Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(93)

He didn’t get a signal until they were halfway back to Garrett. Wes explained in a shockingly calm voice what had happened and where, and that they were on their way to the nearest hospital with both a suspect and a victim. The regional medical center was about ten minutes from Garrett, and Mack gunned it the instant he hit pavement, not giving a shit about speed limits.

Not when his friend needed help.





Chapter Twenty-Two

Wes was in survival mode. He’d only been in it one other time that he remembered. Five years ago, his dad had a heart attack and needed quadruple bypass surgery. Mom and Sophie were freaking out, and Wes had to be the strong one. Wes had to talk to doctors and nurses, to make decisions on his mom’s behalf, because she was too terrified of losing her husband to pay attention. He’d done it all with a calm fa?ade that fooled even himself, because the minute Dad was home, resting in bed, and safe, Wes had gone back to his place and cried so hard he’d vomited twice.

He could be strong, as long as he had a chance to freak the fuck out later.

The gunshots in the ghost town had terrified him, and then they’d infuriated him. Someone was shooting at Mack. His Mack. That wasn’t allowed, goddamn it. But he’d stayed put until Mack called for him. He’d stayed with Colt—why the hell had Colt even been there?—until Mack came back with the car. He’d held that shirt to Colt’s wound the entire drive to the hospital, only releasing it when hospital staff nudged him aside.

Then Colt and the gunman were lost in a flurry of gurneys and scrubs-clad people.

He caught Mack’s red-eyed gaze. “I’ll park the car. Go.”

Mack nodded, then fled into emergency care. The engine was idling, so Wes climbed in, ignoring all the blood staining the front foot well of his car. The medical center was small, so finding visitor parking didn’t take long. By the time he returned to the ER waiting room, two uniformed officers were already talking to Mack.

“...no idea why we were targeted,” Mack was saying. “The suspect said he was hired to set the fire by someone online. Didn’t give me a name.”

“And you said the second suspect is deceased?” Cop One asked.

“Yes. I shot him after he shot my friend in the back.” Mack’s voice was so icy that Wes went to him. Put an arm around his waist.

“And who’s this?” Cop Two asked, pointing a pen at Wes.

“My boyfriend, Wes Bentley. He was there and can confirm most of what I said. He didn’t see most of the shooting, though.”

“I recorded them setting the fire,” Wes said. “On my phone.” He handed it over, and the cops watched the footage up until the shot that broke the trailer window. Wes had dropped his phone to cover his head. The rest was an uninspiring view of the trailer ceiling, Wes’s heavy breathing and the distant gunshots.

“This is good,” Cop One said. “The footage will help corroborate Mr. Garrett’s order of events. Shotguns have a distinctly different sound than handguns.”

Don’t I know it now?

“We have to keep this until we can transfer the video to our servers,” the cop said.

Wes groaned. “Yeah, sure, it’s not like my entire life is on it or anything.”

“We’ll have it back to you by morning.”

That was better than it sitting in an evidence lock-up for days on end. Hell, he hadn’t even told Miles he was driving out to the ranch, and fuck knew when he’d be home now.

“Can you give us your recollection of events?” Cop Two asked Wes.

Wes narrated what his shaky brain could remember, leaving out the private stuff in the trailer between him and Mack. “What about the fire?” he asked.

“Fire and rescue was dispatched to the location. They’ll put it out and try to minimize damage. We also have units on the way up to photograph and collect forensic evidence.”

“And the body,” Cop One added.

Mack looked like he wanted to be sick. Wes squeezed his waist. Sounded like Mack had killed the guy in self-defense. Wes had no idea if Mack had ever killed as a cop, but his reaction now suggested no. He was taking this hard.

“Once the suspect is out of surgery, we’ll question him,” Cop One said. “See what he has to say about this alleged boss of his.”

“You don’t believe him?” Wes asked.

“Hard to say. Old ghost town in the middle of nowhere? Hard to see a motive to torch it, other than two drunk bros out with a box of matches.”

“What about the other stuff that’s happened?”

“Other stuff?”

Mack informed him of the cigarette butt, the mangled deer and the missing equipment, which all suggested someone was sabotaging the restoration. Why remained a big fucking mystery, and Wes didn’t have a single clue. Maybe the police could drum up a few?

“This certainly gives us a new angle,” Cop Two said. “Did you save the cigarette butt?”

“It’s in a plastic baggie in the trailer,” Mack replied. “Top desk drawer near the back.”

“And the deer?”

“Nature’s probably taken it by now.” He described its location, though, and the cop scribbled a lot of notes. A nurse brought Mack a large scrub top, and he pulled it on, exhaustion and stress settling in around the edges.