Page 136 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“Duke?”

The lock on the barn side door is wrong.

The metal plate sits just a fraction off where it should. Fresh scrape marks around the housing. The wood near the latch splintered in a clean, mean little line that absolutely wasn’t there this afternoon.

Someone’s been at it.

I crouch, fingers brushing the edge of the damaged wood, checking the give without disturbing more than necessary.

Behind me, Annie goes still. “Tell me that’s old.”

I straighten slowly. “It’s not.”

Someone’s escalating. That’s all I can think.

They took her card. They left notes. They slipped through systems and access points and shadows. And now someone has put hands on the barn lock. They’re testing how close they can get, how many times they can touch this place before we stop them.

My jaw tightens hard enough to ache.

Annie steps beside me, face pale in the service light. “Duke.”

“I know.”

“Do you think they got in?”

I scan the door, the frame, the ground below it. “Don’t know yet.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “Stay with me.”

“I wasn’t planning to wander off.”

Normally I’d smile at that. Right now, I don’t have it in me.

Whoever this is isn’t backing off.

They’re getting bolder.

And if they think that means we’ll do the same thing we’ve always done. Tighten up, clean up the mess, move on…

They’ve made a very serious mistake.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Annie

The worst part about fear is how quickly it learns your routine.

By morning, mine has already moved in.

It’s there when I wake up, before I’ve even opened my eyes fully, sitting heavy in my chest like it belongs. It’s there when I brush my teeth. When I pull my hair into a bun.

When I stand in front of the mirror and tell myself, very firmly, that I’m not going to let some splintered barn lock and a missing SD card and a note with all the emotional nuance of a serial killer fan club turn me into a trembling Victorian heroine.

I look exactly as unconvinced as I feel.

“Cool,” I tell my reflection. “We’re thriving.”

We aren’t thriving.

We are, however, still employed and in possession of a working laptop, which means I can at least pretend my life makes sense for a few more hours if I stare hard enough at spreadsheets.