“I don’t think he even read the returns I prepared. He just signed them,” her father said. “Bad practice, that.”
“Can’t you just ask him?” Allie said.
“We’d better prove they are duplicate books first,” Zeph said, pacing around the room. “There shouldn’t be any problem getting a search warrant for the Blanton office, should there, Lincoln?”
Her father smiled, and Allie shivered at the menace lurking in his eyes. “You don’t need one. I can give my permission. I do give my permission.”
“Make sure you fingerprint the volumes you found at Seldon’s before you handle them,” Fitzgerald said.
“That doesn’t even deserve an answer,” Monty said. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we go on over to Blanton’s and get the books now. I can keep them in the safe at the station if you want.”
“Good idea. We can stop by my house and get my keys,” her father said.
“That’s all very well and good,” Fitzgerald said. “But it takes months to get fingerprints. We need—”
“And we’ll get,” Zeph told him. “If Monty gets the prints, we can send them to L. A. Guy in the print lab there owes me. I think it’s time to call in the favor.”
“Excellent. Since you have everything under control, Granger, I’ll wait to hear from you. Within a couple of days, I assume,” Frank said.
“Sure, Frank. We’re on a roll here,” Zeph said.
Allie wouldn’t let herself look at him. He sounded so pleased, so eager to be done with the case. And her. Once he’d reported to Fitzgerald, he’d go back to L.A.
Taking her heart with him.
Chapter 14
The next morning Allie looked across her father’s breakfast table at Zeph. “What are you doing today?”
He scowled at his mother, busy buttering Lincoln’s toast, and turned back to Allie. “Coming with you? I need to make one phone call first, then I’m ready.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Morning, Dave. I sent you some prints last night. I need an ID on them ASAP. Like today.” He held the phone away from his ear until Dave’s shrill protest faded to silence. “Yes, today,” he repeated. “You owe me, buddy,” he said when the new round of squawking ground to a stop. “This afternoon. Thanks,” he said and slammed the phone down.
“What did he say?” Allie asked.
“He’ll do it,” Zeph said. He glared at his mother, who was giggling at something Lincoln had said.
Allie put down her toast. Dared she hope his bad mood was due to the idea of leaving Stone’s Crossing? At the sudden silence in the room she looked at her father and Zeph’s mother and found them both staring at her. “What?”
“Nothing, dear,” Zeph’s mother said, with a glance at Allie’s father.
“You’re going to be late,” her father said.
Weird. “I’m leaving right now.” Allie left, wondering what they knew that she didn’t.
The phone rang just as she walked into the clinic. Her least favorite client, the owner of the killer bull. She listened as he explained the problem. “Yes, Tim, I’ll leave right now,” she said and slammed the phone down. “Damn, damn, dammit,” she said and banged a fist on the desktop.
“What’s that all about?” Zeph asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Josten.”
“The bull?”
“No, thank goodness. But he’s got a cow down and wants me out there yesterday. Want to go along?” She hoped she didn’t sound as needy as she felt.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did he say what’s wrong?”
“No. Said he couldn’t tell.” She locked the front door and hung the “Out on a call” sign.
He followed her to the truck and slid into the passenger seat while she did a last-minute check of supplies. “Is it cows you don’t like or their owner?” he asked when she’d pulled out on the highway.
Trust Zeph to get right to the heart of her problem. “I have to develop a better poker face. It’s both. Cattle aren’t my favorites—but they’re better than exotic pets.”
Zeph raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Snakes. Parrots. Anteaters. My specialty is horses. Whatever. Anyway, no one likes Tim Josten, so it’s not just me.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here long enough to get that. Maybe I can keep him busy while you do your thing.”
“That would be great. I’ll swear, I’m going to just accidentally be holding a syringe loaded with a tranq next time he sidles up too close. Wouldn’t it be awful if he just impaled himself on it?”
Shut up. Don’t think about how much you want Zeph to stay and help you. With this call. With the rest of your life.
“I’d pay to see that. Can’t say I was very impressed with old Tim last time we were there.”
A quick sideways glance showed him scowling. “Would that be because of his lack of manners?”
“How about that insufferable air of superiority? That is not a likeable person.”
Allie snickered. “You’re very perceptive,” she said, then sobered. If he was half as perceptive about her, she was in trouble. For all the
I love you’s
that had been said in the last two weeks, not a single word had been said about what would happen when Zeph finished his work here.
She turned into the T Bar J driveway.
Enough girly stuff, Allison Marie. You’ll have plenty of time to wallow after he leaves. Suck it up and go to work.
Josten paced in front of the barn, impatiently checking his watch. “Took you long enough. Brought your helper too, I see,” he muttered as soon as Allie climbed out of the truck. “Cow’s out in that pasture.” He waved toward the field behind the barn. “On the other side of the creek.”
Allie’s gaze followed where he pointed. “How do I get the truck out to her?”
“I don’t recommend it. Ground’s too soft. You’d likely sink in to the axles.” He paused. “She’s right on the other side of that big oak. Guess you’ll have to walk.”
Typical. Everything about dealing with this man rubbed her wrong. He sounded far too gleeful that she’d have to haul equipment across an acre of soggy field. “Any other animals in there?” Like maybe that evil bull.
“Nope. It’s all safe, little lady.” He eyed her with an objectionable smirk and she bit down on her temper. “Glad you’ve got someone to help you,” he said, adding coals to the fire. “I was gonna stay, but since you’ve got him, I’ll get on into town.”
Good. For a minute she thought she’d said it aloud. “Call me later,” she said, turning to get her bag from the truck.
“Right.” He climbed in his brand new Hummer and took off.
“Good riddance.” She turned to Zeph. “You want to wait here?”
He shook his head and hefted the bag. “I’ll carry this.” Every line of his expression, every bit of his posture, said he didn’t want anything to do with this whole business of soggy ground, sick cow, and objectionable client.
