Every Breath She Takes (30 page)

“Right.”

She returned his smile, but it didn’t come close to reaching her worried eyes. As he watched her disappear into Sarge’s stall again, he had the disquieting feeling he’d just been gauged. Gauged and found wanting.

For the next half hour, they made their way around the stalls. Lauren’s emotions ping-ponged wildly.

She should have told Cal about the vision. It was criminal to withhold the information.

No, she’d done the right thing. She’d seen the way his face cleared the moment he made the connection with what he’d qualified as a premonition.

But if she just had the guts to spit it out, they could work together to ensure Marlena didn’t ride off into any sunsets.

No, they couldn’t, because he’d dismiss it as hokum, just as her former fiancé had. He’d look at her blankly and think,
All she needs to complete this picture is a tinfoil hat.

If she told him, there would be at least a small chance it would make a difference.

If she told him, there was an excellent chance he’d dump her faster than Garrett Robertson had. Worse, he might run her clear off the ranch for being a nutcase. Or—more likely—for her deceit. Because if she came clean about the visions, he’d know that was her whole reason for being here. He’d know she’d lied to him from the start. And if he evicted her, she’d lose all access to Marlena, all hope of saving her.

A voice from the barn door distracted her from this back-and-forth self-torture.

“Yo, anybody home?”

She dropped the mare’s foot and turned toward the voice. Bruce Dysan. Her heart leapt with a new fear. He’d said he would call with the test results.

Cal stepped out of the adjacent stall. “Down here,” he called. Under his breath, he muttered, “This isn’t going to be good, is it? He’d have phoned if it was good news.”

Lauren stepped out to join Cal, touching his back briefly. “Let’s wait to hear what he has to say.”

“Dr. Dysan,” Cal said when the other man pulled up. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but we’ve been into the pine tar.”

“Of course.” Dr. Dysan smiled, a glimmer of white teeth in a full beard. “Look, I’m sorry about that newspaper article. I understand you’ve had some collateral damage already.” The smile faded from his eyes. “As I told Dr. Townsend, the reporter who called me already had the details. I couldn’t deny the investigation, and I didn’t think a ‘no comment’ was prudent.”

“I understand. The leak is my problem and I’ll deal with it.” Cal rolled his shoulders. “Right now I’d just as soon you gave me my medicine straight up. I’m thinking it’s bad news, you making a personal trip out here.”

Dr. Dysan laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t qualify it as
good
news, but I can guarantee you it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not anthrax?”

“Nope.”

Lauren watched Cal sag with relief. “Not anthrax.”

“Absolutely and unequivocally not anthrax.”

Cal straightened again. “You said it was bad news—if it’s not anthrax, what is it?”

“Not so much bad news as disturbing news.” Dr. Dysan took a deep breath. “Mr. Taggart, your steer was poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Cal’s eyebrows lifted, then swiftly drew together. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’d have sworn there wasn’t so much as a sprig of tall larkspur to worry about in that pasture.”

“I’m sure you’re right about the pasture being clean, but even if it isn’t, that’s not what killed your animal.”

“Then what did?”

The big man’s face looked grim. “Malice.”

Lauren’s pulse kicked. “Someone did this deliberately?”

“Unquestionably.” He handed Lauren a sheaf of papers. “Take a look for yourself and tell me what you think.”

She scanned the first page quickly, but stopped on the second. “Holy cow.”

“What?” Cal peered over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Just a second.” She flipped the page and scanned the rest of the document, then looked at Dr. Dysan. “Are you sure about this? The tests are accurate?”

“I’m sure. After the first tests, I got a second lab to run another tox screen with the extra blood. Same results.”

Cal swore. “You’re saying someone fed poison to my steer?”

“More like injected it, I’d say.” Lauren looked up at Dr. Dysan for confirmation.

He nodded. “That’d be my guess.”

“Injected it? Like with a needle? That’s crazy,” Cal said. “Why would a person do something like that? If they had a hard-on for me, why wouldn’t they just shoot the damned thing?”

