Falcon's Run

by Aimée Thurlo

  As the limo driver came around to open the door for Garner, the man from the pickup quickened his pace and headed toward the big car. His stride was unsteady, like a man who’d had one too many, and he seemed oblivious to everything except Garner.

  Preston caught a glimpse of what the man was holding just inside the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Abby, move behind the engine block of your car now.”

  “What—”

  “Do it.”

  As Preston moved to intercept the guy in the cap, the man’s focus remained on Garner, who was just stepping out of the car.

  Preston took advantage of the situation and moved forward quickly, drawing his weapon. Once he was within ten feet, the man finally turned his head and spotted him.

  “Police officer! Put down the gun and lay flat on the ground. Now!”

  The man swung his weapon around. Preston could have taken the shot at point-blank range but instead chopped down hard using his own pistol. He caught the man’s wrist and knocked the gun out of his hand.

  The guy yelped, then lunged for Preston’s weapon.

  Preston’s hard left jab caught the guy in the jaw and the suspect staggered sideways and fell.

  Preston moved in, forcing the suspect’s face down into the gravel, then cuffed him.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Garner asked, rushing over.

  “Stay back and call 911,” Preston said.

  * * *

  AFTER TWO PATROL officers arrived to transport the assailant to the police station, Abby, Preston and Garner met in his home office. The wood-paneled room was huge and well appointed, and Preston took it all in slowly, thinking the house at Copper Canyon would probably fit in this space. Even the high ceiling, which incorporated a domed skylight, was composed of thick wooden beams and rich wood panels. The only place he’d ever seen an office like this was on TV.

  Preston took a seat on a huge black leather sofa, and a leggy short-haired blonde wearing an expensive-looking tailored tan pantsuit appeared out of thin air and offered him a scotch.

  “No, thanks. I’m on duty.”

  “I’ll take one, Ilse. Bring me that special bottle I’ve been saving,” Rod said. He looked at Preston. “Don’t mind me, but I usually don’t have people trying to gun me down. Wanting to kick my butt, yeah, but coming after me with a gun, no.”

  “Did you recognize the man who came for you?” Preston asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as the attractive blonde poured the scotch.

  “Never seen him that I can recall,” Rod said, taking the scotch and downing it with one swallow.

  “His name is Phil Gorman. Does that ring a bell?”

  Garner looked down at his empty glass as he shook his head. “Ilse, look up the name and see if he’s ever done any work here.”

  “So you’ve never had any personal dealings with Gorman?” Preston insisted.

  “Hey, dude, I see and talk to a lot of people, but I don’t always remember them. Maybe I’ve seen him, maybe not, but he’s no one I deal with regularly. That kind of contact I remember.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” Preston said.

  “Did he say why he came after me?” Rod leaned back on the plush leather chair and stretched out his legs. It was an action that made him seem even taller than his six-foot-eight frame and required a lot of room, which fortunately he had.

  “Yeah. He blames you and the casino for his business troubles. I don’t have details yet,” Preston said.

  “Another guy who can’t man up and take responsibility for himself. They’re always looking for someone to blame,” Rod muttered.

  “I’m not so sure he’s telling us the real story. I think there may be a lot more to the hit,” Preston said. “First, Carl’s murdered, then someone goes after Abby, now this.”

  “Someone attacked you?” Rod sat up and looked at Abby quickly. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, it was scary, but I came through it,” she said.

  “Detective, you see a connection between everything that’s happened?” Rod asked.

  Preston nodded. “The one thing you and Abby have in common is Carl. There’s a link somewhere, and I’m going to find it.”

  “Carl and I liked playing one-on-one on the basketball slab here on the estate. Afterward, we’d down a few cold ones. That’s the extent of our friendship,” he said. “As for this shooter today, I’m thinking that maybe he followed you here.”

  “Me? What makes you think that? He was moving right for you,” Preston said.

  “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me, dude. People in this community like me,” he said. “I keep thinking of a TV show I saw last night, a suicide-by-cop thing. The guy’s life was going down the toilet, but he didn’t have the guts to kill himself. He set it up by taking a hostage and waving around a gun so the cops would have to shoot him.”

  “That’s what you think happened here?”

  “Yeah, he pulled his gun and aimed at me, but then you screwed up his plan by not taking him out. Are you sure his gun was even loaded?”

  “It was,” Preston said. He started to point out that no one had followed him to the estate either when Abby rose to her feet, her eyes sparking with anger.

  “I know you don’t like cops, and you’re having a tough time saying thank you,” she said, resting her arms on the edge of Rod’s desk, leaning forward and looking directly at the big man. “But the detective saved your life and you’re sounding like an ungrateful horse’s butt. You owe him. Now get over it, and say thank you.”

  Rod cracked a slow smile. “A horse’s butt?”

  “You heard me,” she said, not backing down.

  Rod shrugged and extended his hand. “Sorry, dude. You came through for me so thanks. I get anxious around cops. Knee-jerk reaction from my days back in Jersey. I think it’s an allergy,” he said with the wide smile that was as much a part of his trademark as his outrageous personality.

