Falcon's Run

Abby grabbed the horse but as her gaze strayed to Carl, a lump formed at her throat. How could this have happened? Nothing made sense to her anymore.

“Was he a close friend?” Preston asked, as if sensing the turmoil inside her.

“We weren’t close, but I considered him a friend. He was a good, loyal employee and a man who’d believed in my dream for Sitting Tall Ranch.” She wanted to keep her voice steady, so she paused for a moment. “Do you know how…he died?” she added in a strained whisper.

“Not yet, but I’ll find out. You can count on that.”

Detective Bowman walked away from her and crouched by Carl’s body once again. This time he looked around slowly, taking in the setting, not the victim. Although the gesture had seemed almost casual, she had a feeling he didn’t miss much. Then, surprisingly, he looked back at her. His gaze was penetrating…and unsettling. She wanted to look away but somehow couldn’t quite manage it.

To her, he represented the unknown…and that scared her. Would he be an ally, or would his appearance mark the last days of Sitting Tall Ranch? She’d made her mistakes—well-meaning ones, but if they came out now…Determined to guard her secrets, she moved away.

“We’ll be blocking off several areas with yellow tape,” he called out while taking photos with a small camera. “It may take a day or two before we’re ready to take the tape down, so be prepared.”

She tried not to give in to the unadulterated panic rising inside her. This wasn’t just about Carl, not anymore. If the ranch became synonymous with danger, no parent would want their kids here. She’d lose her funding and have to shut down.

Sitting Tall Ranch was a place of healing and hope. There was no other place like it in the area. What they offered kids was something worth fighting for, and she intended to do whatever was necessary to keep the ranch’s doors open.

“I’m going to need access to the animals,” she said as Hank let out another loud bellow. “Please try to keep that in mind when you put up the tape.”

“No problem. I’ve got you covered.”

“And please,” she said softly, “work quickly. We need donations to survive, and with the economy, those have become harder and harder to get.”

“You need closure, too, and finding answers is what I do best,” he said. “Trust me.”

She looked at him and blinked. She normally hated it when anyone said that. The words were usually empty and, if anything, meant she should do exactly the opposite. Yet there was something about Detective Bowman that assured her he was as good as his word.

Hearing another vehicle approaching, he turned his head to look, then glanced back at her. “Here comes Joanna Medina, the medical investigator,” he said. “I’ll need to speak to you and the boy as soon as I can, and when I do I’ll let you know what we’ve found.”

“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I’m going to move Hank, the camel that’s being so vocal right now. After that I’ll be in my office, the casita behind the main house.”

“One more thing,” he called out to her. “The kid, Bobby, he didn’t move or touch the body, right?”

“No, I think he would have been afraid to. He told me to tell you he’d followed the rule of three. He said you’d know what that meant.”

Preston nodded. “Don’t touch them, don’t look at them, get away from them.”

“The ghosts of the dead—that’s the source of worry, right?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he said, meeting her outside the corral. “The chindi is the evil side of a man that remains earthbound waiting for a chance to create problems for the living. Our traditionalists believe that contact with the dead or their possessions is a sure way to draw it to you.”

“You’re an officer, so you’re not…a traditionalist?”

“I’m a detective who does his job,” he said, waving at a woman wearing a lab coat and carrying a heavy-looking medical case. “I have to get to work now. I’ll come find you once we’re through here and we can talk about what you saw before I got here.”

As he strode away, a cold shudder ripped through Abby. She’d known anger, worry, love and ultimately loss. Yet she could count on one hand the times she’d experienced pure, unadulterated fear. Now as she watched the detective meet the medical examiner, she felt its icy-cold touch clawing into her again.

Carl was dead, and someone had attacked her here twice. No matter how hard she wished it wasn’t so, the truth was that the ranch was no longer a safe haven.

Trying not to look back at Carl’s body as she passed by, Abby returned to the pen that held Hank. Sensing that she was upset, the tall, gawky but somehow elegant animal nuzzled against her.

