The Accused (19 page)

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.

You crave excitement!
Harlequin Intrigue
stories deal in serious suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!

Visit
Harlequin.com
to find your next great read.

We like you—why not like us on Facebook:
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

Follow us on Twitter:
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books:
HarlequinBlog.com

Subscribe to our newsletter for special offers, new releases, and more!

Harlequin.com/newsletters

Chapter One

Armed with her favorite guilty pleasure—a caramel vanilla cappuccino—Abby Langdon left Sunny Perk in the distance and navigated the long gravel road that led to her ranch. Later, she’d put on a pot of coffee, but for now, her fix was complete.

Already she was anticipating the hard work and long day ahead. Sitting Tall Ranch and its special mission had always been her dream come true. Young victims of illness, poverty and abuse came to her ranch daily for a respite from their challenges. Her guests had witnessed the worst life could hand out, but Sitting Tall Ranch was the haven where they could forget their troubles and just be kids.

Abby slowed as she neared the abandoned pickup parked alongside the road. She’d seen it earlier when she’d left the ranch. Somebody had probably run out of gas then gotten a ride.

Abby drove through the gates, parked and headed to her office, a separate
casita
behind the main house. She was holding her to-go cup in one hand and reaching for her keys with the other when she heard a familiar voice to her left.

“Abby! Wait up!”

Ten-year-old Bobby Neskahi, hands down her favorite guest, was struggling up the sidewalk. Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis had damaged most of his joints and left him to rely on braces, but whatever had caused the panicked look on his face was urging him to move fast.

He stopped in front of her, catching his breath. “Carl’s hurt! He’s not moving.”

“Where is he?” Her heart suddenly beat overtime. Carl Woods was her caretaker, animal handler and all-around right-hand man on the ranch.

“He’s inside Tracker and Missy’s turnout area. He’s on the ground, and he didn’t move or answer when I called him.” Bobby grabbed her hand. “He might be dead. I couldn’t see him breathing. Come on! You gotta help!”

Abby touched Bobby firmly on the shoulder, then handed him her keys. “Bobby, I need you to go into my office, call 911 on the desk phone, then stay here until the police arrive. You’ll have to show them the way. I’ll go check on Carl.”

Bobby nodded and Abby took off running toward the stalls.

Jogging around the corner of the barn, Abby nearly collided with a wheelbarrow stacked with bales of alfalfa hay. Stopping just in time, she began inching between the wheelbarrow and the fence. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of movement.

As she turned to look, a large figure leaped up from behind the stack and forced an empty feed bag over her head.

“Hey!” Sputtering from the debris in her eyes and mouth, she fought to pull the bag off.

Strong arms grabbed her wrists, yanked them down to her sides, then lifted her off the ground.

Abby tried to kick her captor, but he just grunted, hauled her several steps, then flung her violently onto the ground.

* * *

D
ARK
,
ANGRY
CLOUDS
were building over Copper Canyon. “Storm’s heading our way.” Hot from exertion despite the cool, early hour, Detective Preston Bowman had already shrugged off his shirt as he continued working alongside his brother, repairing gaps in the fence line. Their late foster father’s place belonged to all of them now.

As the wind from the downdrafts intensified, Preston could feel the force of the approaching storm. The sky continued to darken quickly, turning the new day into near twilight.

Kyle, taller than his brother by one inch and just as muscular, wiped his eyes with a dirty hand. “Rain I like. Sandstorms, not so much, bro.”

Preston was tired, though he’d never admit it. His sore muscles were a constant reminder of why he’d chosen city life instead. As a cop, Preston was more used to wielding a gun rather than a shovel, axe or sledgehammer. Even though he was six feet tall and in excellent shape—police work demanded it—he was ready for a break.

Kyle reached for his shirt. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to be sandblasted.”

“Have you decided if you’re going to be coming home for good?” Preston grabbed his own shirt and ducked inside the toolshed.

“Not yet,” Kyle said, joining him in the small shelter. “I have some things to work out first.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Can’t say anything else—classified.”

Preston nodded silently. He didn’t have to know the details to realize whatever it was had hit Kyle like a hard kick to his gut. Despite that, he knew his brother would find a way to deal with it.

Inside each of his five brothers was a fighter who never gave up. They’d all been tested at an early age, long before they’d even known how to protect themselves from life’s hard knocks.

