Kit Ehrman - At Risk

"Why didn't you, eh… take advantage of the opportunity?" I said.

"I'm serious about someone right now, plus, you do that too much, you end with a reputation you-"

"You keep using your particular put-off, you'll have a different reputation to contend with."

"Come on, Steve. Don't you know that in this business, if you aren't a steer-ropin', tobacco-spittin', boot-stompin' cowboy, you've probably got that reputation already?"

I grinned. "Awh shit, man."

I pulled into the parking space behind the foaling barn and turned off the engine. Since all the mares had foaled, Greg's foaling man no longer worked nights. The barn was dark.

"You don't," Michael said, "live in a barn?"

"Uh-huh."

"Jesus. I gave up sleeping in the trailer for this?"

"'Fraid so."

He jerked up on the door handle with more force than necessary and hopped out. His expectations rose slightly as we climbed the steps to the loft. The view across the horse pastures, even at night, was awe-inspiring. The moon had just crested the tree line and looked huge. A swath of white glimmered on the lake.

I opened the door and turned on the lights.

Michael stepped through the doorway and paused. "Well, who'd've thought?" He dumped his duffel bag on the floor and took off his jacket. "Nice place. No privacy though. You ever gonna hang curtains?"

"One day."

"I feel like I'm in a goddamned fish bowl." He walked into the living room/bedroom. "You have something against furniture, too?"

"Hardly."

Michael snorted.

"When it comes down to spending money on something to sit on or something to eat, I'll choose eat every time. Speaking of which…" I rummaged through the cabinets and settled on Spicy Doritos and microwaveable popcorn. I plunked two cans of Coke and the bag of chips on the island counter and filled two glasses with ice.

"What's this about?" Michael said.

A stack of flyers I hadn't gotten around to giving Greg was lying on top of a pile of magazines. Michael held one in his hand.

I told him about James Peters and the thefts and about Pennsylvania, then I asked him if he'd heard of anything that sounded even remotely related.

He shook his head as he gathered up the sheets and tapped them down on the countertop until they were organized into a neat pile. "No wonder you were so pigheaded about me sleeping in the trailer?"

"Yeah, well, now you know." I looked down at the popcorn in my hand and was no longer hungry. I dumped it in the trash.

"This guy, Peters. They didn't have to kill him, did they?" Michael said. "Not unless he could identify them." He ran his fingers up and down the smooth, cold surface of his glass. The ice shifted and settled. "They've got to have some horse connections, too. Some outlet for getting rid of the horses they take, and the tack. But you didn't recognize them?"

"No, but they were wearing masks." I stood abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower."

He glanced up at me and frowned. "Can I use your weights? Sitting all day drives me nuts."

"Sure," I said. "Want some music on?"

"What kind?"

"Pick something out."

He checked what was in the CD player and said it would do. When he turned it on, the volume was cranked way up.

He fumbled with the knobs and turned it down. "You deaf?"

"What?"

He grinned and shook his head. "At this rate, you'll be deaf by the time you're fifty."

"Yeah, well, what if I die when I'm forty-nine, and I've gone through life keeping the volume down to save my hearing?"

"You're crazy."

"So I've been told."

When I got out of the shower, Michael was finishing up a set. His hair was damp, and sweat glistened on his skin. He settled the bar in the rack and sat up. "Were you expecting company?"

"No." I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was well after midnight. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I heard a noise and thought there was someone on the deck, but-"

"How long ago?" My voice sounded tight.

"Five minutes, maybe less."

I yanked on my sneakers, grabbed a flashlight, and pushed through the kitchen door with Michael on my heels. I took the stairs two at a time and switched on the barn lights. The metal bracket by the light switch was empty.

"Shit." I spun around and almost knocked into Michael.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Fire extinguisher's gone."

I scanned the parking lot, then ran around the corner of the barn and shone the light along the fence line. No fire extinguisher. I ran part-way down the narrow lawn between the fence and barn and panned the light across the grass. The extinguisher was lying in the darker shadows along the barn's foundation. I tossed the flashlight to Michael, scooped up the extinguisher, and ran into the barn aisle.

I stopped abruptly. "Do you smell that?"

Michael nodded. His face was pale.

The horses were out for the night. All the stall doors were open, and nothing looked out of place.

I turned slowly toward the feed room door, then flattened my palm on the smooth wood. It was cool to the touch. I put my hand on the doorknob. The metal felt warm against my skin, and I wondered if it was my imagination.

I stood to the side and opened the door.

A fire was smoldering in the far corner of the room. It flared with the inrush of air. Flames shot up the wall as I fumbled with the extinguisher's seal. I pulled out the pin and aimed the nozzle at the base of the fire. When the foam hit the flames, they hissed and billowed upward.

I yelled at Michael. "Run down the other end of the barn and see if that extinguisher's still there."

He took off, his face no longer white but orange in the fire's glow.

I gagged on the smoke.

I had never used an extinguisher before and had no idea how long it would last. I crouched down where the air was a bit clearer and squinted through the smoke. The heat was intense on my bare skin. I inched back toward the door. Greg didn't need this. And where the hell was Michael?

"Come on, Michael!" I yelled.

The extinguisher sputtered.

"Come on, damn it."

The light bulb in the ceiling fixture exploded, and I jumped.

Damn it, what was taking him so long?

Michael stepped through the doorway with the extinguisher in his hand. His face was covered with sweat, and he was out of breath. He fumbled with the pin.

A ceiling panel curled downward, then fell softly to the floor, bringing with it a shower of sparks. Michael got his extinguisher going just as mine emptied out.

"I'll be right back," I yelled.

I ran down the aisle and skidded to a stop alongside the spigot. I turned the pressure on full and ran backward, uncoiling the hose as I went. Michael was holding his own, but the fire was stubborn. I turned the nozzle full-on. The water sizzled when it hit the flames, and smoke mushroomed toward us. We backed up.

When the last of the fire was out, the barn was suddenly quiet except for our breathing and the sound of water dripping off the rafters. We stared in at the gutted feed room as a stream of black water spread past our feet and meandered down the barn aisle.

I set the hose down.

Michael's sweat pants and shirt were streaked with soot. His face, too. I looked down at my bare chest and arms and legs, at my shorts that had once been white but would never be again and started to giggle. In a minute or two, we were both laughing so hard, my side hurt.

Michael set his extinguisher at the base of the wall and shivered. "God, that was awful."

I took a deep breath, which brought on a spasm of coughing. I nodded and braced my hands against the wall. When I caught my breath, I said, "Do you remember what the person looked like?"

"Hell, I wasn't even sure there was a person. It was more an impression that someone was there, it was that quick."