Mounting Evidence Page 13

  Once the other riders had gone to dinner, she left the stall and walked quickly through the barn. She hadn’t seen Kira today, not that she’d been looking, and she didn’t want to run into her now. She was confused by the time they’d spent together yesterday. They’d looked at some canned goods and joked about chicken judging. Hardly a romantic afternoon. So why had the pull toward Kira strengthened yet again? Sure, Abby had found her attractive at first. Breathtaking. And yes, she’d seen more facets of her every day since. Her admirable strength and bravery. Her wacky sense of humor. Her artistic and passionate side.

  Abby stopped her train of thought. She was supposed to be talking herself out of a relationship, but making a list of Kira’s good qualities wasn’t the best way to do so. She concentrated instead on finding a place to eat. Maybe some food would give her the energy to resist Kira’s charms. After their near kiss, she’d been distracted while on patrol and restless once she got home. Kira had been too present in her bed, and Abby woke after a fitful sleep certain the scent of gardenias had just wafted through her room.

  The smell of the open wood pit at BBQ Pete’s made her mouth water—due more to her memories of eating there with Kira than to the tempting scent of food—but she saw Rachel and Cal eating there. They were sitting close together, tucked on the same side of one of the picnic tables. While she watched, Rachel laughed at something Cal said and gave her a playful shove on the arm. Abby walked on. They were good-humored but steadfast. They made it look easy. She hesitated for a moment, but the momentum of the people around her jolted her back into motion. She had experienced the same ease and natural closeness with Kira yesterday afternoon and at their lunch together. For brief moments, they fit together. She didn’t have faith it would last longer than the hour they’d spent in each other’s company, but it had been intoxicating in its simplicity. Dangerous in its potency.

  Abby moved to the edge of the sidewalk when she noticed Billie and Don coming toward her. Don was eating pieces off what looked like a huge brick of curly fries while they walked, and Billie was carrying a salad in one hand and gesturing with the other as she talked. Abby had never seen Billie eat anything remotely unhealthy, and she wondered if her animated discussion was a lecture on good dietary habits. If so, she was wasting her breath on Don.

  All team members accounted for. All she had to do was hope she didn’t run into Kira and Julie, and she’d be fine. She went to one of the burger stands housed together in a large warehouse-type building and got the cheeseburger with extra grilled onions she’d been craving since Friday. She ate quickly, sitting in a relatively quiet corner of the building and wondering why she was feeling so irritable with herself and acting so testy with her teammates. She had been growing closer to them and to Kira, despite her better instincts, but now she was determined to maintain distance. She had come full circle, back to the person she’d been on the first day of the fair. Why? Because it was nearly the last day of the fair. She scooped up the last bite of onions and crumpled her wrapper into a tight ball. She tossed it in a garbage can and headed back to the barn.

  Legs was waiting for her when she got back with her nose pressed against the bars on the upper half of her stall. She seemed restless, but Abby wondered if she was communicating her own agitation to the sensitive horse. She did a hasty grooming job since she had already made sure Legs was spotless before their demonstration this afternoon when Cal had decided it would be fun to have a mock uniform-judging class. This was one of the categories they’d compete in if she took the team to the national competition, so Abby had been interested in the trial run. Cal had judged them on the condition of their clothing, tack, and horses, and she’d involved the audience in selecting winners in the different categories. Rachel had won all of them, as expected. Not because she had an in with the judge, but because she had some magical ability to polish a saddle and horse to a brilliant shine.

  Abby was relieved she’d already done most of her grooming, because Legs was growing more impatient as she worked. She finally put the brushes away and got her saddle. Legs probably needed to get out and move around, and Abby’s whirling thoughts weren’t helping her be the calming influence the horse needed.

  She led the fully tacked mare out of the barn and put her foot in the stirrup to mount. Legs swung around and bumped into her, almost knocking her down while she was off balance, but Cal was there in a second, taking the reins and soothing the horse so Abby could get on.

