The Complete Mackenzies Collection Read online

  Maris shrugged out of her coat and into the Kevlar vest. It was heavy and far too big, so big it covered her hips, but she didn’t waste her time arguing about wearing the cumbersome garment, because she knew MacNeil would never give in on this.

  “I remember driving with you last night,” she said.

  He glanced at her. “Your memory’s back?”

  “Not all of it. I still don’t remember who hit me on the head, or taking Pleasure. By the way, don’t you think you should tell me?”

  He grunted. “I don’t know who hit you. There’s a choice between at least three people, maybe more.”

  “Ronald and Joan are two. Who’s the one you followed to Solomon Green?”

  “The new vet. Randy Yu.”

  Maris was silent. That name surprised her; she would have thought of a lot of other people before she would have come up with the vet’s name. She’d been impressed with his skill, and he’d never shown anything but the utmost care for his four-legged patients. He was a quarter Chinese, in his middle thirties, and with the strength a veterinarian needed. If he was the one she’d tangled with, she was surprised she’d managed to get away from him with no more than a bump on the head. Of course, whoever she’d fought with wouldn’t have expected her to know how to fight, much less fight hard and dirty.

  “It makes sense,” she said, thinking about it. “A quick injection, Pleasure dies of cardiac arrest, and it looks like natural causes. Not nearly as messy as a bullet.”

  “But you ruined that plan for them,” MacNeil said, harshness underlying the calm of his tone. “Now they’ll be planning to use bullets—for both you and the horse.”

  Chapter 7

  Sole Pleasure wasn’t happy. He didn’t like being alone, he didn’t like being cramped in a small trailer for so long, and he was both hungry and thirsty. MacNeil had backed the horse trailer deep into a section of woods, so deep she didn’t know how he’d managed it, and Pleasure didn’t like the unfamiliar surroundings, either. He was a horse accustomed to open pastures, roomy stalls, noise and people. As soon as they got out of the truck they heard his angry neighing and the thud of one of his rear hooves repeatedly kicking against the back of the trailer.

  “He’ll hurt himself!” Maris hurried to the trailer, moving faster than she should have for the sake of her head, but if Pleasure managed to break his leg, he would have to be put down. “Easy, baby, easy,” she crooned as she unlatched the back gate, the special note she used for her horses entering her tone. The kicking stopped immediately, and she could almost see the alert black ears swiveling to catch her voice.

  “Hold it.” MacNeil’s hand came down on top of hers as she started to open the gate. “I’ll get him out. He’s fractious, and I don’t want him bumping you around. You stand over there and keep talking to him.”

  She gave him a considering look as she moved to the side. Really, the man was acting as if this were the first time she’d ever been hurt. Anyone who worked with horses could expect to be kicked, bitten, bruised and bucked off—though she hadn’t been thrown since she’d been a kid. Still, she’d collected her share of injuries: Both arms had been broken, as well as her collarbone. She’d had a concussion before, too. What was the best way to handle an overprotective man, especially after you were married?

  Exactly the way her mother handled her father, she thought, grinning. By standing her ground, talking rings around him, and distracting him with sex, and by choosing her battles and sometimes actually letting him have his way. This was one of the times to not kick up a fuss. She would ignore him later, when the stakes were greater.

  MacNeil skillfully backed the big stallion out of the trailer; Pleasure came eagerly, happy to have company again, relieved to be unconfined. He showed his happiness by dancing around and playing, shoving MacNeil with his head and generally acting like any four-year-old. All things considered, Maris was just as happy not to be on the receiving end of those head butts, or to have to control all that power as he danced around. He would have been quieter for her—the horses found her especially soothing—but any jolt right now wasn’t fun.

  MacNeil led Pleasure away from the trailer, the stallion’s hooves almost soundless on the thick pad of pine needles and decomposing leaves that carpeted the forest floor. He tied the reins to a sapling and patted the animal’s glossy neck. “Okay, you can come over now,” he called to Maris. “Keep him happy while I reposition the trailer.”

  She took control of the stallion, calming him with her voice and hands. He was still hungry and thirsty, but he was such a curious, gregarious horse that his interest in the proceedings kept him occupied. Dean Pearsall had stopped the Oldsmobile farther back, positioning the car so its headlights lit the area. MacNeil got in the truck and put it in reverse, leaning out the open door to check his position as he backed the truck up to the trailer. He was good at it; it took some people forever to get the trailer hitch in the right position, but MacNeil did it on the first try. Pretty good for an FBI agent, Maris thought. He was a fed now, but he’d obviously spent a lot of time around horses in the past.

  It was snowing a little more heavily now, the headlight beams catching the drifting flakes as they sifted through the bare branches of the hardwoods. The pines were beginning to acquire a dusting of white. MacNeil maneuvered the trailer around, threading it through the trees, repositioning it so that it directly faced the narrow trail they’d made and anyone coming down it wouldn’t be able to see that Pleasure wasn’t inside. There were high, narrow side windows in the trailer, but none in front.

  As soon as the trailer was in position and MacNeil had unhooked the truck and pulled away, Pearsall went to work, squirming underneath the trailer and setting up a video camera so that it couldn’t easily be seen but would still have a good angle on anyone approaching the trailer.

  MacNeil turned to Maris. “While Dean’s working, let’s get Pleasure tucked away back in the woods.” He checked the luminous hands on his watch. “We need to be out of here in five minutes, ten tops.”

  The trailer contained blankets that had been used to cover the mare who had been brought to Solomon Green the day before. Maris got the darkest one and spread it across Pleasure’s broad back. He liked that, swaying his muscular rump as if he were doing the hootchie-cootchie, and blowing in the particular way he did when he was pleased. She laughed, the sound quiet and loving, as she reached up to hug his big neck. He lipped her hair, but gently, as if he’d somehow realized by the way she moved that she wasn’t quite up to speed.

  “This way.” MacNeil’s voice held an odd note as he handed a flashlight to Maris, then untied the reins and began leading Pleasure deeper into the trees. He curved his other arm around Maris, holding her close to his side as they walked. Between the oversize Kevlar vest and her thick down jacket, he couldn’t feel her, so he slipped his hand under the coat, under the vest, resting it on the swell of her hip. “How are you feeling?” he asked as they picked their way through the dark woods, stepping over fallen limbs and evading bushes that clutched at their clothes.

  “Okay.” She smiled up at him, letting herself lean closer into the heat and strength of his big body. “I’ve had a concussion before, and though this one isn’t any fun, I don’t think it’s as bad as the first one. The pain is going away faster, so I don’t understand why I can’t remember what happened.”

  Her bewilderment was plain, and his fingers tightened on her hip. “A different part of your brain is affected, I guess. And parts of your memory are already coming back, so by tomorrow you’ll probably remember everything.”

  She hoped so; these blank holes in her life were unsettling. It was just a matter of a few hours now, as she regained partial memory of things that had happened both before and after she was hit, but she didn’t like not knowing everything that had happened. She remembered driving with MacNeil, but why couldn’t she remember arriving at the motel?

  Only one way to find out what she wanted to know. “Did I undress myself?”