Horse of a Different Killer (24 page)

All the time his big, liquid brown eyes were a picture of longing.

Please cuddle?

“Has anyone said no to this?” I asked and scooped him up. He wriggled ecstatically for a moment, gifted me with a half a dozen doggy kisses, then settled into the crook of my arm.

I turned my attention back to the phone. I went to the voice messages; there were only two and I listened to each in turn.

The first was from Boomer. He sounded annoyed. “Lucy's colic is better, but I'd still appreciate a call back.”

A slow chill oozed over my skin when I heard Tony's voice.

“I got your call. I may have a solution to our problem.”

I started to replay the message but the phone buzzed in my hand and a warning flashed on the screen.

Low battery.

I looked around the room for a charger. I'd taken a step toward the dresser across the room when tension rippled through the little dog.

Though I'd paused to listen, I couldn't hear anything over the humming,
tick-tick-tick
of the ceiling fan.

Roscoe had gone rigid. Something about his reaction told me it wasn't Dr. Simon returning. A moment later, the sound of muffled voices confirmed this theory.

Men's voices.

I crept toward the hall, thinking I might overhear what was being said, when two things happened in quick succession.

First, I heard the front door's lock click.

Second, as the door opened, one of the men said in a distinctive accent, “It smells like shit in here.”

The instant he spoke, Roscoe began to tremble and whimper. Instinctively, I reached out mentally to calm him—the moment I'd connected to his mind a series of images flashed through my head.

It was like crash-landing into someone's nightmare.

The sound of crying.

Fear.

That accented voice speaking harsh, cold words filled with menace. A woman's muted, agonized sobs.

I choked back bile and clasped my hand over my mouth.

As I wrestled my mental shield into place I realized I was still standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

In moments, I'd be in plain view of the two men—no, the two
murderers
who'd just entered the house.

I spun in a futile circle, struggling to keep my wits about me as the echo of the dog's memory bounced around my head.

The need to flee made my legs burn.

But there was nowhere to go.

Hide!

I scurried into the walk-in closet, clicked the light off, and slid behind the open door. A few seconds later I heard the same voice growing louder as the man moved down the hall.

“Where's the dog?”

“I don't know, but there's crap everywhere.”

“Grab her stuff. I'll get her purse.”

The bedroom light clicked on, spearing our hiding place with a thin beam of light.

I absurdly wondered how the hell the man had managed to turn on the light then realized it didn't matter.

In order to get as flat as possible, I'd lifted Roscoe high onto the side of my shoulder, which made his muzzle level with my ear. He was panting—not hard, but in the confined space he sounded like a revved-up, mini–Darth Vader.

I was going to have to quiet him down or we were both done for. I would be, anyway.

I closed my eyes and focused on making myself completely calm. The sound of movement drifted in from the bedroom but I didn't allow my mind to register it, instead I worked at clearing my head until it was filled with layers and layers of white, hazy nothingness, like the snow on an old black-and-white TV.

When I was sure I could snuff out whatever terror flared in his mind, I turned my attention to Roscoe. Keeping my eyes closed and my thoughts focused, I cautiously opened my mind to his.

The need to run away made him squirm in my arms.

Easy. It's okay.

His thoughts were an unintelligible tangle of fear. I tried to soothe buzzing panic with blanketing calm.

I don't know how long it took, but eventually the little dog's breathing became even.

I allowed myself to become aware of the creaking floorboards as the man moved around the bedroom, then I heard something else—a jingling sound.

Almost like . . . bells.

I tilted my head to peer through the space between the door and the jamb.

A leanly muscled man with spiky dark hair stood at the dresser. His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face, but as he moved I could see he was wearing latex gloves.

He pulled an armload of garments out of the dresser and stuffed them into an oversized, black trash bag before proceeding to the next drawer. He paused in his efforts and with one hand began patting the thigh of his loose slacks. The movement made whatever was in his pocket jingle.

This had to be one of the men Minerva had seen in the barn. The same guy Lily Earl described.

Mr. Jingles grabbed the jewelry box off the dresser and tossed it into the bag.

He turned to scan the room and I eased away from the opening. As much as I wanted to get a look at him, I knew if I could see him, he could see me.

A moment later, his footsteps clomped toward the closet. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my breath and said a silent prayer.

Light flooded the closet.

If he started pulling clothes off the hangers near the door, he'd see us.

I had no weapon. No room to move.

Mr. Jingles stopped just on the other side of the door. I could feel his presence.

The pocket jingling started up again.

My heart pounded so hard against my breastbone I was sure he could hear it.

Footsteps echoed closer, then the second man spoke.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“She had too much crap. Look.”

“Christ.” The second man moved past Mr. Jingles, ramming the door against me as he entered the closet.

Roscoe trembled.

Stay calm
,
I urged him.

Calm and still.

