His Partner's Wife (35 page)

Probably all three.

She must have slept, but not enough, because she could
hatefully have thrown the alarm clock against the wall when it buzzed at
six-fifteen. Heavy eyed, head pounding, she wondered why she'd agreed to an
early meeting. Couldn't they have done this later in the day? She could have
taken time off from work.

The shower and coffee almost woke her up. Anticipation at
seeing John helped. She dressed in slacks, Swedish clogs and a linen-silk blend
sweater that draped sublimely, then she made a full turn in front of the mirror
to see the effect. Not exactly wear for the stable, but she wouldn't be there
long.

She arrived to find that the broad double doors to the main
barn were open, which must mean that Pam was about somewhere. A strange pickup
and rented horse trailer were parked between the arena and the open doors, so
maybe a new horse was arriving. Natalie didn't see either of the plain sedans
that the two detectives drove. They had darn well better be here after
suggesting this obscene hour of the morning.

Besides, she felt like a teenager about to have a rare
chance to see her crush.

She was partway to the barn when Geoff called, "Hey."

He'd just stepped around the rented horse trailer and was
looking down with distaste at his shoe. "Damn stinking…" he muttered,
scraping it off on the fender.

"Where's John?"

"Huh?" He looked up. "He couldn't make it.
Something about one of the kids."

Disappointment descended out of proportion to John's failure
to show. "Evan was sick. Oh, dear. I hope it's just the flu."

"Can I take a look at those?" He held out a hand
for the envelope.

His perusal was silent and brief. "Stuart's name is on this,
not yours."

"No, but that shouldn't be a problem. I'll just need
the will to show that I'm his heir."

He grunted. "Will you bring the horse out here?"

Surprised, Natalie said, "Don't you want to see him in
his stall? He's … restive on a lead rope."

Geoff was sweating, which struck her as odd considering the
crispness of the morning. "I don't really like horses. It's … just a thing
I have." His brows lowered. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not."

"I just don't want to go in there."

She glanced down at her polished clogs, crisp black pants
and softly draped, peach-colored sweater. "Maybe I could get Pam."

He'd started to lean against the trailer, but he
straightened quickly. "Who?"

"The stable owner. She must be around somewhere."

The detective shook his head. "Let's keep this quiet
for now, okay? We don't want the world to know what this damn horse is worth.
Think of the security issues. And you're a lousy liar. She'll be able to tell
you're making up a story about showing the horse to a friend. You can handle
him, can't you?"

"Of course I can." Natalie threw up her hands.
"Okay, okay."

She didn't spot Pam inside. The barn had that wonderful rich
scent of hay and manure and bedding and horse that Natalie had always loved.
Heads popped over stall doors as she passed, and soft whickers and jingled
halters and the clunk of hooves striking thick wooden walls were the only
sounds.

Foxfire was waiting, his call more ringing when he spotted
her.

"Hello, beautiful," she said, putting her hands on
each side of his head and resting her cheek against his elegant nose.

He tolerated the sentiment only briefly, then shook his head
hard, dislodging her. "Silly," she murmured, blinking away tears.
"We aren't going for a ride. I wish we were. But I will put you out in the
paddock after I show you off." She clicked the braided leather lead rope
to his halter and slid the bolts open so that his stall door would slide to the
side.

Foxfire danced out and tossed his head so that his glorious
mane flew. Usually Natalie cross-tied and saddled him here in the barn. She
felt more in command once she was up on his back. But he was on his best
manners, following her docilely with only a few wicked snorts aimed at the
horses they passed.

The parking area and arena were still deserted at this hour
of the morning when she emerged with the fiery chestnut. He, of course, hunched
his back and crab-hopped sideways the moment he spotted the strange trailer and
man. With difficulty, Natalie clung to the heavy leather lead rope.

Geoff backed up against the trailer.

After letting Foxfire dance in a circle, she tapped his
nose, settling him into a showring stance with his rear legs braced back, his
neck arched so that his mane foamed over it, and his tail held high.

"Isn't he a beauty?" she asked the detective.

He'd pushed away from the trailer. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess
he's something. But—damn!—a horse."

Foxfire bared his teeth and she gazed sternly at him.
"Behave yourself," she told him in a low voice. "You're being
admired." Over her shoulder, she reminded Geoff, "Nobody
guessed."

"And nobody's going to."

Puzzled by his odd choice of words and the rich satisfaction
in them, Natalie turned.

And looked into the barrel of Geoff Baxter's gun.

Evan's fever was down
by
morning, maybe just because it
was
morning, but John felt confident enough to phone his mother.

She hadn't said another word about their conversation at
lunch. He'd seen her be nothing but gentle with his son since. Maybe she'd
understood more of what he was asking than he'd guessed.

All he wanted for his son was what he'd missed himself. It
was beginning to seem that it might not be too late for that much, at least. He
hoped so. Hurting her once had been hard enough, and he didn't know if he could
do it again.

"I was going shopping with a friend today, but we can
change our plans. What time do you need to leave?"

