Chapter 5

The next couple of days dragged on. While Mike had been back at his job with the PD, Cyrus picked up some small jobs, mostly locating people who'd failed to show up for drug tests and delivering them to the clinic. Today, with Mike back for a couple of days, they were heading to Rigby, Idaho. Cyrus hoped the change of scenery would improve his restlessness.

He hadn't called Milly back, and he was mad at himself for putting it off. But if he was uncomfortable conversing face to face, he damned well detested talking on the phone. He preferred texts. Short, simple, straightforward messages. No hidden undertones—and he tended not to read any hidden messages to make him wonder what the other person was thinking when he received them.

However, he decided he shouldn't just text her about the details of their fishing excursion (he wasn't going to think of it as a date), because he was pretty sure most folks would think it was rude to text when he'd said he'd call, and they hadn't moved past the talking in person stage. Or at least, he thought it should be a stage—

"So, fishing…?" Mike said. "You call Milly?"

"Not yet."

"Dude, she's gonna think you're ghosting her—or that she's like the last person on your mind."

He shrugged. "She wouldn't be wrong," he lied. Then he felt his cheeks heat and turned to look out the driver's window hoping Mike didn't notice he'd blushed. Blushes were his tell, or so his high school football coach had always said.

"Yeah, right," Mike said. "Are you afraid to call her?"

Cyrus blew out a breath. "What if she wants to talk?"

"Then you talk. Ask her how work's been, whether she's faced off with any more bears…"

That sounded simple enough. "I'm not so sure going fishing was the best idea."

"Why not? You love fishing. It's not a date where you have to worry about your table manners. And you'll be outdoors."

He wrinkled his nose.

"What are you worried about?"

"Being stuck in a boat, and she talks my ear off. There'll be no escape. Or what if I need to piss?"

Mike laughed. "I'm sure she's going to have to pull over to the shore to run into the bushes…" He narrowed his gaze on Cyrus. "Were you planning on pissing over the side of the boat?"

Cyrus didn't know how to answer that question. Of course, he wasn't going to do that, but he had considered the inconvenience.

Mike laughed again, and then couldn't seem to stop.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Let's review what we know about this asshole we have to pick up today."

Mike wiped tears from his eyes and slid the folder Liesel had provided them from between the seats. "Damn, wish I could be a fly on the w—"

" Focus , man."

"All right, we've still got twenty minutes before we hit Rigby," he said, glancing at the GPS. "Our target is…Raymundo Price out of Cameron, Montana. He was set to stand trial for a breaking and entering charge. Says here, he broke into his girlfriend's apartment and stole all her vinyl recordings, plus some framed pictures, a man's Gor-Tex jacket, a pair of men's Ariat python cowboy boots… Damn, I almost feel sorry for him. Sounds like he was stealing back his own property."

"Dumbass should've showed up at court to fight for his shit."

"Anyway, bail's only $5,000. Guess the judge felt sorry for him, too."

"Well, he wasted all that goodwill making a run for it. So, why are we heading to Rigby if he lives in Cameron?"

"Liesel said the ex-girlfriend told her that his cousin had a birthday party last Saturday, and that Raymundo was in the background of the pictures on social media. The cousin lives in Rigby. Works for a construction company building new houses in a subdivision." He flipped a Post-it note over. "Liesel wrote that the cousin was getting scared for Raymundo and wants him to turn himself in. Said he's been hiding in a house that hasn't yet been sold." Mike grunted and closed the folder. "Wish all takedowns were this straightforward."

Cyrus groaned. "Man, you just jinxed us."

They followed the directions listed in the folder since the house address wasn't yet available in GPS. Turning into the subdivision, Cyrus noted that everything was quiet. A few contractors' vans were parked at houses they passed, mostly for flooring and plumbing businesses. He made another turn onto the street leading to the most remote houses. Ones without finished driveways or sod.

He drove slowly, pausing in front of a couple of different houses, just in case Raymundo was watching. He didn't want their target to get nervous and rabbit from his hiding place.

"The cousin said he left a key to the front door under the top rock stacked where they're going to build a stone mailbox," Mike said.

"I say we walk in, no Kevlar, everyone open carries here," Cyrus said. "I've got a camera in the glovebox. We can act like we're interested in purchasing the place."

