Chapter 1
Chapter 1
N aturally, he was tall.
Broad-shouldered, striking, a man with a quick, charming smile and a lean, mean way of walking that was easy and amused. He wasn’t exactly tall, dark, and handsome—his hair was a sandy red, not long but not cut so short that a waving thatch couldn’t fall rakishly over his forehead.
But Vicky Henderson couldn’t help but watch the man suspiciously behind the facade of the flirtatious smile she shared as he walked his horse just behind the fence where she stood with so many other audience members.
Was he the man who had taken Kasey Richardson and Melissa Martinelli? Used that charming smile and lazy swagger to make her smile and laugh, follow him anywhere....
Was he the height of the man caught on video, leather jacket high on his neck, hat pulled low over his face, charming the young women who had disappeared? The man who knew the cameras were there and just how to avoid them?
“Victoria, you’re there?”
Watching the man—down on the program as Adrien Anderson—Vicky Henderson paid heed to the voice of her superior, Assistant Director Frederick Eames, coming to her through the tiny earbuds she was wearing.
“Hey!” she said, as if the earbuds she wore were a phone connection. Well, technically, they were a phone connection, just in a very secure form of communication.
While she had always loved rodeos and games, Vicky wasn’t here for the enjoyment of the occasion, but rather, she was working on a special undercover operation. Two women had recently been abducted from what their assisting FBI profiler termed the “equine scene” of South Florida, and it was thought they’d most probably both disappeared from the “Guts, Grime, and Glory” games being played at the riding center in Davie, Florida. The one clue on the center’s video surveillance had shown Kasey last talking to a tall man in a cowboy hat—dozens of them, of course, attending the games—and she was walking toward the exit with him to the parking lot. No video there.
While the city of Davie also offered a rodeo, the games were something different. They were held on property owned by Dulaney Feed and Supply, one of the largest companies in the state or elsewhere to offer supplies for horse owners as well as those who raised cattle, goats, and other farm animals. Something of a surprise to those who saw South Florida as the beaches and the mega-cities of the coastline. There were many small—and also massive—ranches and farming areas between those heavily populated areas and the eastern edge of the Everglades.
And from those who did love and live a “horse” life to those who were city dwellers and tourists, the games were a big draw. Those who owned horses in the area loved them, because they usually loved their “pets” and were proud to show them off.
Then again, of course, they were simply fun. They were good for the economy—all of the vendors sold their wares at the games, and food trucks arrived in the dozens. The games were as much entertainment as they were contests. And so the games brought out would-be cowboys like Adrien Anderson. Strange name for a cowboy. It should have been “Tex” something, she thought.
“Still no sign of Melissa Martinelli or Kasey Richardson,” Eames told her. “We’ve had teams combing the areas near the games, but we’d need search warrants to burst in on a few, so . . . anyone approach you yet?”
“Lots of people with things like ‘hi’ and smiles, a couple of would-be pickups; but they’ve been checked out. Now I’m watching a few people, but . . .”
“I’m watching the operation, and, yes, we’ve great, speedy tech folk behind us. And Brannigan is a huge support for you. Vigilant, you know.”
She smiled at that. She was lucky. She loved her partner, Hank Brannigan. He was older and reserved, a married man with a great wife and family. He always had faith in her, as she did in him. He had never mocked her as a cop—and while her department tended to be good, there were many who didn’t think that a young woman could be a decent detective.
Then there was the fact that she had been specifically selected for this operation. She was also a redhead, with hair that waved around her shoulders. Her eyes were green. She was similar in age, height, weight, and all else as the missing women.
And she knew Hank was there. When the long-haired twenty-something with the beer in his hand had suggested a date, Hank had been near. But the man had wandered off immediately when she had turned him down. Hank had followed him and reported soon after that the man had returned to a party of what appeared to be frat boys. And if they were a danger to anything, that danger would be to a keg of beer.
She’d spent a little time with a man who had claimed to own a ranch nearby, who had asked her to come riding, assuring her he had great horses, some spirited, some calm, that would fit her abilities and pleasure.
She’d continued to chat with him—with Hank nearby—but she’d quickly learned he had three teenaged daughters, and while she had been flirting, their tech department had discovered he had a solid alibi. He’d been out of town the last two weeks and couldn’t be the man who had been seen with the women who had come to the games, met someone, and disappeared without a trace.
