Stranded With The Detective
Lena Diaz
He vows to save her, but can he keep his promise…After SWAT officer Colby Vale and Piper Caraway find themselves stranded in the wilderness, Colby vows to protect Piper. But can they fight against nature and their attraction?
A routine investigation turns deadly
Now they’re running for survival
SWAT officer Colby Vale and horse rancher Piper Caraway are left to die in the remote wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains. But for Colby, death is not an option. He vows to protect Piper as they navigate the treacherous way home. Surviving against nature is difficult. Fighting their attraction is harder. But when their tormentor makes his move...living to tell their tale may be impossible.
Tennessee SWAT
LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com (http://www.lenadiaz.com).
Also by Lena Diaz (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
Mountain Witness
Secret Stalker
Stranded with the Detective
Missing in the Glades
Arresting Developments
Deep Cover Detective
Hostage Negotiation
The Marshal’s Witness
Explosive Attraction
Undercover Twin
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Stranded with the Detective
Lena Diaz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07894-8
STRANDED WITH THE DETECTIVE
© 2018 Lena Diaz
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In 2017, Mills & Boon Intrigue lost a gifted author. The world lost a generous, caring soul. This book is dedicated to the memory of Paula Graves. Thank you, Paula, for the cat advice and for the privilege of letting me include a reference to your Chief Massey of Bitterwood P.D. in my very first Destiny, Tennessee, SWAT book, Tennessee Takedown. It was such fun sharing our fictional worlds. You will be missed.
Contents
Cover (#u2033f3fe-5fde-5f66-a5e0-1704352cf9e1)
Back Cover Text (#u8a385999-fbc4-52d1-b0b8-b4726e2ddd25)
About the Author (#u1cbb74bf-0f2c-5808-89a6-ce419ced1a2f)
Booklist (#ue3edcf5e-fdd1-53f6-979d-714032809f83)
Title Page (#u754070c3-e340-5cbd-8e2f-583ede249597)
Copyright (#ua039cd4f-ca98-5e67-9106-a9771088f386)
Dedication (#uf71ea1d4-11a3-53a5-88ed-f58f53f38fe7)
Chapter One (#u6b733380-1dbb-5823-a93c-40844042deaf)
Chapter Two (#uf0a67fbc-eb8e-59d2-b937-797f60c672ec)
Chapter Three (#u10fe96d2-0136-59d4-9339-9a4b174ec3be)
Chapter Four (#uc9a3db6a-ecce-5e10-95a3-4e9456eea443)
Chapter Five (#ua34c36d0-3f0e-5189-8400-a2d4334f0a16)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
Piper leaned around the edge of the tent that enclosed the temporary stables and curled her fingers around her pocketknife. Ahead and to the left, two more enormous tents partially concealed the winter-brown field that formed the fair’s makeshift parking lot. And, of course, the truck and horse trailer that she specifically wanted to see were in the part of the lot that she couldn’t see. Was Palmer still trying to figure out what she’d done to his truck? Or had he fixed it as soon as he’d popped the hood? Maybe she should sneak back to see whether her diversion was working.
No. Too risky. If he saw her, that would ruin everything. She needed to trust her plan, give it one more minute to make sure he didn’t come right back. Then she could duck inside and take what was rightfully hers.
The area in front of the stables was mostly empty except for a few stragglers by the food trucks. Most of the people were in the bleachers a hundred yards away, erected for the weeklong event on the outskirts of a little town called Destiny, Tennessee.
Its entire population could have fitted several times over inside Rolex Stadium at the Kentucky Horse Park back home. Tucked into the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, Destiny was smack-dab in the middle of Blount County. She supposed the central location made it the perfect spot for the fair because it would draw people from all over the state.
The distant rumble of engines signaled the beginning of the smash-’em-up derby, the main event. The audience was probably freezing as they huddled together, watching fools crunch cars into each other while speeding around a dirt track. Bumper cars for adults. Not Piper’s idea of fun, especially early in the morning, in forty-degree weather.
A metallic bang had the crowd cheering. She shook her head in bemusement. Tucking her chin into the collar of her hooded jacket, she watched two couples approach a food truck. One of them was pushing a pink baby stroller piled high with blankets. A lone man trailed a few steps behind, obviously with them but the expression on his face clearly said he’d rather not be.
Piper smiled in commiseration. This was the last place she wanted to be, too.
Maybe a hairbreadth shy of six feet, the loner had thick coal-black hair that reminded her of the mane on one of her bays. It was a shame he kept it so short, not that it wasn’t attractive cut that way. The style accentuated the sharp angles of his face, his strong jaw.
He wore a hip-length jacket, but it did little to conceal his thick biceps or the way his muscular thighs filled out his worn blue jeans. He looked fit and strong, the kind of man who could easily control even the most stubborn of stallions. But there was an innate gentleness in his easy smile as he bent over the baby stroller that spoke of a kind heart. Piper couldn’t imagine him wielding a whip to force a recalcitrant horse to bend to his will.
She shook her head at her silly thoughts. His dark good looks definitely appealed. But making assumptions about his temperament based on appearance was just as foolish as judging a Thoroughbred without running it around a track. It was also a waste of time. Why had she become so fixated on him when she should have sneaked into the tent by now?
The answer hit her like a fist to the stomach.
It was that black jacket that he was wearing, and the fact that his two male friends, and even the blonde woman without the baby stroller, wore the same kind of jackets.
Exactly the same.
The hair prickled on her arms. All four exuded an air of confidence and authority, of temporarily banked power, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. Behind the smiles and laughs, there was a guardedness about their posture, as if they were keeping a well-practiced eye out for trouble, hyperaware of their surroundings.
Just like police officers did.
That would explain the matching jackets. She’d bet the overdue mortgage payment on her ranch that those jackets were reversible, and if you turned them inside out, they’d have words printed on the back, something like Destiny Police Department.
Her hand tightened around her knife.
There’s nothing to see here. Keep moving. Go watch the silly car bashing on the other side of the field.
The couple with the stroller stopped at a cotton candy booth about thirty feet from Piper’s hiding place. The other couple didn’t seem lovey-dovey like the first. It dawned on her that maybe, since they were wearing matching jackets that screamed “cop,” they were just coworkers out having fun rather than a couple. But the loner of the group—the dark-haired man she’d been admiring earlier—stood a short distance away from the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest.
In spite of the brisk air, a bead of sweat trickled between Piper’s breasts. Had she thought him kind looking before? Because now the concentration and focus on his face as he studied his surroundings seemed almost lethal, dangerous, like a feral predator looking for his next meal.
His head suddenly swiveled toward her. She sucked in a breath and jerked back around the corner.
Stupid, stupid. She shouldn’t have stood there so long. It wasn’t like she was seventeen again, crushing on the high school quarterback. High school was six years ago, a lifetime ago. And she had far more important things to worry about—like salvaging her livelihood, and the livelihoods of everyone who worked for her. She couldn’t let them down. Had he seen her? Did she look as guilty as she felt? Cops had a sixth sense about things.
She listened intently for the sound of his boots against the hard-packed dirt coming toward the tent. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear it pulsing in her ears.
Calm down. No one knows what you’re about to do. Not even hot-cop.
A sharp whinny sounded from inside the tent. Piper’s breath caught. She knew that beloved whinny. Tears sprang to her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, then another. There were no sounds of footsteps approaching. Maybe he hadn’t seen her after all, or hadn’t been concerned if he had. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now. She was all out of options and this was her run for the roses.
The whinny sounded again.
She flipped open the knife, then slipped into the tent.
* * *
COLBY TRUDGED ALONG behind the SWAT team leader and fellow detective, Dillon Gray, and Dillon’s wife, who was pushing their sleeping six-month-old daughter in a stroller. The other two fellow detectives and SWAT officers with them, Blake and Donna, had hurried ahead to save seats at the derby. But hurrying was the last thing that Colby wanted to do. He was content to let the space between him and the Grays get longer and longer. Being the third wheel, or fifth wheel in this case, wasn’t exactly at the top of his “how I wanted to spend my Saturday” list.
Plan A had been to play couch potato and watch a rerun of last year’s Super Bowl. But his well-meaning friends, who were worried that he was “moping” over his recent breakup with his girlfriend, had forced him to dump Plan A. Plan B was to sneak out of the fair and go back home. Unfortunately, from the way Dillon kept looking over his shoulder, Plan B wasn’t looking too promising.
So much for a relaxing weekend.
