Deadly Countdown

by Margaret Daley

  Was she the reason he’d never married? No, he couldn’t blame it on her. He’d thrown his whole life into his job, and now he had little to show for it.

  She broke away from his stare and pointed outside. “You have a nice view from here. What time did you leave the office last night?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Did you go right to bed?”

  Transfixed by the hint of red coloring her cheeks, he didn’t answer right away. When one of her eyebrows rose, he finally said, “Not long after that.”

  “So the thief must’ve come after that, or I’m sure you would have noticed something. From your description of Thunder, it probably took at least twenty or thirty minutes to drug Frisky and get the horse into a trailer.”

  “I agree. Longer if the culprit didn’t do something to subdue Thunder.”

  “Where is your bedroom in relationship to the barn?”

  He frowned. “The other side of the house in the back, so I wouldn’t have heard a vehicle go by. I sleep pretty soundly.” One of the perks of coming back to the ranch. He had fifteen years of restless nights to make up for.

  “I wish…” She shook her head and swung around. “Do you have any surveillance cameras on the property?”

  “Only one at the front gate, but I looked this morning, and it’s been damaged. It had been working, so the thief disabled the camera before driving the horse trailer onto the ranch.”

  “Was it visible or hidden?”

  “Hidden.” He twisted his mouth into a scowl. “Which means the thief cased this property before taking Thunder. He knew about the camera and Frisky. And he’d have known about Thunder’s irritable disposition, not that it was a secret, and brought something to help him get the stallion into a trailer without much noise.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s that picture of your stallion?”

  He crossed to the desk, opened a drawer at the bottom, and pulled out a photo. “He’s black as midnight with one patch of white running down his nose.” Staring at the magnificent animal, Ian admired his sleek lines, the proud lift of his head, as he looked right at the camera. “Smart as a whip. It’s his way or no way. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the thief will return Thunder because he’s too much trouble.”

  “If only life were that convenient.” Sarah took the picture. “I’ll get this out. This may or may not be connected to the cattle rustling, so I’ll have the sheriff follow up on the theft. I probably won’t return unless I discover that connection. You should keep an eye on your cattle, though.”

  “I’ve already brought them in closer to the barn. I’ll have Tony checking on all the animals throughout the night. But that is only temporary, because I need him working days. If the cattle rustlers aren’t caught soon, I’ll have to hire someone for the night shift. I only have a little over a hundred head, but I don’t want to lose them.”

  She started for the hallway. “You don’t have to show me out. I know my way.”

  Ian followed her to the front door and onto the porch anyway. He glanced at the swing, just big enough for two. They’d spent many evenings sitting on that, talking, laughing…kissing. As she descended the steps, he almost asked her to stay a while and catch up. But he swallowed the words. She’d made it very clear from her tense body to her standoffish behavior that she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. And he couldn’t blame her, not after what he’d done. What he wouldn’t give to have those years back.

  At one in the morning Ian fell into bed, exhausted. He’d spent the day contacting horse owners who’d had appointments to use Thunder’s stud services for their mares. He’d spoken with a lot of disappointed folks today, but nobody could be as brokenhearted as he when it came to Thunder. Fortunately, he was too tired to think about it any longer, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

  Sarah, fresh and beautiful at only eighteen flittered through his dream. He held her hand and marveled at how perfectly it fit in his own. He thought of all they would do together, of the future they would have, the home, the children. Then the sound of an explosion, and he dropped her hand. She seemed to drift away from him, but no. It was he who drifted, leaving her standing in place.

  Her smiling face disappeared, replaced by a young couple, the woman crying and the man helpless to do anything but pray.

  Ian approached the house with his team to assess how best to proceed. Gunshots split the silence. One. Two. Then a long pause before a third discharge. Each sound shuddered down him. He gave the signal to rush the place, praying that the man and woman were still alive. He burst through the front door as other agents came in from the back. The sight of the couple on the couch next to each other, their feet and hands bound, their eyes staring at him. But what riveted his attention were the bullet holes in their chests, and the blood staining their clothes.

  He panned the room. Where was the killer? As his team fanned out and searched the house, he tested a closed door. Locked. He motioned for the battering ram they’d brought. He pounded it against the wooden structure over and over until it crashed open…

  A pounding sound continued echoing through Ian’s head, followed by his phone ringing.

  Ian. Pick up, filtered through his sleep-drenched mind.

  Fumbling for his phone on the bedside table, he opened his eyes, darkness surrounding him. “Ian here.”

  “It’s Tony. I’m at the back door. Let me in. There’s a problem with the cattle in the west pasture.”

  “I’ll be out in a second. Wake up Charlie.” Ian hung up and rolled out of bed.

  Three minutes later, he strode toward the cabin Tony and Charlie shared behind the barn. As he arrived, Charlie stumbled out of his place, buttoning his shirt. Tony was right behind him.

  “What happened?”

  The two men faced him, the light from the doorway behind them illuminating the area. Charlie looked as confused as Ian was, but Tony’s expression told him enough.

  Ian needed answers. “Are we missing cattle too?”

