Heat of the Moment (15 page)

“You need help?” Joaquin appeared at his side.

“I need a leg,” Owen snapped, and the kid winced. “Sorry. No, I—”

Snarling erupted from the rear of the clinic, followed by thuds, shouts, and curses.

Owen swallowed his pride. “I'll take that help now.”

He set his hand on Joaquin's shoulder and, using the kid like a crutch, moved a lot more quickly, though no more gracefully, to the back of the building.

Reggie had a man's pants leg in his mouth, and he was shaking it so hard he nearly pulled the guy off his feet.

“Aus!”

Reggie immediately let go, but he continued to stand so close, the fellow backed up until he hit the wall.

“You know him?” Owen asked.

“Not from here,” Joaquin said.

When Reggie went razorback it meant “insurgent.” This guy did not look like Al Qaeda. Didn't mean he wasn't. Still, Owen doubted they'd started slinking around this far north. Nevertheless, there was something about him that had set off the dog.

Was it the perfect blond hair and the well-trimmed goatee? Nah. What about the pretentious black silk shirt and slacks, or the once shiny, now dusty and slobbered-on black shoes? Doubtful. Could be the silver ring on his thumb. It certainly annoyed Owen.

“Reggie,
hier
.”

The dog appeared incredulous. But he came as he'd been told, though he paused and snatched something off the ground.

At first Owen thought Reggie had torn free a good chunk of the guy's well-pressed black pants. But when he took the item from the dog's mouth, the material was different. Heavier. Knit. With holes big enough to stick his fingers through.

A ski mask.

Owen crossed the distance, grabbed the man by his smooth silk shirt, and smacked him against the wall.

“Dude.” Joaquin sounded both shocked and impressed.

“Who are you?” Owen demanded.

“Jjj— Rrr— Ga—”

“I didn't get that.” Owen tightened his grip. The jerk's mouth moved, but nothing came out. He liked him better that way.

“You wanna let him go?” Becca stood in the doorway. He'd never seen her in scrubs before. He kind of liked them.

“No.”

“Do it anyway.”

He considered saying “Hell, no,” but decided she'd understand when he didn't do it. “I hear you're searching for someone wearing a ski mask.”

“He isn't.”

Owen lifted his other hand, which still held the mask.

“That isn't his.”

“I disagree.” He loosened his grip just a little. “How about you?”

“Gar-shrul. Shll.”

“See?”

Becca made a sound that was part snort, part laugh, and part cough. He wasn't sure what that meant. He was a little busy to ask. His leg had started to shake. Sweat ran down his forehead. His fingers ached. He'd known he was out of shape, but this was ridiculous.

“Owen,” Becca said softly.

Owen sighed and let the man go.

 

Chapter 12

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

“Why wouldn't I?” Owen flexed his fingers as if he wanted to grab someone again, or maybe punch them.

“I was talking to him.” I pointed at the man Owen had been holding a few inches off the ground. As soon as Owen had released him, he'd slid downward, gasping.

“What happened?” Owen's gaze was on my hand, which was still encased in plastic. CSI hadn't yet arrived, though everyone else in town had. “Who is this guy?”

I stepped outside. I had to shoulder Owen out of the way to do it. He was behaving like a dog over a bone. Reggie wasn't much better, though he had the excuse that he
was
a dog. At least he stayed back far enough that I didn't have to push him out of the way. I wasn't sure I'd have had the guts to do it. Reggie appeared more annoyed than Owen, or maybe it was just the black cloth strands that hung out of his mouth.

“Jeremy?”

I went to my knees, yanking up his pants leg to see if Reggie had removed more than thread. MWDs were trained to bite, but on command. However, there wasn't a mark on him.

Jeremy rubbed his throat, eyes closed, face paler than I'd ever seen it. As he was pretty pale to begin with, that was saying something. At this point, his blond goatee had more color.

I touched his arm, got a shock of static electricity, and pulled back, the plastic bag on my hand rattling with the sudden movement.

Jeremy's eyes snapped open. He'd felt it too. It was early for static electricity, though maybe the stupid-ass plastic on my hand was a conductor. Who knew?