  “She seems nervous,” Cal said. “The horses are used to more exercise than they’re getting here, and they might be going a little stir-crazy since they’re in their stalls so much. But if she doesn’t settle soon, bring her back here.”

  “She’s been great out there on the midway,” Abby said, reassuring herself as much as Cal. “I doubt we’ll have any trouble.”

  “Probably not,” Cal said, giving the mare another pat. “But there will be a lot of people around you. Safety first, for them and for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abby said, with a mock salute. She smiled and walked Legs around the area behind the barn. By the time Rachel came out with Bandit, Legs had calmed down and was moving in a brisk stride but with a long, easy rein.

  “Ready to go?” Rachel asked.

  “We sure are,” Abby said.

  Rachel nodded. “Good. But if she acts up at all, we’ll take her to the warm-up ring where she can move a little faster. She might need a good trot around to settle her nerves.”

  Abby frowned. Rachel and Cal didn’t seem to take a breath without the other knowing. “Did Cal actually speak to you about Legs, or did she communicate with you telepathically?”

  Rachel only laughed at her sarcastic tone. “The safety of this team—your team—is our top priority. We don’t ignore or hide anything from each other that might be a danger.”

  “We promise we’ll jog right back to the barn at the first sign of trouble,” Abby said. She adjusted her reins and gave a light squeeze with her legs. She and Rachel merged into the human traffic at the far end of the barn and headed toward the midway.

  They started their rounds in the kiddie area where the sedate rides went slowly around their tracks. Every few yards, they had to stop for a photo op or to answer a question. They’d gone through the same ritual every night, but Legs had apparently decided she’d done enough PR work. She danced in place, swinging her rump dangerously close to a group of people standing in line to buy ride tickets. Abby kept chatting with people even as she struggled to hold her horse in place without letting Rachel or the fairgoers see any tension on her face or in her body. She was explaining to a young girl why she shouldn’t feed Legs a piece of pizza when a man walked by with a huge stuffed dragon on his shoulders. Legs had seen hundreds of toys like this, hanging enticingly on the walls of game booths and draped over the people who’d won them. Tonight, though, she gave a snort of fear and leaped in the air, coming down with her legs spread wide, ready to bolt. Abby stroked her neck, feeling her own pulse race to match the thumping beat of Legs’s heart between her calves. She was debating whether to admit defeat and return to the barn when Rachel’s walkie-talkie crackled.

  “Sarge, we have a fight over by the Matterhorn.”

  “On our way,” Rachel said. She clucked to Bandit and moved toward the increasingly loud yells coming from Don’s location. “Coming through,” she called to the people in front of her. “Police! Stand aside.”

  Legs followed in Bandit’s wake, her nose nearly pressed against his tail as she tried to outpace him. Abby pulled back on the reins, now slick with sweat from the mare’s neck, but Legs didn’t seem to notice. Rachel trotted the steady Bandit into the midst of the brawl, helping Don and Billie separate the combatants, while Abby kept to the sidelines. She dropped her feet out of the stirrups and was about to dismount and regain control of her horse when a roller coaster car clattered by and Legs reared suddenly and plunged to the right. Abby pulled desperately on her left rein to keep Legs from crashing into the thron
gs of people who had gathered to watch the fight.

  Legs spun in a tight circle, to the left, and Abby braced her arm against the mare’s neck so she didn’t fall off during the quick direction change. She choked up on the curb rein, and Legs backed up so fast she was almost trotting. Abby swung her to the left again, toward a booth with a small pool of rubber ducks in it. Pay a quarter, pick a duck, get a prize. Abby’s thoughts were as chaotic as her ride, and all her focus was on getting the mare under control before she killed anyone. The mare skidded to a stop inside the small tent and spooked at the floating ducks, jumping sideways a few feet and crashing into the wooden pole supporting the flapping canvas. Abby heard a crack—her wrist, or the wooden beam?—and she jammed her now useless right hand against Legs’s neck where it was foamy with sweat. She yanked hard on the other rein and leaned back in the saddle, shouting, “Whoa!” with all the authority she could muster.

