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  The animal turned and bolted into the woods between tall trunks in a startled sprint. A flash of gray shot from the wheat field in pursuit, too quick to identify. Dry leaves stirred by the commotion twisted in a gust. He needed to get Carter working on who was chasing them.

  Penny grabbed the back of Lori’s headrest and jumped in her seat. “Are you gonna ride with us, Daddy?”

  “Not this time. Just you and Mommy.”

  “But all the horses are nice. It’d be fun. None of them are like Grenada.” Grenada, Penny’s old riding school teacher’s horse, had been gentle as a swallow feeding her young. But she’d rear and snort whenever Red got close. Penny hopped some more. “Why didn’t she like you?”

  He laughed. “I think Grenada had dominance issues. I’m alpha. She didn’t like it.”

  “Or she thought you were a predator,” Lori said, staring at the void where the fawn had disappeared.

  Red glanced at the back seat in the rearview. “What kind of ice cream you guys want?”

  “Chocolate!” came the shout from the far back. Red rubbed an eyebrow. Anything but chocolate. Nick needed a power-washing every time he had it.

  The tires slid on slick mud as the Explorer broke to a stop and the ABS vibrated the pedal through the sole of Red’s boot. They stepped onto soft ground with a squish.

  “I wanna pet the horsies first,” Jackson said.

  Electric-stranded rope stretched from a wood-fenced riding ring around a long pasture dotted with thistle. It clicked every few seconds, the sound louder near the poles where the line was worn. Penny reached toward a rope gate, then jerked back at another click.

  “Grab it by the yellow handle,” Lori said. “It won’t zap you there.”

  The boys picked long strands of grass from the edge of a ditch and waved the clumps like flags high over their knit caps. Several horses and a pony lifted their curious heads and ambled over, hoping for a more appetizing treat. One was brown with a white-spotted rump. Another was darker, almost black. The aged pony had silver eyelashes and stepped with a limp.

  Red stretched Nick’s palm out straight. “Hold your hand flat so they don’t bite your fingers off.” Nick shrieked and threw the grass on the dirt, then hid behind Red’s legs. “No, no. It’s OK. As long as you keep them flat, he won’t bite.” Red picked up the fallen grass and showed him how. The soft lips moved as dexterously as fingers and vacuumed up the snack. Then the horse jerked his head upward as if to say, “That’s it?”

  Nick laughed and pointed from behind Red’s hip. “He’s smiling!”

  The brown-and-white stallion pawed the ground, flashing thick carved legs. He whinnied, but didn’t come near the fence.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Jackson asked.

  The horse’s chest bunched, its tense veins bulging through thick winter fur. A sense of heat came from the animal’s aura, the same way Red had felt back on their visit to their old home. “He doesn’t trust us yet. Let’s watch Penny ride before we get ice cream.”

  Lori led her daughter astride a huge black horse from a stable sided in bare, rough-sawn planks. Thick mane, tail almost dragging the ground. Tall as a Budweiser horse, but not as wide. “Isn’t that one too big for her?”

  Lori walked aside, lead line in one hand and in the other, a long skinny whip with a string at the tip. “It’s a Friesian. Gentle as a baby.” She pointed the lash at Penny. “She rode it all by herself last time. We’re just going to lunge her a bit. Get her warmed up.”

  The long mane shimmered like waves against a beach as Lori lifted the whip and the horse rose to a trot.

  “You sure?” Red asked. “Looks like the Marine Corps version of My Little Pony.”

  Lori turned slowly in place as the horse trotted in a circle around her, Penny grinning, bouncing in the saddle.

  Red lifted Nick into a car seat, but the buckle balked. Red unsnapped it and tried again. This time it latched with a metallic click as smooth as his Sig. Jackson climbed into his own car seat and pulled the shoulder harness down. Short fingers fiddled with the buckle.

  Red touched his thumb to the other palm. “Take the male end and shove it into the open slot there.”

  Jackson looked down at the buckle quizzically. “How’s it a boy, Daddy?”

