Mounting Danger

by Karis Walsh

  “There is no us. There was a team. I was the sergeant, and you were helping with training. But it’s over now, and so is everything that happened between us.”

  Cal pulled her hands away and stepped back. Rachel had been lonely in her life, but the feeling was nothing compared to the emptiness at the loss of Cal’s touch. But this wasn’t about her anymore. Or the team. Now it was about Cal.

  “Do me two favors,” Rachel said. She waited until Cal gave her a seemingly reluctant nod. “Until you move back East, I want you to stay in the main house with your family. Not alone in the bungalow. And make sure someone is always with you when you’re training in the fields.”

  Headlights traced across them as two Pierce County cars drove over to the barn. Rachel turned away from Cal, from the hurt expression on her face, and went to meet them.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Rachel parked her truck in front of her apartment building, yawning widely as she reached behind the seat for her overnight bag. She had spent most of the night talking to the county deputies. Yes, there had been a prior attack on the horses. No, she didn’t know who was behind it. Yes, she thought the shooter had been looking for her and had mistakenly aimed at Cal instead.

  She honestly believed it was a mistake, but it had been by far the best card the shooter could have played. Any bullet aimed at Rachel, unless it had been a clear hit and killed her, would only have made her furious. Made her even more determined to continue with her mission. But a bullet aimed at Cal scared the shit out of her. She was done—off the mounted unit, out of the department, out of town as soon as she could get her things packed.

  The flashing images of Cal being shot, of Rachel not getting to her in time, were as relentless as a cold dream. They were occasionally swapped for scenes of a determined furry dog, the thud of impact, a white coat stained with blood. Rachel had managed—somehow—to keep both horrors from occurring, but it was her own damned fault they’d even been possibilities. Maybe if she ran fast enough, far enough, she could eventually make her imagination stop.

  Rachel climbed the steps to her apartment, constantly scanning the streets and parking lot for any sign of her attackers. She kept her gun in her hand, but shielded by her coat, until she was inside. Then, after she made sure the apartment was clear, she bolted the door and sank onto her recliner. Finally inside, safe, locked away in her own private world. She never should have left in the first place.

  After the deputies had left and Cal had been forcibly led back to the main house by her frantic parents, Rachel had spent the rest of the night curled on the cot in the spare stall, her gun cradled in her lap as she used Cal’s laptop to search for local pastures for rent. She had found one that sounded decent and isolated, and she had called about it even before it seemed polite to do so. She had already hitched the police trailer to her truck once the first light of dawn made it bright enough to see, and she and Jack managed to get the horses loaded and on the road before Cal got back to the barn. A quick stop at an ATM for cash, and she had her horses safely stashed on a huge field two hours away from Cal’s farm. The long rural roads made it easy for her to be certain she wasn’t being followed. The fake name and cash payment reassured her no one would be able to trace the horses before she was able to return them to their owners. Bandit would, of course, go back to Cheney with her.

  Rachel raised the footrest of her recliner and leaned her head back. She’d close her eyes for a few minutes. Cal and the horses were safe, so the letter to Hargrove could wait a few minutes. She was slowly drifting to sleep when a loud knock startled her. She kicked the footrest down while scrambling for her gun. So far, her attackers hadn’t seemed the kind to knock, but she was cautious anyway. She kept her back pressed against the wall and looked through the peephole.

  Her team. And her lieutenant. Yay.

  Rachel tucked the gun in the waistband of her sweats and answered the door.

  “Lieutenant Hargrove, come on in. You saved me a trip to the station. I quit.”

  “No, you don’t,” Abby said as she pushed past Rachel and walked into the apartment as if it were her personal office.

  “What a shithole,” Clark said as he followed Billie and Don into the room.

  “Hey, I have a view and I’m close to the park,” Rachel said, closing the door behind them. They wandered into her living room and sat down. Why the hell was she defending her home to these intruders? “What are you doing here?”