I heard the scrape of hangers sliding over the rod. “Here.” There was a muted rustling of fabric. “Go put those in the back with her. It doesn't have to be perfect.”

“I don't think I want to take orders from you anymore.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Tough shit.”

“We wouldn't have had to come back if you had listened to me.”

“It was too risky to move the body before. The lady next door was out in her yard—you think she wouldn't have noticed someone else drivin' Simone's car?”

“You could have let her go.”

“So she can talk to the first cop who comes asking questions? I don't know what they call it in your country, but here, that's bad business. And I don't do bad business.”

“We lost the girl because of you. If we don't find the horse—”

“Don't threaten me.” The second man growled the words. There was a tense silence.

“I'll kill you before you can pull the trigger, cowboy.”

Trigger?

When had a gun come into play?

A part of me—an obviously insane part—longed to peek around the door just to see what was happening. The rest of me wanted to melt into the wall and disappear, get away from the Bad Guy Smackdown happening two feet from my face.

“You try any of your moo-shoo crap, I'll blow a hole in you the size of Dallas,” Cowboy said.

Mr. Jingles muttered what was probably a scathing insult in a language I didn't recognize.

“Talk English, punk.”

“We need to get out of here. There isn't room for everything.”

“So leave it. It just has to look like she left if anyone comes looking. We ain't U-Haul.”

The tension eased but I didn't take a full breath until both men were out of the closet.

After several minutes of nothing more than footsteps coming and going, I started to think they would be leaving soon.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the closet light was turned off, followed by the one in the bedroom.

Darkness enveloped us. I started to relax until I heard Mr. Jingles say, “Where is her phone?”

Crap!

I glanced down at the cellphone in my hand.

What was I going to do with it?

I listened as one of the men rummaged around the room for a minute before moving down the hall.

They were going to come back. Eventually, they would look more thoroughly and I would be dead.

Think.

The lights were out. If I was quick, I could scoot from behind the door and toss the phone onto the bed. I eased around the door and peeked around its frame.

The room and hall were empty. Rather than risking the phone bouncing off the bed and clattering to the floor, I took three steps into the room, shoved the phone partway under a pillow and tip-toe sprinted back into the closet.

“I already looked in there,” Cowboy said as Mr. Jingles walked into the room.

I heard the
jingle-jingle
as he tapped his pocket, then a low, derisive curse. A moment later he walked out of the room.

One of the worst things about being trapped in a closet for almost an hour while murderers discuss the best way to dispose of a body and gather their victim's possessions, is the total lack of an opportunity to pee.

Fear had kept my bodily functions in check until the house grew quiet and I became fairly certain the coast was clear.

I waited another few minutes, barely daring to breathe, before easing around the closet door. I strained my ears but was able to hear little more than my own thrumming pulse. What was I doing? I had a set of much more keen ears to ask.

Roscoe, bad guys? Where?
I highlighted the question with rough images of the two men.

Roscoe's plumed ears pricked.
Out
.

At least they weren't in the house or garage. I crept to the bedroom door then made a run for it. The problem with running in situations like this is that once you start, it's hard to stop. I tucked Roscoe in my arms and sprinted across the backyard like a running back headed for the end zone.

The wire fence slowed me down, but not by much. With Roscoe snug in one arm, I scrambled over the obstacle. It may not have been nimble but it was quick.

I'd taken several, loud crashing steps into the woods before I managed to stop and slide into a shadow cast by one of the pine trees.

I had to think. Crashing blindly through the woods would announce my location to anyone who might be lurking—not helpful. I also didn't relish the thought of tumbling ass-over-elbow into a thicket of saw palmettos—a plant that got its name from the sharp teeth that lined its stems.

Forcing a steadying breath I closed my eyes and listened. Crickets sang and a light breeze rustled through the pines.

I checked with Roscoe—he didn't hear anything menacing either, so I took my time and picked my way through the brush until I saw light glinting off Bluebell's chrome grille. The sight brought on a wave of relief.

I even considered squatting next to her back tire to use the bathroom but decided I could hold it. Better to haul my cookies out of there—my bladder would have to wait.

I climbed in behind the wheel, shaking like a nervous Chihuahua. I tried to get a grip on my adrenaline so I could one: put the key in the ignition; and two: drive.

Focusing on a couple of deep, calming breaths, I tried to get control of my racing heart.

Roscoe turned his attention to the backseat so suddenly and fully, I knew without having to read the dog's thoughts—there was someone behind me.

Easing Roscoe off my lap onto the floor so I'd have room to move, I cranked Bluebell's engine while slowly reaching under the seat, where I kept my homemade stun gun. It was more of a stun stick, actually. About the same length and girth of an empty paper towel roll, I'd confiscated it from some teenagers who'd been using it on a dog, and it had come in handy in the past. I'd had to use it only once, but I'd have no problem using it again.