  “Watch this!” Penny called in an undulating voice, the horse still trotting in a disciplined circle. Red walked back to the riding rink and leaned on the top rail. Something prickled his skin, and he jerked his hand up. But this fence was wooden, not electric. He turned his wrist over and pulled a long splinter from his palm, the sharp end tipped in blood.

  Lori yelled, “Halt! Halt!” Red glanced up. The long whip was falling from her hand. Her arms stretched out toward the still-jogging animal. Penny’s saddle had slipped sideways and she was clinging to the horse’s mane. It continued toward a white pole laid atop two cinderblocks. The horse hopped over the low jump and Penny lost her grip. She landed on her side in soft sawdust, but one leg struck the pole with a familiar crack.

  “Shit.” Red vaulted over the fence. Lori was already kneeling at Penny’s side, cradling her head, holding a hand below her chin so she couldn’t look down at her injured leg. Red unzipped the paddock boot, the one Penny had been so proud of when she came home last week after shopping with Lori. He gently pushed up her jeans. The shin was straight but one side of her calf angled unnaturally, already darkened with a bruise.

  “I’m OK, Mommy,” Penny said, trying to sit up.

  Red met Lori’s eyes and shook his head.

  “Just lie here for a couple minutes,” she said, “till Daddy has a chance to look.”

  Red pulled over a cinderblock and used it to elevate the leg above her heart, then jogged toward the truck. He stopped in the middle of the pasture and turned around. He could drive it through the gate and they could go...where? He stumbled over a thistle. Shit. The stable owner had run to town. No instructors to ask directions. Where was the hospital around here? He grabbed his phone.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance. My daughter broke her leg.”

  “Where are you?”

  He closed his eyes and poked his forehead. What was the address of the damned stables? What was the name of this place? “I...I don’t know,” he answered. A white tail flitted across the field of wheat as another startled deer leapt into the woods. “This phone’s got GPS, right?”

  * * * *

  A short, black-haired Hispanic doctor at Rappahannock General Hospital waddled with her hands on her hips, cradling her back. Maybe she was pregnant, but Red had learned never to ask. She pushed through swinging double doors that slapped closed behind her. Lori broke into sobs. Red stroked her hair. He noticed a gray strand for the first time, mixed in and twisted deep among the others, tangled around a blade of grass from the pasture.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, in tears.

  Red held her, rubbing her back. “She’s OK. Doctor said it was a clean break. The fibula. Kids heal quick. Maybe four weeks in a cast. It’s not your fault.”

  “Not my fault?” She pulled back and walked to a row of green vinyl seats, then fell into one. She patted her chest. “I tacked up the horse. I told her, ‘Watch how Mommy does it. Make sure it’s tight.’ Now she won’t ever trust me again.” She bit a knuckle. “Neither will you.”

  Red sat and pulled her close again. “You’re right.... If you think about it that way, it is your fault. But accidents happen. We all make mistakes. She’ll forgive you. And so do I. Remember, we’ve got two boys, so this won’t be our last trip here. It’ll be my turn to screw up next.”

  “I can’t take any more of this crap. I just want life to be normal again. New house. School orientation. I don’t even know where the damn grocery store is.” Her voice cracked. “And you—you’re calling in a medevac chopper to the 911 operator. Shit
, Tony, what were you thinking? Next you gonna call in an airstrike?”

  “I just got turned around for a sec. You know, panicked. It’s different when it’s your kids. Thought I smelled jet fuel, then...” He smiled. “They must’ve thought I was crazy.”

  She laughed and grabbed a tissue, wiping moisture from her lip. “Not the only one.”

  Not the only one? How had he missed that? Was she really doubting his sanity? Ever since the attack, something as simple as finding a repair shop for an oil change seemed to weigh on her. He had to admit, while he was wrapped up in his own work, she’d been going through much of the transition solo. Not the way a team should operate. No doubt she’d project some blame onto him. And the nagging stress of wondering if they were still being hunted...

