The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (29 page)

MEMORIES RACED THROUGH BOB PRATT'S MIND—both good
and bad—as he lay gagged and bound in the trunk of the car. He hadn't seen the
make or model, didn't even really know what had happened other than that he'd
been ambushed from behind as he went to get into his truck at the end of the
day. He'd worked late, jotting down his notes on one of Eq Tech's new
supplements specifically designed for racehorses. Bob didn't even really feel
it when he'd been slammed over the head—by
what
he didn't know, by whom,
he could only guess at. There were a handful of enemies who'd want to see Bob
in this state, and probably a few people he called
friend
. The trunk
smelled like dirty socks and fast food. He could hear the faint thumpings of
rap music, and he occasionally thought he might have recognized the sound of
laughter coming from inside the car. Did that mean there was more than one
person who'd taken him when he'd left work? Probably. At over six feet tall, he
wasn't exactly a little guy. They knew he would've fought, so the sneak attack
had to have been carefully planned.

His head ached as if it had been shoved into a
vise, making it almost impossible to think but he wanted to try—try and play
out what had happened. He needed to remember if he'd heard anyone say anything,
if he'd noticed anything at all. Damn, he'd been so caught up in his findings
on the new supplement that he simply had not been paying attention. He had to
try though, in case he ever made it back alive. But the deep hole in his gut
told him that wasn't going to happen, which led him to one continual thought
streaming through his mind: his sister, Audrey, and what it would do to her if
he didn't come back. Oh hell, what if his theories had been right? What if he
had stumbled onto something sinister and revealed too much to her when they'd
spoken the other night over dinner? He didn't think he had. As soon as she'd
guessed something was wrong with him, which Audrey was so astute at, he'd tried
hard to blow it off, said it was a little woman trouble, an issue at work here
and there, that sort of thing. But he knew his sister well. He knew that
nothing escaped her and if he'd said one wrong word, she might have picked up
on it. He had to get out of this. He could feel his heart racing, beating hard
against his chest, could smell the horse he'd been working with at the center
on him, now mixed in with his own fear and angst.

Oh God,
what if
? What if he didn't get out
of this? Poor Audrey. He'd given her problems all of their lives and now,
finally, when the two of them had made amends over the past few years and grown
close again, he was leaving her. All alone. He loved her. She was a good
sister. She had a sweet smile, warmhearted nature, and a gentle touch with her
animals that everyone who knew her admired. And she'd never given up on him.
Never. She'd always believed in him and picked him up off the ground. Even when
he'd turned his back on her, his sister had been right there with open arms,
cheering him on. She was the reason he'd been able to not only maintain an
equine veterinary practice, but also secure a position as a top researcher with
Eq Tech in the very exciting fields of equine medicine and health.

The car slowed. What were they going over, an old
bridge, a railroad crossing? A plume of exhaust wafted throughout the trunk,
dizzying his already altered senses. Noises. More noise from outside. And the
smell. It had changed, drastically. Petroleum; yes, that's what it was. And
something else—food? Trash? Death? A mixture of all three. Then it hit him.
They'd crossed the border. He was in Mexico. Oh Jesus, they were surely taking
him there to kill him. He knew now that what he'd found out was the truth. And
they
knew he'd discovered it. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

The road wound around several curves, jostling him
from side to side. Then, through the drone of the car and the grade of the
trunk, he sensed they were going up a steep slope, maybe a mountain. And then
he got it. He knew where they were going. Soon enough they'd be skirting the
Baja coastline. He'd made this trip himself before. Would they kill him there
along the highway down to Ensenada and dump his body in the ocean? Or would
they take him east and leave him to rot in the desert? Either way, Bob realized
he was totally screwed.

He should have lived differently. Should have made
peace with the people he'd hurt. But it was too late for that, if he was right
about who was behind this abduction. He would not be coming back. He'd been
found out and would be dead before the sun came up. He was sure of it. Bob
prayed his sister would accept that and drop it. Oh God, how he prayed for
that.

