Sun Kissed (28 page)

“Excuse me?” Samantha’s heart went still in her chest. “Did you say insurance fraud?”

The blond inclined his head at the report. “It clearly wasn’t a random act, Ms. Harrigan, and it definitely wasn’t perpetrated by teenagers. Coulter makes references
to the first incident, involving two other horses, one doped with morphine, another with arsenic. He clearly states in the report that the guilty party has to know about horses and how they react to opiates. It’s also his opinion that the arsenic used to kill the horses last night had to be highly concentrated. Where does the average Joe get his hands on arsenic? Coulter speculates that the most likely source would be outdated swine or poultry feed, both of which were laced with arsenic to promote weight gain and growth. The practice has been outlawed here in the States, so far as he knows.” He pushed up from his chair. “Have you ever raised pigs on this ranch?”

Samantha’s father shoved up so suddenly from his seat that the chair went skidding backward. “All right, I’ve heard enough. I’ll kindly ask you gents to take your leave. The next time you want to speak to my daughter, call for an appointment. She’ll want to have her attorney present.”

“We’re finished questioning her for the moment,” Galloway replied. “Now we’d like permission to search the property.”

“For what?” her father demanded.

“Traces of arsenic,” the detective replied. “The vet clearly states in the report that the horses may have been fed outdated swine or poultry feed. We’ll be looking for that, or arsenic residue in the storage areas. We will also be taking grass samples in case the pastures were sprayed with an herbicide or insecticide containing arsenicals.”

“You can go straight to hell,” Frank bit out. “Not without a search warrant, you won’t.”

“Dad,” Samantha cried softly as she pushed up from
the chair. “I have nothing to hide. If the detectives wish to search the property, why not let them?”

“Because it only stands to reason that they
will
find traces of arsenic somewhere,” Frank shot back. “Your horses were poisoned with the damned stuff.”

“We can drive back to town, ask a judge to sign a warrant, and be back here before dark,” Galloway inserted. To Frank he added, “You can delay the search, but you can’t stop it.”

Frank retorted, “True, but a warrant will specify where you can search and what you can search for, providing my daughter with at least some protection.”

“I don’t need protection,” Samantha insisted. “I’m not guilty of anything.” She moved to stand beside her father. “Someone killed my horses, Dad. I want to get to the bottom of this every bit as much as they do, and the faster, the better. Until the person’s caught, my horses will remain in danger.”

Frank sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “All right,” he finally agreed. “But you aren’t executing a search alone. I’m going with you.”

Samantha stood in the doorway. At the steps, her father turned to look at her. “This won’t take long.”

From the yard Galloway said, “It isn’t necessary for you to accompany us, Mr. Harrigan.”

“Damned if it ain’t.” Frank’s boots echoed on the planks as he descended the porch steps. “You think I don’t watch the news? All you cops care about is pinnin’ the crime on someone and makin’ yourselves look good. There’ll be no plantin’ of evidence on this property, I can guaran-ass-tee you that.”

Samantha felt weak at the knees. Turning back to the table, she resumed her seat and picked up the copy of Tucker’s report. Tears burned in her eyes as she scanned the paperwork. Time of death, probable cause of death, a list of the clinical evidence. Reading the information sharply reminded her of the horror she’d seen last night. As she went over Tucker’s concluding statements, her heart squeezed with regret that he’d been put into such an awful position, obligated to state the facts, even if they implicated a friend. She knew it must have pained him to type every word.

With trembling fingertips she touched the letters, imagining him at his computer and then sending the fax, his forehead creased in a frown, his jaw muscle ticking. A sad smile touched her mouth, for even in a report, he was honest to a fault.

B
y five o’clock that same afternoon, at her father’s behest, Samantha had hurriedly interviewed three local security companies via telephone and hired Hawkeye Security Services to patrol her ranch, starting immediately. It was Frank’s feeling that the entire property, including its perimeters, needed to be under constant surveillance until the individual who’d poisoned the horses had been caught. They couldn’t take the chance that someone might sneak onto Samantha’s land to spray the grazing pastures with arsenicals or contaminate the hay storage.

Samantha wasn’t sure how she felt about her place being protected by armed guards. Out of necessity, she had employees coming and going throughout the day, and she was reluctant to interrupt the horses’ normal routines. On the other hand, she and Jerome couldn’t possibly keep an eye on two hundred acres by themselves, and the safety of her animals had to be her top priority.

Hawkeye Security came highly recommended to Samantha’s father by his youngest brother, Hugh, an
Oregon state policeman. According to Hugh, the firm not only provided more extensive training programs for their employees than most, but also supplied them with state-of-the-art surveillance equipment, including night-vision goggles and portable, battery-powered motion detectors and video cameras.

By six thirty that evening, armed strangers had descended upon the ranch and were rushing about, setting up camera surveillance and motion detectors. It fell to Samantha to help focus their efforts on key areas, all the places where her horses might be put out to graze and also on any outbuildings used for grain or hay storage. As a result, she was still outside at seven thirty, walking the property with Nona Redcliff, the security team’s senior officer, a slender but well-muscled young woman of Native American ancestry.

