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C HAPTER S IX

C rystal had stayed past the end of her shift to wait for Monique. The wait paid off. Monique, who’d married the father of her baby, was willing to share the phone number of the friend who’d done her in vitro paternity test.

“Tony works in a real lab,” Monique explained. “He’s just an assistant and not cleared to do the test, but he knows how. For five hundred dollars cash, he’ll meet you and take your samples. Then he’ll go into the lab after closing time and run the test. You should get a call from him in a day or two. The results won’t hold up in court, but if you’re just curious—”

“That’ll be fine, thanks.” Crystal was relieved that Monique hadn’t asked for details about her situation.

She called the cell number from her car and was lucky enough to reach Tony on the first try. She listened as he told her what to do, where to go, and what time to be there.

She would have to drive to Abilene to meet him, deliver the cash and samples, and get her blood drawn. That could be managed. As for the payment, Judd had drug money stashed in his room above the garage. Crystal still had the key he’d given her. She could help herself to the five hundred, with enough extra for the trip. It was only fair that Judd contribute to something that could be his fault.

As she started the car, she could feel the excitement pulsing through her veins. She was taking charge of her future. With luck, what she learned over the next few days would set a course for the life she’d dreamed of.

And if the baby turned out to be Judd’s?

That would be bad news.

* * *

Roper had passed a sleepless night in the stable. He’d spent most of the time talking to Fire Dance, brushing him, and even singing to him, getting the stallion accustomed to his scent and the sound of his voice.

One in a Million had needed attention as well. The older stallion was accustomed to sharing the stable and paddock with other males—his own offspring and other colts he’d known from their weanling days. And he got along fine with other stallions at show events. But this was different. It was as if, in Fire Dance, the big roan sensed a threat to his territory and his place as number one horse in the stable. His deeply buried ancestral genes were urging him to defend what was his.

Roper had spent time trying to calm him in the night. He’d never known a well-bred and well-trained horse to behave this way. Maybe witnessing Frank’s murder had traumatized the big roan in ways that even a horse expert couldn’t understand.

For now, the two stallions would need to be kept apart. Later this morning, after the grooms arrived, One in a Million could be turned loose in the paddock to run off his nervous energy. Roper hoped that, with time, One in a Million would calm down and come to accept his perceived rival.

At first light, Roper found the saddle, bridle, blanket, and leg wrappings that had been delivered with Fire Dance. The young chestnut stallion was still edgy, but wearing the familiar tack seemed to remind him that it was time to go to work. He followed meekly as Roper led him through the stable and out into the arena, talking to him all the way.

“It’s all right, boy. You’ll do your job, I’ll do mine. We’re going to become a team, and we’re going to win that million-dollar prize . . .”

As he put a boot in the stirrup to mount, Roper found himself wondering whether he believed his own words. Had he made the right decision choosing this horse? He thought about the times he’d ridden One in a Million in practice and in their single stunning competition—their wordless connection, as if the big roan could read his mind. Roper had known from the beginning that the great horse would give all that was asked of him, and more.

Even as he settled into the saddle, Roper could hear the muffled challenge calls from the far side of the stable. He closed his ears to the sound. One in a Million had been a true legend with the heart of a champion. But he was too old, too slow, and too fragile to compete for the year’s biggest prize in reining.

Roper felt Fire Dance’s body tighten beneath him as he nudged the stallion to a walk. But as the warm-up progressed, the horse began to relax. As Roper nudged him faster, he fell into the rhythm of an easy trot. His smooth gait was like the feel of driving a pricey new car.

As they eased into a routine of turns, gallops, and sliding stops, taking it slow at first, Roper’s doubts began to lift. Fire Dance was an impressive horse. With trust and communication, they could become a winning team—even the winning team.

Someone was watching from the open side of the arena, standing in a shaft of morning sunlight. Roper’s pulse quickened as he realized it was Lila.

He hadn’t expected her to show up. But it meant something that she’d cared enough to come. Now that she was here, he wanted to show her what Fire Dance could do. With a tightening of his knees, he urged the stallion to a lope. The horse responded to his touch, swift and sure, changing directions on cue. Confidence growing, Roper urged him to the gallop that would end in a sliding stop.

