Christmas Countdown Page 10

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Surprise widened the arsonist’s eyes above his disguise.

  Mac cocked his arm and rammed his fist into the guy’s face before he could move.

  He waved the lit torch at him, grazing the front of Mac’s coat.

  Flames took hold. The stink of burning fabric fumed to Mac’s nostrils. He smacked the fire out against his chest and charged, smashing the thug in the face with all the anger he could muster.

  The arsonist dropped the torch and stumbled back. Mac kicked the cylinder away from the barn and hit him a third time.

  He went down.

  An eerie glow pushed away the darkness as Mac stepped out beyond the corner of the barn.

  Horror rocked his nerves. He watched flames licking up the outside wall of the barn at two separate ignition points. A high-pitched whinny blasted through the night air. He bolted into action.

  Grabbing the thug by the back of the neck, he dragged him to his feet. “Move!” He muscled him around and headed them for the entrance back into the barn.

  “No! I’m not going in there, it’s on fire.” The thug offered resistance Mac didn’t have time for. Navigator was his only focus. He had to get him out of the barn, but he also didn’t plan on letting the creep get away this time.

  “Have it your way.” Mac reached up, cupped the back of the thug’s head and slammed his forehead into the door jamb, knocking him out cold.

  Before the jerk could hit the ground, Mac caught him and flopped him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  He stepped inside the barn and flipped the light switch. The overhead lights came on, highlighting the belches of smoke invading through the eaves on the side of the stable where the fire was beginning to feed on the siding.

  There wasn’t much time.

  Mac reached Navigator’s stall and heaved the thug off his shoulder, flopping him down onto the floor in a heap.

  He grabbed the colt’s halter and punched in the access code. Nothing.

  He punched it in again, feeling the bite of frustration across his nerves. This time the latch responded and he opened the stall gate. He stepped into the cubicle and reached out to the scared horse. His eyes were beginning to sting. The smoke was beginning to make its killer descent from the ceiling to the floor.

  The overhead lights flickered and went out, plunging the cavernous death trap into darkness. Only the glow from Emma’s outdoor Christmas lights shone into the inky blackness.

  “Easy.” He put on Navigator’s halter in the near dark, snapping the lead rope shank onto the ring at the bottom.

  Turning for the stall gate, he saw movement coming at him through the haze, but realization dawned too late.

  Wham. Mac’s teeth rattled in his head with the bone-jarring blow to his forehead, which had the distinct ring of a metal shovel.

  He launched backward.

  Hot liquid gushed from his nose.

  Clutching the lead rope, he let it slide through his hand until it caught on the knot at the very end. He applied a death grip to it, hanging on for the ride.

  Navigator bolted forward and lunged out the open stall gate, taking Mac with him, as he charged over the top of the thug, who dropped the shovel and ran for the door.

  “Whoa. Easy.” Mac sucked in a lungful of smoke and tried to calm the horse as he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled for the exit, the glow of colored lights growing dimmer with each passing second.

  The sound of the door’s rollers grinding along their tracks put a measure of panic in his blood.

  The gap of light narrowed.

  Reaching the door, he pulled it back open, led the horse outside and sucked in a breath of fresh air to clear his lungs.

  “Mac!”

  He turned and saw Emma on the safe side of the thug she’d pitchforked to the door panel of the barn as he’d tried to lock them inside.

  “I called the fire department the minute I smelled smoke. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Relief rocketed through his veins. They were safe now. All of them. “I’ll trade you a Kentucky Derby horse for a felon. One’s going to win, and the other is going to spend a lot of time in prison.”

  “Deal.” Emma let go of the pitchfork handle and took Navigator’s lead rope from him. She turned and jogged him well away from the barn.

  He pulled the tines out of the thug’s clothing and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Dragging him back a couple of steps, he yanked down the bandanna hiding his identity and found himself staring at a kid, maybe eighteen years old at the most.

