A Whisper of Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

  Liz said a prayer. But it was hard to even dread the possibility of another long flight when the reward was a second horse safe.

  Before they had time to revel in their anticipation of getting another stallion home, Carson called.

  “Boss,” he said, when Will answered the call on speaker. His grim tone cut through their brief elation.

  “What’ve you got?” Will’s voice matched Carson’s and Liz suspected he already knew the answer to his question. Just as she did.

  “Another body. A young girl from the island. Her parents called the authorities the morning after the Giara was stolen. Reported her missing as a possible runaway.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Looks like she tried to shoot-up heroin for the first time and accidently OD’d. No history of use. No other track marks anywhere on her body.”

  Liz saw Will’s fury in his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Time to put the nails in this bastard’s coffin.”

  “Doing everything I can to help with that, boss.”

  Will expelled a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. All of you are.”

  This time the burn of unfallen tears was for a teenaged girl who’d never had much of a chance to live, her only crime had likely been in loving a little Giara pony and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liz didn’t know how they’d used the young girl to get to the pony. She was only certain that they somehow had.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wake from my brief nap to a chill breeze and lowering sun. A nice stretch takes the stiffness from my bones. I am in my prime but my life of besting villains has left me with a few aches and pains that surface in the cooler seasons. I wear each twinge as a badge of honor.

  I haven’t dozed long as there are still remnants of daylight, a golden hue with hints of fire as they stream through the trees at the back of the garden. A sound catches my attention and I sit up, the better to listen. There. Voices from a distance but too far for me to hear what is being said. I’m not concerned until I realize that Jana is no longer with me nor has Tucker’s truck been returned to its familiar parking place at the front of the clinic next door. Worse, at least one of the voices is rising in one of those more unpleasant of human emotions.

  I move swiftly but stealthily away from the back of the house and clinic toward the sound of a burgeoning argument. There in the large sweep of the drive is the fancy roadster I recognize with a feeling of distaste and, yes, disbelief. Was Mr. Vincente not sufficiently routed earlier? I surmise history is about to be repeated and I’m up for a bit of a kerfuffle with this dodgy bloke.

  Jana stands some distance from the car, arms crossed over her stomach. She looks more ill than angry. I share her disgust.

  “You were told to leave. You shouldn’t have come back.”

  Vincente climbs out of the car and Jana takes a step backward. I circle the car so that it is not obvious that I am preparing for battle. Vincente does not notice me. Nor does Jana.

  “I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

  “And you won’t. There are no stolen horses at Summer Valley Ranch.”

  “There was.”

  So, this Vincente is not who he claimed to be. Why am I not surprised? And he somehow learned that the Catria was once upon the premises. But how? And why would it matter to him? Milo has long been gone, which Vincente clearly knows. Has he had a horse stolen and thought it behooved him to look where another stolen horse was discovered? Good heavens, is his thought that this ranch is a pass-through for a ring of horse thieves?

  Jana soon sets him to rights on that score! “There are no thieves here, just good, honest people earning a decent living.”

  Vincente gazes about him as the security lights Dirks had installed spring to life in the gathering darkness. There is one above the openings of all five of the barns, front and back, and several line the drive as it curves around the house. “More than decent, from the looks of it.”

  Jana rubs the palms of her hands over her arms from elbow to shoulder. She’s feeling the chill of the evening—or from the subtle threat in Vincente’s voice. “Still honest. They have employees and bills to pay like any other small business. But none of that is your concern. Just go.”

  “I’ll leave. But I’ll be back.”

  “You’ll never be welcome here.”

  “That’s rude of you.”

  “Tucker is on his way home. You’ll find him even more rude. But you don’t need to wait ‘til then. If you won’t leave, I’ll call the sheriff.”

  “That would be ill-advised of you.”

  I hiss as he takes a step toward Jana and she blanches but stands her ground. What an unpleasant and unwise chap he is. He has shed his façade of urbane sophistication as easily as a snake sheds skin. I’ve had enough of his shenanigans. Time for him to leave, indeed.

  With all the strength and grace of my forebears, I spring to the slope of his shoulders, then claw and scratch my way up his neck to dig my claws into his scalp. I’ve every intention of drawing blood and am satisfied with the result.

  His howl satisfies as well. He wheels and curses in his ungraceful attempts to sling me loose but my grip is secure. Not until he turns, reaching for his car door, do I leap away. My growl warns of worse to come as he climbs inside the vehicle, still cursing. As the motor starts, I move to reassure Jana that all is well. She’s no longer alone and doesn’t have to deal with such a gorm.

  She picks me up. Her hands feel cold and tremble as she strokes me. “He’s not a good man, Trouble. I’ve always disliked him but now he scares me.”

  I hope her fear is not such that she hesitates to let Tucker know what has occurred. That Vincente should come back to threaten and bully is disturbing, indeed. She carries me with her back to the house and searches until she finds her phone lying on the cushion of the swing. When she immediately places a call and I hear Tucker’s voice answer from the other end, I relax. Smart girl. I leave them with their privacy as I’ve a more urgent matter to attend. I make my way back to the point of altercation and follow the scent of the car to ensure the wanker has, indeed, left the premises and not veered off on any of the side drives.

