Page 54 of Ace
She wasn’t afraid to stand for what or who she believed in, either. Her animal refuge proved her dedication to rescuing the downtrodden. And take that guy at the restaurant yesterday morning. Lyle Goldenrod. Savannah had outright taken one helluva chance and offered him a job Keller knew she didn’t need done. Not really. She simply couldn’t help herself. She was one of those rare individuals in the world who couldn’t help but stand for right. She should have been a Ranger.
Not that Carol Marie had been less of a woman. Not at all, she was just different. Always worried what others thought. Always trying to please. Ever self-deprecating. Never one to take charge. Never adventurous or daring. She hadn’t a brave bone in her timid little body. Frail and shy, she was antique china with a gold rim, too good for everyday use. Too thin. Too fragile.
Yet Carol Marie’s heart was as big as Savannah’s. She’d never been anything but kind to Keller. There was a time he thought his world began and ended with her, but here he was, still breathing, still keeping on. And thinking about his wife and a new woman in his life.
He couldn’t help but wonder how Savannah would deal with Elaine. But enough of that.
Tired from too little sleep, Keller forced his mind back to RJ’s setup. The house was your average, every day starter home. No big deal and no potential. The one level ranch was set back a good half-acre from the road with all the basics: faded green shingles, central air, three concrete steps to the center front door. Venetian blinds covered the picture window on the left as you entered, most likely the patient waiting room. Gray curtains draped the ordinary double-hung sash window to the right. The place needed paint, and Keller wasn’t certain the shadows under each line of clapboard weren’t mold or moss. Looked like mold.
Unlike Sanctuary, the front lawn was sparse and brown. No hedges, bushes, or trees either. Guess that saved on landscaping fees.
A gravel parking lot ran the length of the yard to the right, ending at a barn similar to Savannah’s barns. Just as large. Just as long. Interesting. Two points of ingress that Keller could see, one extra tall garage door at the front. One regular-sized door to the left of that. No windows. Looked like RJ needed someplace to store one of those monster RVs—or something just as large.
Keller watched as the first patients arrived. An elderly couple. After they parked, they struggled gettingup those three concrete steps until finally, they pulled each other up and in through not only an annoying screen door, but through a second wooden door as well.
Tsk, tsk, tsk. No handicapped parking and no wheelchair ramp. The Americans with Disabilities Act people would not be pleased. RJ’s clinic wasn’t even close to being ADA compliant. Strike one. But if he disregarded rules that so specifically targeted some of his patients, what else did he ignore?
Not wanting to draw attention to his ride, Keller changed locations. RJ’s home sat opposite an empty corner lot, now overrun with invasive elm, creeping kudzu, and a forest of weeds as tall as a man. Keller pulled out, circled the block, then parked on the adjacent street facing the clinic.
GMC got some things right. This truck was more comfortable than the Camaro. Lots more legroom. Darker tinted windows too. Keller relaxed into the buttery soft leather seat. But the longer he waited and watched, the more he got to thinking. RJ’s clinic was a dive as far as professional clinics went. By the unkept appearance of the yard and office/home, Doctor John wasn’t wealthy enough to cover his own costs, much less to have financed the speedy removal of Gran Mere’s houseboat from her jungle of a forgotten lot. Not that it couldn’t have been done, but the trees between her home and the road had been cut down, removed or set aside. That took heavy-duty equipment, chain saws, and a crew who knew what they were doing. At the least, it would’ve taken a semi-tractor to pull the boat out, notto mention a crane to lift it onto a semi-trailer once it was roadside.
So yeah… Keller had questions. Doctor John was salacious enough when it came to Savannah, but was he smart enough to pull off a grand theft of this magnitude? In one afternoon? No way. RJ was jonesing after something all right, and it might be Savannah, but he wasn’t the brains behind this operation. That took money.
Yesterday’s event took on a different slant now that Keller suspected the monster truck and the bomb were more diversionary than lethal. Which made sense. Once the truck slammed into the Camaro, it could’ve kept on pushing and crushing until Keller and Savannah were both underwater. It could’ve walked all over that sports car and made sure everyone in it was dead. But it hadn’t.
What’s more, that driver and truck had come prepared. The windows had only spider-webbed when Keller shot into them. They weren’t your normal, everyday automotive safety glass, and he’d bet a month’s pay someone had installed a heavy metal plate behind that fancy GMC grill. No steam billowed or hissed when he’d shot the radiator, and there should’ve been. He’d hit the truck, solid. He just hadn’t had time to process or remember what went down until now.
