At Risk (31 page)

"Oh, I don't know about that. She got to you,
didn't she?"

I glanced at him, and the Chevy's back tire
dropped off the edge of the road. I gripped the steering wheel hard
and dragged the truck back onto the pavement.

"Why do you think that?" If he could see it,
so could everyone else. So could Rachel.

"I saw your face when you first caught sight
of her. You looked, well . . . like you do now."

I sighed. "I didn't realize it was so
obvious."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. It was just a timing
thing. After that initial look of pure terror, I wouldn't have
suspected a thing. Let's put it this way. I knew something was up,
just didn't know what." He chuckled. "I was hard pressed to keep a
straight face when I saw what had you shittin' your pants."

I groaned.

"She's somethin' else, I'll say that." He
shook his head and shifted on the seat. "Enough to make you come
just lookin' at her."

She was that.

"I take it Rachel doesn't know?" he said.

"No."

"Hmm. How many times?"

"Once."

He shrugged. "Maybe you'll be okay."

"I don't know." I slowed as we approached a
sharp curve. "Girls are funny about stuff like that."

"True. It wouldn't do any good to tell her,
but . . . Well, I wouldn't trust that woman. She might tell Rachel
herself, or do something to make it obvious. Hell, she might even
make it out to be more than it was."

Like those thoughts hadn't been squirreling
round my head ever since that night in the feed room. I couldn't
walk in there without thinking about it, though most of the time,
I'd go over the entire encounter in my head and get horny as hell.
Other times I'd walk in there and feel claustrophobic.

"Why didn't you, eh . . . take advantage of
the opportunity?" I said.

"I'm serious about someone right now, plus,
you do that too much, you end with a reputation you--"

"You keep using your particular put-off,
you'll have a different reputation to contend with."

"Come on, Steve. Don't you know that in this
business, if you aren't a steer-ropin', tobacco-spittin',
boot-stompin' cowboy, you've probably got that reputation
already?"

I grinned. "Awh shit, man."

I pulled into the parking space behind the
foaling barn and turned off the engine. Since all the mares had
foaled, Greg's foaling man no longer worked nights. The barn was
dark.

"You don't," Michael said, "live in a
barn?"

"Uh-huh."

"Jesus. I gave up sleeping in the trailer for
this?"

"'Fraid so."

He jerked up on the door handle with more
force than necessary and hopped out. His expectations rose slightly
as we climbed the steps to the loft. The view across the horse
pastures, even at night, was awe-inspiring. The moon had just
crested the tree line and looked huge. A swath of white glimmered
on the lake.

I opened the door and turned on the
lights.

Michael stepped through the doorway and
paused. "Well, who'd've thought?" He dumped his duffel bag on the
floor and took off his jacket. "Nice place. No privacy though. You
ever gonna hang curtains?"

"One day."

"I feel like I'm in a goddamned fish bowl."
He walked into the living room/bedroom. "You have something against
furniture, too?"

"Hardly."

Michael snorted.

"When it comes down to spending money on
something to sit on or something to eat, I'll choose eat every
time. Speaking of which . . ." I rummaged through the cabinets and
settled on Spicy Doritos and microwaveable popcorn. I plunked two
cans of Coke and the bag of chips on the island counter and filled
two glasses with ice.

"What's this about?" Michael said.

A stack of flyers I hadn't gotten around to
giving Greg was lying on top of a pile of magazines. Michael held
one in his hand.

I told him about James Peters and the thefts
and about Pennsylvania, then I asked him if he'd heard of anything
that sounded even remotely related.

He shook his head as he gathered up the
sheets and tapped them down on the countertop until they were
organized into a neat pile. "No wonder you were so pigheaded about
me sleeping in the trailer?"

"Yeah, well, now you know." I looked down at
the popcorn in my hand and was no longer hungry. I dumped it in the
trash.

