by Karis Walsh
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Lieutenant Abigail Hargrove comes from a long line of cops…dirty cops. She’s an exemplary, detached officer when on duty with the Tacoma Police Department, but after hours, she strives in secret to atone for her relatives’ corruption. Abby agrees to ride with her mounted unit during the Washington State Fair, expecting a relaxing few weeks of horses and PR work, but a bittersweet reunion with childhood friend Kira sets into motion a chain of events that makes Abby’s private and public lives collide.
Wetland biologist Kira Lovell devotes her life to her daughter and to a vocal defense of the environment. A chance meeting with her first love stirs long forgotten feelings, but her life is thrown into chaos before they can rekindle their romance. A kidnapping and a murder take place behind the innocence of the midway. Abby has to solve both crimes to protect Kira, even if it means revealing more of her family’s shameful past.
Mounting Evidence
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Mounting Evidence
© 2015 By Karis Walsh. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-387-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: July 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Harmony
Worth the Risk
Sea Glass Inn
Improvisation
Mounting Danger
Wingspan
Blindsided
Mounting Evidence
Acknowledgments
I’d like to acknowledge and praise the years of hard work my mom, Maureen, has dedicated to protecting the wetlands in Tacoma. I got my love of nature from her and my dad, and I appreciate the gift.
As always, I have to give credit to the wonderful staff at Bold Strokes Books. Thank you to my editor, Ruth, because she understands my process of writing and is unfailingly patient with me. And to Sandy, who is a constant source of help and advice. To Cindy, Toni, and Connie, as well as the super-talented BSB proofreaders. And to Sheri for this lovely cover. I’m grateful to Radclyffe and the stellar team she has assembled.
Lastly—and most lovingly—thank you to my Cindy for supporting me from start to finish with this book and keeping me supplied with plenty of M&Ms to get through the long hours of writing and editing. My world is richer and brighter because of her.
To Cindy
As always, with love.
Chapter One
Lieutenant Abigail Hargrove tugged on the shirt of her unfamiliar uniform. The top and pants were skintight—suitable for riding a horse, but awkward while walking through a crowd and feeling too many eyes on her. Even though Abby was no stranger to close-fitting clothes during her off time, when she was on duty she was accustomed to the androgynous polyester-and-wool blend outfit that made her look like every other cop, regardless of how different she felt inside. Pockets bulging with notebooks and pens, a thickly laden duty belt hanging heavy on her hip bones, and the stiff outline of her Kevlar vest. Instead, she had on a snug, short-sleeved blue top with buttons revealing a deeper V than she’d have chosen for herself. Her snug pants had a slimming gold stripe down the side, and her polished black boots looked more stylish than her usual clunky black military ones. Admittedly, most of the glances she received seemed to be complimentary, but she’d prefer anonymity to flattering notice.
Even though her uniform was drawing some looks, her surroundings were doing their utmost to deflect focus away from her. The garish lights and sounds of the Washington State Fair jealously clamored for attention, and Abby skirted long lines of people waiting for fried food or a turn on one of the flashing, whirling rides. The colors were bright and primal, urging fairgoers to stop and spend. No subterfuge or subtlety. The fair in Puyallup was one of the few childhood pleasures Abby still enjoyed.
She paused near her favorite concession stand, briefly tempted by the thought of a cheeseburger topped with a heap of grilled Walla Walla sweet onions—one of the iconic Washington fair foods—but she ignored her rumbling stomach for the moment and walked on. She’d save the treat for later. The only thing worse than wearing the revealing Lycra uniform in public would be wearing it with a big ketchup or grease stain down the front. She shifted the strap of her navy gym bag, readjusting the comforting weight of street clothes and shoes that it held. She’d perform her duties for the mounted police unit, filling in for a missing officer at this high-profile publicity event, and then she’d become just Abby again. Part of the crowd.
Like many other local officers, she used two weeks of vacation in the fall and spent them doing off-duty work at the fair. It paid well, but that wasn’t her reason for giving up her personal time. She had visited the fair as a civilian since she was a kid—screaming on the rides with her friends and trying to beat the suspiciously easy-looking games—and she felt the same rush of anticipation coming here as a working adult. Cool, foggy mornings. Leaves shifting to red-gold. Autumn wasn’t autumn unless she came to Puyallup and walked through the barns and exhibit halls, munching on an ear of corn dripping with butter. But aside from the food and memories, the best part of the fair was being assigned to work with officers from other departments. Occasionally she found one who didn’t know her family name and reputation.