Relaxed in the early morning sun, he scratched his fingers over his bristly head, enjoying the smallest of bodily comforts even as he knew he’d been set up. The crash, the Camaro exploding, and the bomb at Savannah’s—all were parts of an elaboratesmokescreen. Hell, as mellow as Savannah had been when her home exploded, she could’ve been part of it, but...
Yeah, no. He’d felt her panic when she’d dropped onto him in the swamp. She’d been scared of dying, and that pretty woman’s fear had damned near choked him when he’d pulled her into his body after the Camaro blew.
But emotion could lead an empath astray, and once again, Keller’s mind drifted back to the lovely lady he’d left in his bed. It had been hard leaving her this morning, all soft, warm, and deliciously snuggled under the covers like she’d been. So sweet.
With that one thought, Keller shifted gears yet again. His impromptu visit would soon be over. He had a job back in DC, a good job. After what he’d sensed in Tucker’s heart yesterday, Keller now knew even though Tuck was former Navy, he was a damned good boss.
But what to do about Savannah. That was a tough one. Keller was not the marrying kind of guy. Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt. Long distance relationships didn’t last, and he didn’t want to lead her on. Savannah deserved better. She had a life and a future here. One look at Sanctuary and anyone would see that. She might not be college educated, but she was a born business woman. Savvy. Intelligent. So damned pretty to look at, it hurt his heart thinking of a day without her in it.
Another smile warmed his face. Keller stretched his arms over his head, then tucked both hands behind his neck. Man, that woman had the ferocity of a motherPitbull when faced with bullies. Her heart seemed unstoppable. Dogs. Cats. Birds. What wouldn’t she risk her life to rescue? Hell, she’d even rescued him. Could he live without her?
He honestly didn’t know.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Keller didn’t have to wait long. Just before noon, a black limo with darkly tinted windows pulled into RJ’s, blocking the few cars parked in the narrow lot. The driver jumped out of the pretentious vehicle and ran to open the rear door just as a tall, lean, white-haired gentleman unfolded his body and stepped out and into the sun. Wearing a straw Panama hat and dressed in an off-white business suit that looked like linen from this distance, he spoke to the driver before he headed across the unkept lawn and walked into RJ’s clinic.
Keller knew the guy. Bruce Fontenette, owner of the prestigious Champion Acres, stable of the most talked about racehorse in the country at the moment: Sand Dollar. The one thing Keller had taken with him when he’d turned his back on the South was his love of horseracing. He’d seen Sand Dollar run in the Kentucky Derby two weeks earlier. A spirited chestnut stallionwith a white slash between his eyes that extended down his high strung, aristocratic nose, Sand Dollar had roared past the other contenders. He’d made them look like they were tired old nags and standing still. Mighty Sand Dollar was currently favored to win the Preakness, the second gem in the Triple Crown.
That race was just a day away. Once he won the Preakness, he was a sure shot for Belmont Stakes, the final gem in the Crown. His name would go down in horseracing history, one of only thirteen other champions that had mastered all three races since Sir Barton’s record-setting run in 1919. The South was alive with the rumor that Sand Dollar had the heart of Secretariat and the stamina of American Pharaoh, that he could and would do it.
The winnings from the Derby alone had to have been in the millions. But the stud fees Sand Dollar would earn the split second that horse set one polished hoof over the finish line at Belmont would set Fontenette up for life. Already wealthy, he’d recently hinted he might run for the governorship of Florida, his home state, possibly the Senate. Maybe the White House. So why the hell was he down here in backwater nowhere Louisiana?
Keller hunched over his steering wheel, watching. Since he’d switched locations, he had no eyes on the side door to the house or the barn. That needed to change. Easing out of the truck, he walked briskly away from his ride to the corner opposite the road from the clinic. Keeping it cool. Looking like he knew where he was going. People tended to ignore folks walking awayfrom them. If RJ were on the lookout for trouble, that was precisely what Keller wanted him to see. No one important. Just some guy.
Backtracking, he made his way back to RJ’s barn in minutes, then broke and entered his way inside as quick as the latest 007. The air in the barn was stifling, thick with musty, mucky animal smells. Unlike Savannah’s barn, this one sported no overhead channel along the roof to allow any outdoor light or air inside. He located no light switches on the wall. Keller couldn’t see a thing, but the place was full. He sensed that much.
Keller dug into his jeans pocket for the tactical LED flashlight he never left home without. Sliding his right hand inside his shirt, he also extracted a pistol. Better safe than sorry.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was off in this crowded, dark space. Snapping the light on revealed a semi-trailer backed into the barn, its landing gear down, fifth-wheel coupling facing the barn door. Creeping around to the rear of the trailer, he found the rolling door up, so he climbed in.
