Falcon's Run Page 5

  “We have that in common.”

  “You built this place from scratch. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, and it didn’t happen overnight. The only reason I succeeded was because I refused to take my eyes off the goal.”

  “That’s the way I work, too.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “I’ll go through this place with the crime scene team. I find it hard to believe the victim was so out of touch with modern-day society—no phone, no bank account and so on. My gut tells me that he was hiding something. Maybe we’ll find some answers here in the bunkhouse.”

  As the crime scene team moved in, Preston met them at the door. “Keep a lookout for any paper trail—mail, bills, receipts, social, anything. There’s got to be more to this guy than we’ve seen so far.”

  Preston remained with the crime scene unit and worked alongside them for another hour. After finding nothing, he went back to the ranch’s office. The hopeful look on Abby’s face speared through him.

  “Did you find something helpful?” she asked.

  “No. I’m sorry. Sometimes progress on a case doesn’t come quickly or easily.”

  “I’d never say this in front of Bobby, but I’m terrified the man who killed Carl will come back for me,” she whispered, standing by the window and watching Bobby speak to the kids. “Is it safe for any of us here now?”

  He wanted to hold her like he’d done before and calm her, but the badge at his belt kept him where he was. “Miss Langdon, we’ll have patrol officers close by tonight,” he said, using a professional tone of voice, something experience told him would give her the added confidence she needed. “If there’s any problem at all, dial 911. You’ll have help almost immediately.”

  “Thank you,” she said then with a shaky smile, added, “And call me Abby, please. You saved my life.”

  “Abby it is then,” he said. “Call me Preston.”

  “Preston,” she repeated, as if savoring the name.

  Calling her by her first name made good sense. He had to establish rapport with a witness and victim. But deep down he knew his motives weren’t strictly aboveboard and professional.

  He liked Abby and that could be a problem. He wouldn’t have given a strictly physical attraction a second thought—one night or two of hot sex, then move on. But he wanted to be personally involved this time—to help her even the odds and to protect her as if she belonged to him somehow. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d felt in his arms—her scent.

  Trouble. That’s all that could come of this. Enough.

  Before he could say anything else there was a knock on the semi-opened door. It was Gabe Sanchez, an officer from the crime scene unit.

  “We’re wrapping up here for now,” he said. “Anything else you need from me?”

  “Process the prints as soon as you can,” Preston said, going to meet him. “I’ll be heading to the casino next to follow up on those receipts and chips.”

  “Without a warrant? Better come on strong, put your bad cop on and hope it’s enough.”

  “We’ll see how far I get,” he said with a shrug.

  After Gabe left, Preston went back into the room where Abby waited.

  “I gather you’re expecting trouble with the casino staff. If you are, maybe I can help.”

  “What’s your connection with that place?”

  “Lightning Rod Garner, the former NBA star, is one of the ranch’s biggest supporters. He’s also one of the casino’s main shareholders. Do you know him?”

  “Only by reputation. He’s had a few run-ins with the police,” Preston said with a scowl. “Temper, mostly.”

  She smiled hesitantly. “I know he can be hard to deal with, particularly if he doesn’t consider you a friend, but deep down, he’s a good man. Let me take you over and introduce you. That should help.”

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind, but right now I’d like you to check your files and give me the name of Carl’s next of kin.”

  It had been no more than a flash in her eyes, but his link to Falcon helped him see what was necessary. More attuned to Abby now, he sensed worry and nervousness—classic signs that she was holding something back.

  “If he had any relatives, he never spoke about them, nor did he list them in his employment application.” Then, in a gentle voice, she added, “He was a solitary man but not an unhappy one. He enjoyed his job and life here at the ranch.”

  Falcon’s gaze didn’t miss much. Abby was hiding something from him, and one way or another he was going to find out what that was.

  “Carl Woods seems to be surrounded by mystery, but it won’t stay that way for long. No matter how deeply buried, secrets are never safe from me.”

  Her eyes widened and as he held her gaze, he saw the unmistakable glimmer of fear.

  Chapter Six

  Abby handed Carl’s employee file to Preston. “That’s all the information I have.”

  Before he could comment, Bobby came in. “My foster mom’s here. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, okay?”

  “No, Bobby, stay at home until I call you,” Abby said. “We have to keep the ranch closed for now. It may not be safe for you here.”

  “But—” Bobby stopped speaking abruptly, looked at the floor, then back up at her. “Can I talk to you for just a minute—alone?” he added.

  Leaving Preston behind, Abby met with Bobby in the kitchen area. “Okay, what’s up?”

  “You haven’t been around cops much, Abby, and I want you to know that you can’t always trust them. They might pretend to be your friend, but they’re not.”

  “You think Detective Bowman is like that?”

  “Probably. When one of the kids at the foster home is hassled by the cops, the officers always come to talk to the rest of us. They try to trick us into telling them stuff so they can put the one they’re after in jail.”

  “Maybe the problem isn’t the cops but what the kids did to get the attention of the police.”

  “Abby, you’re a good person, but don’t trust him. He thinks you’re keeping secrets from him.”