Abby stopped yet again, pulled by the smell of cinnamon emanating from the elephant ear stand. She licked her lips at the thought of fried dough covered with sugar and spice. Yum. She really should have eaten something before coming to work, but she had been too edgy to feel hunger. Until now, when the aromas seemed amplified by the environment. She was about to resist the call and continue her walk to the barns when a familiar voice called her.
“Hey, Hargrove.” Officer Harvey Wayne waded through the crowds and to her side. “Is this where we get kickbacks? Free elephant ears if we promise not to check for clean grease traps?”
; Abby forced a smile, although it felt more like a grimace. Some of the older officers on the force, especially those who had served alongside her grandfather, seemed to feel obligated to make jokes about her integrity every time they met. She carefully avoided any suggestion of impropriety in her own conduct, but the name Hargrove had been blackened enough that her efforts were futile.
“I was just deciding where to buy my lunch,” Abby said, her voice even and quiet.
Harvey laughed and waved his hand. “I kid, of course. Nice uniform, by the way. You must be riding with your team instead of foot patrol with the rest of us schmucks.”
He checked out her shape from her neck to her toes with all the tact of a charging rhinoceros. Abby wanted to cover herself with hands and gym bag but she resisted and forced her expression to remain neutral. His partner for the day—a woman Abby didn’t recognize from Orting PD—seemed to be appreciative as well, but in a less obvious way. She was tall and muscular, with a blond heartiness that lived up to the Scandinavian name on her badge. Officer Jorgensen. She looked unbreakable. Hers was the kind of notice Abby would normally encourage, but not today. Not in uniform, whether mounted or patrol.
“Yes, I’m filling in for Jensen while he’s on leave.”
Harvey turned to his partner. “The lieutenant here managed to get approval from the chief and the city for a mounted unit. And in a department that’s always facing budget cuts and layoffs.” He looked at Abby again. “I don’t know how you did it, Hargrove, but I’m impressed.”
Liar. Abby heard the criticism in his voice even as he pretended to compliment her in front of his beautiful partner. He was the one trying to impress, but Abby guessed that his target would be more interested in her figure than in his portly male one. Not for long, though, because she was sure Wayne would elaborate on his poorly veiled insinuations once they left Abby’s earshot. What would he claim she had used to get approval for her special unit? Bribery? Blackmail? Some form of corruption, because that’s what a Hargrove would do.
The real reason she had been able to convince her superiors to grant her request wasn’t common knowledge, even in the gossipy Tacoma department. Abby and her riders had been expected to fail—and miserably—so the city manager could arrange for their rezoned stable area to become a lot full of pricey condos. Funny that a Hargrove had been the innocent one for once, duped by a corrupt scheme. But she didn’t let herself rise to the bait Wayne was dangling in front of her. She didn’t attempt to defend her indefensible family. No one, no matter how insulting or vindictive, had ever made her lose her cool enough to do so. She had her own way of handling her family’s past transgressions, but that took place behind the scenes. In front of an audience, she was solid ice.
“I’d love to see your horses perform,” Officer Jorgensen said, with a smile that promised a more intimate kind of performance if Abby was willing. “What time do you ride?”
“We do demonstrations at one and three, by the Pavilion. After that, we’ll patrol the midway until the fair closes.” Abby might be unemotional on the surface, but her insides were in turmoil. She wanted to ball her hands into fists and look away. Instead, she tried to detach her mind from the conversation, keeping her hands relaxed at her sides while her stomach clenched in their place. Jorgensen would be all too aware of the Hargrove reputation long before one o’clock. Abby felt the loss already. Not of a potential lover—yes, Jorgensen was her type, but Abby’s few partners in bed never had connections to police work—but the loss of another battle in the never-ending war to somehow get beyond the reach of her family name. Somehow.
“We’ll try to stop by,” Harvey said. “See those Tacoma tax dollars at work.”
“Maybe I’ll see you later, then,” Abby said, hoping she wouldn’t. She walked a few yards before turning back to look at the pair. Wayne leaned close to his partner and gestured toward Abby as he spoke. She shook her head and continued on her way, wondering what stories he was telling. Even she didn’t know the true extent of the infractions her grandfather had committed. She had heard some rumors, of course—cash and drugs that never made it to evidence lockers, kickbacks and bribes, even a hint of a sex-ring scandal with a former chief—but she and her family had a firm don’t ask, don’t tell policy in place. She did her personal research through the department archives, slowly uncovering suspicious reports and doing her best to make things right in a private way. But she had to wade through so many calls and case files, always in secret, and she knew she’d never be able to fix them all. Still, one by one she made the effort.