MICHAELA BANCROFT SMILED AS SHE PLACED A hand over
Genevieve Pellegrino's smaller one. Together they brushed the horse. Michaela
spoke in calm hushed tones as the little girl's father, Joe, Michaela's good
friend from childhood, had directed her. At first Michaela had been
apprehensive about working with Gen. Until she started giving Gen riding
lessons, Joe had never told her that Gen was autistic. She'd thought that maybe
she was just quiet and a bit slow. Michaela hadn't been around Joe's family
much after high school. Although they had always remained good friends, life
seemed to get in the way. It was her uncle Lou's murder the previous year that
had brought them back together.

"That's good. See how clean he's
getting?" Michaela said. "What a good job you're doing, Gen. Look at
how pretty you're making Booger. He likes that a lot." Working with the
little girl was as therapeutic for Michaela as it was for Gen. Maybe even more
so.

Once Booger had the saddle on him and Michaela
slid a headstall over his ears, she kept him on a lead line and put Gen up,
leading him to the arena. Over the course of half an hour she watched as the
child relaxed into the saddle and seemed to almost become one with the horse, a
smile appearing on her face as she asked him to trot. Booger performed his
version, which was more of a very fast walk, semijog. But Gen didn't seem to
care that Booger was lazy. An easy calm came over the little girl's face and
she truly looked happy on the horse.

"Okay, Gen. It's time to get off now and
we'll give him a brushdown. Are you ready?"

Gen nodded. Michaela helped her dismount. With a
slight movement of the hand, Michaela pushed aside the strands of curly black
hair that had fallen out from under Gen's helmet and into the girl's eyes.
"You did a great job today. I am so proud of you." She removed the
school saddle from Booger's back and set it inside the tack room, which was in
serious need of an overhaul. She'd have to get on her assistant trainer,
Dwayne, about that. He knew better than to keep things in such disarray.

She brought a soft bristle horse brush back to Gen
and placed it into her hands. She knew to keep the barn quiet when the girl was
there. No country western on the radio blaring through the breezeway, and she'd
asked Dwayne to wait to turn any of the horses out. He also knew to keep his
distance when Gen was there. She figured at this time, midmorning, he was
likely making a feed run. They were getting low on grass hay.

As Gen slowly brushed Booger, Michaela stood back
and watched her, knowing it gave the girl a sense of peace and accomplishment.
There was a connection being forged between horse and child that could only
benefit both of them. "Why don't we give him a treat?" she asked in a
soothing tone.

She didn't get a response other than a slight
glance from Gen. It was important though, she'd learned from Joe, that Gen be
apprised of all that was going on. It helped her stay focused without
overwhelming her. Gen handed her back the brush and followed her into the feed
room; the smell of molasses and fresh-cut alfalfa perfumed the air. Michaela
grabbed a blue bucket off one of the post nails and scooped it into a trashcan
filled with oats. "Okay. I think he'll like this. What do you think?"

"Yes. I think so."

They gave the horse his oats, and after a good
brushdown put him back in his stall. Taking him to the wash rack and bathing
him would be too much for the child. She'd wait and let Katie, her afternoon
student, wash him when she was finished riding.

After putting Booger away, Michaela was startled
by the sound of a car horn. Oh no. She looked at Gen's face, which suddenly
turned ashen. The car pulled to a stop outside the breezeway and Michaela heard
Katie's voice. "Michaela, Michaela, my dad brought me early. I wanted to
come help." The nine-year-old bounded down the breezeway.

Michaela started to bring a finger up to her lips
to quiet the enthusiastic girl, but it was too late. Gen let out a horrible,
almost primal scream. Her eyes widened with fear.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Katie yelled
out, only exacerbating the problem.

Michaela was stuck between the two children and
for a moment stood paralyzed, looking from one sobbing girl to the next.
Regaining her wits, she went to Gen, wrapped her arms tightly around her, and
in a low voice started reassuring the girl. "It's okay. It's okay. No one
can hurt you. I'm here. You're safe. You're safe."

"Michaela?" Jude Davis appeared in the
doorway. Katie got behind her father and peered around him, looking terrified.