  “I wish. This is worse. I found five cattle dead by the pond.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know. When I was making my rounds, I saw them down, checked the nearest one, and couldn’t see any cause.”

  “Let’s go.” He didn’t know what to expect. “Charlie, bring your shotgun. I’m getting my weapon.”

  Ian hurried to his house, noticing the eastern sky reflect the grayness of pre-dawn. He grabbed his loaded Magnum 45 and rushed back to his hired hands.

  “We’ll go on foot.” Since the field was close, Ian didn’t want to saddle a horse. By the time he did, they could be there. But he did quicken his step, scanning the terrain as he went. Tony had a powerful flashlight that lit their path.

  As Ian climbed over the pasture fence, he saw the still bodies just a few feet from the water. He headed for the nearest one and used the flashlight to check the animal closely. No visible signs of how it had died.

  Then he looked around, shining the light on the ground near the cattle, and then toward the edge of the pond. He grew rigid as he stared at the water. “I know what killed them.”

  Deadly Holiday, Book 3

  Tory Caldwell witnesses a hit-and-run, but when the dead victim disappears from the scene, police doubt a crime has been committed. Tory is threatened when she keeps insisting she saw a man killed and the only one who believes her is her neighbor, Jordan Steele. Together, can they solve the mystery of the disappearing body and stay alive?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tory Caldwell released a long breath. Ah, a weekend to do nothing but relax and rest. The best gift I could have right now after the past four months. If only that were possible…

  After dropping her ten-year-old son Morgan off to spend the weekend with his best friend, Tory headed down the mountain toward Crystal Creek, a little town nestled at the bottom of a mountain in the Colorado Rockies. Although mid-December, the next few days were supposed to be above freezing with no chance of snow, so Morgan had pleade
d with her to let him stay with Josh, who lived at nine thousand feet.

  As she navigated the curvy two-lane road, she mentally ticked off her long list of chores and Christmas shopping to be completed before she returned to school on Monday.

  Four-thirty Friday afternoon, and it was already starting to get dark. She didn’t like to drive this highway at night. Glancing out her rearview mirror, she glimpsed a black sports car speeding around the curve and coming right toward her, at least fifteen miles over the speed limit. When it was practically on her bumper, she noticed the driver’s irritated face. All of sudden, the young, blond headed man, no more than twenty, gunned his vehicle and passed her at the start of the most twisty part of the highway.

  Tory gasped, gripping the steering wheel.

  The reckless driver zipped in front of her, nearly clipping her bumper. She’d barely registered the car’s license plate—HOTSHOT—when it disappeared around the bottom of the S-curve. She breathed easier, knowing at least she didn’t have to worry about him riding her tail.

  When she hit a straight stretch of the road, she spied the black sports car a hundred yards or so ahead. It was veering toward the drop-off on the right side of the highway. The driver swerved, over-compensated and bounded into the other lane—right toward an older gentleman walking on the shoulder next to the mountain.

  The car hit the pedestrian. The man flew into the air.

  “No!” Tory screamed.

  The older man struck the pavement, his body bouncing.

  Stunned, Tory slammed on her brakes and skidded several feet while the driver of the sports car slowed for a few seconds, then revved his engine and sped away.

  Tory guided her Jeep to the shoulder, parked, then climbed out, shaking so badly that she held her door until she was steady enough to move. A chilly wind cut through her as she crossed to the man lying face up in a pool of blood. He stared up at her with lifeless eyes.

  She knelt, and with a trembling hand, she felt for a pulse at the side of his neck. Nothing. She tried again. Still no pulse. Then she hovered her fingertips over his slightly open mouth. No breath. She wished she knew CPR, but from the looks of him she didn’t think it would have mattered.

  She straightened and scanned the area. Deserted. Except for the black sports car, she hadn’t seen any other vehicles since she’d started back to Crystal Creek. Not a lot of people lived on the top of this side of the mountain.

  As she took one final sweep of her surroundings, she spied a wallet and set of keys not far from the older gentleman. She picked up the brown billfold and flipped it open to see if there was any identification. A photo of a man who looked like the one on the pavement declared the victim was Charles Nelson, seventy-two years old. The address indicated he lived nearby. He had probably been on his way home. Since this was a crime scene, she returned the wallet to where she found it. She shouldn’t have touched it in the first place, but at least she could tell the 911 operator who the victim was.

  Shivering, she dug into her coat pocket and removed her phone, praying she had driven far enough toward the main highway to get cell reception. No bars. Dead as the man at her feet.

  She could return to Josh’s house, but she knew a gas station/grocery store was closer down the mountain. If there wasn’t cell reception, the place would have a landline phone she could use. Not wanting to involve her son in this, she chose to continue toward the highway.

  Ten minutes later, she sat in the store’s parking lot and punched in 911 on her cell phone. After she reported the hit-and-run, she took a few minutes to compose herself. Her hands were still shaking. She’d never seen a wreck like that. Then she went inside to use the restroom, grab something hot to drink, and then head back up the mountain to wait for the police. When she arrived at the spot of the hit-and-run thirty minutes later, all she found was the blood on the pavement. The body was gone.