  “Cal called. Said you absconded with our horses,” Don said. He plopped into her recliner and leaned back. “Comfy chair. But I want my Fancy back.”

  Rachel stayed by the door, hoping everyone would be leaving soon and she could lock it behind them. “The horses are safe. I have them on a pasture until we can return them to their owners. Someone nearly killed Cal last night. Did she happen to mention that?”

  “Yes,” Hargrove said. “And she said you saved her life.”

  “No. I put her life and every member of this unit’s life in danger. I should have listened to you when you said to sit back and not try to play sergeant for this team. Or when you told me to stop investigating Alex’s murder. Or when those thugs tried to run me over in the park.”

  “Yes,” Abby said, glaring at the other officers. “I heard about your little jog through the park and over the cliff. Did you honestly think I was chasing you?”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” Rachel said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But none of it matters anymore. I quit. And I strongly recommend you disband the mounted unit.”

  “And I refuse to accept your resignation.” Abby leaned forward on the couch, her elbows on her knees. “Listen to me, Bryce, because I’m only saying this once. I was wrong. If you had obeyed me and followed Alex’s lesson plans, the team wouldn’t have been the success it was yesterday in the park. And if you hadn’t looked into Alex’s murder, Randy Brown would be paying for a crime we’re quite certain he didn’t commit.”

  “And if you hadn’t figured out how valuable the police property could be, we wouldn’t have found out who’s behind all this,” Clark added, sounding impatient. “Tell her, Don.”

  Don made a show of fishing a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolding it. Rachel was intrigued enough to leave her post by the door and walk closer.

  “So, I was looking into one of the condos, like you said to do,” Don said. He smoothed the paper against his knee. “Seems one of the prime-view properties was owned by a man who planned to build a hotel. The vacant lot was fenced and covered with no-trespassing signs, but it had an old pier on it, held up by some rotting pylons. Anyway, one night, an idiot named Jenkins climbs over the fence onto this man’s property, walks out on the pier, and a pylon gives way. He crashes into the water, busts up his leg pretty good, and sues the property owner for millions. I looked into the case. Fishy, but Jenkins won and the guy had to sell the property to pay him. A company called J and L buys it and puts up one of the cornerstone condos in the new waterfront community.”

  “Yeah, so?” Rachel asked. “Attractive nuisance laws are a pain in the ass.”

  “This one stood out for me. Kept trying to place the name Jenkins.” Don closed the footrest and leaned forward, his voice getting quieter as he got further into the story, as if he was worried someone might overhear. “A few years back, I did an off-duty gig at Eugene Varano’s mansion. He had a big celebration after he was elected city manager. His in-laws were on the guest list, including his wife’s cousin, Drew Jenkins.”

  Rachel plopped down on the edge of her coffee table. Varano. Wealthy enough to hire people who’d kill for him. And, rumor had it, corrupt enough to take a kickback or two. “So this cousin was the guy who fell on the pier?” she asked.

  “No. The trespasser was Mike Jenkins. I haven’t untangled the roots of Varano’s family tree yet, but I’m sure he’s a distant relative. But guess who’s the J in J and L.”

  “And guess who was not only instrumental in helping me get approval
for the mounted unit but also suggested the vacant lot as the stable yard,” Hargrove added.

  “Fuck,” Rachel said, fitting all the pieces together in her mind. “Varano helps you get the unit started, but he pays Alex to make sure it fails. Then the city sells the property and J and L surprisingly wins the bid to build the new high-rise. Varano keeps it in the family and gets his cut from Jenkins. But why kill Alex? He seemed to be doing his job.”

  “We don’t know,” Hargrove said. “But you could ask him.”

  “Me? No way.” Rachel laughed at the ridiculous suggestion. “If this has been Varano’s handiwork, I want to stay as far away from him as possible. Besides, I quit.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been spreading that rumor around the department all morning,” Billie said. “You bailed on us, and we’re pissed.”

