The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3

by Michele Scott

  "You're late," Camden said.

  "I have a good excuse."

  "Come on up. I got us a suite."

  "I take it you got the job."

  "Nope. My lawyer called and my ex coughed up the money I was asking for. Suppose he figured I'd be a stiletto heel in his side forever. Now get your ass on up here. I've got something for you."

  Michaela laughed and it felt so good. In the suite, Camden handed her a bag from Dolce & Gabbana. "What is this for?"

  "Look, if I'm going to let you make the biggest mistake of your life along with Ethan, you might as well look damn good doing it... Oh my God! What in the hell happened to you? You look terrible. You already been out with the horses you were picking up? What, did one go crazy and throw you? I've warned you about those horses. And where's Sam? Thought he was coming with you. Wasn't that what you wrote in the note you left me in the kitchen?"

  "Long story. Tell you over margaritas."

  "You're on, sister. Now you better get your ass in gear if we're going to do this."

  Michaela cleaned up and put on more makeup than usual with Camden's help to cover up the bruise on her forehead, as well as the scratches she'd suffered during the fight with Sam. She relayed as much of the story to Camden as she could while she did her face.

  "I can't believe what you've been through," Camden said. "Murder— twice— buried your uncle, figured out the scam of the century, run off the road by a psycho bitch from hell, two trips to the hospital, about killed by the murderer, and now you're about to lose the love of your life. You're amazing."

  "No. Now I'm depressed."

  Camden laughed. "At least that detective was a positive, right? That man is divine. And, from what you've told me, he is into you."

  "Davis, yeah. He is a great guy. I should call him." Michaela turned her cell on. There were a half a dozen messages from a worried and concerned Davis. He answered on the first ring.

  "Are you okay? I just got off the phone with the Vegas PD. My God! I've been worried sick."

  "You have?"

  "Yes!"

  "I'm sorry. It's just that with all that happened, I didn't really get much of a chance to call. I've kind of been... tied up. But I'm fine."

  "You are?"

  "Really, I am."

  "I wish I could come on out there, but my little girl..."

  "That's right, her ankle. How is she?"

  "In a cast, but she'll be fine. But between the two of you, I think I've developed an ulcer."

  Michaela laughed. This guy really cared. "I'll be back in a couple of days. I think I'll try and get some R&R. Then, I have to figure out how to get Dwayne's horses home. The police impounded the truck and trailer. But that's the last of my worries."

  "I'm working on getting Dwayne cleared of the charges. It doesn't look as if he had anything to do with his cousin's crimes."

  She sighed. "Thank God."

  "You should take some time out. See that rodeo you were talking about."

  "The NFR isn't just some rodeo. It is the ultimate rodeo. You'd love it. Too bad you couldn't come."

  "Yeah. How long you think you might stay?"

  "I'll get things figured out by Sunday and leave here Monday morning."

  "What are you doing on Tuesday?" he asked.

  "Same old. Getting up, working horses."

  "You need a coffee break?"

  She smiled. "I just might. Know where I can get a good cup of Joe?"

  "The Honey Bear Cottage. I like to go there around four."

  "Funny. Me, too. I need a pick-me-up about that time."

  "Maybe I'll see you there."

  "Maybe you will." Michaela told him goodbye and donned the gorgeous, drop-dead-sexy rose-colored dress Camden had given her. She walked out into the front room of the suite. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination. Good thing I don't have big boobs, or I'd be falling out of this thing."

  "For once, go with it. You look fabulous."

  "I plan on it." Oddly enough she did want to look good, and although it had been one eventful day and she should be exhausted, a weight had been lifted. She knew that both Uncle Lou and Bean could now rest in peace.

  They met Ethan in the lobby. Camden had done as she'd promised and arranged rooms for everyone. She had a date later on that evening with the manager.

  Gosh, did Ethan look handsome in a light gray pin-striped suit and white shirt. Michaela's stomach sank.

  "Look at you!" Camden said. "Didn't know you cleaned up so well."

  "Thanks. I try."

  "Where's the blushing bride?"

  "She'll be down in a minute. Something about wanting to look perfect."

  "Ah. I'm sure she will. I think I'll grab us some champagne before we head out." Camden winked at her.

  Ethan smiled at Michaela and approached her.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  "Sure. Big step. A baby and everything."

  "Yes it is."

  "You do understand, don't you, Mick?"

  No! she wanted to scream. I don't understand why Summer is carrying your child and you're marrying her. But the words that came out didn't match her feelings. "I do. You'll make a great daddy."

  He hugged her. "Thanks." He kissed her on the top of her head. "You're my girl, you know."

  She nodded. "I know."

  "Always."

  "Yep."