My fingers brushed over the rubber cylinder when a voice behind me said, “Don't.”

Knowing someone was lurking behind me didn't stop me from flinching with a yelp. It didn't stop me from grabbing the stun gun, either. I spun over the bench seat, ready for an attack, and froze when I saw the man lounging in my backseat.

Though he sat casually with one arm draped over the seat back, a coiled readiness radiated from him.

“Logan?”

My first instinct on seeing him wasn't so much fear as the desire to zap him for scaring the crap out of me.

He must have read my mind because the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement.

“I took the batteries out,” he said.

Scowling, I lowered my arm, then reached up to click on the domed ceiling light so I could see his face. Not that I'd ever found Logan's expressions very readable, but light always keeps the monsters at bay, right? I lowered the stun stick, then narrowed my eyes. “My Glock?”

I kept my gun secured in the cargo area.

“Still in its locked box.”

As if a lock would have stopped him.

He lifted a sprig of hay to his lips, just like a good ol' boy.

Roscoe decided he needed to be introduced to our visitor and hopped into the seat to prop his front paws on top of the seat back.

“Is that a dog or a big furry bat?” Logan asked.

“He's a papillon. The ears are a prerequisite.”

“I like the wolf better.”

Roscoe wagged his tail—low and submissive. The little dog leaned forward, stretching his head as close to Logan as possible, trying for all the world to get a good sniff and maybe a lick or two.

“I think he wants to be my friend,” Logan said.

“So much for papillons being smart.” Not that I could throw stones. Roscoe wasn't afraid of Logan and deep down, for a reason I couldn't fathom, I wasn't either. Which made both of us stupid.

I blew out a ragged breath and slid to sit sideways, folding one leg under me. Roscoe promptly hopped into the cradle of my lap and settled there with a sigh.

“What are you doing here, Logan? And what was with the cryptic phone call?”

“Just trying to give you a heads-up.”

“You might want to try to be a little more specific.”

“I'll take that under advisement.”

“Why are you following me?” I asked.

“I'm not, but I have been keeping an eye on some . . . let's call them bad guys, who
are
following you.”

Which confirmed I was the “girl” Mr. Jingles and Cowboy had talked about. I suppressed a shudder.

“How is Sartori mixed up in all this?” I asked.

“He isn't.”

“Come on, Logan.”

“Mr. Sartori keeps on top of any new players who come into the area. It was impolite for them to show up without contacting us first. I've already had a chat with them about that. They assured me they'd be leaving very soon. I've been keeping tabs on them to make sure they do.”

I thought about that.

“During your tab keeping, have you seen a big, black horse around?”

“No, and if that's what you're after, I'll give you some advice. Forget the horse.”

“It's not just about the horse, Logan. My sister has been arrested for Tony Ortega's murder. If these guys did it, I need to find something linking them to the crime. Who are they? What do they want with Ortega's horse?”

“I don't know why they would be interested in a horse.”

“They didn't say anything to you about why they were in town? Do you know their names?”

“No.”

“No what? No, you don't know their names or—”

“No, I'm not telling you anything else.”

“Why?”

“Because it will get you killed.”

“Come on, Logan, please. Just give me something. Anything I can tell the police to help them realize my sister is innocent.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What?”

“That your sister is innocent.”

“Of course.”

“You don't think she could kill someone if she had to?”

Logan had seen how skilled my sister was.

I met his eyes. “She didn't.”

He lifted a shoulder, chewed the bit of hay. “If you say so.”

I didn't want to listen to anyone else suggest Emma might be guilty.

“Why do you care if my life is in danger, anyway?” I asked, both to change the subject and because I really wanted to know.

“I pay my debts.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“Most people would be grateful for my help.”

“You're not helping me.”

“I'm not helping your
sister
,” he corrected. “There's an old Polish proverb I've always liked: Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“Nice.”

“If your sister knew the risk you were taking, she'd agree with me.”

He was right. But that didn't mean I could just give up.

With a frustrated growl, I dropped my head into my hands and scrubbed my tired eyes.

Kai would believe me when I told him what Roscoe had witnessed, but Boyle?

I wasn't even sure Jake was ready for that much info—I knew I wasn't.

“Do you know Dr. Simon's real name?” I asked, I lifting my head to look at Logan. The backseat was empty.

“No way.” I hauled myself up and peered over the seat. Gone.

I wasted little time wondering how Logan had managed to disappear.

“Freaking Ghost.” I buckled up, Roscoe tucked against my side, and headed out of Jennings.

There'd been nowhere to turn Bluebell around so I drove straight on the dirt road. According to the map, it would take me much farther south than I needed to go, but I was happy to put some distance between the bad guys and myself.

Something flashed in my headlights and I slammed on the brakes. Stunned to see what was spotlighted in the road.

A goat.

