Her kiss was a tender expression of gratitude…

But Preston’s reaction to it was fierce and swift. He pulled her close and deepened the kiss. She didn’t resist. Giving in to temptation, she melted into him.

With each heartbeat, his touch became rougher, his kiss burned hotter. Then to her complete surprise, he eased his hold.

Abby looked into his eyes and saw the iron-willed control he held over himself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You didn’t start this, and I can see you don’t want to…”

“I don’t want to?” He laughed, a dark, edgy sound. “I want you, Abby. I care about you more than I should. But you need to be protected—even from me.”

“You want me…” she said slowly, savoring the words. “Then show me.”

About the Author

AIMÉE THURLO is a bestselling author. She’s the winner of a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews, a New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction and a Willa Cather Award in the same category. Her novels have been published in twenty countries worldwide.

Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty-nine years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on a Navajo Indian reservation.

Falcon’s Run
Aimée Thurlo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With special thanks to Doug Baum and Dr Steve Komadina, who shared with me so much of their time and expertise about camels.

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.

DARK, 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. Sand-storms, 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 earsplitting 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.”

Chapter Two

As Abby fell, her head hit something hard. Dizzying flashes of light exploded before her eyes, and for a moment she lay dazed and unable to move.

Her attacker grabbed her under her arms, dragged her several feet, then dropped her to the ground again. Disoriented, she waited for several long moments, hearing the fading sound of heavy footsteps.

Slowly regaining her wits, Abby sat up, tugged the bag off her head and looked around, trying to get her bearings and cope with the dull ache radiating from her head. She was in the stall prepared for the new horse, Big Red, who was due to arrive in a day or so. Both upper and lower stall doors were closed, but light still filtered in.

Abby listened for a moment, looking around. She was alone, and with the exception of the sound of horses moving about in the nearby stalls, snorting and anxious to be fed, she could hear nothing unusual.

Still cautious, she pushed the door. It was latched from the outside and wouldn’t budge, and both sections of the Dutch door had been connected with outside barrel bolts, so she couldn’t go under or over by opening just one. Peeking through the narrow gap, she saw where the metal latch had been lowered into the catch. Somehow she’d need to raise the big pin about an inch.

Abby peered around her, hoping to find a piece of baling wire she could work between the door and jamb. Unfortunately, she also had a safety rule requiring that no baling wire or metal objects be left on the ground where an animal could get tangled or cut up.

Poking through the hay debris, she noticed that one of the heavy wire tines of the metal feeder bolted to the wall had broken away from the weld at the bottom and could be twisted loose. That was what she needed. Thirty seconds later she managed to work the latch free, and the door swung open.

Abby hurried outside. Nobody was around. The horses in the pen ahead were moving about nervously, and when she drew closer, she saw Carl lying facedown on the ground by the feeder.

Hank, one of their two resident camels, was in the adjoining turnout. When he saw her, he roared loudly, the distressed sound reminding her of Chewbacca in Star Wars.

“Carl?” Abby scaled the fence and ran over. As she bent down for a closer look, she saw that the back of his head was a wet mass of tissue and blood. No one could have survived that kind of head injury. Outrage and sorrow gripped her.

Abby was struggling for breath when she heard a car door slam in the distance. Wondering if the attacker could have been the driver of the pickup parked on the road, Abby raced uphill. If she could read the license plate, she’d be able to give the police something solid to go on.

Once at the top, Abby saw the pickup and rushed out onto the road for a closer look. That was a mistake. The driver spun the truck around and accelerated, coming straight at her.

Abby stared at the darkened windshield, frozen in terror. The driver’s face was lost to her, but his intent to kill her was clear.

Just then a dark SUV with flashing lights came racing over the hill—a response to Bobby’s 911.

The SUV swerved left, cut around her, then slid to a stop between her and the oncoming truck.

The pickup quickly returned to its lane, then sped past the SUV and continued over the hill.

An officer wearing a dark Hartley police jacket stepped out of the SUV. As Abby went to thank him, her knees buckled.

He was there in an instant, his arms secure around her waist and holding her gently against him. “Hang on, ma’am. I’ll call an ambulance. Your head’s injured.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly, stepping back to stand on her own. She touched the emerging bump on her forehead. At least she wasn’t bleeding.

Abby looked up at him, straight into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. His steady gaze was like the man himself—strong and hard—a rock to lean on. “You just saved my life.”

“I’m Detective Preston Bowman of the Hartley P.D. You’re safe now,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

For a moment she felt tempted to step right back into his arms and rest against his hard chest. To forget…

She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m Abby Langdon. You need to come down to the ranch right away. Something’s happened to Carl Woods, my head trainer,” she said, telling him everything in a short burst.

“Let’s go,” he said, hurrying back to his SUV with her. “Hop in.”

“This whole thing…it feels like a nightmare…but it’s real,” she whispered, closing the passenger-side door.

“All I caught was glare off the glass. Did you see the driver’s face or his license plate?” he asked, easing down the hill, then making the turn into the long driveway.

“No, but it wasn’t for lack of trying,” she said.

“All right then. I called it in as soon as he took off. We’ll see what happens now. I’ve heard of what you do here, Abby. Now tell me more about your animal handler.”

“He’s… ” Her voice broke and she brushed away a tear. If she started crying now, would she ever stop? She took a deep breath and held it together.

He pulled up in front of the logs anchored in place to serve as a parking barrier. “Just point me in the right direction. This is a police matter and I’ll handle it.”

His steady voice and calm confidence made it easier for her to trust him. He’d stepped into an unpredictable situation and had taken charge effortlessly, as if it was second nature to him. Something assured her that Detective Bowman was very good at his job.

They climbed out of the SUV, and she led him quickly to the turnout area alongside the barn. As they approached, she saw that Bobby had left her office and was now standing just outside the welded pipe enclosure where Carl lay.

“I need to get Bobby away from there,” she said quickly. “He’s too young to deal with things like this and he’s seen too much already.”

“Bobby’s your son?” he asked, noting that the boy was Navajo.

“No, he’s always my first guest of the day. He’s also one of my regular helpers,” she said. “He found Carl and made the 911 call. Is it okay if I go take care of him?”

“Yeah. This is no place for a kid. Find a place where he can stay, just make sure he doesn’t leave the property. He may have seen or heard something that could help us.”

As Abby hurried to the boy, she could see Carl’s body in her periphery. A silent scream rose inside her, filling her mind and nearly obliterating her ability to think.

“He’s…dead, isn’t he?” Bobby whispered.

He seemed remarkably controlled considering the circumstances. But she’d seen that same look on other faces before and recognized it for what it was. Many would mistake it for indifference, but fear, the kind that clung with razor-sharp tentacles to your soul, often mimicked bravery. She remembered seeing it in her twin sister’s eyes as treatment after treatment had failed to cure her.

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to focus on the present, Abby turned her head and saw Detective Bowman had ducked through the gap in the welded pipe fence. He had latex gloves on and was now crouched next to Carl’s body. After checking for Carl’s pulse, he looked up and shook his head, affirming what she already knew.

Abby focused on Bobby. “We need to leave. Other officers and medical people will be here soon and will need us to point the way back here.”

Bobby didn’t move, his gaze still locked on Carl. “Do you think Missy or Tracker kicked him?” he asked in a thin voice.