  “The sheriff’s en route. You’re going down for three counts of attempted murder and arson.”

  He fell in step behind Emma and the horse, hearing the hum of sirens echoing across the bluegrass.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I didn’t try to kill anybody.”

  Mac pulled him up short. “What do you call setting the barn on fire with me inside, a cookout? You took potshots at us with a .22 and you sabotaged Firehill’s tractor and almost got someone killed this morning. Three counts.”

  “I didn’t touch your damn tractor.”

  Mac hustled the punk to the side of the house and shoved him down against it into a sitting position where he could detain him until Wilkes got there.

  Had he really expected the kid would admit the crimes? Still, he hadn’t denied the shooting incident, or setting the fire, the two worst offenses. He’d only bucked over tampering with the John Deere that had nearly gotten Emma killed.

  Mac squatted next to the thug and mopped at his own bloody nose.

  “How did you do it? Did you use those fancy surveillance cameras you hid in the haylofts to spy on Navigator, learn his routine so you’d know when you could access the barn to poison his feed with bute?”

  “You’re flipping crazy, man. You know that? I don’t know anything about any cameras.”

  Mac pushed up onto his feet and watched the kid cross his arms over his chest. Concern hedged his thoughts, pushing caution to the forefront of his mind.

  Was the kid telling the truth about the tractor incident and the cameras? He didn’t appear to be a very sophisticated liar, but Mac needed to be sure. Emma’s life could hang in the balance.

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “Old enough to be charged as an adult. You’re going to do hard time. And a lot harder time if you don’t tell me who you work for.”

  The kid turned green, enhanced by the Christmas bulbs hanging overhead. “Brad Nelson.”

  “Brad Nelson over at Cramer Stables?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mac relented and took a step back, watching the kid’s bravado deflate like a leaky tire as his head bobbed forward into his hands.

  He swallowed and glanced up as Emma came toward him from the left and a fire truck pulled down the driveway on his right.

  “Did the colt settle down?”

  “Yes. I put him in the east paddock, over by Victor’s barn, for now. His crew is lined up there watching the action.”

  He reached over and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. “How are you holding up?”

  “Much better now that everyone’s safe. I can replace the barn, but not—” She looked up at him and frowned. “Your nose could be broken. What happened?”

  “The kid hit me with a shovel.”

  “Ouch.” Emma stared down at the guy, a kid she knew she’d seen somewhere before, but she couldn’t place him. “He doesn’t look so tough right now. Did he tell you who he works for?”

  “Brad Nelson at Cramer Stables.”

  “The farm that received a threatening letter the same day we did?”

  “Yeah. If he’s telling the truth, Nelson just used the letter as a ploy to draw suspicion away so he could look like a victim while he perpetrated the attacks.”

  Behind them the fire crew turned on the draft pumps and attacked the fire.

  Mac
released Emma, backing her up next to the side of the house, careful to stand in between her and the punk, who again buried his face in his hands. Mac only hoped the magnitude of what he’d done made a lasting impression.

  Sheriff Wilkes barreled down the drive with his patrol car’s lights flashing, followed by another engine and an ambulance. He climbed out of his patrol unit, spotted them next to the house and hurried over. “Dispatch forwarded your call, Mac. Is this the perpetrator?”

  “That’s him. He says Brad Nelson over at Cramer Stables is behind the attacks.”

  The kid looked up, and Mac could see the beginnings of a black eye along the upper edge of his right cheekbone.

  “On your feet,” Wilkes ordered pulling the handcuffs off his belt. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Craig McFarlane.”

  “Did Brad Nelson hire you to torch Clareborn’s barn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wilkes glanced over at Mac and Emma. “I’ll put him in the car and take your statements.”

  An ounce of closure settled over Emma as she watched Sheriff Wilkes cup the top of the kid’s head with his hand and usher him into the back seat of the police car where he couldn’t get away. Couldn’t cause any more trouble for anyone.

