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At an Oregon farm under the pretense of viewing a stallion as a potential mate for his broodmare, Jake studied a picture of Bamptonian. Topping out at over seventeen hands, he was bigger than most Thoroughbreds—and as plain as they come. Just brown.
On the desk between Jake and Bonnie—the horse’s owner and manager—were also dozens of photos of foals with one glaring similarity. No matter what their color, they all had long white legs and bold white face markings. “Interesting to have a plain colored horse throw so much chrome,” he said.
“Odd for sure and nothing in his heritage to account for it. He didn’t have a white hair on him until his age started to show with a few grey ones like the rest of us.”
She didn’t have many, and he guessed her age to be north of fifty. “Have you had him long?”
“Since he was three, so eleven years. Poor guy was in a paddock sale because he couldn’t outrun a fat man in gumboots. We go now and again to find good horses to flip.”
“Is that profitable? To retrain and sell racehorses?”
She shrugged. “That depends if we’re lucky enough to pick up a horse that’s uber talented. There are currently two ex-racehorses on the national jumping team and several on the international event circuit, including one of ours. But because we give away the failures to good homes, we’re happy to break even.”
“So you saw Bamptonian and bought him as a jumping prospect?”
“Yes. Turned out he had no more ability over fences than he did on the track. But because of his size and great temperament I bred him to my own mare—she’s on the small side—and was amazed when the foal was born. Big and leggy with white markings from here to breakfast and back. Word-of-mouth spread and he found himself a new career breeding for size and chrome.”
“Could I see him?”
“Of course.”
They went through a long barn and out to a large grassy field. The big rangy beast strolling toward them stopped, lifted his head high, and blew out a breath. It was more of a whistle than a snort, and it had Jake hesitating. “You said he had a great temperament, but that sounded like a challenge.”
“He’s distrustful of strangers, especially men. We believe he may have been abused at some point in his life.”
“At the racetrack?”
“No. I’m sure what he endured wouldn’t have happened in that environment—race-trackers worship their horses. Our vet thinks it was probably when he was a foal, or possibly an early yearling, as there’s no record of issues when he was being broke, and the healing would have taken months. His tongue was nearly severed, and there’s a great deal of scarring on the inside of his mouth as well.”
“How sad.” The horse advanced across the field, and once within about fifty feet, his head came up again and his nostrils flared. Jake removed a small piece of terry cloth from his pocket and used it to wipe his hands.
“It took a long time before he trusted us, but once he did, he was solid. We can do anything with him. And his babies are all exactly like him, without the trust issues.”
“Have you ever wondered about what happened to him? Thought it might make a difference to know for sure?”
She studied the equine standing comfortably alongside the fence only feet away from them, with nostrils flaring as he reached toward the stranger. “He knows you, doesn’t he?”
“Not exactly. But he’s picking up a familiar scent.” Jake held up the cloth, and the horse blew softly at it. “He knows from this scent that I mean him no harm.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“Someone who rescued him many years ago.”
She studied him intently. “Why are you here?”
Compelled to be honest with this woman, he tossed out all the scenarios he’d thought of using. “I’m trying to help put someone in jail. Specifically, the man who abused this horse so badly nearly fourteen years ago.”
She backed up a step, and Jake moved away from the fence as well. No point being too close to the enormous beast when the woman was sending off waves of anxiety.
“Anyone who could hurt a horse that way is dangerous, and we don’t want any trouble here. I need you to go now.”
“Please, if you’d just give me a chance to explain.” He’d seen a man on a tractor when he’d driven in, and according to his research, they had no hired help. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable when she wasn’t alone with a stranger. “I’d like to talk to both you and your husband if I could. It would help us a great deal and your name and location would never be released.”
“No one should be able to get away with what they did to Bam...” She shook her head. “It scares me.” She drew a phone from her pocket.
“Cell phones aren’t secure, so please don’t say anything specific.”
She swallowed hard and pushed a button. “Hey, can you come up to the office? No, everything’s fine, but I need some help with this contract. He wants to change some of the wording.”
She was a quick thinker. Jake nearly crossed his fingers while he waited. This was their best chance, dammit.
“Okay, he’s on his way. We’ll go back to the office.” There was no strolling now. She led at a march, a pace he didn’t match, giving her some breathing room instead.
Ten minutes later, a tall man with concern marring his sun-weathered face came through the door. He glanced at Jake, then back at Bonnie. “What’s wrong?”
She filled him in. “So, should we risk this? Will it jeopardize our farm if the asshole that hurt Bam finds out we helped hang him?”
“We’ll do what’s right. If we back away, we’re letting him walk. And it’s not like we’re accusing him of murder. Or anything for that matter. All we’re doing is providing a DNA sample from our horse.”
The tension in the room eased.
“Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
“Thank you,” said Jake. “You’re making a huge difference. I’d like to ask one more favor.”
“What?”
“Could I bring the person who rescued him to visit sometime? It would mean a lot to her to see him happy and healthy.”
Bonnie smiled. “I’d feel the same way in her shoes. But please, call first because I’d like to be sure we’re both here.”
This is the day, Jake thought as he drove away with both blood and hair follicle samples tucked away in a special travel kit. The day it all turns around.
He’d have Tara safe from Thomas Brady, very, very soon.
#
This is the day, thought Tara, as she watched from the cover of trees not far from the runway. She crouched and leaned forward to support the weight of the cat in her backpack.
The pilot of the Cessna lugged box after box of supplies from the plane and Logan stacked them on a wagon attached to a four-wheeler. Supplies for another month was her guess. But three weeks on this remote property in the heart of British Columbia’s ranch country was long enough for Tara. Being held prisoner was making her crazier by the minute and it was time to get the hell gone.