His friends meant well, which was the only reason he’d given in to their pestering to come here. But their concern was hardly necessary. Colby and his ex-girlfriend had parted on good terms, mutually agreeing that they were better suited as friends than lovers. Neither of them was suffering over the breakup and she was already dating someone else. Just because Colby hadn’t started a new relationship yet didn’t mean that he was unhappy. But Dillon’s matchmaking wife, Ashley, couldn’t accept that he could be happy alone. And her ridiculously love-smitten husband ruthlessly used his position as lead detective and head of the SWAT team to force Colby to go along with Ashley’s wishes.
Judging by the occasional commiserating looks that Blake had shot him this morning, Colby was certain that he didn’t want to be here either. But Blake was still new to the team and was having a hard time fitting in. So he wasn’t about to put up a fuss. The SWAT team was going to the fair and then to a cookout at Max’s house, yet another member of their team, whether they wanted to or not. Dillon had decreed it.
Colby hunched into his police-issued jacket, grateful for the insulated lining that kept him relatively warm. The smell of buttery popcorn carried across the cold breeze that blew through the pine trees. Maybe he could snag a bag later to eat while he watched the recording of that football game. If he was ever allowed to go home.
Slowing his steps even more, he glanced longingly at his brand-new dark blue 4x4 Chevy pickup parked in a field of weeds that had been transformed into a parking lot for the week. But when he looked back toward his friends, he saw that they’d stopped. Dillon was facing him, right hand on his hip, about where his holster rested beneath his jacket. Colby rolled his eyes at the empty threat but plodded forward anyway.
The wind blew again, bringing with it something new—a sound. Something that didn’t fit with the crowd noise in the distance or the vendors restocking for the rush they expected after the derby.
He stopped and turned around. What had he heard? The scuffling of feet against dirt? Muted voices? A muffled argument? Something had the little hairs standing up on his arms and the back of his neck, and it wasn’t the wintry air. Had the sound come from the huge burlap tent about fifty feet away?
He’d noticed someone standing there earlier, their features concealed beneath a dark blue hooded jacket. But they’d ducked back when he’d looked their way. He’d been tempted to confront them, to see whether they were up to no good. But Ashley had distracted him by asking him a question. By the time he’d looked back toward the stranger, they’d disappeared.
The person he’d seen was probably just one of the handlers or one of the riders. When the derby and intermission were over, there was going to be a parade of horses to entertain the crowds. Ribbons and prize money would be handed out for a variety of categories. And after that there would be a horse race, one of the main reasons that Dillon had wanted to come. Horses were his life outside the SWAT team and his detective work.
Colby had grown up in Destiny just like Dillon. And since it seemed like every other house outside town had horses, including Colby’s family, he knew his way around them just as well as anybody. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around them in his off time. He’d much rather nurse a beer and put his feet up while he cheered on his favorite football team, even if it was a rerun.
Man, he’d really wanted to watch that game today.
When he didn’t hear anything else, he turned around and jogged toward Dillon.
A high-pitched scream sounded behind him.
Colby whipped around. Another scream rang out. It had come from the tent where he’d seen the hooded figure. He yanked his gun out of the holster and took off in a dead run.
Chapter Two (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
Colby stopped just inside the makeshift stables, holding his pistol down by his side. There were two aisles of wooden stalls, enough to hold about twenty horses. He could see the horses’ graceful heads arching above the sides of the stalls, many of them snorting or stamping their hooves in agitation. A string of lights ran overhead down the center of each aisle. He edged forward, listening intently, every muscle tense and ready for action.
A whimper sounded down the left aisle.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” a voice hissed. “Grow a pair.”
Two people were visible through the wooden slats of the next-to-last stall. One of them was maybe a couple inches over five feet, wearing the blue hooded jacket he’d seen earlier. The other man towered nearly a foot over him, his broad shoulders encased in a dark jacket, a green baseball cap perched on top of his head.
Colby crept down the aisle. He’d almost reached the open stall door when the larger man screamed. A knife glinted in the overhead light between them.
Colby sprang into the opening, swinging his gun toward the tall man holding the knife. “Police, freeze.”
The knife wielder’s eyes widened and he immediately dropped the knife in the straw at his feet.
“Officer, it’s not what you—oomph.” He fell to the ground, writhing in pain and cupping his hands between his legs. The smaller man, the one wearing the hood, had just slammed his shoe into the other man’s groin.
Colby winced in sympathy and holstered his gun. He stepped into the stall and the smaller man kneeled over the one on the ground and drew his fist back.
Colby yanked him to his feet before he could take the swing.
“What part of freeze and police did you not understand?” He shook the man.
His hood fell back and a mass of glossy brown hair fell out, tumbling down his back. Correction. Her back. Dark green eyes glittered up at him under perfectly shaped brows that formed an angry slash.
Colby hesitated, his hands on her shoulders. Even with her face scrunched in fury, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her long lashes framed catlike eyes and cheekbones a model would have killed for. An adorable smattering of freckles danced across her sun-bronzed cheeks. Pink, plump lips gave her a sexy, sultry appearance that had his mouth going dry.
“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wriggle free.
“Don’t let her hurt me,” the man on the floor gasped, still clutching himself.
Colby cleared his throat and let the woman go, taking a much-needed step away from her to look down at the man lying in a pile of hay. The knife lay beside him. Colby swiped it with his boot, sending it skittering out into the aisle.
“I’m Officer Colby Vale,” he said. “I heard someone scream.” He glanced from the large man to the petite woman.
“Well, it sure wasn’t me,” she snapped.
It took every ounce of control that Colby possessed not to smile at the gorgeous, infuriated hellcat. She looked incredibly insulted at the idea that she might have screamed.
The man in the hay coughed, his face turning bright red. “She had a knife,” he said, as if to explain, his voice coming out in a plaintive whine.
“You were the one with a knife when I got here,” Colby said.
“I’d just taken it away from her!” He pointed at the woman.
She rolled her eyes. “You got lucky. And it’s not like I came at you with the knife or anything. I was using it to cut the cruel bindings you’d put on Gladiator. He could barely breathe.”
“It was for his own safety,” the man argued. “He kept slamming himself against the sides of the stall. I had to tie him to keep him from getting hurt.”
“Wait, Gladiator?” Colby asked. “We’re talking about a horse? Which one?”
Both of them pointed to the next stall, the last one in the aisle.
Colby turned and his mouth literally dropped open when he saw the stallion. Jet-black, it had a thick, glossy mane that rippled over its withers. Its proud, high tail was just as glossy and thick and probably swept the floor. The animal appeared to be a cross between some kind of draft horse and a Thoroughbred.
“What’s the breed?” he asked.
“Friesian.” The woman’s voice was full of pride. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“Incredible.” Colby looked at the man on the ground. “Can you stand?”
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. Colby thought he might have to catch him. But then the man grabbed the top rail and steadied himself.
“What’s your name?” Colby asked.
“Todd Palmer.” He pointed at the woman. “I want you to arrest her.”
“You were the one with the knife,” Colby reminded him.
Palmer started to say something, but Colby held his hand up to stop him. “Hold it.” He looked at the woman. “What’s your name?”
Her mouth tightened, as if she was considering not answering. But then she grudgingly said, “Piper.”
A flash of sunlight stabbed down the aisle as the tent’s front flap lifted. Blake and Dillon both rushed inside. Colby waved them over.
“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s under control.” He eyed Piper, who reminded him of a rabid badger ready to attack. This time he didn’t even try to hold back his smile. “More or less.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
God help him, Colby stirred the hornet’s nest. He winked.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed again and she crossed her arms over her generous chest.
Dillon cleared his throat, giving Colby a curious look before picking up the knife from the ground. “Anybody hurt? We heard a scream. Several, actually.” He looked at Piper. “You okay, ma’am?”
She snorted.
Dillon arched his brows. “What am I missing?”
“She’s not the one who screamed.” He gestured toward Palmer. “He is.”
As one, Dillon and Blake turned toward Palmer. At least six feet two inches tall, he had the build of a lumberjack. His adversary was five feet, at the most. And she looked like a hard wind could blow her down. And yet, she’d been the one who was winning their little fight when Colby had confronted them.
“O...kay.” Dillon glanced back and forth as if trying to figure out how in the world a tiny woman could terrorize the giant of a man.
Colby wanted to know the same thing.
Blake coughed behind his hand, obviously trying not to laugh.
“Let’s start over.” Colby took a step back while Dillon pocketed the knife. “We’re detectives and SWAT officers for the Destiny Police Department.”
“I hate always being right,” the woman grumbled beneath her breath.
