“Yeah.” William exhaled. “I know what you mean.” He glanced over at Sam. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” Logan abruptly dropped into the chair beside her and she nearly jumped away. His leg pressed against hers, and they touched at shoulder and hip as though joined together. “And as far as I can tell, Sam has only one real enemy in town, right?”
“Horace Mann,” Jimmy said quietly, then nodded, though he still looked skeptical. “True, but I don’t know if I see it. He’s mean enough and crazy enough to kill, I’d say, but why bother? What benefit does he get from killing either of you? We’ve never come close to nailing him on the dogfighting, and even if we do, what then? He gets a fine, maybe a few months in jail….” He shook his head. “It doesn’t really play for me.”
“You got another suspect?” Logan challenged, body tensing, though he didn’t stand to pace again.
“The caller seemed to know an awful lot about Bellamy. He knew exactly what to say to get Sam over there….” Jimmy trailed off, eyes sharpening as he thought. “What about Dr. Sears?”
Sam jolted. “The farm manager said they were thinking about firing him. No, wait.” She paused, trying to mentally align the players. “It wasn’t the farm manager on the phone, was it? It was someone else.”
“It was the shooter, or someone involved with the setup,” Logan agreed. “But that’s a good point. The rumor isn’t common knowledge, is it? If we can confirm that Bellamy is thinking about firing his regular vet, then we know two things. One, the caller knows the farm, and two, Sears has a motive. He’s trying to protect his territory.”
William looked unconvinced. “Is that really a motive, do you think? Surely he could find another job.”
“Not like this one,” Sam argued. “Bellamy is the biggest thing in the area—heck, in the country. You’ve seen the sign…they have the highest winning percentage of any other racing stable on the planet. Until earlier this spring, they stood a very successful, very expensive stallion at stud. He died a few months ago, so they’ll lose that income, but his last foal crop is dropping now. Those babies are worth millions. The vet that cares for them…” She gestured helplessly. “Suffice it to say, Sears makes a mid-six-figure salary and has a luxuri ous house on the estate. He’s not likely to give that up without a fight.”
But would he kill for it? The very idea was chilling. This was a vet they were talking about. Someone like her.
“I’m still not convinced,” William said, “but it sounds like it’s worth checking out.” He glanced back to Logan. “Plan?”
Logan sighed. Sam felt the swell of his ribs against hers, the press of his warm flesh and tried to suppress the flash of heat, the slide of security, which she knew was only an illusion. “I think Jimmy should check out Bellamy. He’s official, so should be able to get on the property. We need to know whether Sears’s job is in jeopardy.” He stood, paced to the window and said with his back to the group, “I’m going to pay Mann a visit.”
“And the rest of us?” William asked quietly.
Logan glanced down at the man he’d wanted to call friend and now could. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re about to drop. You and your bad shoulder are staying here. I need you to protect the women.”
Sam stood and fisted her hands at her sides. “I’m going with you to Horace’s place.” She lifted a hand to forestall his quick protest. “I know the property better than you, and I not only know where he keeps the dogs, I can drug them if necessary. You need me.”
The last came out huskier than she’d intended, almost wanting, and she cleared her throat against the sudden tightness as Logan spun to face her.
But instead of the automatic denial she’d expected, she saw reluctant acceptance. He scowled. “I don’t like it.”
She chanced a step forward. “But you know I’m right.” She glanced at William. “He’ll keep Jen safe. Him and Maverick. As for me, I’ll trust you to keep me safe.” And she’d do her damnedest to protect him in turn. “Okay?”
He glared, but didn’t object. Their eyes held for a heartbeat before he turned away. “Fine. We leave in half an hour. Be ready.”
Sam nearly shivered at the ring of deadly portent in his words, and at the spontaneous growl that echoed from beneath Jen’s chair.
Even Maverick thought this plan could use some work. But what choice did they have? Either they went after the killers, or the killers would come after them.
After her.
