by LENA DIAZ,
“What part of freeze and police did you not understand?” He shook the man.
His hood fell back and a mass of glossy brown hair fell out, tumbling down his back. Correction. Her back. Dark green eyes glittered up at him under perfectly shaped brows that formed an angry slash.
Colby hesitated, his hands on her shoulders. Even with her face scrunched in fury, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her long lashes framed catlike eyes and cheekbones a model would have killed for. An adorable smattering of freckles danced across her sun-bronzed cheeks. Pink, plump lips gave her a sexy, sultry appearance that had his mouth going dry.
“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wriggle free.
“Don’t let her hurt me,” the man on the floor gasped, still clutching himself.
Colby cleared his throat and let the woman go, taking a much-needed step away from her to look down at the man lying in a pile of hay. The knife lay beside him. Colby swiped it with his boot, sending it skittering out into the aisle.
“I’m Officer Colby Vale,” he said. “I heard someone scream.” He glanced from the large man to the petite woman.
“Well, it sure wasn’t me,” she snapped.
It took every ounce of control that Colby possessed not to smile at the gorgeous, infuriated hellcat. She looked incredibly insulted at the idea that she might have screamed.
The man in the hay coughed, his face turning bright red. “She had a knife,” he said, as if to explain, his voice coming out in a plaintive whine.
“You were the one with a knife when I got here,” Colby said.
“I’d just taken it away from her!” He pointed at the woman.
She rolled her eyes. “You got lucky. And it’s not like I came at you with the knife or anything. I was using it to cut the cruel bindings you’d put on Gladiator. He could barely breathe.”
“It was for his own safety,” the man argued. “He kept slamming himself against the sides of the stall. I had to tie him to keep him from getting hurt.”
“Wait, Gladiator?” Colby asked. “We’re talking about a horse? Which one?”
Both of them pointed to the next stall, the last one in the aisle.
Colby turned and his mouth literally dropped open when he saw the stallion. Jet-black, it had a thick, glossy mane that rippled over its withers. Its proud, high tail was just as glossy and thick and probably swept the floor. The animal appeared to be a cross between some kind of draft horse and a Thoroughbred.
“What’s the breed?” he asked.
“Friesian.” The woman’s voice was full of pride. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“Incredible.” Colby looked at the man on the ground. “Can you stand?”
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. Colby thought he might have to catch him. But then the man grabbed the top rail and steadied himself.
“What’s your name?” Colby asked.
“Todd Palmer.” He pointed at the woman. “I want you to arrest her.”
“You were the one with the knife,” Colby reminded him.
Palmer started to say something, but Colby held his hand up to stop him. “Hold it.” He looked at the woman. “What’s your name?”
Her mouth tightened, as if she was considering not answering. But then she grudgingly said, “Piper.”
A flash of sunlight stabbed down the aisle as the tent’s front flap lifted. Blake and Dillon both rushed inside. Colby waved them over.
“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s under control.” He eyed Piper, who reminded him of a rabid badger ready to attack. This time he didn’t even try to hold back his smile. “More or less.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
God help him, Colby stirred the hornet’s nest. He winked.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed again and she crossed her arms over her generous chest.
Dillon cleared his throat, giving Colby a curious look before picking up the knife from the ground. “Anybody hurt? We heard a scream. Several, actually.” He looked at Piper. “You okay, ma’am?”
She snorted.
Dillon arched his brows. “What am I missing?”
“She’s not the one who screamed.” He gestured toward Palmer. “He is.”
As one, Dillon and Blake turned toward Palmer. At least six feet two inches tall, he had the build of a lumberjack. His adversary was five feet, at the most. And she looked like a hard wind could blow her down. And yet, she’d been the one who was winning their little fight when Colby had confronted them.
“O...kay.” Dillon glanced back and forth as if trying to figure out how in the world a tiny woman could terrorize the giant of a man.
Colby wanted to know the same thing.