  And good riddance to him.

  * * *

  The truck stop was like a thousand others Liz had been in, fairly clean and friendly with a less than subtle aroma of fried food and strong coffee. The place was packed so the noise level was just below rowdy but still acceptable. She ordered a hamburger with an extra side of fries as soon as the waitress popped over to their table. Jonas and Will asked only for coffee. When she caught Will looking at her, she said, “What? I’m starving. Dinner was early and hours ago.”

  When the waitress brought her meal, Jonas took one look and ordered the same.

  “You look like a cowboy,” Liz told him. A working cowboy with worn jeans, scuffed boots, and a nondescript brown tee shirt. The hat he placed on the table beside him had seen better days.

  “I look like a truck driver,” he said, as if insulted.

  “Who all try to look like cowboys.” She grinned as he debated that accusation internally. His eyes were as she recalled them. Blue and pretty—like a girl’s—but she decided not to share that with him.

  Instead of arguing the point, Jonas grunted in response. A soft ‘huh’ that could have been agreement or denial.

  Will just took another swallow of his coffee and asked, “How did you find him?”

  “A little digging and a lot of luck.”

  “Tell me about the digging, first.”

  “You’ll owe me,” Jonas said with a grin.

  “I already do but you’ll get the check.”

  Liz tilted her head, feeling a nudge of real curiosity at the exchange. At the movement, Will told her, “If any of my team catch something I’ve missed—after I’ve looked at it and handed it off to them—they get a thousand dollars.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  Will nodded. “More often than I’d like.”<
br />
  “But less often than I’d like.” Jonas smiled cheerfully. “You said the Tolfetano was born without any markings.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any now. When he was a yearling, he hung a leg in a fence. The wire cut into the muscle of his left foreleg. Several dozen stitches and six months later it had healed but left a scar that looks a lot like the Z in those old Zorro movies. The thing is, photographs don’t show it because it’s on the inside of the leg. But the owner had a very good photograph of the initial wound and the healed one when I asked.” He pulled two facsimiles from his pocket and laid them on the table.

  Will studied them a moment, then passed them to Liz. He looked at Jonas and said, “Well, damn.”

  Jonas, in turn, looked triumphant. And a thousand dollars richer.

  “So, what did you do with the information that netted us the stallion?”

  “A friend of a friend helped me get a memo to every federal equine health checkpoint from the coast of Florida inland through Georgia or Alabama. The memo had photos of the stallion, photos of the scar, and press items from Italy regarding the theft.”

  “It’s still a gamble—believing they’re landing in Florida and moving inland from there.”

  “It’s your gamble and I don’t doubt it’s paying off. We can’t tell where they’re going to hit next in Italy but now we’ve got a pretty good idea of where to grid and focus here in the States. I got a call this afternoon that a horse had been delayed just south of Macon because of irregularities in the paperwork. Once the animal was compared to my memo, the stallion was moved into quarantine and the haulers were advised not to leave the area.”

  Will gave a grunt of laughter. “Yeah, I’ll bet they fell right in line with that.”

  “Not much chance of that but we have the stallion.”

  “They’ve released him to you for return to Italy?”

  “It took some doing but, yeah, basically that’s it. I had to put your name out there along with that of this Cervelli fellow. Seems he called in some favors.”

  With a curious expression, Will leaned back against the red, fake-leather seat of the booth. “My name?”

  “Remember the bootlegging operation with the senator’s son?”

  “The one who managed to end up dead despite everything I could do?”

  “That was on him but the girl you saved? That was on you. And you’ve got a powerful friend in high places who’ll always be grateful.”

  “Well, huh, when did you get all this accomplished?”

  “The wrap-up? In the last few hours while I was waiting for you and Ms. O’Neal to get here. Otherwise you were going to have a long night on the phone. Thought I’d spare you that.”

  And, Liz thought, do his boss a solid. Jonas might be a force in his own right but she could almost feel his admiration for Will Chandler. She suspected there might be a story there but doubted it was one she’d ever get to know.

  “Two home free and four to go.”

  “Not home free until he gets on that plane,” Liz reminded.

  Will gave her a lazy look of sheer male appreciation. “That’s your specialty.”

  Liz pretended not to see the speculation in Jonas’ gaze. “Got it covered.” And she prayed that proved true.

  As Will paid the tab and they stood to leave, Liz picked up Jonas’s hat and handed it to him. “Real cowboys don’t lay their hat brim down.”

  His laughter trailed after her. As a parting shot, she thought it was damned good.

  * * *

  Will pulled his truck up behind Jonas’s in the parking lot and they hit the interstate toward Macon then took the exit for the airport.

  “Almost show time,” Liz said.

  He didn’t hear any nerves in the evenness of her voice but supposed they were there. The memory of flying bullets with a horse halfway up a ramp between solid ground and the plane couldn’t be a good one. Not anything she was used to or comfortable with.

  They were escorted through a set of gates by airport security. “Somebody’s got major pull.” When he didn’t respond, she turned to look at him and he could almost see the questions she didn’t ask. He supposed an airstrip at the back of Atlanta’s international was one thing, standing on the tarmac between two air terminals was another.

