by Karis Walsh
Cal walked next to Rachel as they went down a gravel path toward the range. She looked over her shoulder at the horses behind them. “For once, Ranger isn’t the star pupil,” she said. Billie was managing the tall Thoroughbred, but barely. He was as nervous as the rest of the horses.
Rachel took a quick glance behind before she returned her attention to Bandit. “Alex couldn’t have exposed him to gunfire without taking him out of the police yard. The others never noticed how much more training Ranger had, so I think Alex was doing it at night, in secret, although I have no idea why. It’d have been too risky to take Ranger off property in the trailer.”
“Was he so determined to look better than the rest of the team? Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for an ego trip.”
Rachel shrugged, but her attention seemed too focused on Bandit as they neared the range for her to really listen to Cal’s questions. Cal moved back as the quarter horse tried to pivot and run back to the relative safety of the parking lot.
Over the next few hours, while two shifts of officers had training on the range, Cal’s mind was too busy with her students to give much more thought to Alex’s ego. The only reason he occasionally came to her mind was because his leadership methods seemed to be such a telling contrast to Rachel’s. She led by example, without shouting or ordering, and seemed more pleased with her unit’s progress than with her own. Her natural touch with a horse was more obvious in this extreme environment than it had been in the ring, and the team obviously noticed. They listened to everything Cal said and did what she asked, but just as often they mirrored Rachel’s actions.
Rachel had needed Cal’s help with the team from the start. She had had no respect, no authority, no confidence in her ability to train the mounted unit. But she had changed so completely, right in front of Cal’s eyes. Everything about Rachel was different, from her voice to her posture to her easy laugh as she joked with one of the county deputies. She had seemed self-assured before, but there had been a distance, a barrier between her and the world. Now she was slowly becoming part of it again, part of her team and part of the police community. Cal felt very proud of Rachel because she understood the struggle behind her success. She gradually inched back and let Rachel take over the lesson. She’d still help until it was time for her to leave, but the team really didn’t need her anymore. Rachel didn’t need her anymore. It was for the best, since this had only been a fun diversion for Cal, but she felt an aching sense of loss as she and Rachel changed places and she became the one on the outside, looking in.
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel ran through the park with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time. The past week with her mounted team had been a huge success, starting with their marathon session at the gun range and ending with a picnic as they watched Cal’s polo match on Sunday. The horses had been given a well-deserved day off Monday, and they’d be fresh and ready for something new in today’s lesson.
The first training sessions had been difficult—not only because of her own personal issues, but because the horses were so unaccustomed to anything new and surprising. Not anymore. They seemed to expect the unexpected and often reacted to whatever Cal had brought to the lesson with curiosity rather than fear. At the same time, the riders were growing comfortable with the nuances of desensitization, and the time required to introduce any new object was lessening exponentially.
Rachel jogged around the park’s rose garden and startled a raccoon as it scurried along the path. It ran a few steps before turning back, probably hoping for a handout, but Rachel only waved as she ran by. She smiled at the thought of some of the kooky things Cal had devised for the team. Her groom, Craig, had set off a box of fireworks in the farm’s gravel parking lot. Rachel had fought to stay out of cop mode and not ask where he had gotten them. By the end of the evening, she no longer cared since the training had been invaluable for the celebration on the Fourth. And on Friday, they had played a raucous game of fake polo, joined by Cal and the rangy bay she’d ridden in her stick-and-ball match with Rachel. The ball had been a huge, multicolored beach ball that was as tall as Rachel’s hip when she was astride Bandit. They had used their hands, not mallets, and the horses had eventually become used to having the squishy ball bump against their sides and hindquarters. Fancy had enjoyed her moment to shine when she pushed the ball into the goal with her nose, scoring a point. For the wrong team, of course, but Don had seemed proud anyway.
The best part of the game had been the rivalry between Cal and Rachel. She skirted a tree stump and jogged deeper into the forest, still feeling the rush of pleasure from Cal’s aggressive play. After a week of being close to her but not touching, Rachel had been growing tense and irritable. Horny and aroused was more like it, but she hated to admit it. But the shoving match between her and Cal had rapidly accelerated into an all-out war, and the rough physical contact had been a much-needed stress relief. Rachel had done her best to avoid being alone with Cal after the game. She wouldn’t have been able to say no if Cal had offered sex. And she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from initiating it if no offer had been forthcoming.
Luckily, she’d always had at least one of her teammates around whenever she was near Cal, during their training or when they had cheered Cal on in her polo match. Except when Rachel had gone into the polo clubhouse to get a beer out of the fridge between chukkers. And Cal had come in moments later, hair plastered on her forehead and maroon polo shirt damp with sweat. Rachel had put her beer on the counter and fairly pounced on Cal, pushing her against the clubhouse’s wood-paneled wall and kissing her. Cal’s strong arms had pulled her closer, until a loud group of players had come in, nearly catching them writhing against the wall. Now, even in the cold night air, Rachel’s face and neck burned with the memory. Her insides twisted and ached. Really, she’d only needed five more minutes alone with Cal. But the players had claimed Cal’s attention, and Rachel had grabbed her beer off the counter and left the too-crowded room.
