by Karis Walsh
Cal grabbed Rachel’s arm as she stormed past on her way out of the stall. She had been thinking out loud, reacting to the subject of families, not to Rachel’s story. “Hey, I didn’t say you were wrong. I just—”
“Just made an excuse for him, like all his friends. The well-bred have to stick together, don’t they? I didn’t even know what a real family was until I was fifteen, but I don’t use that as an excuse. I make my own way wherever I go. I didn’t have the advantage of climbing my family tree to get where I am.”
Cal let go of Rachel’s arm and stepped back. That one felt personal.
Chapter Seven
Rachel left Bandit’s stall and saw her three teammates staring at her. Her voice had been raised enough for them to have heard every word, and they weren’t even trying to look like they hadn’t. Fucking great. And no chance of a graceful exit since she’d have to push past them, rummage in her desk drawer for her apartment keys, and let herself out the locked yard gate. Instead, she turned the opposite direction and walked around to the back of the barn. She slid to the ground and leaned back against the wood siding. She was going to get dirt on the seat of her brand-new uniform pants by sitting on the ground like this, but she didn’t give a shit. She took a small bit of comfort from the knowledge that Bandit was on the other side of the wall from her.
The view before her helped ease her anger. She could see the marina and yacht club below her. Mount Rainier was still hidden by clouds, but she knew exactly where it was to her right. A line of cars drove off the ferry and up the hill toward her. She took a deep breath, imagining healing and salty ocean air from Puget Sound filling her lungs.
Cal came around the corner and sank down beside her. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Rachel could hear the officers’ cars starting up, and the clang of the gate as the last one left.
“I guess I ruined what scraps were left of my reputation,” she said. She picked up a stray piece of hay and shredded it with her fingers.
Cal shrugged. She was sitting so close, Rachel could feel the movement. She wanted to lean toward Cal, get even closer, but she held her body rigid.
“You made a pretty spectacular scene,” Cal said. “But maybe it was good for them to hear you speaking so passionately about what happened. I’m guessing you’re usually very stoic about everything.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s all I have left,” Rachel said quietly. She attributed her sudden spate of honesty to the acute embarrassment of being overheard. “Acting like I don’t care if no one likes me or if they think I was wrong.”
“Maybe they need to protect themselves. If he’s as popular as you say, maybe they’re trying to keep from being shunned, as well. It’s cowardly, but understandable. And I’m sure plenty of people in the department believe he should have been arrested for what he did. They’re probably relieved they didn’t have to be the ones to do it,” Cal said. She shrugged again, but this time the action felt more like a rub, an intimate touch, than a simple gesture. “And I really wasn’t trying to defend him, or to criticize you. For what it’s worth, I think you were very brave to stand up for your beliefs and not give in to pressure from him or anyone else.”
Cal sounded almost sad when she said the last sentence, like she had when she was talking about families before Rachel’s outburst. Rachel had no idea what Cal could possibly be sad about. She had everything money could buy, plus a living dynasty to pave her way in the polo world. When Rachel had been tossed from foster home to foster home, with short sojourns in juvie along the way, she had fantasized about her real family coming to find her. Not the actual parents she had known in her first few years of life, but the imagined ones she knew must be out there somewhere. They’d have been like Cal’s family. Offering her acres of space, horses to ride, foals to train, grooms to hand her tacked and polished mounts. Clean and wonderful things to replace the pain and grime and rage she lived with every day. Nelson and Leah had saved her life by giving her all of that—minus the grooms, of course—but Rachel had waited fifteen years to find them. Had gone through hell before she found peace. She was about to ask what Cal could possibly find wrong with her family when she spotted a flash of movement at the edge of the lot.
Rachel pushed to her feet and walked along the back wall of the barn. The back of the lot, outside the police fencing, was still used by the park as a temporary dumping ground. She saw someone sitting next to a pile of broken cement barriers, most likely removed for some renovation project. As Rachel got closer she could see it was a woman, somewhere in her twenties. Crying.
