His Partner's Wife (36 page)

He heard her timid attempt to tell him.
I
was wondering if Foxfire could possibly be…
What?

The answer slotted into place. What she was wondering was
whether the horse could possibly be worth one hell of a lot more than they'd
thought.

Okay. So she'd told Baxter. Why would he be making a move?
They'd have to prove the horse was a walking half mil. They'd need the papers,
to make phone calls. Buyers weren't standing on every street corner for an
animal worth that kind of money. There wasn't a serious Arabian farm in Port
Dare. Why wouldn't Baxter wait?

Because, if he did, he'd lose his money. Once anybody but he
and Natalie knew Stuart had sunk the drug money into the horse, it was as good
as gone. If he could somehow persuade her to sell Foxfire first…

And then what? Keep her mouth shut.

Fear grabbed John with long white fangs.

Of course Baxter couldn't count on her to stay quiet. He'd
have to get her to sign papers selling the horse to him, then dispose of her.
Even then, he didn't have a chance. He must know it. But John remembered the
increasingly frenzied way he had searched Natalie's house. Maybe Geoff Baxter
wasn't thinking straight anymore.

Or maybe he was. What if Natalie's body wasn't found for a
while? If he could spirit the damned horse away, then he could take his time finding
a buyer. In the normal course of events, with Natalie missing, nobody would
give a thought to her horse. If Baxter somehow compelled her to leave a note or
even tell the stable owner that she was moving the horse, it wouldn't be until
her body was found and a serious investigation began that somebody might
question where the Arabian had gone. Even then, who would figure he might be
worth serious money?

A harsh sound emerged from John's throat. Okay, he'd just
made up a hell of a good story. Probably Natalie was having breakfast with a
friend, and Baxter was buying his wife a surprise birthday present.

But John wanted to see the horse with his own two eyes and
know that it hadn't been moved.

Then he might even get a laugh out of his own fiction.

Chapter
16

«
^

"
I
don't
understand
," Natalie said stupidly.

"Half of that dumb animal's price is mine." Geoff
Baxter gave an unpleasant laugh. "Now I figure all of it is mine. If
Stuart wanted you to have half, he shouldn't have tried to cheat me."

Her hand slackened on the lead, and Foxfire tossed his head
so that his mane flew. Heart drumming, Natalie regained a firmer grasp.

"We're friends."
Another dumb thing to say.

So dumb, he ignored it.

"What was wrong with a bank account?" he asked.

He probably didn't want or expect an answer, but she gave
one anyway. "Banks report unusually large deposits."

"If this damn horse broke his leg, it would all be
gone."

Horses could be insured, she knew, but she hadn't seen any
paperwork to indicate that Stuart had taken out a policy on Foxfire.

Maybe he had enjoyed gambling. No, playing with fire she
thought, semihysterically.

"Load the horse," he said.

John, where are you?
she
thought desperately. If only he could hear her.

She swallowed. "Foxfire doesn't load easily."

His voice rose. "Walk the damned horse into the
trailer. Now!"

He wouldn't risk shooting Foxfire, would he? She shortened
the lead rope, backing toward the stallion. If she could get on his far side…

"Oh, no, you don't," he said sharply. "Bring
him over here."

From the other end of the barn aisle, Pam Reynolds called,
"Natalie? Is that you?"

Geoff's gun hand jerked. "Who is that?"

"She owns the stable."

"Tell her you're sorry, you're moving the horse. Tell
her you sold him. Just get rid of her."

Natalie said in a low, urgent voice, "She'll want to
help load him."

He was sweating, twitchy. "If she sees me, or you say a
word to her that you shouldn't, she's dead. Don't think I'd hesitate."

Natalie took a deep breath. "It's me, Pam. Don't
worry."

The older woman strode down the sawdust-covered aisle.
"You're not dressed for a ride."

"No, I'm…" Foxfire danced sideways. Her arms were
beginning to ache from struggling to hold him and she teetered uncomfortably on
the clogs. "I meant to call you last night and forgot. I'm taking him to a
place over near Stanwood for some training. I'll feel safer riding him once
he's had some more schooling."

Pam Reynolds paused before she emerged from the shadowy
barn. She sounded taken aback. "But you haven't said anything. I didn't
know you were thinking about looking for a trainer."

Natalie stole a look at Geoff, standing so that the trailer
blocked Pam from seeing him. He held the gun pointed right at Natalie's chest.
A muscle spasmed beneath one of his eyes.

Don't come out,
Natalie
begged her friend silently.
Please
don't come out.

Trying to sound careless, she said, "I asked if you
were willing to ride him. Since you weren't…"

Pam's face became expressionless. "You did agree to
give notice before you take your horse from the stable."

"I'll pay for the month."

Waggling the gun, Geoff mouthed, "Get rid of her."

"If you'll excuse me now," Natalie said.
"Foxfire is getting antsy."

Pam started forward. "Let me help you load him."