Blake coughed behind his hand, obviously trying not to laugh.
“Let’s start over.” Colby took a step back while Dillon pocketed the knife. “We’re detectives and SWAT officers for the Destiny Police Department.”
“I hate always being right,” the woman grumbled beneath her breath.
Colby didn’t have a clue what she meant. Pointing to his right, he said, “This is my boss, SWAT team leader and Lead Detective Dillon Gray.” He gestured to his other side. “This is Detective Blake Sullivan. I’m Detective Colby Vale. Dillon, Blake, the gentleman there says he’s Todd Palmer. I haven’t checked his ID yet.”
“I’ll take care of that.” Blake held out his hand. “Sir, if you’ll give me your driver’s license, I’ll run a few quick checks, make sure we’re all friends here.”
His smile was friendly, his words disarming, but there was a thread of steel beneath them that brooked no argument. Palmer handed over his license with obvious reluctance. Blake held it so that Dillon and Colby could read it before he pocketed it.
“I’m not some criminal with an outstanding warrant or something,” Palmer complained.
“Excellent. That’ll make my job much easier.” Blake held his hand out toward Piper. “Ma’am? ID?”
She blew out an impatient breath but did as he asked, pulling her driver’s license from the back pocket of her jeans.
Colby read the full name on the card as she handed it to Blake. “Piper Caraway. You and Mr. Palmer are both from Kentucky?”
Blake headed up the aisle with their IDs.
“I don’t know where he’s from,” Piper answered, aiming a glare at Palmer. “But I’m from Lexington, or right outside it anyway, Meadow County. Look, all you need to know is that he stole my horse and I’m here to take it back. If anyone needs to be arrested here, it’s him.”
Palmer drew himself up as if trying to look more imposing. But the effect was ruined by the smattering of straw stuck to the side of his head. From the smell coming off him, Colby had a feeling there was a fair share of horse manure in that straw. He wrinkled his nose and took a quick step back. Dillon wasn’t as subtle. He waved his hand in front of his nose and gave Palmer a disgusted look.
“He stole your horse?” Colby asked Piper. “The one you called Gladiator?”
“He sure did. It took me weeks to figure out where he’d taken him. I chased them halfway across the South.”
“I did not steal that horse.” He reached inside his coat pocket.
Suddenly two pistols were pointing at him, Dillon’s and Colby’s.
Palmers eyes widened and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I just wanted to show you the bill of sale.”
“Hold still.” Dillon holstered his gun and patted Palmer down while Colby aimed his pistol at the ground.
“He’s clear,” Dillon announced. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of the man’s inside jacket pocket as Colby holstered his gun again. “Is this what you wanted to show us?”
“Yes.” Palmer waved toward Piper. “It’s my employer’s bill of sale, Wayne Wilkerson. He owns the place next to the C
araway ranch and had me bring over the bill of sale to pick up Gladiator on his behalf. Aren’t you going to search her, too?”
“Colby will take care of that.” Dillon studied the papers.
“While you’re at it,” Palmer snarled, “you can charge her with vandalism or something. My truck alarm went off in the parking lot and I found it with the hood up. I didn’t see any damage or anything missing, so I tried to start the engine to make sure everything was okay. It wouldn’t start. Took me thirty minutes to figure out that someone had shoved a rubber washer onto the battery post to block the electric current. It doesn’t take a brainiac to figure out who’s responsible.”
“Thank goodness, since that would completely disqualify you,” Piper snapped.
Colby hid his smile by rubbing the light line of stubble that ran up the sides of his face to his hairline.
Palmer’s face reddened and he took a threatening step toward Piper.
The woman had the audacity to take an answering step toward him.
Colby swore and jerked her back to a safe distance while Dillon stepped between them.
“Cool it, or I’ll slap you in cuffs,” Dillon ordered, addressing Palmer. “And it’ll be that much longer before we straighten out this mess.”