She hadn’t even considered that possibility until now. “I can’t imagine either of those horses hurting anyone. They’re the calmest animals I’ve ever known. I’ve never seen either of them spook, not under any circumstances,” she said, taking an unsteady breath. Somehow her voice had remained steady but her hands were shaking badly. Not wanting Bobby to see that, she jammed them into her pockets. “Carl was their trainer and the animals knew and liked him. They never even flinched or pulled away when he cleaned their hooves. There’s no way they hurt him.”

“Then who did this?”

Abby drew in another unsteady breath. “I don’t know, Bobby. That’s what Detective Bowman is here to find out.” She tried to urge Bobby along, but he refused to move.

“I’m going to miss Carl, Abby. He was my friend and I don’t have that many. The kids at the foster home play a lot of football and baseball, but I can’t. Carl liked the same kind of games I do. We’d pretend we were spies and do a lot of cool stuff.” A tear trickled down one cheek, but he brushed it away instantly.

She wanted to give him a hug, but she knew Bobby would think she was babying him and would hate that. “It’s okay to be sad. I am, too, Bobby.”

He nodded but didn’t answer her directly, avoiding the subject altogether. “The detective’s Navajo, like me. Did you notice? He has to work around the body and that’s dangerous, but he knows how to protect himself so he’ll stay safe,” he said. “See that leather bag on the cord around his neck? That’s not jewelry, and he’s not just trying to look Indian. That bag protects him.”

“From what? I don’t understand,” Abby said.

“Spirits stick around and like making trouble for people. Mrs. Nez—she cooks for us back at the foster home—told me that,” he said.

Abby hesitated, unsure what to say. “Carl would never hurt either one of us, not when he was alive or now that he’s passed on,” she said. “Bobby, you may not need a hug, but I do.” She bent down and held him. As she did, Abby felt the tremor that shook his small body.

After a moment she stepped away and Bobby refused to look at her, almost as if embarrassed. “Tell the detective that I followed the rule of three, okay?”

“The what?”

“He’ll know,” he said. “We better go. The sirens are coming closer.”

She nodded. “You’re right. We’ll need to stay out of everyone’s way.”

They walked back up the path away from the barn and the enclosures. Abby set a slow pace, but not so much that Bobby would think she was deferring to him. Bobby faced many difficulties daily, but he had a lot of pride, something that helped him endure.

Hearing Hank the camel roar loudly, Abby halted. “Bobby, go ahead without me. Make sure the other officers and emergency people know where to find the detective. I need to get the horses out of the turnout area and move Hank to another pen so the police can work in peace.”

“Okay, but if you get scared or something, shout out or whistle. I’ll hear you.”

“Thanks,” Abby said and smiled. Bobby was as loyal as could be. It was one of the many reasons she was so fond of him.

Abby jogged back to where she’d left the detective. Though the horses were clearly upset by the stranger in their enclosure, they were still acting in a predictable manner. Both stood as far away from Detective Bowman as possible, at the innermost corner of the enclosure, watching him, their ears pinned back.

“Detective, let me put halters on the horses and lead them to another pen. They’ll be out of your way then.”

“No, stay put. This is a crime scene,” he said. “I see a hoof pick over there and a coffee can with some traces of grain. I’ll dump that out then check their hooves, scrape off any dirt and debris into the can and then bring them out to you.”

Preston looked around for a rope and halter but, finding neither within arm’s reach, decided to forego using them. He bent down and checked each of Missy’s hooves. Using the pick, he collected dirt and what could be blood and hair. Once finished, he grabbed the mare by the mane and led her over to Abby, who immediately opened the small turnout gate.

“You know horses,” Abby said.

“Yeah. It was part of life where I grew up.”

Abby grabbed Missy’s mane as he’d done and led her out to another corral. By the time she returned, Detective Bowman was waiting with Tracker.

Abby grabbed the horse but as her gaze strayed to Carl, a lump formed at her throat. How could this have happened? Nothing made sense to her anymore.

“Was he a close friend?” Preston asked, as if sensing the turmoil inside her.

“We weren’t close, but I considered him a friend. He was a good, loyal employee and a man who’d believed in my dream for Sitting Tall Ranch.” She wanted to keep her voice steady, so she paused for a moment. “Do you know how…he died?” she added in a strained whisper.

“Not yet, but I’ll find out. You can count on that.”

Detective Bowman walked away from her and crouched by Carl’s body once again. This time he looked around slowly, taking in the setting, not the victim. Although the gesture had seemed almost casual, she had a feeling he didn’t miss much. Then, surprisingly, he looked back at her. His gaze was penetrating…and unsettling. She wanted to look away but somehow couldn’t quite manage it.

To her, he represented the unknown…and that scared her. Would he be an ally, or would his appearance mark the last days of Sitting Tall Ranch? She’d made her mistakes—well-meaning ones, but if they came out now…Determined to guard her secrets, she moved away.

“We’ll be blocking off several areas with yellow tape,” he called out while taking photos with a small camera. “It may take a day or two before we’re ready to take the tape down, so be prepared.”

She tried not to give in to the unadulterated panic rising inside her. This wasn’t just about Carl, not anymore. If the ranch became synonymous with danger, no parent would want their kids here. She’d lose her funding and have to shut down.

Sitting Tall Ranch was a place of healing and hope. There was no other place like it in the area. What they offered kids was something worth fighting for, and she intended to do whatever was necessary to keep the ranch’s doors open.

“I’m going to need access to the animals,” she said as Hank let out another loud bellow. “Please try to keep that in mind when you put up the tape.”

“No problem. I’ve got you covered.”

“And please,” she said softly, “work quickly. We need donations to survive, and with the economy, those have become harder and harder to get.”

“You need closure, too, and finding answers is what I do best,” he said. “Trust me.”

She looked at him and blinked. She normally hated it when anyone said that. The words were usually empty and, if anything, meant she should do exactly the opposite. Yet there was something about Detective Bowman that assured her he was as good as his word.

Hearing another vehicle approaching, he turned his head to look, then glanced back at her. “Here comes Joanna Medina, the medical investigator,” he said. “I’ll need to speak to you and the boy as soon as I can, and when I do I’ll let you know what we’ve found.”

“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I’m going to move Hank, the camel that’s being so vocal right now. After that I’ll be in my office, the casita behind the main house.”

“One more thing,” he called out to her. “The kid, Bobby, he didn’t move or touch the body, right?”

“No, I think he would have been afraid to. He told me to tell you he’d followed the rule of three. He said you’d know what that meant.”

Preston nodded. “Don’t touch them, don’t look at them, get away from them.”

“The ghosts of the dead—that’s the source of worry, right?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he said, meeting her outside the corral. “The chindi is the evil side of a man that remains earthbound waiting for a chance to create problems for the living. Our traditionalists believe that contact with the dead or their possessions is a sure way to draw it to you.”

“You’re an officer, so you’re not…a traditionalist?”

“I’m a detective who does his job,” he said, waving at a woman wearing a lab coat and carrying a heavy-looking medical case. “I have to get to work now. I’ll come find you once we’re through here and we can talk about what you saw before I got here.”

As he strode away, a cold shudder ripped through Abby. She’d known anger, worry, love and ultimately loss. Yet she could count on one hand the times she’d experienced pure, unadulterated fear. Now as she watched the detective meet the medical examiner, she felt its icy-cold touch clawing into her again.

Carl was dead, and someone had attacked her here twice. No matter how hard she wished it wasn’t so, the truth was that the ranch was no longer a safe haven.

