Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by Andrea Kane

  The door was slightly ajar. Devon pushed it open and hurried inside. She reached into her pocket for a peanut-butter biscuit. “Chomper!”

  A few surprised horses snapped around to stare at her. But no puppy.

  She checked the stalls, one at a time.

  “Good boy,” she called out in a voice filled with praise. “I’ve got a treat for you.” She made a smacking sound with her lips. “Yum. Come and get it.”

  She heard the slightest jangling sound from the far end of the barn.

  Now that could be a good sign. It sure sounded like a metal ID tag and dog license clinking together.

  “Come on, Chomper,” she coaxed, veering in the direction of the jangle. “Peanut butter beats Crayola, hands down.”

  Another jangle.

  She reached the last stall, which was empty, and stepped inside.

  There, settled on a pile of hay, surrounded by purple and green crayon wrappers, was Chomper. His head shot up when Devon walked in, and he wagged his tail proudly. His nose and snout were purple. His paws were green.

  Forcing herself to keep a straight face, Devon squatted down beside him. “No, no,” she chided, taking away the crayons. “Those aren’t to eat.”

  Chomper yipped in protest, trying to snatch the crayons away from her.

  “No,” Devon said firmly. “No crayons.” She shoved them in her coat pocket.

  He paused, looking uncertain.

  “Sit.” Devon issued the command in an unyielding but kind tone. “Chomper, sit.”

  He sat.

  “Good boy.” She flourished the biscuit, offering it to him without hesitation.

  He pounced, gobbling the biscuit with great enthusiasm.

  Devon wrapped her coat more tightly around her. She was shivering. So was Chomper. But she let him finish the biscuit before scooping him up and tucking him inside her coat. “Okay, tough guy. Time to brave the cold. Let’s get you back to the warm house.”

  He nuzzled against her, absorbing her warmth, then happily began licking her chin as she retraced her steps.

  She’d left the barn door slightly ajar. She was just reaching for it, when it was pushed open from the other side.

  Startled, Devon jumped backward to avoid being hit.

  A middle-aged man with a medical case and notebook strode in. “Mr. Pierson? I—” Seeing Devon, he broke off, looking equally as startled as she. “Excuse me. I assumed you were Mr. Pierson.”

  “No, I’m just a guest, hunting down this little guy.” Devon indicated Chomper, who had poked out his head to sniff the newcomer.

  “I see.” The reedy fellow blinked behind his eyeglasses.

  “Which Mr. Pierson did you want? They’re all inside the house.”

  “Edward. But there’s no need to interrupt him, not at this difficult time. I’ll just see to the horses and be on my way.”

  Devon eyed his bag. “You’re a veterinarian?”

  “In part. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy. I just recognize the tools of the trade. I’m a veterinarian myself.”

  “Are you?” He looked concerned. “I had no idea Mr. Pierson hired someone new. When did this happen?”

  “It didn’t.” Devon waved away the notion that she was a threat to this man’s job. “I’m here for personal, not professional, reasons.”

  “Oh.” He shifted awkwardly. “I apologize. Are you family?”

  “No.” Devon felt compelled to explain. “I’m Sally Montgomery’s daughter. My mother owns the house next door.”

  “Sally Montgomery?” Anxiety transformed to sympathy. “The newspaper said…that is, she was the woman who…who…”

  “…was with Frederick Pierson in Lake Luzerne when the cabin caught fire,” Devon finished for him.

  “She survived, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. But she’s missing.” Devon kept the explanation short.

  “That’s what I read.” He shifted the medical bag to his other hand. “I hope she’s brought home, safe and soon.”

  “Thank you.” Devon inclined her head quizzically. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Vista. Dr. Lawrence Vista.”

  “Dr. Vista.” Devon acknowledged his introduction. “Are you an equine specialist?”

  “I’m a genetic consultant. I’m advising Mr. Pierson on the best breeding partners for his show horses.”