LOGAN EASED UP on the gas after they turned off the main road toward Mann’s place and tried to ignore the strain in his soul. He hated bringing Sam with him, but they hadn’t been able to hammer out a better idea.
No matter how they’d looked at it, Sam was right. He needed her.
But damn, he didn’t like it one bit. There were too many things that could go wrong, too many ways she could be hurt.
Or worse.
She touched his arm. “I’ll be careful.”
He glanced over and saw the nerves in her eyes, offset by the dark clothing she’d chosen, hoping to blend in to the dim, gray light. The weather had turned stormy and night had fallen sooner than he’d expected, which was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it might camouflage their search. A curse because they might not see approaching danger.
Bad idea! his mind warned. This was a bad idea no matter how he looked at it, but what was the alternative? They couldn’t very well fortify the clinic and wait for the next strike.
No, it was better to attack, to search the premises for evidence, for a connection.
Any sort of a connection.
“Down there.” She indicated a narrow, overgrown path.
“It’s a fire access road that’ll put us almost directly behind Mann’s place. Kill the headlights, though, just in case. If there’s a fight tonight, he’ll have lookouts posted.”
The idea of a dogfight hadn’t even occurred to Logan, and he cursed himself for the lapse. There would be too much commotion, too many bodies around, most of them probably drunk or armed, or both.
He should bail on this now. But he didn’t. He killed the headlights and turned onto the dirt path she’d indicated. The truck bumped and shuddered, leaves and branches slapped the windows and roof, and the gloaming light gave the whole scene an eerie, surreal feel.
“Here,” she said softly, as though she, too, was affected by the creepy scene. Then again, why shouldn’t she be? This sort of thing wasn’t in her job description the way it was in his.
He stopped the truck and killed the engine. He briefly debated whether the quick getaway of a running vehicle was worth the possibility that someone might stumble on the truck and drive off, then pocketed the keys. Feeling as though he was stalling, he turned to Sam. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You could wait here for me.”
Instead of the tough-girl snarl he half expected, she gave him a brave smile. “I’ve got the control stick to manage the dogs with, remember, and the tranquilizers just in case.”
He saw nerves behind her smile and was obscurely relieved. If she was afraid, she’d be careful. She’d listen to him. They’d be okay.
So he nodded, held a finger to his lips to caution silence from here on in, and slipped from the truck as she did the same on the other side. They walked through the woods single file, ears straining for a noise, eyes for a hint of movement, but everything was quiet.
At the edge of the tree line, he paused. Her gentle touch on his arm directed his attention to the barn, where two dozen cars and trucks were parked in haphazard order.
Oh, hell.
She leaned up on tiptoes to get her mouth close to his ear and breathed, “They’re fighting all right. Bastards.”
A cheer rose from the barn, which was a hulking black shadow against the dusk. The bloodlust in the sound was barely diluted by distance. As they watched, a late-model BMW pulled in and parked. A man’s silhouette emerged and headed for the
barn.
Logan had always imagined dogfighting to be a sport for ill-educated, violent men. But the class of vehicles below suggested that evil appealed to all kinds.
“They’re occupied right now,” she whispered in his ear, the warmth and breath sending shivers through him, heat fighting the darkness down below. “We can get into the house and look around without anyone being the wiser. Horace lives alone and he’s sure to be in the barn. Or—” her voice sharpened with excitement “—we could call Jimmy. With a fight in progress, we’ll have all the evidence we need for an official warrant.”
“Call Jimmy,” he said on a wash of relief. “Let’s not be stupid.”
Without warning, the muzzle of a weapon pressed into the skin below his ear.
“Good idea,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Don’t be stupid. Put your hands up and don’t make any sudden movements. Feel free to yell for help, though. Nobody’s going to hear you.”
Shock blasted through Logan and he tensed to spin and fight, but a quick glance over at Sam showed a shadowy figure behind her, a gun at her temple.