Her heart started to bang against her ribs when Logan finally drove off and the pilot followed on foot. Time ticked by, but she needed to wait. To be sure they would both be occupied packing everything into the storage rooms on the other side of the house.
“Almost time, pal,” she whispered over her shoulder.
When Tara insisted on taking the cat on her daily walks, Grace had said he’d be vulnerable to predators, so they’d adapted a backpack for him.
Charlie hadn’t appreciated his new mode of transportation, but it was the only way she could be sure to have him with her if an opportunity arose.
This morning, when she’d heard the small plane approaching, she’d known the time had come to use all she’d learned on the internet, as well as her observations when they’d flown in. Aeronautical maps and details about the terrain were cemented in her memory.
She’d head south first, then circle north, deeper into the Chilcotins. She had two municipal airports to choose from where she could rent a car and pretty much vanish if she was very, very careful. The area was vast, covered with logging roads and hunting cabins. They might be pros at finding and protecting people, but she had some experience with staying hidden.
It was time.
“Hang on Charlie,” she said, then slipped out of the trees and sprinted across what seemed like an endless open space.
Checking for a hidden key, she thanked the gods for small mercies, rubbed her sweaty palms on her pant legs and hefted the backpack into the tiny cockpit, then hopped in, deciding there was no time for a walk around. Shoulder harness and rudder pedals felt sadly familiar, but she shook it off. Didn’t dare to dwell. The instrument panel was different from her mother’s plane, but she easily located the altimeter, fuel gauge, and heading indicator. Turning the engine over was going to give her away, so she had to be ready to get it into position immediately. No time for a run-up, for hesitation... Or for second thoughts.
When the engine purred to life, she used her feet to steer onto the packed dirt track and, without a glance toward the house on the hill, she poured on the power and the plane surged forward. She fought the nose to keep it up enough to handle the bumps and down enough to keep her on the ground until she reached adequate speed for takeoff. A tiny thrill zinged through her as the wings lifted her clear of her prison and into the freedom of the sky.
“Okay, Mom. I finally get it,” she whispered.
She was careful to watch her instruments, and leveled off when she had enough altitude to keep her safe. Then banked sharply to head due south. She’d stay that course for about ten minutes before working back around to land to the north of the estate she’d escaped from. Comfortable now, she opened the pack so Charlie could get out.
He gave her an indignant one-eyed stare.
“What? You wanted to stay trapped in that place?”
He blinked.
“I brought you enough tuna for a week. We’ll be fine.”
He sighed and stepped across to her lap then balanced on his hind legs and bumped his forehead against her chin.
She wrapped an arm around him. “You and me against the world, pal. Let’s hope the landing goes as smoothly as the take-off.” She tried not to think about her mom’s joking comments about anyone could fly a plane, but it was getting back on the ground safely that really counted.
Listening to the Fort Melton airport radio frequency, she was so happy to hear no talk about a missing or stolen aircraft, that twenty minutes later, when asking for clearance to land, she almost gave the craft’s real identification. Instead, she lied while sticking close enough to the truth to make it appear to be a simple error.
“Fort Melton tower, this is Cessna, One-seven-two, Charlie Foxtrot Alpha Romeo Victor. Downwind for clearance to runway zero eight for refueling.”
“Charlie Fox Alpha Romeo Victor, Tower. Clear to runway zero eight. Taxi right, stop short of terminal, apron Alpha.”
“Tower, Charlie Foxtrot Alpha Romeo Victor. Turning final, stopping short of terminal, apron Alpha.”
She planted her feet firmly on the rudder pedals to stay straight, and reducing power had her losing altitude at the perfect rate to put her on the runway’s threshold. At the last moment, she cut power and gently pulled the yoke toward her to keep the nose up, and her heart nearly pounded out of her chest while she waited for the tires to kiss the pavement.
The kiss didn’t happen. She hit hard, bounced, but only once, avoiding the dreaded porpoising—thank God—and rolled toward the terminal too fast. She stood on the brakes and the plane wobbled side-to-side before she felt it come under her control again. Sweating profusely, she taxied to the fuel pump and shut down the engine.
Holy crap, what the hell had she done?
No time to think. Keep moving. She zipped Charlie back inside the bag and climbed out onto the tarmac.
A young guy, who was all arms, legs, and a big smile, sauntered over. “Filler-up, ma’am?”
“Great. Where’s the nearest bathroom?”
He pointed to the tiny terminal building. “Use the side door.” He waved her off. “Go, I’ll get your card when you come back.”
When she stepped inside and saw no car rental counter, she nearly panicked. Think, Tara.
“Hi,” she said to a woman sitting on a plastic chair near the window. “My ride’s not here. Anywhere I can rent a car?”
She pointed. “Hang a left out that door. There’s a white trailer with a yellow sign on it says, ‘equipment.’ They’ll fix you up.”
“Awesome, thanks.” Tara made short work of the rental papers and was given directions, a complimentary bottle of water, and a free map. Checking her watch, she was pleased to see the transaction had taken less than ten minutes.”
Once inside the car, she reached over and freed the cat, then fished a tiny bowl from the bag and poured him some water. “It’s going to be a long day, pal.”
Her goal was to get to a big city so she could blend in with the crowds then slip away and double back to a rural location. By then, the Meyers team would have checked the areas closest to where she’d landed, then moved on, making those areas the perfect place to hide. Plus she’d be traveling the wrong direction to be noticed.