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Could this be from the same saboteur who’d called in the bomb threat and cut the fence? Or was this from the real shooter? Was he finding connections where they didn’t exist, or missing real associations at everyone’s peril? Even Willow’s?
With fumbling fingers, he reached for his phone and found the personal cell number for MVPD Sergeant Spencer Colton.
Spencer answered on the second ring.
“What’s going on, Asher?”
His distant cousin didn’t bother with niceties. They’d rarely spoken to each other before the past few months, and now they were in regular contact.
“Can you come to Dad’s room at Mustang Valley General as soon as possible?”
“What’s going on?” he repeated.
“Can you just get here?” Asher hated that his voice rose at the end of the question, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m already on my way, so just slow down and tell me—”
“I’m not going to slow down. Just get here.” He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Someone’s planning to kill my father.”
* * *
Asher knocked but didn’t wait for an answer before hurrying into Spencer’s office at the Mustang Valley Police Department building late the next morning. He dropped into a visitor’s chair adjacent to the desk piled high with file folders and loose papers.
“Did you learn anything more about the card I found last night?”
The former soldier in his dark blue uniform stared at him from across the desk, his blue eyes narrowing. Spencer closed the dark file folder he’d been studying and rested it on top of the pile.
“Well, hello again, cousin. Since we filed the report only twelve hours ago, I don’t have much to tell you yet. We sent it to the lab, but chances are slim that we’ll be able to pull a print. You and the hospital staff touched that card, too.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do while we wait?”
“We already have an officer outside his hospital room door, one we can’t really spare, I might add. So why don’t you head back to the ranch and let us do our jobs?” Spencer stood as if attempting to dismiss him. “Anything else I can do for you today.”
“You can tell me what you know about Harley Watts.”
“Why do you want to know about Mr. Watts? And why didn’t you ask last night at the hospital?”
“We were both a little busy dealing with the newest threat to my dad’s life, don’t you think? Sorry about calling your direct line, by the way.”
“Yeah, we have this thing called 911 that residents can use to access the emergency dispatchers. You might have heard of it. Usually, it works pretty well for us.” He settled in his chair again. “But I guess I can forgive you.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“It’s the kind of guy I am. Besides, your branch of the Colton family tree might be straining my department’s overtime budget for officers investigating these cases, but at least the work is interesting. Better than writing up dog-licensing infractions.”
When Asher frowned at him, Spencer shrugged, unrepentant.
“As I told Daniel Okowski, Watts has been charged with—”
Asher waved his hand to stop him. “I’ve already heard that part from Daniel at dinner last night. I want to know how a lowlife like Watts can afford a beautiful condo in the industrial area. Daniel copied me on the research he’s been doing about Watts. I drove over and got a look at the place.”
“Already, this morning?” The sergeant pointed his pen at him. “Are you trying to take over my job? You don’t see me out on the Triple R, birthing calves or slaughtering cattle.”
“Just trying to hurry things along. I had to do something. Marlowe and Ace both own units in that community, and I can tell you they’re nice, too nice for someone without a job to afford.”
Spencer grinned. “Have you been looking at Watts’s social media too?”
Asher lifted a shoulder and lowered it. “I know how to use a computer. Obviously, so does he if his charges involve the dark web. Maybe that’s where he earns his money, sending messages for other people who don’t want their identities known.”