Colby didn’t have a clue what she meant. Pointing to his right, he said, “This is my boss, SWAT team leader and Lead Detective Dillon Gray.” He gestured to his other side. “This is Detective Blake Sullivan. I’m Detective Colby Vale. Dillon, Blake, the gentleman there says he’s Todd Palmer. I haven’t checked his ID yet.”
“I’ll take care of that.” Blake held out his hand. “Sir, if you’ll give me your driver’s license, I’ll run a few quick checks, make sure we’re all friends here.”
His smile was friendly, his words disarming, but there was a thread of steel beneath them that brooked no argument. Palmer handed over his license with obvious reluctance. Blake held it so that Dillon and Colby could read it before he pocketed it.
“I’m not some criminal with an outstanding warrant or something,” Palmer complained.
“Excellent. That’ll make my job much easier.” Blake held his hand out toward Piper. “Ma’am? ID?”
She blew out an impatient breath but did as he asked, pulling her driver’s license from the back pocket of her jeans.
Colby read the full name on the card as she handed it to Blake. “Piper Caraway. You and Mr. Palmer are both from Kentucky?”
Blake headed up the aisle with their IDs.
“I don’t know where he’s from,” Piper answered, aiming a glare at Palmer. “But I’m from Lexington, or right outside it anyway, Meadow County. Look, all you need to know is that he stole my horse and I’m here to take it back. If anyone needs to be arrested here, it’s him.”
Palmer drew himself up as if trying to look more imposing. But the effect was ruined by the smattering of straw stuck to the side of his head. From the smell coming off him, Colby had a feeling there was a fair share of horse manure in that straw. He wrinkled his nose and took a quick step back. Dillon wasn’t as subtle. He waved his hand in front of his nose and gave Palmer a disgusted look.
“He stole your horse?” Colby asked Piper. “The one you called Gladiator?”
“He sure did. It took me weeks to figure out where he’d taken him. I chased them halfway across the South.”
“I did not steal that horse.” He reached inside his coat pocket.
Suddenly two pistols were pointing at him, Dillon’s and Colby’s.
Palmers eyes widened and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I just wanted to show you the bill of sale.”
“Hold still.” Dillon holstered his gun and patted Palmer down while Colby aimed his pistol at the ground.
“He’s clear,” Dillon announced. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of the man’s inside jacket pocket as Colby holstered his gun again. “Is this what you wanted to show us?”
“Yes.” Palmer waved toward Piper. “It’s my employer’s bill of sale, Wayne Wilkerson. He owns the place next to the Caraway ranch and had me bring over the bill of sale to pick up Gladiator on his behalf. Aren’t you going to search her, too?”
“Colby will take care of that.” Dillon studied the papers.
“While you’re at it,” Palmer snarled, “you can charge her with vandalism or something. My truck alarm went off in the parking lot and I found it with the hood up. I didn’t see any damage or anything missing, so I tried to start the engine to make sure everything was okay. It wouldn’t start. Took me thirty minutes to figure out that someone had shoved a rubber washer onto the battery post to block the electric current. It doesn’t take a brainiac to figure out who’s responsible.”
“Thank goodness, since that would completely disqualify you,” Piper snapped.
Colby hid his smile by rubbing the light line of stubble that ran up the sides of his face to his hairline.
Palmer’s face reddened and he took a threatening step toward Piper.
The woman had the audacity to take an answering step toward him.
Colby swore and jerked her back to a safe distance while Dillon stepped between them.
“Cool it, or I’ll slap you in cuffs,” Dillon ordered, addressing Palmer. “And it’ll be that much longer before we straighten out this mess.”
Palmer glared at Piper, his earlier fear of the knife apparently forgotten. But he didn’t try to approach her again.
Dillon arched a brow at Colby, an unsubtle reminder to do his job.
Feeling his face flush with heat for letting his professionalism slip yet again around the intriguing woman, he told her, “Ma’am, I need to check you for weapons. Tempers are obviously running high around here and we don’t want any firearms getting in the mix.”
“I’m not armed,” she said but suffered through the frisk without complaint.
Everything about her posture and expression screamed that she was the wronged party, making Colby feel like a jerk for touching her. If Palmer—or his alleged employer, Wilkerson—had stolen her horse, then she was the innocent here. He quickly finished his search and stepped back.
“Looks legit,” Dillon announced. “The papers are notarized and look like the bills of sale I’ve got at home. On the surface, I’d say that he’s telling the truth. Wilkerson owns the stallion, and that last paper clearly states that Palmer is his representative to take care of the horse.”
“Since I would never, ever sell Gladiator, those papers are obviously fake.” Piper reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. “I might not have the pedigree papers with me, but I’ve got proof that he’s been my horse his entire life.”
She unlocked her phone and pressed the screen, then held it so that Colby and Dillon could see it. She swiped her fingers across the face, showing an impressive collection of pictures of a young colt transforming into a mature stallion. The same stallion standing in the next stall.
“Those pictures appear to show that you’ve owned the horse in the past,” Colby said. “But that doesn’t prove that you didn’t sell him and have seller’s remorse.” He took the papers from Dillon and scanned them. “The stallion was sold four weeks ago?”
“Impossible,” she said. “I was out of state when Palmer tricked my ranch manager into believing I’d authorized the sale and that he was taking him somewhere on behalf of Mr. Wilkerson. Old man Wilkerson doesn’t even breed horses anymore, so that was obviously a lie. But he wasn’t home when one of the ranch hands went over there to verify Palmer’s claim. So Billy felt he had no choice but to let Gladiator go. When I found out what had happened, I filed a complaint with the police. But they haven’t been able to reach Mr. Wilkerson to straighten things out. They said until they talk to him, there’s nothing they can do. I had to track down Gladiator myself. Now that I’ve found him, I’m not leaving here without him.”
“Billy?” Colby asked.
“Billy Abbott. My ranch manager.”
“Got it. Where did the alleged sale take place?” Colby handed the papers back to Dillon, who pocketed them.
“At my ranch,” Piper said.
“Horse or cattle?”
“Horse. I run a breeding program.”
“Thoroughbreds? Racehorses?”
“Some, yes. I also raise exotics—rare or unusual breeds in this part of the world, including draft horses. They’re my bread and butter, steady income while we try to produce the next Kentucky Derby champion. But that’s like winning the lottery. The last Derby winner our ranch produced was back when my dad ran the place, when I was just a baby.” She frowned. “I don’t see how any of that matters, though.”
“Just getting some background information. You mentioned this Wilkerson guy like you’re pretty familiar with him. Is he a friend?”
“I wouldn’t call him a friend, no. We wave when we see each other across the fence or on the road. But we don’t typically socialize.”
“He’s your neighbor?”
“Yes. His property abuts mine.”
“But he can’t be located. He’s missing?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s one thing that I can’t blame on Palmer. Wilkerson hasn’t been kidnapped.”
Palmer crossed his arms, glaring at her.
She ignored him. “I spoke to the service that mows his grass and looks after his property when he’s gone. They said he’s on vacation and won’t be back for weeks. But they didn’t have an address or even a phone number. According to the police, Wilkerson has checked in a few times, so they’re not worried about foul play. But he hasn’t checked in since Gladiator was stolen, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”
She waved a hand toward Palmer. “I’ve never even met this guy before and he shows up when both Wilkerson and I are gone and waves his fake papers around. If that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is. He probably saw Gladiator out in the field, decided he wanted to steal him and randomly chose Wilkerson as a front for his schemes. I bet he’s never even met Mr. Wilkerson.”
“Wilkerson, my employer, paid good money for him. Just because you changed your mind doesn’t mean I have to give you back the horse.”
The tent flap opened again and Blake strode down the aisle. “Sorry for interrupting. Thank you, Mr. Palmer, Miss Caraway. Your records came back clean.” He smiled and handed them back their IDs. “There’s a crowd gathering outside, wanting in the tent to prep the horses for the parade,” he told Dillon. “I’ll hold them back, but the natives are definitely getting restless.”
“Understood. Thanks, Blake.”
Blake hurried out of the tent and Dillon walked toward the next stall. “How much did Wilkerson allegedly pay for the stallion?” When he reached the stall door and got his first unblocked view of the horse, he let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Friesian?”
“Yes,” Palmer and Piper both said.
“He’s thicker and taller than other Friesians I’ve seen.”
After giving Palmer a warning glance, Piper responded alone this time, “That’s part of why he’s so special. Most Friesians are closer to fifteen or sixteen hands tall. Gladiator is seventeen hands and built like a Clydesdale.”
“Gorgeous.” Dillon’s voice sounded wistful, as if he wished he owned the stallion.