  The emergency stop, a maneuver she had learned early in her 4-H days, worked long enough for her to get her feet back in the stirrups and her reins looped around her left hand. Before Legs could explode again, Rachel was by her side, side-passing Bandit until he was inches away from Legs.

  “Hey, Lieutenant.” Don moved Fancy to her other side, hemming Legs in between the two calm and stocky horses. “Looks like you and Legs were doing an imitation of the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

  “Felt like it, too,” Abby said. She grimaced when Legs threw her head in the air and bumped her right hand. The pain spread all the way to her toes like an electric shock traveling through her veins.

  “Let’s get you back to the barn, Abby,” Rachel said. “We don’t want people to panic about the horses, so we’ll just walk nice and slow.”

  Abby felt Legs trembling underneath her, but the mare seemed to have given up. She walked between the steadying horses without a fuss.

  “What about the fight?” Abby looked back and saw Billie and Ranger boxing her in from behind.

  “Fancy and I got it under control,” Don said, giving his mare a pat. Abby heard Billie’s snort of derision from behind. “Oh, yeah, and Billie helped a little. She stood by and cheered us on.”

  “They stopped the fight, and foot patrol came and took the two guys into custody,” Rachel said in a low voice. She looked as pale as Abby felt.

  Halfway to the barn, they found Cal sprinting toward them. “I heard you on the radio,” she said to Rachel. “Are you okay, Abby? Can you get back to the barn?”

  “Of course. And you can all stop treating me like a little old grandmother who’s broken her hip.” She was relieved, though, when Cal surreptitiously took hold of her reins and led Legs, making it look like she was scratching her under the chin. As soon as they were behind the barns, more private than before now that night had fallen, Don moved to the side and gave her room to slide off her horse.

  Abby felt dazed from the pain in her wrist. She’d had broken bones before, but this was something else. Still, she hated leaving Legs behind when the horse was obviously upset.

  “I’ll take her,” Cal said. She grabbed the reins from Abby. “Don’t worry. Rachel’s going to take you to the hospital.”

  Abby watched her lead Legs down the aisle, followed by Billie with Bandit and Ranger.

  “Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” Don repeated Cal’s words. “We got this.”

  Rachel put her hand on Abby’s shoulder and drew her away. She wanted to protest that she only needed an aspirin and a ride home, but she felt close to passing out from the pain. She silently went with Rachel through the back exit and to her car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachel drove through the deserted early morning streets from Puyallup’s Good Samaritan Hospital to Cal’s family home. She wound past the barn and down the private lane leading to her and Cal’s bungalow. As soon as she shut off her engine, she heard Tar and Feathers, Cal’s two border collies, barking to announce her arrival. Even if Cal had already gone to bed, she’d be wide awake now, but Rachel knew Cal would be waiting up for her.

  Cal opened the door before Rachel could get her key in the lock, and she took Rachel into her arms. Rachel stood silently for a few moments, relaxing into the heated softness of her. Cal was wearing an old pair of sweats and a tank top, and Rachel bunched the thin fabric in her fists as she pulled them closer together.

  “How is she?” Cal asked, turning her head toward Rachel’s neck so she felt the words breathed on her skin even as she heard them spoken.

  “She came out of surgery without any problem. The doctor had to put a metal plate on her radius, but he thinks she’ll regain full use of her wrist eventually. She’ll be in a brace for a few months, though.”

  Rachel bent down to pet the dogs as they whined and twisted around her legs. Feathers always greeted her the same way no matter if she’d only been gone a few minutes, but tonight even the usually reserved Tar welcomed her more effusively than usual. Cal must have been worried and transmitted her emotions to her perceptive dogs.

  “Come. Sit with me,” Cal said. She led the way into the brightly lit kitchen. A liquor bottle and two glasses were waiting on the table. Between Rachel’s work with the mounted police and Cal’s grueling training schedule, they ate more takeout there than home-cooked food, but the kitchen had been the first room they had decorated together. They spent most of their time when both were home either sitting at the table and talking or in bed. Not talking.