  She leaned into Mac, glad when he put his arm around her and pulled her close to his body.

  “What’s going to happen to the little worm?” she asked.

  “If he’s a day over eighteen, he’ll do real time. Arson is a serious crime. The sheriff will have to find hard evidence to get him for the shooting. If he has the .22 in his possession, attempted murder charges could stick.”

  “And the runaway tractor? Did he admit to that?”

  Worry ground over Mac’s nerves. “No. And he claimed he had nothing to do with the surveillance cameras, either.”

  Emma shivered and he realized she was only wearing a bathrobe.

  “Go in the house, get warmed up. I can handle things from here and we’ll go in to the station tomorrow if we need to.”

  He reached down and wiped at a smudge of soot on her cheek with his hand, but only smeared it.

  “I’ll put on some warm clothes and come back out. We’re going to have to do something with the colt. It’s too cold tonight to leave him in the paddock without shelter.”

  Mac released her and watched her disappear around the side of the house. She was right. They couldn’t leave the horse out under the stars. The temperature was already dropping like a rock and they’d run the risk of having him take a chill.

  A measure of caution sliced through him as he considered their limited options.

  Picking out the fire chief in the midst of the crew, he headed for him, intent on getting an assessment of the smoldering barn’s condition. If it was too extensively damaged, they had only one recourse tonight, and it didn’t sit well in his gut.

  They’d have to stall Navigator in Victor Dago’s barn.

  “NO.” EMMA SHOOK HER head and attempted to remain calm, even though her nerves were a jumbled mess. Tension wrapped around every muscle in her body and started to squeeze.

  “There has to be someplace else we can house him.” She slid her coat sleeve back over her watch and stared at the time: 3:22 a.m. The fire trucks had long since put out the fire and mopped up the scene. Sheriff Wilkes was probably already kicking down Brad Nelson’s door to arrest him, and Craig McFarlane was spending his first of many nights in jail.

  “Dammit, Mac. You know how I feel about Dago. Just the thought of being in the same place with him gives me the creeps.”

  “We have to do something, Em. Navigator won’t accept this smoky blanket on his back and it’s already in the thirties.”

  Frustration and fatigue weighted heavily on her judgment and she relinquished her argument. “Okay. But tomorrow we have to figure out something else.”

  “I’ll sleep next to his stall gate if it will make you feel better.”

  She gazed up at him. “We’re a pair, aren’t we. Me with my scraped-up forehead, and you with a probable broken nose.”

  “Yeah, well, it was worth it to finally catch the creeps. Wilkes plans to lean hard on McFarlane for a confession. Then maybe we’ll learn the full extent of what he did here at Firehill and the other farms in the area.”

  “And if he still won’t confess to sabotaging the John Deere and hiding the cameras?”

  “Then we’ve got a problem, because somebody did.” Mac felt his throat tighten and the tension ramped up in his body. “Come on, let’s get the colt into Dago’s barn, then we’ll regroup in the morning.”

  “Mac. It is morning.”

  MAC RAISED HIS FIST and rapped his knuckles on the bunkhouse door a couple of times. Inside, he heard a loud thump and the door opened.

  One of Victor’s grooms rubbed his eyes and stared at him as if he had a horn growing out of his forehead.

  “I need to talk to Victor.”

  The man shook his head, turned slightly and rattled off something in Arabic over his shoulder. Another thump, as someone bailed off a bunk bed and tromped across the floor.

  An exchange in Arabic between the man and someone behind him, and Mac found himself facing Rahul.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I apologize for the late hour, Rahul, but I need to talk to Victor. The fire put Navigator out in the cold and we need a stall in the stud barn until we can get a cleanup crew in.”

  Rahul said something to his buddies over his shoulder, got a reply, then looked at Mac. “His bunk is empty. The last time I saw him he was headed over to the barn to try and calm Dragon’s Soul. The sirens set him off. He must still be in there.”

