The clock on the wall of the sheriff’s office ticked relentlessly toward 3 a.m., each second feeling like a hammer blow against Rory’s exhausted mind. She blinked hard, willing her eyes to focus on the crime scene photos spread across her desk. The harsh fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow over everything, making the images of Clayton Harrow and Talia Montero seem even more grotesque.
Across from her, Evan slouched in his chair, his usual neat appearance rumpled from hours of work. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his hair stuck up at odd angles where he’d run his hands through it in frustration. Despite her own exhaustion, Rory couldn’t help but find his appearance endearing.
“Anything?” she asked, her voice rough from too much coffee and too little sleep.
Evan shook his head, stifling a yawn. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Harrow and Montero were both successful ranchers, both relatively new to the area, both looking to expand their operations. But beyond that…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the stacks of files surrounding them.
Rory sighed, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes burned, and a dull ache had settled at the base of her skull. She knew they should call it a night, get some rest, and come back at it with fresh eyes. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw that symbol burned into the barn floor.
“There has to be something we’re missing,” she muttered, more to herself than to Evan. “Some connection we’re not seeing.”
Rory pulled the files of Clayton Harrow and Talia Montero closer, spreading out the documents. “Let’s go over their backgrounds again. Maybe we overlooked something.”
Evan nodded, leaning in. “Okay, Clayton Harrow. Moved to Bearclaw County three years ago from Colorado. Bought the old Peterson place and turned it into a successful cattle operation pretty quickly.”
“Too quickly, according to some,” Rory added, remembering the grumblings they’d heard from other ranchers. “There were rumors he had outside investors, but we didn’t find any proof of that.”
“Right,” Evan said. “He was pushing for modernization, wasn’t he? Wanted to introduce new breeding techniques, more efficient feed systems.”
Rory nodded. “Which put him at odds with the old guard. But was it enough to get him killed?” She sighed, turning to Talia Montero’s file. “And then we have Talia. Only been here a year, but she was already making waves.”
“Former corporate lawyer from Chicago,” Evan read. “Came here looking for a change of pace, ended up buying one of the largest ranches in the county.”
“And immediately started implementing sustainable ranching practices,” Rory mused. “Organic feed, humane treatment standards. She was even talking about converting part of her land into a wildlife sanctuary.”
Evan frowned. “Which would have reduced grazing land in the county. I remember some of the other ranchers weren’t too happy about that.”
Rory leaned back, rubbing her temples. “So again, we have two victims, both relatively new to the area, both pushing for changes that ruffled some feathers. But is that enough of a connection?”
Evan had pulled out his tablet and was studying it. Rory watched him, wondering what had distracted him.
“Something interesting?” she asked.
“Just looking up that symbol,” he murmured. “It doesn’t match anything in law enforcement databases, but… Hmm, that’s interesting.”
“What?”
He turned the tablet toward her. “I just came across this old book on Native American petroglyphs. It’s not an exact match, but look at these spiral patterns here and here.”
Rory leaned in, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “What does it mean?”
“According to this, it’s associated with a legend about balance and retribution. Something about the land taking back what was stolen from it.” Evan shrugged. “It’s pretty vague, but it’s the closest match I’ve found.”
Rory stared at the symbol, unsettled by the sight. Yes, the symbol did look remarkably similar. But if it was the same, if this had been the killer’s inspiration, what was the reasoning behind it?
“Why?” she murmured. “What’s the connection?”
Evan scrolled through a few more pages. One of them caught Rory’s eye.
“Stop,” she said. “Go back.”
Evan did, revealing an illustration of an ancient animal sacrifice ritual.
“What?” Evan asked. “You think the killer’s sacrificing people somehow, maybe as part of some superstitious beliefs?”
Rory shook her head, her eyes fixed on the heifer. “The cattle,” she said. “Both Harrow and Montero mentioned their cattle being agitated before they were killed. What if that’s part of the killer’s MO?”
Evan nodded, excitement breaking through his fatigue. “It could be a way to lure the victims out. But why? And how is he riling up the cattle?”
Rory stood, needing to move, to think. She paced the small confines of her office, her mind racing despite her exhaustion. “We need to talk to other ranchers in the area. See if anyone else has reported unusual behavior in their herds.”
As she turned, her foot caught on the edge of the worn carpet. Rory stumbled, her tired reflexes too slow to catch herself. But before she could fall, strong arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her.
Rory found herself pressed against Evan’s chest, his heart beating rapidly under her palm. She looked up, meeting his concerned gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.
“You okay?” Evan asked softly, his breath warm on her cheek.
Rory nodded, unable to find her voice. She knew she should step back, maintain that professional distance they’d always kept between them. But her body seemed to have other ideas, leaning into his warmth.
Evan’s hand came up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch sent a shiver down her spine. “Rory, I…”
The shrill ring of the office phone shattered the moment. Rory jerked back as if burned, her cheeks flushing. Evan cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her as he reached for the phone.
“Bearclaw County Sheriff’s Office, Deputy Tate speaking,” he said, his voice only slightly unsteady.
Rory turned away, trying to collect herself. What had just happened? What had she been thinking? She couldn’t afford distractions, not with a killer on the loose. Not with so much at stake.
Her gaze fell on a photo pinned to her corkboard, half-hidden behind case notes and mugshots. Her mother’s smile beamed back at her, arm slung around a teenage Rory’s shoulders. Just out of frame, Rory knew, was Ramona.
The familiar ache of loss washed over her, as fresh now as it had been ten years ago. She remembered that day with painful clarity—the last photo they’d taken together before the accident. Before her world had shattered.
Evan’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Rory.” She turned to find him holding out the phone, his face grim. “It’s Bobby Kade, Wesley Kade’s son. He says…he says his father’s been murdered.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Rory grabbed the phone, her exhaustion forgotten in a surge of adrenaline. “This is Assistant Sheriff Wood. Mr. Kade, what happened?”
Bobby Kade’s voice came through the line, choked with grief and panic. “It’s Dad. He…we were checking on the cattle. They were all riled up. I lost sight of him for a minute, and then…oh God, there was a brand…”
Rory’s free hand clenched into a fist, her nails digging into her palm. “Mr. Kade, I need you to take a deep breath. Are you certain your father is… dead?”
“Y-yes,” Bobby said, choking back a sob. “I found him by the tree line. His throat…it was like something out of a nightmare. And there was this symbol… What the hell is going on, Sheriff?”
Rory closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. Another victim. Another family shattered. And that damned symbol, mocking them with its presence.
“Mr. Kade, I need you to listen carefully,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm and authoritative. “Don’t touch anything. Deputy Tate and I are on our way—we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She hung up, meeting Evan’s worried gaze. “Let’s get moving,” she said grimly. “And pray the killer made a mistake this time.”