“Come on, old friend.” She placed a halter on him, opened the gate and led him away.

As she walked, tears gathered but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t fall apart now. She’d do what had to be done. Carl had shared her dream. He’d loved what they did here at the ranch daily: giving kids a chance to be kids again. He would have expected her to fight to keep it alive.

One way or another she’d see to it that Sitting Tall Ranch weathered the approaching storm.

Chapter Three

Preston considered the information he’d already gathered while the medical examiner worked. At first glance it had looked like an accident, a trampling death, but there were some inconsistencies. The wound to the back of the victim’s skull showed no trace of sand, something sure to have been left by a horse’s hoof, especially in this churned-up stall.

There also weren’t any deep impressions or hoof marks near the body that would indicate the vic had been trampled. In fact, the only fresh prints near the body appeared to be from the vic’s own boots.

He’d seen plenty of cowboys injured by horses at rodeos, but the way Carl’s body lay seemed posed somehow. A cowboy kicked by a horse usually landed askew, not neatly on his face with arms laid out flat by his side. The fact that someone else had been on the premises and had attacked Abby, then tried to run her down, supported the likelihood of foul play.

That’s when he’d taken another look at the ground by the body and discovered that someone had methodically obliterated the footprints along a strip of ground leading to and from the enclosure’s gate. It had been skillfully done, but Preston was an experienced tracker and had spotted the signs.

Dr. Joanna Medina glanced up from the body. She was in her late fifties, with short silver hair and blue eyes that looked world weary and a little sad.

“You were right. This wasn’t an accident. The wound on his head appears to have come from a blunt object. There’s a second bruise on his chest, too. It’s elongated, as if made by a stick or shovel.” Joanna stood and handed him a clear plastic evidence bag. “Here’s everything I found in the vic’s pockets.”

“Do you have a time of death for me?”

“All the markers tell me he died last night between nine and midnight.”

As she prepared the body for transport, Preston, still wearing gloves to avoid fingerprint contamination, studied the vic’s possessions. There was a small notepad with feeding schedules, a ranch staff ID and a wallet with five bucks but no driver’s license. Because there was no metro bus service and only one cab company around, it was unusual for locals not to have a license. He’d ask Abby about it.

As he walked back, Preston glanced over at the parking area and saw that the ranch’s staff was starting to arrive. They all wore dark blue T-shirts with a special logo. Yet the animal handler was wearing a plaid shirt.

The door to Abby’s office was partially open, and as he approached he felt a touch of cool air coming from inside. Preston stepped into the room, and Abby, who’d been sitting on the sofa next to the Navajo boy, came to meet him.

Now that he finally had a chance to take a closer, leisurely look at her, he realized that Abby Langdon was a stunner, with shoulder-length honey-brown hair and big hazel eyes. The loose clothing she wore didn’t hide the fact that she had curves in all the right places.

“Did you figure out what happened?” Abby asked.

He shook his head. “It’s much too soon for that, but I’ve got some more questions for you.” Even as he spoke, he saw her expression turn from hopeful to disappointed. He softened his tone. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, but these things take time. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t an accident.”

The color drained from her face. “This couldn’t have had anything to do with our ranch. It has to be random…craziness.”

“What do you know about the deceased?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “You think Carl provoked this somehow? But that just can’t be. He was a gentle man. He caught spiders and relocated rather than killed them.”

“Relax. I’m just gathering information,” he said.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Sorry.”

He saw her lips tremble but she quickly brought herself under control and turned her head to smile at Bobby.

Preston liked her. It was a purely instinctive reaction, but he trusted his gut. Just past those beautiful hazel eyes and that shaky smile beat the heart of a warrior. Yet hers was a gentle toughness.

The boy rose to his feet and came over. “I’m Bobby Neskahi,” he said. Honoring Navajo ways, he didn’t offer to shake hands. “I knew…him,” he said, avoiding the name of the deceased, also according to Navajo custom. “Probably better than almost anyone,” he added.

Preston wondered if the kid had been raised a traditionalist or was simply showing him the proper cultural respect.

