Deadly Noel

by Margaret Daley

Sarah started for the gate into the paddock. “I’m going to take a look around.”

  “I already have. There are boot prints. There was only one set I couldn’t rule out—size twelve or thirteen.”

  “One person? Are you sure?”

  Finally Ian pushed his hat’s brim up his forehead so she could clearly see his expression. “I might have left the FBI, but I’ve been a law enforcement officer at least two years longer than you. Also, I’m usually the only one who handles Thunder. It took me several months to come to a truce with the stallion.”

  “Temperamental?”

  He nodded, removing his cowboy hat and raking his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Until he accepted me, my dad was the only one who dealt with him. That’s why I’m surprised someone snuck into his pasture, grabbed him, and got away without Thunder making a lot of ruckus.”

  “If they poisoned Frisky, maybe they did something to Thunder to make him more docile.”

  “I suppose the person could have tranquilized him.” Ian pointed to the boot prints near the railing by the gate. “As you can see, a truck pulling a trailer was backed up to this area.”

  “No ransom demand yet?”

  “I wish. Then I would know Thunder might be returned. I haven’t heard anything. If he isn’t found, it will set the ranch back financially.”

  “Does anyone hold a grudge against you?” Besides me. But even she didn’t, not really when she thought about why they’d parted years ago. She couldn’t fulfill his dream of being in the FBI and making a difference, especially in keeping this country safe from terrorists. His best friend had died in a terrorist attack, an attack that haunted Ian. He was supposed to be at the courthouse in Dallas that day. But he’d been delayed.

  After that, Ian was driven to stop terrorists from attacking innocent people. And in the process, he’d probably earned himself an enemy or two.

  “I’ve put my fair share behind bars, but most of them are still in prison.”

  Sarah used her cell to snap some pictures of anything that might be evidence, but she had to agree with Ian. There wasn’t much to go on. After she made a cast of the shoe print Ian had indicated didn’t belong, her gaze connected with his. He had a way of looking at a person and making her feel possessed by him, as though he could read her mind.

  She blinked and looked at his hat, his T-shirt, the ground, until she got her bearings back. Only then did she peer at his face again. “So no other horses or cattle are missing, just Thunder?”

  One corner of his mouth hiked up. “That’s what I said. If I remember anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  “Please do. If it’s the cattle-rustling group, stealing Thunder may mean they’re branching out. He isn’t an ordinary horse, but a prize stallion.” She dug into the pocket of her tan pants and pulled out a business card, then wrote her cell number on the back of it. “It’s easier to get ahold of me through my cell phone. I’m not in the office much. I have several counties to cover, so I’m on the road a lot. If they contact you about a ransom demand, please let me know. Do you have a photo of Thunder?”

  “Come up to the house. I have one in my office. Thunder has a microchip injected in him to help identify him, so even if they change his outer appearance, we’ll know when we’ve got him. But the scanner used to ID the horse has to be close to pick up the signal. No GPS tracking yet.” Ian shut the gate and walked toward his house. “I’ve contacted the Equine Protection Registry, and he was put on their Hot List, which goes out to various agencies. The microchip can’t be removed without surgery.”

  “Too bad about the GPS.”

  “Yeah, I know. One day that will be available, but that doesn’t help me now. I had a tag with a GPS tracking system on Thunder, but I found it by the gate, smashed. If they try to take Thunder out of the country through legal channels, I might get him back. But I think he’ll stay in the U.S. The rodeo circuit is strong, and a good horse is valuable.”

  “Some ranchers have microchips in their cattle. Our modern day branding. But there is a black market for cattle. A person can make good money with the price of beef so high.” Sarah studied the tire tracks leading away from the gate. “How many people do you have working for you?”

  “Two hands that have been with the ranch for years—Charlie and Tony. They aren’t involved.”

  “Charlie was here when you and I…” For some reason the word dated wouldn’t get past the lump lodged in her throat.