Unease had crawled along his skin like a too-cool breeze
ever since he'd awakened. What had Natalie wanted to tell him? Why did he have
this gut feeling it was important?

"As soon as possible," he told his mother.

"Lucky for you I'm an early riser," his mother
said sternly. "I'll be over in a few minutes. I can have breakfast at your
house."

His glance strayed to the kitchen clock. Seven-twelve. Too
early to call Natalie?

"To hell with it," he muttered, and dialed. Her
phone rang four times, and then the answering machine kicked in. "Natalie?
Call me when you get this message."

Either she wasn't up, or she was in the shower. What had he
expected? For her to be waiting by the phone?

But his disquiet grew as he threw together a lunch for
Maddie to take to school and set out her cereal and a glass of orange juice.

Five minutes later, he called again. "Damn it, Natalie,
pick the phone up," he growled.

She didn't.

He knew she was an early riser.
Maybe not this early,
John
told himself.

When he heard his mother's car crunching on the gravel, he
went upstairs to kiss Evan goodbye.

"Grandma's here. She's going to call me if you feel any
sicker. Okay?"

The five-year-old eyed him. "Can I watch TV?"

His revived interest was a universal sign of recovery.
"Yeah." John tousled his head. "All day long, if you want."

"And Maddie has to go to school," his son said
contentedly.

"But she didn't spend the night puking," John
pointed out.

He left Evan mulling over whether the luxury of spending the
day on the couch watching TV and having Grandma wait on him hand and foot was
worth the misery that preceded it.

John gave his mother a few quick instructions and called
goodbye to Maddie, who was, eating her cereal and reading the back of the
carton.

"Thanks, Mom," John said, giving her cheek a rare
kiss.

She looked startled but not displeased as he left.

The morning was clear and breezy, ruffling the waters of the
strait, which sparkled in the sunlight. He felt hyperalert this morning, like a
police academy graduate turned loose for his first solo patrol. He tracked
every vehicle within a mile, knew when a pedestrian stepped off the curb to
cross the street behind him. Outside of Old Town, the parking lots were
deserted in the strip malls, giant retailers and fast-food joints that lined
the highway. Urban became country in the blink of an eye. Leaves had turned,
painting the foothills with swatches of scarlet and orange and blazing gold
amidst the green of cedar and fir.

The season set him to thinking about things besides what
Natalie had meant to tell him last night.

Stuart Reed had died just over a year ago. Would Natalie
consider that a decent interval? He wanted to marry her now, before November's
first dusting of snow. She belonged in his house, in his bed. He might have
been patient under other circumstances. But, given Stuart's blood-soaked legacy
to her, he wanted to know she was safe. If she were his wife, under his protection,
he wouldn't have to worry about her, like he had last night.

The moment he turned the corner onto her street, that worry
clutched his chest and wouldn't let go. Her car was missing from her driveway. Barely
seven-thirty in the morning, and she was already gone.

He pounded on her door anyway, in case her car was in the
shop and she just hadn't mentioned it last night. No answer, no lights left on.

Swearing, he leaped back into his car. Why would she go into
work so early? A screwup with an advertisement? But the morning paper was
already out; his mother had carried his in. Breakfast with a friend? She hadn't
said anything.

Why would she? he thought dourly. She hadn't yet agreed to a
November wedding and the requisite requirement of filing daily schedules with
each other.

A light turned red ahead for the turn onto the highway. He
sat drumming his fingers on the wheel, trying to decide what to do. He didn't
even know why he felt so on edge. She wasn't in danger on a bright sunny
morning.

I wanted to tell you something I've been thinking about
Stuart.

The light turned; traffic slowly started forward.

What if she'd discovered something? He'd cut her off. What
the hell else could he have done, with Evan sitting in the middle of his own
vomit, crying? But what if she was bursting to tell someone?

What if she'd called Geoff Baxter?

Uttering a vicious profanity, John reached for his cell
phone.

Baxter's wife answered. When he asked for her husband, she
said in surprise, "Oh, I assumed you two were together. He left early this
morning. How early? To tell you the truth, I wasn't even up. It had to be
six-thirty or before."

"He didn't say anything about where he was going?"

"No. Only that he'd call later. Is something wrong?"
she asked timidly.

"Probably not. We just … crossed our wires."

John didn't like coincidences. Natalie, who had figured
something out, had left her house unusually early this morning. As had Baxter,
who had bought an RV he couldn't afford within weeks of the murdered drug
dealers being found drifting on their boat. John was still waiting for more
information on Baxter's finances, but the one purchase had been a red flag he'd
learned about only yesterday.

Where were they? Damn it,
where?

He drove without knowing where he was going. He was thinking
hard, trying to remember every word she'd said.

Foxfire is the only thing he bought. I thought he was trying
to say he was sorry, or that he cared. But he didn't.

John swore and signaled, pulling onto the shoulder of the
highway.

She was right. They should have wondered a whole lot earlier
why the only thing her scumbag of a husband had bought was a gift for the wife
he intended to leave.