The second jump, the creek, was still some distance ahead and she ran her hand down the silken sheen of his neck, murmuring her appreciation at what a good boy he was.
Jake moved in closer. “He’s doing fine.”
“Yes, he is.” Kylah didn’t need to hear Jake’s compliment but she appreciated it. Jake gave praise rarely and it meant something when he bothered. “He’s a rock star.”
Jake snorted at the term and Kylah chuckled, glad that he seemed less anxious. “Have you seen Trouble?” she asked.
“I’ve spotted him a time or two, first on one side of us, then the other. He looks … focused.”
Kylah thought that was as apt a description of the feline as any. Silly as it might seem to some, she liked the idea of the cat watching her back. She wasn’t worried although she supposed it would have been normal if she had been. Jake rode beside her. Six boys watched her progress like young hawks. A cat whose owner trusted him with crime solving followed along with her. And Wolf was at the other end waiting for her.
* * *
The tingling along my spine has followed me through these sparse woods and I still have not pinpointed the root of it, what thing I’ve missed that nags at me. Andre took the first jump with perfection but I find myself glad Kylah is not cantering through the woods as she did on her practice run. Earlier, I checked for holes that might have been dug then covered, designed to break a horse’s leg and send his rider toppling, crushed beneath a mass of muscle and bone. I’m convinced there are no hidden hazards along the path. It is the human threat that discomfits me.
Immediately ahead is the creek that Andre must leap across and I pause in my tracks to watch, holding my breath until he is safely across and all four feet on solid ground. I see Kylah reach down to stroke his neck in praise. Yes, he is a good boy.
All that is left is the last little distance to the end of this miniature, and stately, cavalry charge where there is to be another carefully orchestrated battle scene such as we watched yesterday. The choreography of the event must have taken months. And there! There it is. The memory that nags at me. The whiteboard on which every scene has been drawn. The whiteboard seen by each participant as they sign up and pay the balance of their fee to take part in the fun. Our perpetrator had means to know where each actor will be on a given day at a certain time, give or take minutes here and there.
If there is to be an attempt upon our Kylah, it may well happen when she reaches that destination and takes her place amongst the staged actors. I must reach Wolf and somehow warn him of my fears.
* * *
Wolf had begun to relax. One by one the boys were calling in and reporting that the cavalry procession had passed without incident. Ms. K.T. jumped the fallen tree. Ms. K.T. sure rode a nice horse. Ms. K.T. smiled at him as she went by. Ms. K.T. cleared the creek. Each one of their calls took a little more of the tension from his shoulders. Knowing when they were out of the line of action, so to speak, was as much relief as knowing that Kylah had passed safely by them.
The last message was text rather than a call. It came from Case and made him tense all over again. ‘Dusty’s here. Had a little conflict. He has a black eye. My bad. Not sorry.’ What the hell?
He turned to watch the slope, waiting for horse and rider to top the rise. The standard bearer came first, a sturdy lad in full uniform. There behind him, rode Kylah, unharmed, shoulders back, hair tucked under a cap but wisps escaping from the motion of her ride through the Carolina woods.
His respite was brief as he caught sight of the streak of black racing toward him. The cat’s agitation was indisputable. Trouble did not expend unnecessary energy. Wolf turned, looking for the sheriff and any of his deputies. Les, vigilant, met his gaze and nodded. Searching the crowd of mingled audience and participants who awaited the arrival of the cavalry and the next scene to unfold, Wolf identified two deputies, out of uniform, but with intent faces that said they were on duty nonetheless.
Despite his trepidation, Wolf didn’t signal his concern to the sheriff. Les wouldn’t be impressed with his trust in a black cat. And, with or without explanation, his sudden tension wouldn’t make the other man do his job any better.
Trouble reached his side and yowled. When Wolf bent to pick him up, the cat hissed at him and whirled in a circle, his face turned upward to the humans around him.