“Jeremy?” I tried again.

“Apparently, he's Jeremy.”

I scowled at Billy Gardiner. “Where were you when this was going on?” I flapped my wrist to indicate all parties concerned, then grimaced at the annoying rustle. I wished Deb had used smaller plastic bags.

Billy lifted a roll of yellow crime scene tape. Figured.

“What about you?” I glared at Owen. “You released your dog on Jeremy?”

“He isn't…” Owen began, then frowned. “He just took off.”

“He do that a lot?”

“Never.”

Reggie continued to glare at Jeremy like he wanted to bite a lot more than his pants.

Owen picked up the dog's trailing lead. “What got into you?”

Reggie snuffed as if he'd smelled something he didn't like. The hair on his back was still ruffled.

Splode.

I had no idea what that meant. And I couldn't exactly ask with all these people around. I'd never had the imaginary thoughts of animals not make sense—probably because they were my thoughts not the animal's. But, as they said, there was a first time for everything.

Jeremy continued to sit on the ground. That he hadn't gotten up or spoken was becoming worrisome.

“What's going on here?” Chief Deb didn't appear any happier about this situation than I was.

“I planned to ask him the same question,” Owen said.

“Before or after you smacked him into the wall, then tried to strangle him?” I asked.

“If I'd been trying to strangle him, he'd be strangled.”

“It was so cool,” Joaquin said.

Where had he come from?

“Shouldn't you be in school?”

He shrugged.

I frowned. “Go to school!”

Joaquin walked off mumbling. I heard
madre
in the middle of a whole lot of
espa
ñ
ol
and decided not to try and translate. I probably didn't want to know.

“Who are you?” Deb asked.

Jeremy tried to talk and started coughing.

“Jesus,” Owen muttered.

“No,” Billy said. “It's Jer-e-my.”

“Ha.” Owen's gaze flicked to me. “I barely touched him.”

“
Why
did you touch him?”

He held up the ski mask again.

“Where did you get that?” Deb demanded.

“It was on the ground next to this guy.”

“Who is this guy?” Deb repeated.

“You wanted a forensic veterinarian.” I swept my hand out like a magician. “You got one. Meet Dr. Jeremy Reitman.”

“Right man,” Billy repeated. “That's funny.”

“Hysterical.” Owen's gaze remained on Jeremy.

Jeremy got to his feet, hand extended toward Deb. The sudden movement made Reggie growl, and Jeremy backed up to the wall.

“You're scared of a dog?” Owen asked. “What kind of a vet are you?”

To be fair, most of Jeremy's patients were dead, or in very bad shape, and Reggie wasn't just any dog, he was a weapon.

“He attacked me.”

“And why is that?” Owen asked.

“I don't know!”

“He doesn't like masks. I don't blame him. Anyone in Afghanistan who's covering their face is up to no good. Or expecting a sandstorm.” Owen lifted his gaze to the clear blue sky. “No sign of one.” His eyes lowered. “What's your excuse?”

“I wasn't wearing that mask. I didn't even see it until you picked it up.”

“I didn't see it there either,” Deb said.

Neither had I, but I hadn't been looking.

My dad poked his head out the back door. I was surprised it had taken him this long. “What's going on down here?” His gaze lit on Jeremy and he smiled, stepping outside. “Doctor! Hey! Great to see you.”

“Jesus,” Owen muttered again.

Billy cast him a wry glance and returned to crowd control.

“Dale!” Jeremy and my dad clasped hands and chest-bumped like old pals.

They'd met once when my father had stopped in Madison on the way to Milwaukee with my brothers' entries for the Wisconsin State Fair holstein competition in a trailer. He hadn't been able to stay long—cows in a trailer in August—but Jeremy had come by to loan me a textbook, and I'd introduced them. From the way they were behaving, they'd bonded like long-lost relatives.

I'd taken a single class from Jeremy in my first year of veterinary school. He was well read, interesting, a good teacher. We'd stayed in touch. I didn't have many friends, and I wasn't certain I'd even consider Jeremy one of them—more a colleague—but he'd been helpful in the past, and he had rushed over personally just on the basis of my call.