"Call her parents, please, Joe and Marianne
Pellegrino. Their number is on the schedule list in my office. I'm going to
take her to the house." He nodded and Michaela picked Gen up, continuing
to talk to her as the child began to calm down.

"Can I help you?" Jude asked.

"No, just please call her dad and ask him to
come over."

Gen was a tiny girl for her age, but not so small
that Michaela didn't feel her fifty-some-odd pounds in her lower back. Going
through the back door, she took the girl into her family room, where she closed
all of the curtains and sat the child down on the couch. Gen had stopped
twisting around and now fell quiet. Ah, better; but Michaela felt horrible.

Minutes later, Joe and Marianne came through the
door. "I am sorry," Michaela said.

Joe waved a beefy hand at her.
"Happens." He looked like an Italian Pillsbury Doughboy, concern
furrowing his bushy eyebrows. "I'm sorry we ran out on you like
that." Rather than stay to watch her lesson as they usually did, Joe and
Marianne had instead dropped Gen off earlier because they'd had some errands to
run.

Michaela felt responsible because she'd insisted
they go on ahead and take care of what they needed to with their other four
kids. She'd assured them she could handle Gen. What had she been thinking?

Marianne contrasted Joe, being ramrod thin and
almost frail looking. She headed straight to her daughter and turned back to
Michaela as she sat down next to Gen, grappling for something in her purse,
finally finding a medication bottle. "It's okay, Michaela. This happens
from time to time. Do you have a glass of water? I'd like her to take
this." Marianne was calm and collected. The premature lines on her face
told Michaela that she shoved much of her worry into the recesses of her soul
and likely dealt with them late at night, so as not to worry others in her family.
She couldn't imagine what she went through day to day to manage her large
brood, and Joe on top of it.

"Sure. No problem. I can't tell you how sorry
I am, though." She quickly went to the kitchen for the water. Gen seemed
much better when Michaela returned and handed the glass to Marianne. She
watched as the woman continued to calm her child. Michaela asked Joey what the
medicine was.

"Some herbal treatment. Marianne is all into
these supplements and herbs and things. Next thing you know, we'll be having gurus
by the house or she'll be taking the poor kid to yoga or something crazy like
that." Marianne shot him a dirty look. "I'm sure they're good for
her, but I'd feel better if they was FDA approved."

Marianne stood and took Gen's hand. "We
better get going."

Michaela nodded.

"You did the right thing, Michaela. No
sorries needed. I'd like to talk with you about what Joe and I have been up to,
because it concerns you, but she gets tired after these bouts," Marianne
said. "Maybe Joe can tell you while I put Genevieve in the car."

"Tell me what?"

"We've gone ahead and recommended you as a
therapeutic riding instructor."

Michaela's jaw dropped.

Marianne whispered a good-bye as she walked out,
and Michaela turned back to Joe. "What is she talking about? I told you
I'd think about it. Why would you put in a recommendation without asking
me?"

"We was thinking, Marianne and me, and we got
to talking that you've been so good for Gen that we went to her therapist and
the center she goes to for treatment and told them you would be perfect for the
job. Therapeutic riding helps a lot of autistic kids and we don't have nothing
like it out here in the desert. We think you'd be perfect for it."

"Oh no. No, I can't do that. Look what
happened today. And"—She shook a finger at him—"you had no right to
do that without running it by me."

"But you handled it the right way. The way
you were supposed to. You love kids. You make my daughter happy. Give this a
try. I see how much it does for you, too. After your divorce and then losing
your uncle, I know what you've been through, and I see you smiling when you're
teaching my daughter. Working with her makes you happy and you're damn good at
it, and trust me, after all these years I've seen the good and the bad in this
thing, and it takes quite a person to work with these kids. You got what it
takes."

She shook her head vehemently. "Joe…Oh, man,
I don't know." She knew that he was right about being happy when she
worked with his little girl. But a center? A therapeutic center where she taught
more kids? Granted, she now had the facilities to do it after inheriting her
uncle's place, but could she do it? Really?