Tom studied the large man. Deke was a few peas short of a casserole, but he had heart and was one of the best shots Tom had ever seen. That was the primary reason Tom had picked him to watch his back. Another reason was that he was usually silent.
“I didn’t ask your opinion,” Tom told Deke.
Deke clamped his mouth shut and straightened his spine, focusing his gaze on a spot past Tom’s shoulder. “No, sir.”
Tom turned his attention back to Owen. “Your sister could have been hurt the other day. That was the fault of these two boneheads. It wasn’t my intention.” He held Owen’s gaze. “But I won’t stand for federal agents trying to walk all over me. I’ll strike back when warranted. Do you have a problem with that?”
Owen hesitated a split second too long. “No, sir.”
Disappointment washed over Tom. I had such high hopes for him.
Owen was different from the other men who’d come to him. He was successful, smart, and motivated. Anger had driven Owen to Tom. His brother’s death as a result of shoddy police work had opened Owen’s eyes. He wanted what all the other men wanted: change. They wanted change that returned their dignity and pride.
Not this constant stealing of their taxes to support greedy politicians, or to have to look over their shoulder every time they stepped outside their own front door. They wanted to simply live their lives. Instead they were being nickel-and-dimed while the government created new laws to give itself power to sweep in and take whatever it wanted.
A forest your family has owned for fifty years? Hand it over. We need to protect an owl.
Pastures your cattle have grazed for the last decade? Keep off. We need to protect the river your cows drink from.
Then the federal officials would show up with their guns and all the power.
Unfair.
“Maybe this isn’t the place for you,” Tom said to Owen.
Owen took two steps toward him, passion flaring in his eyes. “You know we want the same things. You’ve got the strength to sway men to support you. I believe in what you’re doing.” He held Tom’s gaze, sincerity ringing in his tone.
I believe him.
Tom had strong faith in his gut instincts. His temporary doubts about Owen vanished. Owen might have a soft spot for his sister, but he wouldn’t let it get in his way. Tom held out his hand to Owen, who grabbed it and shook it firmly.
“I’m with you,” Owen stated.
“Good,” said Tom. “Now how are we going to figure out who the leak is around here?”
Owen blew out a breath. “I have my suspicions about that young kid working on the bunkhouses.”
“Cade?” Tom was shocked. The kid was polite and worked hard.
“Maybe he didn’t do anything intentionally, but it’s possible he mentioned the dynamite to his girlfriend.”
“And she reported it? Why would some teenage girl care about dynamite out here?”
“She’s my niece . . . Her dad died, and she lives with Mercy.”
Understanding struck Tom. “You think she told her aunt? And that’s why things have heated up around here? Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” He was horrified. One of his workers was dating the live-in niece of an FBI agent?
Owen pressed his mouth into a hard line before answering. “I only put it together recently. I didn’t realize he was the guy I’d seen with my niece until I bumped into him here the other day. Even then I wasn’t sure.”
“So you could be wrong.”
“Could be. But I’m thinking it’s the same one.”
“I think I need to have a talk with Cade.” Tom turned to Deke and Al. “Go find the kid.”
“He’s off today.”
“Dammit.” Frustration heated his face. “I want to see him first thing tomorrow.”
TWENTY-THREE
Truman’s desk phone rang and he snatched it up, crossing his fingers that it was the call he’d been waiting for.
It was. Bonner County Deputy Chad Wheeler’s voice came booming through the line. “Truman? Chad here, returning your call. Did you want to beg for another fishing trip?”
“You’ve got the best fishing in the Pacific Northwest.”
“We do. But it’s too damn cold now. Where were you three months ago? I told you the guys were getting together.”
Chad had attended high school with Truman. Truman had always assumed Chad would end up behind bars instead of on the law-abiding side. No one had been more surprised than Truman when he joined the police force. It’d been good for Chad, calming his wild ways and focusing his energy for good. Every few years they pulled together a few old classmates and fished in Chad’s backyard of northern Idaho.
The same area Tom McDonald had left a year ago.
“I wish I’d reached out to you about fishing, but I’ve got business I need to discuss.”
“What do you need?” Chad’s tone shifted to full-on cop mode.
“Information on a Tom McDonald. He moved here from your area a year ago. As far as I can tell, he lived in northern Idaho all his life.” He gave Chad the Idaho driver’s license number he’d found for Tom.
He heard Chad’s keyboard clatter in the background. “Yep, I see him. I’ve got previous addresses for him in Sandpoint, Coeur d’Alene, and Bonners Ferry. I don’t see any record. The guy never even got a traffic ticket.”
“I’ve heard he was an associate of Silas Campbell.”
“Ohhh.” The interest in Chad’s tone shot up. “Let me nose around in some other files. Is he causing problems for you?”
“Not yet,” admitted Truman. It was true. So far all McDonald had done was ignore the FBI’s request for a phone call and act like a pompous jerk to Truman that morning. “But I suspect he’s involved in something. His name keeps coming up in regard to a case I’m working on, but there’s nothing concrete yet.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” said Chad. Keys continued to clack in the background as he searched for information on McDonald. “I wish his name wasn’t so common. I’m searching some of the files we have on Silas Campbell to see if your subject’s name is mentioned. Why couldn’t he be named something easy to find, like Keziah Moreau?”
Truman agreed.
“I’ve got a Tom McDonald mentioned several times in relation to Campbell, but I don’t see any illegal behavior. It looks like he was always in the background, not stirring up any fuss, but simply being present.”
“He’s careful.”
“Looks that way. I’ve got all sorts of long lists of people who’ve been arrested in conjunction with Campbell’s organization, but your guy’s name isn’t on any of them.”
“What sort of things has Campbell done?”
Chad sighed through the phone. “Depends who you ask. Either he’s a saint and speaks for the oppressed or he’s a right-wing nut job who’s never met a law he likes. His record has been clean for the past decade; he knows how to stay out of trouble now, but plenty of his fervent followers screw up.”
“I remember there was a problem with a lake.”
“Yes, Campbell spoke out when the federal government put up a fence to keep cattle out of a newly protected marsh area. Families had been using that area to water their cattle for a hundred years. But you know what happens when a species becomes endangered.”
“I do.” Truman knew all too well. Emotions would run high, and the little man always felt powerless in the face of a federal government that believed it was doing the right thing. Truman usually could see both sides of the issue, but he knew it felt different when a family’s livelihood was threatened. He didn’t always agree with either side. Usually he fell somewhere in the middle.
“What’s the date of birth you have for him?” Truman asked as he looked at a photocopy of McDonald’s relatively new Oregon driver’s license. Chad rattled off the same date that Truman had. “Does this guy look nearly seventy to you?”
Chad was silent for a moment. “Hell no.”
“I met with him face-to-face this morning,” Truman said. “I’d put him in his mid to late fifties. He’s really heavy, so he doesn’t have the facial wrinkles, and sometimes that can make someone look younger, but seriously . . . I can’t even see him as being in his sixties. He’s a rural guy; he runs a ranch and I get the impression he’s worked a ranch most of his life. He should look older than his age.”