Logan froze. How had he missed seeing the sentries? How had they snuck up on him? He cursed even as his mind raced and he sought a means of escape, an opportunity to turn and fight.
His captor, big and rough, shoved him down the hill. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you taking us?” Sam’s voice seemed unnaturally loud.
The man behind them chuckled grimly. “To the match, of course. You’ve been jonesing to come to one of our fights for quite some time, haven’t you, Dr. Blackwell?” The weapon nudged Logan forward. “Well, consider this a personal invitation.”
Logan growled and turned his head toward Sam. Their eyes locked and his anger surged when he read her fear.
But through the fear, she said, “You’re going to let us watch a dogfight?”
Her voice was still too loud, making Logan wonder whether she’d seen someone in the trees, someone who might come to their aid. Then even that thought was washed away by his captor’s next words.
“Not watch, darling.” They stumbled down the hill, toward the dark-windowed barn. “You’re going straight into the pit. There’s nothing like a little fresh meat to liven things up.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sam’s captor breathed hotly against her shoulder and pressed moist lips to her neck. She gagged and struggled to free herself, but he had her control stick banded across her throat, pressing hard enough to subdue and panic, not hard enough to choke.
She glanced over at Logan and saw from his locked jaw and cold eyes that he was planning something—a foolish, violent counterattack that could get them both killed. Or both liberated.
Do it fast! she urged inwardly as they were force-marched toward Mann’s barn. She dragged her feet and stumbled to slow them down, but the gun at her back and the cruel grip on her hair left little room for escape.
“Open up!” Logan’s captor called. “We’ve caught ourselves some trespassers!”
A heavy curtain was drawn aside, revealing how Mann had kept the barn doors cloaked in darkness when the inside was lit bright as day. A cheer spilled out with the slice of yellow light, carrying the sounds of bets made and lost.
And over it all, the vicious, bloodthirsty barks and growls of dogs that had been bred to fight, then goaded beyond their civilized urges with hunger, drugs and taunts.
In an instant, the energy around them shifted from fear to action.
“Sam, run!” Logan shoved her aside, nearly breaking her captor’s grip, and grabbed for the man behind him.
Heart pounding, she yanked free and bolted for the woods. She yelled into her fist, “Jimmy, I’m at Mann’s. Get here as quick as you can!”
Something grabbed her ankle and she went down on her face with a scream.
The cell phone she’d hidden in her palm flung free.
“The sheriff’s not here, babe. He’s not going to save you, and neither is your boyfriend.” Rough hands dragged her up off the ground and spun her back to the barn. “He can’t even save himself.”
She heard Logan bellow a foul curse, saw him swing a trained kick at the ring of men now surrounding him. Sam recognized a few as locals or residents of the nearby towns. Others were strangers. She took a step toward them and felt something tug at her ankle. She looked down and saw a long, thin pole with a retractable cable loop at the end.
She’d been caught with her own control stick.
“Ironic, don’t you think?” the voice at her ear asked in a puff of hot breath and a heavy heartbeat.
Her captor freed her from the stick and used it to prod her back toward the barn. Logan caught sight of them and the anguish on his face was almost painful to see.
Suddenly, Sam understood. He’d stayed behind to slow the others down. He’d meant to sacrifice himself for her.
The men moved in the moment his concentration broke. They kicked him, punched him, drove him to the ground and followed him down.
“Stop! You’re killing him!” Sam cried, knowing it was no use, since murder was their intention. Her stomach knotted with fear, with pain, with a fierce need to stop the beating and the powerlessness of being unable to do so.
Then a figure stepped forward so he was silhouetted against the yellow light spilling from between the curtains. There was little human noise over the snarls and barks from within, as though each man—and a few women—had leaned forward to hear their leader’s decision.
“Stop.” The single word froze Logan’s attackers, who quickly backed off as Horace Mann swaggered into the center of their circle and glanced down at the nearly unconscious man on the ground. “Bring him inside.”