Rachel sprinted up the hill from the ferry landing. She had been in the park longer than usual, and the cars were already lining up for the first ferry run from Point Defiance to Tahlequah, on Vashon Island. Rachel stopped, panting, by the fenced police stables, the darkened hulk of the stable barely visible as dawn approached. She wrapped her fingers around the chain-link fence and stared at the shell of the barn. She was too restless to go back to her apartment, having even less tolerance of the small space since the fire, when she had worried she and the horses might be trapped in one of those stalls. Enclosed by flames, slowly burning to death.
Rachel exhaled with a sigh. She walked behind the stables, into the vacant lot, and climbed onto the pile of concrete slabs near where she’d first noticed Clare. She sat with her back to the barn and concentrated on her breathing and the comforting knowledge that the horses were alive and well, enjoying their stay at Cal’s. Airy stalls, room service, afternoons spent napping or grazing in their paddocks. They’d never want to come back, once the new barn was built. If a new barn was built.
Rachel hugged her knees to her chest as the heat she’d generated while running gradually dissipated. She felt a sense of peace descend over her as she sat with the dark bulk of the park on one side and the expanse of water in front of her. Lights from the ferry and its attendant line of cars and a sprinkling of lit-up homes on Brown’s Point across the bay were comforting, pushing away the deepest shadows.
She sat there, shivering on the rough stone, as the sun started to rise. Mount Rainier was a silhouette at first, but it slowly gained dimension as the glaciers and crags became visible. Vashon Island transformed from a black outline to a lush, green island, and gulls dove and circled as the ferry began its slow journey across the bay. Rachel was chilled in her T-shirt and running shorts, but she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave the scene as it transformed in front of her eyes. She watched a fishing boat chug past her and she wished she could move her apartment to this very spot. Get the fu
ll view instead of the glimpse she had from her apartment’s little window. Too bad it wasn’t legal to live in the park.
Rachel inhaled as a chill, having nothing to do with the weather, ran through her body. This wasn’t parkland. Not any longer. It had been rezoned so the city could install the mounted unit on the vacant lot. She scrambled off the concrete slab and stood in the middle of the lot, turning slowly around as she tried to piece the puzzle together in her mind. Rezone the land, build a barn, burn it down. The idea seemed too elaborate, too insane. But the more she looked at the property, the less crazy it sounded. Clear the rubble and build a high-rise. With easy access to the beach, the ferry, the park. A short drive to downtown and the amenities provided by the growing community of condos on Ruston Way. This single lot could support hundreds of condos, selling for over a million apiece.
The lot—except for the police yard—was ugly and cluttered, but it didn’t block the park’s view. A massive building would spoil the pristine sweep of the park and the ferry landing, it would infuriate citizens who wanted to protect parkland. But Rachel didn’t doubt there’d be people who wouldn’t care, as long as they got a cut of the money. They’d be willing to sacrifice the view from the park, cheat the community out of its property, and probably even burn down a barn and a handful of horses if they stood in the way.
Maybe even kill Alex Mayer. Standing here, so close to where he was shot, Rachel could believe it. She spun around and ran up the hill to her apartment. She needed to talk to someone, figure out if this idea of hers could possibly be true.
*
Cal showed Clark how to wrap the mallet’s strap around his right wrist before she stepped out of his way and tossed a ball next to the wooden horse. Rachel was uncharacteristically late for their lesson, and she had been fielding questions about polo since the team had watched her match on Sunday. Instead of explaining the game, she had brought the group over to the practice cage. Clark was first to try, with Billie and Don providing less-than-helpful commentary from outside the wire fencing.
“That’s it,” Cal said. “Lead with your elbow, straighten, and swing.”
The head of Clark’s mallet missed the ball by at least a foot.
“It’s not air polo,” Billie said.
“Hey, wait until you get in here and try,” Clark said, puffing as he swung even harder. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“Maybe he needs the beach ball we used last week,” Don said to Cal. “He can’t find that little one without his glasses on.”
Cal waited until Clark tried one more swing before she stepped over to the wooden horse. “You have to lean farther, so your shoulders are over the ball.”
“Are you kidding? I’ll fall off.”
“No, you won’t.” She took hold of his knee and rotated it toward the saddle. “Remember how we worked on counterbalancing in our first lesson? Brace yourself against the saddle here, and—”
“Guys, I have to talk to you,” Rachel said.
Cal looked over at the door of the practice cage. Rachel was standing there, her hands gripping the frame. Cal frowned at the distracted, agitated expression on her face. She let go of Clark’s leg and closed the distance between her and Rachel in two long strides.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing happened. Just…come on.” Rachel jumped off the small staircase leading to the cage and walked to the clubhouse.
Cal trotted after, followed closely by Don and Billie. She heard the thump as Clark dropped off the wooden horse behind them. Rachel was pacing in front of the fireplace. She gestured for them to sit, and Cal perched on the arm of the sofa while the other three found seats.