  A few seconds passed before Ian said, “Yeah. Tony was hired five years ago. There were other cowhands, but they haven’t been here since Dad cut back on the number of cattle last year.” Ian opened the back door and waited for her to go inside first.

  Stepping into the kitchen, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time. She and Ian would come in after riding and grab something cold to drink. Her gaze strayed to the same oak table in the alcove where she would sit with Ian right next to her and dream of the future. The memory sent her pulse rate up a notch.

  Ian gestured toward the office down the hall, the same one his dad used for years. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

  As she made her way toward the office, she could feel Ian’s stare on her, but there was no way she would look back to see if she was correct. She hadn’t been enough for him all those years ago. She’d been finishing her senior year in high school when he’d left the small junior college nearby. She’d been planning on going to school with him, but he’d been driven to seek his own path—without her.

  Inside the office she strolled around, taking in what was new and what was old. A photo of him on his horse graced the wall behind the large desk. There was a time he’d thought that horse would be his partner on the rodeo circuit. That had been important to him once, but he’d discarded that dream, too. She paused at the window and glanced out, noting Thunder’s paddock and the barn, just like he’d said.

  Why had Ian come home now, after all this time? He promised his dad he would run the ranch, but the Ian she had known wouldn’t have given up on his dreams for anyone. He sure hadn’t given them up for her. Why did he leave the FBI for his father after his death? And why now?

  Purchase DEADLY INTENT

  DEADLY HOLIDAY Excerpt

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations

  Book Three

  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 pleaded 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 sid
e 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.

  Purchase DEADLY HOLIDAY

  DEADLY COUNTDOWN Excerpt

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations

  Book Four

  Allie Martin stepped inside the post office in Port David, Louisiana to mail some packages for Aunt Evelina. Two other men stood at the counter behind Mattie Cottard, a good friend of Allie’s aunt. As Allie approached the short line, she studied the back of the second man. He wore jean shorts and a black T-shirt. No mistaking that dark brown hair, cut in a neat, short style. Remy Broussard.

  His grandfather, Tom, who lived near Allie and her aunt, had said he was coming home for a few weeks in July, but she hadn’t known he’d arrived. It must have been last night because he would have called her right away. He’d been her best friend—her confidant—growing up.

  Mattie left the counter, and the line moved up.

  Allie tapped Remy’s shoulder.

  He glanced back, and his silver-gray gaze connected with hers.

  Crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled and turned toward her. “I didn’t expect to see you until you got off work.”

  Allie threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. She’d missed him since seeing him for Mardi Gras before his motorcycle accident. “Your grandfather didn’t tell me the exact time you were coming. He just said in a few days.”

  “You know Papere. He functions on a different timetable. I didn’t tell him until I left Dallas. I wasn’t sure if the doctor was going to okay the long drive.”

  “How are you doing since the accident?” Back in March, the news from Remy’s grandfather had shaken Allie. Remy was a motorcycle police officer, and in a chase pursuing a suspect in an armed robbery, he’d crashed.

  “Still on medical leave with the Dallas Police Department until the first of August. I’m so ready to get back to work.”

  Even as a child, Remy had hated inactivity, but then so had she. “The important thing is you’re alive. Are you going to switch to driving a patrol car?” Remy had driven a motorcycle when they were younger, something she’d never liked. He loved to live dangerously, whereas she was cautious—maybe too much at times.

  “I don’t have plans to.”

  A fisherman who worked on David’s Folly, a boat docked at the Sundowner Marina and Condos where she worked, left the counter. With a nod, Bo Fayard smiled but kept walking toward the exit.

  “We’ll have to get together soon,” Remy said as he rotated toward Port David’s postmaster and requested a roll of stamps. He paid then stepped to the side.

  “I’d say tonight, but the Sundowner Marina is having a fais do-do. You know Friday nights in the summer around here. Lots of good food, Cajun music, and dancing. I hope you’ll come tomorrow evening for dinner, and of course, your grandfather is welcome too.” Allie slid her aunt’s packages across the counter.