“I’m Diné,” Bobby said.

“We both are,” Preston said, trying not to smile. Diné meant The People and signified those of the Navajo tribe.

Bobby moved back to the couch, and as he walked, Preston realized that the kid was no stranger to pain.

“Can we talk alone—Navajo to Navajo?” Bobby asked.

“Of course,” Preston said, then looked at Abby.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said, giving Preston a wary look.

“We’ll keep it informal, not official.” At her hesitation, he met her gaze. Looking someone in the eye was considered rude inside the Navajo Nation, but he’d learned over the years that those outside the tribe found it a sign of honesty, not disrespect. Though it hadn’t come naturally to him, over time he’d adapted to the custom.

“Okay, but I’m staying right outside.”

As Abby left, Preston sat down on the couch and gestured with a nod for Bobby to do the same. “Abby told me that you were the one who found the body this morning,” Preston said.

He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah, but I stuck to the rule of three.”

“I know,” Preston said. “So tell me, Bobby, how well did you know the ranch’s animal trainer?”

“Do you want me to avoid using his name or not?” Bobby asked. “I wasn’t raised on the Rez but I don’t want you to think I don’t know any better.”

“It’s safe to use his name. I’m a police officer, so I’m a modernist.”

“Mrs. Nez has been teaching me about our ways. She says modernists are like apples—red on the outside and white on the inside.”

Preston laughed. It was an old saying, and he had a feeling Bobby was testing him. “I’ve heard it all, kid.” He gazed into Bobby’s hard brown eyes and for a moment saw a glimpse of himself at that age. He’d been so afraid to show vulnerability. The world was seldom kind to those perceived as weak. That was a lesson he’d learned in foster care quickly enough, and he had a feeling it was even more so for Bobby.

“Abby’s trying to be brave, but on the inside she’s scared. This isn’t her fault, so you need to fix it.”

“Fix it how?”

“Catch the bad guy before she freaks out. I can help. Carl and I were buds.”

“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. First of all, what were you doing here so early in the morning?” Preston asked.

“I always come in super early because my foster father—Mr. Jack is what we call him—drops me off on his way to work. He has his own janitorial company, and some of the places he cleans want everything done before they open for business.”

“Okay, that answers that. So what do you usually do when you get here?”

“I say hi to Abby, then go help Carl feed the animals. He starts work even earlier than my foster dad.”

“Tell me what you saw this morning,” Preston pressed.

“I was going past the pens when I saw him just lying there on the ground. I saw the blood on his clothes and got scared so I went to get Abby.” He paused, then looked up at Preston. “The horses weren’t anywhere near him.”

“Tell me more about Carl,” Preston said.

“Carl was really old, like sixty. What I liked most about him was that he treated me just like he did everyone else,” Bobby said, then looked away and wiped a tear from his face with a swipe of his hands. “He never gave me that ‘poor kid’ look. To him I was just me.” He stared at his right leg, which was encased in a brace.

Bobby became quiet and Preston didn’t interrupt the silence.

“Carl didn’t have a lot of friends, kinda like me at the foster home.” Bobby looked up at Preston and met his gaze. “He talked to the rest of the staff and all, but they weren’t really his friends. He only had one other friend besides me and Abby. Rod Garner, Lightning Rod, who used to be in the NBA. Carl liked going over there and playing one-on-one with Lightning. Mr. Garner’s got a huge basketball court—six goals. I’ve never been there, but Carl told me about it.”

Preston nodded, beginning to understand Bobby more. “So what else did you two talk about?”

“Stuff,” he said with a shrug. “We were always solving puzzles and riddles like real spies, you know? That was fun. Carl liked games where you had to use your head, not your thumbs, and hated games where you had to trust your luck.”

“You mean like gambling?”

“Yeah, like that. I tried to give him a buck once so he’d buy me a scratcher, but he wouldn’t do it. I said I’d split the money if I won, but he still said no. Told me gambling was like throwing your money away and I was too smart to fall for stuff like that.”