  “What makes you say that?” she asked quickly.

  A horn blared outside. “Mrs. Yarrow doesn’t like waiting. I better go.”

  Abby watched Bobby hurry to the door, but before he could step outside, Preston stopped him.

  “Before you leave, Bobby, how about giving me back my notebook?”

  Bobby smiled. “Hey, yeah. You dropped it back at Carl’s place. Guess I forgot to give it back.”

  Abby watched the exchange. “He picked your pocket, didn’t he?” she asked as soon as Bobby was gone.

  Preston smiled but didn’t answer.

  “Don’t be angry with him. I know it was wrong, but he was trying to protect me. In his experience, cops haven’t always been the good guys,” she said. “He’s afraid you might hurt me or the ranch and probably wanted to slow you down.”

  “He’s a great little pickpocket—I’ll give him that,” Preston said. “It took me a couple of seconds to notice what he’d done.”

  “Are you going to press charges?”

  “Nah, I got it back, and I can’t fault him for wanting to protect a friend.”

  “He doesn’t have many of those. There’s not a lot of common ground between him and the other boys at the foster home, so they tend to give him a hard time.”

  “Kids often target anyone who’s different from them,” Preston said. “That can be especially bad at a foster home because you’re in such close quarters.”

  “You’ve dealt with kids from foster homes before?”

  “You might say that—I was one,” he said.

  “You grew up in foster care?” she asked.

&nbs
p; “Yeah. I had a tough time of it until Hosteen Silver, a medicine man from our tribe, decided to foster me. I met my five brothers there at his home,” he said and smiled, remembering. “It took time for us to become a family, but we’re all close now.”

  “Bobby would love a chance like that. He wants to know about his tribe, but the only real contact he has is the cook at the foster home, Mrs. Nez.”

  “Hosteen Silver was a remarkable man. He gave my brothers and me the confidence we needed to leave the past behind us and take charge of our lives.”

  “The kids who come here are all facing tough times. They’re not in charge of anything—not their bodies or their lives. Helping them forget their troubles for a while strengthens them so they can continue their fight.”

  He paused for a moment. “You love this ranch and are committed to the work you do. I get that,” he said at last, “but by holding back you’re not helping anyone, least of all yourself.”

  Before she could answer, Michelle came rushing in. “We’ve got a problem. Stan was helping out by cleaning the camels’ pen but somehow he ended up in the corner. Now every time he tries to go past Hank, the animal threatens to bite him.”

  “I better get over there. Without Carl, this falls to me,” she told Preston. “I think Hank must have misinterpreted something Stan did. Camels are practically famous for holding grudges.”

  “I’ll go with you. Maybe I can help,” he said.

  They reached the large enclosure a few minutes later. Stan was against the fence opposite the gate wiping a green wet mixture off his shirt. “Hank’s in a bad, bad mood today. He spit at me.”

  “Actually, they don’t spit. They throw up on you.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “That doesn’t help much, does it?”

  “No,” Stan said, scowling. “Now I’m grossed out.”

  “We’ll get you out, then Michelle and I will finish up here,” Abby said, then glanced back at Preston. She was going to explain to him that Hank loved women and children, but when she turned, she saw Hank nuzzling Preston like an old friend.

  Her mouth fell open.

  Stan stared. “How did you do that?” he asked, quickly moving out of the pen.

  “It goes back to something my foster father taught me,” Preston said calmly. “All things—including animals and people—are connected. I approached the camel enclosure with a Song of Blessing, what we call a Hozonji. I honored the link between us and the camel responded by doing the same. It’s all about showing respect and demanding the same in return.”

  Abby wondered if he was trying to send her a message. Was he telling her to respect his profession and trust him to solve the case? His eyes held hers with an intensity that left her feeling bare...and exposed somehow.

  Hank stretched his rubbery lips, trying to kiss Preston.

  Abby laughed. “They’re really gentle creatures. They’re calmer than horses but they’re more...emotional,” she said after a beat. “How would you feel about volunteering here sometime?”

  “After the case is closed, I’ll do my best to fit some hours into my schedule.”

  “Good.”

  Preston glanced at his watch. “I need to go now and check out a few things. Make sure no one goes into the areas that are cordoned off.”

  “All right. Do you know how long it’ll be before the yellow tape can be taken down?”

  “I’m not sure. Some details need to be handled first. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

  Abby walked back to the parking lot with him. “Carl’s killer took the life of a very good man. He’s done enough damage. Don’t let him harm my ranch, too. Find answers quickly, Preston, please.”

  “We want the same thing, but you’re holding out on me, Abby, and that’s slowing me down. Eventually, I’ll uncover whatever it is you’re keeping back. Save us both some time and come clean.”

  He stopped walking and looked directly at her without so much as a blink. She shifted uncomfortably. There was an intensity about Preston that left her feeling off balance. She wasn’t in control—he was. The message was clear.

  “I know nothing that can help you find the killer,” she said.

  “Let me be the judge.”