  Devon’s curiosity was piqued. “So you examine his horses and make genetic assessments and recommendations?”

  “Precisely.”

  “That sounds fascinating. I’d love to hear more about it….” She frowned, as Chomper began squirming again. “But now’s clearly not the time. I’d better get this little guy inside.”

  Dr. Vista nodded. “The wind is really picking up.”

  “Another time, then.”

  “Certainly.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

  “No harm done. It was nice meeting you.”

  Devon walked out of the barn. Dr. Vista was right. The wind really had picked up. It blasted her in the face like ice water.

  Nestling Chomper close against her, Devon hunched her shoulders and prepared to brave the elements. Dr. Vista’s truck was parked directly in her path. She inched her way around it and struck off in the direction of the house.

  She was halfway there when she spotted Blake emerging from a jumping arena. She called out his name, and when he turned, she aimed her flashlight beam at Chomper. Blake saw him, looked extraordinarily relieved, and walked over to meet them.

  “Where was he?” he asked.

  “In the barn. Feasting on crayons.” Devon pointed at Chomper’s purple snout, which was poking out of her coat.

  Blake gave a snort of disgust, although his lips were twitching. At the same time, Chomper spotted his owner and gave a joyful yip, struggling to free himself and get to Blake.

  Laughing, Devon handed him over. “He’s shivering. Tuck him inside your coat.”

  “Yeah, that solution will work for another month or so,” Blake muttered, wrapping the warm folds of his coat around the pup. “But tell me, doctor, what do I do when he weighs ninety pounds and his feet are the size of my head?”

  “Nothing. Because, if you’re smart, you’ll put him in obedience classes now, while he’s still a manageable size. Goldens are very intelligent. They’re also sweethearts who are eager to please their owners. But right now, Chomper thinks he’s the pack leader and you’re the pack. He’s confused. Train him right and you’ll both be happier.”

  Blake tipped his head thoughtfully, examining her with those penetrating amber eyes. Only this time the examination was very thorough and very male. “Words of wisdom. Suppose I take your advice—do you make house calls?”

  The remark was teasing. Maybe flirtatious. But certainly not offensive or harmful. Still, it threw Devon—a lot.

  “No,” she heard herself reply.

  “Pity.” The sleeve of Blake’s coat brushed hers. “How about apartment calls?”

  Even through several layers of clothing, Devon felt a surge of warmth at the contact.

  She stiffened. James might be the family charmer, but there was something incredibly sexy about Blake Pierson—something she was susceptible to. She’d have to watch herself around him.

  “Nope. On-site only,” she quipped.

  “No exceptions?”

  “Not a one. But don’t worry. No house calls are needed. Chomper’s in perfect health.”

  “Physically, yeah. But not psychologically. You just said so yourself. He’s confused and disobedient.”

  “That’s easily fixed. By a trainer. Which I’m not. My clinic has a top-notch obedience and training staff. I’d recommend them, if the facilities weren’t so inconvenient for you. You’re in Manhattan. The clinic’s in White Plains.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “In White Plains.”

  “I live near the clinic,
yes.”

  “But you spend most of your time at work.”

  “A good chunk of it,” Devon acknowledged.

  “So I’d see you whenever I brought Chomper to obedience school.”

  “Not likely. The clinic’s big and spread out. It’s divided into sections. I’m in the medical wing. You’d be in the training wing.”

  Blake shot her another of those probing looks. “I’m a good navigator. I’ll find you.”

  Freezing or not, Devon was starting to perspire. She was glad they were nearing the house.

  She glanced up to see James in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, frowning as he watched their approach. An elderly man with white hair—presumably Edward Pierson—was standing beside him, waving his arm and talking vehemently.

  James stopped him in midsentence, gesturing toward her and Blake.

  Edward’s head snapped around. His gaze seemed to pin her where she stood.

  Then he turned and disappeared into the house.

  CHAPTER 8

  Two guys hitting on you. Both of them Piersons. Not bad for an evening’s work,” Monty commented drily, settling himself in the passenger seat and scribbling down some notes.

