Page 53 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

The name hit Joe like a fist. He'd done his research on Olivia Langford's story, knew exactly who Damian Russo was and what kind of people he associated with.

"How close is Harris?"

"He checked into your ranch yesterday afternoon under the name William Hendricks. Driving a black Chrysler 300, Texas plates. Rental out of Austin."

Joe pulled up the guest registry on his laptop. There it was. William Hendricks. Booked for three nights. Room seven.

Son of a bitch was sleeping under their roof.

"Johan, I need everything you can get me on Harris. Work history, known associates, weak spots."

"Already on it. I'll send what I have by sunrise." A pause. "Joe? These people don't hire guys like Harris to have conversations. Whatever they want with your girl, it isn’t going to end with a polite chat over coffee."

"I know."

"Watch your six, brother."

The line went dead.

Joe sat in the dark office for a long moment, staring at the guest registry. Then he picked up his phone and sent a group text to his brothers.

Office. 5 a.m. Before the guests wake up.

Mike was already on his second cup of coffee when Lyle and Kenny arrived, both looking like they'd slept about as well as he had. Which was to say, not at all.

Joe had the security footage queued up on the big monitor, Dan Harris's face frozen mid-step as he crossed the parking area.

"That's our guy," Joe said without preamble. "Dan Harris. Private investigator out of Dallas. He's in room seven under a fake name, and he's being paid by people connected to Damian Russo."

The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.

"The man Liv saw commit murder," Lyle said quietly.

"The same." Joe clicked through more footage. "Harris has been here less than twenty-four hours and he's already photographed the property, asked questions about our staff, and made a point of getting close to Liv during dinner service."

Mike's hands fisted against his thighs. "Damn it. I saw him talking to her. I should have followed my instinct and intervened. We need to get him out of here. Now."

"And tip our hand?" Kenny's voice was flat, tactical. "He already suspects we're protecting her. We kick him out, we confirm it. Right now, he’s obviously not a hundred percent sure that Liv’s his mark. Otherwise he’d be out of here."

"So what? We just let him stay here and gather intel?"

"We watch him," Joe said. "We know who he is now. That gives us the advantage. And we find out what he knows and who else he's talked to."

"I don't like it," Mike said.

"Neither do I," Lyle agreed. "But Kenny's right. We need information before we make a move."

Mike scrubbed both hands over his face. Every instinct he had was screaming to throw Harris off the property and stand between him and Liv with every weapon he could get his hands on.

But tactics and instinct were two different things. And right now, tactics meant staying smart.

Liv was already in the kitchen when the sun started painting the sky pink and gold. She'd woken from another nightmare. Damian Russo's face, the gunshot, blood on marble floors. She finally decided that if she couldn't sleep, she might as well bake.

The familiar rhythm of measuring and mixing helped settle her nerves. Flour, butter, ice water. Fold and roll. Fold and roll. Her grandmother's pie crust recipe, the one thing Olivia Langford had carried with her from her old life that still felt pure.

She was crimping the edges of her third crust when Charlotte appeared in the doorway, pajamas askew, lamb tucked under one arm, hair sticking up in about seven different directions.

"You're up early," Liv said, smiling despite everything.