Page 50 of Cowboy Mountain Man

He grabs the sleeves and pulls them back, checking for a watch. There isn’t one.

He lets go. “You photographers put trackers in everything now?”

“Only the expensive clients.”

His mouth tightens. Wrong joke.

I look down. The plastic tie cuts into my wrist. I breathe slowly. Think.

He wants me to call Harlan. He still needs the card—and he needs me to discredit what the sheriff already has. That gives me something. A reason to keep me talking… to keep me alive.

The road ends beside a sagging structure built into the hillside. An old equipment shed. Behind it, black timber braces surround a mine entrance.

Pike stops.

My stomach sinks. “No,” I say.

He gets out. “No what?”

“I’m not going in there.”

He opens my door. “You don’t get a vote.”

“The pictures are on my tablet.”

He pauses.

I look straight at him. “You take me underground, you lose service. Harlan can send them to anybody he wants.”

His jaw works. I keep talking. “If you want him to stop, you need me on the phone.”

For a second, I think he’s going to hit me. Then he pulls me out and shoves me toward the shed instead.

Inside, the floor smells of wet dirt, oil, and old wood. There’s a folding chair near a workbench. A stack of black equipment cases. The white mountain logo.

Pike pushes me into the chair. Then takes out his phone. “You tell him to come alone.”

“Let Alden go.”

He looks up. “What?”

“The man at the cabin. Make sure he’s all right.”

“You’re worried about him?”

“Yes.”

Something like amusement moves across his face. “You really don’t know when to mind your own business.”

He turns toward the doorway while the call connects. I look at the chair. A bent nail sticks out along one bracket. I can almost reach it.

I twist in the chair. The legs scrape.

Pike turns. I lift my bound hands. “These hurt.”

He looks at them. “Good.” He faces the door again. I move my wrists against the sharp edge of the bracket’s nail. Once. Twice. Not enough. But the plastic catches.

A voice comes through the phone.