  “I’m glad I was in a position to help.” Preston shook his hand.

  “We’re going to have to work together so things can get back to normal at the ranch,” Abby said. “I need to open our doors again as soon as possible.”

  “How can I help?” Rod asked.

  “You can cooperate with the detective...and if it’s not too much to ask for right now, we could sure use a donation to our barn roof fund. With the economy still so weak—”

  He held up a hand, interrupting her. “Ilse!” he bellowed.

  The woman came back in instantly.

  “Cut a check for a barn roof.”

  “Amount?” she asked, looking at Abby.

  Abby gave her the estimate, then quickly added, “I know that’s high, so whatever amount Rod can afford will help.”

  “Give her the entire amount,” Rod said.

  “Thank you so much!”

  “Abby, when Stretch Jackson’s kid was diagnosed with cancer, you and the ranch helped give that little girl something to smile about. You let her ride the camels and that was all she talked about till she passed away. I told you back then that I wouldn’t forget. So whatever you need, come to me. If I can’t get it, I’ll help you raise the cash.”

  “Your support means the world to us, Rod. Thanks again.”

  “Now tell me how I can help your investigation,” Rod said.

  “I need to fill in some of the blanks in Carl’s life,” Preston said. “You knew him, so maybe you could tell me about Carl’s gambling habits and who he met when he went to the casino.”

  “Dawg, you’re way off the mark. Carl was no gambler. He’d only go to the casino when the ranch was working a promo there or when he was promised a free meal. After playing one-to-one here, we’d clean up, cool down, then head over there for dinner.”

  “How often
did you two get together?” Preston asked.

  “Two, sometimes three times a week. I’m six foot eight so it was nearly impossible for me to find anyone willing to play pick-up ball. Then I met Carl. Nothing intimidated the guy. He was only six foot two, but he was fast and lean. He’d played basketball in high school and loved the game.”

  “So how long have you two been friends?” Preston asked.

  “About two years. I’d seen him trying to rig up a goal on a light pole over by the bunkhouse, so I told him to forget it and come over here. I’ve got goals indoors and out. He and I hit it off from the start. We’d play hard outdoors, like back in the ’hood, then when the weather was bad, in my gym.”

  “What else can you tell me about Carl? Did he worry about anything in particular? Did he tend to look over his shoulder a lot, like someone who knew he was a target? Anything that comes to mind might help.”

  “Dude, we didn’t get into that touchy-feely stuff. We played basketball. The guy had good moves on the court—I can tell you that—plus an old-school hook shot that was accurate and hard to block.”

  “When you went to the casino, was he more comfortable playing the slots than the game tables?” It was an old interrogation technique. You stated something as a fact, then waited for the response.

  “B-man, aren’t you listening?” he said, coming up with a nickname for Preston. “Carl didn’t gamble. He watched me play a few hands of poker one time, but he wasn’t interested, even when I offered to cover him. As for the slots, he told me that it was a game for suckers.”

  “So besides basketball, what else did Carl like to do?”

  “Sketching and painting. He told me he’d lived hard and fast all his life, and it was time for him to slow down. He also loved working with animals.”

  “Rod, here’s the thing. I found some slot machine tickets at the bunkhouse. If Carl didn’t put them there, they might have been left by his killer,” Preston said. “The quickest way for me to rule out Carl and maybe identify a possible suspect is to check surveillance tapes at the casino. Problem is, I don’t have a court order, and there’s no way I can get one based on what I have. Can you help me cut a few corners by speaking to their head of security? It’ll speed up the investigation.”

  Rod shook his head slowly. “I can’t help you there, B-man. Had you asked me a few weeks ago, maybe. I owned quite a few shares in the casino, but I had to sell them to cover some bad investments. I can talk to some of their people, but my word doesn’t carry any weight there now.”

  Though she’d been pretty quiet till now, Abby spoke. “Until this case is closed, I can’t reopen the ranch, and our reputation will continue to take a hit. By helping Detective Bowman, you’d be helping us, too.”

  Rod expelled his breath in a hiss. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t promising anything. You hear?”

  “Loud and clear.” Preston stood and Rod shook his hand. “One more thing. Gorman is being booked right now, but I’d like both of you to go to the station with me and make an official statement.”

  “I’ll follow you there,” Abby said.

  “I’ll get my attorney first, then meet you there,” Rod said. “Me and the police...not a good combination.”

  Preston bit back a smile.

  Abby followed Preston outside. “Carl really cared about the ranch and he worked hard. Whenever I needed something done, he took care of it without a question. You’re investigating the murder as if it’s Carl’s fault somehow, but he was one of the good guys.”

  “Even a good person can have secrets.” He said it mostly to see what her reaction would be.

  Abby averted her gaze and, promising to meet him at the station, walked away quickly.

  “You’re hiding something, pretty lady, and that’s a bad idea,” he murmured, his words nothing more than a whisper in the wind.