“Play it so far, but not too far, but we don’t know if these women are dead or alive.”
“I know, sir. But we must find out where he’s going from here. If they are still alive, it’s imperative we get to them—”
“I know. I just don’t like risk to my detectives. Well, I know you’re right. Oh, and you have even more protection. The Feds have decided to send an agent in, so he’ll probably make contact at some point soon.”
She was silent.
“Vicky, don’t tell me that you don’t want the help—”
“No, sir! Young women are missing, and I believe in taking whatever help we can get. I guess I’m just surprised. We don’t know if we have abduction or abductions and homicides on our hands, and I thought three was the magic number for a ‘serial’ anything and that the Feds wouldn’t be—”
“Personal favor, from what I understand,” Eames said. “One of our victims is the niece of a U.S. senator from Virginia. He wants to know what the hell happened. He called the director. And this all came about really quickly, as in within the last hours, not leaving our agencies time to get it together before the games, before we could get him together with you and Hank. Just don’t think he’s the bad guy—we don’t want to go shooting any Feds, okay?” Eames asked lightly.
“You got it, sir,” she promised. Ending the call, she winced. “I’ll try not to shoot any Feds,” she promised.
Vicky knew Eames had to try to be light; both abducted women had loving families. They were both known for being wonderful and kind, working hard and giving to charities. The newspapers were highlighting the situation daily.
Hank thought the young women were already dead. He believed they would find what was left of their human remains somewhere in the Everglades. And Eames, she knew, had brought in everyone humanly possible—the city and county police departments in the whole of South Florida, including the Mikasuki and Seminole tribal police forces.
So far ...
“Hey, ladies and gents, we are about to go for the true championship in all barrel racing!”
He was there again. Almost in front of her. The would-be cowboy, Adrien Anderson. Atop a handsome buckskin—an animal that had to be at least seventeen hands tall. He sat addressing the crowd, waving his western-style cowboy hat in the air.
His eyes lit on her, and she gave him her best, coquettish smile.
Then the announcer came on over the speaker, and the man was up. With a turn on a dime, he was headed out for the barrel course with his handsome buckskin. A cloud of dust arose as the horse dashed off. The sun was beating down, and the crowd was roaring and cheering.
Whoever he was, he could ride. Of course, when it came to barrel racing, it was the horse that mattered. He’d had the knowledge and talent to have the right horse. He still came off as a major jerk who apparently thought he was God’s gift to women.
But Vicky didn’t think he was the man they were looking for. Such a man would have been noted by the witnesses who knew that Kasey had spoken with—flirted with—a man. But none had been able to describe him other than saying he’d been fairly tall, mid-twenties to early thirties, and maybe he had dark hair or . . . maybe it had been light. The hat and . . . well, who had been noticing people who were just talking by a vendor stand when there was so much going on?
He wasn’t the guy.
Vicky decided to move into the building area on the grounds and browse around the vendors. While many of the people attending the games might have horses, almost all had dogs, and the company’s dog-food booth was always busy.
She glanced back as she left the crowd that was roaring with approval for the cowboy, Adrien Anderson. She saw Hank had been applauding, but he was aware of her movement and was following. Hank was wearing a cowboy hat himself, denim jeans, and a tailored denim shirt, and he fit right in with the other attendees.
Vicky headed to the booth where cans, bags, and pictures were displayed, along with refrigerators for those who wanted to give their canines the very best that could be bought. The pictures were great.
“What kind of pup do you have?”
She turned and smiled, aware that a man had come up beside her. He was tall, sandy-haired, wore the appropriate hat, and had an easy, charming smile. She noted as well that he was purposely situated on her right side, where he could avoid the camera.
He didn’t seem to care if he was seen on video talking to a woman—as long as his face wasn’t caught in that video.
She smiled.
“I don’t have one yet. I’m trying to make sure that I’m prepared. I’m thinking I’d like to go to a shelter. I believe adopting a pet would be the right thing to do. What about you? What kind of dog do you have?”