"This guy, Peters. They didn't have to kill
him, did they?" Michael said. "Not unless he could identify them."
He ran his fingers up and down the smooth, cold surface of his
glass. The ice shifted and settled. "They've got to have some horse
connections, too. Some outlet for getting rid of the horses they
take, and the tack. But you didn't recognize them?"

"No, but they were wearing masks." I stood
abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower."

He glanced up at me and frowned. "Can I use
your weights? Sitting all day drives me nuts."

"Sure," I said. "Want some music on?"

"What kind?"

"Pick something out."

He checked what was in the CD player and said
it would do. When he turned it on, the volume was cranked way
up.

He fumbled with the knobs and turned it down.
"You deaf?"

"What?"

He grinned and shook his head. "At this rate,
you'll be deaf by the time you're fifty."

"Yeah, well, what if I die when I'm
forty-nine, and I've gone through life keeping the volume down to
save my hearing?"

"You're crazy."

"So I've been told."

When I got out of the shower, Michael was
finishing up a set. His hair was damp, and sweat glistened on his
skin. He settled the bar in the rack and sat up. "Were you
expecting company?"

"No." I glanced at the clock on the stove. It
was well after midnight. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I heard a noise and thought
there was someone on the deck, but--"

"How long ago?" My voice sounded tight.

"Five minutes, maybe less."

I yanked on my sneakers, grabbed a
flashlight, and pushed through the kitchen door with Michael on my
heels. I took the stairs two at a time and switched on the barn
lights. The metal bracket by the light switch was empty.

"Shit." I spun around and almost knocked into
Michael.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Fire extinguisher's gone."

I scanned the parking lot, then ran around
the corner of the barn and shone the light along the fence line. No
fire extinguisher. I ran part-way down the narrow lawn between the
fence and barn and panned the light across the grass. The
extinguisher was lying in the darker shadows along the barn's
foundation. I tossed the flashlight to Michael, scooped up the
extinguisher, and ran into the barn aisle.

I stopped abruptly. "Do you smell that?"

Michael nodded. His face was pale.

The horses were out for the night. All the
stall doors were open, and nothing looked out of place.

I turned slowly toward the feed room door,
then flattened my palm on the smooth wood. It was cool to the
touch. I put my hand on the doorknob. The metal felt warm against
my skin, and I wondered if it was my imagination.

I stood to the side and opened the door.

A fire was smoldering in the far corner of
the room. It flared with the inrush of air. Flames shot up the wall
as I fumbled with the extinguisher's seal. I pulled out the pin and
aimed the nozzle at the base of the fire. When the foam hit the
flames, they hissed and billowed upward.

I yelled at Michael. "Run down the other end
of the barn and see if that extinguisher's still there."

He took off, his face no longer white but
orange in the fire's glow.

I gagged on the smoke.

I had never used an extinguisher before and
had no idea how long it would last. I crouched down where the air
was a bit clearer and squinted through the smoke. The heat was
intense on my bare skin. I inched back toward the door. Greg didn't
need this. And where the hell was Michael?

"Come on, Michael!" I yelled.

The extinguisher sputtered.

"Come on, damn it."

The light bulb in the ceiling fixture
exploded, and I jumped.

Damn it, what was taking him so long?

Michael stepped through the doorway with the
extinguisher in his hand. His face was covered with sweat, and he
was out of breath. He fumbled with the pin.

A ceiling panel curled downward, then fell
softly to the floor, bringing with it a shower of sparks. Michael
got his extinguisher going just as mine emptied out.

"I'll be right back," I yelled.

I ran down the aisle and skidded to a stop
alongside the spigot. I turned the pressure on full and ran
backward, uncoiling the hose as I went. Michael was holding his
own, but the fire was stubborn. I turned the nozzle full-on. The
water sizzled when it hit the flames, and smoke mushroomed toward
us. We backed up.

When the last of the fire was out, the barn
was suddenly quiet except for our breathing and the sound of water
dripping off the rafters. We stared in at the gutted feed room as a
stream of black water spread past our feet and meandered down the
barn aisle.