“You've got to be kidding me.” I started to chuckle at my own pun then winced as I almost lost control of my already stressed bladder.

I got out of Bluebell and started toward the goat.

“Nelly?”

She let out a gentle
mbaaaaaa
.

I'd found her—now what? The answer seemed obvious.

“Come on, Nelly. You're coming with me.” Scooping the goat into my arms, I hauled her back to Bluebell and set her in the backseat. She was tired and didn't protest as I urged her to stay still and calm as we drove.

When the dirt road emptied out onto pavement, I stopped.

I couldn't go back to R-n-R. Mr. Jingles and Cowboy might be watching. On the other hand, they could just as easily be waiting for me at the condo.

Crap.

Crap-crap-crappity-crap.

I wasn't thinking clearly. I was hungry, freaked out, and really needed to find a bathroom.

“First things first,” I gave Roscoe a reassuring pat and aimed Bluebell toward civilization. I stopped at the first gas station we came to, and when I made it back to Bluebell after my potty break I discovered Nelly, being a goat and capable of climbing just about anything, had relocated to the front seat, where she was curled up next to the papillon.

“You guys are buddies, huh?”

Friend
, Roscoe assured me.

“Good. One less thing to worry about.”

Now, I just had to figure out my next step. I had to get home to take care of Moss and Voodoo, but it would be stupid to go alone and risk running into Mr. Jingles and Cowboy.

As soon as my phone showed I had a signal, I called Kai.

“Grace, I've been trying to get ahold of you. Are you okay?”

“Those guys following me—the ones who followed Heart, too. They're bad people, Kai.”

“Where are you?”

“East of Jennings State Forest. I'm fine. But I need your help.”

•   •   •

I'd touched on only the basic points but Kai didn't want me going home, or anywhere else, alone. He promised to be waiting for me at the condo.

I didn't see his truck when I pulled into the lot. Instead, he'd driven an SUV with the sheriff's office logo visible on the sides and rear. He stood, casually leaning on the back bumper, waiting.

Also visible, I noticed, was his police-issue Glock strapped into a gun belt.

I parked next to the SUV and got out.

“Making a statement?” I asked when he'd come around the vehicle.

“Might as well.”

I nodded, and with a frown, he looked over my shoulder into Bluebell.

“Is that a goat?”

“Nelly. I told you about her, at least I think I did, she was lost—” I stopped myself. “Never mind, I'll explain later. Here, take Roscoe.” I opened the door, scooped up the little papillon, and handed him to Kai. Using one of the slip leads I kept in the glove box, I urged Nelly to disembark, which she did with more grace than I'd have thought possible.

“What are you going to do with the goat?”

“Nelly,” I corrected. She had a name, after all. “I'm going to take her inside and do a quick exam to make sure she's okay. After that . . . I don't have a plan after that.”

I was keyed up with that weird, exhausted jitteriness that comes with being stressed to the point of insanity.

Moss was thrilled with his new houseguests. Voodoo, not so much. One bleat from the goat and the kitten took off to hide under my bed.

I got my backup medical kit and knelt on the living room rug to give Nelly a cursory checkup. She seemed no worse for her adventure.

“Not even a scratch,” I told Kai as I zipped the kit closed.

He had taken the initiative to pour me a glass of wine. I stood and took it gratefully.

“Do we need to put her somewhere?” he asked, looking at the goat. She'd already settled onto Moss's doggy bed with Roscoe curled at her side.

“They're okay for now,” I said after tasting the wine. “I just want to take a minute to catch my breath.”

I set the glass of wine on the side table and with a long sigh dropped onto the couch.

Suddenly, I'd lost the desire to do anything but sit.

Kai joined me a moment later and let me space out for a few minutes.

Moss went to check on his kitten. Voodoo was still under the bed. Not because she was afraid, but because she'd discovered how well her claws penetrated the filmy fabric underside of the box spring.

And was tearing into it like a baby velociraptor.

At least it was my mattress. She could rip it to shreds. I didn't care.

After not nearly enough downtime, I heard Kai say, “Grace?”

With a nod, I straightened, retrieved my glass of wine, and angled to face him. “I should start at the beginning, right?”

He nodded. “From when you got there.”

I made it through most of the story before he started asking questions.

“So you broke into Dr. Simon's house to rescue Roscoe?”

“Technically, as a consultant for animal control, I'm approved to employ certain tactics in the rescue of an at-risk animal.”

“You didn't just rescue the dog. You snooped.”

“That wasn't the plan, I swear.” I lifted my right hand to emphasize my solemnness.

“Why did you go through her purse?”

“I don't know. It was there. What was I supposed to do?”

“Call the police.”

“I couldn't. No phones, remember? When I realized her wallet and cash and all that was in her purse, I decided to look around and make sure something hadn't happened to her. Which of course it had.”