  He held her hand. Soft, warm, no calluses in the palm. “You did good, feeding me directions from the dispatcher. You got us here. Now we’ve got four weeks. We’ll get through this, you and me, together. Then things will be back to normal...at least our version of it.” He put an arm around her shoulders. But she tensed, much like the stallion back at the stable.

  He stood to give her space. He walked to the other side of the waiting room and around a corner, slipped a hand inside his pocket, and grabbed his cell phone. With one hand he punched Carter’s number. With the other he squeezed the hard, reassuring bulk of the weapon under his jacket.

  Chapter 4 – Carter

  Sitting atop the hood of a Ford Ranger parked near Courthouse Circle, Red shoved hands under his blue Levis. Engine heat warmed his pants, but each breath stung his nose, bringing the crisp scent of spruce. The hem of his green L.L.Bean rag wool sweater had crept up his back and the cold air chilled his skin. He yanked it down. Craning his head backward, a red-bricked spire loomed overhead like a stout church steeple silhouetted against the noonday sun. New Kent County Courthouse, 1909 streaked down the side in whitewashed letters below a blue slate roof. He pulled up the collar of his sweater.

  A white-bearded man with a blaze-orange cap and tobacco juice stains on the corners of his mouth limped below the spire toward the front doors. He stopped short, patted his hips, then returned to his blue Chevy pickup with a Ducks Unlimited license plate. He removed a pistol from his belt, shoved it under the bench seat, then limped back toward the courthouse without locking the truck.

  A white wood-plank door below the spire opened and a young boy stepped out, long straight hair pulled to one side, denim jacket open, his black T-shirt depicting a gaunt rock star screaming into a microphone. He flipped his hair and ran fingers through thin locks as he walked. Having opened the door for the boy, a red-cheeked man followed. That man’s hair was a salt-and-pepper crew cut.

  Red pulled out his hands and rubbed them. My kids ever look like that, he thought, my hair would be gray, too.

  The panel started to swing back, but bumped into Detective Matt Carter as he stepped out, shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe. His first strides from the courthouse seemed to reflect a limp, but it was as if the detective realized he was displaying a malady and pinned back his shoulders. Red smiled at the sight of him. It would only take a few fingers to count the number of men he considered friends, but Carter would be the first on the list.

  The arms of Carter’s shiny silver suit framed his shoulders perfectly, body tailored to his narrow midsection. Even Red could see the designer threads had been custom fit. Considering his friend’s taste in style, maybe even handmade. Bumps dappled the leather of his slender black briefcase. Ostrich skin? Really? What the hell’s wrong with good ol’ cowhide?

  The detective walked toward a white Chevy Malibu, next to which Red had parked his pickup. He hopped off the hood.

  Carter stopped on the sidewalk and squinted in his direction. No smile or change in expression. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Red tried for a cheery tone. “Been a couple of weeks.”

  “Not long enough.”

  Well, that didn’t work. “You’re not returning my calls.”

  Carter shoved a hand in the pocket of pressed slacks, fingers moving as if playing a bugle. The Malibu’s lights flashed, and he opened the door. “You blame me?”

  Red’s predecessor, killed only weeks earlier, had coerced Carter into cooperating with the Det on a recent operation. Ever since, the detective had kept his distance, even from Red.

  He tapped the vehicle’s tire with a leather boot. “Sorry about what happened. The colonel didn’t do you right.”

  Carter placed a foot on the floorboard. “That what you came to tell me?”

  Red sighed and pointed at the briefcase. “No. Came to tell you how much I like your pocketbook. Get that from Walmart?”

  One of Carter’s eyes narrowed—his deer-in-the-headlights look when caught off guard. Then a slight smile. “Screw you.” He slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door. The Malibu’s engine fired and the car inched back. Red tapped on the glass. Carter let out a sigh, then slid the gearshift forward and dropped the passenger window. “You’re here to ask a favor. I can see it in the way you’re not meeting my eye. Am I right?”

  Red gazed at a row of tall pines and lifted his chin.