  Cal had some canned soup simmering on the stove, and she ladled out a bowl and set it in front of Rachel before sitting across from her and pouring each of them a glass of bourbon. Rachel hadn’t had anything to eat since their barbecue dinner, and she was sure the hospital coffee had burned a hole in her stomach lining. She had refused to leave until she knew her lieutenant was going to be okay, so she had waited through the MRI and the surgery that followed. Only when she had grilled the doctor and said good night to a groggy and half-drugged Abby did she feel comfortable leaving the hospital.

  She had been texting Cal with news all night while she sat at the hospital and Cal took care of the horses. Unstable fracture of the radius with a trapped tendon. Floating bone fragments from the scaphoid. Rachel crumbled a handful of crackers into her tomato soup and stirred them around. She had been a confused mix of guilt and relief and anxiety over what could have happened when Legs went berserk. She concentrated on her soup and tried not to cry. She had been wrong to let Abby ride with the team without having practiced with them. To be fair, she hadn’t been given the option to say no when Abby stepped up to take Clark’s place, but she should have found a way to deny her. And the choice to give her Legs as a mount? Rachel wasn’t sure how she’d forgive herself for that one. She had thought the quiet horse would be good for Abby. Abby knew the mare was inexperienced, so she’d be inclined to stay out of any real action. At least, that’s what Rachel had hoped would happen. She’d been wrong. Nearly dead wrong.

  Cal was watching her closely, with a look of concern on her face as if she could read Rachel’s thoughts. “Strychnine,” Cal said. She took a sip of her bourbon.

  Rachel swallowed a mouthful of her soup. “In here?” she asked, pointing to her bowl.

  “In Legs.”

  Rachel put down her spoon and stared at Cal. She knew Cal had called their vet, Dr. Westmore, to have him check the gray mare, but she’d assumed it was only a routine visit to make sure she hadn’t been injured or gotten sick after her escapades.

  “She was poisoned? Will she be okay?”

  “Technically, yes, and yes. She should be fine once it wears out of her system. Westmore took her to the clinic with him. Keep eating, please. You must be starving, although you seem to have more crackers than soup in your bowl.”

  “I like it that way,” Rachel said. She took another bite without really tasting it. “What do you mean technically? Did you know this before you called Westmore?”

  “Technically, because I don’t think the dose was meant to be a poison, but a stimulant. I suspected somet
hing like this when I saw her and heard how she had acted. I stayed with her until he came, and he tested her blood and urine. He’ll send some to the lab tomorrow for a full workup, but he tested what he could when he got back to the clinic. He called just a few minutes ago.”

  Rachel gave up the pretense of eating her meal and pushed her bowl aside. She swallowed the bourbon in one quick gulp. She wanted to wash away the tide of despair she felt threatening at the edges of her mind. “I thought we’d put the days of sabotage behind us. I can’t believe someone is still out there who wants to hurt our horses. Why strychnine?”

  “It’s been used for ages to jazz up a tired or sore horse.” Cal poured another shot in Rachel’s glass. “Too much is a poison, but a small IV dose gives a horse more energy. It increases agitation and the startle reflex. Any one of our horses would have likely been as unmanageable as Legs was if they were given the same dose.”

  Rachel’s mind struggled to comprehend the full meaning of Cal’s statement. Her first thought was relief. Abby’s accident hadn’t been the result of her poor judgment. Her second thought, however, was much more disturbing. “Was Legs chosen on purpose? So Abby would get hurt? Or was she randomly picked, and the whole unit was the target?”

  Cal shrugged. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Rachel took another drink. “She hasn’t been in patrol for years, but we should find out if any of her arrests have been released recently. And I’ll check with dispatch to see if there’ve been any threats against the mounted unit, although I’m sure we’d have been informed, especially before the fair. Oh, and I’ll stop by the fair office tomorrow and talk to the head of security. This might possibly be aimed at the fair itself, not us in particular. And I should—”