“I’m giving it time,” she said. “For now, that’s all I can tell you.”
It was a sensible answer, from a good place inside her. Still, when she thought of Hayden, she felt a prickle of unease. From the depths of her memory, a voice whispered a warning—one she had learned to heed.
Danger … don’t assume that anything is what it seems.
CHAPTERTWO
FBI Agent Sam Rafferty surveyed the main arena of the South Point Equestrian Center. This afternoon, a Tuesday, the seats were empty. But in the days and nights ahead, fans would be swarming in to watch trainers and non-pro riders show their horses in bucking, cutting, herding, and reining competitions.
The last and biggest reining event of the week, the Run for a Million, was scheduled for Saturday night. By then, it would be up to Sam to have someone—most likely Roper McKenna—under arrest for the cold-blooded murder of Frank Culhane.
Nick Bellingham, Sam’s boss at the Bureau in Abilene, had given Sam one final week to solve the case. Succeed, and he would be solidly in line for Nick’s job. Fail, and the blot on his record would haunt the rest of his career.
The hell of it was, Sam liked Roper and had trusted him enough to let him come here and compete. After all, the man was innocent until proven guilty. But Sam had a job to do. And Roper, despite his sworn claim of innocence, had opportunity, means, and motive in spades.
The opportunity would have come easily. At any time,even in the middle of the night, Roper could have invented an excuse to lure Frank into the stable where the murder had taken place. Roper’s only alibi had been furnished by his mother, who claimed he’d been at home all night. But mothers could lie, and they often did.
Roper worked with horses and would’ve had no trouble getting his hands on the 18-gauge hypodermic that had injected a fatal dose of fentanyl into the back of his wealthy boss’s neck. The hypodermic, already identified as the murder weapon, had been found by two young boys in the creek that ran past the McKenna Ranch.
As for motive, Roper had two reasons to commit murder. Frank’s death had freed him to win his late boss’s place in the Run for a Million. And now Roper was evidently sleeping with Frank’s glamorous widow, Lila.
The case looked like an easy win. But there was a problem. Every shred of evidence against Roper was circumstantial. If the case came to trial, a smart lawyer would have a good chance of getting an acquittal. If Sam failed to find proof that would hold up in court, he would be forced to walk away, leaving the high-profile case unsolved.
Of course, there was always the chance that someone else was guilty. Lila herself was not above suspicion. Neither was Frank’s ex-wife, Madeleine, the mother of his two children, Darrin and Jasmine. Darrin and his wife, Simone, were determined to inherit Frank’s house and ranch. And Madeleine, rumored to have mob connections, would do anything to help them. Sam would be remiss to rule out any of them.
An eyewitness would be a godsend. But only one pair of eyes had seen the violent crime that ended Frank Culhane’s life—the eyes of Frank’s prize stallion, One in a Million. Horses were sensitive, intelligent animals. Themurder would be buried in the big bay roan’s memory for as long as he lived. But the stallion would keep the secret.
After checking the time, Sam took an exit from the arena to the open lot where Roper was expected to arrive with the horses. Sam would be keeping an eye on him. He would also be questioning anyone who might have light to shed on the murder case. He didn’t relish collecting dirt on a man he’d come to respect. But he’d sworn an oath to perform his job.
Not that he’d kept to the tenets of that oath, Sam reminded himself. Falling in love with Frank’s daughter, Jasmine, had been a serious breach of conduct—especially since Jasmine was still on his list of suspects. That was why they’d put their relationship on hold until this case was closed. Sam was getting impatient to hold her in his arms again. But he couldn’t let that guide his decisions now.
Between the trailer lot and the arena, the complex of sheds, docks, and cattle pens swarmed with activity. Trucks were rolling through the Pyle Avenue gate, lining up their trailers to be unloaded. Horses snorted and whinnied. Cows bawled. Country music blared from a hidden speaker. The torrid Las Vegas air smelled of dust, diesel fumes, and manure.
Sam had transferred to cowboy country from a job in Chicago. Today he was dressed in faded denims and a plaid shirt, complete with boots and a Stetson. But he was still a city man, and this milieu felt as alien as a planet scene fromStar Wars.
He found a strip of shade against the immense barn and settled back to watch and wait. Someone else appeared to be waiting, too. It took a moment for Sam to place the dark-haired cowboy checking his phone nearby. Then he remembered seeing him at the Culhane Ranch, when he’d delivered the spectacular red stallion Roper would be showing. He was the son of the horse’s owner.
Sam had done his homework at the time. Hayden Barr was heir to a horse-breeding dynasty on a big ranch outside Wichita Falls. Since he had no possible connection to Frank Culhane’s murder, Sam had dismissed him from memory.
Now Hayden had turned toward the gate where the Culhane rig was driving in. Viewed from the front, everything looked fine. Only as the truck turned, swinging the trailer into view, did Sam see the ragged scrape, like the mark of a giant claw, that ran from the truck’s front wheel and along the trailer to the end. The damage had the look of a deliberate sideswipe—maybe with the intent to cause a fatal crash.
Something similar had happened to Lila Culhane weeks earlier when someone had tampered with her Porsche, causing a rollover that could have killed her. The so-called accident had been clumsily arranged by Lila’s stepson, Darrin, who’d been saved from arrest by his mother. Darrin was still out there and still scheming to get his father’s widow out of the way. Maybe this was another attempt.
But today, Sam could see that Lila wasn’t in the passenger seat. Instead, it was Roper’s younger sister, Cheyenne, opening the door and jumping to the ground.
Hayden strode toward the rig. Cheynne met him partway. They exchanged a few words as Roper backed the trailer into position and climbed out of the cab. Then they joined him at the rear of the trailer.
Sam watched from a distance, where he could see inside as Roper raised the rear door. Sam could imagine what he was thinking. The collision that damaged the trailer would have thrown the horses into a panic. Even if they weren’t physically injured, the high-strung animals might be too traumatized to perform.
The horses bucked and squealed, showing the whites of their eyes as Roper lowered the ramp. Motioning Cheyenneand Hayden back, he stepped into the trailer. He spoke to them in a soothing voice, but they continued to lunge at the sides of their boxes, as if they were fighting to break out of the trailer and bolt for freedom.
One in a Million was the steadiest of the three. Once Roper had clipped the lead rope onto his halter, the big bay roan allowed himself to be led, snorting, quivering, and eye-rolling, down the ramp and into vast barn where an air-conditioned stall would be waiting. Roper would give him a few minutes to settle down before coming back for the other horses.
Hayden and Cheyenne waited outside the trailer, talking and watching the horses. Sam weighed the idea of joining them and asking a few questions, but decided against it. Cheyenne had been on the rodeo circuit at the time of the murder. Neither she nor Hayden would’ve had anything to do with Frank’s death.
Cheyenne had noticed the FBI man watching them. She knew who he was. He’d questioned her family members about Frank’s murder. At the time, he’d asked her about Roper’s relationship with his boss. She’d answered truthfully that Roper had never complained about Frank. That had ended the conversation.
But what was the federal agent doing here now? Could Roper be more deeply involved than he’d let on?