HORSES AND HEROIN (Romantic Mystery) (36 page)

She didn’t think there was much danger. According to Snake, the incident at the school had sparked an intercartal rivalry and now Miguel’s father was struggling for his own survival. Life had returned to normal. Except for the black Hummer parked in her driveway and the ache in her heart that refused to go away.

Garrett had died two days earlier without regaining consciousness, and Snake neatly sidestepped any questions about his absent employer. Clearly, Scott blamed her for Garrett’s death yet felt a warped responsibility for her safety. Maybe Garrett
wouldn’t
have died if she hadn’t enrolled in his school. Yet the man had been a murderous criminal, and her feelings about him were very clear.

Even though Garrett hadn’t pulled the trigger, he’d been an accomplice to Joey’s murder. And he’d been more than willing to let them kill her, just not so keen to see her raped.

A shudder wracked her body. She dropped the wire, torn by her conflicting feelings—because in the end, Garrett had saved them. And a part of her did feel grateful.

Of course, it was Scott he’d been protecting. Garrett had cared so much for his friend, he’d taken a bullet. If not for his sacrifice, her body would have been stuffed in that trunk. Garrett would never have been able to control Miguel or Scarface; he was merely the American contact who helped move their drug money. The school provided a legitimate reason for border crossings, but Garrett had been expendable.

She jerked to her feet, consumed with restlessness. Jogging, not jewelry, was her release now. Some days, she felt like she was drowning.

The police doubted they’d ever recover Joey’s body. Scarface and the other man were dead, silent forever. Joey could have been dumped anywhere. Ramon knew nothing, only that Joey had been shot twice in the head, fifty miles after crossing the Mexican border.

He could be buried in an unknown grave, or stacked in a Mexican morgue or worse, tossed in a ditch, his bones picked apart by scavengers. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the gruesome images.

Her mother was still numb. Without a body, Joey’s death was difficult to accept.

Megan wished she hadn’t given Joey the tuition money. Wished she could erase the last three months. Earlier, she had a mission to find her brother. Now her existence seemed aimless.

She also missed Tami and Eve. The school was finishing the current students, under the direction of Lydia, and a Kentucky school had generously loaned one of their riding instructors. Garrett’s facility wouldn’t be open next fall, but this year’s students would graduate.

Eve was another matter. They’d talked several times, and she still waffled about the baby. At least she knew Megan would help, to whatever extent permitted, but it tore Megan up to have no say about Joey’s baby. She rather dreaded Eve’s calls, afraid Eve would announce that she had an abortion. All Megan could do was hope—and try not to badger Eve.

But, God, she’d love a baby in her home. Even if it were just a visit. Her bungalow felt lonely, stripped of spirit. Sometimes she woke up trembling, certain Miguel lurked in the dark corners. Sometimes she wished she were back in the dorm, with Tami snoring in the adjacent bed.

Or Scott.

He constantly crept into her thoughts. But he hadn’t believed her, hadn’t trusted her and instead had chosen to listen to his lying friend. At the first whiff of trouble, he’d fled. Worse, she’d let herself believe he might be more than a school fling. Yet, where was he now? Just another coward who didn’t care enough to call.

Of course, she was absolutely fine with being alone. It was what she’d expected. Besides, it had only been six weeks. She’d get used to the quiet again.

She loved her solitude.

Snake rapped on the door with his typical coded knock—four times, a three-second pause then twice more.

She smiled, despite her melancholy. He was so protective. She didn’t think Miguel’s father would hunt her down, but Snake looked hurt when she didn’t follow his careful directions. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Terrence,” he said.

She flung back the bolt almost before he’d finished saying the password. Maybe today he’d accept a coffee and visit for a bit.

The retired teacher who lived next door was terrified of Snake. Sure, the guy was as big as a Clydesdale, sported a shaved head and aggressive tattoos, but anyone could see Snake was really a marshmallow. And he had the best stories, usually involving Scott. If only half of them were true, the Taylor Investigative Agency certainly had some interesting cases.

“Come in—”

Her greeting jammed in her throat. A German Shepherd charged forward with a thumping tail and ecstatic whines. Rex leaped in the air and licked her face then wheeled in dizzying circles, unable to control his joy. His ribs were visible and his leg had been shaved, but there was no cast and if he was limping, it wasn’t obvious.