When they reached the hay shed, Samantha asked, “How, exactly, will cameras protect this area? Pictures or videotapes reviewed after the fact won’t stop someone from spraying my hay with poison.”

Nona motioned to a white van parked near the stable. “There’s an entire bank of monitors inside our van that picks up images via wireless transmission.” She crouched by the equipment that Chuck, a blond underling, had just deposited on the ground. As she untangled cords, she explained, “These cameras are motion-activated. The moment the electronic eyes detect movement anywhere near this structure, the cameras will come on and send images to a monitor in the van. The person watching the monitors”—she thumbed her khaki uniform shirt—“namely me, will determine if there’s a genuine threat. In short,
Ms. Harrigan, if a mouse so much as twitches its tail near this hay, I’ll know it.” She swung her arm toward the farthest reaches of the ranch. “Same goes for the perimeters, except that the long-range motion detectors are marginally less sensitive and are also equipped with infrared heat detectors. A rabbit or small dog will be able to cross your fence lines, but any larger warm-blooded creature, animal or human, will trigger the detectors, alerting me in the van and transmitting real-time images onto my screens.”

“Do the cameras work well in the dark?”

Nona pushed erect. “After dark, they automatically switch into night mode. The images are weird-looking, sort of gray-green, but they’re clear enough.”

Samantha could only wonder how much all this electronic surveillance might cost. Luckily her father had offered to pick up the tab, and he had deep pockets. “Well, it certainly sounds as if you have everything under control.”

“Guaranteed,” Nona assured her. “Well, maybe I should rephrase that. There’ll be no more incidents on your ranch unless your perp is someone allowed to come and go—a friend, family member, or employee. That’s why we asked you to supply us with a list of all individuals you want allowed on the property. If you’ve forgotten anyone, just let me know and I’ll add the name.” At Samantha’s horrified look, Nona quickly added, “I’m not suggesting it’s someone you know and trust, only that there’s always that possibility. All the high-tech surveillance equipment in the world can’t protect your animals from an inside job.”

“I understand.” Samantha mentally went back over the list of names. “Did I mention Dee Dee, our cleaning lady? Her daughter just gave birth to her first grandchild, and she’s been out of town for about a month. I’m not sure when she’ll be coming home, but when she does, I don’t want her to be hassled. She’s like a mother to me.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s on the list, but I’ll double-check,” Nona promised.

“Where do you want this?” Chuck asked, holding up a black box with dangling cords.

Nona started to excuse herself but stopped midsentence and narrowed her gaze on a green Dodge truck that had just parked beside the surveillance van. “Who’s that?”

Samantha smiled. “My vet, Tucker Coulter. He’s definitely on your list—right at the top, if I remember right.”

Nona drew her two-way from her belt, keyed the mike, and spoke briefly with another guard who stood sentry at the arena personnel door, telling him that the vet should be allowed inside. Samantha considered walking over to the stable to say hello to Tucker, but her stomach rumbled with hunger and she had the weak shakes. She hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Talking with Tucker would have to wait.

After wolfing down a sandwich and an apple, Samantha was too exhausted to go back over to the stable. Her bones ached, her head felt muzzy, and she could barely lift her feet. The last time she’d slept had been on a cot at the equine center. She wasn’t sure how many hours—or days—ago that had been, only that she’d
reached a point beyond exhaustion and absolutely had to get some rest, preferably in her own bed for a change.

Fortunately, she actually felt safe in allowing herself that luxury with Nona Redcliff overseeing the surveillance of her ranch that night. Nona struck her as a person who took great pride in her performance.

After setting the house alarm system and calling her father to assure him she’d remembered to do so, Samantha knotted her hair atop her head, poured herself a glass of chilled white zinfandel, and wearily climbed the stairs. Once in the master suite, which she’d completely redone after the divorce to please her own simple tastes in decor, she began filling the jetted tub in the adjoining bathroom with piping-hot water, then stripped off her clothes and flung them over the juniper saddle tree in one corner of the bedroom. A neck-deep bubble bath, white wine, and the soothing fragrance of lighted lavender candles were sure to help her relax.

She sighed and closed her eyes as the hot water reached her chin. An image of Cilantro flashed in her mind, and she felt a brief stab of sadness, but it was just as quickly gone, replaced by a vision of Tucker’s face. She thought of how his eyes darkened to the color of blue steel when he was concerned about a patient, and then she thought of his devastating grin, which always filled her with warmth. Then she remembered that afternoon at the river when he’d almost kissed her.

How would it feel to have Tucker’s mouth on hers? She instinctively knew he’d start out gently, soothing away all her nervousness before he deepened the kiss. She imagined putting her hands on his shoulders, how all
that warm strength and vibrant muscle would bunch under her fingertips. And then she fantasized about having his hands caressing her skin.