My father caught sight of Owen, and his smile faded. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you Owen was in town, Dad.”

“In town is one thing, here is another.”

“It isn't that big of a town.”

“Don't be a smartass,” he said, but he was staring at Owen.

There was something going on I didn't understand. My dad and Owen had always gotten along fine. Even that last night, when my dad had walked in on us in the barn, his face had gotten really red, but he hadn't shouted at either one of us. However, within days Owen had been gone, which seemed a lot more suspicious now than it had been then.

“Why is either one of you here?” I asked. “Dad, you were supposed to be mending fences and you—” I switched my gaze to Owen. “I'd think you would be asleep.”

“You'd think, wouldn't you?” My gaze narrowed, and Owen held up his hands. “I was on the porch, and Deb flew by. When she skidded to a stop in front of your place I certainly wasn't going to be able to sleep without finding out what was wrong.”

“How did you know it was my place?”

“I can see straight down this street from my porch, and this had been the vet clinic since your father was a pup.”

“Watch it,” my dad murmured.

“What is up with you two?” I demanded.

“Same thing that's been up from the beginning,” Owen said, and my father's hands clenched.

“Whoa!” I stepped between the two of them. “One of you want to expand on that?”

“No,” they said at the same time.

“I thought you wanted me to examine a crime scene?”

Jeremy still hugged the wall. Reggie still stared at him as if he were a side of beef, or at least smelled like one. It would probably be a good idea to get Jeremy out of here.

“That's at Owen's place. I can—”

“You can go with Ross.” Deb made an impatient “come here” gesture. Ross Quinleven, who had either just arrived, or been hovering out of sight around the corner, bolted forward.

Ross was of an age with my father. His own family farm had gone under while his dad owned it, leaving Ross to find other employment. He'd become a cop, and he seemed to enjoy it, though I'd never heard him speak more than a few words in my entire life.

Ross had always reminded me of a flamingo. He was tall, skinny, his hair a more unfortunate shade than my own—a faded deep pink rather than fire red. If he'd drawn himself up on one leg and stood quiet and still, I wouldn't have been surprised.

“I'll have someone take Dr. Reitman to Owen's,” Deb continued.

“I can do it,” Owen said.

I lifted my eyebrows. “I don't think so.”

He'd already tried to kill Jeremy once. Sending the two of them into the woods, toward a place where Owen had already started digging a grave, was not the best idea.

Owen lifted one hand, palm out. “I promise not to bury him in the forest.”

Jeremy rubbed his throat again.

“This shouldn't take long, right?” I asked and glanced at Deb, who shook her head. “I can drive him myself in a few minutes.”

“You aren't going out there without a cop along,” Deb said. “That's a crime scene.”

Jeremy stiffened. “I know what to do with a crime scene. I don't need an escort.”

“Fine,” Deb agreed. “Becca and I will be along directly.”

“He isn't going to my house without me,” Owen insisted.

“Sheesh.” They were acting like three-year-olds. I held out my plastic-covered hands. My palms were starting to sweat. “Just get this over with.”

“Scrape her fingernails,” Deb ordered. “Then get started on the rest of the room.”

Ross led me away from the others, setting his box full of CSI tools on the hood of my Bronco. It resembled a tackle box, and maybe it was, but when he opened the lid I saw no evidence of lines, lures, or jigs. He removed a hooked chrome device that reminded me of something they used at the dentist's office. I hated the dentist's office. I swallowed and averted my gaze.

There were still people gathered behind the tape Billy had strung. Several waved, but my hands were occupied, so I nodded in return.

One woman sat on the bumper of a parked car and stared at me as if she knew me, though I didn't know her. Long dark hair, flowing black skirt that brushed the ground, tie-dyed T-shirt. She had her arm in a sling. She seemed a little hippie, which is something we didn't see a lot in Three Harbors.

I smiled. She didn't smile back. She seemed pissed off. Maybe her arm really hurt. Or maybe the commotion had ruined her caf
é
breakfast. She'd probably come here to get away from crime in the big city, and yet, here it was.