“He was telling you the truth. The odds always favor the game, not the gambler. Lottery, scratchers, casinos—they’re all the same except for the odds.”

“Don’t you think that sometimes you just have to take a chance?” he said.

Preston didn’t answer. “What would you have done with the money had you won?” he asked, trying to get a better handle on Bobby.

“Give it to Abby,” he said without any hesitation. “She needs the money to keep the ranch and help kids like me. I wish she could find a rich guy to marry—someone who could help run the ranch and pay the bills. Do you know any rich guys?”

Preston heard coughing—more like choking—and Abby walked in a heartbeat later. From all indications, she’d been listening.

“Michelle’s here, Bobby. She can give you a ride back home.”

“Not now. Let me stay and help. You’ll need to look in Carl’s office, and if I go with you I can tell if anything’s missing or been moved around.”

Abby looked at Preston. “Bobby’s got a photographic memory—really,” she said.

“Not just that. I rule when it comes to puzzles and problem solving, too.” He looked at Preston. “You don’t believe me? Okay. I’ll prove it.” He gave Preston a once-over. “Betcha you spent some time outside working earlier this morning.”

Preston smiled slowly. “How do you know that?”

“Your boots are real dusty but the dust is darker than the ground around here. You also have some red horse hair on you and we don’t have any red horses. You were probably chopping wood or weeds or working real hard without gloves, ’cause the palms of your hands are all scuffed up. Maybe rope burns?” Bobby offered.

Preston smiled slowly. “Good observations. You might be another Sherlock Holmes someday, kid.”

“Maybe. So can I stay?” he said, looking over at Abby. “Please?”

“Okay, but I need to speak to the detective alone right now. Go help Michelle feed the llamas.”

“Sure.” He turned to Preston. “We’re counting on you, okay?” he said, then walked slowly out the door, closing it behind him. Abby waited several seconds before speaking. “I was eavesdropping because I didn’t think it was a good idea for Bobby to speak to you alone. You don’t know a thing about that boy.”

“That was the purpose of talking to him.”

“I still think you should have had an adult present.”

“He found the body, but he’s not a suspect,” Preston said. “You seem to have heard pretty much everything we talked about, so why are you worried?”

“You don’t understand. Bobby sometimes comes across as a tough kid and in a lot of ways he is, but he’s been betrayed and abandoned by people all his life. Carl was one of the few adults he trusted. Now he’s gone, too. Can you imagine what he’s going through? You have to cut him some slack and be careful what kind of questions you ask him. It’s important that he continue to remember Carl in a good way.”

What touched Preston most was her protectiveness. When he’d been Bobby’s age, he, too, would have gone to the wall for anyone who’d cared enough to defend him.

“I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt Bobby. I’ll be careful around him, but I’m here to do a job. That means digging for the truth even if it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear.”

“All right. The truth doesn’t frighten me. How can I help you find answers?”

“Let’s start with some straight talk.”

Chapter Four

Abby watched Detective Bowman as he checked his notes. He was handsome in a tough, streetwise way. Somewhere along the way he’d shrugged out of his police-issue jacket and was now wearing a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He looked muscular, like a man used to hard, physical work. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was as broad and strong as she remembered from this morning. She suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t a pretty boy. His nose was a little crooked, like he’d broken it at one time, but that just heightened his appeal.

Detective Preston Bowman was fascinating to watch. Even as he wrote in his notebook she could sense a restless energy about him.

As he shifted, her gaze fell to the badge clipped to his belt and, on the other side, his handgun. That reminder was all she needed to rein in her thoughts. He was a law enforcement professional here to do a job, and this was no time for distractions.

“Carl didn’t have a vehicle, so I’m assuming he had a bicycle or drove one of the ranch’s trucks?” he asked.

As he looked at her, she felt the power of his gaze all through her. Detective Bowman was all male, with cool eyes that didn’t miss much and left her feeling slightly off balance.