  “I’ll track him down. Thanks.” Mac turned around and heard the door close behind him.

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he swore he saw movement at the edge of the curtained window as he hit the end of the walkway and met Emma where she stood holding on to the colt’s lead rope.

  “What did he say?”

  “Don’t know. Victor wasn’t there. Rahul said he’s in the barn trying to calm Dragon’s Soul. The ruckus from the fire riled him up.”

  “He’s overly excitable.”

  Mac fell in step next to her, unsure why his nerves were stretched to the point of fatigue. He glanced up at the barn in front of them and the light emanating from inside. The stud facility was half the size of the main barn, housed a dozen highly secure stalls and had been filled with stallions back in his father’s day in the industry.

  Emma pulled the horse up short. “Let’s put him as far away from Dragon’s Soul as possible.”

  He agreed. The two stallions would tangle if given the chance, and one or both of them could get hurt. “We can lock the stall door and use the outside paddock for access. The two of them will never have to cross paths.”

  “Good plan.” Emma approached the first stall on the left, pulled open the sliding door and walked the big horse inside.

  Mac stood near the entrance as she inspected the cubicle, cleaned out the automatic watering bucket and turned on the fill valve.

  He glanced up and stared down the wide corridor. Where was Victor? The tack room door stood ajar and the light was on. Maybe he’d chosen to stay close to the animals tonight, make sure they all settled after the night’s events, but somewhere in the stable, one of the horses paced.

  Mac turned his head to the right, listening to the shuffle of the straw bedding under hooves. A low, rumbling nicker drew his attention to the last stall on the right near the tack room.

  Dragon’s Soul?

  The horse had potential. He’d seen it in the colt’s eyes, and if he was handled properly, he could be a contender.

  “I’ll see if I can find Victor, let him know what’s going on.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said, looking up at him, a moment of relief softening the tension around her eyes.

  His heart squeezed in his chest. It was possible that his time at Firehill would end in the next couple of
days. The investigation into the attacks and the tying up of loose ends was the only thing standing between him and his motto—Get in. Get out. No emotional attachments….

  Turning away from her and the colt, he walked to the other side of the wide breezeway and stared into the first stall through the narrow iron bars that surrounded every one of the stud stalls.

  A gangly roan filly stood in the corner with her head low and her eyes closed.

  Not exactly a Winning Colors, he decided as he studied her conformation. Concern went with him to the next stall, where he sized up a good-looking chestnut gelding with a blaze running down his face to match his four white stockings. He’d get the superstitious, socks-can’t-run crowd of horsemen whispering in the bluegrass. He looked as if he could keep stride with the best of ’em.

  Dragon’s Soul was becoming more agitated, Mac noticed as he moved closer to the colt’s stall. His pacing increased, his soft rumbling nicker becoming more frequent and more pleading.

  He glanced up, watching the top of the horse’s head above the iron-bar partition. The big colt’s ears flicked forward, then back, forward and back.

  Concern hurried Mac through his perusal of the next three horses in line, none of which looked like racehorses at all.

  What the hell was going on in the Dago barn?

  Emma removed Navigator’s halter and stepped outside the stall. She pulled the door closed on its rollers and tested the latch a couple of times before hanging his tack on the hook and glancing up to find out where Mac had vanished to.

  “Emma!”

  The urgency in his voice sparked concern as she scanned the empty corridor. He must be in one of the stalls.

  “Mac?” She hurried along the breezeway.

  “In Dragon’s Soul’s stall!”

  She picked up her pace and braked to a stop in the partially open doorway of the unruly colt’s stable.

  Her knees threatened to buckle out from underneath her.

  “Call an ambulance. He’s still breathing.”

  She dug in her coat pocket and pulled out her cell phone. With shaky hands she punched 911 into the keypad and stared into the cubicle at Victor Dago’s bloody body.

  He was crumpled in the corner of Dragon’s Soul’s stall, with his head kicked in.