Palmer glared at Piper, his earlier fear of the knife apparently forgotten. But he didn’t try to approach her again.
Dillon arched a brow at Colby, an unsubtle reminder to do his job.
Feeling his face flush with heat for letting his professionalism slip yet again around the intriguing woman, he told her, “Ma’am, I need to check you for weapons. Tempers are obviously running high around here and we don’t want any firearms getting in the mix.”
“I’m not armed,” she said but suffered through the frisk without complaint.
Everything about her posture and expression screamed that she was the wronged party, making Colby feel like a jerk for touching her. If Palmer—or his alleged employer, Wilkerson—had stolen her horse, then she was the innocent here. He quickly finished his search and stepped back.
“Looks legit,” Dillon announced. “The papers are notarized and look like the bills of sale I’ve got at home. On the surface, I’d say that he’s telling the truth. Wilkerson owns the stallion, and that last paper clearly states that Palmer is his representative to take care of the horse.”
“Since I would never, ever sell Gladiator, those papers are obviously fake.” Piper reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. “I might not have the pedigree papers with me, but I’ve got proof that he’s been my horse his entire life.”
She unlocked her phone and pressed the screen, then held it so that Colby and Dillon could see it. She swiped her fingers across the face, showing an impressive collection of pictures of a young colt transforming into a mature stallion. The same stallion standing in the next stall.
“Those pictures appear to show that you’ve owned the horse in the past,” Colby said. “But that doesn’t prove that you didn’t sell him and have seller’s remorse.” He took the papers from Dillon and scanned them. “The stallion was sold four weeks ago?”
“Impossible,” she said. “I was out of state when Palmer tricked my ranch manager into believing I’d authorized the sale and that he was taking him somewhere on behalf of Mr. Wilkerson. Old man Wilkerson doesn’t even breed horses anymore, so that was obviously a lie. But he wasn’t home when one of the ranch hands went over there to verify Palmer’s claim. So Billy felt he had no choice but to let Gladiator go. When I found out what had happened, I filed a complaint with the police. But they haven’t been able to reach Mr. Wilkerson to straighten things out. They said until they talk to him, there’s nothing they can do. I had to track down Gladiator myself. Now that I’ve found him, I’m not leaving here without him.”
“Billy?” Colby asked.
“Billy Abbott. My ranch manager.”
“Got it. Where did the alleged sale take place?” Colby handed the papers back to Dillon, who pocketed them.
“At my ranch,” Piper said.
“Horse or cattle?”
“Horse. I run a breeding program.”
“Thoroughbreds? Racehorses?”
“Some, yes. I also raise exotics—rare or unusual breeds in this part of the world, including draft horses. They’re my bread and butter, steady income while we try to produce the next Kentucky Derby champion. But that’s like winning the lottery. The last Derby winner our ranch produced was back when my dad ran the place, when I was just a baby.” She frowned. “I don’t see how any of that matters, though.”
“Just getting some background information. You mentioned this Wilkerson guy like you’re pretty familiar with him. Is he a friend?”
“I wouldn’t call him a friend, no. We wave when we see each other across the fence or on the road. But we don’t typically socialize.”
“He’s your neighbor?”
“Yes. His property abuts mine.”
“But he can’t be located. He’s missing?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s one thing that I can’t blame on Palmer. Wilkerson hasn’t been kidnapped.”
Palmer crossed his arms, glaring at her.
She ignored him. “I spoke to the service that mows his grass and looks after his property when he’s gone. They said he’s on vacation and won’t be back for weeks. But they didn’t have an address or even a phone number. According to the police, Wilkerson has checked in a few times, so they’re not worried about foul play. But he hasn’t checked in since Gladiator was stolen, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”
She waved a hand toward Palmer. “I’ve never even met this guy before and he shows up when both Wilkerson and I are gone and waves his fake papers around. If that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is. He probably saw Gladiator out in the field, decided he wanted to steal him and randomly chose Wilkerson as a front for his schemes. I bet he’s never even met Mr. Wilkerson.”