  “You already owe me. Big-time. I did my duty.”

  “Can we just talk? Won’t take long, I promise.”

  “Red, I just talked with your predecessor and next thing you know I’ve got ghosts from my past calling me from every branch of the government, telling me I had no choice but to cooperate with the man. You’re in his shoes now. I’m sure you can appreciate my suspicions of our assumed friendship.”

  “The colonel ran things one way. I do it a little different. No arm-twisting. I promise.”

  Carter slipped the gear into reverse. “I’m headed to the diner for lunch, if you absolutely have to. Join me and we can talk. But I gotta be back in an hour.”

  “Maybe somewhere more private?”

  “With you? Not a chance.”

  Red opened the door and slipped onto a stiff vinyl seat.

  “What? Can’t you drive your truck?”

  Red’s belly was warm from the heat inside the car. He unbuttoned his vest. “No. I just want to make sure you’re not trying to stand me up.”

  * * * *

  The diner was packed and balmy. The two stood just inside the door. Two patrons rose and squeezed by, scented of Old Spice and jalapeños, opening bar seats at the end near a gas heater blowing across the tight room. Carter and Red quickly filled the void. Men with slick black hair and dark business suits sat shoulder to shoulder with camouflage jackets and John Deere caps. Cheesesteaks and onion rings and fried okra filled the sticky air. You needed a shower just after getting a seat. The fan whirred loudly, mixed with the hum of an ice maker, masking their words. Carter ordered a clam fritter sandwich and coleslaw, having to yell. Red, a chicken salad cold plate.

  Red leaned close. “Someone’s after us. Me. Or maybe Lori.”

  Carter snorted as he took a draw of ice tea. “You think? What clued you in? The wet team?”

  “We’re not convinced it won’t happen again. Someone else may be waiting for us.”

  Carter’s cup splashed condensation onto Red’s hand as he tapped it on the counter. “Welcome to life as an operative.”

  The cool beads rolled off Red’s skin. “I’m an operator, not an operative. We’re not spies. I shouldn’t have to worry about my family.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “I need someone to figure out who’s after us. Where the intel came from. If we can get it pinned, I can eliminate the threat.”

  Carter folded a sweet potato fry into his mouth. “What do you need me for?”

  “You’re a detective. I need someone to lead the investigation.”

  Carter squared to the bar. His shoulders brushed Red’s, pushing him against the whirling heat machine. “Not my jurisdiction
. Got a gag order bigger than Texas. Every time someone asks about the attack at your home, I refer them to the CIA.”

  “You’d have full access to any intel I can get my hands on.”

  “Get Lori’s employer on it. That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it? The CIA protects their own.”

  The waitress at the far end of the bar wiped the counter, then straightened, almost as tall as Lori. She stuffed a ticket into her apron and disappeared through the kitchen door. Red started to speak, but the heater’s blower was so loud Carter leaned to hear. “She’s not convinced they’re taking it seriously.”

  “Your problem. Not mine. The company is supposed to be fixing you guys up.” Carter tapped brown Formica with a thick middle finger. “You’re not even supposed to be here, I’ll bet. In this area, I mean. Too close to your old home.” He turned his head, peering through grease-fogged windows toward the parking lot. “If someone’s after you, that could be a threat to me. To my family.”

  Red set his fork back down, only one bite taken from the chicken salad. “Hadn’t thought about that.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re not a spook...or a detective.”

  “Exactly! Which is why I need you. I’ve seen your file, Carter. Navy intel? FBI special investigations? What the hell you doing in New Kent County? Enjoying an early retirement?”

  “Early retirement. Semiretirement, actually. And it’s going to stay that way.”

  No way was Carter happy investigating vandalism and drug peddlers. “I already cleared it with your boss.”

  “Sheriff Jenson?”

  “Yeah. Says you’ve been worthless, moping around last couple weeks. Said he never saw you happier than those couple days you were working with us.”

  Carter grunted. “Don’t confuse happiness with stress. I am not working for the Det again...ever.”

  “What would it take?”