“What is that, Detective—a trick question? You’ve undoubtedly already run his name through the MVD and know that Carl didn’t have a driver’s license. If he needed to go someplace, he either hitched a ride with one of our volunteers or rode his bicycle, which is in his office in the barn.”

Preston held her gaze a moment longer, but she forced herself not to even blink.

“You paid him by check?”

“Yeah, but he preferred cash. He didn’t have a bank account,” she said.

He looked at her, surprised. “And that didn’t seem odd to you?”

“Carl was one of a kind,” she said with a sad smile. “He also didn’t have a credit card or a cell phone. In this day and age, that’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

“No prepaid cell phone either?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I really doubt it. It just wasn’t his style.” As much as she wanted to trust him, she knew they weren’t really on the same side. He was here only to investigate the crime. Her priority was protecting the ranch and, more importantly, the work they did here.

“After we’re done and the scene is released, do you plan to reopen right away?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, then as her voice wavered, she swallowed hard. “Without knowing why someone came after me, I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. Just being around me could endanger the kids and I can’t let that happen.”

“I can’t give you any real assurances, but based on the evidence, the guy who jumped you didn’t want you dead. He had his chance. My guess is that he only wanted to scare you.”

“Do you think it was the same person who killed Carl?”

“Not likely. Woods died last night, between nine and midnight approximately. That means his killer would have had to stick around for six to nine hours.”

“But two violent incidents that close together? That’s a huge coincidence, don’t you think? We’ve never had any trouble here,” she said. “Let’s assume the killer did stick around. What do you think he did all that time?”

“Searching for something? You tell me. This is your ranch, so your guess will probably be better than mine.”

Hearing a knock on the door, she excused herself and went to answer it. A tall, wiry, redheaded man in a Western shirt and jeans came in.

“Stan,” she said.

The man took her hand for a moment. “Abby, I’m so sorry. Carl was a good man.”

She gestured toward Preston. “This is Detective Bowman from the Hartley police,” she said. “He’s investigating Carl’s death.” The words sounded odd even in her own ears. “Detective, this is Stan Cooper, my accountant and business advisor.”

“You can add ranch volunteer to that list, too,” he said, brushing alfalfa leaves off his shirt instead of offering to shake hands. “I just brought in a trailer loaded with hay, saw the police and learned what happened.”

“I’m still trying to come to terms with everything,” Abby said.

“I know this is hard on you, Abby, but you’ve got a more immediate problem. Some kids with special needs have just arrived, and right behind them is a camera crew from the local cable TV station.”

She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and closed her eyes for a second, trying to push back a migraine. “I made a lot of calls already this morning, but I couldn’t reach everyone, particularly the ones who were already on their way.”

“That’s okay. Put it out of your mind. Right now you’re going to have to go out there and make a statement to the press,” Stan said. “You need to make sure everyone understands that the ranch will have to remain closed for the time being. Explain that your priority is cooperating with the police so this unfortunate incident can be cleared up. Don’t let them draw you into long discussions. Keep it short and simple.”

She nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

“After the initial interview, don’t talk to the press again,” Stan said. “Stay low profile. That’s my professional and personal advice. The longer this story remains front-page news, the worse off the ranch will be. Something like this could scare away current and future benefactors.”

Abby moved to the window and looked outside. “I really don’t want to turn those kids away now that they’re here. They really look forward to spending time at the ranch and I hate disappointing them.”

Preston followed her gaze. “Is it just those three kids?”

“Yes. I got hold of the others due in today and told them I’d reschedule.”

“If you could keep them well away from the crime scene area, you could still let them ride the horses and pet the other animals,” Preston said.

“Absolutely not,” Stan said quickly. “Abby, think about it. The media is already out there taking photos. If you say that the ranch will have to be closed for now, people will see that as your way of putting the kids’ safety first. Yet if you say that’s what you’re going to do and then invite those kids in, you’ll lose credibility. The public will see images of kids riding horses and petting camels right next to half a dozen police cars and lots of yellow crime scene tape. Your donors are going to run for cover.”

“I’ll figure this out, Stan. Stop worrying,” Abby said firmly.