“He’s a perfect specimen,” she said, “heavily sought after as a breeder. Which is why I’d never agree to sell. His stud fees pay a large chunk of the expenses on the ranch.”
The pride in her voice and the joy on her face as she talked about the horse were enough to convince Colby that all was not as it seemed. The real question was whether Palmer or his boss, Wilkerson, was the bad guy. Then again, maybe both of them were in cahoots.
“You never answered Dillon’s question, Mr. Palmer. How much did your employer supposedly pay for Gladiator?”
“Thirty thousand.”
Colby stared at him, stunned.
Piper snorted again. “That’s not even half of what he’s worth. And the money hasn’t been wired to my bank account. I haven’t received a single dime. That alone proves he’s lying.”
Palmer shrugged. “That’s between you and Wilkerson. Maybe there was a mix-up in the wire transfer. The account numbers could have been transposed or something. All I know is that he told me it was taken care of and gave me the papers that you signed. I’m sure he’ll straighten out the financing hiccups.”
“I didn’t sign anything.” Her hands flexed at her sides as if she wanted to strangle him. “You’re a horse thief, plain and simple. You should be shot.”
“I think you mean hung,” Colby said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the time-honored punishment for horse thieves.”
She appeared to consider his outrageous statement, then nodded sagely. “Works for me. If Destiny doesn’t already have a hanging scaffold, I’ll be happy to help them build one. I’ll even volunteer to pull the trip lever.”
Colby grinned, then sobered when he caught Dillon frowning at him.
“Mr. Palmer,” Colby said. “Let’s assume for a moment that there really is a mix-up at the bank and it will be straightened out. Thirty thousand dollars is a heck of a lot of money to pay for a horse. It’s hard to believe that Wilkerson would send such a valuable animal off to a county fair. Why would he do that?”
Palmer’s gaze slid away from Colby. “Wilkerson wants to drum up interest in the horse community so he can command a higher stud fee. He told me to tour the stallion at equestrian events for a few months.”
“Lexington is about three hours away. Why bring the stallion that far? Even if everyone in Blount County attends the fair, that’s only a few thousand people. A lot of them have horses for pleasure, but I doubt anyone around here is in the market for an expensive exotic like Gladiator. So why bring a prize Friesian to Destiny?”
“Good question,” Piper chimed in before Palmer could respond. “Gladiator’s too big and heavy to win a race. But he’s gorgeous enough to win just about any horse show. What’s the purse for something like that? Four? Five hundred bucks? Palmer makes the circuit through Tennessee while Wilkerson is out of state, none the wiser. He pockets thousands of dollars that his employer knows nothing about. Assuming Wilkerson really is his employer. Sounds like a lucrative scam to me.”
Hatred seemed to seethe from every pore as Palmer stared at her. The man who’d screamed in fear of a pocketknife was long gone. Had it all been an act to make her underestimate him until he could get the knife from her? Maybe he’d heard other people outside the tent and thought his shouts would draw them in as potential witnesses to say that Piper was stealing his horse? One thing was certain. Piper had bought his helpless act and didn’t appear to see him as a physical threat, in spite of his size. But Colby had dealt with men like him before. And he suspected that Palmer could be an exceedingly dangerous enemy.
“I’m not breaking any laws.” Palmer’s voice was low and threatening. “I’m doing exactly what Wilkerson asked—getting the word out about his stallion, hyping up interest.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re such a liar.” Piper flicked her hand as if Palmer was a fly buzzing around her head.
Colby shot a worried glance at Dillon. Dillon’s furrowed brow told Colby that he was just as alarmed. He subtly nodded and widened his stance like a boxer preparing to face an opponent in the ring.
Piper waved her hands again, oblivious to the tension building around her. “This lowlife is not taking my horse. I won’t allow it. If you, gentlemen, will excuse me, I need to get Gladiator home.”
Normally, Colby wouldn’t have allowed a suspect, or a witness—whichever category Piper fell into—to shove past him. But he was only too happy to get her out of harm’s way and leave Dillon with the task of calming Palmer down. So he moved aside and followed her into the aisle. But that was as far as he was letting her go. He stepped in front of the door to Gladiator’s stall so she couldn’t open it.
She frowned up at him. “Will you move out of my way?” She bared her teeth in what was presumably supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace. “Please?”
“Dillon,” he said, without moving out of her way. “Do you have room for one more while we straighten this out? Might take a few days, especially since it’s a weekend and no judge would tolerate us interrupting his fishing time. I hear the largemouths are really biting right now.”
“A few days?” Piper squeaked. “I’m not going to stay with someone I don’t know, cop or not. And certainly not all weekend. I need to get Gladiator home. Now.”
“We’ll make room,” Dillon said, keeping his focus on Palmer. Equal in height and brawn, Dillon could probably hold his own against the other man if it came to it. But Palmer was a good twenty or thirty pounds heavier, beefier in the chest and gut. It wouldn’t be a quick fight, or an easy one.
“I already said I’m not staying with you.” Piper didn’t sound as flippant or confident as she had earlier. Her gaze flicked from Dillon to Palmer, as if she was just beginning to sense the tension around her and how dangerous the situation had become.
“He’s not talking about you staying with him,” Colby said. “He’s talking about the horse.”
Chapter Three (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
“What?” Piper stared up at Colby, wide-eyed, the freckles standing out in stark contrast to her suddenly pale face. “What exactly are you saying?”
“Dillon has a horse rescue farm, Harmony’s Haven. He can foster Gladiator there until we straighten out who legally owns him.”
Dillon was speaking in low tones to Palmer, apparently trying to calm him down. Colby couldn’t quite make out the words. When Palmer nodded, Dillon moved back a few feet and pulled out his phone to make a call. Colby could hear him telling his ranch manager, Griffin, to double up some of the smaller horses in the stable and combine two stalls into one that was large enough to safely contain a draft horse.
Palmer snapped to attention. “Now, hold on a minute.” He stepped forward.
Dillon swept up the edge of his jacket and tucked it behind his holster, his right hand poised over the grip of his pistol.
Palmer narrowed his eyes at the unspoken threat but moved back, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I just want to remind you that I gave you my papers. I’ve proven that my employer made a deal to buy that horse. And Caraway’s ranch manager turned him over to me. We have a binding contract. There’s no need to take my horse.”
Piper stood on her tiptoes and leaned to the side to see around Colby. “He’s not your horse. You tricked Billy. He knows how important Gladiator is to the future of my business. He’s the last horse I’d sell, no matter how hard times get.”
“Are times hard right now?” Colby watched her closely.
A light flush colored her cheeks. “We’ve had a few...problems lately. Nothing we can’t weather. But they’ve taken their toll. That’s why I was out of town when Gladiator was stolen. I was selling some horses at an auction near Murfreesboro to try to raise enough cash to get us through a rough spot. Unfortunately, I was at the auction when Billy called me and didn’t hear my phone. By the time I got his message, Gladiator was long gone. But that all goes to prove my point. If I was going to sell him to raise funds, I’d have taken him to the auction. Or I’d have brought him upstate, where there’s a better market for Friesians and he’d bring a higher price.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Palmer insisted. “You didn’t have to take him to an auction because you’d already sold him to Wilkerson.”
Piper looked ready to explode after that comment. She opened her mouth to reply but Colby held up his hands to stop her.
“Obviously this isn’t something we’re going to straighten out with a conversation. You both need to chill and go to the police station on Monday so we can talk to the judge and figure out the next steps.”
Piper shook her head. “You’re making a huge mistake.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. But I assure you that the horse will be well taken care of in his temporary home at Dillon’s place. You don’t have to worry about him.”
She glanced toward the next stall, her eyes suspiciously bright. Then she looked at Dillon.
“You’re the boss here, right? Are you okay with all of this?”
He smiled sadly. “I’m really sorry, Miss Caraway. I can tell you’re a fellow horse lover and hate to leave without your stallion. And if we could settle this just by bothering a judge on a weekend, I wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that. But all of the courts are closed. There’s no way to verify the ownership records and make a ruling. We have to wait until Monday.”
Colby moved to the side, leaving the door to Gladiator’s stall unblocked. “You can say goodbye if you want.”
Her mouth compressed into a hard line. “I’ll say my goodbyes at your friend’s rescue farm. I insist on hauling Gladiator in my trailer to make sure he gets there safely. Unfamiliar places make him nervous.” She waved at the cut pieces of rope lying on the ground. “That’s why Palmer tied him up. Gladiator was probably terrified and caused a ruckus.”
Colby waited until she looked at him again. “If I lead the way to Dillon’s place in my truck, can I trust you to follow behind, not try to take off and make me chase you down?”
