Washed Up (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 4) (5 page)

By the time they’d reached the halfway point, Gracie couldn’t recall what had made her believe a hike up the side of a mountain to see holes in the ground might be romantic. She stopped to take another swig of lukewarm water, while Marc leaned against the trunk of tree.

“How much farther?” she asked, trying to sound enthusiastic as she shoved the water bottle into the holder on her backpack.

“Not far.” Marc glanced at the map. “Another mile probably. You sure you’re still game?”

“I’m now committed to the mission,” she half-joked.

Resting with Max might have been the better choice. They’d left him comfortably ensconced on a dog bed, with Amanda hovering, bacon treats in hand.

“All right. If we’re going to make it there today, we need to move out.”

“What a slave driver! I’m ready when you are,” she blustered good-naturedly.

Gathering the remains of her dissipating stamina, she followed Marc through the trees. The rocky trail gave way to smoother terrain, and the elevation leveled off. The trail widened, and they were able to walk side-by-side.

“Have you had time to think about my idea?” Marc broached.

Gracie nodded. “A little bit. It’s an exciting proposition actually. To establish a breeding kennel for drug dogs isn’t anything that I would have considered.”

She smiled, recalling Marc’s passionate pitch at the restaurant. It hadn’t been quite as romantic as she’d anticipated, but it had captured her interest. But her churning emotions about making such a wild change and actually thinking about Jim’s reaction if she sold her share of the kennel was eating at her stomach lining. Then there was her house. All the remodeling and landscaping that she’d done in the last couple of years would be someone else’s. The house would be hard to sell because of its proximity to the kennel, and the tangle of problems only worsened—her family being at the top of the list. They’d be totally shocked and probably resistant to support such a drastic new direction.

“The property that’s perfect isn’t all that far from the Red Hen Ranch. We can check it out tomorrow, if you want. I contacted the realtor.”

“That soon? Well, good. You’ve talked with the breeders in Belgium too?”

She hoped her expression was convincingly positive, because everything that was wrong with dropping her irreplaceable business partner in New York was a runaway slideshow presentation in her mind. She felt as if she was on a teeter-totter, one minute up in the air about the possibilities of the new venture and the next slamming to the ground when faced with reality.

“I did right before you got here. Two of the main suppliers for the Border Patrol were in the area. One of them is looking to retire from the business, and he has three males and six females for sale. They’re all excellent foundation stock. The property has a couple of decent outbuildings. We could have horses and …”

Agitated voices filtered through the trees.

Gracie stopped, listening intently. “Oh no, it’s Frick and Frack.”

Marc followed suit, frowning. “Who?” He cocked his head to make out the conversation.

“Sorry. Amanda’s names for them,” she whispered. “It sounds like the guys who’re looking for treasure. They’re trying to produce a TV show about their adventures, I guess. The DEA was very interested in them this morning.”

“With good reason. Let’s take it slow and see if we can hear what they’re up to,” Marc whispered back.

Gracie shadowed Marc’s steps, carefully avoiding any loose rocks that might betray their presence.

The voices grew louder. Gracie and Marc entered a shady grove of pines slightly off the trail. Thick beds of needles deadened their footsteps.

The men were clearly visible below them and their conversation remarkably distinct.

“I told you. I left it in this cave. Somebody must’ve taken it,” Alex grumbled.

“Are you sure it was this one? We left stuff in about a half-dozen places. I think you’re wrong,” Justin argued.

“It was here. I’m not an idiot. Somebody stole it. What are we going to do when the crew gets here? We don’t have time―”

“Shut up, Alex. We’ll have to move stuff from another cache.”

“We don’t have the frickin’ time, I said,” Alex growled.

Marc inched forward and motioned for Gracie to stay put under the pines. She pretended not to notice. They squatted near a red-barked manzanita bush, peering through the tangle of leaves down at the pair. The men seemed to be searching in a large outcropping of rock.

A noisy group of hikers announced their arrival behind them. Gracie swung around to see several couples outfitted with walking sticks and binoculars amble down the trail. The pair below looked around nervously, quickly disappearing into the piñon forest. Marc stood, shaking his head.

“That’s too bad. They took off when those hikers showed up.”

“That group made enough commotion to spook all the wildlife within five miles,” Gracie added, brushing pine needles from her palms.

“Well, those boys bear more watching. I’ll let the team know.” 

They quickly found their way back to the trail, resuming with the last turn to the saddle of the mountain.

“I’d love to know what they’re hiding up here. Since Manny was found with cocaine on him, I’m wondering if these two are stashing drugs around.”