"Sounds like a good plan." Only his mouth twitched at the corners, and Cyrus wondered about that, but he was impatient to get Raymundo in cuffs so he could go back to worrying about the phone call he had to make later on.

He parked in the driveway and climbed out of the driver's seat.

Mike climbed down and headed around the SUV to join him, holding the camera in his hand. He raised it and pretended to take pictures of the house, then moved back toward the stack of stones left for the mailbox and bent, twisting the lens as though zooming in.

Cyrus stepped in his line of sight to give him the opportunity to lift the stone and get the key.

"Hon, you're standing in my line of sight," Mike said, his voice rising to a pitch Cyrus hadn't heard before.

He gave Mike a baleful glare, but his part-time partner merely grinned. "Don't move. I'll take a picture of you standing right in front of the house. I really do think this is the one."

"Let's look at the inside before you start ordering the curtains, hon ," Cyrus growled. When Mike drew alongside him, Cyrus leaned toward him, "You try to hold my hand, and we're done."

Mike snickered and put the camera in his jeans pocket. "Let's have a look inside." The key worked, and they entered, pausing in the foyer. Cyrus tilted his head to listen for any sounds inside the house but shook his head to signal to Mike when he didn't hear anything.

"I like the tile in the fo-yay ," Mike said. "It's the color of lichen, and really contrasts nicely with the flecks of green in your hazel eyes."

Cyrus ducked his head, not sure if he wanted to laugh or reach out and give his buddy a hard shake. "Why don't you check out the kitchen and mudroom, dear ? I know how particular you are about those things. I'll head upstairs."

Mike winked. "Good idea."

Glad to put some space between them, because Mike's antics were distracting, he climbed the steps. At the top of the stairs, he turned right and spent a couple of minutes walking around an in-home office space and another room that looked perfect for an in-home gym. The closets were open, and he quickly peered inside but found no sign of their guy. Back in the hallway, he headed past the stairs to the first room on the right. It was a bedroom, with its own bathroom, and again, no Raymundo. He entered another room beside it, a large closet with shelving for bedding and towels no doubt. Then he moved across the hall to the final door.

Mike's footsteps sounded on the stairs. "I'm not sure the space for the refrigerator will fit our sub-zero. I should've brought my tape measure," he said while watching Cyrus the signal that he'd checked the other rooms, and this last one had to be it.

Cyrus entered first. "We might have to pay for a refit of the counters."

"Well, we haven't reached three strikes yet," Mike said, too cheerfully. "But let's check the closet space. Too little is a hard no."

Cyrus wrinkled his nose and shook his head as he approached the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom. His and her closet doors faced each other. Cyrus pointed and tilted his head to the left. Mike reached for the doorknob on the right.

They both entered and hit the light switches. "It's not nearly big enough," came Mike's muffled voice. "That's two. I'll have a look at the bathroom."

Cyrus stood in the walk-in closet and squinted at the shelving, looking for any possible hiding places. He noted a closed cabinet door below the shoe rack that might be big enough for a scrawny runt like Raymundo to fit. He bent, quickly opened the door, then stood back, half expecting their guy to burst out of the cabinet.

Mike moved inside. "The bathroom is…unimaginative," Mike said, shaking his head.

Dust filtered down, illuminated by the small chandelier in the ceiling, drawing both their gazes to a cutout door in the ceiling. "I wonder how much space there is in the attic," Mike murmured. "Aunt Rivanna's things need to go somewhere until we have a chance to go through her treasures."

A scuffing sound came from above, and Mike smiled. He reached up and tugged on the chain that opened the attic door. Stairs accordioned downward.

Cyrus drew a deep breath. "Raymundo Price, we know you're up there. We're bounty hunters, and we're here to take you back to jail. Your cousin was worried about you and gave us a key so we could come get you."

"He shouldn't have done that," came a muffled voice from above.

"From reading your report," Mike said in a friendly, reasonable tone, "it sounds like you got a raw deal. Why make things worse by running?"

"I don't know. I didn't plan to. I just wanted more time to think about it. Jail's…scary."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. "Enough talk," he growled. "Get your ass down here. If I have to crawl up in that attic after you—"

"I'm coming," the voice said. Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, and Raymundo backed his way down the stairs.