The veterinary inspector shrugged. “Bullets tell tales. Maybe your guy didn’t want to leave any evidence behind.”

“Slit its throat, then. That would have sent me a definite message. But this…” He shook his head. “Hell, we might have missed it altogether. Where’s the point in that?”

Lauren’s ears rang with a tinny sound and the fine hairs on her arms and neck stood up. “I can tell you the point.”

Both men turned toward her.

“I think whoever did this had something specific in mind. I think they wanted to make it look like anthrax.”

“Whoa, just a minute,” the veterinary inspector said. “You think someone custom-tailored a toxin to mimic anthrax?”

A quick look at Cal’s frozen face told Lauren he’d followed her leap. She turned urgently back to Dr. Dysan. “It could be done, right?”

Bruce Dysan took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose so, but it would be hard. You’d have to know a lot about both the clinical manifestations of anthrax and—”

“Devious, black-hearted sonofabitch.”

Cal’s tone was flat, almost conversational, but Lauren heard the controlled fury beneath. Apparently Dr. Dysan sensed it too.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Cal’s back as he strode toward the tack room. Lauren had to catch his arm to get his attention.

“Bruce, this is important. It’s possible, right? I mean, how hard can it be to learn about anthrax? You could probably find everything you need to know about it on the Internet. And if you knew your chemicals, or knew someone who did, couldn’t you design a poison to induce one or two cardinal symptoms?”

Dr. Dysan replaced his glasses, and turned back toward Lauren. “Toxicology’s not my area, but yeah, I suppose it could be done. I can see where this combination might cause the epistaxis and rapid death, maybe even inhibit rigor. But why would someone do that?”

“Easy,” Cal called from the door of the tack room. He’d lost the work gloves and found his Stetson. He jammed it low on his forehead, shadowing his eyes, as he closed the distance between them. “To put me out of the guest ranch business.”

Dr. Dysan’s brow furrowed. “But who would want to do that?”

“Who?” Cal plucked the pages of the toxicology report from Lauren’s unresisting fingers. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll show you who. I’ll bring his head back on a pike.”

Wordlessly Lauren watched him jump in the pickup and barrel down the driveway, kicking up a trail of dust behind him.

“Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to need a drive.”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t allow you to go in there. Mr. McLeod is in conference.”

Cal glowered at the young woman who barred the door to McLeod’s office. “Look, I know you’re just doing your job, lady, but you’ll have to step aside. I have business with your boss.”

“I can see that.” She stood unflinching under a scowl that usually sent his men scattering. “Urgent business too, by the look of it,” she said soothingly. “Why don’t you follow me back to my desk? I’ll give you the earliest available appointment.”

Briefly he thought about simply picking her up and moving her. God, he had to get a grip. He’d never laid an unwelcome hand on a woman and he wasn’t about to start now.

Cal closed his eyes before she could see them harden. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then opened his eyes. “Okay, ma’am, we’ll do it your way,” he said, letting his posture relax.

She flushed prettily. “This way, please,” she said and turned to lead him back to the outer office.

Instead of following her as he’d led her to expect, Cal whirled and strode to the double oak doors, yanked them open, and stepped into Harvey McLeod’s conference room.

Three male faces swiveled toward him as he burst through the doors. The men sat around a gleaming table situated on an enormous Persian rug. Cigar smoke hung in the air, thick, pungent, and expensive.
Fat cats, city bred and slow. No threat.

It took Cal all of a few seconds to size up the strangers before zeroing in on McLeod. Surprise flickered briefly in the other man’s eyes, but otherwise he betrayed no perceptible alarm at having his wood-paneled inner sanctum invaded.

For an instant no one moved. No one spoke. Then the secretary, her face stained with a less attractive flush now, skidded to a stop beside Cal. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.”

Harvey took a fat cigar out of his mouth. “It’s all right, Lorna. I know how…forceful our Mr. Taggart can be.”