Marc turned and shot her a warning look. “Like I said, the drug business is extremely dangerous. Please stay away from those two. Don’t give them any reason to take off. If they’re involved, we’ll pick them up when we have our ducks in a row.”

“Understood, sir,” she joked weakly. “Have they found that other boy? You know, the foster kid.”

“No. The boy we found may cooperate, but we think this Ricky Fuentes may have slipped across the border.”

“Why would he go into Mexico, and furthermore how?”

“It’s not that hard to get across the border, going either way. Most likely he has family over there who’ll take care of him.”

Marc’s answer momentarily silenced Gracie. The only border she’d ever crossed was on the Peace Bridge, going from Niagara Falls into Canada. That was all very official and organized. Apparently, the southern border was a different story, or maybe she wasn’t fully informed on borders in general.

“Is there any way to find him, if he’s skipped the country?”

“Not likely. It’s easy enough to disappear when you want to.”

“If he comes back though or didn’t actually leave, there’s a chance. Right?”

Marc grunted noncommittally and then pointed toward the lower branch of a tree right ahead of them.

“Look there,” he whispered, stopping to steer Gracie’s gaze.

A striking red-breasted bird, with green and white markings, sat peering at them from its safe perch.

“Ohhh … what kind of bird is that?” She reached awkwardly into her pack for the bird guide she’d purchased at the Nature Conservancy’s store near the trailhead. Her sudden movement put the bird to flight. “Shoot. I should have this in my hand, I guess.”

“We may see him again. Pretty unusual-looking bird though. This is supposed to be a spectacular area for birdwatching.”

Gracie finally wrested the little book from the bottom of her backpack and began thumbing through the pages. “Aha! Here it is. An elegant trogon. That’s gotta be it,” she exclaimed. “Wow!”

Marc laughed. “If I’d known you were such a bird lover, I’d have taken you up here immediately. If you live here, you’ll see this kind of stuff all the time. Maybe even bobcats or bears too.”

“I’m not exactly sure that carnivorous wildlife is something I want to be acquainted with.”

“They’re more afraid of us, you know,” he teased, stepping out of the shady trail into a patch of sunlight.

“Well … not convinced of that, but it would be exciting to see one from a distance. A safe distance.”

“All entirely possible as a resident here.”

Gracie removed her baseball cap and swatted at the flies that kept pestering her. She caught his dark blue gaze, which had melted her insides when she’d first met him.

Marc had been the first on the scene to investigate a robbery at the kennel. He’d also saved her life a couple of times. His confidence, straight-arrow ethics, and twisted sense of humor had won her heart. The Harrison Ford good looks were the icing on the cupcake. Steeling her emotions against the gushy feeling that threatened to overtake her, Gracie decided to plunge into the topics she’d shied away from the night before, while adhering to her open mind resolution.

“Jim and I have a very successful business. My family is all in Deer Creek, for the most part. Those I care to see, that is. I know zero about breeding Belgian Malinois, especially for law enforcement. You’ve already admitted you don’t have the experience either. I see a huge learning curve and a lot of money going out and not coming in for some time. It’s an exciting idea, but I don’t understand any of it. Why are you even considering such an expensive business? Arizona is beautiful, but I don’t understand why you want to actually move here either. Your career is in New York.”

Marc’s face hardened, his eyebrows drawn together.

“I know it’s a big change, and not without some risks. This business venture could be ours, a new start for both of us. Max and I can try to find private training somewhere. I can go on to be certified as a trainer. It’s a hand-and-glove operation. A business that’ll only grow. These dogs are in big demand, and we could—“

“Wait a minute, Marc. You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘ours’ in all of this. What does that mean? I haven’t heard where ‘we’re’ going. Are we business partners or … what exactly?”

Their eyes locked. Marc’s face twitched slightly. Gracie had no intention of letting the conversation end. They would hash everything out today. Marc had captured her heart, but good business sense had to reign over her emotions. What was wrong with having a successful kennel in Deer Creek? Why had this almost crazy notion of breeding drug dogs and now training them come out of the blue? Marc hadn’t mentioned anything about marriage or even her opinion about his decision to stay in the West. She’d been blindsided by the entire scenario. It was reminiscent of his decision to take the temporary position in Arizona.

Was he deliberately hiding something from her? Why? She needed to know what was going on. Marc dropped his gaze, removed his straw cowboy hat, wiping sweat with the back of his forearm against his forehead.