Trying not to look back at Carl’s body as she passed by, Abby returned to the pen that held Hank. Sensing that she was upset, the tall, gawky but somehow elegant animal nuzzled against her.

“Come on, old friend.” She placed a halter on him, opened the gate and led him away.

As she walked, tears gathered but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t fall apart now. She’d do what had to be done. Carl had shared her dream. He’d loved what they did here at the ranch daily: giving kids a chance to be kids again. He would have expected her to fight to keep it alive.

One way or another she’d see to it that Sitting Tall Ranch weathered the approaching storm.

Chapter Three

Preston considered the information he’d already gathered while the medical examiner worked. At first glance it had looked like an accident, a trampling death, but there were some inconsistencies. The wound to the back of the victim’s skull showed no trace of sand, something sure to have been left by a horse’s hoof, especially in this churned-up stall.

There also weren’t any deep impressions or hoof marks near the body that would indicate the vic had been trampled. In fact, the only fresh prints near the body appeared to be from the vic’s own boots.

He’d seen plenty of cowboys injured by horses at rodeos, but the way Carl’s body lay seemed posed somehow. A cowboy kicked by a horse usually landed askew, not neatly on his face with arms laid out flat by his side. The fact that someone else had been on the premises and had attacked Abby, then tried to run her down, supported the likelihood of foul play.

That’s when he’d taken another look at the ground by the body and discovered that someone had methodically obliterated the footprints along a strip of ground leading to and from the enclosure’s gate. It had been skillfully done, but Preston was an experienced tracker and had spotted the signs.

Dr. Joanna Medina glanced up from the body. She was in her late fifties, with short silver hair and blue eyes that looked world weary and a little sad.

“You were right. This wasn’t an accident. The wound on his head appears to have come from a blunt object. There’s a second bruise on his chest, too. It’s elongated, as if made by a stick or shovel.” Joanna stood and handed him a clear plastic evidence bag. “Here’s everything I found in the vic’s pockets.”

“Do you have a time of death for me?”

“All the markers tell me he died last night between nine and midnight.”

As she prepared the body for transport, Preston, still wearing gloves to avoid fingerprint contamination, studied the vic’s possessions. There was a small notepad with feeding schedules, a ranch staff ID and a wallet with five bucks but no driver’s license. Because there was no metro bus service and only one cab company around, it was unusual for locals not to have a license. He’d ask Abby about it.

As he walked back, Preston glanced over at the parking area and saw that the ranch’s staff was starting to arrive. They all wore dark blue T-shirts with a special logo. Yet the animal handler was wearing a plaid shirt.

The door to Abby’s office was partially open, and as he approached he felt a touch of cool air coming from inside. Preston stepped into the room, and Abby, who’d been sitting on the sofa next to the Navajo boy, came to meet him.

Now that he finally had a chance to take a closer, leisurely look at her, he realized that Abby Langdon was a stunner, with shoulder-length honey-brown hair and big hazel eyes. The loose clothing she wore didn’t hide the fact that she had curves in all the right places.

“Did you figure out what happened?” Abby asked.

He shook his head. “It’s much too soon for that, but I’ve got some more questions for you.” Even as he spoke, he saw her expression turn from hopeful to disappointed. He softened his tone. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, but these things take time. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t an accident.”

The color drained from her face. “This couldn’t have had anything to do with our ranch. It has to be random…craziness.”

“What do you know about the deceased?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “You think Carl provoked this somehow? But that just can’t be. He was a gentle man. He caught spiders and relocated rather than killed them.”

“Relax. I’m just gathering information,” he said.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Sorry.”

He saw her lips tremble but she quickly brought herself under control and turned her head to smile at Bobby.

Preston liked her. It was a purely instinctive reaction, but he trusted his gut. Just past those beautiful hazel eyes and that shaky smile beat the heart of a warrior. Yet hers was a gentle toughness.

The boy rose to his feet and came over. “I’m Bobby Neskahi,” he said. Honoring Navajo ways, he didn’t offer to shake hands. “I knew…him,” he said, avoiding the name of the deceased, also according to Navajo custom. “Probably better than almost anyone,” he added.

Preston wondered if the kid had been raised a traditionalist or was simply showing him the proper cultural respect.

“I’m Diné,” Bobby said.

“We both are,” Preston said, trying not to smile. Diné meant The People and signified those of the Navajo tribe.

Bobby moved back to the couch, and as he walked, Preston realized that the kid was no stranger to pain.

“Can we talk alone—Navajo to Navajo?” Bobby asked.

“Of course,” Preston said, then looked at Abby.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said, giving Preston a wary look.

“We’ll keep it informal, not official.” At her hesitation, he met her gaze. Looking someone in the eye was considered rude inside the Navajo Nation, but he’d learned over the years that those outside the tribe found it a sign of honesty, not disrespect. Though it hadn’t come naturally to him, over time he’d adapted to the custom.

“Okay, but I’m staying right outside.”

As Abby left, Preston sat down on the couch and gestured with a nod for Bobby to do the same. “Abby told me that you were the one who found the body this morning,” Preston said.

He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah, but I stuck to the rule of three.”

“I know,” Preston said. “So tell me, Bobby, how well did you know the ranch’s animal trainer?”

“Do you want me to avoid using his name or not?” Bobby asked. “I wasn’t raised on the Rez but I don’t want you to think I don’t know any better.”

“It’s safe to use his name. I’m a police officer, so I’m a modernist.”

“Mrs. Nez has been teaching me about our ways. She says modernists are like apples—red on the outside and white on the inside.”

Preston laughed. It was an old saying, and he had a feeling Bobby was testing him. “I’ve heard it all, kid.” He gazed into Bobby’s hard brown eyes and for a moment saw a glimpse of himself at that age. He’d been so afraid to show vulnerability. The world was seldom kind to those perceived as weak. That was a lesson he’d learned in foster care quickly enough, and he had a feeling it was even more so for Bobby.

“Abby’s trying to be brave, but on the inside she’s scared. This isn’t her fault, so you need to fix it.”

“Fix it how?”

“Catch the bad guy before she freaks out. I can help. Carl and I were buds.”

“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. First of all, what were you doing here so early in the morning?” Preston asked.

“I always come in super early because my foster father—Mr. Jack is what we call him—drops me off on his way to work. He has his own janitorial company, and some of the places he cleans want everything done before they open for business.”

“Okay, that answers that. So what do you usually do when you get here?”

“I say hi to Abby, then go help Carl feed the animals. He starts work even earlier than my foster dad.”

“Tell me what you saw this morning,” Preston pressed.

“I was going past the pens when I saw him just lying there on the ground. I saw the blood on his clothes and got scared so I went to get Abby.” He paused, then looked up at Preston. “The horses weren’t anywhere near him.”

“Tell me more about Carl,” Preston said.

“Carl was really old, like sixty. What I liked most about him was that he treated me just like he did everyone else,” Bobby said, then looked away and wiped a tear from his face with a swipe of his hands. “He never gave me that ‘poor kid’ look. To him I was just me.” He stared at his right leg, which was encased in a brace.

Bobby became quiet and Preston didn’t interrupt the silence.

“Carl didn’t have a lot of friends, kinda like me at the foster home.” Bobby looked up at Preston and met his gaze. “He talked to the rest of the staff and all, but they weren’t really his friends. He only had one other friend besides me and Abby. Rod Garner, Lightning Rod, who used to be in the NBA. Carl liked going over there and playing one-on-one with Lightning. Mr. Garner’s got a huge basketball court—six goals. I’ve never been there, but Carl told me about it.”