  She stared at the ground. Maybe he did deserve to know, but some secrets weren’t hers to tell. Finally looking up, she shook her head.

  “If you want me to catch the killer quickly, Abby, don’t stand in my way.”

  Before she could answer, he strode away from her with the long, confident steps of a man used to being in charge.

  She watched him for a moment longer. He was all steady strength and power kept in reserve. For a second her thoughts drifted and she wondered what it would be like to lay in his arms, to touch and caress him until passion overcame all reason. It was the man beyond that iron will, the one hidden by the badge, who she wanted to see most of all.

  Realizing the turn of her thoughts, she sighed. She was truly losing her mind.

  Glancing around, she forced her thoughts back on the ranch. She couldn’t do anything more for Carl, but the ranch needed her now. Seeing Stan and Michelle outside the barn pointing up at the weathered roof, she knew what had to be done next.

  Making an impromptu decision, she headed to her truck. Maybe she couldn’t help Preston catch Carl’s killer, but she knew how to raise badly needed cash. Her first order of business—pay Rod Garner a visit.

  Chapter Seven

  As Preston drove west in the direction of the casino, he thought about Abby’s offer to talk to Garner. If he hadn’t been the kind who went by the book, he might have taken her up on it. The casino visit was bound to be a train wreck. He and Jennifer Graham, the head of security there, had a history. They’d dated for a while, and things hadn’t ended well. She’d wanted more—he’d wanted less.

  Maybe he was going in the wrong direction. He pulled off the road, waited for a break in traffic, then turned around. All things considered, he might be better off talking to Rod Garner first. Garner and Carl had supposedly been friends, so that gave him some leverage. With a little luck, Garner would help the investigation along by giving him fresh insights into the victim.

  If things went smoothly, he’d also try to persuade Garner to pull some strings for him at the casino. He had to convince Jennifer to give the department access to surveillance videos. Verifying that Carl had been there on certain dates and finding out who he’d come into contact with might help establish a motive and suggest a suspect. Of course, it was all speculation at this point, and he sure as heck didn’t have enough for a court order.

  He was headed to Garner’s estate when his cell phone rang.

  “I need your report, Sergeant,” Preston heard Police Chief Jenkins say as soon as he answered. “Miss Langdon and Sitting Tall Ranch are important to our community. They’ve put us on the map in a very good way. My own son works there as a volunteer.”

  Preston updated him on what he had so far. “I’m en route to Rod Garner’s residence, sir. Garner was one of Carl Woods’s friends, apparently.”

  “Interesting—a ranch hand and a millionaire former NBA star.”

  “Not what you’d expect, sir, but I’ve learned that Garner is also one of the ranch’s benefactors. I think he’ll cooperate with the investigation.”

  “Getting him on our side makes sense, Bowman. Garner’s got a lot of fans, and if he gets the word out that he wants this resolved, we might get the cooperation of people who wouldn’t ordinarily come within a mile of a cop.”

  “Yeah, that’s my take, too. Unfortunately Garner also has a reputation as a troublemaker, so I’ll have to tread carefully.”

  “Whatever it takes. Keep me updated,” the chief said, then ended the call.

  As Preston pulled into the long, tree-lined driveway of the former basketball star�
��s home, he saw a familiar pickup at the far end. Sitting Tall’s logo was emblazoned on one of the doors.

  Reaching the parking area, Preston glanced around and saw Abby heading down the cobblestone walk toward the front entrance.

  He parked beside her pickup and called out to her.

  Abby turned her head, smiled and walked back to meet him.

  “We must have just missed each other on the highway. I didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, glad to see her anyway.

  “I’m here to ask for a donation. We need a new roof on the barn. There’s no way it’ll withstand the gusts and downpours we get during monsoon season,” she said. “Rod’s always helped us when we’re in a bind, and I’m hoping he’ll come through for us again.”

  “Do you deal with him directly or talk to his assistant, Ilse Sheridan?”

  “I speak to Rod. He trusts me and he likes being involved with the ranch. He believes in my dream.”

  “It’s not a dream anymore,” Preston said. “It’s a reality.”

  “Some of it is, but there’s so much more I’d like to do,” she said, falling into step beside him. “I’d love to build special quarters that could accommodate a few overnight guests. A day at the ranch can really tire out some of the kids, and transportation can be an issue. If they could spend the night...”

  Although she was still speaking, Preston’s attention was momentarily diverted by two vehicles coming up the drive. The first was a small pickup with a dented fender. The bed of the truck was filled with gardening supplies. The driver, wearing a ball cap low on his head, pulled up and parked across the parking lot opposite to where they were standing.

  As the driver climbed out, Preston noted that the floor of the cab was littered with beer bottles. If that was one of the estate’s landscape people, Garner needed to take a closer look at the help.

  The second vehicle, a long white limo, entered the lot and soon came to a stop in front of the walk. Like everyone else in town, Preston recognized Lightning Rod Garner’s ride. Garner, who’d lost his license after his third DWI, had hired a local man as his full-time chauffeur. That level of luxury was almost unheard of in this part of the state except for weddings, funerals and homecoming dances.