Page 90 of High Density

It’s coming back to me now, the emergency call, the Nordic club, the accident. But that wasn’t a real accident, was it? That was a setup. Someone had been lying in wait for me, and injected me with something.

Ketamine?

It would fit. It knocks you out quickly and, depending on how much you’re given, the effects can wear off in as little as ten to fifteen minutes. It feels like I haven’t been out that long. It’s possible they underestimated my size and miscalculated the dosage. An unexpected benefit to being a couple of pounds overweight.

I try my eyes again, and this time I manage to open them slightly, blinking a few times to clear my vision. The first thing I see are my hands zip-tied to the horizontal bar across the front of the trailer. It’s a safety bar that braces against a horse’s chest to prevent injury to the head or neck in case of a sudden brake.

Then I struggle to lift my head, which is tilted back, and see the ATV inside the trailer. I’m guessing the same ATV I saw lying on its side in the road. I notice a set of keys dangling from the ignition just underneath the handlebars.

If only I could get the rest of my body to work, there may be a way I can get out of this. If only I could get my hands out of these damn zip ties. I could get on the ATV, and the moment that gate comes down, I can floor it out of here.

As I wiggle my fingers and move my feet as best I can, I’m trying to think of anything that might clue me in to who grabbed me. I never saw his face, and didn’t recognize the truck or trailer either.

Slowly some control returns to my extremities and I manage to get up on my feet, bracing myself against the safety bar. But before I have a chance to test the strength of my binds, the truck slows down and comes to a halt. I pull and twist, trying to get loose, but all I manage to do is break the skin on my wrist.

Too late, I consider maybe I should’ve pretended to still be out cold when the gate starts coming down. I squint my eyes against the bright sun backlighting the shadowed form peering into the trailer, but I end up identifying him by his voice.

“You’re awake.”

JD

“Where is she?”

Frankie startles when I come barreling into the clinic, immediately ducking past her and poking my head into the treatment room and her office. Both are empty.

“Out on a call? Why?”

Because she’s not answering, that’s why.

I’ve been trying Janey’s cell the entire drive here but keep getting bumped to her voicemail.

I hopped in the passenger seat of Ewing’s cruiser, leaving Jackson to deal with the search. My blood had run cold when he relayed his call with Stephanie Kramer. She hadn’t told him much, other than to say Jericho had brought up Logan Osborne, but was using holding the concrete evidence he claims to have hostage in return for his own immunity.

She’d stepped out of the meeting because she was concerned about Janey. As it turns out, from my countless unanswered calls to her phone, a very valid concern I share, and clearlyJunior Ewing does as well, since he drove us to the clinic in record time.

“Tell me about the call,” I snap at Frankie, leaning over her desk.

Her eyes are wide as she leans back to get as far away from me as she can. Probably wise, because my rage is bubbling right under the surface.

“JD, back off,” Junior Ewing barks at me. “You’re angry at the wrong person.” Then he turns to Frankie, and says in a much gentler tone, “It’s urgent we find Doc Richards.”

She nods and starts talking. “We got a call for two horses injured in a crash somewhere up on Flower Lake Road, near the Nordic trails.”

“Where did the call come from?” the sheriff probes.

“I’m not sure, I assumed it was someone involved in the accident or maybe a passerby.”

“You didn’t recognize the voice?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. It was a man, and he sounded pretty frantic, said the horses were in bad shape, and hung up before I could ask more questions.”

I flip her desk phone around and push a few buttons to check the incoming call list. The last number comes up as unlisted.Of course it is.

“What about Logan? Where is he?” I ask, which earns me a warning look from Ewing.

“He’s not here yet.” She glances at the clock in the waiting room. “He called maybe five minutes ago to let us know he’ll be a bit later. Something about his engine stalling, and he’s waiting for his dad and a tow truck.”

Like fucking hell he is. I’m already halfway to the cruiser when Ewing catches up to me.

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