She sank to the floor, holding out her arms. His tongue swept her nose and both sides of her cheeks, wiping away any lingering tear tracks.

She glanced over Rex’s beautiful head, her happy sniffs blending with his whines. Snake shuffled his feet, as though embarrassed to witness such an emotional display. “Scott thought you might like to keep the dog,” he said. “But he wasn’t sure. Looks like you’re okay with it?”

“Keep him? You mean, he’s mine? Oh, wow.” She leaped to her feet and hugged Snake’s thick neck. “I am so okay with it!”

Flushing, he backed up, almost stumbling on the doorstep. “Well, that’s good. I’ve got vet instructions and dog food and medicine and all kinds of stuff that Scott sent. I’ll bring it in.”

“Scott…is he still at the school?” She despised the quaver in her voice but had to ask. Yes, he’d sent her this wonderful dog, but the significance was blindingly clear.

He wasn’t going to be around…and he didn’t want her to be alone.

“Yeah.” Snake adjusted his sunglasses. “He’s working in that area. Looks like his license will be reinstated soon.”

“I didn’t know he’d lost his license.”

“Well, he didn’t wait for the police.” Snake shrugged. “Plus he shot four people, three of them fatally.”

“But that’s not fair. It was self-defense. He saved my life.” Her voice rose. Rex stopped wagging his tail, looked at Snake and gave a warning growl.

“Of course,” Snake said. “And those facts were all considered.” His gaze shifted to Rex. “Looks like that dog is serious about protecting you too.”

She gestured and Rex sank to the floor. Sometimes she forgot he’d been trained as a guard dog, although it was now clear why Garrett had wanted him.

She gave Rex a reassuring pat. “I’ll be careful with him around other people. We’ll be fine…at least he’s loyal.”

“Scott’s loyal too,” Snake said. “But he feels responsible for what happened.”

She sighed. “And Garrett was his best friend and now he’s dead.”

“He doesn’t blame you.” But Snake spoke so quickly she knew he was lying, and any hope that Scott would call was painfully squashed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I understand.” She busied herself with scratching the base of Rex’s ear, determined to hide the wobble in her voice. “Just tell him thanks. And that I’ll take good care of Rex.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him,” Snake said, not meeting her eyes.

He turned away.

She closed the door behind him, her eyes pricking. Rex followed her into the kitchen, wagging his tail and whining, but the happy click of his nails was only a partial balm to the gaping rip in her heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Guess what!” Tami squealed so loudly Megan moved the phone another inch from her ear. “They offered me seven thousand dollars for that video of Rambo.”

“Who?”

“The helmet company. For the video I took of Scott and Rambo. When he was bucking in the round pen. They want to say ‘this is the helmet experts choose,’ that sort of thing.” Tami squealed again. “I’m going to be rich!”

Megan squealed along with her.

“Well, I will be rich if I can get Scott’s release on the picture,” Tami added. “So…will you ask him for me?”

“Ask him?” Megan’s voice faltered. “I haven’t spoken to him since I left the school.”

“But couldn’t you ask? I figure he’ll agree if you call.”

“I can’t,” Megan said. She circled the kitchen table while Rex whined, his soulful eyes anxious. He knew her so well. Only two weeks, and she couldn’t imagine being without him.

“Please.” Tami’s voice rose. “Remember who called Scott to get help. If not for me, you’d still be hiding in Garrett’s bathroom.”

Megan swallowed. She knew where she’d be, and it wouldn’t have been hiding in a bathroom. “I think you know Scott well enough,” she said slowly. “He’s either going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ It doesn’t matter who calls.”

“Then he’s going to refuse,” Tami said. “He’s helping a woman clear out Garrett’s house. He barely cracked a smile when I dropped by.”

Megan couldn’t stop herself. “What woman?”

“Garrett’s ex-wife. They both looked really sad. And the police are always around. But Lydia turned nice. She likes being in charge, and she even lets us ride on the trails behind the barn, well, everyone can except the grooms. They’re still trotting in the field. Hang on a sec.” The phone muffled and Tami returned, giggling. “Peter says ‘hi.’ We’ve been hanging out,” she added sheepishly.

“Oh.” Megan blinked in surprise then smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Peter’s a nice guy.”

