Tami Hoag - Dark Horse

That wasn't what I had wanted. Not at all. I had lived with those scars a long time now. They were a part of me. I had kept them to myself because I kept to myself. I didn't dwell on them. I didn't look at them. In a strange way, the damage that had been done to my body was unimportant to me, because I had become unimportant to myself.

Suddenly the damage was very important. I felt naked emotionally. Vulnerable.

I pulled the sweater down and picked up my jacket, my back still to Landry.

"Forget it," I said, embarrassed and angry with myself. "I'm going home."

"You want to press charges?"

"Against whom?" I asked, turning to face him. "The asshole you're not going to bother to look for, let alone question, because nothing that goes on with that horse crowd is of any interest to you? Unless, of course, someone turns up murdered."

He couldn't think of anything to say to that.

The corner of my mouth moved in what passed for a bitter smile. "Imagine that: You at least have the humanity to feel sheepish. Good for you, Landry."

I stepped past him, going to the door. "How do you like my odds that Saunders is sitting in the parking lot catching twenty? Pretty good, I think. See you around, Landry. I'll call you when I find a body."

"Estes. Wait." He didn't want to meet my eyes when I turned again and looked at him. "You should go to an ER. I'll take you. You might have busted a rib or something."

"I've had worse."

"Jesus Christ, you're a hardhead."

"I don't want your pity," I said. "I don't want your sympathy. I don't want you to like me or care what happens to me. I don't want anything from you but for you to do your job. And apparently, that's too much to ask.

"I'll show myself out. I know the way."

He followed me back to reception. Neither of us spoke as we retrieved our weapons. I pretended he had ceased to exist as we walked down the hall and down the stairs.

"I'm good at what I do," he said as the front doors came into view.

"Really? What's that? You have a second career as a professional asshole?"

"You're a piece of work."

"I'm what I have to be."

"No, you're not," he said. "You're rude and you're a bitch, and that somehow makes you feel superior to the rest of us."

The rain was still coming down. It looked white as it passed through the beams of the security lights in the parking lot. Saunders and his radio car were gone.

"Great," I said. "I guess I have to take you up on that ride, after all."

Landry looked at me sideways as he flipped up the collar of his jacket. "Fuck you. Call a cab."

I watched him get into his car, and stood there in the rain until he'd backed up and driven away. Then I went back inside to use the phone.

I couldn't say I hadn't asked for it.

When the cabbie finally showed, he wanted to chat, curious about why I needed a ride from the Sheriff's Office at 3:45 in the morning. I told him my boyfriend was wanted for murder. He didn't ask any more questions after that.

I propped myself up in the back of the cab and spent the ride home wondering how Erin Seabright was spending the night.

Landry didn't sleep for shit, and it was Estes' fault. Her fault he'd been dragged out of bed in the first place. Her fault he couldn't get back to sleep once he'd finally gotten back home. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her back, crisscrossed with lines where new flesh had been stitched into old. The bruises just coming to the surface from her run-in at the equestrian center were insignificant, pale shadows beneath the old damage.

Damage. He thought of Estes and what he knew about her. Their paths hadn't crossed when she was on the job. Narcs ran their own way. They spent too much time undercover, as far as he was concerned. It made them edgy and unpredictable. An opinion borne out in the incident that had ended her career, and ended the life of Hector Ramirez. What he knew about that incident was what everybody knew: Estes had jumped the gun, gone against orders to make the bust herself, and all hell had broken loose.

He had never given any thought to Estes, beyond thinking she'd gotten what she deserved, losing her job. He knew she'd been wounded, hospitalized, was suing the SO for her disability pay-which seemed pretty damned nervy, considering-but it had nothing to do with him, and he didn't give a shit about her. She was trouble. He had figured it, and now he knew it for a fact.

Pushy bitch. Telling him how to do his job.

He wondered about what had happened to her at the equestrian center, wondered if it really did have anything to do with this girl she said was missing…

If the girl was missing, why would a twelve-year-old child be the only one to report it? Why not her parents? Why not her employer?

Her parents who maybe wanted to be rid of her.

Her boss who maybe had a major scam going, and maybe beat Estes across the back with a broom handle.

He saw her back, a patchwork of mismatched flesh stretched taut over bone.

At five-thirty he got out of bed, pulled on a pair of running shorts, stretched, did a hundred sit-ups and a hundred push-ups, and started his day. Again.

I stand at the side of the Golam brothers' trailer. I've been told to stay put, to wait, but I know that's not the right decision. If I go in first, if I go in now, I've got the brothers dead-bang. They think they know me. I've worked this case three months. I know what I'm doing. I know I'm right. I know the Golam brothers are already twitching. I know I want this bust and deserve it. I know Lieutenant Sikes is here for the show, to put a feather in his cap. He wants to look good when the news vans arrive. He wants to make the public think they should vote for him in the next election for sheriff.

He's stuck me on the side of the trailer and told me to wait. He doesn't know his ass. He didn't listen to me when I told him the side door is the door the brothers use most. While Sikes and Ramirez are watching the front, the brothers are dumping their money into duffel bags and getting ready to bolt out the side. Billy Golam's four-by-four is parked ten feet away, covered in mud. If they run, they'll take the truck, not the Corvette parked in front. The truck can go off-road.

Sikes is wasting precious time. The Golam brothers have two girls in the trailer with them. This could easily turn into a hostage situation. But if I go in now… They think they know me.

I key the button on my radio. "This is stupid. They're going to break for the truck. I'm going in."

"Goddammit, Estes-"

I drop the radio into the weeds growing beside the trailer. It's my case. It's my bust. I know what I'm doing.

I draw my weapon and hold it behind my back. I go to the side door and knock the way all the Golam brothers' customers knock: two knocks, one knock, two knocks. "Hey, Billy, it's Elle! I need some."

Billy Golam jerks open the door, wild-eyed, high on his own home cooking-crystal meth. He's breathing hard. He's got a gun in his hand.

Shit.

The front door explodes inward.

One of the girls screams.

Buddy Golam shouts: "Cops!"

Billy Golam swings the.357 up in my face. I suck in my last breath.

He turns abruptly and fires. The sound is deafening. The bullet hits Hector Ramirez in the face and blows out the back of his head, blood and brain matter spraying Sikes behind him.

I go for my weapon as Billy bolts out the door and knocks me off the stoop.

He's running for the truck as I scramble to get my feet under me.

The engine roars to life.

"Billy!" I scream, running for the truck.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The cords in his neck stand out as he screams. He throws the truck into reverse and hits the gas.

I throw myself at the driver's door, grab hold of the side mirror and the window frame, and get one foot on the running board. I don't think what I'm doing. I just act.