He wasn't very tall and looked between the two men with his eyes widening. Without being asked, he jerked his hands up and held them in front of him.

Mike took one wrist and gently pulled it behind Raymundo's back, snapped a cuff on his skinny wrist, and repeated with the other. "Seriously, dude," Mike said, "a judge will understand you wanting to get those Ariats back from your ex-girlfriend."

Raymundo nodded his head, his chin dipping toward his chest. Then he straightened his shoulders and glanced at Mike. "Did you see the crown molding in the master suite? The workmanship is top-tier. My cousin did that. If you two were serious about wanting this place…"

It was early evening before Cyrus pulled into the drive leading to the lodge. The lights were already on inside, and he was sure someone was in the kitchen putting together a meal. The hunters had fallen into a routine; whenever folks filtered in, they headed to the large industrial kitchen to help with meal prep.

Cyrus's belly was already growling before the aroma of something involving beef reached his nostrils. Thank God. They'd had chicken three nights in a row, and he needed some red meat.

When he pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, he found the entire crew inside. His gaze went to Mace and Malcolm. "You two find your church lady?"

Mace sat in a chair with his dog at his feet, eating from a silver dog bowl. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Everyone has their theories about where Wilma's at. The church secretary thinks she left the country and is living someplace without extradition, drinking champagne at poolside in some luxurious destination."

"Her sons put on a good show of not knowing a thing about her whereabouts," Malcolm said. "One of them is still the bishop, uh, that's like a pastor of the temple there in Rexburg, and the other son was being considered for some job high up in the Mormon church. Some something of the seventies…?" He yawned and shook his head. "Didn't make any sense to me. The Temple itself is off-limits to anyone who isn't a Mormon, so we were meeting with folks all over town."

"No solid leads?" Cage asked.

Malcolm, who was shredding meat on the counter, said, "We did get a woman who works at the county courthouse who helped us out with a search for all properties Wilma and her sons own in Idaho. The church secretary thought she might also have a property in Montana, something her dead husband inherited."

"Is the list big?" Darleen asked.

"Half a dozen properties in Idaho and the one in Montana, so far."

Cage glanced at Felicity, who was cutting red bell peppers. "Maybe you can run down that Montana property online…?"

She set aside her knife. "I'm finished here anyway." She glanced at Hook. "Add this to the salad while I grab my laptop."

Darleen glanced at Cyrus.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

"Wash your hands and set the table."

"So, Mike says you've got a date with a park ranger who chased off a bear in Yellowstone," Mace said. "He swung by the lodge before you arrived, just to say hi."

Cyrus reluctantly put down his barbeque shredded beef sandwich—his second—to answer the question. "It's not a date. She's showing me her fishing hole." Then he wrinkled his nose as he realized that didn't quite come out right.

Malcolm laughed. "Her fishing hole, huh?"

"What are you, two?" Darleen said, swatting Malcolm's arm. She turned to Cyrus. "What's her name? Does she live very far away?"

"Her name's Milly Bauer, and she lives here in West Yellowstone."

"That's how it starts," Felicity said. "Proximity plus similar interests and jobs…"

"How what starts?" Cyrus asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Jesus Christ, girl, do you want to scare him off?" Hook said, frowning at his girlfriend.

"We started when I was out on bond, and his boss assigned him to keep an eye on me so I didn't skip." Felicity gave a very feline smile as she looked toward Cyrus.

"That's…interesting."

Hook frowned. "She was wrongfully accused."

Cyrus nodded. "Uh-huh."

Malcolm raised a finger. "Darleen and I met when we were both tracking the same target. I was with MBH; she was working solo."

Mace raised both hands. "I've got Taco. We're happy being single."

Cage grinned. "My first target was my ex-wife. I remarried her."

"That's nice and all," Cyrus said, "but it's just fishing." When grins stretched, he scowled. "You're all crazy. First, Mike hounded me about calling her. Hell, you'd think he was the one who wanted to date her. Though, after today's takedown, I have to wonder which way he swings."

That got everyone's attention, and Cyrus groaned. He was not a storyteller. And he for sure wasn't going to imitate Mike's high-pitched voice, but his new crew's attention didn't move away.

He shook his head and sat back in his chair. "Well, we tracked our target to this house in a subdivision that was still under construction…"