“Wilkerson, my employer, paid good money for him. Just because you changed your mind doesn’t mean I have to give you back the horse.”
The tent flap opened again and Blake strode down the aisle. “Sorry for interrupting. Thank you, Mr. Palmer, Miss Caraway. Your records came back clean.” He smiled and handed them back their IDs. “There’s a crowd gathering outside, wanting in the tent to prep the horses for the parade,” he told Dillon. “I’ll hold them back, but the natives are definitely getting restless.”
“Understood. Thanks, Blake.”
Blake hurried out of the tent and Dillon walked toward the next stall. “How much did Wilkerson allegedly pay for the stallion?” When he reached the stall door and got his first unblocked view of the horse, he let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Friesian?”
“Yes,” Palmer and Piper both said.
“He’s thicker and taller than other Friesians I’ve seen.”
After giving Palmer a warning glance, Piper responded alone this time, “That’s part of why he’s so special. Most Friesians are closer to fifteen or sixteen hands tall. Gladiator is seventeen hands and built like a Clydesdale.”
“Gorgeous.” Dillon’s voice sounded wistful, as if he wished he owned the stallion.
“He’s a perfect specimen,” she said, “heavily sought after as a breeder. Which is why I’d never agree to sell. His stud fees pay a large chunk of the expenses on the ranch.”
The pride in her voice and the joy on her face as she talked about the horse were enough to convince Colby that all was not as it seemed. The real question was whether Palmer or his boss, Wilkerson, was the bad guy. Then again, maybe both of them were in cahoots.
“You never answered Dillon’s question, Mr. Palmer. How much did your employer supposedly pay for Gladiator?”
“Thirty thousand.”
Colby stared at him, stunned.
Piper snor
ted again. “That’s not even half of what he’s worth. And the money hasn’t been wired to my bank account. I haven’t received a single dime. That alone proves he’s lying.”
Palmer shrugged. “That’s between you and Wilkerson. Maybe there was a mix-up in the wire transfer. The account numbers could have been transposed or something. All I know is that he told me it was taken care of and gave me the papers that you signed. I’m sure he’ll straighten out the financing hiccups.”
“I didn’t sign anything.” Her hands flexed at her sides as if she wanted to strangle him. “You’re a horse thief, plain and simple. You should be shot.”
“I think you mean hung,” Colby said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the time-honored punishment for horse thieves.”
She appeared to consider his outrageous statement, then nodded sagely. “Works for me. If Destiny doesn’t already have a hanging scaffold, I’ll be happy to help them build one. I’ll even volunteer to pull the trip lever.”
Colby grinned, then sobered when he caught Dillon frowning at him.
“Mr. Palmer,” Colby said. “Let’s assume for a moment that there really is a mix-up at the bank and it will be straightened out. Thirty thousand dollars is a heck of a lot of money to pay for a horse. It’s hard to believe that Wilkerson would send such a valuable animal off to a county fair. Why would he do that?”
Palmer’s gaze slid away from Colby. “Wilkerson wants to drum up interest in the horse community so he can command a higher stud fee. He told me to tour the stallion at equestrian events for a few months.”
“Lexington is about three hours away. Why bring the stallion that far? Even if everyone in Blount County attends the fair, that’s only a few thousand people. A lot of them have horses for pleasure, but I doubt anyone around here is in the market for an expensive exotic like Gladiator. So why bring a prize Friesian to Destiny?”
“Good question,” Piper chimed in before Palmer could respond. “Gladiator’s too big and heavy to win a race. But he’s gorgeous enough to win just about any horse show. What’s the purse for something like that? Four? Five hundred bucks? Palmer makes the circuit through Tennessee while Wilkerson is out of state, none the wiser. He pockets thousands of dollars that his employer knows nothing about. Assuming Wilkerson really is his employer. Sounds like a lucrative scam to me.”