“What about the woman?” Sam’s captor called, shifting his grip from her hair to her shoulder in an almost-caress.
Mann’s eyes flicked to her and a small, cruel smile curved his lips. “Bring her, too. She can even have her little stick back…in a minute.”
“You got it.” Hot Breath shoved Sam forward, into the barn. They passed through the light-blocking curtain and into another world, one of madness and blood.
The barn was the size of a four-car garage, and just as open. Bodies jammed the space, men and women, all slightly glassy-eyed with bloodlust. A series of cages lined one wall, each containing a dog.
But these were no tame house pets—not anymore, if they’d ever been. Crossbreds, they had the blunt, square heads of their pit-bull ancestors, but their shaggy, mottled coats spoke of other kin, as though Mann and his cronies had taken a pinch of every potentially vicious breed and mixed them into a stew of violence. Then they’d trained them to kill, shot them full of hormones and caged them to await the next fight. The next round of betting.
“Like what you see?” Hot Breath whispered in her ear. “You’re going to get up close and personal in a moment.”
He pushed her toward the center of the room. She was aware of men dragging Logan behind her, aware of his rasping breath and the pain radiating from him. The panic.
Or maybe the panic was hers.
The crowd shifted to reveal the pit. Twenty feet square, it was lined with waist-high plywood set in a metal frame. Blood darkened the cheap wood to mahogany. More plywood lined the bottom of the pit, to protect the floorboards from picking up evidence. Scattered sand played the same role.
No wonder she’d never been able to find anything in the barn before. Mann had a system.
Hot Breath released her suddenly and she spun, thinking to flee, to fight, to do anything to delay what might come next. She froze when Mann blocked her path. Looming. Armed.
“Dr. Blackwell.” His mouth tipped up at one corner, though his eyes showed none of the smile. “I want to thank you for making my job so much easier than it’s been for the past few days. You’ve proven harder to kill than I’d expected. At least until tonight.” He gestured to his men. “Throw them both in, then bring me Diablo and Hades.”
Hard, grasping hands pushed Sam to the pit, sho
ved her up and over the waist-high plywood wall. She heard a masculine curse, then Logan fell beside her. Instantly, his eyes opened, his body tensed and she realized he’d been playing more hurt than he actually was.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked in a low growl.
Relief poured through her, leaving her weak and trembling for half a second before she pushed the feeling aside, knowing now was not the time. She could panic later, once they were out of there. She bowed her head close to his, as though checking his split lip and the redness beside his eye that would probably bruise if it had enough time. “What’s the plan?”
“You still got those tranquilizers?” His eyes connected with hers and he lifted a hand to her cheek. To the crowd gathered around the pit, she imagined it looked like he was weakly grasping for help. But within the pit, she felt his gentle touch, saw the fire in his eyes and felt a measure of safety wash through her.
“You want me to tranq the dog?”
“No, I’ll take care of the dog. You hit Mann.”
She swallowed hard. “You got it.”
Outside the pit, harsh male voices shouted, “Back off! Get back!”
Strong-backed men wearing heavy, elbow-length leather gloves pushed two of the cages toward the pit. They heaved a section of plywood up out of the metal frame and shoved the cages close, so the moment the fronts were slid upward, the dogs could charge into the pit.
Knowing it, the creatures pressed against the bars, snarling and snapping, slavering with the need to get into the pit. To attack. To kill. They seemed equally intent on each other and the humans.
To their drug-maddened brains, death was death. Blood was blood.
“Help me up.” At his request, Sam pulled Logan to his feet and noticed he hadn’t escaped the beating as unscathed as she’d thought. Blood stained his left leg and he favored his left side as though guarding cracked ribs.
The crowd shifted and boiled, the noise level increasing with each of Sam’s rapid heartbeats. At first, she thought maybe Mann’s devotees had come to their senses, that they were drawing the line at seeing humans fight the dogs in some sort of twisted, gladiatorial combat.
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