Preston nodded, beginning to understand Bobby more. “So what else did you two talk about?”

“Stuff,” he said with a shrug. “We were always solving puzzles and riddles like real spies, you know? That was fun. Carl liked games where you had to use your head, not your thumbs, and hated games where you had to trust your luck.”

“You mean like gambling?”

“Yeah, like that. I tried to give him a buck once so he’d buy me a scratcher, but he wouldn’t do it. I said I’d split the money if I won, but he still said no. Told me gambling was like throwing your money away and I was too smart to fall for stuff like that.”

“He was telling you the truth. The odds always favor the game, not the gambler. Lottery, scratchers, casinos—they’re all the same except for the odds.”

“Don’t you think that sometimes you just have to take a chance?” he said.

Preston didn’t answer. “What would you have done with the money had you won?” he asked, trying to get a better handle on Bobby.

“Give it to Abby,” he said without any hesitation. “She needs the money to keep the ranch and help kids like me. I wish she could find a rich guy to marry—someone who could help run the ranch and pay the bills. Do you know any rich guys?”

Preston heard coughing—more like choking—and Abby walked in a heartbeat later. From all indications, she’d been listening.

“Michelle’s here, Bobby. She can give you a ride back home.”

“Not now. Let me stay and help. You’ll need to look in Carl’s office, and if I go with you I can tell if anything’s missing or been moved around.”

Abby looked at Preston. “Bobby’s got a photographic memory—really,” she said.

“Not just that. I rule when it comes to puzzles and problem solving, too.” He looked at Preston. “You don’t believe me? Okay. I’ll prove it.” He gave Preston a once-over. “Betcha you spent some time outside working earlier this morning.”

Preston smiled slowly. “How do you know that?”

“Your boots are real dusty but the dust is darker than the ground around here. You also have some red horse hair on you and we don’t have any red horses. You were probably chopping wood or weeds or working real hard without gloves, ’cause the palms of your hands are all scuffed up. Maybe rope burns?” Bobby offered.

Preston smiled slowly. “Good observations. You might be another Sherlock Holmes someday, kid.”

“Maybe. So can I stay?” he said, looking over at Abby. “Please?”

“Okay, but I need to speak to the detective alone right now. Go help Michelle feed the llamas.”

“Sure.” He turned to Preston. “We’re counting on you, okay?” he said, then walked slowly out the door, closing it behind him. Abby waited several seconds before speaking. “I was eavesdropping because I didn’t think it was a good idea for Bobby to speak to you alone. You don’t know a thing about that boy.”

“That was the purpose of talking to him.”

“I still think you should have had an adult present.”

“He found the body, but he’s not a suspect,” Preston said. “You seem to have heard pretty much everything we talked about, so why are you worried?”

“You don’t understand. Bobby sometimes comes across as a tough kid and in a lot of ways he is, but he’s been betrayed and abandoned by people all his life. Carl was one of the few adults he trusted. Now he’s gone, too. Can you imagine what he’s going through? You have to cut him some slack and be careful what kind of questions you ask him. It’s important that he continue to remember Carl in a good way.”

What touched Preston most was her protectiveness. When he’d been Bobby’s age, he, too, would have gone to the wall for anyone who’d cared enough to defend him.

“I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt Bobby. I’ll be careful around him, but I’m here to do a job. That means digging for the truth even if it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear.”

“All right. The truth doesn’t frighten me. How can I help you find answers?”

“Let’s start with some straight talk.”

Chapter Four

Abby watched Detective Bowman as he checked his notes. He was handsome in a tough, streetwise way. Somewhere along the way he’d shrugged out of his police-issue jacket and was now wearing a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He looked muscular, like a man used to hard, physical work. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was as broad and strong as she remembered from this morning. She suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t a pretty boy. His nose was a little crooked, like he’d broken it at one time, but that just heightened his appeal.

Detective Preston Bowman was fascinating to watch. Even as he wrote in his notebook she could sense a restless energy about him.

As he shifted, her gaze fell to the badge clipped to his belt and, on the other side, his handgun. That reminder was all she needed to rein in her thoughts. He was a law enforcement professional here to do a job, and this was no time for distractions.

“Carl didn’t have a vehicle, so I’m assuming he had a bicycle or drove one of the ranch’s trucks?” he asked.

As he looked at her, she felt the power of his gaze all through her. Detective Bowman was all male, with cool eyes that didn’t miss much and left her feeling slightly off balance.

“What is that, Detective—a trick question? You’ve undoubtedly already run his name through the MVD and know that Carl didn’t have a driver’s license. If he needed to go someplace, he either hitched a ride with one of our volunteers or rode his bicycle, which is in his office in the barn.”

Preston held her gaze a moment longer, but she forced herself not to even blink.

“You paid him by check?”

“Yeah, but he preferred cash. He didn’t have a bank account,” she said.

He looked at her, surprised. “And that didn’t seem odd to you?”

“Carl was one of a kind,” she said with a sad smile. “He also didn’t have a credit card or a cell phone. In this day and age, that’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

“No prepaid cell phone either?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I really doubt it. It just wasn’t his style.” As much as she wanted to trust him, she knew they weren’t really on the same side. He was here only to investigate the crime. Her priority was protecting the ranch and, more importantly, the work they did here.

“After we’re done and the scene is released, do you plan to reopen right away?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, then as her voice wavered, she swallowed hard. “Without knowing why someone came after me, I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. Just being around me could endanger the kids and I can’t let that happen.”

“I can’t give you any real assurances, but based on the evidence, the guy who jumped you didn’t want you dead. He had his chance. My guess is that he only wanted to scare you.”

“Do you think it was the same person who killed Carl?”

“Not likely. Woods died last night, between nine and midnight approximately. That means his killer would have had to stick around for six to nine hours.”

“But two violent incidents that close together? That’s a huge coincidence, don’t you think? We’ve never had any trouble here,” she said. “Let’s assume the killer did stick around. What do you think he did all that time?”

“Searching for something? You tell me. This is your ranch, so your guess will probably be better than mine.”

Hearing a knock on the door, she excused herself and went to answer it. A tall, wiry, redheaded man in a Western shirt and jeans came in.

“Stan,” she said.

The man took her hand for a moment. “Abby, I’m so sorry. Carl was a good man.”

She gestured toward Preston. “This is Detective Bowman from the Hartley police,” she said. “He’s investigating Carl’s death.” The words sounded odd even in her own ears. “Detective, this is Stan Cooper, my accountant and business advisor.”

“You can add ranch volunteer to that list, too,” he said, brushing alfalfa leaves off his shirt instead of offering to shake hands. “I just brought in a trailer loaded with hay, saw the police and learned what happened.”

“I’m still trying to come to terms with everything,” Abby said.

“I know this is hard on you, Abby, but you’ve got a more immediate problem. Some kids with special needs have just arrived, and right behind them is a camera crew from the local cable TV station.”

She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and closed her eyes for a second, trying to push back a migraine. “I made a lot of calls already this morning, but I couldn’t reach everyone, particularly the ones who were already on their way.”

“That’s okay. Put it out of your mind. Right now you’re going to have to go out there and make a statement to the press,” Stan said. “You need to make sure everyone understands that the ranch will have to remain closed for the time being. Explain that your priority is cooperating with the police so this unfortunate incident can be cleared up. Don’t let them draw you into long discussions. Keep it short and simple.”

She nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

“After the initial interview, don’t talk to the press again,” Stan said. “Stay low profile. That’s my professional and personal advice. The longer this story remains front-page news, the worse off the ranch will be. Something like this could scare away current and future benefactors.”

Abby moved to the window and looked outside. “I really don’t want to turn those kids away now that they’re here. They really look forward to spending time at the ranch and I hate disappointing them.”

Preston followed her gaze. “Is it just those three kids?”

“Yes. I got hold of the others due in today and told them I’d reschedule.”

“If you could keep them well away from the crime scene area, you could still let them ride the horses and pet the other animals,” Preston said.

“Absolutely not,” Stan said quickly. “Abby, think about it. The media is already out there taking photos. If you say that the ranch will have to be closed for now, people will see that as your way of putting the kids’ safety first. Yet if you say that’s what you’re going to do and then invite those kids in, you’ll lose credibility. The public will see images of kids riding horses and petting camels right next to half a dozen police cars and lots of yellow crime scene tape. Your donors are going to run for cover.”

“I’ll figure this out, Stan. Stop worrying,” Abby said firmly.

As she stepped out of the office, she had no idea what she was going to say. Then, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, Abby went to meet the kids. After briefly explaining the situation to the adults who’d brought them, she focused on the children.

“I know you’ve all been looking forward to this, but the police have important work they need to finish.” Abby glanced at Lilly, a small seven-year-old girl who’d been to the ranch once before. Her illness was terminal and, with her, each day counted. The other two, both boys, were new to Standing Tall Ranch.

“So we have to go back?” Lilly asked, her expression so downcast it tugged at Abby.

“I’ll tell you what. There can be no horseback riding this time, but how would you like to come say hello to Hank and Eli, our camels?” She saw their faces brighten.

“I’m Jason,” the tallest boy said, balancing well on two prosthetic legs. “I’m eight and I’ve never even seen a camel. Can we pet them?”

“I’d like that too,” the other boy said. “I’m Carlos.”

Abby recognized him from his file. Carlos was a victim of abuse and still had trust issues.

“Are they friendly?” Carlos added.

“Absolutely. We’ll pick up some treats for them as we go over to their pens.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw a camera crew hurrying over to her, but the detective moved quickly to intercept them.

A wave of relief swept over her and she smiled. She liked that man already. Beneath the stern cop exterior was a gentle heart. She’d make sure to thank him later.

PRESTON IDENTIFIED HIMSELF to the reporters. He knew a few already, like Marsha Robertson. She was an area reporter for the number one network affiliate in the state, which was based in Albuquerque.

He gave them all a quick rundown. “That’s all I have for you at this time.”

“A source tells me the owner was also attacked,” Marsha said, “perhaps by the killer. How can you be sure that those kids are safe?”

“There are a dozen or more police officers here. They’re safe, just as you are.”

“Right now, sure, but later…then what? Once the crime scene is released and the officers all leave, will Sitting Tall Ranch open up and return to business as usual?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask the owner.”

“And that would be me,” Abby said, walking up with Bobby at her side.

“The safety of the children always comes first, so the ranch will be closed until we can find out exactly what happened. I’ve made an exception for those kids because they were already here. Our riding instructor, Michelle Okerman, will stay with them while I speak to you, and if you’ll glance over from time to time, you’ll see the difference just being around the animals makes to these children.”

Abby paused and looked directly at each reporter there. “This ranch is a nonprofit whose sole purpose is to brighten the lives of kids who might otherwise have very little to smile about. One of our guests today is in the last stages of a serious illness and deserves extra consideration. That’s why I decided to let Sitting Tall Ranch rise above its present circumstances and come through on promises made.”

Preston saw that Abby’s answer had hit just the right tone with the reporters. He had a feeling more donations would soon come in. In fact, he intended to send her a check himself.

As the reporters moved away, Stan approached and said, “Well played.”

“I didn’t play, Stan. I told them the truth.”

“Yes, well, now concentrate on staying low profile till this blows over.”

“And that’ll be soon, right?” Bobby asked, looking up at Preston. “The CSI unit will get DNA from something, or trace evidence, and then you’ll go arrest the bad guy.”

“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not. Right now we’re gathering evidence, and then we’ll be interviewing a lot of people. Once we have a suspect, we’ll move in and arrest him or her.” Seeing Officer Michaels signal him, Preston excused himself momentarily.

“What’s up?” he asked Michaels as he walked over to the barn.

“We processed, photographed and logged in the evidence. When will you be ready for us to process the vic’s residence, the bunkhouse?”

“Hang on. I want a chance to look around there first. Did you or Gabe interview the staff?”

“Everyone who’s on-site now, yes. That includes the riding instructor, Michelle Okerman. She teaches the kids about balance and paying attention. Basically, she walks next to the mounts and helps them each step of the way. Monroe Jenkins, the police chief’s son, is here this morning, too. He volunteers a lot in the summer and does whatever needs to be done. Ilse Sheridan is also here. She’s Lightning Rod Garner’s personal assistant and volunteers her time to help train the horses. The last time any of them claim to have seen the vic was yesterday afternoon.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when you can process the bunkhouse. In the meantime, walk through the grounds and check out each of the other structures. We don’t know where else the intruder went. And verify that there’s a bicycle inside the barn office.”

Michaels nodded. “Got it. We’ve already set up a search pattern.”

When Preston returned to where Abby was standing, Bobby was speaking to Michelle. The boy was favoring his right leg and swaying slightly from side to side.

Abby followed his line of vision. “He’s conning her,” she whispered with a tiny smile. “Michelle was hoping to divert Bobby by asking him to talk to the kids, but he knows where the action’s going to be. He’d rather stick with us.”

“That kid’s in pain. I don’t think he’s faking it,” Preston said.

“His disability is real, but he’s learned to use it. Don’t ever underestimate him. Bobby’s highly intelligent and knows how to manipulate adults to get out of whatever he doesn’t want to do.”

Preston didn’t comment, still unconvinced.

“Jack Yarrow, his foster parent, prefers dropping him off here first thing in the morning because Bobby makes his wife nervous. He can read her like a book and tells her what she’s about to do next, which creeps her out big-time.”

“He’s incredibly observant,” he said with a smile.

“It’s all part of a game he plays. Bobby can’t let go of the hope that he and his biological father will be together again someday. After his dad gave him up, Bobby made up the story that his dad’s in the CIA and had to leave to protect him. He told it so many times, he actually began to believe it. He reads everything he can about spy craft and pretends he’s training so he can join his dad someday.”

“He’s protecting himself from a truth that hurts too much to accept,” Preston said, remembering his days in foster care.

“The problem is that this game he plays often gets him into trouble. When he’s told not to do something, he pretends he’s a spy on a secret mission and finds a way to do it anyway,” she said. “I’m willing to bet that most of the time he doesn’t get caught.”

“He may be a handful, but he’s got a lot going for him,” Preston said, chuckling. “Kids who’ve been bounced around often need something or someone to believe in. Bobby had a hard time finding that, so he created it. In my mind that deserves a high five.”

Just then Bobby came up. “When will you be checking out Carl’s office?”

“I’m going over to the bunkhouse now,” Preston said. “I’ll check the office after that.”

“Great. I can help you at both places. I’ve been at the bunkhouse lots of times too,” he said.

Abby gave him a surprised look. “You have?”

