’s tone turned stern. “Montana law considers any theft of domesticated hoofed animals a felony. You face up to ten years per count. Those cattle were worth a lot of money. You’ll all be behind bars for a long time.”
“Even if we cooperate?” Johnny asked.
“That’s up to your lawyer. I’ll note your cooperation, but you tell me the whole story, including your father’s role, or I’ll lock the three of you in one cell and we’ll have a family reunion. You talk to each other, then have the sheriff call me if you want to talk.” He straightened, turned, and walked out.
****
Ava sat at the table; her laptop open to the sales report she’d studied all morning. The late-afternoon sun slanted through the window, catching the flecks of dust in the air. Outside, a truck rumbled over gravel, and Ava’s chest fluttered with anticipation, was it Deacon? She glanced down at her faded cotton T-shirt, noting spaghetti stains darkening the fabric from lunch with Ellie. With a quick exhale, she pushed back her chair and hurried toward the hallway, then froze as a hard knock echoed behind her.
“Damn it,” she whispered, smoothing her hair. She inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and opened the door to reveal Deacon in his worn bootsand his cowboy hat shading his face.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi… come inside,” she managed, stepping aside. She watched him wipe his boots on the mat, remove his hat, then step over the threshold. He paused just inside, hat in hand.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
She gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you staying a while?”
