Page 48 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

Savannah sat staring as the first cloud of fireflies lifted from the edge of the nearly deserted rest stop.

It had been another long day, and she’d seen enough.

It was true. Keller was right. They were from two different worlds.

He belonged in Washington, DC, the heartbeat of America.

He was not only good at fighting crime, he excelled at it.

But her? She belonged in the bayou with her dogs, cats, and birds. With all her broken dreams.

For hours, she’d been sitting with faithful Red lounging shotgun while lazy Galahad snored from the back seat.

She’d watched the gunfight on Fontenette’s land unfold.

She’d seen Keller turn from a closed-off, angry man into a fierce and lethal federal agent who knew precisely what he was doing.

It’d been like watching a dance the way he’d transformed into a skilled warrior, the way he, Eden, and Tucker had fought with perfect synchronicity to overcome those bad guys.

The three of them acted on pure instinct, advising each other who was where, covering each other’s backs, not even aiming when they fired their weapons.

It was as if they’d practiced for this fight.

Even wounded and bleeding, Keller had morphed into the hero he was all along.

Told you so.

Yeah, yeah, Savannah brushed her annoying inner voice away.

Yet even it was right. There was no sense lying to herself, not when the truth stared her in the face.

Like Carol Marie’s ghost, Savannah realized it was time to let Keller go.

His was a greater mission in life, hers the lesser.

He actually saved people, and in her heart, she knew saving people mattered more than rescuing dogs.

Yet here she was, the crazy dog lady of the bayou.

All by herself. Totally alone. Well, except for the dogs, cats, and birds back at Sanctuary.

There was a day, as in only two days ago, when loving those cast-off pets was enough.

But Savannah wasn’t na?ve anymore. Her innocence was gone.

She’d given it to Keller. Like the animals she rescued, she was now—less.

“It’s time to go home,” she told Red on a sigh. “I’m tired. How about you?”

When Red bumped her with the flat end of his wet nose, whining softly as if he knew she needed that kiss, Savannah swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Mr. Lyle Goldenrod was due at Sanctuary bright and early in the morning.

She still needed to call her insurance to get repairs going on her burned house, then the funeral home to finalize Gran Mere’s celebration of life. Then…?

Who knew what she’d do next? There was still Gran Mere’s crazy rambling before she’d passed to puzzle out, that something about a warlock.

But Savannah was too tired to care. Keller was happier back in his element.

He didn’t need her. Swallowing hard, she closed her mental channel to him and the rest of his psychic FBI team.

He needed to rely on them now, not her. They were his future. She was just a short-lived past.

There was no sense crying over spilled milk. Gran Mere always said that. So Savannah closed her heart as well. It was time to face facts. She didn’t cry when she started the Buick.

Sliding the gear shifter into reverse, she swung her right arm over the seat and hooked a quick K-turn, backing out of the parking stall.

Shifting into drive, she left the rest stop and the second hardest day of her life behind.

Gran Mere always said the darkest dark was always before the brightest bright.

Then there ought to be a solar flare come morning.

“I’ll walk you again at the hotel,” she promised Red.

She’d also collect her clothes, her dirty who-she-really-was clothes and the flip-flops she’d left behind.

It was time to get back to her reality. Gran Mere was gone.

The houseboat too. It was as if Hurricane Katrina had come back and scrubbed everything out of Savannah’s life that mattered. Even Keller.

Smoothing her palm over her thigh and the new jeans Keller had bought her, she blinked, fighting tears.

The fancy underwear had to go, too. She didn’t want it.

Them. No mementos. No souvenirs. Just get back to work and make life a little better for some of the lowliest, yet still best of God’s creatures.

Red dropped to his belly on the seat, whining.

“Again?”

One red paw landed on her wrist.

“Can’t you wait? We’ll be there in half an hour. I promise, we’ll take a long walk then, maybe head over to the river, watch the barges. Eat a box of beignets. Cry in my beer…”

She ran a finger under her leakiest eye, not needing the reminder, but yeah. Heartbreak hurt.

Or maybe it was that mental push at the corner of her mind that she kept fighting. Might be Isaiah. Might be Eden. But then again, it might be Keller, the last person she wanted to talk to.

Gran Mere always said disappointment took time to get over.

Savannah hoped she’d feel different in the morning.

Maybe then she could face the man she’d given her heart to without making a fool of herself.

Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly to the moon and back, too.

Savannah tried to chuckle at that funny picture. Pigs flying. Ha.

But all she did was sob.

Dazed, Keller peeled his full-of-grit eyeballs open, not remembering much of where he was or how he’d gotten here.

Feeling like shit. Breathing fire, and alfalfa dust, polished old wood and horseshit.

Oats. Fresh cut hay. The place was dark, a dim light glowing from beyond.

He couldn’t make his eyes see far enough.

Even the ceiling looked dark and fuzzy. His chest hurt damned bad, but his gut hurt worse.

A horse neighed from somewhere a little too close and personal, then a velvet soft lip fluttered over his face, tasting his nose and cheeks.

Prickly, short, stiff whiskers scraped his forehead.