“Of course. It’s not like I could win a race towing a nearly two-ton animal behind me. I wouldn’t even try. It would endanger Gladiator.” She waved toward the rear of the tent. “My rig’s out back. A blue Ford F-350 pickup with a custom trailer. Caraway Ranch is written on the side.”
“All right. We’ll load him up in a few minutes. Dillon, you can let Griffin know that he doesn’t need to bring a trailer over here. We’ll meet him at the stables.”
Dillon nodded and pulled out his phone to send a text.
“Wait a minute,” Palmer said. “You should load him in my trailer. I can settle him in at the rescue place.”
“No need,” Colby said. “Transportation’s already arranged. But thank you for your generous offer.”
Palmer clenched his hands into fists. Dillon put his phone away and did the same. The message was clear. His adversary pursed his lips, obviously annoyed, but he relaxed his hands.
“I’ll wait outside,” Piper said. “I’ll load Gladiator after you’re finished with him.” She waved toward Palmer as if he was something that should be mucked out of a stall. Then she turned to leave.
Colby blocked her way again. “Hold it.”
She looked up in question.
He held out his hand, palm up. “Keys.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m not leaving here without my horse.”
“Of that I have no doubt. That’s why I want your keys, to make sure you don’t leave with your horse until I’m in my truck and you’re following me.”
She mumbled a few curses beneath her breath as she dug into her pants pocket. The woman’s language could make a sailor blush. She dropped the keys into his palm. “There, happy?”
“Ecstatic. Thank you.”
She whirled around and disappeared out the back of the tent.
With Piper out of harm’s way, and her keys safely in Colby’s pocket, he directed his attention to helping his partner settle things with Palmer. The guy was dangerous, no question. And Colby wasn’t about to leave his boss, his friend, without backup. He waved toward the aisle, indicating for Palmer to join him.
Dillon followed Palmer out, keeping a close eye on their potential horse thief as Palmer stopped in front of Colby.
“Let’s head out front,” Colby said. “I imagine Detective Sullivan has his hands full by now with the other horse owners wanting inside.”
Palmer followed Colby out of the tent without offering further resistance. He’d either calmed down now that Piper wasn’t insulting him, or he was putting on a good act. Not trusting the man, Colby remained on alert. He wasn’t quite Palmer’s equal physically, but he wasn’t exactly scrawny. He could give the man a decent run for his money and might even win. And it didn’t hurt that three other police officers—Blake, Dillon and Donna, who’d only recently returned with Ashley—were now standing a few feet away, armed, with the edges of their jackets tucked behind their holsters.
While Dillon and Colby had been inside the tent, Blake and Donna had both reversed their jackets and were now wearing them with the police insignia and Destiny SWAT across the back. But Donna was content to stand back with Ashley, to keep her and the baby out of potential danger. Dillon nodded his thanks.
Palmer answered more questions while Colby jotted down the information in his smart phone. Once Palmer was on his way to the parking lot, Colby shook his head. “I sure hope Miss Caraway can prove ownership of Gladiator. I’d really like to arrest that guy. There’s something smarmy about him.”
“Agreed. He gives off some odd vibes. Is it just me or did he cave way too easily on not taking the horse this weekend?”
Colby watched Palmer pull out of his parking space in the big black truck with a massive black trailer behind it but no business name on the sides. “You think he gave in too easily?”
“If I were in his position, I sure wouldn’t let my boss’s thirty-thousand-dollar stallion go to a stranger’s place without insisting a whole lot more forcefully that I be allowed to go, too, and check the place out.”
“Like Piper did?”
“Exactly.”
Blake chimed in. “If it’s her horse, what do you think the odds are that Palmer will show up at the station on Monday?”
“Not good.” Dillon grinned. “Which will give us an excuse to hunt the jerk down and throw him in jail.”
“I don’t get any of this,” Blake said. “Her background check came back clean. But so did Palmer’s and even the Wilkerson guy’s. The sheriff of Meadow County, O’Leary, told me he knows Wilkerson personally. Says the old guy’s a cantankerous jerk who cheated on his wife every chance he got and seemed oblivious that everyone knew about it. Then his wife got sick with cancer and it was like a wake-up call. He doted on her but she couldn’t be saved. Since her death, he keeps to himself. Divested himself of his business and rarely goes into town. O’Leary said it makes zero sense that Wilkerson would buy a horse, especially a Friesian. The horses he used to raise were Thoroughbreds.”
“What about Palmer? Did O’Leary know anything about him?” Colby asked.
“Not personally. Palmer lives in a different county, on the opposite side of Lexington, out of O’Leary’s jurisdiction. So he called the sheriff over there and had him search property records. Palmer owns thirty acres and has his own horse business. But it’s small potatoes compared to Miss Caraway. She’s got a few thousand acres and employs about twenty people.”
Colby shook his head. “I agree with O’Leary that Wilkerson isn’t likely to be involved. Palmer must have fixated on Gladiator, did his homework and found out that Wilkerson was Piper’s neighbor, just like she theorized. Then he used the old man’s name on the fraudulent invoice to make it seem legit—after first making sure that Miss Caraway was out of town. Which means he’s probably been watching her and planned this whole thing. But if his goal is to steal the horse, why take it to county fairs? He’s not keeping a low profile. The risk of getting caught seems pretty high compared to the money he’s making off the shows. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Blake shook his head. “It’s a puzzle for sure. I’ve got the guys back in the office digging up more info, so we should have a better picture come Monday.”
Dillon turned around, apparently to check on his wife. She was standing about twenty feet away with Donna and the baby. Ashley was the model of patience, a smile on her face. She was used to the cop life and how it tended to pull her husband away from family outings, even on weekends.
Being a full-time detective, and part-time, pretty much as-needed SWAT officer, was a 24/7 job. That was especially true since they were the only SWAT team for all of Blount County, and even some other nearby counties that lacked the in-depth training that Dillon was always putting his team through. If something really bad was going on anywhere within a couple hours’ drive, the entire seven-member SWAT team was usually called in.
“I don’t know about you two,” Dillon said. “But I’m out of the mood for the fair now. And I’m thinking we should get my daughter out of the cold. I totally misjudged the wind. I don’t want her to get another ear infection.”
His wife must have agreed, because she had a thick blanket completely covering the stroller now.
Blake straightened, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He looked eager to get going, proving Colby’s suspicion that he didn’t want to be at the fair any more than he did.
“If you guys are okay with leaving early,” Blake said, “I’ll call Max and tell him to put the potatoes on that monster grill of his. We’ll have an early lunch instead of a late dinner.”
Dillon narrowed his eyes at Blake, as if only just realizing he wasn’t excited about being there. Blake had probably just lost points from his leader. Judging by how Blake’s shoulders suddenly slumped, he’d probably just realized that he shouldn’t have acted so eager to leave.
The poor newbie couldn’t win.
Dillon turned back to Colby, effectively dismissing Blake. “I can call the station, see if they can spare someone to come out and escort Miss Caraway and Gladiator to the farm. They’ll take her statement and write up the reports, too.”
Colby shook his head. “It’s not right sending our weekend skeleton staff out here when I’ve already got this handled. I’m on call anyway. You guys go ahead. I’ve got this.”
A frown wrinkled Dillon’s forehead. “Okay, but forget the written reports. Do that Monday. That’ll free you up to head over to Max’s once you get Gladiator taken care of.”
“I said I’ve got this. Go. All of you. I’ll see you later.”
“At Max’s?” Dillon pressed.
“Depends on how long I’m at the farm.” And whether he could find another football game to watch on TV.
Dillon looked ready to argue, but Ashley stepped up beside him. “We’ve already pushed Colby into going to the fair even though he didn’t want to. Don’t force him to go to Max’s, too. Maybe he’s not ready for company just yet.”
Colby would have rolled his eyes at her sympathetic look except that it might have hurt her feelings. He loved Ashley like everyone on their team did. But she spent way too much time concerning herself with his love life, or lack of one. As small as the town was, she should already know that his ex was dating someone else. Then again, maybe that’s why she was so concerned. Maybe she was worried that he’d heard about his ex and was upset. Man, he couldn’t win today any more than Blake could.
Dillon didn’t look thrilled about leaving Colby. “You sure you can handle it?”
This time Colby did roll his eyes. “You’re not the only one who grew up around horses. My dad still has a sizable herd on his farm and he suckers us kids into helping him out way more often than I’d like to. I may not be the expert that you are but I can certainly load a horse into a trailer. Even a big horse. Now, quit arguing with me and get that beautiful baby of yours out of the cold.”
