Page 149 of The Lonely Road

“Sixty,” he counters.

“Twenty-four. The local sheriff is expecting a call from you.”

“Mason, I got other clients.”

“He threatened a four-year old kid and a sixteen-year-old girl.”

A pause. “Fine. Twenty-four hours.”

I hang up and open a second window on my laptop.

The Jessup documentation package is in two encrypted folders—the financial records in one, the communications in the other. I’ve been building this without knowing what I was building it for—the operational habit of a man who keeps everything because you never know when something becomes useful.

I work through the night organizing it.

The structural framework. The financial transfers mapped against the resort acquisition timeline, the communications indexed by date and sender, the connections between Jessup’s office and High Mesa’s legal team drawn with enough specificity that a federal prosecutor can follow the line without being told where to look.

The connection to Trafton’s operations. The authorization. The language of the instruction to exploit Taya’s case vulnerabilities, which is the piece that makes this not just financial fraud but a coordinated obstruction of legal proceedings.

At two in the morning, I open a bottle of water that Gary keeps in the noisy fridge in the rooms, “’Cause the Ridgeline is a three-star establishment,” and sit at the window and look at the mountains.

I think about what Dillon said: People are going to be watching what you do.

I’ve spent years being watched in contexts where I was performing.

This is different.

This is a community that knows me and not merely the cover version. They know the man who danced with a woman at a barbecue and played with a four-year-old who recently lost his father—and they’re going to watch what Mason Brooks does, now that he doesn’t have the job as cover.

CHAPTER 37

taya

Ihear it all at Wild Coffee in the morning, where gossip is classified and managed.

Mason Brooks is back at Wildflower Canyon—after everyone knows he screwed over Clara and me and then got the hell out of Dodge—and that’s better tea than Noelle Dunn marrying a man twice her age.

“Gary says he checked in and is in the same room.”

“Eunice poured water on him.”

“Did you see Joy? If looks could kill, the man would be six feet under.”

“Jay Buck called him a dirtbag—while he was having dinner with the Sheriff.”

“Dilbert says he gave him forty dollars for delivering meatloaf to Mac.”

“Mac said Mav punched him as soon as he saw him.”

“Wonder if his jaw is broken.”

“Saw him at the Horseshoe—the jaw and the man. Both are just fine.”

“Does Taya know?”

I look around at the line behind me waiting for coffee like buzzards feeding on the carcass of my ex’s not-so-broken jaw and wave. “Taya knows.” Now.

I keep my cool. I have to. Everyone is watching to see how I react. That’s the thing with small towns—sure, they’ll show up to help you rain or shine, but they’ll also poke their noses in your business.