“What would you say if I offered you a chance to get in on a sweet deal?” Rachel asked. “I’ve got a piece of land in Tacoma. Great view of the mountain and Puget Sound, close to parks and schools. Big enough lot for high-rise condos.”
Cal glanced at the other officers. They looked as confused as she was. Had Rachel taken on a second job selling real estate?
“Is this some sort of pyramid scheme?” Don asked.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “No. But think about it. Wouldn’t it be worth a fortune? And wouldn’t you want a piece of it?”
Cal shrugged. Rachel seemed very intent about something. Cal wasn’t sure what the game was, but she’d play along. “I’d be interested. Hypothetically. A friend of mine bought one of those waterfront condos and she spent a fortune even though her view wasn’t as good as…Oh. You really think…?”
“I do,” Rachel said. “It’d be crazy if it were small scale, but—”
“You’re talking millions. Even a small kickback would—”
Rachel nodded.
“Would someone mind telling us what the hell is going on?” Billie asked. “Are you two talking in code? And sorry, Rachel, but I don’t have the money to invest in whatever you’re selling.”
“Not me,” Rachel said. She pulled a chair in front of them and straddled the seat, facing the straight back of the chair and curling her arms around it. “I don’t know who, or even if. But I’m talking about the property where the police stables are. What if someone stands to profit from getting rid of the barn and selling the property?”
“That part makes sense,” Cal said. “But why build the stables in the first place? Why not just sell off the property.”
“Zoning. Shit,” Clark said. “I remember Hargrove talking about the fuss over zoning when she was trying to get approval for the unit.”
“Right,” Billie chimed in. “It was park property, but they had to rezone it and sell it to the city. You don’t think this is the reason Hargrove pushed so hard for the team, do you?”
Rachel shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe she really wanted this mounted division, and one of the other supporters wanted it for a different reason.”
“So they wanted us to fail,” Don said quietly. “First they stick us with…Sorry, Sarge.”
Rachel clasped the back of the chair tighter, and Cal could see the tension in her arms. She wanted to go over to her, hold her, but she let Rachel talk without interrupting.
“Go ahead and say it, Don. They stuck you with me. The person least likely to succeed. It’s the only reason that makes sense—I couldn’t figure out why, especially since Hargrove said she didn’t want me here but someone higher up did.”
“Did she say who it was?” Billie asked.
Rachel shook her head. “No. And after the screw-up with Skunk, she said the same thing. You heard her. She wanted me out, but someone was fighting for me.”
“She might have been lying,” Cal said. She hadn’t been very fond of the lieutenant after watching her publicly berate Rachel. “Saying that to cover up her own part in this.”
“We’re not sure this is even what’s going on,” Clark said. “We don’t have any proof. And until we do, how do we know who can be trusted?”
Rachel watched as her team looked at one another warily. She had her doubts as well, but she had to bring the unit together, not let it be pulled apart by suspicion. “Stop, guys. We have to trust each other. But I think Cal and Clark are right. We shouldn’t bring this to Hargrove until first, we know whether this is true, and second, we’re sure Hargrove isn’t involved.”
“What about Alex?” Billie asked, voicing the same question Rachel had been mulling over since the morning. “Do you think he found out and someone shot him?”
Cal gave a snort of humorless laughter. “If anything, he was in on it from the start.”
Rachel could see the three original team members bristle at Cal’s words. Cal apparently did, too.
“You’re all so ready to defend him, but he did everything he could to make the unit fail. What do you think would have happened on the Fourth if Rachel hadn’t taken over? I almost killed you with an umbrella. What better way to get the unit disbanded than by proving you’re a danger to the public?”
“Ranger,” Billie said. “The flares, the tarps, the rain
coats. He was training Ranger to keep himself safe while the rest of us fell to pieces.”
“Billie—” Clark started.
“She’s right,” Don said. “Rachel saw it from the start. The way we’d been trained, the horses we’d been assigned. Corona was a nut job. I like Fancy, but Rachel was right. She’s the hardest horse to ride and I’m the least experienced rider.”
Billie nodded. “Hargrove even told Rachel that she was supposed to follow Alex’s lesson plans and keep doing things the way he had.”
Rachel watched Clark as he tried to process what they were saying. She knew he and Alex had been friends for a long time. He wouldn’t want to believe the worst about Alex, but the evidence was too damning.
“Shit,” Clark said again. “So when Rachel goes against orders and trains us so we might actually be a success, someone tries to burn down the fucking barn with all the horses in it?”
They were silent for a few moments. Rachel rubbed her bruised shoulder. Her nose twitched as the smell of smoke seemed to linger, and the walls threatened to close in and suffocate her. She looked up and saw Cal watching her with an expression of concern, support, understanding. They might not have had much time together, but Rachel was grateful for Cal’s presence. She had gone from being ostracized to feeling like part of a team. A leader of a team. She didn’t believe she could have made it this far without Cal’s help.