Dillon stepped in close. “I wasn’t asking whether you could handle the horse.” He kept his voice low so that only Colby could hear him. “I was referring to Miss Caraway and your obvious attraction to her.”
Colby stiffened. “She’s a witness and a potential perpetrator. I’m sure that I can resist her siren’s call and do my job. Sir.”
Dillon winced. “I had to ask. You were unfocused back there a few times. That can be dangerous, as you well know, when you’re on the job.”
Still smarting from Dillon’s comments, Colby gave him a curt nod, even while he silently acknowledged to himself that he was right. There was something intriguing about Piper that had thrown him off balance more than once. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, certainly never on the job. The fact that his distraction was obvious enough for Dillon to have noticed smarted worse than the reprimand.
Dillon stepped back. “Thanks for taking care of things. I’ll check on the stallion tonight when we get home. See you Monday.”
Colby forced a smile for Ashley as the group headed to Dillon’s SUV. With all the baby paraphernalia that had to be lugged everywhere they went, Dillon had traded in his coveted red Jeep for a huge sport-utility vehicle. Even though it was cherry red like the Jeep had been, it was still only one step away from a minivan. Colby shuddered at that thought and didn’t mind one bit that he’d be heading home alone today. In a truck.
He wasn’t ready to trade the single life for a baby stroller, or to say goodbye to his prized 4x4 pickup that was so high it required a step side to climb into it. Still, he had to admit, married life seemed to agree with his friends. Three of his SWAT teammates had succumbed to the love bug. Dillon, Chris and Max were happier now than they’d ever been. Thankfully the other members of the team—Donna, Blake and Randy, who was out of town right now—were just as intent on maintaining the single life as Colby. There was only so much lovesickness a guy could tolerate at work every day.
“Excuse me,” a voice called out behind him.
Colby had to jump back to avoid a face full of muzzle. A dappled-gray mare and its rider clopped past him toward the stands where the derby had been earlier. There were a lot more people on this side of the fairgrounds now, milling around and standing in line at the various food vendors to load up on greasy or sugary snacks before the horse show and subsequent race. Horses were being led out of the tent in a chaotic rush.
When it seemed safe to head toward the tent to check on Gladiator and Piper without getting trampled, Colby started that way. A large bay gelding with flashy white stockings and a blaze on its face rushed from the tent, forcing him to hop out of the way again. Its rider jogged beside him, holding the reins. He waved a sheepish apology and Colby waved back.
The sound of pounding hooves had him whirling around, expecting another horse to be charging down on him. But the sound wasn’t coming from the direction of the tent.
It was coming from the parking lot.
He turned in time to see an enormous black horse racing through the rows of parked vehicles, its small rider clinging to the withers and long, thick mane as they galloped toward the trees.
It was Piper. On Gladiator. Bareback, without a bridle to steer him.
Colby cursed and looked around. The white stockings on the bay’s legs caught his attention. The gelding was a good fifty yards away now. He sprinted after the horse and grabbed the reins from the rider.
“Police emergency. I need to borrow your horse.”
He put his foot in the stirrup and vaulted up onto the saddle while the rider was still sputtering in surprise.
“Yah.” Colby slapped the reins and squeezed his thighs, sending the bay into a full-out gallop.
Chapter Four (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
Piper was forced to slow Gladiator to a fast walk so she could safely thread him through nature’s obstacle course. Even though many of the trees had lost their leaves for the winter, the pines hadn’t, and there were enough evergreen bushes around to make the underbrush thick and cloying. Low branches reached out like spindly fingers to scratch and pull at the horse’s thick mane and tail. Piper’s own long curls had been tucked down the back of her jacket. But the constant movement kept spilling her hair onto her shoulders, getting in her way.
She shoved one of the curls out of her face and then tightened her hands in Gladiator’s mane. If her plan hadn’t failed utterly, she’d have had him safely loaded in the trailer by now. When she’d sneaked into the tent earlier this morning, before the fair opened, she’d been shocked to see Gladiator tied to the boards of his stall. She’d wanted to run right in and free him, but she’d forced herself to wait. With only her ranch manager’s description to go on, she had to confirm which of the men milling around in the tent was Palmer. Once she’d seen him enter Gladiator’s stall, it had taken everything inside her to keep from running in after him right then and there. But his size was a problem. She’d needed a plan. That’s when she’d come up with the idea of disabling his vehicle to get him out of the tent. But first, she’d had to figure out which vehicle was his.
Everyone with a horse in the tent had to register, and that included writing down the makes, models and license plates of their trailers. All she’d had to do was mosey over by the registration table, glance at the clipboards, and she had what she needed to find Palmer’s truck and trailer. If he’d locked his truck, she’d have slashed his tires. Probably. Maybe. She wasn’t in the habit of destroying other people’s property, even if they were low-life horse thieves. Thankfully the truck wasn’t locked. She’d rummaged in his toolbox and used his own tools and a rubber washer to tamper with his battery connection. Unfortunately, she’d dallied too long, watching the handsome cop, and Palmer had caught her before she’d escaped with Gladiator.
The man had screamed when she’d turned the knife toward him. But it must have been a ruse to confuse her. Because then he’d surprised her by slamming his fist down on her forearm and grabbing the knife.
She frowned. He wasn’t anything like he’d seemed at first. There was something beneath the surface, a capacity for cruelty that had the hairs on her arms standing on end. She didn’t know how much of what he’d displayed today was an act and what was real. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t trust him, and she never wanted to come up against him again.
Now all she needed to do was ride deep into the woods and wait out whatever search might ensue. She should be able to hire a driver to bring a horse trailer to some remote location on the other side of these foothills. Then she could meet him there, load up Gladiator and be gone before the cops—and Palmer—realized what had happened.
But what would she do after that?
She could take Gladiator home to Lexington and fight Palmer and Wilkerson in the courts there. It would be easier to prove her ownership around people who knew her and knew her horse. But the Destiny police had ordered her to wait for a judge’s decree. By going against that order, how much trouble could she be in? Was stealing your own horse even a crime?
Clenching her hand tighter in Gladiator’s mane, she used the pressure of her thighs to steer him around a rotten tree stump. He pranced sideways, snorting in agitation.
“Hush now. It’s okay, boy. We’ll figure a way out of this. Don’t you worry.”
She urged him across the road and signaled him to stop in front of a deep ditch so she could figure out where they could safely enter the thick woods on the other side. Path chosen, she angled him a few feet farther down the road, then balanced her weight forward to make it easier for him to jump.
A loud click sounded behind her.
“Jump the ditch, and I’ll shoot that horse right out from under you,” a man’s voice called out.
She looked over her shoulder. On the other side of the road, at the edge of the tree line, was Detective Colby Vale, sitting on top of a beautiful bay gelding. But it wasn’t the horse that drew her attention or even the angry expression on Colby’s face.
It was the ominous-looking pistol in his right hand, aimed at her mount.
“You wouldn’t shoot a horse,” she said. “That would be cruel. And mean.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m a cruel, mean guy. You willing to bet the life of your horse to find out?”
She thought about everything he’d done since the moment she’d met him. He’d been polite, even when she wasn’t. He’d been nice and, above all, fair. He was bluffing. Had to be. No way was he the type of man who could kill an innocent animal.
Her hands tightened in the mane. She turned back toward the ditch, ready to send Gladiator bounding to the other side.
“He’s a beautiful animal,” Colby taunted. “You sure you want to do this?”
She hesitated. He wouldn’t shoot. Would he? She’d seen his eyes earlier, admiring Gladiator. And for him to have ridden that bay after her, without her hearing him, meant he knew his way around horses. He knew how to guide them on a trail and keep them quiet. Only someone well-acquainted with horses could do that. And someone that comfortable around horses could never do the horrible thing he was threatening to do.
Could he?
Palmer was familiar with horses. And Piper couldn’t imagine him hesitating for one second if he had to kill a horse to get what he wanted.
Her shoulders slumped. “Fine, you win.” Sighing heavily, she pressed a knee against Gladiator’s side and turned him around.
Colby threw his leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. “Walk him toward me. Slowly.”
She grudgingly squeezed both legs and Gladiator obediently started forward. “He really is my horse. This is all a huge misunderstanding.”
“Which can be straightened out in front of a judge. You shouldn’t have run. You’ve only made things worse.”
“And you shouldn’t have—look out!”
Colby jerked around. The man Piper had just seen hiding in the shadows brought the butt of his pistol down on the back of Colby’s head. He collapsed to the ground like a popped balloon.