Abby followed a stripe of green paint on the ground, leading her to the same-colored gate in the southwest corner of the fairgrounds. She could have entered that way and saved some walking, but she had come through the red gate out of habit. She had been entering the fair the same way for over thirty years, and she didn’t care to change the familiar ritual. She stopped and looked at the four red barns with bright white trim before her. Brightly colored banners with horse silhouettes identified them as the equine stabling areas. Draft horses, 4-H horses. Another familiar sight from her earliest fair days. The old-fashioned farm aspect of the fair was still alive in the livestock barns and grange exhibits. Goats, cows, and other animals were housed in the center of the fairgrounds, side-by-side with sellers hawking everything from miracle mops to hot tubs. The horses, however, claimed the quieter edge of the fairgrounds. Behind the barns were areas for schooling and safe travel between the stalls and the riding arena. All of the fair barns were kept clean and swept, but the smell of horses and hay still managed to infiltrate the heavier odors of barbecue and pizza.
She sighed with relief when she stepped into the draft horse barn. The crowds were jammed as tightly in here as on the midway since these huge and gentle animals were always a popular draw, but the atmosphere changed somehow. The gaudily colored souvenirs and attractions were replaced by the muted tones of chestnut, gray, and bay. Shrieks and blaring pop music faded behind the sound of rustling straw and an occasional neigh. She walked down the aisle and felt more relaxed just looking at the horses. Tied in straight stalls, they calmly ate hay while their grooms brushed and braided them for the afternoon driving exhibitions. Clydesdales, Percherons, ponies, and draft mules. This had been one of her favorite parts of the fair since childhood, and the massive animals helped pull her back to a more innocent time, when she had been horse crazy and carefree, unaware of how her parents were able to afford her riding lessons and new tack.
She stopped to watch one of the handlers as he lifted an enormous collar over a patient Belgian’s head. The leather was polished to a glossy black shine, and the silver embellishments sparkled in the muted sunlight coming from the far door. Abby had been determined to have a career with horses, as a vet or a trainer, before she learned the true price of her riding hobby. She had been twenty-one, nearly half a lifetime away from her current thirty-six, when she overheard her grandfather laughing about some jewelry that had gone missing when he was on a burglary call. Thank God for senile old women, her father had said. That new saddle Abby wants costs a fortune.
Abby spun around quickly, with a muttered apology for bumping into the young couple behind her, and hurried out the back door of the barn. She leaned against the wall and angled her face so the September sun warmed her closed eyelids and cheeks. Riding had never been the same after that. She had sold her competition horse and changed her major from biology to sociology at Tacoma’s University of Puget Sound. She quit spending her time at the barn and took on two jobs and a student loan to pay for her own education. Her eavesdropping was never discussed, but the tenor of her relationship with her family shifted in a heartbeat. If her father wondered what had made Daddy’s Little Girl turn into a civil but cold acquaintance, he never tried to find out her reasons. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t been personally involved in illegal activities while he was a cop, but he had knowingly benefited from his dad’s corruption. In Abby’s opinion, his passive acceptance made him e
ven more cowardly than if he’d done the deeds himself. He had retired soon after she was first promoted. The grandfather she had adored passed away mere months after his own retirement and before Abby joined the force herself, but his legacy lived on.
She opened her eyes and brought herself back to the present. She still had horses in her life, at least, even if indirectly. Until recently, she’d had the mare she had just begun training way back when her world had fallen apart. Now, she had her mounted unit. Usually she was a spectator and backstage operator for the team—overseeing budget and schedule, hunting for grant money to keep the horses in oats and shoes. For the next two weeks, though, she’d be a participant, riding after so many months without a horse. She might not be as fit as the riders in her unit, or as skilled as her sergeant Rachel Bryce, but she ought to be able to hold her own. Stay on without making a fool of herself. Keep her composure even though the thought of riding here of all places made too many memories and too much shame resurface.
She looked to her right. A few spectators wandered in the paved area behind the barn, but mainly it was claimed by 4-H kids and their horses who had qualified to participate in the state finals at the fair. A few were walking their animals back and forth between the stabling area and the schooling ring. Several others were bathing their mounts at the wash racks, chatting with friends as they soaped and rinsed their horses. Abby had been one of them, qualifying every year she had been eligible because she’d had the best instruction, horses, and show clothes that dirty money could buy.
Later in the week, when she felt ready for the memories, she’d walk through the 4-H barns and visit with the horses. Until then, she’d slip through the draft barn and behind the main stables to get to the four stalls she’d reserved in a private back corner of the last aisle. She spotted Rachel near the wash racks. Her sergeant—never one to back away from the nitty-gritty details of horse care—was resting on one knee with her back to Abby while she scrubbed a navy blue water bucket. As if aware of Abby’s notice, Rachel looked over her shoulder.