“Dog?” he queried. “I have five. Three German shepherds and two rottweilers. I have a great place that’s not far from here. Lots of room for them to roam.” He gave her a charming grin. Then his smile faded. “Are you really thinking about getting a pet now?” he asked her.
“Yes, definitely. I’m alone, and I think a dog—”
“I think I can help you,” he said.
“But—”
“My dogs are all rescues,” he said. “I can’t resist—when I know that an animal needs help, I take it in. But the last puppy—okay, she’s full grown—but the last girl, Blue, isn’t fitting in. The others are being a little too hard on her, and while she might finally get along, I think she’d be happier in a home where she’s the star of the show.”
“Oh! She’s a shepherd or—”
“A beautiful, sweet, human-loving shepherd. I can take you to see her. I think that the barrel racing was the last game of the day,” he said.
Was this it? The way he had conned two women into leaving with him? Could he just be a nice guy really trying to place a dog?
No. She was going to go with him, trusting in the fact Hank would be right behind her. And, of course, the fact she carried her 9mm. The county was looking into nonlethal weapons, supporting the carrying of batons and stun guns. But Eames had insisted she carry a firearm on this operation, since they had no idea if the women were dead or alive.
If she might agree to go with a man who meant to kill her, and even if Hank was right behind her, he still might try to carry out the deed.
She gave him her best, sweetest smile. “Wow. Thank you. Sure.”
“Come on. Oh, do you have a car here?” he asked.
“I took a rideshare. Parking can be such a hassle—even out in the great green nowhere!” she assured him.
“Yeah, I hear you. I got here early. For that exact reason.”
She made a point of walking with a bit of a sway, making sure Hank could see her, and that he had time to follow her carefully.
“Oh! I’m Vicky!” she said. “And you’re. . . ?”
He smiled. “Loving dogs, right? We forgot the basics! I’m Jimmy Trent. And it’s a true pleasure to meet you. Hey, are you from around here?”
“I am,” she said. “Well, not exactly around here, but close enough. I’m from West Palm Beach—my whole long life. And you?”
He laughed. “Close enough, too. Originally, Fort Lauderdale. Then I bought a property out here. I love this whole area. I mean, they pass legislation to keep it rural, and you’ve still got the highways when you want more excitement, I-75, the turnpike . . . it’s all good!”
“That’s cool. I wonder. I never thought about living in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, it’s really not the middle of nowhere, like I said. You can reach anything.”
“Ah, but on the border of the Everglades? Do you get alligators in your pool? I’ve seen pictures, people out in the border cities—”
“Hey, come on. Waterways connect! You can get one just about anywhere. Hey, I saw one crossing I-95 one day.”
“Yeah, after one of the storms, I saw one on the street, too. It was funny—the sucker was in Miami Springs and crossing with the light. I mean, I don’t want to run into one, but they were here first. So I’m glad Animal Control was able to put it back somewhere and not need to euthanize it. It was just wandering around and never hurt anyone,” Vicky said.
“I’m with you. I hate killing things.”
Did he? She hoped so!
They reached his vehicle. It was a pickup truck, but he was playing the ultimate gentleman, walking her around to open the passenger-side door for her.
She thanked him and slid up into the seat.
“It’s not far. I really could have walked,” he told her. “But I wouldn’t want to make you walk—”
“Ah, walking is not that bad!”
“We’re just about a mile. Still, I want you to enjoy meeting Blue.”
“I’m sure I’m going to!” she said, smiling in his direction.
They left the many acres where the games had been taking place and pulled along a small back road. They passed a large cattle ranch and a smaller house with about two acres of land and several horses grazing in the fields.
He looked in his rearview mirror. With no other traffic, there was no way he couldn’t see that Hank was following. But Hank was driving a nondescript blue sedan. With any luck, Jimmy Trent wouldn’t think anything of it.
She glanced in the side mirror. She could see that Hank was playing his part; he pulled to the embankment, got out of the car, and pretended to be studying a map.
Jimmy Trent gave his attention back to the road.
“Almost there . . . see the drive ahead?”
She did. A small dirt driveway led to a gated property with a box attached to one of the fenceposts that obviously called for an entry code. She noted the fence around the property.
It was high, but not so high that Hank couldn’t, with some effort, hike himself over it.