Rachel hooked her fingers through the chain link fence. “Hey. Are you okay? What are you doing back here?”
Cal had followed along, curious about the woman as well, but her attention shifted back to Rachel at the sound of her voice. A cop’s voice. Authoritative and no-nonsense, but with a note of compassion behind it. Even her bearing was different—she seemed taller, somehow. This must be what Rachel was like on the job, and Cal was intrigued. And very turned on. She wondered if this Rachel would carry over to the bedroom as well. Cal had assumed she’d be the top in their relationship, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe Rachel would want to fight her for the position.
“Very sexy,” she murmured.
Rachel frowned, but didn’t turn away from the woman who was now approaching them. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Cal said. The woman clutched a bundle of clothing close to her chest, and Cal noticed Rachel had her right hand resting on her gun.
“Stop there,” Rachel said. “Put that down and let me see your hands.”
“It’s just his coat,” the woman said in a high-pitched whine, but she did what Rachel asked, putting the jacket on the ground and raising her hands as if she were being held at gunpoint.
“It’s all right,” Rachel said. “You can put your hands down. But keep them where I can see them. What’s your name?”
“Clare Ames.”
“Okay, Clare. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing back here?”
“I had to see where it happened. Where he was killed.”
Rachel felt her whole body stiffen. Prepared. For what, she wasn’t sure. She wished the other officers hadn’t left. “You’re talking about Alex Mayer?”
“The cop? Yeah.” Clare wiped her hand over her cheek and nose.
“Whose coat is that?” Rachel asked, fishing in her breast pocket. She pulled out a small notebook and pen. “And how do you spell your name?”
“C-l-a-r-e. And it’s my boyfriend’s coat.”
“And his name is…?” Rachel prompted. Why didn’t people ever tell cops the whole story at once? It always had to be dragged out of them sentence by sentence. She glanced at Cal when Clare hesitated. The last thing she needed was a civilian involved in this. “Why don’t you wait for me by the arena.”
“No, thanks,” Cal said.
Rachel sighed. She needed to find out what information Clare might have about Alex’s murder, so she couldn’t take the time to drag Cal away from the area. Maybe she could use her Taser? Tempting, but too much paperwork. “What’s your boyfriend’s name, Clare?”
“Randy. Randy Brown.”
Clare’s voice was barely audible, but Rachel heard the words. This wasn’t a name she needed to write down to remember. Clare’s boyfriend was Alex’s killer. Alleged killer, but looking guilty as sin.
“He didn’t do it,” Clare said, as if reading Rachel’s mind. “No one will listen to me, but I swear he didn’t do it.”
Of course, he didn’t. Rachel had heard the refrain before. From every person she’d ever arrested. Still, something about Clare’s shrill voice, the desperation in her eyes, spoke to Rachel.
“I’ll listen,” she said. “Tell me what happened that night.”
Clare sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself. “Randy, he was in bed and he got a call from…his cousin. His car had broke down and he needed Randy to come pick him up—”
Rachel flip
ped her notebook shut. “See ya,” she said as she started to walk away, grabbing Cal’s sleeve and dragging her along.
“Wait, wait,” Clare called.
Rachel paused. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”
“Yes. Please, just listen to me. He didn’t do it.”
“So tell me what he did do.”
“He got a text. Some guy wanted to do a deal, here in the park. I told Randy, don’t you go out in the middle of the night, but he went anyway.”
“What time was this?” Rachel asked.
“’Round three. I remember because I had to get up and feed the baby about an hour before.”
Rachel opened her notebook and jotted down the time to give herself a moment to think. Alex had been shot at one thirty in the morning. Someone was lying, and right now Rachel would bet all her savings on it being Clare.
“When did he get home again?”
“Four or so. Then the cops come breaking down our door an hour later. They say he killed some officer. But he didn’t…”
“He didn’t do it,” Rachel finished for Clare when a sob kept her from finishing the sentence. “So how do you explain the murder weapon found in his car? Or his footprints all around the crime scene?”
“I told you, he did a deal here. But he didn’t see a dead guy or nothing. He wouldn’t have stuck around if he had.”