  * * *

  Tory used the police officer’s large body to block the biting edge of the wind sweeping down the road, the lights on his patrol car the only illumination in the dark that settled on the mountain. “Sergeant Bennett, I know what I saw. A man named Charles Nelson lay dead right there.” She pointed to the bloody spot.

  The police officer took his flashlight and shone it on the spot. “Then where is this dead man? Did he get up and walk away?”

  “If he’s dead, obviously not.” On the side closest to the drop off, she stared down into the valley, dark except for a few scattered lights. Could she have been wrong about Mr. Nelson being dead? Could he have gotten up, been disoriented and fallen down the mountain? “I told you his address. If he did walk away,” she tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but it leaked in, “I figure you need to check his house. Or,” she gestured to the drop off, “check down this ravine. Mr. Nelson was hit by a black sports car with a vanity license plate that read HOTSHOT. A young man with light blond hair drove away. Didn’t even stop.”

  “There isn’t a crime without a body. Did you start celebrating the weekend a little early?”

  “If you’re referring to drinking, I don’t drink alcohol, so no. I’m not the criminal here. I’d find the person driving the sports car.”

  “And charge him with what? There is no body. That blood could be from an animal.”

  “Test it. It’s not.” Anger welled to the surface. She’d never been doubted like this before. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to move to Crystal Creek last August. The town was beautiful and quaint, but the people weren’t too inviting to newcomers.

  Sergeant Bennett frowned, a skeptical expression in his eyes. “Officer Ward is on his way. We’ll check it out, but there are some things that will have to wait until daylight. I have your information, if I find a body and need to contact you later. You’re free to go.”

  “Just like that. I witnessed a hit-and-run.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the station?”

  “No, but I know what I saw. Please check out the sports car driver. He may have been drinking. He weaved all over the road and sped dangerously fast.”

  “Lady, I know how to do my job.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting her doubts, she started for her car. That whole conversation didn’t feel right. What was up with Sergeant Bennett? She glanced back and added, “I’d like to be informed of your progress. Please.”

  “Sure. I don’t have anything better to do than stop by every evening and give you an update to a hit-and-run that doesn’t have a body.” His sarcasm dripped off every word.

  It would do no good to give a snappy comeback. Let it go, Tory. She continued to her Jeep as another patrol car appeared. Maybe Officer Ward would do a better job.

  * * *

  Tory took her anger out on the house as she nailed in the clips to hold her Christmas lights around her door and porch, the extent of her outdoor decorations. Even Jordan Steele, her neighbor, had outlined his whole house yesterday in white lights and laid some in his front bushes. She’d never figured he’d participate in the challenge to have all the houses in the subdivision decked out for the holidays, but last night his quite tasteful display of simplicity dared her to put something up, even if it was only two or three strings of red lights.

  Two years ago, even though her husband had been fighting cancer, he’d been outside putting up the Christmas decorations because Morgan loved the wonderland he created in their front yard. She’d never forget finding him on the ground. He’d collapsed. She’d rushed him to the hospital. He’d died a month later.

  Her pounding echoed through the air, but she gave the last plastic clip an extra hit. She imagined the bald headed Sergeant Bennett’s face with his dark bushy eyebrows as she hit the nail. “Why don’t…” pound, pound “…you believe me?”

  “I don’t think your house is going to answer back.” The deep masculine voice startled her.

  She jerked around and almost lost her balance on the stepladder. Flapping her arms, she regained her steadiness, but no
t before Jordan Steele moved forward and put his hands around her waist. There’d always been a polite casualness between them when they’d talked out in the yard, but he’d never gotten that close. His touch was even more startling than his voice had been a moment earlier.

  “Who doesn’t believe you?”

  Cheeks flaming, Tory descended the short ladder and sat on its top step. “The police, or rather, Sergeant Bennett. He told me today when I called that I must have imagined the hit-and-run I witnessed yesterday.”

  “Where?”

  “The north face of the mountain. I was returning from taking Morgan to stay the weekend with his friend.” She pointed to the rocky structure dominating Crystal Creek’s landscape. “A young man ran Charles Nelson down on the road. The driver killed Mr. Nelson but kept going, barely slowing down. I saw the whole thing.”

  Surprise flittered across Jordan’s expression. “And this sergeant didn’t believe that was what happened? How did he explain the dead body?”

  Twisting her mouth in an exasperating look, Tory averted her gaze. “There was a small problem. I had to go farther down the mountain to get cell reception to call 911. When I returned to the scene of the hit-and-run, Mr. Nelson’s body was gone, along with his keys and his wallet, which had flown out of his coat pocket.” The police might not believe her, but the Lord knew she was telling the truth, and somehow she would convince the rest of the world too.

  “There wasn’t a trace of the man? Maybe he wasn’t dead and somehow got up.”

  Tory shook her head. “Impossible. I’ve had first aid training. I know how to check for a pulse. Besides, there was blood on the pavement, which was still there when I came back half an hour later.”

  “What did the police officer say about the blood?”