Olivia frowned but didn’t respond.

“Don’t worry, I’ve learned to live with rejection. I know you’re not sleeping with me. But, seriously, you want to turn into some old maid? You’ve got to sleep with someone,” Mason said.

Olivia groaned and let her forehead fall onto her desk. “Please, guys, could we have a little decorum here?”

Mariah punched Mason again. “Yeah, get up. Mama Cheever’s on the way. I could tell the click, click, click of that woman’s boots anywhere.”

The two of them stood quickly, going to their separate desks. Olivia returned her attention to her notes. Sandra poked her head in. “The boys are here, Olivia. Sydney has them stashing their gear for the day. They’ll be ready as soon as you are.”

“Just finishing a report on Matt, for his dad.”

Sandra frowned. “You’ll let me see it before you send it?”

“If you wish.”

“We need to be very careful these days, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’m being very objective here, Sandra—not exaggerating Matt’s accomplishments, but not minimizing the truth, either.”

“People will believe in us or not, Sandra,” Mariah said. “We can’t sugarcoat everything and we can’t constantly be vigilant about what we say. We just have to move forward. And the rest of us...well, we weren’t addicts so we can’t fall back.”

“Some people think that former addicts are the best therapists. They know where their charges are coming from,” Mason put in.

Sandra sighed. “We’re here to help everyone who comes to us deal with their personal issues through equine therapy. Not all our guests are addicts! Brent’s not, for God’s sake! We’re much more than you’re implying we are.” She turned briskly to Olivia. “I’d like to see the report. Aaron wants me to approve everything before it goes out.”

Olivia punched a key on her computer. She smiled sweetly. “On its way to you now, Sandra.”

As she walked toward the front door, she realized that the floor was dirty. She paused, looking down. It appeared to be the same fine dirt she’d dusted on her porch before leaving with Dustin the night before.

She bent down to touch it. As she did, Aaron came out of his office. He beamed at her. “Morning, sunshine.”

She straightened. “Good morning, Aaron.”

“I have to talk to you later, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Anything in particular?”

“I want to rent Marcus’s house from you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll talk? Or, okay, you’ll rent me the house?”

“Both. I didn’t expect to get the house, Aaron. You know that.”

“It’s okay, Liv. Marcus really loved you.”

“And you, Aaron.”

“He left me everything I need,” Aaron told her.

As she began to leave, she was certain that she heard someone snicker behind her back.

When she turned around, Sandra was watching her, arms crossed. When she noticed Olivia’s scrutiny, she acted as though she’d been waiting for Aaron, immediately asking him a question about schedules.

Olivia hurried over to the stables and the paddocks. She could see that the boys were already there, talking with Drew, who held Trickster, ready to go out.

Brent turned and saw her. “Livia!” he cried, coming toward her. The other boys looked her way and smiled, too, calling out to her.

“Trickster! We’re taking Trickster today!” Brent said, giving her a hug.

As she walked to join the group, Sean was telling Matt, “I told you it was Bruce Willis in that old movie.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Drew told the boys apologetically. “I can look it up on the computer while you guys are on your ride.”

“If Brent says so, then I believe it,” Matt said. He ruffled Brent’s hair. “He’s our resident expert.”

Brent grinned at Olivia happily. He was shorter than the other boys, but he was on a good diet and in darned good shape.

“I’m a resident expert!” he told Olivia.

“So you are,” Olivia said, smiling at the other boys.

She remembered why she loved what she did so much.

* * *

From the morgue Dustin drove out to the Horse Farm, but he didn’t pull into the drive.

He passed the farm and parked along the side of the road. He was on adjoining land that bordered the trails; he assumed it belonged to a local farmer—he saw dairy cows behind fences, grazing and letting out a chorus of moos now and then.

He walked around the far side of the fence, heading into the forest.

Walking trails were plentiful and they were actually something of a maze. But once he reached the first riding trail, the path was cleaner and broader. He moved quickly, listening and watching all the while.

It was a good brisk walk but eventually he reached the copse where they’d seen the deer and her fawn the day before. He searched through the trees, which was way more than a one-man job, but he wanted to get in at least a cursory inspection.

That wasn’t the real reason he had come.

He was convinced that he wasn’t going to find a stash of drugs or drug paraphernalia.

