Killer Colton Christmas. Regan Black
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reckless,” he countered, turning off Main Street. Within minutes the evening sparkle of Shadow Creek was a dwindling image behind them as he gained speed on a two-lane blacktop road.
Twilight crept across the landscape, the last rays of the setting sun painting the western horizon with bold streaks of fiery oranges and muted indigo. She felt small and alone in the world without the buffer of Shadow Creek between her and all that wide-open space.
He slowed to take a turn off the paved road onto a gravel driveway. They passed under an archway that declared their arrival at Ortega Ranch with a sign for veterinary services, as well.
She couldn’t see much beyond the road in the fading light, just the rails of a fence and the shape of several buildings as he named them. “The drive splits here and circles around to the veterinary offices,” he said.
She’d take his word, searching for anything familiar and latching on to the one-story stone house with a big chimney at one end caught in his headlights. A faint light glowed from a window deep inside the house.
“The cattle are farther out,” he explained as he parked the truck.
Lights, apparently on motion sensors, flooded the immediate area in a bright glow. “Where will I be staying?” At last, she managed to voice one of the questions she should have asked earlier.
“At the main house with me.” He left the cab to get their bags out of the truck bed.
She hopped out and her heels sank into the dirt. He’d been so eager to get on the road he hadn’t given her time to change. This would not be the place for heels and skirts. Thank goodness she’d taken his advice and packed her sneakers and jeans, along with easy-care T-shirts and a couple of older sweatshirts.
What a mess, she thought, coming around to help him with her luggage. Moving in with an FBI agent, temporarily exiled from her work and distanced from the city life she loved.
“Plenty of room and all the modern conveniences. You’ll hardly know you’ve left Dallas.”
She jumped and turned at the sound of a soft woof. Uncertain of her options, she looked to Emiliano for guidance as a tall dog with a shaggy golden coat trotted out of the darkness from the direction of the barns.
Emiliano crouched down. “Hey, Gordo,” he said, giving him a scratch between his ears.
“Gordo?”
“Short for Flash Gordon. My dad was in a mood that day. He found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health after a broken pelvis. Gordo used to race up the drive as soon as he heard my dad’s car. He’s slowed down some.” Emiliano stood up, smiling at her across the truck bed. “Come say hello.”
“I don’t know how.”
He simply came to her, Gordo at his hip. “Sit.” The dog complied, his ears cocked as he stared up at her. “Gordo, this is Marie. She’s our friend. Shake.”
Gordo lifted a paw and, at the agent’s encouraging nod, she bent down and gave it a quick shake.
“Great job,” Emiliano said.
She chose not to ask if he meant to praise her or the dog. Either way, she took an immediate liking to Gordo, and Emiliano’s obvious pleasure at being home put her at ease.
“Let’s get you settled in.” He picked up the luggage, leaving her to manage only her purse as he walked along the wide covered patio that fronted the house. It was decorated with planters between each column and had padded benches set back against the firm stone wall of the house and separated by small tables, and she felt the warm welcome, even as a stranger.
Hearing the staccato barking inside, she stutter-stepped. “Another dog?”
“As I said earlier,” he replied.
“Right.” She gave Gordo a tentative smile. “I’m not used to being around animals,” she said. “I’ll figure it out.” Blending in was the key to successful transitions. This was just one more temporary transition.
“As the son of two veterinarians, I can’t imagine it any other way.” The barking grew closer and a long white snout tipped with a black nose poked aside the curtains at the front window as they passed by. Bright brown eyes shone with happiness from a reddish-brown face, split by the stripe of white that narrowed as it flowed up between the large perked ears.
A broad smile transformed Emiliano’s face. “That’s my corgi, Scrabble.”
“Another rescue?”
“Of sorts. She’s one of our best herders.” He stopped abruptly and she had to as well or run into his back. He turned, blocking the walkway. “Don’t move.”
At the window, Scrabble raised her voice again, her eyes on Emiliano, ears straight up and her small paws patting the sill. She seemed to bounce a little with every sound, as if desperate to tell him something.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He didn’t answer as he set the luggage down and drew his gun. He was in full federal-agent mode again as his gaze swept the area while he put his back to the house and the barking dog.
“Stay right there,” he ordered.
A thousand terrible thoughts ran through her mind as he crept closer to the front door. Another note? A robbery? Something worse? No one knew until a few hours ago that she would be coming here, so it couldn’t be related to her, could it?
Gordo wandered up beside her, leaned a little against her leg. She didn’t care about dog hair on her skirt, taking comfort from the mutt’s presence as she rested a hand on his head.
“Ace?” As quickly as he’d drawn his gun, he holstered his weapon, kneeling as he’d done to greet Gordo.
Another animal? She assumed this one was wounded based on Emiliano’s tone.
Gordo whimpered and she absently stroked the dog’s ear, soothing them both while Scrabble continued her efforts to communicate with Emiliano. Why had she ever agreed to this? Coming out here gave too much weight to the hacktivist threats. She gazed out over the dark fields between the house and the deserted road and wondered what she could do to regain control of her life.
“Marie! Call nine-one-one.”
“You have my phone.” Was there an emergency response team for animals out here? She hurried toward him, only then seeing the man in the doorway. “Oh, no. He’s not... Is he...is he dead?”
“Ace!” Emiliano’s heart kicked hard in his chest at the sight of Ace Gregor slumped against the front door. He pressed his fingers to the man’s throat, searching for a pulse. Finding it steady, if slow, Emiliano drew his first deep breath of relief.
No sign of blood or wounds aside from scraped knuckles, which could mean anything for a man working on a ranch. Had he had a heart attack or a stroke? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. At sixty-three, Ace had been part of life at Ortega Ranch since before Emiliano was born. The man was as good as family and reliable as sunrise. He’d never done anything so uncharacteristic as passing out in a doorway.
Carefully, Emiliano felt around the man’s head and neck for any obvious injuries. There was a large goose egg at the back of Ace’s head, but no blood in the thin blond hair going gray at the temples.
Nothing out here on the porch would have caused that kind of injury and left Ace in this position, unless the man had fallen into the doorknob. An unlikely scenario. Emiliano looked around, seeing no signs of a struggle, which baffled him even more. Had the man knocked himself senseless and passed out before he could get into the house? Again, unlikely. Knowing the first-aid supplies were in the kitchen, Ace would have gone to the back door, not the front.
“Ace.