Piper kneed Gladiator to send him galloping down the road for help. Rough hands grabbed her around the waist, plucking her from the horse’s back. Gladiator trotted down the road without a rider as Piper twisted and kicked out with her legs, suspended in midair.
“Let me go!” she yelled, trying to look over her shoulder to see who was holding her. She sucked in a breath when she saw Palmer’s face. The cruelty she’d only sensed before was now on full display in the tilt of his grinning lips.
“You want me to let you go? No problem.” He opened his hands.
She dropped to the road like a rock, her hands skidding across the asphalt, her right hip bearing the brunt of the fall. She rolled to her side, gasping at the pain that rocketed up her spine. Her hands throbbed like they were on fire, the skin scraped off, leaving them bloody and raw.
Palmer crouched over her. “You know the saying.” Laughter was heavy in his voice. “Careful what you wish for.”
He slammed his fist into the side of her jaw.
* * *
PIPER’S JAW ACHED. Her hands throbbed. Electricity seemed to jolt up her hip and spine every time she moved. But her aches and pains were nothing compared to what was going on with Colby.
He still hadn’t woken up from where one of Palmer’s henchmen had so brutally hit him with his pistol. His pulse seemed far too fast to Piper, his breaths too shallow.
She cradled his head in her lap, her back braced against the cold metal in the back of the small truck that looked like a million other trucks the average guy might rent to move into a new apartment or a small house. But instead of holding chairs and a table, or stacks of boxes, this one held only her and Colby. And it was currently parked in the woods.
Palmer was on his cell phone on the other side of the clearing, standing by Piper’s truck and trailer. He must have had one of his men steal it from the fairgrounds after he’d captured her and Colby. Why he’d steal a vehicle when he had his own was a mystery. Unless the black truck and trailer had been stolen too and he’d decide to ditch them.
Regardless, now both Gladiator and the bay that Colby had been riding were loaded into her trailer. But they might as well have been miles away for all the good that did. She was even less close to bringing Gladiator home now than she’d been at the fairgrounds.
There were three men with Palmer. One she’d only heard and hadn’t seen. He was the driver of the truck that she and Colby were inside. Another was sitting in the driver’s seat of her pickup. The other stood about fifteen feet away from the opening to the back of the truck she was in, arms crossed, watching her. He was the same man who’d brutally knocked Colby unconscious. The same man who’d dumped Colby’s body into the back of the truck as if he were a sack of garbage.
Piper winced at the memory. There were goose-egg-size bumps on both sides of Colby’s head now. And despite her best efforts to apply pressure, the laceration on the right side of his scalp kept bleeding.
Trying not to be too obvious about it, she glanced around to get her bearings. They’d been driving for about an hour, give or take. It was impossible to know for sure without her cell phone and watch, both of which had been taken from her.
Even in winter, the pine tree branches were thick with needles and blocked out most of the sunlight overhead. Piper couldn’t tell which way was east and which was west. So even if Colby woke up and they could figure out a way to escape, where would they go? One wrong turn could send them deeper into the woods, hopelessly lost. This time of year, they’d probably die from exposure.
Colby groaned, his legs shifting restlessly. His eyes were still shut. Was he waking up? He was definitely in pain, judging by the way he kept wincing and pushing with his feet.
The man who was watching them headed toward Palmer. Piper had a feeling that was a bad thing.
Colby groaned again.
“Shh, hush. It’s okay,” she said even though it wasn’t. She smoothed a hand down the side of his face, gently petting his neck like she would have done if he were Gladiator. He settled, responding to her whispered words and gentle touch. She couldn’t help smiling. Who knew that a grown man could be comforted just like a horse? She had a feeling that Colby wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
“Is he awake?”
She jerked her head up, her smile dying a quick death. Palmer stood just outside the opening at the back of the truck. She tightened her arms protectively around the wounded man in her care.
“No. He’s restless because he’s in pain. He needs a doctor. Head wounds are dangerous. You need to take us to—”
“No doctors. No hospitals. Now, get over here so I don’t have to shout.”
Bristling at the idea of leaving Colby alone, she hesitated.
“Do it now or I shoot your new friend.” His hand dropped to the pistol openly strapped on his hip.
She reluctantly lifted Colby’s head from her lap and scooted out from beneath him, gently lowering him to rest against the grooved metal floor.
He winced again, and she whispered an apology, even as she straightened and walked to the truck opening. Her hands, her hip, everything throbbed in rhythm with her pulse. But she did her best to push thoughts of her injuries out of her mind and to focus on the man standing in front of her, the height of the truck making them just about at eye level now.
Given the violence that Palmer had already dealt to both her and Colby, she knew they were lucky to still be alive. Prodding his temper didn’t seem like a good plan, so she did as she was told and tried not to let her hatred for him show in her posture or the way she looked at him.
“Has he said anything?” Palmer asked.
“No. He’s still unconscious.”
“You sure about that? My guy said he heard him say something.”
She flashed a look of irritation at the man standing a few yards behind him.“Detective Vale groaned. I wouldn’t call that saying something.”
He chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? Just like your horse.”
She glanced toward the graceful arch of Gladiator’s neck and clenched her fists against her thighs. “What’s so important to you and Wilkerson about my horse? He could have bought another Friesian somewhere else. Why steal mine?”
He shook his head as if he thought she was crazy. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, stupid girl?”
He suddenly grabbed her jaw in a crushing grip. His fingers bit into the bruised flesh, making tears of pain start at the backs of her eyes. She clawed at him, desperately trying to get him to let her go. He did. But then he grabbed her wrists and shook her so hard that her head started throbbing along with everything else in her pain-racked body.
Unbidden, tears tracked down her face. Her cheeks flushed hot with humiliation.
His eyes were as black as she imagined the devil’s would be as he pulled her close. A cruel smile twisted his lips. Then he suddenly gave her a brutal shove, sending her crashing to the floor of the truck.
Her right shoulder slammed against one of the ridges in the floor. The pain was intense, immediate, white-hot lava rippling across her nerve endings. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth as she clamped down on her lips, refusing to allow any noise to escape.
Even though she wanted to sit up in mute defiance, she couldn’t. The pain was overwhelming, raw, debilitating. If she moved, if she opened her mouth the tiniest bit, nothing would emerge but screams. And once she started, she might never stop.
His cruel laughter echoed through the hollow confines of the truck as he reached for the rolling door overhead.
“Caraway?”
She blinked, desperately trying to focus through the pain, to face whatever else he was going to dish out. She wanted to scramble to Colby, throw herself on top of him, to protect him. But it was beyond her abilities at the moment to even straighten her throbbing arm from the awkward angle in which it had landed.
His smile faded, and in its place was a look of such loathing that she couldn’t help but cringe against the back of the truck.
“Spoiled little rich girl, always too good for everyone else. You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” Spittle flew from his lips as he hurled the words at her like daggers. His knuckles whitened around the rolled-up door overhead.
Spoiled little rich girl? What was he talking about? She’d never been rich in her life. The land was heavily mortgaged because her father had used the equity like a bank, taking out loans against it whenever he needed an influx of cash. She was trying to be more fiscally responsible than her father had been. But it was slow going and at times she was barely able to keep the business afloat.
Wait. He’d asked if she had a clue who he was. She knew him? No. She’d never seen him before. Had she? Nothing about his profile was familiar. Nothing. Not his voice, not his huge, hulking build, not even his soulless eyes. Was this a case of mistaken identity? What did he think that she’d done to him?
He glared at her, his evil eyes making promises that had her wishing she could die right then rather than face whatever torture he had planned.
“Poor little Piper Ann. You still don’t get it. Listen up, daddy’s girl. It was never about the horse.”
The door slammed down, leaving her and Colby in utter darkness.
Chapter Five (#u07672194-cf46-5b11-84ea-aaab2e4dd32e)
Pain. It was Colby’s whole world. Surrounding him. Curling and rocking through every joint. But mostly, it pounded through his head, as if someone was hitting his skull with a hammer. From the inside.
Nausea coiled in his stomach. Where was he? What was happening? The last thing he remembered was sitting on top of a bay ordering...someone... Piper? Yes, the woman with the beautiful green eyes and the adorably sassy mouth. That was her name. Piper. Piper Caraway. He’d ordered her to... What? She was on a black stallion. She was... Yes, that was it. She was stealing the Friesian stallion that may or may not have been hers. He’d ordered her to turn the horse around. Then what? Nothing. Nothing but darkness. And pain.
His eyelids were sandpapery, heavy. It took an extreme force of will to open them. He blinked, recoiling against the darkness surrounding him. He couldn’t see anything. Was he blind?
