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"Mhmm."
"Mean something to you?"
She shook her head, glancing at him. "Was hoping it might mean something to you."
"I grew up in these parts, but not on a ranch."
She nodded, turning back to Samuel and Tom. "This paint mean anything?"
Tom looked over, snorted. "Probably from whoever painted the fence."
"Wrong color," Rachel replied.
He just shrugged, clearly indifferent.
Rachel took a picture of the oddly placed paint stain, then stepped away from the body. "How much longer do you think?" she said, addressing the coroner.
He glanced at her, frowned. "Gonna take a while."
"Perhaps we should speak with this Jack fellow," Ethan suggested, his brow furrowed.
Rachel turned towards the beer-bellied rancher. "Tom," she said, "This Jack fellow--you say he lives in a cabin in the mountains?"
"Mhmm."
"Think you could show us?"
He frowned at them, but Rachel didn't blink or look away.
"And what's in it for me?"
"You cared about Sarah? You say Jack was involved... Why not do right by her?"
Tom considered this for a moment, and Rachel took one step to the side, allowing him a view of the corpse. His eyes lingered on the dead woman, and he looked momentarily stunned.
At last, he let out a sigh and said, "I'll show you where that prick lives. Just give me a shot at him first.
Rachel didn't say anything to this. She'd handle his temper when they were closer to the target.
For now, by the sound of things, they needed a guide. And the coroner needed time to give a proper report.
Tom shrugged, shaking his head. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "My trucks down that way."
He turned and began to trudge along the muddy road.
Rachel followed closely behind Tom, keeping a watchful eye on Ethan, who brought up the rear. The path grew steeper as they climbed, the trees closing in around them until the sky was nothing more than a narrow strip of blue.
Tom led them deeper into the forest, his boots crunching against the underbrush as they went. Rachel couldn't help but notice the gun that was tucked into the back of his waistband. She wondered how many other weapons he had stashed away.
"Where's this truck of yours?" Ethan said, and Rachel could detect the doubt in his tone.
But Tom just grunted. Rachel, however, who had keen eyes in the wilderness, nudged her partner and pointed. She'd spotted the rusted, old frame of the flatbed through the trees and brambles.
They approached the vehicle, which was left running by the sound of its grumbling engine.
Rachel once again felt as if she were wandering into some unfamiliar land with laws and regulations she didn't know.
Part of her almost felt as if gunmen were watching from behind every tree.