  Devon’s gloved fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and she accelerated onto the highway. “I’m glad you’re happy,” she muttered. “I feel like I just walked off a soap opera set.”

  “Yeah, well, you did. This family’s got more drama and secrets than the Kennedys.” Monty put down his pen. “How’d you leave it with James and Blake?”

  “James and I were supposed to get together while I was there. That never happened. He and his grandfather went behind closed doors five minutes after Blake and I walked in with Chomper. They were still there when I left.”

  “But you made sure he’ll call.”

  A sigh. “Yes, Monty. I gave Cassidy my phone number and asked her to pass it on to him.”

  “And Blake?”

  “He’s enrolling Chomper in obedience classes at my clinic. Evidently, he spends lots of time in Yonkers, getting his restaurant ready for its grand opening. He made it abundantly clear that he wants to see me. Whether that’s genuine interest or just a ruse to stay close by in case Mom contacts me is anyone’s guess.”

  “Probably both. But stay on your toes. I don’t trust any of these people.”

  “No argument there.” Devon glanced over, saw her father rereading the letter Edward had given him. “Do you think Frederick’s murder and that threatening letter are related?”

  A shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. I intend to find out. In the meantime, no mention of the letter to anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Devon grinned. “I’m flattered you shared it with me.”

  “You’re my partner.”

  “On this case,” Devon reminded him.

  “Yeah, yeah, on this case.” Monty’s forehead creased as he leaned back against the headrest. “Assuming the murder and the letter are connected, James is the logical common denominator. He reports to Philip Rhodes. Frederick didn’t trust Rhodes. He suspected him of playing dirty to bolster the food-services division—Frederick’s division. Now Frederick’s dead and James is the target of a threatening letter. The minute Edward’s pride and joy shows up at the office, I’m finding out what makes him tick. As for you…”

  “I’ll make a date with him ASAP.” Devon finished her father’s train of thought. “He’s got a huge ego. I’ll play into it. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get more out of him than you will.”

  A scowl. “As long as he doesn’t get too much out of you.”

  Devon couldn’t help but laugh at the uncharacteristic display of paternal protectiveness. “I’m a big girl, Monty. I know how to take care of myself. But thanks for the warning.”

  “No thanks necessary. It’s part of the job description.” An odd expression crossed Monty’s face. “Too bad I could never get that job right. I tried like hell. But it wasn’t enough. I still don’t know why. Other cops manage.”

  “Other cops can put a cap on their personal relationships. You can’t.” Devon reached over and squeezed his arm. “The way you loved Mom, and us—there’s no room for intensity like that times two.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “On the other hand, it’s never too late to try again,” Devon couldn’t help but add. “Circumstances change. Priorities change. Even people change.”

  Monty averted his eyes, staring out the window. “Just drive, Devon. We’ve got a lot to do before tomorrow.”

  EDWARD PACED INSIDE the barn, waiting and brooding.

  Devon Montgomery wasn’t supposed to be a problem. She was supposed to be a potential solution. Now all that had changed. How much remained to be seen.

  James was taken with her. Doubly so after deciding Blake was his competition. He wasn’t about to back off. That meant his performance at Wellington was in jeopardy.

  And so was he.

  Inhaling sharply, Edward stopped pacing and leaned back against the stable wall. His chest felt tight. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His health. He had to protect it. He’d get the situation in check. He’d already initiated damage control. Now he just had to find out if it was enough.

  The crunch of tires reached his ears. A minute later, the barn door opened and Lawrence Vista walked in.

  He stopped the minute he saw Edward. “I’m here, as promised.” He slapped his gloved hands together, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “I’m very sorry about your son.”

  “So am I.” Edward cut to the chase. “You said on the phone that you ran into Devon Montgomery at the barn. What happened?”

  “We spoke. For two minutes tops.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “As little as possible. My name. That I was a genetic consultant. That I was advising you on the best breeding partners for your show horses. None of that’s a secret.”

