Chapter Six

Nash

I t wasn’t hard to catch up to Mick in the parking lot. The man couldn’t walk very fast with his shattered leg. As Nash closed the distance, Mick whirled, flicking open a switchblade.

“You’re going to jump me when my back was turned?” he snarled.

“No,” Nash said, holding out his hands placatingly. He knew he could disarm Mick and put him on his ass, but that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

Now that Mick had lost his audience, he wasn’t looking to perform anymore. Mick appeared to be exactly what he was: a down-on-his-luck former rodeo star with an axe to grind. An axe that might lead to chopping off Blevins’s head for Shelby’s proverbial platter.

“I wanted to talk to you about Kingmaker,” Nash said.

“Go fuck yourself.” And yet, Mick didn’t move away. He also didn’t put away the switchblade.

Kingmaker was the bull that Blevins had arranged to be provided to the women’s rodeo when they were still a separate entity from the men’s rodeo. LeAnn Keller should have been on it. For some dumb-ass reason, Mick had arranged to switch the bull he had chosen to ride that day for her bull, Templar. If he hadn’t, LeAnn’s career would have been over, and Mick would still be on the roster.

“Who switched Kingmaker and Templar?” Nash asked.

“Why does it matter now?” Mick shook his head. “I paid two hundred dollars to wreck and ruin my life.”

“Who did you pay the money to?”

“Why—are you looking to switch bulls with someone?” Mick got a crafty look in his eye.

Sure. Let’s go with that. “Yeah.”

Mick nodded and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it up. “I figured you’re looking for an easy ride. But they got the doc that was sticking the bulls with ’roids. If you think Reba’s going to stick yours with a sedative, you’re crazy.”

Nash decided to play a hunch. “Reba doesn’t have to know.”

Taking a long drag from the cigarette, Mick contemplated the burning tip before slowly blowing it out. “I might be able to hook you up with someone who can switch a bull at the last minute. But I don’t know or want to know anything about drugging the bulls.”

Nash believed him. Which was a shame, since he had a feeling he’d sing like a canary if Nash applied some pressure. He peeled off two one-hundred-dollar bills, and he offered them to Mick.

“A little more than that,” Mick said with a nasty grin.

Nash added one more hundred to the pile. “Take it or leave it.”

Mick took it. “You want to talk to Ryan Chester. Don’t tell him I sent you.”

Turning away from Mick, Nash headed over to his truck. He was racking his brain for any information on Ryan Chester. The name sounded familiar. He needed to go back to his motel room and take a look at his board. He probably should keep it all electronic, but it helped to stare at it at night and move things around on it.

The motel was as far away from the rodeo as he could get without being inconvenienced too much. He didn’t want to encourage any visitors, not that anyone had really gone out of their way to invite him out for a drink or a party.

When he let himself in, the silence of his room was only broken by the soft hum of the air-conditioning unit. The small desk before him was cluttered with papers and a laptop. A single window looked out onto the empty parking lot, offering no comfort or distraction from the task at hand. This cramped space served as a makeshift headquarters for his investigation. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with isolation and the weight of responsibility bearing down. The motel walls seemed to close in as he sifted through bank statements and emails, searching for any clue that might bring him closer to exposing the truth.

He almost missed the crowds and the hustle and bustle of the day’s rodeo. He definitely missed the days when he could rely on the FBI’s resources to aid him in his investigations. But those days were gone, and so were the connections he’d once taken for granted. His retirement had severed those ties, leaving him to navigate this new world as a private investigator with little more than his wits and determination. He stared at a spreadsheet detailing bank transactions, his mind’s eye flicking back to his time with the bureau. Miles Garrett, his former partner, would have taken shortcuts, bending rules to get the information he needed.

And he’d probably have gotten away with it. Nash scowled. Well, not him. Nash would do it the old-fashioned way, pure research and hard work. Turning his attention to Ryan Chester, Nash opened up the files on all the employees of the UPRC rodeo. As he scrolled through their portfolios, he paused when Dolly’s face appeared on the screen. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle even in the static image, drawing him in despite himself.