Wolf straightened and saw Kylah shifting her weight to dismount. Acting on instinct, he shouted, “Kylah, jump.”
She hesitated, standing in one stirrup, her hand on the saddle horn, trying to find him in the crowd. He would be forever grateful that Jake didn’t hesitate. The man kicked his leg free of the stirrup and flung himself toward Kylah, pulling her to the ground with him. In the same instant, he heard the sound of a shot fired, then another. As Wolf raced to close the distance between them, a woman screamed and a man shouted a hoarse curse.
Wolf dropped to his knees beside Kylah and pulled her into his arms. She looked around, dazed, as Jake grappled with two sets of reins, bracing his weight to keep the horses from bolting into the panicked crowd.
Les reached their side and bit off a curse that was probably too ugly for polite company. Seeing that Kylah was safe, he spun around in pursuit of whoever had fired the shots.
“She’s shot,” Wolf heard someone exclaim in a horror-filled voice. As he turned to offer reassurance, he realized the bystanders weren’t looking at Kylah. They were staring at a point beyond. The two deputies he’d noted moments earlier pushed their way past the gathering and dropped to their knees.
As soon as Wolf loosened his hold on her to stand, Kylah scrambled to her feet. “Stay here with Jake,” he said. He didn’t want her to see what lay beyond the small crowd. Dread filled him as he wondered if Rita had been there to observe the scenes staged for the day. He didn’t recall seeing her.
Not Rita, he thought as he got closer. The crumpled figure, barely visible, through the throng was a reenactor, he realized, catching a glimpse of Union blue. And a woman. Someone had removed her hat or it had tumbled free when she’d fallen. Dark hair. One of the deputies looked up as Wolf got close enough to recognize Audra’s face. The deputy shook his head, his face expressionless as he spoke into his radio, calling for an ambulance. Beside him a man in a Confederate uniform held a hand pressed to the wound at the base of her throat but the blood seeped between his fingers. He looked as sick as Wolf felt.
He heard a soft gasp behind him and turned to press Kylah’s face against his shoulder. He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t listened. She would never be a woman to stay in the background, not even for her own safety.
“Do you have Grant’s number stored?”
She pulled back, eyes dry but reddened, face pale. Nodding, she pulled her phone free and handed it to Wolf. He found what he needed and shared the contact with himself. Then hit call.
“Hello.” Grant answered the phone testily.
“Grant. This is Wolf. Where are you?”
“I’m leaving the office trailer at the fairgrounds on foot. Audra took my truck and I guess she has her car keys with her as well. I need to get to my reenactment station.”
“I’m headed in your direction now,” Wolf lied, keeping an even tone. “I’ll swing by and pick you up.” With the phone still at his ear for Grant’s response, he pulled Kylah close with his free arm and pressed his lips to her temple before signaling to Jake that he was leaving.
“Aw, hell, Wolf, you called me, didn’t you?” Grant huffed the words. “I’m irritated at myself for being in this predicament but that’s no excuse for rudeness. What did you need?”
Grant sounded out of breath and Wolf suspected the man hadn’t walked anywhere in a long time. “We can talk when I get there.” He hit end before Grant could ask any questions. This wasn’t a conversation for the phone.
Jake moved closer to Kylah as Wolf turned to go. He didn’t like leaving her. Not for a minute. But Jake would keep her safe.
Chapter Seventeen
Wo
lf is running on emotion. He’s in fear for his woman. Yes, there’s been no declaration but the trite saying, actions speak louder than words, is true for a reason. He has staked his claim. Whether or not she will reciprocate is a question for another day. The fact remains, he’s not thinking with the clarity I bring to the table.
I watch as Kylah and Jake walk the horses back to the trailer where I know they’ll untack and load them for a return trip to the barn. I’ll catch up with them there, later. For now, I have work to do.
