Bailey followed them to the door and out of the house, then watched helplessly as they helped Logan into the cruiser, slamming the door behind him.
She jerked at the sound. It was followed by a second, as the two detectives slammed theirs in unison. The sounds reverberated through her. Like shots.
Bailey’s legs went weak and she grabbed the door frame for support. Henry on his front porch, smiling his strange smile. The box in his hands. Her, hurrying to her vehicle. Reaching it, looking over her shoulder.
“I’ll be back, Henry. With Tea Biscuit.”
She climbed in and waved, doing her best to not act like she was freaking out.
Because she was. Big time. Like can’t-think-beyond-absolute-terror freaking out.
Get it together, Bailey. You can do this.
She reached the asphalt road in record time, and turned toward Abbott Farm. Her thoughts raced. Her heart pounded. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles turned white.
Was she doing the right thing? She couldn’t go to Billy Ray or the sheriff yet. Then when? The box, Logan’s initials on it, the items inside.
Damning evidence. Incriminating him.
No. She flexed her fingers on the wheel. There had to be a simple, logical explanation for the items in that box.
And maybe she would find it at the hay barn.
A white Mercedes SUV whizzed past, going in the opposite direction. Raine, she realized, glancing in her rearview. Was she on her way to visit Henry? Or heading somewhere else?
If Henry’s, would he show her the box? The items inside? What would she think?
Bailey reached Abbott Farm, passed the barn. It looked deserted. The morning chores had all been completed and the ones associated with sundown were several hours away. She didn’t see August’s SUV, which was odd because he typically had training sessions during this time.
Bailey arrived at the house and ran in. She stripped out of her navy trousers and white blouse and into blue jeans and a T-shirt. After pulling her hair into a ponytail, she ran back out to the car.
Within a couple of minutes, she was in the barn. As she hoped, it was deserted. Even Paul’s blue pickup was gone. She was grateful. She didn’t want to have to explain any of this.
She’d never tacked up Tea Biscuit on her own, but she knew she could do it. She set to work. Bit. Bridle. Blanket. Saddle pad, then saddle. Cinch it tight. Adjust the stirrups. Double-check everything.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, aware of time passing. The mare snorted softly, as if mimicking her.
“Good girl,” she said, leading her out to the mounting platform. “We can do this, right? We’ll do it together.”
She mounted the mare and guided her toward the trail. Tea Biscuit seemed skittish, and Bailey wondered if she was picking up on her rider’s nerves or if she simply wasn’t in the mood.
You’re in control, Bailey reminded herself. She couldn’t give the mare an opportunity to think otherwise.
You can do this Bailey. You can.
She took it slow, even though her every instinct screamed to dig her heels in and urge Tea Biscuit to a gallop. She had never ridden the path between the barn and Henry’s and the few extra minutes wouldn’t make a difference. Especially since she was pregnant. Henry wasn’t going anywhere, neither was the hay barn.
As they took the final curve that would bring them to Henry’s, a sharp crack broke the quiet. She didn’t have time to wonder what it was before a second reverberated through the forest.
Tea Biscuit whinnied and reared up. For a split second, Bailey was fifteen again, hanging on to the stallion’s mane, crying out in terror as her boyfriend and his buddies had a good laugh at her expense.
But she wasn’t a teenager anymore, she reminded herself. Bailey fought the panic, concentrating on every instruction August had ever shouted at her.
Within moments, she had the mare quieted and back under her control. Even though her hands were shaking, a feeling of power surged through her. Bailey laughed, momentarily forgetting Henry, the box with Logan’s initials on it, the items inside, the hay barn and what she might find there. She had faced the very thing she had feared all these years—and beaten it.
“Good girl,” she said, and dug her heels into the horse’s side, increasing her pace to a trot.
The back of Henry’s place came into view. His paddock. His old gelding, saddled and ready.
She trotted Tea Biscuit over to the other horse. There, she swiveled in the saddle, scanning the area. “Henry!” she called.
A thrashing came from the woods just beyond the property line. “Henry! Is that you?”
He didn’t respond and she swung off Tea Biscuit, then led her into the paddock.
“Henry! Where are you?”
She stopped to listen. Instead of Henry’s response, she heard the rumble of an engine, the sound of tires on the drive, kicking up gravel.
Fear sent her scrambling toward the thicket, shouting Henry’s name. She found him on the ground, faceup, a gaping, bloody wound in his chest. His eyes were open. Unblinking.
“No!” The one word ripped from her lips and she ran blindly forward. She tripped on some exposed roots, landed on her knees and crawled the rest of the way to his body. She pressed her fingers to his neck, didn’t pick up a pulse and bent close to his mouth. He wasn’t breathing.
CPR. She had taken a course. She went to press her hands against his chest and stimulate his heart; they sank into the wound.
She yanked them back. Looked down at them. Blood. Everywhere. On her hands. Her shirt. Sobbing, she wiped her dripping hands on her jeans.
Bailey whimpered. She had to get help … Logan. Paul. Someone. She stumbled to her feet and raced back to the paddock, the waiting mare. In moments, she was on the trail, fear pounding in her veins, pushing the horse faster, harder.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. The sounds she’d heard earlier, gunshots, she realized. One. Then another. The sound of a vehicle in the drive. Spitting up gravel.
Who … why … sweet Henry. He’d never hurt a—
The box. A killer’s trophies.