  Chapter Eight

  After giving her statement, Abby waited alone in Preston’s office. Restless, she paced the small, windowless room, trying to learn more about him. There were no personal photos on his desk and the only thing on the wall was a commendation for bravery. It was framed but hung in a section of the wall that was partially hidden each time the door was open, as it was now.

  All she really knew about Preston was what she’d learned from doing an online search using her cell phone. Last year, he’d stopped a robbery in progress. He’d been at the bank on personal business at the time and had subdued and handcuffed the armed suspect before anyone was hurt.

  Preston appeared to be as dedicated to his job as she was to her ranch. He was cool under pressure and accomplished whatever he set out to do, but there was another side to him, too. She’d seen glimpses of it in the way he’d treated Bobby and the gentle strength he’d shown her when he’d held her after that man had tried to run her down. Intuition told her that beyond the badge lay a man of passion whose feelings ran deep and strong.

  She shook her head, exasperated with herself, and tried to think clearly. She’d been nearly hysterical, about to be run over, and under the circumstances any overreaction to a place of safety was understandable.

  Preston came in just then, and the total absence of emotion on his face warned her that something bad was coming.

  “Please sit down,” he said coldly. “The clerk will bring in your statement shortly. You can read it over, make any corrections, then sign it.”

  “Then I can leave?” She wasn’t sure why she’d asked that, except maybe to make sure she would be free to go.

  “We need to discuss something first.”

  Here it was. Somehow, even before he spoke, she knew he’d found out.

  “The crime scene investigators have processed the evidence, and a few important facts about Carl have come up.”

  Abby said nothing. She wasn’t sure how much he knew, and she figured she’d be better off not speaking at all.

  Preston remained quiet, allowing the seconds to stretch out.

  Abby squirmed. The total silence between them was completely disconcerting. She stared at her lap, then with effort made herself look directly at him. “Some secrets are meant to be shared, but others deserve respect.”

  “Your logic doesn’t apply to a murder investigation.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever dealt with a murder, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t know the rules,” she shot back, then cringed when he didn’t react at all.

  “You knew Carl had a criminal record.”

  It wasn’t a question. She exhaled loudly. “Yes. His real name is...was...Carl Sinclair, not Woods.”

  “Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

  “No, quite the opposite. I knew you would, and that’s why I waited,” she said. “When Carl came to me asking for a job, he told me the truth about himself. He’d grown up in Hartley, then moved to Denver, San Francisco and other cities, where he made a living as an art thief. Eventually he got caught and served his time. He swore he was clean now and asked that I let him prove himself. I ran a background check, like I do with everyone who works at the ranch, and the investigator verified Carl’s story. After that, I knew I could trust Carl. As badly as he’d wanted a second chance, he didn’t come to me under false pretenses.”

  “He served time for burglary—four years to be exact.”

  “I know. He learned to work with horses while in prison, but then you know all that already. What you probably don’t know is how good he was with animals. They responded to him in a way that was nothing short of amazing. You may have found out about Carl’s past, but you know very little about the man he became. Carl worked hard to make the most out of the chance I gave him. That’s why I’d like people to remember Carl Woods, the man he was at the time of his death, not Carl Sinclair, the man he’d been a long time ago. Can you keep all this private?”


  “I’ll try, but information like this has a way of getting out.”

  “People won’t understand,” she said with a tired sigh. “I don’t care what they think about me. I know I did the right thing hiring him. I’m just afraid that it’ll hurt the ranch.”

  “Some will use Carl’s past against you, but don’t underestimate the public. Many will side with your decision to give Carl a chance,” he said. “Giving folks a hand up is what you do every day at the ranch, Abby. Look at Bobby. The world sees a handicapped Navajo kid, but you don’t accept that definition, so Bobby doesn’t either. What you did for him was force him to redefine normal.”

  “He did that on his own. Bobby’s super smart.”

  The clerk came into the room with Abby’s statement and placed it on Preston’s desk.

  He was quiet until the woman left, then met Abby’s gaze and held it. “Remember one thing, Abby. You want answers and so do I. No more secrets. Don’t make my job harder than it already is.”

  Abby read her statement and then signed it. “If you don’t need me anymore I should get back to the ranch. I have to take care of the animals, then hit the sack. I’ll have to be up early for a staff meeting. I want them to hear about Carl from me first, not pick up some distorted gossip around town.”

  Preston stood when Abby did, ready to walk her to the door, when he saw Rod Garner striding down the hall toward his office.

  “Did you find out anything new about the guy who came after me?” Rod asked, stepping into the room.

  Preston nodded. “It turns out the casino hired away the cook at his restaurant, the Night Owl Café. Business started to suffer and Gorman couldn’t find another chef good enough to keep his regular customers. He went out of business and blames you because he found out that you recommended his former cook to the casino.”

  “I remember the café,” Rod said, nodding slowly. “The chef there was very good. Since the meals at the casino were just average, I told the restaurant manager about the guy. I had no idea what happened after that.”