  She didn’t look pissed. She looked excited and secretive, and so did Don and Clark. Rachel didn’t have a good feeling about whatever plan the group had concocted.

  “Varano must have been behind your posting to the unit, Rachel,” Hargrove said. The use of Rachel’s first name, combined with the atypically friendly tone in Hargrove’s voice, only increased Rachel’s unease. If she were in a doctor’s office, she’d be expecting some very bad news. Some bad, untreatable, low-chance-of-survival type news.

  “He’d have known about your reputation in the department, and I was very clear about my, well, distaste for you,” Abby continued. “And he had you posted where you could do the most damage to the unit. He must have been as shocked as I was when you actually started showing signs of progress.”

  Rachel snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now get out. I quit.”

  “He’s getting nervous, and getting sloppy,” Hargrove said. “The hit on Alex was well planned and would have succeeded if you hadn’t overstepped your position and chased after Skunk.”

  Even Hargrove’s compliments sounded like insults. Rachel got off the coffee table and stood by her front door, her fingers tapping on the doorknob.

  “The detectives found him, by the way, but they’re keeping it quiet until we can go after Varano. You were right, Rachel. Someone paid him to set up Randy, but he doesn’t know who.”

  “Varano wouldn’t have done it himself, anyway,” Clark said. “He’d have someone else do his dirty work.”

  “Right,” Abby said. “But chasing you down in the park, the shooting at Cal’s. Those are reactions, not strikes. He’s on the defensive, and we have a chance to get to him.”

  The mention of Cal made Rachel feel physically sick. If Varano was really behind the bullet that almost hit Cal, Rachel wanted to make him pay.

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked. The four people in her living room exchanged smiles, looking confident they’d lured her in.

  “It’s simple, Rachel,” Billie said. “We want you to live up to your bad reputation.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Cal got a bag of dog treats from the cupboard and gave a few to each of her dogs. They had been frantically circling her legs ever since she packed their dog bowls and food into a box to take to her parents’ house. They seemed to take it as a sign that they were never going to be fed again, and she hoped a handful of treats would appease them. At least they let her walk without tripping as she finished gathering what she’d need for a few nights away.

  Cal didn’t want to leave her home. She liked her privacy, and she wasn’t afraid of a repeat of last night’s shooting. But she had told Rachel she would go, and somehow fulfilling this small promise made her feel closer to Rachel. It was all she had left.

  She had spent the day training, riding each of her horses in succession until her mallet arm was weak and her thighs ached, trying to drive Rachel out of her head. Trying to convince herself what she thought was love was only a reaction to the stress of the moment. Someone had shot at her, had nearly run her dog down, had invaded her home. Of course she’d be upset and shocked, grasping at the first person she happened to see. Mistaking gratitude for something much deeper.

  But as Cal had galloped up and down the field, she had eventually realized she hadn’t fabricated her love after the shooting. It had been there, growing inside her, since Rachel had first walked onto this farm. Proud, but willing to ask for help. Lonely but loyal as she patiently trained her team’s horses even though the officers ignored her. So determined to find value and meaning in life, no matter how much personal adversity she faced. Cal loved her, in her faded jeans and worn chaps, or her tight and sexy uniform, or her black street clothes. Or naked. Well, especially naked. Maybe the bullet had made Cal acknowledge her love, but the bullet hadn’t created it. It had been there all along, growing sure and strong.

  “I thought you promised to move into the main house,” Rachel said.

  Cal nearly dropped the box she had been carrying. She set it on a table and casually wiped at the tears that had been welling in her eyes at the thought of never seeing Rachel again. Now, here she was, leaning against the jamb of her open door, wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt under her leather jacket. Cal liked this outfit, too, although Rachel could have shown up in a feed sack for all she cared.

  “I’m packing,” she said. She turned her back on Rachel and fussed with the box, rearranging the clothes so she had something to do with her hands. Rachel didn’t want her, she had been very clear about her lack of feelings, and Cal wasn’t about to embarrass herself again.