As the crowd is dispersed under the calming guidance of local law enforcement, I study the trampled ground. There will be little to no chance of a clear footprint to match the one in my mind, the one imprinted in front of Maisy McGuire’s tent. Even if that were possible, there’s nothing to say the shooter is wearing the same footwear, with the same tread.
However, if my calculations – crude but usually effective – are accurate, there might be a print or two at the base of a tree in close proximity to where Kylah rode at the front of the procession of reenactors. It is worth a look-see. If Kylah was indeed the target, as Wolf is convinced – and as I am when the trip-ropes are considered – then today’s shooter might well have been stationed above the crowd. When Jake pulled her to the ground, the barrel of the weapon would, logically to my mind, have been shifted downward to follow her path. If that is the case, then it would be unlikely that a bullet intended for Kylah would have hit another person, unless it was below the knee. The victim, Audra Edmunds, was notably tall.
It is also conceivable the perpetrator began firing wildly as he saw his carefully laid plans on the verge of collapse.
I continue my musing as I circle first one tree, then another, but only those that would not bend or sway beneath a human’s weight. There are not many. Most are young saplings. It would appear these slopes were thinned and replanted at some point.
The other possibility is that the culprit was at ground level, but would he … yes, yes, or she … have attempted a shot through a crowd of reenactors and audience with expectation of striking a particular target? If so, this person is skilled indeed and comfortable with their superior prowess as sharpshooter.
And, then, there is always the potential that Kylah was not the target today but, as feared at the first, only fair game as a reenactor or, more specifically, as a female reenactor. As Audra Edmunds would have been.
Were I human, I would probably heave a sigh at the many possibilities that must be considered. I am, however, far too much my father’s son to be deterred in my determination to reach the truth. Wolf and the Sheriff Les will have every effort I can give to unearthing the facts needed to nail this villain.
And, at last, I see it, some distance away from the path. A booted print at the base of a stout tree with scratched bark, as if someone had scrambled upward. But I concede one last point as the tread is unlike what I recall from the first murder scene. The person who climbed that tree could simply have been looking for a better vantage point to view the pageantry that had been planned for the crowd. They perhaps did no more than admire a graceful rider from afar on a magnificent steed.
Nonetheless, it is something to keep in mind.
* * *
Wolf called Les Mitchell as he drove. He was surprised when the sheriff answered with a bark. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m on my way to Grant before some busybody or reporter gets to him.”
“Damn.” The sheriff sounded tired.
“I take it the chase was unsuccessful?”
“Hell, we didn’t know what or who or where we were chasing. Those shots could have come from any direction.”
So, yeah, Wolf surmised, unsuccessful.
“Hang on,” Les said, “someone’s calling in.” A moment later he was back. “Wolf, I guess you better meet me at the morgue,” he said heavily.
Wolf said a word he rarely used, then, “No, you tell those jackasses to keep her at the hospital, in a private room, in the emergency room, whatever. Wherever the hell she is, she stays until I get Grant there. I’m not taking the man to say goodbye to his wife in a damned morgue, Les.”
“Yeah.” The sheriff’s voice was heavy. “Yeah, okay. I get it.”
The sheriff ended the call and Wolf was alone with his thoughts for another five minutes before he saw Grant striding down the long gravel road that led from the arena to the state highway. His Confederate jacket was slung over his shoulder and his face was red with exertion or temper or both.
Wolf slowed the truck and Grant stalked forward as it stopped. “What a mess,” Grant started talking as he climbed in and pulled the seat belt across his lap. “I still can’t get Audra on her phone.”
Wolf put the truck in gear.
“She’s not usually such a stickler for staying in character.” The dean, still fiddling with his seatbelt, had yet to look at Wolf.
“Grant.”
Something in Wolf’s voice caught the other man’s attention. “What?” Wolf couldn’t speak past the knot in his throat and Grant asked again, “What? What is it?”
“I’m taking you to Audra.”