I set the hose down.

Michael's sweat pants and shirt were streaked
with soot. His face, too. I looked down at my bare chest and arms
and legs, at my shorts that had once been white but would never be
again and started to giggle. In a minute or two, we were both
laughing so hard, my side hurt.

Michael set his extinguisher at the base of
the wall and shivered. "God, that was awful."

I took a deep breath, which brought on a
spasm of coughing. I nodded and braced my hands against the wall.
When I caught my breath, I said, "Do you remember what the person
looked like?"

"Hell, I wasn't even sure there was a person.
It was more an impression that someone was there, it was that
quick."

I went back into the feed room and examined
the damage which, to my untrained eyes, appeared superficial. "They
must not have planned this," I said.

"Why do you think that?"

"If they had, we wouldn't have had a prayer
of stopping it ourselves." Or getting out alive, but I didn't say
that. "They would have brought gasoline or something like it to
speed up the process. Greg, the guy who owns this place, is
fanatical about keeping the barn neat. He doesn't stockpile any
chemicals or hay or let piles of junk accumulate around the barn.
The fire hadn't spread much before I opened the door."

"What do you think they were planning?"

"I don't know."

He snorted. "When they saw you had company,
they changed their plans."

I blinked.

"God, Steve. You'd better watch your
back."

I rubbed my face. I didn't feel safe at work,
not at night anyway, and now I wouldn't feel safe in my own home.
Not until Ralston rounded them up. We went upstairs, and I phoned
Greg and told him to come down to the foaling barn. He didn't ask
why.

We met in the parking lot. When he was close
enough to see us, his face went white.

"What the hell?"

"Someone started a fire in the feed
room."

He skirted past me and stopped in the
doorway. He looked relieved, as well he might. "How do you know it
wasn't electrical?"

"The fire extinguishers were outside," I
said, "in the grass."

His face paled even more. He looked back into
the feed room and muttered, "God."

That just about summed it up.

When Greg turned around, he seemed to notice
Michael for the first time. I made introductions. Greg was still
dressed in the navy blue coveralls he wore to work.

"How long have you been home?" I said.

"About an hour. Had an emergency colic."

"Did you notice any vehicles parked where
they shouldn't have been? Anything that strikes you odd, now?"

He shook his head. "No. To tell the truth, I
was half asleep. Three nights in a row I've been out on calls. If
I'd seen anything unusual, I would've checked it out."

"No! Don't!"

They both looked at me in surprise, then Greg
with understanding.

"You, more than anyone, ought to know." Greg
stepped back into the feed room and tested the phone. The line ran
up the wall along the doorjamb, and it still worked. He called the
police.

Michael turned to me. "What did he mean by
'you ought to know?'"

I shrugged. "Beats me."

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Damn, it's
cold."

Michael chuckled. "Stop changing the
subject."

Greg stepped out of the feed room and gave
him a look that shut him up pretty quick. Michael looked at the
floor and cleared his throat. I suggested we go upstairs.

The authorities arrived in time, poked around
the feed room, took statements, then left, leaving behind a clutter
of empty coffee mugs and soft drink cans.

I picked the empties off the counter and
tossed them in the trash. "I'm sorry about all this, Greg."

"It wasn't your fault. Hell, your quick
reactions kept the whole barn from burning down." He stood up and
stretched. "If you're worried about sleeping here, you could stay
at the house for a while."

I thanked him for his offer but declined
immediately. The skin around his eyes seemed to relax, and I
realized he was relieved. His good nature had moved him to ask, but
if danger was following me around, his house was the last place I
should be. More than anything, he had his kids to think about.

Greg yawned. "What about your parents'?"

"I'll work something out," I said, but I
didn't have a clue.

Chapter 18

It was three-thirty by the time Greg headed
home. I asked Michael if he still wanted to go in early.