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Sky, on horseback, seemed to be everywhere at once. He sat his blue roan gelding as if he were part of the animal, guiding the horse more with his knees than with his hands. Back in the day, the Comanche had been the finest horsemen on the plains. Something in that ancient blood had trickled through the generations to pool richly into Sky Fletcher. There was no more logical explanation for his rare gift.
Leaning on the top rail of the fence, Beau watched the milling of bodies and colors—bay and roan, black, silver, paint, and buckskin, dun and claybank, in a kaleidoscope of grace and motion.
His cell phone rang. Seeing Natalie’s name on the display, Beau walked away from the fence to take the call.
“What’s up, gorgeous?” He was in high spirits today.
“Beau, are you alone?” She sounded like a terrified child.
“What is it?
” he asked, alarmed. “Is it Slade? Has he threatened you again?”
“Yes . . . no . . . Listen to me, Beau! The sheriff and his deputy just left here. Slade’s dead. Murdered on your ranch. And they’re on their way to question you.”
CHAPTER 12
It had to be a mistake.
That was Beau’s first thought. Then reality slammed him like a runaway train. Slade Haskell was dead. And it wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to name the prime suspect in his murder.
“Are you all right, Natalie?” he asked, needing to be assured of that.
“I will be.” Her voice quivered slightly. “It’s just the shock of it. You were at the ranch last night, weren’t you? Will can verify that.”
“Call Tori,” he said, ignoring her questions. “Tell her everything the sheriff said.”
“Beau, I’m worried.”
“Call Tori,” he repeated. “Do it now. I have to go.”
Beau ended the call. He wanted to assure her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t promise that—not until he knew more about what had happened.
He had added the sheriff ’s number to his phone contacts after Jess Warner’s murder. Walking back toward the house, he made the call.
“Axelrod,” the deep voice answered.
“Sheriff, this is Beau Tyler. Natalie just called me about Slade. She says you want to talk with me.”
“That’s right.” Beau could hear the crackling sounds of a police radio in the background. “We’re on our way to your place. We’re about fifteen minutes out. Stay where you are.”
“I’d rather meet you.” Beau knew he was innocent. But a roomful of witnesses had seen his fight with Slade and heard his threat to kill the man if he hurt Natalie again. Now Slade had been found murdered on ranch property. It didn’t look good.
Axelrod paused before he answered. “All right. Drive out and meet us on the road. We’ll give you an escort back to town.”
Beau ended the call, an uneasiness churning in the pit of his stomach.
He caught Jasper’s attention as he walked toward the vehicle shed. “I need to run into town,” he said. “I shouldn’t be long.”
When Beau spotted the squad car, there was a second officer driving the tan Jeep Cherokee with the burly sheriff in the passenger seat. As Beau pulled off the road, the sheriff got out and climbed into Beau’s truck. “We can talk on the way in,” he said, shifting in the seat to give Beau a view of the holstered pistol at his belt.
Beau started the engine and pulled onto the road, following the sheriff ’s vehicle. “I can guess what you’re thinking, but I didn’t kill Slade,” he said. “I detested the man, but I’m not a murderer.”
“However, you are a trained killer,” Axelrod said.
“So are thousands of other combat veterans.”
“But you were a specialist. A sniper.”
