Falcon's Run

“Thanks,” Preston said, then looked over at Abby.

“That’s Carl’s,” she confirmed.

After Michaels left, Preston placed the casino tickets and other gambling pieces in an evidence bag, then signed and dated it. “I’ll follow up on this personally.”

“Can you let me know what you find out?” Abby asked.

“Not right away. This is a police matter now, but I will say this—I have a reputation for closing my cases. I never give up till the job’s done.”

“We have that in common.”

“You built this place from scratch. Is that right?”

“Yeah, and it didn’t happen overnight. The only reason I succeeded was because I refused to take my eyes off the goal.”

“That’s the way I work, too.”

“So what’s next?”

“I’ll go through this place with the crime scene team. I find it hard to believe the victim was so out of touch with modern-day society—no phone, no bank account and so on. My gut tells me that he was hiding something. Maybe we’ll find some answers here in the bunkhouse.”

As the crime scene team moved in, Preston met them at the door. “Keep a lookout for any paper trail—mail, bills, receipts, social, anything. There’s got to be more to this guy than we’ve seen so far.”

Preston remained with the crime scene unit and worked alongside them for another hour. After finding nothing, he went back to the ranch’s office. The hopeful look on Abby’s face speared through him.

“Did you find something helpful?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry. Sometimes progress on a case doesn’t come quickly or easily.”

“I’d never say this in front of Bobby, but I’m terrified the man who killed Carl will come back for me,” she whispered, standing by the window and watching Bobby speak to the kids. “Is it safe for any of us here now?”

He wanted to hold her like he’d done before and calm her, but the badge at his belt kept him where he was. “Miss Langdon, we’ll have patrol officers close by tonight,” he said, using a professional tone of voice, something experience told him would give her the added confidence she needed. “If there’s any problem at all, dial 911. You’ll have help almost immediately.”

“Thank you,” she said then with a shaky smile, added, “And call me Abby, please. You saved my life.”

“Abby it is then,” he said. “Call me Preston.”

“Preston,” she repeated, as if savoring the name.

Calling her by her first name made good sense. He had to establish rapport with a witness and victim. But deep down he knew his motives weren’t strictly aboveboard and professional.

He liked Abby and that could be a problem. He wouldn’t have given a strictly physical attraction a second thought—one night or two of hot sex, then move on. But he wanted to be personally involved this time—to help her even the odds and to protect her as if she belonged to him somehow. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d felt in his arms—her scent.

Trouble. That’s all that could come of this. Enough.

Before he could say anything else there was a knock on the semi-opened door. It was Gabe Sanchez, an officer from the crime scene unit.

“We’re wrapping up here for now,” he said. “Anything else you need from me?”

“Process the prints as soon as you can,” Preston said, going to meet him. “I’ll be heading to the casino next to follow up on those receipts and chips.”

“Without a warrant? Better come on strong, put your bad cop on and hope it’s enough.”

“We’ll see how far I get,” he said with a shrug.

After Gabe left, Preston went back into the room where Abby waited.

“I gather you’re expecting trouble with the casino staff. If you are, maybe I can help.”

“What’s your connection with that place?”

“Lightning Rod Garner, the former NBA star, is one of the ranch’s biggest supporters. He’s also one of the casino’s main shareholders. Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. He’s had a few run-ins with the police,” Preston said with a scowl. “Temper, mostly.”

She smiled hesitantly. “I know he can be hard to deal with, particularly if he doesn’t consider you a friend, but deep down, he’s a good man. Let me take you over and introduce you. That should help.”

“I’ll keep your offer in mind, but right now I’d like you to check your files and give me the name of Carl’s next of kin.”

It had been no more than a flash in her eyes, but his link to Falcon helped him see what was necessary. More attuned to Abby now, he sensed worry and nervousness—classic signs that she was holding something back.

“If he had any relatives, he never spoke about them, nor did he list them in his employment application.” Then, in a gentle voice, she added, “He was a solitary man but not an unhappy one. He enjoyed his job and life here at the ranch.”

Falcon’s gaze didn’t miss much. Abby was hiding something from him, and one way or another he was going to find out what that was.

“Carl Woods seems to be surrounded by mystery, but it won’t stay that way for long. No matter how deeply buried, secrets are never safe from me.”

Her eyes widened and as he held her gaze, he saw the unmistakable glimmer of fear.

Chapter Six

Abby handed Carl’s employee file to Preston. “That’s all the information I have.”

Before he could comment, Bobby came in. “My foster mom’s here. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, okay?”

“No, Bobby, stay at home until I call you,” Abby said. “We have to keep the ranch closed for now. It may not be safe for you here.”

“But—” Bobby stopped speaking abruptly, looked at the floor, then back up at her. “Can I talk to you for just a minute—alone?” he added.

Leaving Preston behind, Abby met with Bobby in the kitchen area. “Okay, what’s up?”

“You haven’t been around cops much, Abby, and I want you to know that you can’t always trust them. They might pretend to be your friend, but they’re not.”

“You think Detective Bowman is like that?”

“Probably. When one of the kids at the foster home is hassled by the cops, the officers always come to talk to the rest of us. They try to trick us into telling them stuff so they can put the one they’re after in jail.”

“Maybe the problem isn’t the cops but what the kids did to get the attention of the police.”