But hopefully, she wouldn’t need Hank. She would find out where this man was hiding the kidnapped women and arrest him. With a little bit of luck, it would be that simple.
Unless, of course ...
She didn’t want to believe he had killed them already. And she could be encouraged by the fact that no bodies had been found yet.
He pulled the pickup truck to the gate, paused to fill in the numbers; but he keyed them so quickly that she was unable to get the code.
They pulled along the dirt road. The property offered a single-level house, a two-story barn, and another building—maybe once a smokehouse or simple storage.
There was a vehicle in front of the house. A white SUV.
“You have a roommate?” Vicky asked.
He shrugged. “Sometimes. A friend from college. He’s from the Jacksonville area, and I let him hang here when he’s in town.”
An accomplice, or someone who might keep him from doing whatever he’d planned to do with her?
“Let me help you down!”
He was still the ultimate gentleman, hurrying around to give her a lift down from the passenger’s seat of his pickup truck.
“Thanks!” she said sweetly.
There was, so far, no sign of Hank. But Hank would be smart enough to stay out of sight until they’d gotten into the house. Of course, they could be wrong, or she might have been wrong, suspecting this man when he was just a flirtatious dog lover.
No. Every intuition was warning her that she was right.
“Come on. I keep the dogs in their side of the house when I’m out.”
“You have so much land. You don’t let them run around?” Vicky asked.
“Naw, I’ve heard of too many cases where dogs get out, or where someone’s bull breaks through a fence, and they wind up torn to shreds . . . I like them safe. I work from home, so . . . they have plenty of time to run around when I’m here and can keep an eye on things.”
“You’re so good! Are you sure you want to part with Blue?”
Jimmy Trent smiled. “I think she’ll be happier with you. She’s scared of her sisters and brothers. Come on—I’m actually a pretty good housekeeper!”
She grinned and followed him up the one-step to the small porch in front of the house. The front door also opened with a code. This time, Vicky caught the numbers.
6689
He opened the door and indicated she should step in.
He was, apparently, a good housekeeper. She entered a large living room containing couches, chairs, and an entertainment center, with the entire place appearing to be dusted, mopped, and clean.
“You can’t even tell one dog lives here, much less five!” Vicky said.
He smiled. “You wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He left her in the living room. She quickly began to look about. He’d gone to the left, so she went to the right.
He had to be keeping the abducted women somewhere.
But the kitchen and dining room were empty and just as clean as the rest of the house. There were bedrooms, of course. And there were the stables and the storage building or whatever the other structure on the grounds might be.
“Vicky?”
She heard Eames through her earbuds.
“I’m in, but nothing yet. Six-six-eight-nine. Those numbers get you into the house. I’m not sure about the gate.”
“We can ram a gate.”
“No cause yet. I need to find something.”
“I’ll get the code to Hank. And Hank is near. He’s just waiting for your word.”
“Thanks.”
She had wandered back to the living room when Jimmy Trent returned—with five big dogs at his side.
“Drop the bag,” he said.
“What?”
“You heard me. Drop your bag. Now.” He smiled and looked down at the dogs. “Blue, get ready. This one’s for you if she doesn’t behave.”
One of the German shepherds bared her teeth and growled.
So, that was it. He did love dogs. And they were trained to keep control of his captives.
“No,” she said flatly, reaching instantly into her bag for her 9mm.
But that made Jimmy Trent laugh and produce his own weapon, a Smith and Wesson.
“You’re going to shoot me and five dogs in time to save yourself? Just toss down the weapon, and I’ll forgive you for being such a bra-burning bitch. Do it now !”
“I’m a damned good shot,” she said.
“So am I. And Blue . . . if I let her get to you and you don’t shoot fast enough . . .”
“Drop it!”
The words came from behind her. Vicky spun around.
Apparently, Jimmy Trent’s occasional roommate was his accomplice. He now had a weapon trained on her, as well.
Hank was coming, she reminded herself. But he wouldn’t know he would be facing two people. And still, she was dead if she didn’t agree, and if she did, she still had a chance to find out where they were hiding the women they had kidnapped.
If, indeed, they were still alive.
“Come on. Drop it, and let’s go.”
“If I drop it, you’ll kill me,” Vicky said, looking at the accomplice.
