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She wondered what he was referring to. Tomorrow was Tuesday.

The man with the gun rapped his knuckles on the door that was open.

“We’ll see you then. I’ve got to go,” he said and disconnected the phone.

Staring at her, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“My car broke down and your narcissistic cowboy pulled a gun on me,” she said.

The man frowned.

“Sir, I found her down near the whelping shed. Carlos has taken the ATV to check out her car and make certain it’s there.”

The man nodded. “Good idea. Did you check her pockets?”

Shit, her U.S. Marshal badge was tucked in her front pocket. She had to carry it at all times, but it was just about to give her away.

“No, sir,” he said.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

His hands went to reach in her pockets and she stepped back. “No. Here is my billfold.”

The man frowned at her. “Why aren’t you carrying a purse?”

“Because they’re heavy. I took my wallet out and shoved it in my pocket. You can go through it.”

She hoped there was nothing in there that would give her away.

He thumbed through her billfold. When he found her driver’s license, he said, “Camila Garcia. Are you related to Trevor?”

“Yes,” she said hoping her brother didn’t know these men. “How do you know him?”

The man shrugged. “Seen him around town.”

So far so good. They didn’t suspect her of being law enforcement.

“Why were you near the whelping shed?” the older man asked.

“I heard voices and was looking for someone to help me with my car,” she said. “Why don’t you call my brother and have him come get me?”

The older man frowned.

Just then Carlos came rushing into the office.

“Her car is fine,” he said. “Started right up.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll just be going.”

She started to the door, but the cowboy reached out and grabbed her arm. “Not so fast.”

Turning, she faced him. “What now?”

He gazed at her and then he shoved his hand down the inside of her pocket. She grabbed his arm and had him on the ground in seconds. “Don’t touch me.”

The man stared up at her. “Son of a bitch.”

“Empty your pockets,” the older man said. “I want to see the material hanging out of every pocket.”

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