"I doubt it. Dad never lets anyone on our land. You know that."
Yeah, I knew. I'd seen Dad fire pot shots at a couple of greenies once who'd wandered onto Koolaroo. He’d been lucky he hadn’t killed one of them. Luckier still that his only mate, Bob Ackerman, was a cop. Now senior sergeant at Winton, Bob had saved Dad's ass more than once, usually after some drunken brawl that left blood on Frank Branson's knuckles and some poor bastard wishing he'd stayed home.
"Maybe they saw Dad." Cassidy’s tone suggested she actually cared about the evil bastard. Maybe she wasn't scarred by him after all.
I lowered the binoculars. "That's what I intend to find out."
"Be careful, Mitch."
"Always. Over."
"Hey," she added quickly. "It's good to have you back."
I shook my head. "Over and out."
I shoved my hat back on, put the phone into my pocket, and gathering the reins, pulled Zeus's head up from the grass. I gave Zeus a hard nudge, and he tore down the ridge, hooves churning the dirt beneath us.
Thunder exploded overhead as nature's fury matched my own. The closer I got, the dodgier the setup looked with gear strewn around a sagging tent, and a battered bus with wind-ravaged tarps thrashing against metal.
No other vehicle was in sight.
These bastards have been here a while.
I hauled back on the reins and yanked Zeus to a stop just shy of the bus. I dismounted, boots hitting the red dirt hard. I pulled the rifle from its scabbard and checked the chamber—not that I intended to use it, but I'd make damn sure these bastards knew I would if they gave me trouble. I propped it against the bus within easy reach and stormed toward the rust-streaked door. The glass was smeared with dust and featured a faded sticker of a T. rex devouring a man.
Without knocking, I wrenched the door open and climbed inside. The air stunk of stale tobacco but was cool, thanks to the generator humming outside.
No one was inside.
A desk was bolted to the floor, strewn with maps, topographic charts, and satellite data printouts. And a laptop sat open beside a protein bar wrapper, three empty beer bottles, and an overflowing ashtray that made my stomach turn.
What kind of bullshit operation is this?
Thunder cracked so close overhead that the bus frame shook. Scowling, I stepped back into the heat, slammed the door behind me, and stalked toward what I thought was a goddamn sinkhole.
But when I reached the edge, I froze.
A massive dinosaur skull was half-exposed near the top edge of the pit. Its eye socket alone was the size of a tire. A man and a woman were down below, their attention locked on the bones scattered around them like some prehistoric graveyard.
What the hell?
They must be archeologists.
Had to be.
Didn't matter who the hell they were.
They didn't belong on Branson property.
"What the hell are you doing on my land?" I yelled, boots skidding slightly as I stepped closer to the rim.
The woman spun, wide-eyed. I'd pegged her as mid-thirties, maybe older, based on the practical hiking shorts, and a no-nonsense ponytail that screamed, “Don't mess with me.”
However, when she stumbled back, tripping over bones and landing hard, I caught the wild defiance in her eyes. She's younger than I’d thought.
"What?" she asked as a camera clattered beside her.
I barely heard her as the storm cracked open above, shooting rain onto us like detonations, but the shock on her face was real.