The animal nudged his head like it was trying to wake him.

He forced his eyes wider, but all they seemed capable of seeing was a blurry dark shape hovering over him.

“Where am I?” he asked, batting at the worrisome gnats gathering near his mouth. Pressing his lips together, Keller swiped the drool. Flies. Open mouth. Yuck. Not a good combination.

More neighing. More hooves clomping. The muted jingle of halters nearby. Gradually, a long equine snout came into clearer view.

“Hey, bee-you-ti-ful,” Keller said to the horse, his tongue too thick to sound intelligent.

Beautiful stared down at him. The animal’s eyes were soft and liquid as she, he, or it nuzzled him like he might be edible. The horse had long eyelashes that made it look as sleepy and dopey as Keller felt.

“G’wan,” he mumbled, forcing himself up, his elbows digging into the board he was on. Shit. He really was in a barn, bleeding and all.

The horse nudged him again.

“Yer buggin’ me,” Keller told his persistent new friend. Dizzy and disoriented, he took his time swinging both feet off the board and down to the floor. The blood gushing down his chest worried him, but he sure as hell was not going to fall. He might never get back up again.

But if he kept bleeding, he wouldn’t get far once he was on his feet.

He’d bleed to death. Damn, it was hard to think.

Summoning his inner Ranger, Keller swallowed hard, took a deep breath—that hurt like a son of a bitch—then shoved off the plank.

Whoever’d done this to him was sure to come back. He didn’t intend to be here.

“Bye, horse,” he muttered as he angled around the big horse’s glossy chestnut butt.

Chestnut. That rang a bell. Keller backed up to face the animal.

Sure enough. It was Sand Dollar, Fontenette’s winning racehorse.

“Aren’t you s’posed to be in Bal-ti-more, Mar-y-lynnnn…

” Keller shook his head and tried again.

“Mary-land-d-d? At the Preak-Preak-Preak-ness-s-s-s-s-s-s?” Damn it was hard to spit that word out, harder to make his brain function.

Sand Dollar lowered his forehead into Keller’s sore chest and huffed out a snort. Tired of standing, Keller looped both hands over Sand Dollar’s neck and hugged the magnificent animal. Chest throbbing or not, he needed something to hold onto.

“I’m tired, Sandy,” he whispered, “but I gotta get moving or someone’s gonna be back soon and…” He forgot what he was going to say. “Whatever. Whatcha think? You coming with me? You game?”

Damned if Sand Dollar didn’t nicker like he agreed. Either that or he’d complained because he smelled blood. Keller certainly could. He was losing enough of it. He had to move. No, they had to move. Soon.

Fighting a druglike lethargy that turned his brain, feet, legs, and arms into lead weights, Keller twisted one hand into the thick roots at the base of Sandy’s long silky mane.

At the same time, he hung his arm over the stall gate and fumbled to open it.

Ordinarily, it would’ve been easy. The lock that kept the horse secure was a simple wooden two-part hasp.

But damned if the narrow pin that slid into the wooden arm wasn’t as heavy as Keller’s head.

His fingers were just as thick and twice as heavy.

He couldn’t make his digits flexible enough to hold the board.

By the time he finagled it out of its arm, he wasn’t sure he’d live long enough to escape.

Too many shadows danced around him. Everything was just too much.

Patient Sandy—and that was weird all by itself.

High strung racehorses weren’t known for patience.

Yet this guy stood as meek as a lamb the whole time Keller dragged his sorry ass over and finessed himself into a half-vertical, half-falling-off sitting position on the horse’s back.

It took long enough, and a stirrup and saddle would’ve been nice.

Reins. A rope would’ve been better. Keller could’ve tied himself to Sandy’s neck then.

But time was running out, and he didn’t have time or a rope and…

Shit. They had to move it, move it, move it!

“Giddy up,” Keller breathed, his voice so weak he could barely hear himself. Thumping the horse’s ribs with legs that felt more like rigid two-by-fours, he whispered, “Hurry. We gotta get outta here. ”

Sandy took the hint. As soon as he cleared the wide-open door at the darker end of the stable, Keller leaned to the left, toward darker shadows and less yard light.

Sandy seemed to understand and headed left.

Good enough. It was strange looking down on everything, though.

Keller was a good six feet seven, and Sandy was all legs.

The height added to Keller’s sickening sense of vertigo.

Holding onto that silken handful of mane, he tilted forward, content to hug the horse if that kept him in the saddle.

The fresh air helped clear his head. A little. But a wounded man would only get so far, and Keller knew it. He sucked in a belly full of night time, needing a dark place to hide and rest a while. Thinking he could handle more speed, he kicked Sand Dollar into a trot, then a canter.

Too soon the going got rough, and the wicked hole in his chest got the best of Keller. He could barely breathe. Something in his gut twisted. Already leaning to the left, he felt himself slipping.

“Take me to Savannah,” he told his mighty beast. “Quick. She’ll know what to do.”

Sandy kept moving. The night got darker. The wind got cooler. Colder.

Keller never felt a thing. He was already unconscious when he fell.