“And the gun?” Rachel could feel Cal’s focused gaze flipping back and forth between her and Clare, as if she were watching a tennis match.
“It was stolen only a few days before. I don’t know how it got back in his car.”
“How convenient,” Rachel said. “Anything else? Any proof that he’s innocent?”
Clare shook her head, her crying quieter now. Rachel wrote her number on a page in her notebook and tore it out. She handed it to Clare through the fence.
“Call me if you have more information. Now you need to go. You shouldn’t be hanging around back here.”
“Can I take his coat?” Clare asked, pointing at the jacket she had dropped on the ground.
“Of course,” Rachel said.
Clare picked it up and held it tight against her, like a security blanket. She started to walk around the pile of rubble.
“Wait,” Rachel called. “Where’s the cell? You said Randy got a text.”
“It’s not at home,” Clare said. “He must’ve had it on him when he got arrested. Or it was in his car.”
“Look for it, will you? And give me a call if you find it.”
Rachel made sure Clare left the lot before she turned back to Cal. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Do you think she’s lying?” Cal asked.
“Chances are.”
“But the stolen gun. Wouldn’t he have filed a police report?”
Rachel laughed. She walked back toward the barn. “Yeah, right. Hi, I’m a convicted felon and I’d like to report the theft of my illegal handgun. For insurance purposes, I’m sure.”
“But you listened to her. Like you might believe what she was saying.”
Rachel moved along the barn aisle, double-checking the latches on the stall doors like she did before leaving every afternoon. “I’m not big on conspiracies. Usually the guy holding the smoking gun is the one who pulled the trigger. And why would someone bother to frame a small-time criminal?”
“So why did you listen?”
Rachel shrugged. “I was being polite. Why are you so interested?”
Cal laughed. “It’s fun. Like watching a crime show, but in person.”
“Listen, Cal, this isn’t a joke. Alex came here to check the horses, and he stumbled on a drug deal. Randy Brown panicked and shot him. End of story. Now would you please give the horses some hay while I lock the office?”
Cal rolled her eyes and went into the feed room, muttering something about spoilsports. Rachel ignored her, going into the office for her keys before shutting out the lights and locking the door. The only discrepancy in Clare’s story was the time. But Randy could have killed Alex at one thirty, and then gone back to the park at three. Or—much more likely—Clare knew when Alex had been shot, and she was trying to give Randy an alibi. Either way, the cell records would prove her right or wrong.
Rachel shut and locked the gate to the stable yard after Cal drove away. She walked a few yards up the hill and then turned around and came back to recheck the lock. She had learned this lesson the hard way soon after she had arrived at Nelson and Leah’s ranch. She had carelessly left a gate open behind her, letting a herd of cows roam onto a hay field. She had spent hours trudging over sunbaked dirt and hay stubble trying to herd the reluctant cows back to their pasture. The job could have been finished in minutes if she’d been allowed to be on horseback, but the lesson would have been forgotten just as quickly. Instead, it was burned into her brain as she stomped through the shadeless field. When you go through a gate, make damned sure it’s shut behind you.
But, more important, she had learned to pay careful attention to the rules. When she followed them, life was good. When she didn’t, she had to rage—swearing and fuming—through her private hell full of slippery cowpies and ornery cattle until she emerged, sunburned and exhausted, on the other side.
Once she was sure she had secured the stable yard, Rachel hiked the quarter mile to her apartment and let herself into the tiny place with a sigh of relief. She eased out of her tall boots, the leather still new and stiff even though she had spent a couple of days oiling them. They needed hours of break-in time before they’d be comfortable. She sat on the edge of her tub and poured rubbing alcohol over the blisters on her ankles and toes. She was turning into one big blister, rubbed raw over the past few days. All she wanted to do was crash in her recliner with a cold beer and a hot microwave meal. Turn on the television and forget about the rest of the world.