"No!" Foxfire danced in another circle, rump
toward the detective. Natalie thought briefly, wildly, about making a run for
it, but the stallion kept going, exposing her to the line of fire. What good
would it do, anyway? The farm was deserted but for the two women and the man
who would hunt them down and kill them. "No," she said again.
"You're upsetting him. I'll do better alone, if I just take my time."

Pam checked. "You're sure?"

"Yes." She couldn't bear it if this nice woman was
gunned down in front of her because of Stuart's sins. Because
she
had
made such a gross misjudgment of character and her own heart.
"Please," she begged.

"If that's what you want." Creases in her forehead
made Pam look older. She nodded and vanished into the barn.

"She's gone," Natalie said.

"Good for her." He jerked his head toward the
trailer. "Get him in."

She was as good as dead once Foxfire was loaded and she
signed—what?—some kind of note selling the horse to Geoffrey Baxter. His only
chance at returning to his life with the money was for her to die.

But if she
didn't
load Foxfire, what would he do? She'd seen him already
casting nervous glances toward the gravel lane leading from the main road.
Other people would be arriving soon, and he knew it. Would he kill her and try
to load the horse alone? What did he have to lose at this point? One way or
another, he had to get rid of her.

Her mind jumped. Was he really afraid of horses, or had that
been an excuse to make her bring the stallion out here?

"I'll try." She grabbed Foxfire's halter and
brought the horse's head down to where she could momentarily rest her forehead
against his nose. He calmed immediately. She would have said,
Be good,
but she
wasn't sure she wanted him to docilely load. Natalie settled for, "I love
you."

"Get on with it!" Geoff snapped behind her.

Swallowing dryly, Natalie led an immediately uneasy Foxfire
toward the ramp. She had never loaded him, never seen him loaded, had no idea
how he felt about travel. He rolled his eyes toward Geoff, showing the whites,
and tossed his head again, almost wrenching the lead from her hand.

An idea formed. Could she fake a balk, if Foxfire started up
the ramp?

Could she bring herself to use her beloved stallion as a
weapon?

What choice did she have? She would not allow herself to be
led to her death.

"Okay, sweetie," she murmured. "Let's
go."

Her clogs clomped loudly on the wooden ramp. Foxfire shied.
Backing up, feeling for footing, she pulled. Real terror grabbed her throat
when he started forward. He could clatter up the ramp and be in the trailer in
seconds.

He placed one hoof on the ramp, started to put his weight on
it, and then thought better of it, yanking back.

Geoff swore and started forward. Foxfire reared.
"What's wrong with the goddamn horse? Isn't he trained?"

She got his feet back on the ground. Patches of sweat were
forming on his flanks and his eyes were rolling.

"He doesn't know the trailer and hasn't had any reason
to be loaded in one for over a year. Just … just chill!" she finally
snapped.

She soothed the stallion with her voice, then tromped loudly
on the ramp, creating another panic. Over and over they started, until Foxfire
was bracing all four hooves at the least tug on his lead.

The whole time, she was having … flashbacks, maybe. Her life
passing before her eyes. Physically she was here, struggling, sweating, seeing
the chestnut hair on her slacks and sweater, feeling the ache in her arms and
the tearing pain where the lead rope ripped through her palms, knowing she was
likely going to die.

On another plane, she saw her stepfather's snarl, heard his
cutting voice. "You ungrateful little brat." Witnessed again Stuart's
false modesty and despised him for his vanity. The craggy smile was as vivid as
the dust and the braid lead tearing her hands. "That's to remind me in low
moments that I can do some good."

And John, always John. His bare back and sweat-dampened hair
as he worked on her house. His tenderness as he talked to Evan last night. His
passion-darkened eyes and his raw voice saying, "I love you. I've never
had a lover who was my best friend."

Please let me live,
she
prayed.
Let me have this chance at
happiness.

By this time, Geoff was swearing in a continuous mumbling
litany. Soon she would find out what he'd do if she didn't—or couldn't—load the
horse.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept saying. "I'm
trying!"

And finally, "You're going to have to help me."

She saw the whites of
his
eyes, now, and would have given a feral smile if she weren't
so scared. So it was true that he didn't like horses. No wonder Stuart had
bought one. He could be sure that his "partner" would never come to
look at the pretty gift he'd bought his wife.

"Do you think I'm that damned stupid?" he all but
screamed.

"Well, then what do you suggest?" she yelled back.

Pam, be listening. Don't come out here. Call 911.

The easygoing, clean-cut cop she'd known was nowhere in
evidence. His hair stuck out in tufts and sweat dripped from his nose and jaw
and soaked the underarms of his sport coat. His eyes were wild, his gun hand
shaking.

"If you try anything stupid, I'll kill you," he
said finally, from between gritted teeth. "Anything at all."

"Are you familiar with horses?"

"What difference does it make?"

"You'll have to push," she told him.

He swore, the obscenity losing its impact after the past
five minutes—ten minutes? Twenty? She had no idea how much time had elapsed and
didn't dare look at her watch.

"Push," he said.

"Yes. I'll pull, you go behind him and just lean your
shoulder against his rump and push. I think that will kind of … startle him
into going."