With his attention focused on the horse, Roper was barely aware that the grooms had arrived and started their work in the stable. Only as Fire Dance had completed the slide and was taking the backward steps that would end the pattern did Roper hear the frantic shouts and the sound of running feet.

In the next instant, One in a Million exploded out of the stable and into the arena. With a scream of fury, he headed straight for Fire Dance.

Startled, Fire Dance reared. Still in the saddle, Roper fought to pull the younger stallion back, away from the attack. Freeing a boot from the stirrup, he tried to distract the big roan with a kick to the shoulder. But One in a Million was relentless, rearing, flailing his hooves, flashing his teeth as he tried to bite his rival. Fire Dance screamed as a flying hoof struck his hindquarters. Roper reined him back, but One in a Million kept coming, determined to do some damage.

Suddenly someone was there, leaping in from the side to seize One in a Million’s halter. Roper’s heart lurched as he realized it was Lila. She gripped the halter with both hands, trying to pull the big roan down, but against his strength, her slight weight was no more than a feather. She was pulled off her feet and swung like a rag doll against the stallion’s side.

“ No! ” Roper cried out as she lost her hold and fell to the arena floor, landed hard, and lay still.

The grooms—three strong young men—were running in from the stable. Two of them flanked One in a Million and seized the stallion’s halter from either side. Wrestling him under control, they maneuvered him back to a safe distance. He stood between them, eyes rolling, sides heaving. The third man grabbed Fire Dance’s reins, freeing Roper to fling himself out of the saddle and race to where Lila lay.

Sick with worry, he dropped to his knees next to her. She lay curled on her side. Her eyes were closed. The slight rise and fall of her ribs, beneath her cream silk blouse, told him she was still breathing, but that didn’t mean she was all right. She could be badly injured, even dying. Lord help him, what if he’d lost her?

Not daring to move her for fear of injuries, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Lila,” he murmured. “Can you hear me?”

A whimper rose from her throat. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She blinked, her expression confused. “What . . . happened?” She mouthed the words.

“You got tossed,” he said. “Can you move?”

Cautiously, she straightened one leg, then the other. Her hands stirred, opened, and closed. So far so good. Watching her, Roper realized he was sweating with relief. “Take it slow. Don’t try to sit up yet,” he said. “You’ve had a nasty fall. You could be in shock, maybe even have a concussion or internal injuries.”

“The horses . . . ,” she said, finding her voice.

“Yes. The horses. They’re all right.” He remembered then that the grooms were there, holding the horses and waiting for his orders.

“Take One in a Million to the paddock and turn him loose,” he said. “Make sure he has water. And have somebody keep an eye on him.” Roper didn’t have to ask how the horse had escaped his stall. One of the stable hands had likely opened the gate for cleaning, expecting no trouble. The stallion had bolted.

“Take Fire Dance back to his stall,” he told the other groom. “Rub him down, check him for any injuries, and make him comfortable. If he’s hard to handle, close the gate and leave him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You can go now, Roper.” Lila was sitting up. “Just get me on my feet. I’ll be fine.”

Looking at her, thinking how close he might have come to losing this precious woman, Roper felt his relief turn to anger. As the grooms and horses vanished into the stable, that anger boiled over.

“Damn it, Boss, you could’ve been trampled to death. You’re lucky to be alive! What in hell’s name were you thinking?”

Lila’s head went up. The jut of her chin showed her stubborn pride. “Don’t lecture me, Roper. What if One in a Million had torn into Mr. Barr’s valuable horse and injured him, maybe even killed him? Somebody had to stop what was happening.”

“But you didn’t help. All you did was get yourself slammed around and damn near killed. I could deal with an injured horse if I had to. But, blast it, I don’t know if I could deal with losing you!”

Her eyes met his. He saw the flash of vulnerability before she looked away, and he knew he’d said too much. She had to know that he had feelings for her. They’d even made love—a mistake they’d both be wise to regret. But this was the wrong time, and he’d be a fool to hope that the time would ever be right.

He’d made a mistake, bringing the stallion here to train. Roper knew that now. He should have said goodbye to Lila and left for good. But now it was too late to change things. Against his better judgment, he’d fallen in love with her.