“Yeah, real nice,” Tami said. “I never noticed him before but since Miguel is well, toast—”

Megan’s mouth twitched, and she couldn’t stop herself. She started laughing and then laughed so hard, her gut hurt. “Oh, Tami,” she finally managed, clutching her stomach with her left hand. “I miss you.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes. Rex trotted to her side and cocked his head, studying her with grave concern. He probably hadn’t heard her really laugh before, she realized with a pang. And that was going to change.

“You go, girl,” Megan said, “and hell, yes, I’ll call Scott.” She wasn’t going to pussyfoot around anymore. She was the one who should be angry, not him. He had pushed and pushed until she fell in love and then he’d dumped her. Just because he thought she had a little heroin—okay, a lot of heroin—in her bag.

Tami squealed in the phone. Megan could hear Peter chuckling, and they sounded so happy that for a moment it was possible to believe she was happy too.

***

“This isn’t a good way to run a business,” Belinda snapped. “Just give it up and come home.”

“How many John Does left?” Scott asked.

“Three, and they know you’re coming.” Her voice softened. “You have to forgive yourself. You weren’t responsible for Garrett’s death, any more than Amanda’s.”

Scott flinched. Belinda hadn’t mentioned Megan’s near-murder but other than that, she’d pretty much summed up his failures. He certainly hadn’t helped Megan’s trust issues.

“I’ll call on Friday,” he said, before disconnecting. “Thank you, Belinda.”

He checked the GPS clipped below his dash. One last Mexican morgue at a tiny hospital close to the border. Ramon had helped narrow his search, but Scott was only guessing at the dumping grounds. He prayed someone had discovered Joey’s body. Drug dealers were lazy. It was unlikely Garrett’s associates had made much effort to hide their trail of blood.

He still couldn’t believe it… Garrett working for a cartel? A disbelieving sigh leaked out. How had he missed it? What kind of piss-poor judgment did he have? Sure, Garrett’s ethics had always been a little murky but to condone murder. God, he wished the man had lived so he could choke him with his bare hands.

But that thought no longer roused much fury. It only exacerbated his deep sense of hopelessness. He drove into the back of the sun-beaten parking lot, feeling as lifeless as the bodies inside.

He showed his creds to the receptionist and signed a sheet. A short man in a blue medical robe and white plastic cap appeared through a swinging door. “This way,
senor
,” he said, pausing to unlock a thick door.

Scott followed him into a walk-in refrigerator stacked with cadavers. Chlorine couldn’t mask the nauseating smell of decay.

“We have several males, still unidentified. The first one is the headshot, two are knives. We have seven more without heads.”

“Start with the headshot,” Scott said, exhaling through his nose.

The man checked some tags. Unzipped a stained white bag and pulled it open. Scott stiffened. A sour taste filled his mouth but he couldn’t turn away.
Joey
. Looking very much like the pictures in his file. The resemblance to Megan was obvious, the same mouth…oh, God.

Two holes in the forehead—at least, Ramon was playing it straight. The body was in fairly good shape, and the morgue would have the bullets along with the autopsy report. He struggled to think objectively but his throat spasmed. It wasn’t Megan stuffed in the bag but it could have been. It easily could have been. He’d cuffed her. Passed her over to a bloody cartel.

Bile rose in his throat, a monster wave he couldn’t stop. He turned and rushed for the bathroom. Always one close by.

“Door to the left,
senor
.” An attendant pointed.

He wrenched the door open just in time.

He finished retching and splashed his face with cold water. Grasped the sink and studied his reflection. His face looked desolate in the cheap mirror.
Christ, how can I ask her to forgive me when I can’t forgive myself
?

His cell vibrated and he pulled it out. Megan, oh hell.

He stared at the display as if it were a coiled rattler then sucked in several breaths, trying to shake the smell of formaldehyde. His hand shook. He jabbed three times at the buttons before managing to press ‘talk.’

“Hello? Scott?”

“Yeah,” he managed, realizing he hadn’t spoken.

“It’s Megan. Sorry to bother you…”

She paused for a moment, as though giving him a chance to speak. And he wanted to, he really did, but his throat had dried up. She didn’t seem to have a similar problem. In fact, her voice sounded bright and lilting, filling him with such an intense longing, he feared his heart might pound out of his chest.