He glanced over. Grant was looking at him with the first hint of confusion. “Well, yes, she’ll be there someplace but we’re assigned different areas.”
“Audra’s at the hospital.”
* * *
Wolf left Grant at the hospital in a private chapel with his pastor and with family, his and Audra’s. The drive to the hospital had been horrific with Grant alternately sobbing and cursing.
The sheriff was waiting for him in the atrium. He shook his head as Wolf got close. “It’s a hell of a thing.”
Wolf didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing.
“The doctors pulled a lead ball from the back of Audra’s neck. It was wedged in the vertebrae. And one of my men picked up another linen cartridge a few yards from where she fell. Someone’s leaving their calling card. We’ve got a damned serial killer on our hands, Wolf. I’ve called in the FBI.”
Wolf would have done the same if he were in Les’ shoes. “You’ve shut down the event.” He didn’t make that a question. There could be no other option at this point.
“I’ve got every off-duty officer called in to move the spectators out and I’ve told the unit commanders to have their teams sit tight. I don’t want the reenactors scattering until I’ve determined who I need to talk with. And Rita needs a full report - in person - before I make it official with the damned reporters. Thank God she was at the starting point of the march this morning.”
“Let me guess. You want me to head her way.” Wolf said it without rancor.
Unexpectedly, the sheriff shook his head. “No, I think I need to go talk to her.” He didn’t seem to notice Wolf’s brow lift in surprise. “She needs to hear from me everything that’s happened and what I’m doing about it. I’m meeting with a special agent named Jemson in the morning. I’ll want you in on that.” He hesitated. “If you’re good with it. I know the Marshal Service isn’t always crazy about mixing with the Bureau.”
“I’m good with it.” Wolf watched as the sheriff walked over and hit the elevator button to go back up. Maybe some things did change, after all. He watched as the doors opened and Les stepped inside.
Wolf had one last thing left to do and he didn’t look forward to it. His thoughts were on Kylah as he walked out of the hospital. He’d call and check on her but he had to see Logan before he could go to her.
* * *
The door to the gun shop stood open to the afternoon breeze but a quick look proved Logan wasn’t inside. Gun parts were scattered across the table where Logan usually worked. The unlocked door wasn’t typical for Logan. He was careful about the property of the gun owners who trusted him, sometimes with prized heirlooms they wanted restored. Wolf left the shop and walked the path down to the creek behind the ranch-style house Logan had inherited when his parents died.
For a while Wolf thought it sad that Logan never married but, after h
is own divorce, he’d had a different opinion. Lately, he’d come back to thinking it sad. More so now than ever.
As Wolf cleared the trees, he saw Logan standing close to the water’s edge, pole in hand. It was a peaceful looking scene with the breeze rustling the pines overhead.
Logan snapped the fishing line up, then flipped it back into the water savagely. His back was taut and Wolf knew he’d heard. He sighed and spoke his friend’s name.
The face Logan turned to him was dark with grief and with rage.
“Ah, hell, Logan. I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.” It was all he knew to say.
“You find him, Wolf. You find the son of a bitch so I can kill him.”
And, knowing what he felt now for Kylah, Wolf knew he’d have every bit as much rage inside. And the same desire to murder anyone who took her from him.
Wolf sat at the edge of the creek and waited until Logan finally sank to the ground beside him. They sat that way for a long while. Hearing the other man’s shuddering breaths rip up through his chest slayed Wolf. He left only when Logan quieted and asked to be alone. “I’ll be back,” Wolf said quietly, “but call if you need me.”
Logan wouldn’t call. There was nothing that Wolf or anyone else could do for him now.
Wolf was at his truck, wanting only to get back to Kylah when he remembered the text from Case. He started the engine but left the truck in park as he called the teen.
“Hey, Wolf.”
“Hey, yourself. Everything alright?”
“The guys are all a little shook up.” Case, too, if his tone was any indicator. “Professor Edmonds … we heard she was dead.”
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