Standing, he held out his hand. “Do you feel okay to get up?” he asked her.

“I told you, I’m fine. Nothing broken.”

“We’ll see about that. Take it slow.” Clasping the free hand she offered, he began to ease her up. “Tell me if something doesn’t feel right. After a fall like that—”

“I said I was fine.” She put her weight on her feet. “See? Go take care of the horses. I can—” She swayed against him. “Sorry, just a little dizzy, and my shoulder hurts. I think it might be . . .”

He caught her, supporting her against his side. “No arguments, Boss. I’m taking you to the house. Mariah can drive you to the clinic and get you checked over. And if you ever do anything that stupid again, so help me—”

“Stop fussing like an old biddy hen, Roper. You’ve got bigger problems on your hands. All right, if you insist, I’ll ask Mariah to drive me to the clinic. Just get me into the house.”

* * *

Drinking his morning coffee on the front porch of the bungalow, Sam watched the unfolding drama—first, Roper supporting Lila across the patio and into the house; then, minutes later, the black Escalade, Frank’s former vehicle, roaring down the driveway with Mariah at the wheel and Lila in the passenger seat. As the Escalade cleared the front gate, Roper was seen racing back down the path to the stable.

Sam was curious. But barging in, demanding fast answers to his questions, would get him nowhere. Until he knew more about what had happened, and whether it had a bearing on his investigation, he could learn more by watching and listening.

But the questions were already swarming like hornets in his mind. Had Lila’s evident injury been an accident or another attempt on her life? And did Roper’s clear concern for Lila back up Simone’s claim that the two were lovers? That would give added weight to the theory that Roper was the killer. Motive, means, and opportunity—the horse trainer had all three in spades.

And what about Mariah? If the housekeeper was still taking orders from Madeleine, other motives could be at work. Would Mariah obey an order to kill? Would Lila be safe with her?

When Sam had returned to the Frank Culhane murder scene, he’d expected a rehash of things he’d already learned. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Being here again was like starting over—new facts, new relationships, even new people.

Sam had decided to skip breakfast this morning. He was planning a visit to Charlie Grishman’s place, and the thought of that foul-smelling compound and those wretched animals killed any appetite for food. Last night, the distant boom of rifle fire had awakened him from sleep. Charlie was still in business, and evidently, business was thriving.

Twenty minutes later, wearing his badge and Glock, Sam was driving the road to Charlie’s game ranch. It was a shame he couldn’t prove Charlie guilty of Frank’s murder. It would give him a world of satisfaction to see the vile man hauled off to jail while the animal welfare people cleaned up the mess he’d left behind.

The main entrance to Charlie’s property was closed with a locked bar across the driveway. Beyond the gate, parked in front of the rambling frame house with its wide verandah, was the red Corvette Charlie had extorted from Jasmine.

Leaving the SUV, Sam ducked under the bar and walked up the driveway. The high-walled animal compound—chain-link mesh interwoven with plastic strips to hide the view—rose on the far side of a graveled lot, which held several trucks, four-wheelers, and assorted equipment for hoisting and hauling. Two ravens perched on a power line, as if waiting to share a meal.

The morning breeze carried the stench of rotting meat, musty hay, and animal dung. Sam, who’d been here before, had been braced for the odors. But what shocked him was the sound that rose from behind the wall—something between a trumpet blast and an anguished scream. He’d heard that sound only in movies. But he knew at once the kind of animal that had made it. The realization sickened him.

The front door of the house opened. Charlie strolled out onto the verandah. A cocky little man, dressed in rumpled khakis, he gave Sam a mocking grin.

“I heard you were back, Mr. FBI man,” he said. “I heard your girlfriend’s gone, too, the little bitch. Can’t say I’m sorry about that. Come sit down and ask me whatever’s on your mind. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Sam stood at the foot of the steps. “Charlie, please tell me that the animal I just heard isn’t what I think it is.”

Charlie’s self-satisfied grin widened. “What you heard is going to make me big money,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

Sam followed Charlie across the equipment lot to the high-walled animal compound. With every step, he fought the impulse to grab the man by the scruff of the neck and punch him black, blue, and bloody—not only for the way he made his living but because of the way he’d treated Jasmine.