  He was glad to see Stack waiting by the plane. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jonas’s arrangements but Stack had the nuances of international experience nailed. Jonas stepped out of his truck and shook hands with Stack as Will and Liz exited Will’s truck.

  Stack walked back to them and slapped Will on the shoulder then turned to Liz with a smile. “Ms. O’Neal. Good to see you again.”

  Will saw her lips quirk. “Liz is fine, all things considered.”

  Stack smiled at her. “Nothing like being shot at to make comrades of strangers, is there?” He looked at Will. “Any questions?”

  “Not if you have everything you need.”

  “If Liz can get the beautiful behemoth out of the trailer and onto the plane, I’ll have all I need.” His attention was on her as he spoke.

  “I gather we didn’t get the hoped for thirteen hands,” Will said dryly.

  Liz shrugged. “Let’s see what I can do.”

  * * *

  The Tolfetano showed every bit of his lively side as Liz began to coax him from the trailer—and perhaps his independent side as well. He wanted to turn around to exit but there wasn’t enough room and each failed attempt left him more frustrated and anxious. As fifteen, then twenty, then thirty minutes passed, the horse showed no sign of yielding and Liz refused to show any sign of tiring and never let her voice change from a low and soothing tempo.

  At one point, the Tolfetano got strong with Liz, shouldering her. Stack took a step forward but Will stopped him with a word and Liz sent him a quick look of gratitude. Will trusted her to back down when the situation needed to change, trusted her to let him know when she needed assistance and in what form. For now, all she needed was time and she needed everyone to allow her that time.

  It occurred to her that this stallion, as well as the others, may have had little to no experience with mechanical conveyances. They needed every bit of her skill and every bit of her patience. And each one would have that from her. When the stallion eased the least bit in his resistance to her steady hold on the lead, she praised him. When he nudged her gently with his nose, she praised him. When he slung his head, she quietly said no. And all the time, she stroked and scratched as much of him as she could reach without loosening her hold on the lead rope.

  After a full forty-five minutes, the Tolfetano put one foot on the ramp and backed slowly down. Forty-five seconds later he stood on solid ground. Quietly. Liz could have wept with relief at the ease with which he had acquiesced even though she knew to the onlookers it had been an arduous and lengthy process. But they didn’t live in her world of recalcitrant, sometimes frightened, sometimes angry, equines.

  When she turned, Will gave her a slow smile and a nod. She led the horse toward the plane and said another prayer.

  * * *

  Will watched in amazement as the stallion followed Liz up the ramp to the airplane without so much as a head shake. After the battle of getting him off the trailer, he’d expected another fight.

  He waited on the ground with Stack while Liz got him settled with the crew onboard. “Is Anya piloting?”

  Stack shook his head. “Not this flight. She had chemo this morning. It takes a few days.”

  Will felt a punch to his gut. “Damn, Stack. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “She’ll win this fight.” Stack’s tone left little doubt he’d accept nothing less than victory.

  “Tell her I care.”

  “I will do that. Now we’ll return your stallion to his home. I’ll text you when he’s placed in the hands of his owners.”

  Will shook his hand, still thinking of the spunky fireball that was Anya. “I’ll wat
ch for that. Take care, my friend.”

  “And you as well.” Stack gave him a two-fingered salute at the brim of his ballcap and walked up the ramp as Liz walked down.

  Will watched them exchange words and a handshake. Then Liz made her way back down to him.

  “I’m tired,” she admitted. “Can we go home now?”

  The word startled Will for a moment. He wasn’t sure where home was for him. He had an apartment in Birmingham and a cabin in the Carolina hills. They each had their uses and he supposed they were as much home as anywhere could be but home for him held a different connotation and neither was that. But he knew Liz meant Summer Valley Ranch and, for now, he was good with that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Will pulled onto the ramp for the interstate, he got a call from Stack. Before he answered, he knew a problem had cropped up. When he heard Stack say his name, he knew it would be ugly.

  “Will, you’ve got a tail.”

  Will glanced up in the rearview. A truck followed him, not too close, not too far. “I’m checking.” Beside him, Liz watched the dually’s extended sideview mirror.

  “Cam saw him pull out of a parking bay and fall in behind you at the airport exit.”

  Will absorbed the information and gave a mental shrug. The timing could have been innocent.

  Stack’s next words put that thought to bed. “His truck was already running. He turned his headlights on as he pulled out.”

  Will had the unpleasant thought that he was more tired than he realized not to have noticed.

  “I’ll have to lose him.” The realization didn’t make him happy. “I’d rather take him on but now’s not the time.” He wouldn’t chance putting Liz at risk with that scenario.

  “That won’t be a problem. Cam is behind your tail. He didn’t have your number and it took him a while to contact me. I’ve instructed him to put a bullet in one of their tires but not engage. He’s to drive on. He’s waiting for a call back from me. We’ve agreed the best plan is for you to take the next isolated exit. He’ll take them out on the off ramp and both of you will then cross over and take the on ramp back onto the interstate. You good with that?”