“Shh, it’s okay.”
He froze at the sound of the woman’s voice. Piper’s voice, above him. While the rest of his body was cold and uncomfortable, lying on hard, unforgiving ridges, his head was cradled in a soft, very warm lap. He tried to lift his head, then groaned at the renewed pounding in his skull.
“Easy now,” she whispered again. One of her hands feathered through his hair. She patted his head and idly ran her fingers down the side of his face, all while whispering “It’s okay” and “Settle down, boy, settle down.”
Settle down? Boy?
“You do know that I’m not a horse, right?”
Her hand stilled on his cheek. “You’re awake?”
He blinked again. No use. He couldn’t see anything. “I think so. Where are we? I can’t see a dang thing. Why is my head on your lap? And why are you...petting me?”
A strangled laugh sounded above him and she jerked her hands away. “Sorry. I thought you were still unconscious. I was trying to, um, soothe you. It’s dark in here, that’s why you can’t see.”
Her reassurances about the darkness staved off the growing panic about possibly being blind. But the loss of the warmth of her hands almost made him groan again. Perhaps there was something to that “soothing” after all. He lifted his head, gritting his teeth against the pain racking his entire body.
“Easy. I mean, be careful.” Her hands gently but firmly pushed against his shoulders, helping him to sit up. “Take it slow. I think you may have a concussion.”
No “may” about it. He could feel the world spinning around even though he couldn’t see it. Whatever had happened to them was bad. And it was still happening. He needed to figure this out, fast, and protect her. Lying around wasn’t going to help either of them.
He braced his hands flat against the floor on either side of him to keep from falling over. Only it wasn’t a floor. It was cold and hard, with metallic grooves. The muted sound of an engine carried to him, echoing around them. Everything seemed to be bouncing, moving.
“We’re in a truck?”
“A small moving truck, maybe a twelve-footer, like you’d rent to move into a dorm. We’re sitting near the cab. The door rolls up and it’s locked. Trust me. I tried to raise it.”
“Who—”
“Palmer, along with three thugs. Palmer’s carrying a pistol on his hip. I’ve seen the others with rifles but at least one of them has a pistol since he used it to knock you out. He’s the one who threw you in here. He and Palmer are driving this truck. The other two are driving my rig. Gladiator and the horse you stole are in the back.”
“I didn’t steal him. I borrowed him.”
“I’m sure that makes the owner feel reassured, especially right now, not knowing where his horse is or whether he’s okay.”
A twinge of guilt shot through him. But there was nothing he could do about the horse or its owner right now. “You’re right. But this...scenario, isn’t exactly something I anticipated. Any idea why they’re driving your trailer instead of his? Or where they’re taking us?”
“I’m thinking his was stolen and he ditched it for mine. As for the rest, some things he said make me think he believes I did something to him. He called me ‘spoiled little rich girl,’ which I assure you I’ve never been. The ranch has been handed down for generations. But it’s never come with money. It’s always been a struggle to hold on to it.”
“Then he’s mistaken you for someone else?”
“I don’t think so. I did at first, but now I’m not sure. He called me daddy’s girl and Piper Ann, both of which my daddy used to call me. How could he know that if he didn’t know me?”
Listening and thinking seemed to be making his nausea worse. But he had to muddle through, figure out what was happening and make a plan before their captors stopped the truck.
The truck hit a hard bump and Colby could hear her suck in a sharp breath.
“You okay? Are you hurt?”
She let out a strangled laugh. “It’s a little worse than that. We’ve been bumping around back here for a couple of hours. If we don’t stop soon, it’s going to get messy. My bladder is about to burst.”
He smiled in the darkness. His own situation wasn’t much better. He stretched his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. Now that he was sitting up, the pounding in his head had dulled to a low throb. He reached up to touch the left side, which was the source of most of the pain. As soon as he touched it, a lightning bolt seemed to shoot down the back of his neck. He stiffened, and suddenly two warm hands were pressing against his chest, then running across his shoulders to his hands, pulling them down.
“Don’t,” she urged. “You got hit pretty hard. I had the devil of a time stopping the bleeding.” A pause, then she asked, “It’s not bleeding again is it?”
Her hands slid up his arms as if to find his head, but this time he captured them in his to stop her. The warmth and softness of her touch had fired across his nerve endings, sending blood racing through his veins and igniting a whole new cacophony of pain as his whole body seemed to come alive, aware. Had he been unfocused around her before? Because now, he was completely focused. On her. All he could think about was her soft hands, and the pleasure-pain of having them slide over his body.
Piper Caraway was a very dangerous woman.
“Colby? Are you okay?”
No. He let out a shaky breath. “I’m...fine. My head isn’t bleeding.” At least he didn’t think so. At this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get his breathing back under control before she realized her effect on him. Normally he was more disciplined than this. It must be the concussion. He was thinking crazy thoughts. Thoughts that were incredibly inappropriate given their situation.
“Oh, well, good.” She tugged her hands from his.
He had to force himself not to reach for her again. How insane was that? Just how hard had Palmer’s thug hit him?
“You didn’t really answer my earlier question.” He was desperate to tilt his world back on an even keel, to assess their situation. “Are you okay? Did Palmer or his men...do anything...to you?”
When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer until he could feel the delicious warmth of her skin radiating out. He cleared his tight throat. “Are you all right, Piper?”
He must have startled her because she jumped, her thigh hitting his. “A little, um, chilly, but otherwise fine.”
There was a lightness to her voice that made it sound like she was amused about something. He had no clue what. But she’d said she was chilly, and he didn’t want her to be cold. So even though touching her with his thoughts so scattered was about as dangerous as touching a match to a powder keg, he reached out to pull her close and offer her his body heat. When his hands settled around her bare waist, he froze. His mouth went as dry as dust.
“Piper?” he croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Are you...naked?”
This time she did laugh, a joyful, robust sound that was so rich and honest and so unexpected that he couldn’t help smiling. Everything about her surprised him. Maybe that was the problem. No one surprised him anymore. The fact that she did had him unbalanced.
“No,” she said when she stopped laughing. “But I did sacrifice my shirt for the cause.”
“The cause?” He raised his hand and touched his scalp more carefully this time, feeling the sticky dried blood. “You mean me? You said you tried to stop the bleeding. You used your shirt?”
“Did I mention the back of this truck is empty except for the two of us? There aren’t any first-aid kits lying around. I used my hands at first. But I couldn’t get enough even pressure that way. My shirt was the only thing I could think of.”
“You could have used my shirt.”
“And leave an injured man both cold and bleeding? I’m not quite that selfish.”
The words sounded flippant, but he detected an underlying hurt in them.
“Where’s your jacket?” he asked. “You had one the last I saw.”
“Apparently I smart-mouthed Palmer one too many times. He pulled over to check on us and I might have called him a few names. He took my jacket in retaliation. Leaving me to shiver in my bra and jeans was my punishment.”
Colby immediately shrugged out of his jacket, then tried to settle it around her shoulders.
She jerked back. “What are you doing?”
“You gave up your shirt for me. The least I can do is give up my jacket. I’ve got a thick flannel shirt on. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re wounded. I’m not taking your jacket.”
The sound of the engine subtly changed. Brakes squealed. The truck slowed. Colby braced himself against the back wall as the truck came to a stop.
They were both silent. The sound of voices carried to them from the cab. The driver’s door popped open, then the passenger door. Shoes crunched on dried leaves, coming toward the back of the truck.
“We’re about to have company.” Colby found her in the dark and pressed his jacket around her shoulders. “You want to face Palmer and his men again with or without a shirt? Your choice.”
She grabbed the jacket and he could hear the waterproof fabric rustling as she shrugged her arms into the sleeves.
A quick check at his waist confirmed what he’d already assumed. His gun, holster, everything he could have used as weapons or to contact his team were gone.
As the lock rattled at the back, he checked one more hiding place, his right boot. He slid his fingers inside the top edge. The cold handle of his hunting knife was still nestled in the built-in sheath. He wasn’t completely defenseless after all.
But bringing a knife to a gunfight wasn’t the best plan. It was the last resort of a desperate man. And he wasn’t desperate. Not yet. He needed to assess their situation before he showed all his cards.
He jerked his hand back, leaving the knife in his boot as the door was shoved upward. It slammed into the slot in the roof, bouncing against the top before settling.
Colby moved in front of Piper, shielding her from view. But her sharp intake of breath told him she’d leaned around him and saw what he was seeing—three rifles pointed directly at them.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lena-diaz/stranded-with-the-detective/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.