Before inheriting the land he owned, he’d been her high school algebra teacher. He’d been obsessed with her ever since that time, calling her and even sending her flowers. For now, he seemed satisfied with possessing her car. But for how long would that be enough?

Had he wanted her enough to get her protective father out of the way? Sam couldn’t rule out that question.

The gate to the compound was ajar. At this hour, Charlie’s hired workers would be feeding and watering the captives—hay and chopped weeds for the grazers and a goat or feral pig carcass, and maybe some roadkill, for the big carnivores. Charlie wasn’t particular about their diets. The only aim of feeding them was to keep them alive until they could be hunted and killed.

The elephant was standing inside a small enclosure fashioned of heavy timbers—a tired old female with the saddest eyes Sam had ever seen. She was making low whimpering sounds as she swayed, shifting her weight from side to side in a rocking motion, as if to comfort herself. Sam was horror-struck even before he noticed the chains around her ankles, wound so tightly that the metal links were biting into her flesh.

“I paid five thousand dollars for her, and the bids are up past twenty thousand,” Charlie said. “Not a bad profit margin, eh?”

Sam fought the urge to grab the evil little man and shake the life out of him. “Charlie, I can’t believe anybody would pay to shoot that pathetic creature,” he said.

“Maybe not the creature you see,” Charlie said. “But give us a little more time to toughen her up. Once she’s mad enough to charge, shooting her will give any hunter his money’s worth.”

“So you’re tormenting her to make her mean?”

As if in answer to his question, one of Charlie’s hired men strolled in through the gate carrying what looked like a long-handled spear with a hook. The burly fellow was moving toward the elephant pen.

Sam could guess what was about to happen. He would have stopped it if he could have, but stepping in would only make matters worse for the poor creature. Jasmine had tried to shut Charlie down. But her near arrest, when she’d joined that animal rights demonstration, hadn’t worked either. It had only created chaos.

“Seen enough?” Charlie asked.

“More than enough.” Sam turned back toward the gate.

“In case you’re wondering, I run a legal business.” Charlie joined him, walking at his side. “I pay my taxes like a good citizen, and I have a notarized bill of sale for the elephant. She’s my property, to do with as I please.”

They passed through the gate. From behind them, the sound of anguished trumpeting filled Sam’s ears.

There had to be something he could do—at least he had to try. He would make some calls when he left here.

“Does the elephant have a name?” he asked.

“My animals don’t have names. They’re just property, like those fancy Angus steers on the Culhane spread. And their deaths won’t be any more cruel than getting herded down the chute of a slaughterhouse.”

They had reached the foot of the porch. Charlie climbed up to the second step, putting his face on a level with Sam’s. “Some bleeding hearts, like Jasmine and maybe you, look down on me because of what I do. But I’m a successful businessman. Nine years ago, I took this worthless piece of scrub land and built it into an enterprise that brings in five times as much as I made teaching those miserable teenage brats. I’ve got money in the bank and more in stocks and real estate. I’ve earned the right to be treated with respect. So now I’m inviting you, man-to-man, to come up on the porch and have a drink with me.”

Sam almost declined. After seeing the conditions behind that wall, he didn’t feel inclined to share a drink with the man. And he knew for a fact that Charlie hated him because of Jasmine. Far-fetched as it seemed, he could be walking into some kind of trap.

But as a lawman, he had a job to do. That job included interviewing any and all suspects in a murder investigation. With a reluctant nod, he followed Charlie up the steps.

“What’s your pleasure?” Charlie asked, motioning him to a safari-style canvas chair. “I’ve got some good Scotch.”

“It’s too early in my day for alcohol,” Sam said, sitting. “But if you’ve got a cold Coke, I’ll take that.”

“Suit yourself.” Charlie disappeared through the front door and came back with a chilled red-and-white can. For himself, he’d poured a few fingers of Scotch in a glass. “So Madeleine didn’t have Frank killed after all.” He settled in a nearby chair, sipping his drink. “If you’re wondering how I know, Willow Bend is a small town. I have my sources. And just to save you time, I’ll tell you straight out. No, I still did not kill Frank Culhane.”

“Noted.” Sam popped the tab on his Coke can. “So let’s start with this. How would you describe your relationship with Frank?”

