Page 23 of Lie for a Million

“Yes. The horses. They’re all right.” He remembered then that the grooms were there, holding the horses and waiting for his orders.

“Take One in a Million to the paddock and turn him loose,” he said. “Make sure he has water. And have somebody keep an eye on him.” Roper didn’t have to ask how the horse had escaped his stall. One of the stable hands had likely opened the gate for cleaning, expecting no trouble. The stallion had bolted.

“Take Fire Dance back to his stall,” he told the other groom. “Rub him down, check him for any injuries, and make him comfortable. If he’s hard to handle, close the gate and leave him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You can go now, Roper.” Lila was sitting up. “Just get me on my feet. I’ll be fine.”

Looking at her, thinking how close he might have come to losing this precious woman, Roper felt his relief turn to anger. As the grooms and horses vanished into the stable, that anger boiled over.

“Damn it, Boss, you could’ve been trampled to death. You’re lucky to be alive! What in hell’s name were you thinking?”

Lila’s head went up. The jut of her chin showed her stubborn pride. “Don’t lecture me, Roper. What if One in a Million had torn into Mr. Barr’s valuable horse and injured him, maybe even killed him? Somebody had to stop what was happening.”

“But you didn’t help. All you did was get yourself slammed around and damn near killed. I could deal with an injured horse if I had to. But, blast it, I don’t know if I could deal with losing you!”

Her eyes met his. He saw the flash of vulnerability before she looked away, and he knew he’d said too much. She had to know that he had feelings for her. They’d even made love—a mistake they’d both be wise to regret. But this was the wrong time, and he’d be a fool to hope that the time would ever be right.

He’d made a mistake, bringing the stallion here to train. Roper knew that now. He should have said goodbye to Lila and left for good. But now it was too late to change things. Against his better judgment, he’d fallen in love with her.

Standing, he held out his hand. “Do you feel okay to get up?” he asked her.

“I told you, I’m fine. Nothing broken.”

“We’ll see about that. Take it slow.” Clasping the free hand she offered, he began to ease her up. “Tell me if something doesn’t feel right. After a fall like that—”

“I said I was fine.” She put her weight on her feet. “See? Go take care of the horses. I can—” She swayed against him. “Sorry, just a little dizzy, and my shoulder hurts. I think it might be . . .”

He caught her, supporting her against his side. “No arguments, Boss. I’m taking you to the house. Mariah can drive you to the clinic and get you checked over. And if you ever do anything that stupid again, so help me—”

“Stop fussing like an old biddy hen, Roper. You’ve got bigger problems on your hands. All right, if you insist, I’ll ask Mariah to drive me to the clinic. Just get me into the house.”

* * *

Drinking his morning coffee on the front porch of the bungalow, Sam watched the unfolding drama—first, Roper supporting Lila across the patio and into the house; then, minutes later, the black Escalade, Frank’s former vehicle, roaring down the driveway with Mariah at the wheel and Lila in the passenger seat. As the Escalade cleared the front gate, Roper was seen racing back down the path to the stable.

Sam was curious. But barging in, demanding fast answers to his questions, would get him nowhere. Until he knew more about what had happened, and whether it had a bearing on his investigation, he could learn more by watching and listening.

But the questions were already swarming like hornets in his mind. Had Lila’s evident injury been an accident or another attempt on her life? And did Roper’s clear concern for Lila back up Simone’s claim that the two were lovers? That would give added weight to the theory that Roper was the killer. Motive, means, and opportunity—the horse trainer had all three in spades.

And what about Mariah? If the housekeeper was still taking orders from Madeleine, other motives could be at work. Would Mariah obey an order to kill? Would Lila be safe with her?

When Sam had returned to the Frank Culhane murder scene, he’d expected a rehash of things he’d already learned. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Being here again was like starting over—new facts, new relationships, even new people.

Sam had decided to skip breakfast this morning. He was planning a visit to Charlie Grishman’s place, and the thought of that foul-smelling compound and those wretched animals killed any appetite for food. Last night, the distant boom of rifle fire had awakened him from sleep. Charlie was still in business, and evidently, business was thriving.

Twenty minutes later, wearing his badge and Glock, Sam was driving the road to Charlie’s game ranch. It was a shame he couldn’t prove Charlie guilty of Frank’s murder. It would give him a world of satisfaction to see the vile man hauled off to jail while the animal welfare people cleaned up the mess he’d left behind.

The main entrance to Charlie’s property was closed with a locked bar across the driveway. Beyond the gate, parked in front of the rambling frame house with its wide verandah, was the red Corvette Charlie had extorted from Jasmine.

Leaving the SUV, Sam ducked under the bar and walked up the driveway. The high-walled animal compound—chain-link mesh interwoven with plastic strips to hide the view—rose on the far side of a graveled lot, which held several trucks, four-wheelers, and assorted equipment for hoisting and hauling. Two ravens perched on a power line, as if waiting to share a meal.

The morning breeze carried the stench of rotting meat, musty hay, and animal dung. Sam, who’d been here before, had been braced for the odors. But what shocked him was the sound that rose from behind the wall—something between a trumpet blast and an anguished scream. He’d heard that sound only in movies. But he knew at once the kind of animal that had made it. The realization sickened him.

The front door of the house opened. Charlie strolled out onto the verandah. A cocky little man, dressed in rumpled khakis, he gave Sam a mocking grin.

“I heard you were back, Mr. FBI man,” he said. “I heard your girlfriend’s gone, too, the little bitch. Can’t say I’m sorry about that. Come sit down and ask me whatever’s on your mind. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Sam stood at the foot of the steps. “Charlie, please tell me that the animal I just heard isn’t what I think it is.”

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