Her eyes blinked open. Imagining kissing him was all well and fine, but anything more than that was pretty much uncharted territory for her. Steve hadn’t been a touchy-feely person. He’d made love to her as if it were a chore that he wanted to finish as quickly as possible. On her wedding night it had hurt terribly, because she’d been a virgin and wasn’t aroused. After that, she’d followed Dee Dee’s advice and never gone to bed without first using a personal lubricant. That had suited Steve’s purposes just fine. When and if he wanted sex, which hadn’t been often, he’d never wanted to engage in foreplay first.

Shame rose in her throat, thick and suffocating, as she recalled their couplings. It was humiliating for a woman to be intimate with a man who didn’t find her desirable. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember a single thing about her body that Steve had liked: small boobs, knobby knees, and protruding hip bones, which he’d always claimed poked him. And then there’d been his drinking to make matters worse. More than once he’d passed out on top of her immediately after ejaculating.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that way with Tucker. He’d almost kissed her that afternoon at the river. She felt certain of that. Didn’t it follow that he must be attracted to her? But what if he only
thought
he was and changed his mind after he saw her naked? The possibility made her cringe.

Why was she worrying about it, anyway?
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
It wasn’t as if he’d given her any recent indication that he was thinking along those lines. So she
shouldn’t be either. It’d be awful if he wasn’t interested and he realized she
was
. Or might be, she revised. She wasn’t sure yet. Entering into another relationship would be a huge step for her, and then there was her faith to complicate matters. Engaging in sex before marriage was a mortal sin, not something she took lightly.

Sigh
. Better to just not think about it. Tucker probably didn’t even think of her in that way. She might have read more into his expression than had been there that day at the river. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at her mouth at all. She could have had mud on her nose—or a string of algae on her upper lip. Just because a man appeared to be staring at a woman’s mouth didn’t necessarily mean he was about to kiss her, right?
Right.

After soaking for over an hour and finishing the glass of wine, Samantha expected to feel drowsy, but she didn’t. She was so exhausted she felt wired, too weary to accomplish anything useful, but too innervated to fall asleep. More wine, she decided. If another glass didn’t help, maybe the whole bottle would do the trick.

She left the tub, toweled off, and drew on a white terry robe before going downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she went directly to the refrigerator, plucked the white zinfandel from the shelf, and moved to the table, bottle and goblet clasped in her hands. After refilling her glass, she sank down on a chair to leaf through an equine supply catalog that had come that day in the mail. She was staring sadly at a horse blanket eerily similar to Cilantro’s when a loud knock at the door made her leap to her feet.

A glance at the windows told her it was fully dark outside. She checked her watch, saw that it was twenty after
nine, and frowned. Jerome knew how exhausted she was and wouldn’t dream of disturbing her unless it was an emergency. A chill of dread crawled up her spine as she went to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Tucker. You got a minute to talk?”

Samantha’s gaze dropped to her robe. “I, um…I’m not really dressed for company.”

“You don’t need to make a fashion statement, honey. I just want to talk.”

She tugged the collar of the robe close around her throat. “All I’m wearing is a robe, Tucker, and I’m naked underneath.”

Long silence. “Totally naked?”

Of course,
totally.

When she didn’t answer his question, he said, “I’m sorry for coming so late. I had to take Tabasco’s blood sample back to town.” She heard his boots shuffle on the porch and imagined him shifting his weight to one leg, a habit of his when he grew frustrated. “Are you using the robe as an excuse not to let me in?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re pissed at me about that report.”

If that wasn’t the silliest thing she’d ever heard. She started to tell him as much, but he cut her off.

“Filing that damned thing was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. You have to believe that. Practically every word implicated you.” Another long silence. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “I’m in love with you, Sam. I think you already know that, but
just in case you don’t, there you have it. I’m in love with you.”

She disengaged the dead bolt and jerked open the portal. He seemed to fill the entire doorway. He wore no jacket to protect him against the cool night air, only a blue shirt, jeans, and dusty boots. In the glow of the porch lights he was the epitome of tall, dark, and treacherously handsome, his shoulders thick and broad, his tanned forearms, extending below his rolled-back shirtsleeves, roped with powerful tendons.

“You’re
what
?”

His gaze plummeted from her face to the vee of her collar. “You really
are
wearing a robe.”

“Well, of
course
I’m wearing a robe. Why would I lie about something like that? And don’t change the subject. What did you just say?”

“When?”

“Just before I opened…” She saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know precisely when. Did I or did I not hear you say—”

“That I love you?” he interrupted. “Absolutely not. You were imagining things. I am far too suave and sophisticated to
ever
tell a woman something like that through a closed door.” He stepped onto the threshold and rested one muscular arm against the door frame. Even as his beautiful mouth tipped into a grin, his eyes went dark and serious, just as they always did when he was deeply worried. “Please don’t hate me for filing that report. I had no choice, honestly I didn’t, and I’m sorrier than you can know that the police are breathing down your neck because of it.”