Another group of hikers appeared, breaking the tension. They murmured “hellos,” and Marc shifted his backpack as if to move out when the last hiker passed.

“I really need an answer, Marc,” Gracie insisted, grabbing the strap on his pac
k
.

Marc twisted around and grabbed Gracie’s hand.

“Come over here,” he snapped.

His grip frightened her, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t forced the issue. He pulled her into the trees away from the trail.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, snatching her hand from his.

Marc took off his pack, resting it against the trunk of a pine. His face was unreadable, alternating between anger and something else Gracie couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“What’s going on is that I’m without a job in three weeks.”

“What?!”

She was at a complete loss. What was he talking about? He was a Wyoming County deputy.

Marc closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he answered.

“I don’t have a job to go back to. Two weeks before you came out, the sheriff contacted me to let me know my position was cut. Two other people lost their jobs too.”

“How could they cut your position? They’re undermanned now.”

“Typical budget woes. They can’t afford everybody. Somehow, I made the chop list.”

“But you’re one of the most experienced deputies they have. Your record is stellar. They need you.”

“But I don’t have a family to support, and probably more importantly, some of my views don’t always align with the sheriff’s.”

Grace huffed in disgust. “Is it a political move?”

“Could be. I’ve had a few encounters with the current sheriff that weren’t exactly friendly.”

Gracie pulled off her backpack, setting it next to Marc’s. A welcome breeze cooled her damp shirt.

She grinned. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re a bit of a boil on the sheriff’s butt?”

Marc nodded sheepishly. “I guess so. Apparently, my opinions aren’t always welcome. I could be wrong. However, the other two who belong to this special club with me have been known to disagree with him too.”

“What about the state police? Or some other law enforcement agency?”

Marc grimaced. “No openings. Believe me, I’ve tried, and others have tried. I’m too old for some positions, and there seems to be a lack of personnel budgets everywhere.”

“Then you’ve gotta get some support from the union or whatever you guys belong to. Can’t they help?”

“The wheels of bureaucracy barely roll forward when it comes to actually helping somebody. Plus, if the sheriff really doesn’t want me there, what kind of work environment is it going to be? He’s early into a second term. I don’t need that anymore. I hate playing games.”

“So, why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened? And this other deal with dog breeding. I’m really confused.”

Gracie’s mind was trying to reconcile several rabbit trails into a logical destination without any success. Marc had no job, but was thinking about investing some serious money into a dog-breeding program. Maybe he was counting on her money.

Marc’s face hardened again, and his eyes seemed fearful. “I thought that maybe it was time for a second career. I have some money set aside that would give the business a decent start. Max’s Schutzhund training gave him some extra points for the El Paso program, and I figured we’d be a shoo-in. But that’s not happening.” He sighed. “Initially, I thought we could take those skills back to Wyoming County. The county could really benefit. Then the two breeders came along at the same time I was handed the pink slip. They were visiting the area, watching the dogs work at checkpoints and border crossings. I happened to strike up a conversation with them and …” His voice trailed off.

He kicked at the dirt and began pacing between a pair of boulders. Gracie sighed, searching for the right response.

“That’s when a new life and business in Arizona seemed like a good solution to unemployment then,” she said quietly.

“It did. I know it’s harebrained and a lot to ask you to get involved in.”

“My tirade about a boring life and escaping the familial bonds in Deer Creek only encouraged your line of thinking though.”

“To be honest—yes. I know you and Jim have a good thing going there, but if you want something new and more distance between you and your family, this would be it.” Marc stopped pacing and looked at her.

Gracie chewed her bottom lip, still hesitating about the real question that plagued her. Her cousin Isabelle’s fingernails-on-a-blackboard voice echoed in her head, “A lady never asks that sort of question.” However, Isabelle was over 2,000 miles away in Deer Creek and had her own romantic issues brewing. Isabelle could go kick a brick anyway.

“That leads us back to where we stand. Are you offering me a business partnership or something else?”

The distance between them instantly dissolved. Gracie felt Marc’s strong arms press her tightly to his chest.

“I want you to be my wife. I love you, Gracie Andersen,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “But without a job, it’s not the right time yet to, well … Please wait a little longer. Can you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, staring him down. It was an important question. Maybe more important than the one she’d wanted to hear.

“Yes,” Gracie answered with conviction. “I can. You’ll find a job. And soon too. I have no doubts about that.”

Gracie was confident the kiss that followed was of the caliber Buttercup and Westley experienced in
The Princess Bride
. It was perfect. She even felt a smidge like fainting.