“Sure, after Carl finished his chores, he and I would play games. We both loved anagrams and riddles, and sometimes we’d make up our own codes and send each other secret messages.”

“On a computer?” Preston asked.

“No,” Bobby said. “Just on paper. He was good, too. We’d try to make the codes impossible to break, like real spies would, but he’d win most of the time.”

“What happened when you won?” Preston asked, following his gut.

Bobby smiled. “I’d get to feed the camels.”

“Alone?” Abby asked, her voice rising.

“No, Carl would always stay with me, watching, but I’d be the one who did it,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

“Sounds like the camels are your favorites,” Preston said.

“Yeah, Hank and Eli are cool. They remember stuff. There’s one guy who swatted Eli just to get him out of the way once, and Eli never forgot. After that, he’d set the guy up by acting real calm, then biting at him the second he got close.”

“Are you talking about Joe Brown?” Abby asked.

Bobby nodded.

“I caught him manhandling one of the horses and fired him on the spot,” she told Preston.

“I’m going to need to interview everyone who might have had some grievance against the victim or the ranch. Can you get me a list of all current and past employees, say, going back six months?” Preston said.

“No problem,” Abby said.

As they headed toward the bunkhouse, Bobby slipped in smoothly between Preston and Abby. Preston noted it silently, wondering if the boy had a crush on Abby. Or maybe there was more at play. Considering Bobby’s past, it was possible the kid didn’t trust cops.

“So Carl had the use of the bunkhouse rent free?” Preston verified as they neared the small building about the size of a one-car garage or a startup home on the Rez.

“It was part of the package since I couldn’t pay him what he was worth. Carl agreed to fix up the interior for me, too, as long as I purchased the supplies,” she said. “When I first bought Sitting Tall Ranch, the property had been unoccupied for years. Everything had been neglected and most of the buildings were practically unlivable.”

He looked around. The barn and storage sheds had fresh coats of paint, the corrals had up-to-date welded pipe fencing and the areas were well maintained. There wasn’t a weed in sight.

“You’ve done a good job. The place shows the care you give it.”

“That’s what you do with a dream,” she said softly, then unlocked the bunkhouse door.

Chapter Five

Preston put on a fresh pair of gloves as he stepped inside. “Come in with me, but don’t touch anything,” he told them. “And be careful where you step. If there’s something on the floor, leave it there.”

Preston remained in the doorway a few seconds longer and just looked around. He’d expected a utilitarian place designed to fit the needs of its one resident, and he’d been right on target. The interior held the stamp of the working man who’d lived here.

An easy chair made of blue vinyl and patched with duct tape in several places was backed against one wall. A small table a few feet in front of it held an old TV with rabbit ears and the digital converter box needed to translate the signal.

There were pencil and black ink sketches on the wall and the supplies needed for more—stiff white paper, charcoal sticks, markers and pencils—on the shelf of a nearby empty bookcase.

“He loved to draw,” Bobby said, standing at the doorway with Preston, “but he threw out most of his stuff. If he wasn’t happy with the way it came out, it went straight into the trash.”

Abby nodded. “I tried to salvage a charcoal sketch he’d thrown out once, but he wouldn’t let me keep it. When I gave it back to him, he just tore it up. He made me another one, though, and I hung it in the main house, my home.”

Preston led the way into the room, then saw Bobby staring at the bookshelf. “Something missing?” he asked the boy.

“Yeah, his coffee can is gone,” Bobby said.

“He kept coffee on the bookshelf?” Preston looked around for a coffeemaker but didn’t see one.

“He drank coffee like crazy, but it was all instant,” Bobby said. “The coffee can was his bank—that’s what he called it. It was old, like from twenty years ago, and all dented. He said that he used to buy that brand when he was a lot younger and having it around brought back good memories.” Bobby paused, swallowed hard, then in a heavy voice added, “He told me about it being his bank because we were friends and he trusted me.”

Abby stepped closer to Bobby and said, “How about we wait outside for you, Detective?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I just miss him, that’s all. Let me stay and help.”

Preston heard Abby sigh and saw her nod.

“Anything else that looks out of place, Bobby? Walk around and take a good look, but remember, don’t touch anything,” Preston said.

Abby stayed right beside Bobby as they took the lead. Preston followed, his gaze on Abby. She was leggy and had a great figure, but what appealed to him most had little to do with her looks.

She was obviously a woman whose feelings ran deep. She cared a lot for Bobby and the rest of the kids who came to the ranch. He made a mental note to find out more about her, and not just because she was part of the case he was working.

They passed through a narrow hall and an open door and entered Carl’s bedroom. Inside they found an unmade bed, one wooden chair, an old oak desk and a small three-drawer chest. On top of the desk were several lottery tickets, two scratchers, tickets from a slot machine and a couple of chips from the casino.

“You sure he didn’t gamble?” Preston asked Bobby.

“I never saw stuff like that here before. There’s no way those were his. He thought gambling was stupid. Someone must have put them there,” Bobby said. Then he pointed to the coffee can on top of the chest of drawers. “He didn’t keep the can there either. It was always out front, on that shelf.”

Preston lifted the lid, but there was no cash inside, only two more lottery tickets.

“Think hard, Bobby. Did you ever see the cash that was supposedly inside the can?”

“I never looked inside it—that would have been rude. But he wouldn’t have lied to me,” Bobby said.

Abby smiled at Bobby, then looked at Preston. “I can tell you this much—Carl was always careful with his money. He had to be. He never wasted a dollar.”

“Yeah, Detective Bowman,” Bobby said. “I’m just a kid, but I know serious gamblers. That’s all they talk about—winning, betting, the odds.”

“Did you learn that from your parents?” Preston asked.

“No, no way. My mom died when I was three or four, and my dad, well, he gave me up ’cause he’s a spy and can’t afford to have a kid hanging around. He travels all over the world,” Bobby said proudly. “I know about gamblers because my last foster dad had the habit. All those guys ever talk about is hitting the big time.”

“Carl wouldn’t even take part in the dollar World Series pool or the weekly football winners the staff had,” Abby said.

“And why would anyone keep losing tickets?” Bobby said, pointing to the desk. “People throw that stuff out once they find out they lost.” He paused, then added quickly, “They are losing tickets, right?”

Preston glanced down. “I’ll have to check the numbers, but the scratchers are no good.” He entered the numbers into his notebook, then put it into his pocket.

“You need to get your lab guys in here and fingerprint this entire place! Like on TV. Especially those tickets. Once you find who put them there, you’ll be able to close the case. Right?” Bobby asked, his voice rising with excitement.

“We’ll need more than that, Bobby, but we’ll start by taking prints,” Preston said. “There’s a uniformed officer outside named Michaels. Can you find him for me?”

“Sure!” Bobby turned around, lost his balance for a second and fell against Preston.

Preston helped steady him.

“Let go. I’m fine,” Bobby muttered.

As Bobby ambled off in a rush to go, his side-to-side gait was barely noticeable.

Preston took a step and instantly noticed that his jacket pocket felt lighter. It didn’t take him long to put things together. Bobby hadn’t accidentally lost his balance at all. He’d had a specific goal in mind.

Preston nearly laughed out loud. He wouldn’t say anything right now, but he’d settle this with the kid later.

“Did you see that? Bobby left with scarcely a trace of a limp,” Abby said. “When he’s excited or distracted, he isn’t so aware of the things that are wrong with his body. I first noticed that when my twin sister got sick, and that’s what eventually led me to open Sitting Tall Ranch. Here kids have something fun to do and think about. We lift their spirits and, believe it or not, that’s a big part of the battle.”