Their stories were all different but shared the same core. They’d been wards of the state, abandoned by people who were supposed to have protected and loved them. Survival instincts had become second nature to each of them early on.

When life did its best to bring them to their knees, they got up and kept fighting. It was what they did best. The difference was now they had each other’s backs. Though none of them were bound by blood, their pasts had forged unbreakable ties among them.

A flash of lightning was followed immediately by an ear-splitting crack of thunder that shook the ground. Hearing a horse’s panicked whinny, Kyle shot out of the shed and ran toward the corral. “Red!”

The large mahogany horse with the dark mane was bucking wildly, racing around the corral and tossing his head.

“Red’s used to his own stall inside Gene’s barn. He doesn’t like it here,” Kyle said.

Preston took the horse by its halter, led him to the side of the house and stood there with him. “He’ll settle down now that he’s here with us, sheltered from the wind,” he said. “How come Red’s here? Did Gene loan him to you for a few days?”

“No. He’s donating him to Sitting Tall Ranch. The owner, Abby Langdon, was looking for a gentle mount for kids with special needs. Red’s steady as they come—except around thunder. If he’s inside a barn, he’s okay, but not if he’s outside. Since I’d planned on keeping him here for a day or two so I could go riding, I checked the weather ahead of time. It was supposed to be okay, just a little cloudy, but this front’s a day early.”

As they stood waiting for the storm to pass, Preston kept his arm over the horse’s neck. The animal seemed to be handling things better now.

“Have you opened the envelope
Hosteen
Silver left for you yet?” Preston asked, referring to their foster father.

“No, not yet. He knew things before they happened and that always spooked me. There’s also something else I need to take into account now. After Daniel, Gene and Paul opened theirs, they ended up getting married within months. I’m thinking that I’ll hold on to mine for another decade or so,” he said and flashed his brother a quick grin.

Preston laughed. “Just so you know, they’re not all letters that foretell upcoming events. Mine’s a sketch.” Preston reached for his wallet and took out a folded piece of paper. “I made a copy to keep with me until I figured it out.”

“Nice. The old man was a good artist, though he seldom had time for that,” Kyle said, studying it. “That’s obviously Copper Canyon and there’s Falcon. It looks just like the fetish he gave you when you turned sixteen.”

“I’ve carried that carving with me every day since,” Preston said, lifting the leather cord that hung around his neck. A small leather pouch hung from it. “Falcon’s a faithful spiritual guide. I think he helps me see what others miss. That’s a great asset in police work.”

“In the sketch, Falcon’s swooping down on that owl and defending something... a nest or maybe its mate? The background’s mostly in shadow and hard to make out. Can you see it any better in the original?”

“No, not even enlarged.”

“What’s that drifting down?” Kyle asked, pointing. “A gray feather?”

“Feather, yes, but in the original, it’s blue.”

“
Hosteen
Silver used to say that blue jays, or piñon jays as he called them, stood for peace and happiness,” Kyle said. “So was he saying that you’ll be so busy fighting you’ll miss out on happiness?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Preston answered.

Kyle shook his head. “Everything about that man was mysterious. Even his name.
Hosteen
means mister. Silver was a nickname given to him because of his long silver hair.”

Noting the wind had calmed down and things were returning to normal, Preston started leading the horse back to the corral. Just then a big barn owl flew out of the pine tree beside him. The bird swooped past him with a faint rustle of feathers, then turned sharply and angled up toward the cliff, disappearing into the background of rocks and brush.

Preston led the horse away quickly, grateful that Red had seemed oblivious to the owl and was now back to his usual calm self. His one fear—thunder—had subsided.

“The worst is over,” Preston said.

“Not by a long shot, bro.
You’re
the falcon in the drawing, and that was an owl we both saw swooping down out of that pine. For you, it’s just starting.”

Before he could reply, Preston’s phone rang. He turned the reins over to his brother, gesturing for him to put the horse away, and answered the call.

Mere minutes later he met Kyle, who was standing by the department’s SUV. Preston had changed shirts and was ready to go. “I need to race over to Hartley. I’m the closest cop and some kid just reported what he thinks is a dead body at Sitting Tall Ranch.”

“Watch your back, bro. Looks like things are already in motion.”

Preston slipped inside the SUV, then glanced out the window, his face hard, his gaze deadly. “Whatever’s coming will find me ready and waiting.”

ISBN: 9781460317129

Copyright © 2013 by Jana DeLeon

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.Harlequin.com