So why did she turn on her work computer? And why did she search through the twenty or so reports from Alex’s case? Feeling sorry for Clare had nothing to do with it. Nor did recognizing Randy as a petty criminal, a throwaway kind of guy most people wouldn’t find worth fighting for. All that mattered were the facts of the case. Facts like cell records that were easily checked. Unfortunately, Rachel couldn’t find the cell phone listed as property on any of the reports. But she did find the name of the guy who supposedly sent the text. The man Randy Brown met in the park the night Alex was murdered.
Chapter Eight
Rachel made the long drive out to Cal’s farm after her jog the next morning. She wanted to borrow some poles and jump standards because she planned to school the police horses over them and then have the officers attempt it. They might have to jump over a small fence or some other obstacle while on-duty, and they needed to practice in the soft arena before they tried it on the pavement somewhere.
Of course, she could have asked Cal to bring them when she came for their afternoon lesson, but Rachel really wanted to start jumping later this morning. And she enjoyed the drive outside the city limits. Her mind was freer out here, better able to think and process the troubling questions racing through it. The missing cell phone, the confusing timeline. And her ethically questionable plan for finding out the truth. She wanted open spaces around her while she made her decision. And she wanted to talk to Cal about her plan because Cal seemed to be the only person who had any faith in her besides Nelson and Leah. And Rachel knew exactly what they’d have to say about her idea.
The view of Mount Rainier was clear today. The snowy mountain and the bare Cascade foothills were starkly outlined against the blue sky. No city haze out here, blurring the horizon. Rachel tapped her fingers on her truck’s steering wheel. She had to admit, she wanted to tell Cal about her scheme because Cal would be thrilled with it. She’d see it as a lark, a living reenactment of the game Clue or some unrealistic cop show. Nothing was serious to Cal, and this one time Rachel wanted some of that devil-may-care attitude to rub off on her. She lived by the rules, but look where they’d gotten her. Maybe it was time
to do a little bending of her own. And Cal was the one person she could count on to wholeheartedly encourage her.
Rachel parked in the now-familiar lot and walked into the barn. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness after being in the sun, she saw that the stables were as beautifully turned out as Cal’s horses had been. The rich wood stall doors looked freshly stained, and each had a bronze nameplate on it, announcing the name of its probably impeccably bred occupant. Dark leather halters with miniature versions of the stall nameplates hung next to each stall, above folded maroon and blue blankets. Everything matched, including the large tack trunks lining the aisle.
Rachel walked slowly past the stalls, admiring the horses and petting the ones that came to greet her. It was lovely, but she still preferred the ranch in Cheney. With its mismatched nylon halters and straw-covered dirt floors and horses whose coats were scruffy and furry in the winter, sun-bleached in the summer.
She nearly ran into Jack when he walked out of the tack room. “Hello, Rachel,” he said formally. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I stopped by to speak with Cal. Is she around?”
“She’s schooling one of her young horses on the practice field. Where you rode last week.”
“Thanks. I’ll find her.”
Rachel enjoyed the walk to the practice field more than she had the other day. Then she had been nervous, determined, desperate to earn Cal’s help. Now she had it, and as much as Cal frustrated her—and as much as she was jealous of Cal’s popularity with her unit—Rachel was relieved to have found an ally, of sorts. She stopped at the last paddock when one of the foals came over to the fence. Rachel could see Cal through the trees, cantering on a small gray gelding. Rachel leaned her arm over the fence and scratched the filly’s soft neck while she watched Cal ride.
For all of Rachel’s criticisms of Cal as flighty and unserious, she had to admit she saw nothing but focus and intensity today. Cal rode her horse through a series of figures designed to supple and soften him, setting the groundwork that would make her play seem effortless when she was riding in a real game. Rachel had seen firsthand how easily Cal moved over the polo field, and she knew the hours and hours of training required to make a difficult sport seem so simple. And Cal had to train at least six horses to the highest level in order to have enough polo ponies for a full season of high-goal tournaments. Rachel was exhausted teaching the basics to her four charges, so she couldn’t imagine how Cal felt by the end of the day. Of course, she probably had a Jacuzzi for soaking her sore muscles.