“What happened to your sister?” he asked.

She shook her head and looked away, her eyes misty. “Another time.”

Sensing that she regretted having spoken so freely, he dropped it for now. “I haven’t seen any mail around here anywhere,” he said, focusing back on work. “Did Carl have a post office box?”

“Not that I know of,” Abby said.

“No bank account, no bills…Something’s not right,” he said, thinking out loud.

“I paid his utility bills,” she said. “I know it sounds like a really sweet deal, but Carl could have worked at any ranch in the county for far more than what I could pay him. He was the best animal trainer I’ve ever seen.”

“Exactly what kind of training did he do for you?”

“He made sure the horses were worked daily and that they’d respond to cues without any problems. He also worked with the llamas and made sure they’d be steady and reliable around the kids. We also use the camels for promos and fundraisers. Hank, in particular, can be terribly stubborn, and if he gets mad, he’ll just refuse to cooperate. Away from the ranch that can be a problem, but when Carl went along, they were always on their best behavior.”

As Officer Michaels came into the bunkhouse, Preston went to meet him. “Have the team process this place and collect fingerprints. I have reason to suspect the killer was here.”

“Got it. And in answer to the bike question, there’s an old five-speed in the barn office.”

“Thanks,” Preston said, then looked over at Abby.

“That’s Carl’s,” she confirmed.

After Michaels left, Preston placed the casino tickets and other gambling pieces in an evidence bag, then signed and dated it. “I’ll follow up on this personally.”

“Can you let me know what you find out?” Abby asked.

“Not right away. This is a police matter now, but I will say this—I have a reputation for closing my cases. I never give up till the job’s done.”

“We have that in common.”

“You built this place from scratch. Is that right?”

“Yeah, and it didn’t happen overnight. The only reason I succeeded was because I refused to take my eyes off the goal.”

“That’s the way I work, too.”

“So what’s next?”

“I’ll go through this place with the crime scene team. I find it hard to believe the victim was so out of touch with modern-day society—no phone, no bank account and so on. My gut tells me that he was hiding something. Maybe we’ll find some answers here in the bunkhouse.”

As the crime scene team moved in, Preston met them at the door. “Keep a lookout for any paper trail—mail, bills, receipts, social, anything. There’s got to be more to this guy than we’ve seen so far.”

Preston remained with the crime scene unit and worked alongside them for another hour. After finding nothing, he went back to the ranch’s office. The hopeful look on Abby’s face speared through him.

“Did you find something helpful?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry. Sometimes progress on a case doesn’t come quickly or easily.”

“I’d never say this in front of Bobby, but I’m terrified the man who killed Carl will come back for me,” she whispered, standing by the window and watching Bobby speak to the kids. “Is it safe for any of us here now?”

He wanted to hold her like he’d done before and calm her, but the badge at his belt kept him where he was. “Miss Langdon, we’ll have patrol officers close by tonight,” he said, using a professional tone of voice, something experience told him would give her the added confidence she needed. “If there’s any problem at all, dial 911. You’ll have help almost immediately.”

“Thank you,” she said then with a shaky smile, added, “And call me Abby, please. You saved my life.”

“Abby it is then,” he said. “Call me Preston.”

“Preston,” she repeated, as if savoring the name.

Calling her by her first name made good sense. He had to establish rapport with a witness and victim. But deep down he knew his motives weren’t strictly aboveboard and professional.

He liked Abby and that could be a problem. He wouldn’t have given a strictly physical attraction a second thought—one night or two of hot sex, then move on. But he wanted to be personally involved this time—to help her even the odds and to protect her as if she belonged to him somehow. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d felt in his arms—her scent.

Trouble. That’s all that could come of this. Enough.

Before he could say anything else there was a knock on the semi-opened door. It was Gabe Sanchez, an officer from the crime scene unit.

“We’re wrapping up here for now,” he said. “Anything else you need from me?”

“Process the prints as soon as you can,” Preston said, going to meet him. “I’ll be heading to the casino next to follow up on those receipts and chips.”

“Without a warrant? Better come on strong, put your bad cop on and hope it’s enough.”

“We’ll see how far I get,” he said with a shrug.

After Gabe left, Preston went back into the room where Abby waited.

“I gather you’re expecting trouble with the casino staff. If you are, maybe I can help.”

“What’s your connection with that place?”

“Lightning Rod Garner, the former NBA star, is one of the ranch’s biggest supporters. He’s also one of the casino’s main shareholders. Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. He’s had a few run-ins with the police,” Preston said with a scowl. “Temper, mostly.”

She smiled hesitantly. “I know he can be hard to deal with, particularly if he doesn’t consider you a friend, but deep down, he’s a good man. Let me take you over and introduce you. That should help.”

“I’ll keep your offer in mind, but right now I’d like you to check your files and give me the name of Carl’s next of kin.”

It had been no more than a flash in her eyes, but his link to Falcon helped him see what was necessary. More attuned to Abby now, he sensed worry and nervousness—classic signs that she was holding something back.

“If he had any relatives, he never spoke about them, nor did he list them in his employment application.” Then, in a gentle voice, she added, “He was a solitary man but not an unhappy one. He enjoyed his job and life here at the ranch.”

Falcon’s gaze didn’t miss much. Abby was hiding something from him, and one way or another he was going to find out what that was.

“Carl Woods seems to be surrounded by mystery, but it won’t stay that way for long. No matter how deeply buried, secrets are never safe from me.”

Her eyes widened and as he held her gaze, he saw the unmistakable glimmer of fear.

Chapter Six

Abby handed Carl’s employee file to Preston. “That’s all the information I have.”

Before he could comment, Bobby came in. “My foster mom’s here. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, okay?”

“No, Bobby, stay at home until I call you,” Abby said. “We have to keep the ranch closed for now. It may not be safe for you here.”

“But—” Bobby stopped speaking abruptly, looked at the floor, then back up at her. “Can I talk to you for just a minute—alone?” he added.

Leaving Preston behind, Abby met with Bobby in the kitchen area. “Okay, what’s up?”

“You haven’t been around cops much, Abby, and I want you to know that you can’t always trust them. They might pretend to be your friend, but they’re not.”

“You think Detective Bowman is like that?”

“Probably. When one of the kids at the foster home is hassled by the cops, the officers always come to talk to the rest of us. They try to trick us into telling them stuff so they can put the one they’re after in jail.”

“Maybe the problem isn’t the cops but what the kids did to get the attention of the police.”

“Abby, you’re a good person, but don’t trust him. He thinks you’re keeping secrets from him.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked quickly.

A horn blared outside. “Mrs. Yarrow doesn’t like waiting. I better go.”

Abby watched Bobby hurry to the door, but before he could step outside, Preston stopped him.

“Before you leave, Bobby, how about giving me back my notebook?”

Bobby smiled. “Hey, yeah. You dropped it back at Carl’s place. Guess I forgot to give it back.”

Abby watched the exchange. “He picked your pocket, didn’t he?” she asked as soon as Bobby was gone.

Preston smiled but didn’t answer.

“Don’t be angry with him. I know it was wrong, but he was trying to protect me. In his experience, cops haven’t always been the good guys,” she said. “He’s afraid you might hurt me or the ranch and probably wanted to slow you down.”

“He’s a great little pickpocket—I’ll give him that,” Preston said. “It took me a couple of seconds to notice what he’d done.”