  “Good,” Rachel said. “Because I worry about you.”

  Cal stiffened. Rachel’s voice came from so close behind her she imagined she could feel Rachel’s breath against her hair.

  “Funny, you didn’t seem to care this morning,” Cal said. She wanted to sound casual and unaffected. The sniff she gave at the end of the sentence didn’t help.

  “You mean I didn’t care when I saw you in the barn aisle and realized I only had seconds to save you? Or when I threw you against the wall and hoped I’d feel the bullet ripping through me because then I’d know for sure you hadn’t been hit? Or when I had to walk away because knowing I had put you in danger made me hate myself so much I couldn’t stay?”

  Cal turned around when she heard the catch in Rachel’s voice. She was close, close enough for Cal to lift her hands and cup Rachel’s cheeks in them, to use her thumbs to gently wipe away Rachel’s tears.

  “I love you, Rachel,” she said. She started to kiss her but pulled back when she sensed Rachel’s hesitation. Rachel didn’t feel the same way.

  Rachel grabbed Cal’s hands before she could move them. “I love you, too. Everything about you. I want to be with you all the time, to spend my nights and days with you. No matter what happens in my life—good or bad—you’re the first person I want to call, and I want to be the one you turn to as well. But you’re moving out of the state, and I’m…”

  Cal’s heart jumped at Rachel’s words. “I know. You’re going back to Cheney. But I’m not leaving, so we won’t be too far apart. A few hours. We can make it work.”

  “You’re not…? But I thought…”

  Cal took Rachel’s hand and led her out the front door, over to the porch swing. “When I came to the barn last night, I wanted to talk to you about this. I’m not moving to Virginia. I’m not accepting the place on the team. I’m going to stay here.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes and no,” Cal said. She leaned back, still holding Rachel’s hand, and moved the swing with her foot. “I made the decision before I realized I love you. But if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have been able to figure out what I really want.”

  Cal watched her dogs race across the lawn. “I was going to join an established team. They’re already champions, they’ve been playing at the top of the game for years. I’d be expected to fit into their program, do things their way. But I want what you have with your unit. A chance to build something from scratch, write your own rules, really build a team.” Cal shrugged, feeling awkward about her next admission. “I thought I
wanted to take the easy way out and get to the top by riding on the coattails of a group of people who’ve been there already. But I want to go through the process of getting there, and I want to train the people I’m bringing with me. Hell, if I’m willing to move across the country to join them, I’m sure I’ll find plenty of top players who’d want a chance to come ride on my team.”

  Rachel had been listening in silence, but when Cal paused she squeezed her hand. “You were a strong leader on your USC team. You’re a great player, but you encouraged everyone on your team to be great, too. I’ve watched you training my riders, and I’ve seen the effort you make to find creative ways to teach. Don’t ever sell yourself short and think you need someone else to make you a star.”

  Cal rested her head on Rachel’s shoulder, smiling when she felt the brush of Rachel’s lips over her hair. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have figured out how much I love teaching. I thought it’d be more convenient to have somebody else do the work, but I want to do it myself. There are a few riders with a lot of potential in our club here, and I know I can help them grow. I’ve always been so caught up in my own riding, I never focused on anyone else’s.”

  Rachel wrapped her arm around Cal, rubbing her shoulder and nuzzling in her hair. She wanted this to be the happy ending she’d always dreamed of. Cal was staying here, following her dream in a way Rachel believed she’d find satisfying and rewarding. Cal loved her, and she loved Cal. The end.

  But not yet. “Cal, we think we’ve figured out who’s behind all this. Alex, the fire, the shootings. Eugene Varano.”

  Rachel felt Cal grow still in her arms. “The city manager?”

  “Yes. But we can’t prove anything…yet.”

  Cal pushed away and sat up abruptly, making the swing jerk underneath them. “What do you mean, yet? What are you going to do?”