Lorna eyed Cal with hostility. “Shall I call the police?”

“Heavens, no.” Harvey smiled as though hugely amused by the suggestion, and Cal experienced a powerful urge to rearrange the perfect symmetry of his neighbor’s face.

“I’d reserve judgment on that, McLeod,” Cal growled, moving closer. “Think you can dick with me and get away with it?”

“Charming.” Harvey’s smile broadened even as his eyes hardened. The two suits across the table edged their chairs backward on silent casters. Just inside the door, the secretary held her ground.

“How exactly have I…dicked…with you, Mr. Taggart? All I’ve done is offer to take that ranch off your hands before the bank takes it. My offer still stands.”

“Go to hell.” Cal clenched his fists at his sides, mainly to prevent using them on Harvey’s face. “You knew I wouldn’t sell, so you poisoned my steer to make it look like anthrax.”

Harvey’s smile died, but his face went blank. “The tests are back? You can confirm you don’t have anthrax?”

“I can do more than that.” Cal brandished the report. “I can tell you what
did
kill that steer, and it ain’t contagious.”

Cal watched Harvey’s eyes carefully, but they betrayed not a flicker of alarm. Maybe McLeod knew nothing about it after all.

Or maybe he was a damned good poker player.

The two suits shifted uncomfortably, but Harvey ignored them, leaning forward to stab his cigar out in a crystal ashtray.

“Forgive me, Taggart, but what exactly is your problem? Man tells me his herd’s disease free, seems to me he ought to be counting his blessings.”

“What’s my problem?”
Cal felt like the top of his head might come off. “My
problem
is somebody used a needle to jam that steer full of toxic sludge. My
problem
is that same somebody then fed the papers a story about anthrax.” His anger built with every word. “My
problem
is my guest ranch cleared out faster than a motel room after a cockroach sighting, thanks to the national media picking up on that article.”

Harvey tipped his head back and laughed.
Laughed!

A surge of pure bloodlust fogged Cal’s brain. He was not a man given to violence, but with stunning clarity he visualized knocking McLeod to the floor. He imagined the satisfaction of battering the other man’s face with his fists, anticipated the gratification of bone and sinew yielding to his righteous anger.

“That’s rich. You think I simulated an anthrax outbreak, then leaked it to the press to kill your guest ranch business?”

“Now we’re making some progress.” Cal was vaguely surprised he could form actual words, let alone make them sound so cool.

“How wonderfully diabolical!” Harvey leaned back in his chair. Elbows resting on the padded arms, fingers linked loosely over a trim abdomen, he seemed not at all intimidated by Cal’s superior position above him. “Tell me, when did I do this thing?”

Cal felt the smallest pinprick pierce his certitude. McLeod wasn’t nearly as unnerved as he should be.

“What was that, Taggart?” Harvey cupped a hand behind one ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

That’s it. McLeod was going down.
An instant before Cal laid hands on Harvey’s shirt, however, a female voice cut in.

“Thursday night or Friday morning.”

All heads turned to see Lauren framed in the doorway.

The secretary made a sound of disbelief. “What, it’s suddenly Grand Central Station around here?”

“I’m sorry, the door was open,” Lauren said.

“Never mind,” she huffed. “What’s one more intruder?”

“Now, Lorna, mustn’t be rude to our guests.” Harvey turned back to Cal. “So what was that? Thursday or Friday?”

Cal eased back marginally, more a shifting of weight than an actual retreat. “If that’s what Dr. Townsend says.”

McLeod, keeping his gaze locked on Cal’s: “Well, this should be easy to clear up. Lorna, tell Mr. Taggart where I was Wednesday night through Friday noon.”

“The same place I was,” she said, clearly relieved to come to her boss’s aid after failing so abysmally as threshold guardian. “In Calgary for McLeod Industries’ annual meeting.”

Cal snorted. “That’s convenient.”