“I let her go with a warning.”
Johnny caught on when he pointed at Killian. “And you followed up, going to her place. Something anyone, who knows you, knows you’d do.”
“Exactly, a place where Tucker was keeping animal parts. Monica is a pain in the ass, but she loves animals. Knowing someone was doing what Tucker was doing, she wouldn’t be okay with that.”
Sebastian was pacing now. “And dropped the heart and stomach in the dumpster, knowing it would be found. Likely, even started the conversation with Cedar, so she’d recall her being there.”
“Exactly,” Killian said.
“Which means if Tucker gets wise to what she’s doing—”
Killian was already on the move. “We need to bring him in.”
They arrived to screaming. Killian and Sebastian took the front, Johnny and Ron moved around back, in case he tried to slip out a window.
“Sheriff’s department,” Killian called.
Silence fell; Killian eyed Sebastian, signaled he was going in. He reached for the door, met Sebastian’s stare, then pulled the door open. Killian went high; Sebastian went low.
They both heard the cocking of the shotgun at the same time. Killian got Tucker in the shoulder; Sebastian got him in the leg. Sebastian moved to Monica, while Killian turned Tucker and cuffed him.
“I need a fucking hospital,” Tucker shouted.
“Shut the fuck up,” Killian said. “Or I’ll leave your heart and stomach in a fucking dumpster.”
Johnny appeared. “Call for an ambulance. You ride with him. You stay with him,” Killian ordered.
“You got it, Boss.”
Killian turned to Monica. She was beaten, but she’d be okay. “I didn’t know,” she said, “And when I did, he threatened to do to me what he was doing to those animals.”
“She needs to see a doctor. Get Dr. Grant out here. She doesn’t need to ride with that animal,” Killian added, then looked back at Monica. “You did good, Monica.” He looked around. “Ron, search the place, bag and tag and get photos.”
“On it.”
He studied the beer cans in the sink, the drug paraphilia just lying out, but one thing was noticeably absent. He turned back to Monica. “Does Tucker smoke?”
She laughed, looking around at the signs of excess. “No, because that was bad for him.”
He stepped outside. Tucker didn’t smoke, neither did Monica, so who the fuck had been in the woods at Cedar’s?
He drove to the house on the outskirts of town. This time, when he knocked, he was shown right in. He scanned the room, saw Brock in the corner, eyes closed, head back, a woman with wild brown curls was on her knees in front of him. Didn’t take a genius to know why he’d picked her. She had been Brock’s first, but Cedar was his now. He felt a little sorry for the guy, but only a little.
Brock fisted her hair, fucked her face hard. He came on a moan and moved away from her so fast, she fell forward. Killian fisted his hands. Brock tucked himself back in his jeans, saw Killian and jerked his head to the door. They stepped outside; Brock grabbed a beer from a cooler. “What do you want?”
“For you to cut the shit,” Killian said, crossing his arms.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He moved right into Brock’s face. “I don’t give a shit who you are. And if it wouldn’t cause my girl pain, I’d fucking bury you. Shit is coming, and I want to know what and when?”
Brock had no reaction, then lifted his beer to his lips and took a long sip. “Not many would dare talk to me like that.”
Killian didn’t miss a beat. “If you haven’t figured it out, I’m not like most. Someone’s been eyeing her cabin.”
That got through. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“There’s been a guy nosing around, not a local, thought it was poachers, but it’s more likely a private investigator with an interest in Cedar Walker. Why?”
Brock stood, tossed the can. “It’s not my habit to share my shit with the cops.”
Killian had had enough of the bullshit. He got right into the younger man’s face. “It’s not my habit to let fucking scumbags like you walk free. Stop jerking me around or I’ll fucking round the lot of you up and cage you.”
Brock eyed him. “You’re no small-town sheriff.”
“I’m going to be a big pain in your ass if you don’t start talking.”
Brock was unfazed, holding the angry stare with one of his own. The air grew heavy with tension before Brock said, “For Cedar.”
Killian nodded, took a step back.
“You were right, I took the money. Took me years, but I took it. It cost me everything, so I think I earned it,” he said, grabbing another beer.
“So, it’s not handled,” Killian bit back.
“Not completely.”
“Who’s gunning for you? Dustin Thompson?”
Brock laughed, drained his beer, and tossed the can. “Dustin is dead.”
“What?”
“Yeah, but the family hasn’t filed a missing person’s report.”
“You kill him?”
“I would have, in a fucking heartbeat, but no.”
“So how do you know he’s dead?”
“Like you, I have a far reach,” Brock said.
“Thoughts on who killed him?”
“It was made to look like a mob hit.”
“But you don’t think it was,” Killian deduced.
“What’s the motivation? Dustin was laundering for them, and he was too much of a pussy to cross them. There’s no incentive.” Brock reached for another beer. “I think I didn’t give that little fuck, Declan, enough credit.”
“Declan Thompson?” Killian clarified.
“Yeah, he’d said he had something going on, wanted to know if I wanted in. Declan only ever got high and fucked, him coming up with something and following through wasn’t likely. But Cedar saw him with my dad, said they looked comfortable.” Brock shook his head, took a long drink. “I got to give him credit, the fucker.” He turned hard eyes on Killian. “He had a new piece, that new piece was my mom.”
Killian knew where this was going. Fucking hell.
“He came to me that night, provoked me, right before my mom called. I think he ingratiated himself with Kenneth, to not lend suspicion on him, just in case. He riled me up for my mom’s call and then they both sat back and let me handle killing the bastard. That takes both of us out.”