Page 69 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Kenny crouched beside the fence post, studying the ground with the focus of a man trained to read landscapes. "Boot prints. Size ten, maybe ten and a half. Deep tread, probably tactical. Two sets. No, three."

"Three people," Mike said. His voice sounded strange, too calm, like his brain was processing information his body hadn't caught up to yet.

"At this location alone." Kenny stood, his expression carved from stone. "If they hit three locations simultaneously?—"

"Then there's at least nine of them." Mike's hands curled into fists. "Hell."

This wasn't surveillance anymore. This wasn't Harris working alone, taking photos, asking questions.

This was a team. Coordinated. Professional.

This was an operation.

"They were here," Kenny said, voice flat.

"They're still here."

They spread out, searching. Found two more items, a business card with no name or contact information, just a single word printed in elegant script that said, soon, and a photo of Liv from weeks ago, candid and unaware, laughing at something Charlotte had said while they made pie together in the kitchen.

Mike's hands shook as he picked up the photo. "They've been watching her for weeks."

"Not just watching. Studying." Kenny's voice was grim. "Learning her patterns. Her people. Where she feels safe. Makes me wonder why they even bothered sending Harris."

"We need to get everyone to the house. Now."

By the time they reconvened in the great room, Lyle and Joe had found similar items. Another peony, two more photos, a small charm bracelet that looked expensive and deliberately chosen. One charm was a tiny rolling pin. Another was a whisk. The third was a small letter ‘O’.

Gifts. Intimate. Personal.

They laid everything out on the table like evidence at a crime scene.

Three white peonies, stems cut at identical angles.

Four photographs of Liv. At the farmer's market, leaving the barn, sitting on the porch with Charlotte. All candid. All taken from a distance with a telephoto lens.

The business card with its single word: SOON.

And the charm bracelet, delicate, silver, expensive. The kind of thing you'd give someone you cared about.

Or the kind of thing you'd leave on a body.

Mike stared at it, stomach churning. "This is a message."

"Yeah." Lyle's voice was tight. "They're saying they know her routines. Know who she cares about. Know where she feels safe."

"They're saying they could've taken her tonight if they wanted to," Joe added. "But they didn't. Because they want her scared first."

"Why?" Mike asked. "Why not just grab her?"

"Because scared people run," Kenny said flatly. "And running people are easier to catch."

Liv appeared in the doorway wrapped in one of Mike's flannels, face pale, eyes wide. "What is all this?"

"Psychological warfare," Joe said quietly. "They're not trying to grab you yet. They're trying to break you. Make you scared enough to run."

"Why?"

"Because it's easier to grab you if you're isolated." Lyle's voice was gentle but firm. "Right now, you're surrounded by people who'll fight for you. But if they scare you into running?—"