“Don’t be ridiculous. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”
Jimmy Trent’s accomplice was about his age, but there was something harder about him, in the sallow contours of his face, perhaps in his eyes, eyes that seemed to have a strange light in them.
She could kill one of them, but she would definitely die.
Or she could play it out, and maybe she could find the young women, and maybe, just maybe, they’d all survive. Hank would have gotten the address out to others by now and . . .
“Drop it and let’s go,” the accomplice said, his eyes gleaming, smiling in a way that bared his teeth, making him resemble a growling dog.
She dropped her bag, and the 9mm.
“Out the front door, casually. Jimmy, take her arm.”
The dogs obviously were Jimmy Trent’s. They followed him like little lambs as he came forward and took Vicky’s arm.
Jimmy Trent had the nerve to smile charmingly at her.
“You can pet Blue now if you want. She’s only dangerous if I tell her she needs to be.”
“I do love dogs,” she murmured, pausing to stroke the shepherd.
He had told her one truth. The dog moved into Vicky, wagging her tail. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed important to pet the animal. Blue might believe she was a friend if another command was given.
“Out, out the front door. We need to get her where she’s supposed to be.”
“You need to get me where I’m supposed to be?” Vicky protested. “I’m supposed to be home. I have a family. I have friends.”
The accomplice ignored her, turned to Jimmy, and said, “You need to get back to those games. If anyone saw you—”
“I know how to avoid cameras!” Jimmy said.
“Right. But witnesses may remember you. Tell anyone who asks that you dropped her off at the gas station a few miles down, should it ever come up.”
“Yeah, right, whatever,” Jimmy Trent said.
The accomplice, name still unknown, was obviously the dominant one in their partnership.
Whatever that partnership might be.
Trent led Vicky out. His partner followed, after collecting her 9mm, her phone, and her bag.
They were out on the front porch when the accomplice suddenly started swearing. “You ass, Jimmy, you ass! She’s a cop.”
Damn! She’d had her I.D. and badge in a hidden zipper compartment of her shoulder bag. But he’d found it!
“What?” Still holding her arm, Jimmy turned to stare at his partner.
“Ah, hell!” The accomplice spat out. He walked around, grabbing Vicky by the upper arms and shaking her hard. “What the hell—who knows you’re here? We’ve got to clean this up, Jimmy. Get the hell on out of here. This bitch has probably written back all about the address! Tell me, tell me, who the hell—”
“Hey jerk, let her go this instant and drop all weapons!”
Everyone spun around, Jimmy Trent and his accomplice both aiming wildly.
But there was no one to be seen.
Then a single shot rang out.
Jimmy’s accomplice screamed in agony as his shoulder erupted with a spew of blood, and he fell to his knees.
As Jimmy Trent grabbed hold of her, Vicky managed to kick the accomplice’s fallen gun far from the reach of either of the men.
“No!” Jimmy cried. “No, no, no! I—I—”
He fired wildly.
“Drop it or you’re a dead man!” came the voice.
Then, at last, Vicky saw the speaker.
It was the Cowboy.
The giant buckskin came leaping over the fence, its rider taking aim at Jimmy Trent all the while. The distance to the porch was nothing for the horse and rider, but as he advanced, Jimmy Trent shouted, “Blue!”
The dog began to growl.
It tore out, running for the horse, swirling around, confused.
Too late.
The Cowboy was there, at the porch, and the man leaned expertly from the saddle and reached for Vicky, sweeping her up and out of the path of the growling shepherd.
“All, all!” Jimmy began.
But the Cowboy warned in a flash, “One more word and a bullet goes through your mouth!” he promised. “I don’t want to kill the dogs for your crimes. Call them off now!”
And Jimmy Trent did.
He dropped his gun as he spoke to the dogs.
The Cowboy eased Vicky back to the ground. Even as he did so, she heard sirens and saw Hank was at the gate, coming through, and that other police vehicles were arriving quickly behind him.
She heard Eames’s voice through her buds. “Vicky, you all right? Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, looking at the Cowboy, who was off the buckskin and cuffing Jimmy.
“Vicky, you’re sure? Everything is under control?” Eames persisted.
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I think I’ve met our Fed.”