  “And that’s all you said?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Did she see anything? Anything at all?”

  “No.” Vista shook his head. “We never left the doorway. I came in with only my medical bag and a notebook. And our conversation was all veterinary talk.”

  “What the hell were you doing here to begin with? You know my whole family’s gathered at the farm.”

  “I had the preliminary results I promised. I planned on leaving them in the usual spot. The barn was lit and the door was ajar. I checked to see who was inside. I assumed it was you.”

  “That was a stupid assumption. I’m in no shape to work—not even on this. My son was just killed.”

  “I realize that. But we set up our meeting before that happened. And it occurred to me that you might decide to show up, if for no other reason than to get your mind off your loss.”

  “Nothing can do that.”

  “I understand. And I apologize if I made a bad choice. But I still don’t understand why you’re so agitated. Devon Montgomery’s a veterinarian, not a cop.”

  “Maybe not, but she’s a cop’s daughter.”

  “Huh?”

  “Her father was with the NYPD for thirty years. He retired to become a PI. A damned good one, too. And his ex-wife’s still a target for Frederick’s killer, so he’s knee-deep in this case. The last thing I need is for Devon Montgomery to say something to her daddy that starts his wheels turning.”

  Vista sucked in a breath. “I see your point.”

  “You took a stupid chance. Don’t do it again.” Edward walked past him, then paused in the doorway. “Were the preliminary results what we’d hoped for?”

  “Very close.”

  A terse nod. “The funeral’s tomorrow. Give me a few days. Then we’ll set something up.”

  THE MAN HOVERED in the shadows, teeth chattering from the cold. He struck a match, peering at his watch. Ten twenty-four. Almost time.

  Sure enough, six minutes later a black Mercedes sedan turned into the deserted parking lot. The headlights caught him, and for one
panicky instant he imagined being struck dead and left to rot.

  Abruptly, the lights were extinguished and the motor was cut. The front door slammed as the driver got out. Purposeful steps approached him, then stopped.

  “Aquí.” Without ceremony, a thick padded envelope was shoved at him. “Veinte mil dólares y un billete sencillo a Uruguay.”

  “Twenty thousand?” He reverted to his broken English. “You said fifty.”

  Furious eyes stared him down. “And you said you’d do this right. You’re lucky to be getting anything after the unforgivable way you botched things up.”

  “That wasn’t my fault. You said—”

  “Shut up. I know what I said. And you’ll get your full fifty thousand. But do you really want to risk being stopped by airport security and having to explain why you’re traveling to Montevideo with enough cash to fill a suitcase?”

  The man fell silent.

  “I didn’t think so. Take the envelope. The rest will be wired to you. If you follow instructions. If not…” A pointed glare. “Now get going. Your flight leaves in two hours. Time to disappear.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Devon was up and dressed before dawn. At six thirty, she went downstairs to brew a pot of coffee. To her surprise, the coffee was already brewed, and Lane was straddling a stool at the kitchen counter, mug in hand. Connie was rubbing up against his legs, Runner was inside his cage nibbling on fresh food pellets, and Terror and Scamp were playing tug-of-war with one of Lane’s sweat socks.

  “Hey,” Lane greeted his sister. “I figured you’d be down about now.”

  Devon blinked. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you. It’s three thirty Pacific time.”

  “Making quick time-zone adjustments is a necessary evil in my line of work. Besides, I wanted to touch base before you headed off to the clinic.” He gestured for her to pour herself some coffee and join him. “I had a couple of impromptu get-togethers with East Coast colleagues yesterday. By the time I got back, you were asleep and Monty was gone. So what happened at the Piersons’?”

  “Nothing monumental. Just some clarification for Monty and initial feelers for me.” Devon plopped down beside her brother. “Monty’s the new head of security at Pierson & Company. He’s going in first thing today to begin guarding Edward Pierson’s future heirs.”