“And Raine!”
He didn’t reply and Raine ran through the living area to the circular stairs that led to the loft. “August, I’m coming up!”
The metal stairs creaked as she raced up them. “He’s not up here!”
The back porch. That faced the pond. What looked like a figure in a chair.
“He’s outside, Raine. I see him!” She ran to the sliding glass door and slid it open. At the same moment she cleared the door, the back light snapped on.
“August, you scared the life out—”
She stopped. He sat slumped in a chair, head cocked back at an unnatural angle, eyes rolled back in his head. The color had drained from his face, leaving it pasty white, his lips blue. A thin line of drying blood ran from his nose to his upper lip.
Bailey took a step back. She’d seen her mother dead. Had held her hand as she’d taken her last breath, refused to leave her side until her hand had grown cold and stiff.
It had been heartbreaking. But this was different. Unnatural and horrifying.
She shifted her gaze. A vial and syringe lay on the patio at his feet. A belt, half across his lap, hanging over the side of the chair.
At a sound behind her, she spun around.
Raine. A shotgun in her hands.
A gunshot, exploding in the quiet.
Blood. On her hands. Her jeans.
Bailey blinked and her vision cleared. “What are you doing with that, Raine?”
She looked down at her hands, then back up at Bailey. “I think he meant to—” She frowned, took a step forward, then stopped, blood draining from her face.
Bailey held a hand out. “I’m so sorry, Raine.”
For a long moment, Raine simply stared at him, then she turned expressionless eyes on Bailey. “Maybe I should join him?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Raine—”
“Maybe it’s all my fault. Like a curse. So if I die, everyone else lives.”
“Put down the gun.” Bailey held out a hand. “Please.”
“I know how to use this. I’m a pretty good shot. Better than Logan. Or Roane.”
Her voice shook. “I don’t think I want to live. Not with all this death.”
“Don’t say that, Raine. Logan needs—”
Bailey caught a movement inside the house. In the next instant Paul appeared at the sliding glass door behind Raine. He held a finger to his lips and slipped through the door.
“He needs you. So do I.”
In the next instant, Paul plucked the gun from Raine’s hands and drew her into his arms. She began to weep.
“Take this,” he said, indicating the weapon. “And call 9-1-1.”
The ambulance arrived first, followed by Billy Ray. Bailey couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was so angry, she shook.
He had won. He had Logan in custody and even more tragedy had befallen this family.
The paramedics left as quickly as they had come. Once they cleared the scene, Billy Ray went straight to Paul. “What happened?”
“August called Bailey. He sounded strange, so they called me. We came to check on him. Obviously, we were too late.” The sound of Raine’s sobs increased. “Excuse me, I’m going to take her inside.”
Billy Ray turned to her. This time, Bailey stiffened her spine and met his gaze. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Don’t be angry at me. I’m just doing my job.”
She laughed, the sound low and furious. “No you’re not. This is your personal vendetta. This whole family is.”
“You’re upset, I get that. But—”
“There’s no ‘but’ to this situation, Billy Ray. There never will be.”
For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“You have to, I’m the law.”
“You’re not the law. You’re a bully, Billy Ray. A bully with a badge.”
She expected him to threaten her, to do what he did best—throw his weight around, intimidate.
Instead, he seemed to freeze. He stood for long moments, his gaze on hers, then nodded. “Fine. Make yourself comfortable inside with Paul and Raine.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Thursday, April 24
1:10 A.M.
Billy Ray waited in the guesthouse doorway, Bailey Abbott’s voice resounding in his head.
“You’re nothing but a bully, Billy Ray. A bully with a badge.”
He shook his head, trying to force it out. No. His father had been a bully. Abbott was a bully. Not him. He had spent his life making certain that he didn’t become what he most loathed.
Billy Ray started to sweat. He felt it on his upper lip and he wiped it away, then tugged on his collar. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think clearly. He opened the door and stepped outside. The cool, early morning air struck his damp skin and he shuddered. It rippled over him and he sucked in a shaky breath. Better. Cooler. In control of himself and his thoughts.
Rumsfeld and Carlson rolled up. Another STPSO cruiser behind them. He forced an easy smile and put one foot in front of the other to meet them at their vehicle.
“Sorry about the timing,” he said. “Considering the circumstances, I figured you two should be the ones to do this.”
“Timing’s a bitch, but good call. What do we have?”
“O.D. August Perez, one of Abbott’s trainers.”
“Interesting. In terms of timing.”
“That’s what I thought. Abbott’s wife, sister and his stable manager found him.”
Rumsfeld frowned and looked at Carlson. “A curious assortment. How’d that come about?”
“Apparently, Perez left Abbott’s wife a weird-sounding message. They came to check on him. That’s all I know. Vic’s on the back deck.”
Rumsfeld nodded and looked at the assisting deputy. “Babysit the witnesses while we check out the vic. Nobody leaves until we’ve questioned all three.”
The deputy headed into the house and they circled around back. They reached the deck and the safety light snapped on. Rumsfeld crossed to stand in front of the victim.
“Yup. He’s dead.”
“No wonder,” Carlson said, squatting down to get a look at the vial. “Ketamine.”
Billy Ray whistled. “We’ve had some recent break-ins at vet clinics. Drugs stolen, including ket. I wouldn’t have taken Perez for being that dumb.”