But that was her life. Allie turned toward the gate. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.” She took his free hand as they crossed the pasture. “And the moral support,” she added when she saw the bull in a corral that adjoined the pasture. As if he heard her, he snorted and pawed the dirt. “I don’t understand that animal.”
“And you’re scared of him. Smart lady.”
“He’s a real menace. But I’ve seen him follow Tim like a puppy.”
The cow lay in a shallow depression, panting and eying them with suspicion. Allie looked her over. “I’d guess she’s just cast because she’s in a low spot. And judging from the footprints, good old Tim has been out here kicking her to get her up.”
“Doesn’t look like it worked.” Belying the flip words, his mouth twisted.
“Brilliant detective work. I need some ropes from the truck. We should have a horse, but maybe with two of us, we can get her up.”
Zeph moved back a step. “That’s fine, but what happens when she’s up? She’ll be madder than hell and there we’ll be, handy targets. That’s a wild animal, Allie.”
“Mountain lions are wild animals, Zeph. This is a tame milk cow. Relax. She’s not going to hurt us.” Probably.
“If you say so. What do you need? I’ll go get it, you stay here and keep her tame.”
The laugh bubbled up and out before she could stop it. “Deal.”
He marched back across the field, a man with a mission.
She would miss him. He gave her the shivers doing nothing more than walking across a room. Or field. When he rounded the corner of the barn, she turned to the cow for a closer look now that the animal had calmed a bit. Running her hands over the exposed legs, she found, as she expected, no problems. “You’ll be okay, old girl. Just a little bit of help and you’ll be back on your feet.” Allie stood and looked toward the barn to see if Zeph was on his way back.
‘Her blood turned to ice’ had always struck her as fictional hyperbole. She’d been wrong.
She’d also been criminally stupid not to double and triple check the gates, knowing how careless Tim Josten could be. And now she’d pay for it.
The big red bull stood about halfway between her and the barn, turning his head toward her, then swinging back to look at Zeph, who had just started back into the pasture. He stood about ten feet from the gate, coils of rope over one shoulder, shocked into immobility.
Get out of here, she screamed silently, but didn’t dare make any noise.
She eyed the distance to the nearest tree. About four times as far as she’d get before the bull caught her.
The next time the bull looked away, she sank to the ground—easy enough to do, the way her knees trembled—and huddled behind the bulk of the cow, despising herself for cowardice. Even as she went numb with terror, she knew she should—could—had to—control herself. Do something.
All she could think of was to stay out of sight.
Or maybe Zeph would—he could—there wasn’t a darned thing he could do.
When she looked over the cow’s sharp spine, Zeph had disappeared. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel worse, but she did. Even the certainty of a messy death paled before the sick feeling of abandonment. He’d left her? Expecting him to rush to her rescue wasn’t realistic. He didn’t know anything about cattle, after all. But just to leave her? After all the times he’d held her and loved her with touches and words?
He’d left her.
****
Zeph grabbed a bucket, scooped oats from a barrel, and headed back to the pasture. In an effort to keep from thinking about fear, he catalogued his symptoms—numb face, couldn’t feel his feet, sweat running down his spine, racing heart, couldn’t catch his breath. Sounded like terror to him.
He had lost his mind. What did he think he was doing, charging off to confront a monster? What Tom Lehrer called “a half ton of enraged pot roast.” One that had enough meanness in his pea brain to fuel San Quentin.
He closed the gate behind him and walked into the pasture. The bull turned his head toward Allie. Zeph looked too. She’d sheltered behind the cow, but her head was visible. Even from this distance, he could tell her eyes had gone wide and white-rimmed. He fumbled the bucket and nearly dropped it. Calm, steady Allie panicked? And he thought he could save the day?
He had to try. If the bull followed Josten for oats, maybe this would work. Maybe.
He kept walking. The bull had turned his attention away from Allie, and that was good.
Allie had talked about how animals could tell when someone was afraid. Whether that was scent, pheromones, or something else, he’d better move past his fear and do it damned soon. He set his jaw and concentrated. The bull had horns and a mean disposition, but he liked oats. Just like Zeph’s horse. She’d follow him anywhere if he rattled oats in a bucket. Of course, she didn’t have horns…
If he angled to approach the bull from the direction of the open gate, maybe he could lure it back into its corral. As long as it didn’t charge...the image of the massive animal bellowing, gathering speed, its horns hooking into flesh... Focus. He forced images of bloody, trampled messes out of his mind and slipped into the almost-trance, almost-fugue state that had gotten him though countless confrontations. This perp had more legs than the usual criminal, that was all.
He shot a glance at Allie. Her eyes had gone so wide and glassy he could see it, and even from here he could see that she trembled. He held out a hand and looked at it. Steady as a rock. He’d been a fish out of water ever since he arrived in Stone’s Crossing the first time and those dogs of Hannah and Luke’s scared him back into his car. But he knew how to handle emergencies, how to handle himself in an emergency.
When he’d closed the distance to about twenty feet between him and the animal, he stopped and shook the bucket. The bull took a step toward him.
And another.
Zeph held steady, trying to act as though he’d been doing this all his life.
Think horse, think horse.
The bull took another step. Zeph shook the bucket again and began to talk, making his voice deeper than usual, not saying anything sensible, just rambling a soothing monologue.
After what seemed like a year, they stood within touching distance. Zeph held the bucket out and the bull dipped his nose in. As he munched, Zeph took a step toward the corral, easing the bucket along with him.
Gently, step by step, he led the way, stopping to let the bull get a mouthful of oats every few steps and hoping like hell the bucket held enough. When they’d cleared the gate, Zeph stepped back through, shut it, and leaned against it, letting adrenaline shock take over.