  EPILOGUE

  SAM WAS CONVICTED FOR THE MURDERS OF UNCLE Lou and Bean, as well as for fraud. Michaela received her inheritance and used some of it to pay back all of the owners of the mares who'd had foals that did prove to be out of her stallion, Rocky. The AQHA did not pursue the charges, and Michaela did move on to her uncle's ranch. Camden also moved in with Michaela and refuses to ever get involved with a man again, especially one like Kevin Tanner. Kirsten was convicted of vehicular assault, and on top of some jail time must do community service, which entails roadside litter cleanup. As far as Michaela and the rest of her family, friends, and foes, look for the next segment of The Horse Lover's Mysteries in Death Reins In.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  As a writer of fiction, at times for the story's sake, I might take a bit of literary license. I realize that in Saddled with Trouble that I did a bit of this with Dwayne Yamiguchi's character. I have been to the NFR in Las Vegas several times and have grown up around horses, so I know what it takes for the men and women of rodeo to qualify to compete at the NFR. With Dwayne's position at Uncle Lou's ranch, I realize that he probably would not, in the real world, be an NFR competitor. To compete at that level would mean a rider must be completely devoted to that task only. I completely respect the men and women of rodeo and hope you enjoy reading The Michaela Bancroft Series.

  Death Reins In

  A.K. Alexander

  Copyright © 2007 by Michele Scott.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work or in any part in any form by any electronic is forbidden without written permission of the publisher at DvinePress@gmail.com

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

&nbs
p; TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  Author's Note

  PROLOGUE

  MEMORIES RACED THROUGH BOB PRATT'S MIND—both good and bad—as he lay gagged and bound in the trunk of the car. He hadn't seen the make or model, didn't even really know what had happened other than that he'd been ambushed from behind as he went to get into his truck at the end of the day. He'd worked late, jotting down his notes on one of Eq Tech's new supplements specifically designed for racehorses. Bob didn't even really feel it when he'd been slammed over the head—by what he didn't know, by whom, he could only guess at. There were a handful of enemies who'd want to see Bob in this state, and probably a few people he called friend. The trunk smelled like dirty socks and fast food. He could hear the faint thumpings of rap music, and he occasionally thought he might have recognized the sound of laughter coming from inside the car. Did that mean there was more than one person who'd taken him when he'd left work? Probably. At over six feet tall, he wasn't exactly a little guy. They knew he would've fought, so the sneak attack had to have been carefully planned.

  His head ached as if it had been shoved into a vise, making it almost impossible to think but he wanted to try—try and play out what had happened. He needed to remember if he'd heard anyone say anything, if he'd noticed anything at all. Damn, he'd been so caught up in his findings on the new supplement that he simply had not been paying attention. He had to try though, in case he ever made it back alive. But the deep hole in his gut told him that wasn't going to happen, which led him to one continual thought streaming through his mind: his sister, Audrey, and what it would do to her if he didn't come back. Oh hell, what if his theories had been right? What if he had stumbled onto something sinister and revealed too much to her when they'd spoken the other night over dinner? He didn't think he had. As soon as she'd guessed something was wrong with him, which Audrey was so astute at, he'd tried hard to blow it off, said it was a little woman trouble, an issue at work here and there, that sort of thing. But he knew his sister well. He knew that nothing escaped her and if he'd said one wrong word, she might have picked up on it. He had to get out of this. He could feel his heart racing, beating hard against his chest, could smell the horse he'd been working with at the center on him, now mixed in with his own fear and angst.

  Oh God, what if? What if he didn't get out of this? Poor Audrey. He'd given her problems all of their lives and now, finally, when the two of them had made amends over the past few years and grown close again, he was leaving her. All alone. He loved her. She was a good sister. She had a sweet smile, warmhearted nature, and a gentle touch with her animals that everyone who knew her admired. And she'd never given up on him. Never. She'd always believed in him and picked him up off the ground. Even when he'd turned his back on her, his sister had been right there with open arms, cheering him on. She was the reason he'd been able to not only maintain an equine veterinary practice, but also secure a position as a top researcher with Eq Tech in the very exciting fields of equine medicine and health.

  The car slowed. What were they going over, an old bridge, a railroad crossing? A plume of exhaust wafted throughout the trunk, dizzying his already altered senses. Noises. More noise from outside. And the smell. It had changed, drastically. Petroleum; yes, that's what it was. And something else—food? Trash? Death? A mixture of all three. Then it hit him. They'd crossed the border. He was in Mexico. Oh Jesus, they were surely taking him there to kill him. He knew now that what he'd found out was the truth. And they knew he'd discovered it. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

  The road wound around several curves, jostling him from side to side. Then, through the drone of the car and the grade of the trunk, he sensed they were going up a steep slope, maybe a mountain. And then he got it. He knew where they were going. Soon enough they'd be skirting the Baja coastline. He'd made this trip himself before. Would they kill him there along the highway down to Ensenada and dump his body in the ocean? Or would they take him east and leave him to rot in the desert? Either way, Bob realized he was totally screwed.