Nash couldn’t help but linger on her past at Leisure Industries, the escort service she’d worked for briefly before finding stability in her current role. A wave of jealousy surged through him as he thought of the men who had been her clients, though he quickly pushed the feeling away, reminding himself that it was long before they’d met.

He frowned, trying to understand why Dolly’s family hadn’t stepped in to help her during those dark days. He hoped that once they got to know each other better, she’d trust him with that story.

It wasn’t productive to get so distracted, but Dolly had a way of creeping into his thoughts when he least expected it. Her smile, the sound of her laughter, the sweet perfume she wore that made his mind immediately think about sex. Being with her made him want things he’d never dared to dream of before. A life beyond the job, beyond the shadows that had always dogged his steps. But was the attraction he sensed from her real? If she had been an escort, she must have been very good at making men believe she really liked them.

Maybe there would be time for Dolly later, once Blevins was behind bars and Shelby was safe. Right now, he had to stay sharp, follow each clue to its end. No matter where it led him. Could it lead him to Dolly and her brother-in-law? Was she just interested in this investigation and him because she wanted to stay one step ahead? His gut said no. But he didn’t quite trust his gut fully on this. His gut had also told him to report Miles Garrett’s harmless but still illegal investigations. In the end, the only one who had been really punished for that had been Nash.

Forcing himself to move on, Nash delved deeper into Ryan Chester: twenty-nine, single, born in Austin. Hired two years ago to oversee livestock.

Nash peered closer at the copy of Ryan’s employee ID. The photo was blurry, but unless he missed his guess, that tattoo on Ryan’s neck wasn’t just any tribal design. Where had he seen it before?

He shuffled through his notes and the pictures on his phone. There. On the shipping label were three interlocked Rs inside a diamond. The Rocky Ridge Ranch brand. That was the Canadian stock supplier where Donnan was from. Chester had their brand on his neck. If that wasn’t shades of the television show Yellowstone , Nash didn’t know what was. It could also be a connection. If Ryan was willing to do questionable things for extra cash, maybe Blevins knew that and was exploiting it somehow.

With renewed focus, Nash examined Ryan Chester’s work schedule and personal information. He wondered if he could sneak around and check out Ryan’s truck during the rodeo next weekend. He snapped a picture of Ryan’s employee ID so he could refer to it later. Then he also searched for people hired around the same time as Ryan to add them to his list of people to watch out for.

He jotted down a note to also talk to Taylor Keating about what he had been buying today. Could be nothing. Could be another clue to follow.

The next stock supplier on his list of suspects was the Jaripeo Ranch. No surprise that they were supplying the new shipment of fighting bulls. He scrolled through the contracts and their employees. He found a connection. Hector Ortiz, who was a current UPRC employee, had been hired around the same time as Ryan Chester. Hector had formerly been employed at Jaripeo Ranch in Guanajuato. No neck tattoo or brand that he could see, though. So probably no connections between those two. But they both moved up a bit on his suspect list.

Then he reluctantly brought up Shane Calland and the Viking Ranch. He didn’t like looking at Dolly’s brother-in-law for this, but he had to be thorough. Shane was a hothead and shared the Keller family’s dislike of Blevins, but Nash wanted to make sure he wasn’t discounting him because of Nash’s feelings for Dolly.

Nash’s eyes were burning and he couldn’t look at his computer or his board any longer. He needed to actually do something. If he was going to get fired tomorrow, he should make the most of his credentials now while he was still a part of the UPRC. It wasn’t too late to go back to the rodeo and look around and see if there was anything in the Rocky Ridge or Jaripeo areas that could be a clue. This time of night, the cowboys would be getting their drink on and not paying too much attention to the barns. Prime time to sneak around and maybe he’d get lucky and find something to pin on Ryan Chester or Hector Ortiz.