Regan Black - Killer Colton Christmas

At the fork where the gravel driveway split off toward the vet offices, he saw Ace was right. Someone had taken the turn too quickly. Near the office itself, he found skid marks where someone had pulled to a stop and left again in a hurry. He took a few pictures, though he’d have to take more in the better light of morning. At the office door, he took pictures of the broken lock. He would review the security system video after he checked the inventory. To drop a man as big and tough as Ace, the attacker likely went for xylazine, one of the tranquilizers his mother used in her equine practice. Like all reputable vets, Natalia Ortega kept careful records of the controlled substances. She used computer logs as well as a handwritten chart on a clipboard near the cabinet to track when each patient received what kind of dosage and why.

Sure enough, the locked cabinet had been busted off its hinges and two vials of xylazine were missing. Emiliano swore. It was a safe bet she was short a box of syringes, as well. A quick search confirmed that. He noted the signs of a brief struggle. Ace was tall, strong and wily. How had he seen the thief’s masked face and still been overpowered?

On hands and knees, he found a syringe under the desk with a few milliliters of fluid in the barrel. His mother didn’t keep controlled substances predrawn, which meant there had to have been two people here, one fighting Ace and another to prepare the drug. Emiliano pulled on exam gloves and dropped the syringe into a plastic bag, hoping to preserve any fingerprints.

At the security system panel, he checked the time of the alarm that had brought his ranch manager into range of the thieves. He and Marie had just gotten on the road out of Dallas when Ace was attacked here. Did that mean the incidents were connected or coincidence? He pulled out his phone to send a text message to his boss and changed his mind. Better to get more facts together. He could share this development on the team video conference scheduled for tomorrow.

Emiliano tucked his phone away. Knowing his mother’s security codes, he moved the remainder of her controlled substances into a cabinet that locked properly. He was going to have to open a Food and Drug Administration report on her behalf, as well. With luck, being an FBI agent would make that process run a bit smoother.

He should probably call her, but he didn’t want to interrupt their holiday cruise. It was the first big vacation they’d taken in years. The least he could do was handle things in their absence. Satisfied the meds were secure, he managed to get the door to stay closed with the dead bolt so he could reset the alarm. Tomorrow, he could make a decision about repairing or replacing the door.

He returned to the house just as Dr. Ramirez’s sedan turned into the driveway. He and Gordo waited for the older man to climb out of the car with his bag. Together the two men and the scruffy dog walked inside, where Marie and Ace were chatting like old friends in the great room.

Emiliano opened his mouth to make introductions and stopped short. Scrabble hadn’t met him at the door. She was sitting on Marie’s lap in one of the leather armchairs, her canine grin expressing delight and pride in finding a new friend.

Huh. His dog was an excellent judge of character. It was uncharacteristic for her to become so friendly with anyone so fast, especially in light of Marie’s inexperience with animals. Having her take that relaxed, affectionate stance toward a woman he hadn’t completely removed from the suspect column made him reconsider Marie’s position within the investigation.

“Who’s the patient?” Ramirez asked. “You both look well enough to me.”

“Ace is the patient,” Marie said, gently stroking Scrabble’s long back when the dog refused to relinquish her place.

Emiliano explained how and where they’d found Ace and the missing supplies from the vet office. Ace chimed in with what he remembered of the incident. “I’d appreciate you keeping this quiet,” Emiliano said when the basics were complete.

“Assumed as much.” Ramirez’s thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows knit into a frown. He took blood and urine samples to verify the suspected xylazine and, after some additional evaluation, told them Ace had a mild concussion and would recover with a few days’ rest.

“You’ll be here, Emiliano?” the doctor asked, packing up his bag.

“Yes.” This time of year the ranch ran on a skeleton crew so everyone had more time with family, although they would all pitch in and make sure Ace had enough help.

“Good.” He snapped his bag closed and tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket. “I’m counting on you to be sure he doesn’t overdo it or the recovery will take twice as long.” He aimed a meaningful look at Ace. “I mean it.”

“I heard you,” Ace said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Meyers,” Dr. Ramirez said. “Enjoy your time in Shadow Creek.”

Emiliano walked the doctor back to his car. “Ace had to be out for close to four hours,” he said.

“I did the math,” the doctor agreed. He unlocked the car and set his bag on the passenger seat. “That works in his favor in this case.”

“How so?”

“Because being unconscious, his body was able to purge the drug without as much of a fight,” Ramirez explained. “Once I have these labs back, I’ll know if he needs more attention. In the meantime, water and rest will do him the most good. If he were in real trouble, it would be obvious in his breathing and heart rate.”

It was small comfort, but he’d take it. “Do you think his assailants dragged him to the door?”

Ramirez chuckled. “Knowing Ace, he stumbled there on his own, trying to find help. He’s too stubborn to let a head injury or sedatives have all the advantages.”

While the last part was true, Emiliano was sure Ace would’ve gone for the back door over the front. It was habit. Then again, between the head injury and the drug, he couldn’t have been thinking clearly. Maybe more details would come out as he recovered.

“I found a syringe in the office,” Emiliano said. “I’ll let you know what the evidence lab finds.”

Emiliano watched the doctor drive away, the bagged syringe in his back pocket for the evidence team to process later, and his thoughts scattered.

At the sounds of small paws on the gravel, he turned to see Scrabble racing his way, Marie hesitating under the soft glow of the porch light. “Is Ace okay?”

“Just fine,” she said. “He’s hungry and I wanted to check with you before I invaded your kitchen.”

Emiliano knelt down and patted his chest and Scrabble bounced into his arms, a trick he’d taught her when she was just a puppy.

“Impressive,” Marie said as they joined her.

“Corgis are more athletic than people think at first glance,” he said, his mind on more complicated issues. He was about to walk inside when she hesitated. “What?”

“Do you think your team will sort this out quickly?” she asked.

“Missing Dallas already?”

“Not exactly.” Her mouth turned down as she frowned at him. “I told you Shadow Creek is lovely.”

“You’ll see more of it,” he replied without thinking it through.

“But the Cohort,” she pressed. “Do you think they hurt your friend because of me?”

“Time will tell. It’s hard to believe these incidents are unrelated.” He rubbed at the tension in his neck. “The Cohort isn’t easy to crack, even when its motives are clear,” he admitted. “Then again, the FBI is investigating and Christmas is the season of miracles.”

She stared up at him for a long, silent moment.

Under her puckered brow, he read the doubt in her big brown eyes. She didn’t have to say the words aloud for him to recognize she was a woman who didn’t have much faith in people, the FBI or miracles in any season.