  He should have lived differently. Should have made peace with the people he'd hurt. But it was too late for that, if he was right about who was behind this abduction. He would not be coming back. He'd been found out and would be dead before the sun came up. He was sure of it. Bob prayed his sister would accept that and drop it. Oh God, how he prayed for that.

  ONE

  MICHAELA BANCROFT SMILED AS SHE PLACED A hand over Genevieve Pellegrino's smaller one. Together they brushed the horse. Michaela spoke in calm hushed tones as the little girl's father, Joe, Michaela's good friend from childhood, had directed her. At first Michaela had been apprehensive about working with Gen. Until she started giving Gen riding lessons, Joe had never told her that Gen was autistic. She'd thought that maybe she was just quiet and a bit slow. Michaela hadn't been around Joe's family much after high school. Although they had always remained good friends, life seemed to get in the way. It was her uncle Lou's murder the previous year that had brought them back together.

  "That's good. See how clean he's getting?" Michaela said. "What a good job you're doing, Gen. Look at how pretty you're making Booger. He likes that a lot." Working with the little girl was as therapeutic for Michaela as it was for Gen. Maybe even more so.

  Once Booger had the saddle on him and Michaela slid a headstall over his ears, she kept him on a lead line and put Gen up, leading him to the arena. Over the course of half an hour she watched as the child relaxed into the saddle and seemed to almost become one with the horse, a smile appearing on her face as she asked him to trot. Booger performed his version, which was more of a very fast walk, semijog. But Gen didn't seem to care that Booger was lazy. An easy calm came over the little girl's face and she truly looked happy on the horse.

  "Okay, Gen. It's time to get off now and we'll give him a brushdown. Are you ready?"

  Gen nodded. Michaela helped her dismount. With a slight movement of the hand, Michaela pushed aside the strands of curly black hair that had fallen out from under Gen's helmet and into the girl's eyes. "You did a great job today. I am so proud of you." She removed the school saddle from Booger's back and set it inside the tack room, which was in serious need of an overhaul. She'd have to get on her assistant trainer, Dwayne, about that. He knew better than to keep things in such disarray.

  She brought a soft bristle horse brush back to Gen and placed it into her hands. She knew to keep the barn quiet when the girl was there. No country western on the radio blaring through the breezeway, and she'd asked Dwayne to wait to turn any of the horses out. He also knew to keep his distance when Gen was there. She figured at this time, midmorning, he was likely making a feed run. They were getting low on grass hay.

  As Gen slowly brushed Booger, Michaela stood back and watched her, knowing it gave the girl a sense of peace and accomplishment. There was a connection being forged between horse and child that could only benefit both of them. "Why don't we give him a treat?" she asked in a soothing tone.

  She didn't get a response other than a slight glance from Gen. It was important though, she'd learned from Joe, that Gen be apprised of all that was going on. It helped her stay focused without overwhelming her. Gen handed her back the brush and followed her into the feed room; the smell of molasses and fresh-cut alfalfa perfumed the air. Michaela grabbed a blue bucket off one of the post nails and scooped it into a trashcan filled with oats. "Okay. I think he'll like this. What do you think?"

 
"Yes. I think so."

  They gave the horse his oats, and after a good brushdown put him back in his stall. Taking him to the wash rack and bathing him would be too much for the child. She'd wait and let Katie, her afternoon student, wash him when she was finished riding.

  After putting Booger away, Michaela was startled by the sound of a car horn. Oh no. She looked at Gen's face, which suddenly turned ashen. The car pulled to a stop outside the breezeway and Michaela heard Katie's voice. "Michaela, Michaela, my dad brought me early. I wanted to come help." The nine-year-old bounded down the breezeway.

  Michaela started to bring a finger up to her lips to quiet the enthusiastic girl, but it was too late. Gen let out a horrible, almost primal scream. Her eyes widened with fear.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" Katie yelled out, only exacerbating the problem.

  Michaela was stuck between the two children and for a moment stood paralyzed, looking from one sobbing girl to the next. Regaining her wits, she went to Gen, wrapped her arms tightly around her, and in a low voice started reassuring the girl. "It's okay. It's okay. No one can hurt you. I'm here. You're safe. You're safe."

  "Michaela?" Jude Davis appeared in the doorway. Katie got behind her father and peered around him, looking terrified.

  "Call her parents, please, Joe and Marianne Pellegrino. Their number is on the schedule list in my office. I'm going to take her to the house." He nodded and Michaela picked Gen up, continuing to talk to her as the child began to calm down.

  "Can I help you?" Jude asked.

  "No, just please call her dad and ask him to come over."

  Gen was a tiny girl for her age, but not so small that Michaela didn't feel her fifty-some-odd pounds in her lower back. Going through the back door, she took the girl into her family room, where she closed all of the curtains and sat the child down on the couch. Gen had stopped twisting around and now fell quiet. Ah, better; but Michaela felt horrible.

  Minutes later, Joe and Marianne came through the door. "I am sorry," Michaela said.