  “Sounds good. I brought Papere into town for some supplies. See you.”

  As Remy walked toward the door, he limped slightly. While Remy was on the critical list at the Dallas hospital, his grandfather had left Port David, a most unusual occurrence, to be with Remy. Allie would have gone too, if he or his grandfather had said anything to her about the accident. By the time she found out, Remy had left the hospital and was at a rehab center. Remy had insisted he was on the mend and would see her when he came home.

  After taking care of the postage, Allie headed outside to a brisk breeze from the Gulf. She looked up at the dark, menacing clouds blowing in. The word ominous flitted through her mind. Although July was hurricane season on the coast, she hadn’t heard of any in the Gulf of Mexico. Hadn’t the weatherman said it was going to be beautiful today? If it was going to rain, she wanted to be at work before it came. She made her way to her four-wheel drive parked in front of the Pelican General Store next door.

  She opened her Jeep door and settled behind the steering wheel. A boom shook her car. Stunned, Allie froze, her heart pounding and her ears ringing.

  Purchase DEADLY COUNTDOWN

  DEADLY DOSE Excerpt

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations

  Book Six

  The sound of the door clicking shut reverberated through Mary Lou’s bedroom as Jessie Michaels stood in the middle of it and slowly rotated, taking in her best friend’s possessions that Rebecca, Mary Lou’s mother, had begged her to box up. Jessie hadn’t wanted to, but Rebecca hadn’t been able to go through Mary Lou’s belongings for the past two months since her daughter was murdered.

  “How am I going to do it?” Jessie whispered in the silence. A lump lodged in her throat, preventing her from talking any louder. The pain wasn’t going away. She missed Mary Lou every day.

  The sorrow and anger at Mary Lou’s senseless death held Jessie paralyzed and unable to make the first step to fulfill Rebecca’s plea.

  Evidence of the Pinecrest police searching through her best friend’s items sent a surge of anger and bitterness through Jessie. She didn’t have any faith in them being able to solve Mary Lou’s murder. It had been two months, and yet the police had discovered nothing other than she hadn’t been one of the victims taken by the serial killer who had plagued the town last year. At least he was going to prison for viciously slaying four people. But someone had wanted Mary Lou’s death to look like one of the killer’s causal
ities.

  Who?

  For her own sanity, Rebecca wanted to pack up the house and move away from Pinecrest. Jessie didn’t think her friend’s mother would do anything with this room but shut the door to avoid all the painful memories. That left Jessie to help her. Rebecca had no one else.

  Jessie sank onto the bed. Where should she start first? Her gaze lit upon the closet door ajar. A strong urge to begin there overwhelmed her, and she finally pushed herself to her feet and covered the distance to a cardboard box that Rebecca had brought in to use for Mary Lou’s belongings.

  Jessie took one and swung the closet door wide. The clothes hung neatly on the rod. She fingered a leather jacket that Mary Lou had saved six months to buy. Working as a cashier at the grocery store barely left money for any extras, especially since she helped her mother with her bills. Jessie removed the black coat from the hanger and brought it to her face. As if a bouquet of roses had been used in its construction, the soft leather still held a light scent of Mary Lou’s favorite perfume.

  Tears swelled in Jessie’s eyes. She shut them. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She’d never get the job done.

  After quickly folding the jacket, she placed it in the cardboard box and went to the next piece of clothing. Twenty minutes later, the rod only held the hangers.

  When Jessie sat on the floor to begin going through the shoes, her attention focused onto the baseboard on her left. Mary Lou’s secret hiding place. She’d only shown Jessie the spot where she kept prize possessions to protect them in case they were ever robbed. Jessie pried the six-inch wooden board from its tight fit. Mary Lou had cut out a space in the wall containing a flat box for her special items.

  Jessie wiggled it from the hole and lifted the lid. On top lay an envelope that had Jessie’s name on it. Her hand trembled as she picked it up and turned it over. Sealed.