Charlie shrugged. “Live and let live. We weren’t friends, but neither of us wanted trouble—especially if it interfered with business. I would never have killed him. He wasn’t worth killing.”

“And Jasmine? I know you wanted her attention.” Charlie’s pale eyes flashed pure hatred. Was it for Frank, who’d protected his daughter? Was it for Sam, who’d claimed the woman Charlie desired? Or was it for Jasmine, who’d rejected and humiliated him for years?

“That wasn’t a killing matter,” Charlie said. “Jasmine thought she was too good for me. Killing her father wouldn’t have changed that. Neither would killing you. At least I got the Corvette—and you can have the woman. Her little caper with those animal rights jackasses cured me of my lovesickness once and for all.”

Charlie emptied his glass and set it down. “Here’s a little secret,” he said. “I told you my animals didn’t have names. But that elephant’s become an exception. I’ve given her a new name. Do you want to know what it is?” He leaned toward Sam, his breath reeking of bad hygiene and whiskey. “I call her Jasmine,” he said.

* * *

Only as he was driving away, after a few more routine questions, did Sam allow himself to shudder. Was Charlie Grishman mentally ill or just plain evil? Was he dangerous or just a big talker? Something had to be done about him and those poor animals.

After returning to the ranch, Sam wasted an hour making phone calls. The three animal protection groups he called dealt only with domestic pets. The state fish and game department didn’t regulate the hunting of exotic animals on private land. He had slightly better luck with the Department of Agriculture, which oversaw conditions in zoos, among other things. Yes, Charlie’s game ranch had been reported for animal abuse. The place was on their list, but an inspection had yet to be scheduled.

“We’re backlogged for at least three months,” the woman on the phone told him. “I’m sorry, we do all we can, but we’re understaffed and underfunded.”

Sam identified himself as an FBI agent. “Could you tell me who submitted the report on Mr. Grishman?” he asked.

“I’ll check.” There was a silent pause. “Yes, here it is. The report was submitted by Ms. Jasmine Culhane.”

Sam ended the call with a sigh. Now he understood how easily Jasmine had fallen in league with the group that had raided Charlie’s ranch. He shared her frustration.

But there was one thing he’d learned from his futile phone calls. If there was a way to shut down Charlie’s dirty business, it wouldn’t be through government regulators. And, as Jasmine’s misadventure had proved, it wouldn’t be through violent demonstrations either. The only way to stop Charlie’s business and get his animals removed would be to remove Charlie.

He’d come here to solve a murder, Sam reminded himself. But Charlie was a legitimate suspect. Maybe Charlie wasn’t the murderer he was seeking, but if he could link Charlie to any criminal activity—say, drugs, contraband, or even human trafficking—reporting the man to the proper authorities could be enough to get him arrested or at least cause him to lose his business license. That would make it easier to call in a rescue team for the animals.

Thanks to Nick’s help, Sam was set up with warrants to inspect the bank records of the Culhanes, the McKennas, and Charlie. He could bring most of them up on his FBI-LINKED laptop. He would also spend time at the public records office in Willow Bend checking land boundaries, water rights, and ownership histories for any disputes that might have arisen. He might have done this when he was here earlier, but Madeleine’s confession had made the search unnecessary, or so he’d believed. This time everything was different. Now he would inspect every line of data. The process would be tedious but necessary when searching for evidence in a murder case. He would also look for anything that might incriminate Charlie Grishman. Maybe Charlie was being blackmailed by Frank. Or maybe Charlie was hiding other secrets.

Sam suppressed the urge to call Jasmine on her burner phone. Even if it was a business call, she would have her own concerns and responsibilities. It would be selfish to burden her with his. And he certainly wouldn’t tell her about the elephant and the name Charlie had given the poor creature.

He would be going over Jasmine’s bank records along with the others. Not that he expected to find any surprises. If Jasmine had killed her father, which was unlikely, it wouldn’t have been over money.

And there was no way that Frank’s murder would have been an impulsive act. To get the fentanyl and the syringe, and to lure Frank to the right place, would have taken cold, careful planning. Cold and careful were words that would never apply to Jasmine.

But what if he was wrong? What if he didn’t know Jasmine at all?