There were no hollows in any of the trees he searched. He walked on, determined, looking harder.

Something had whizzed through the trees.

Joey had heard it. Olivia’s horse had reared.

What?

It sure as hell hadn’t been a bee. Or a bird.

It was hard to remember exactly where they’d been, hard to imagine the exact trajectory. He calculated and recalculated. In the end he moved deeper into the woods, through the trees themselves, ignoring the trails.

Still nothing.

Tired, frustrated, he leaned against one of the trees.

And then he saw it.

It was tiny, so tiny it was barely visible. The little bit of feathering was what had caught his attention. When he went to retrieve it—carefully, using his handkerchief—the feathers detached and all he drew from the tree was the tiny point of something that looked like a needle.

He studied the point, wrapped it and, trying not to move his feet, hunkered down.

It took forever, sifting through the leaves and bracken on the forest floor. Then he found it—a delicate cluster of feathers.

Though small, they would have helped direct the tiny needlelike object.

It was a dart. It had been aimed at Olivia—or her horse.

He began to leave, but hesitated, pulling out his knife to cut away the section of bark it had struck. He got out the handkerchief and very carefully rewrapped all the tiny pieces of his find.

Then he started back through the forest.

So a dart had come whistling through the woods.

It was too small to be deadly...unless a toxin of some kind had been placed on the tip. He hurried back to his car and checked his watch. Still early; Olivia would be with her group.

He drove back to the morgue. He would’ve preferred to send the specimen to the Krewe lab, but he didn’t want to take the time. And sometimes a man had to go on gut instinct.

Wilson was surprised to see him again but listened earnestly. He promised results on lab tests as soon as humanly possible.

To his extreme bad luck, he ran into Deputy Sheriff Frank Vine as he was leaving.

“Agent Blake,” Vine said, eyes narrowing as he studied him.

“Hello, Deputy.”

“What kind of therapy are you having at the morgue?”

“Oh, I just stopped by to ask about Marcus—how he’d injected the heroin.”

“You think we don’t know what we’re doing out here?” Vine demanded.

“I never suggested such a thing. You didn’t really give me an answer when I asked, that’s all.”

“Well, you’ve got your answer now. And you have no jurisdiction out here. We really do know what we’re doing, Agent Blake.”

“Yes, sir,” Dustin said.

Vine stared at him, obviously still irritated. He walked past Dustin, stopped and came back, wagging a finger at him. “You stay out of our business, Blake. You’re not here to police my officers. I’ll call your superiors, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Dustin said again. “I’m on my way.” He smiled and strolled out to his car.

He prayed that his gut had been right and Wilson wouldn’t betray him.

Then he drove as quickly as he could—watching the speed limit—to the Horse Farm.

God knew he didn’t want Vine arresting him for a traffic violation!

9

By five-thirty that evening, they were ready to start out on their camping trip.

Olivia was, naturally, taking Shiloh and she was glad to see that Drew had chosen Chapparal for Dustin. The two seemed well-suited to each other. Dustin was obviously familiar with horses and had riding experience.

The horses were all in use except for Martin, and he’d remain behind with Sydney. If for any reason someone needed to be reached quickly during the night, Sydney knew where they’d be and had Martin to get to them.

Mariah led the way on Pixie as they rode out, not starting her spiel yet, since they were riding single file on the forest trail.

They moved deep into the trees. Eventually they came to a clearing in the forest and Mariah reined in, allowing them all to break and dismount for a few minutes. She directed them to a little path that led deeper into the thickness of the woods, an area where the dying sunlight now brought about an eerie green darkness. Everyone had a penlight, while Drew, Aaron, Mason and Sandra carried lanterns.

Mariah said, “In a few minutes, we’re going to visit one of our small Confederate graveyards. You have to remember that when you go to a national cemetery, you won’t find any Confederates, unless they were pardoned and joined the Union army after the war. Confederate dead have their own cemeteries, or else they were returned to their hometowns. And certainly many soldiers—North and South—remain in unmarked graves on the fields where they died. While it was incredibly important for both God-fearing men of the North and South to retrieve their dead, it wasn’t always possible. They died on bloody fields that had to be abandoned, or they were beyond recognition by the time they were found.