Page 48 of A Cowboy's Claim
His horse was justifiably upset at the body sprawled under her legs. Then again, if the guy got stepped on, that was his problem for having come in where he wasn’t welcome.
Sydney knelt to check the man’s pulse, but she glanced up at the loft, waiting for the next signal of the options Declan had shared.
He dropped a handful of zip ties from the loft, speaking quietly. “Stall Cobalt next door, tie this guy up, then lock the gate. Stay hidden—someone’s in the office.”
“Tansy? Petra?”
“Safe.”
He took off for the stairs that would drop him just outside the office door. Silently he paced around the spots where he knew the floorboards would creak underfoot.
He made eye contact with Tansy and Petra individually and offered both of them a finger pressed to his lips and one hand raised in thewaitsign.
Tansy grimaced, casted leg stretched out on the hay bale she rested on, and flashed him a thumbs-up.
Petra planted her hands on her hips, clearly frustrated, but she too dipped her head in agreement.
From the noise inside the office, the man inside was searching through every filing cabinet and every desk drawer, not even caring he might be overheard. Low curses rumbled from him as he worked.
Declan took a second glance into the room to gauge the best way to rush forward, but luck was not on his side. He locked eyes with the stranger rifling the office.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded.
May as well go for it, Declan decided. He took a step forward, blocking the doorway. “I’m the one who needs to ask that question. Why the hell are you tearing apart my office?”
“You work here?” The man’s expression lightened. “Just trying to find some information, man. Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Don’t know that I want to give you anything considering how poor your manners are,” Declan drawled. He folded his arms over his chest and stared down at the man who was a good five inches shorter than him. “This how you usually ask for directions—breaking and entering?”
“Fuck this,” the stranger muttered, and too late, Declan remembered Sydney’s warning about the gun.
She’s going to give me so much shit?—
“Back up,” the stranger ordered, pointing a dark handgun squarely at Declan’s abdomen. “Mac. Where the hell are you?” he shouted.
“You mean the guy who took off in the truck?” Declan had his hands raised as he shuffled backward. “Christ. He had the pedal to the metal and took off like his ass was on fire,” Declan lied.
The stranger kept moving toward him, and Declan kept backing up, barely keeping his shit together when he stepped out of the door and spotted Sydney pressed to the wall, inches to his left.
“Bullshit,” the stranger said. “Since you work here, I assume you’ll be able to give me a little more help than those useless bitches. You got someone here named Dean?”
Declan hesitated in his step, wondering if he could swing quick enough to knock the gun out of the man’s hand, when Sydney moved, hard and fast.
The crowbar in her hands slammed into the man’s forearm. The gun fell as the man screamed. Declan was on him in a second, wrestling him to the ground and pinning him in place.
The entire takedown was far too reminiscent of having to overpower Russ.
“Bloody idiot,” Sydney muttered. “And yes, I mean you. Here. I found some more zip ties on the bench where I grabbed the crowbar.”
“Good job staying safe in the stable,” Declan grumbled as he accepted the long strands of plastic.
Sydney put her knee between the man’s shoulders and helped restrain him. “Right? Lucky for you, I’ve got selective hearing.” She waved her phone. “Want me to call 911?”
“Yeah.” Declan paused. “What about your knockout special—gonna be a problem?”
Sydney shook her head. “Some of the effects will have worn off by the time they get here, and self-defense on home turf is always the proper answer. It’s iffier when I’m an uninvited guest at someone else’s home like Mr. Greenlee’s.”
The stranger, with his ankles and knees lashed together and his hands immobilized behind his back, continued to curse and utter threats.
