name?"
They didn't remember if he had. Pretty obviously, they
didn't know this son who mystified them. To his credit, he'd stayed in touch,
but it came down to a few letters and phone calls a year, and one fleeting
visit when he got out of the pen. The job was likely a fantasy. John only hoped
the address wasn't.
He promised to call them once he'd checked out the
apartment, and to send any effects. They'd be in touch about the body, he told
them.
"You'll let us know?" Mr. Floyd asked at least
three times. "When you find out why someone killed him?"
"I'll keep you informed as the investigation
progresses," he agreed. After offering his regrets again, he left the
couple standing on their front porch, their body language expressing the
inertia, disbelief and grief he so vividly remembered his mother showing when
his father was gunned down. But, because the Floyds knew in their hearts that
their son had brought on his own end, they wouldn't find relief in anger as
John's mother had.
As he crossed a sparkling blue neck of Puget Sound on the
high span of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, John brooded about the visit. Forget
the easy answers. Ronald Floyd had not spent his years in the clink planning
how he could wreak revenge on Officer Stuart Reed.
On the other hand, he had left Monroe and gone right back to
Port Dare. Less than a month later, he was killed in Natalie Reed's house,
which wasn't tossed. There had to be a reason he was there, and a reason he
died.
But what the hell was it?
And how safe was Natalie while they hunted for hard answers?
----
Chapter
4
« ^ »
O ne hoof pawed and the
stallion's wiry tail snapped viciously across Natalie's face as she checked the
girth. Cross-tied in the barn aisle, Foxfire had been in one of his twitchier
moods from the minute she'd slung the saddle blanket across his back.
When she led him outside to the mounting block, however, he
followed like a lamb and stood obligingly still for her to swing her leg over
his back.
"You're setting me up, aren't you?" she muttered.
Taking a deep breath, she sprang.
He might have caught her by surprise if he'd been just a
tiny bit less docile. As it was, she was forewarned. The wretched animal bucked
before her butt even hit the saddle.
She grabbed at the horn and her dignity, slapping his neck
with her reins as she inelegantly shoved her toes into the stirrups. All the
while he whirled and tossed his head and shivered his skin.
Pam Reynolds, the stable owner, shook her head as she
watched. A once-pretty woman with a weathered face and a grip as callused and
strong as a construction worker's, she leaned against the white board fence,
hands shoved into the pockets of the down vest she wore over dusty jeans and a
denim shirt.
"That horse is going to come back without you one of
these days."
Natalie gave the stallion one more reproving whack on the
neck. "Probably," she admitted.
Pam continued critically, "That horse was not bred for
trail riding."
The stallion flattened his ears and hunched his back.
"No," Natalie agreed, forcing him to tuck his chin
and go into reverse.
He scrambled back so quickly he sank onto his haunches, then
danced in place.
"I'd advise you to sell him."
"I know you would."
Pam's grin gave her the look of an aging elf. "Of
course, then I'd have to snap him up and risk my own life and limb, so maybe it's
just as well you keep him."
Natalie laughed. "You know, you're welcome to ride him
anytime."
The stable owner shook her head. "The damn horse is
worth too much. I don't want him breaking a leg on my watch."
Foxfire spun in a circle.
Ruefully feeling as if she'd be seeing a chiropractor for
whiplash, Natalie said over her shoulder, "I wouldn't sue you. I'd know he
had it coming."
"You better get before he decides not to wait for
you." Pam jerked her head toward the gate. "But do stick to the trail
so someone can find your body if you break your neck."
Wincing at the idea of a body, even her own, sprawled on
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