Big Sky Standoff. B.J. Daniels

nodded. She’d been afraid he was going to start lying to her right off the bat. “Interesting how?”

      He gave her a look that said she knew as well as he did. “By omission.”

      “Yes,” she agreed, relieved he hadn’t tried to con her. “It appears they are saving the biggest ranch for last.”

      He smiled at that. “You really think they’re ever going to stop, when things are going so well for them?”

      No. That was her fear. Some of the smaller ranchers were close to going broke. The rustlers had taken a lot of unbranded calves this spring. Based on market value, the animals had been worth about a thousand dollars a head, a loss that was crippling the smaller ranches, some of which had been hit more than once.

      Worse, the rustlers were showing no sign of letting up. She’d hoped they would get cocky, mess up, but they were apparently too good for that.

      “What do you think?” she asked, motioning to the map.

      He leaned back in his chair. “I’m more interested in what you think.”

      She scowled at him.

      “I’m not trying to be difficult,” he contended. “I’m just curious as to your take on this. After all, if we’re going to be working together…”

      She fought the urge to dig in her heels. But he was right. She’d gotten him out of prison to help her catch the rustlers. It was going to require some give and take. But at the same time, if he was the leader…

      “I think they’re going to make a big hit on Shade Waters’s W Bar Ranch. It’s the largest spread in the area and the rustlers have already hit ranches around him for miles, but not touched his.”

      Dillon lifted a brow.

      “What?”

      “I suspect that’s exactly what they want you to think,” he said.

      She had to bite her tongue. Damn him and his arrogance. “You have a better suggestion as to where they’ll go next?”

      He leaned forward to study the map again. After a long moment, he said, “Not a clue.”

      She swore under her breath and glared at him.

      “If you’re asking me what the rustlers will do next, I have no idea,” he said, raising both hands in surrender.

      “What would you do?” she snapped.

      Dillon shrugged, pretty sure now he knew why Jack had gotten him out of prison. “Like I told you back at the prison weeks ago, I’m not sure how I can help you find these guys.”

      He saw that she didn’t believe that. “Look, it’s clear that they are very organized. No fly-by-night bunch. They move fast and efficiently. They know what they’re doing, where they’re going to go next.”

      “So?” she asked.

      “If you think I can predict their movements, then you wasted your time and your money getting me an early release. You might as well drive me back to prison right now.”

      “Don’t tempt me. You said you think they want me to assume they’re going to hit Waters’s ranch. What does that mean?”

      “They wouldn’t be that obvious. Sorry, but isn’t the reason this bunch has been so hard to catch the fact that they don’t do what you expect them to? That gives them the upper hand.”

      “Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Savage.”

      He sighed and looked at the map again. “Are these the number of cattle stolen per ranch?” he asked, pointing to the notations she’d made beside the red x’s.

      She gave him an exasperated look, her jaw still tight.

      He could see why she thought the ring would be looking for a big score. The rustlers were being cautious, taking only about fifty head at a time, mostly not-yet-branded calves that would be hard to trace. Smart, but not where the big money was.

      Jacklyn got up from the table as if too nervous to sit still, and started clearing up their dinner.

      “It’s not about the money,” he said to her back.

      She turned as she tossed an empty Chinese food box into the trash. “Stop trying to con me.”

      “I’m not. You’re looking at this rationally. Rustling isn’t always rational—at least the motive behind it isn’t. Hell, there are a lot of better ways to make a living.”

      “I thought you said it was simple math, quick bucks, little risk,” she said, an edge to her voice.

      So she had been listening. “Yeah, but it’s too hit-or-miss. With a real job you get to wear a better wardrobe, have nicer living conditions. Not to mention a 401 K salary, vacation and sick pay, plus hardly anyone ever shoots at you.”

      “Your point?” she said, obviously not appreciating his sense of humor.

      She started to scoop up the map, but he grabbed her hand, more to get her attention than to stop her. He could feel her pulse hammering against the pad of his thumb, which he moved slowly in a circle across the warm flesh. His heart kicked up a beat as her eyes met his.

      What the hell was he doing? He let go and she pulled back, her gaze locked with his, a clear warning in all that gunmetal-gray.

      “All I’m saying is that you have to think like they think,” he said.

      She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

      “The only way I can do that is if I know what they really want,” he said.

      “They want cattle.”

      He laughed. “No. Trust me, it’s not about cattle. It’s always about the end result. The cattle are just a means to an end. What we need to know is what they’re getting out of this. It isn’t the money. They aren’t making enough for it to be about money. So what do they really want?”