“Are you going to press charges?”

“Nah, I got it back, and I can’t fault him for wanting to protect a friend.”

“He doesn’t have many of those. There’s not a lot of common ground between him and the other boys at the foster home, so they tend to give him a hard time.”

“Kids often target anyone who’s different from them,” Preston said. “That can be especially bad at a foster home because you’re in such close quarters.”

“You’ve dealt with kids from foster homes before?”

“You might say that—I was one,” he said.

“You grew up in foster care?” she asked.

“Yeah. I had a tough time of it until Hosteen Silver, a medicine man from our tribe, decided to foster me. I met my five brothers there at his home,” he said and smiled, remembering. “It took time for us to become a family, but we’re all close now.”

“Bobby would love a chance like that. He wants to know about his tribe, but the only real contact he has is the cook at the foster home, Mrs. Nez.”

“Hosteen Silver was a remarkable man. He gave my brothers and me the confidence we needed to leave the past behind us and take charge of our lives.”

“The kids who come here are all facing tough times. They’re not in charge of anything—not their bodies or their lives. Helping them forget their troubles for a while strengthens them so they can continue their fight.”

He paused for a moment. “You love this ranch and are committed to the work you do. I get that,” he said at last, “but by holding back you’re not helping anyone, least of all yourself.”

Before she could answer, Michelle came rushing in. “We’ve got a problem. Stan was helping out by cleaning the camels’ pen but somehow he ended up in the corner. Now every time he tries to go past Hank, the animal threatens to bite him.”

“I better get over there. Without Carl, this falls to me,” she told Preston. “I think Hank must have misinterpreted something Stan did. Camels are practically famous for holding grudges.”

“I’ll go with you. Maybe I can help,” he said.

They reached the large enclosure a few minutes later. Stan was against the fence opposite the gate wiping a green wet mixture off his shirt. “Hank’s in a bad, bad mood today. He spit at me.”

“Actually, they don’t spit. They throw up on you.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “That doesn’t help much, does it?”

“No,” Stan said, scowling. “Now I’m grossed out.”

“We’ll get you out, then Michelle and I will finish up here,” Abby said, then glanced back at Preston. She was going to explain to him that Hank loved women and children, but when she turned, she saw Hank nuzzling Preston like an old friend.

Her mouth fell open.

Stan stared. “How did you do that?” he asked, quickly moving out of the pen.

“It goes back to something my foster father taught me,” Preston said calmly. “All things—including animals and people—are connected. I approached the camel enclosure with a Song of Blessing, what we call a Hozonji. I honored the link between us and the camel responded by doing the same. It’s all about showing respect and demanding the same in return.”

Abby wondered if he was trying to send her a message. Was he telling her to respect his profession and trust him to solve the case? His eyes held hers with an intensity that left her feeling bare…and exposed somehow.

Hank stretched his rubbery lips, trying to kiss Preston.

Abby laughed. “They’re really gentle creatures. They’re calmer than horses but they’re more…emotional,” she said after a beat. “How would you feel about volunteering here sometime?”

“After the case is closed, I’ll do my best to fit some hours into my schedule.”

“Good.”

Preston glanced at his watch. “I need to go now and check out a few things. Make sure no one goes into the areas that are cordoned off.”

“All right. Do you know how long it’ll be before the yellow tape can be taken down?”

“I’m not sure. Some details need to be handled first. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

Abby walked back to the parking lot with him. “Carl’s killer took the life of a very good man. He’s done enough damage. Don’t let him harm my ranch, too. Find answers quickly, Preston, please.”

“We want the same thing, but you’re holding out on me, Abby, and that’s slowing me down. Eventually, I’ll uncover whatever it is you’re keeping back. Save us both some time and come clean.”

He stopped walking and looked directly at her without so much as a blink. She shifted uncomfortably. There was an intensity about Preston that left her feeling off balance. She wasn’t in control—he was. The message was clear.

“I know nothing that can help you find the killer,” she said.

“Let me be the judge.”

She stared at the ground. Maybe he did deserve to know, but some secrets weren’t hers to tell. Finally looking up, she shook her head.

“If you want me to catch the killer quickly, Abby, don’t stand in my way.”

Before she could answer, he strode away from her with the long, confident steps of a man used to being in charge.

She watched him for a moment longer. He was all steady strength and power kept in reserve. For a second her thoughts drifted and she wondered what it would be like to lay in his arms, to touch and caress him until passion overcame all reason. It was the man beyond that iron will, the one hidden by the badge, who she wanted to see most of all.

Realizing the turn of her thoughts, she sighed. She was truly losing her mind.

Glancing around, she forced her thoughts back on the ranch. She couldn’t do anything more for Carl, but the ranch needed her now. Seeing Stan and Michelle outside the barn pointing up at the weathered roof, she knew what had to be done next.

Making an impromptu decision, she headed to her truck. Maybe she couldn’t help Preston catch Carl’s killer, but she knew how to raise badly needed cash. Her first order of business—pay Rod Garner a visit.

Chapter Seven

As Preston drove west in the direction of the casino, he thought about Abby’s offer to talk to Garner. If he hadn’t been the kind who went by the book, he might have taken her up on it. The casino visit was bound to be a train wreck. He and Jennifer Graham, the head of security there, had a history. They’d dated for a while, and things hadn’t ended well. She’d wanted more—he’d wanted less.

Maybe he was going in the wrong direction. He pulled off the road, waited for a break in traffic, then turned around. All things considered, he might be better off talking to Rod Garner first. Garner and Carl had supposedly been friends, so that gave him some leverage. With a little luck, Garner would help the investigation along by giving him fresh insights into the victim.

If things went smoothly, he’d also try to persuade Garner to pull some strings for him at the casino. He had to convince Jennifer to give the department access to surveillance videos. Verifying that Carl had been there on certain dates and finding out who he’d come into contact with might help establish a motive and suggest a suspect. Of course, it was all speculation at this point, and he sure as heck didn’t have enough for a court order.

He was headed to Garner’s estate when his cell phone rang.

“I need your report, Sergeant,” Preston heard Police Chief Jenkins say as soon as he answered. “Miss Langdon and Sitting Tall Ranch are important to our community. They’ve put us on the map in a very good way. My own son works there as a volunteer.”

Preston updated him on what he had so far. “I’m en route to Rod Garner’s residence, sir. Garner was one of Carl Woods’s friends, apparently.”

“Interesting—a ranch hand and a millionaire former NBA star.”

“Not what you’d expect, sir, but I’ve learned that Garner is also one of the ranch’s benefactors. I think he’ll cooperate with the investigation.”

“Getting him on our side makes sense, Bowman. Garner’s got a lot of fans, and if he gets the word out that he wants this resolved, we might get the cooperation of people who wouldn’t ordinarily come within a mile of a cop.”

“Yeah, that’s my take, too. Unfortunately Garner also has a reputation as a troublemaker, so I’ll have to tread carefully.”

“Whatever it takes. Keep me updated,” the chief said, then ended the call.

As Preston pulled into the long, tree-lined driveway of the former basketball star’s home, he saw a familiar pickup at the far end. Sitting Tall’s logo was emblazoned on one of the doors.

Reaching the parking area, Preston glanced around and saw Abby heading down the cobblestone walk toward the front entrance.

He parked beside her pickup and called out to her.

Abby turned her head, smiled and walked back to meet him.

“We must have just missed each other on the highway. I didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, glad to see her anyway.

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