Bait the devil, p.2
Bait the Devil, page 2
“I don’t think he owns any of this.” T.J. stopped the SUV at a large sign greeting visitors at the lane’s entrance and lowered his sunglasses. “Van Houten’s horse farm. Boarding and breeding services.”
“Wonder if he’s a groom or something?”
He gave Dot a side eye and then pushed his reflective glasses into their rightful place. “Sure. We’ll go with that.”
He continued on down the immaculately kept lane bordered by equally immaculate white painted wooden fences. The pastures on Dot’s side were empty, but she spotted a herd of ten mares with foals grazing in a field to T.J.’s left.
The lane ended at a circular drive before a huge barn. T.J. parked beside a small white building that looked more like a guard shack and cut the engine. They sat there, assessing what they could encounter once they exited the Suburban.
“Did you see a house?” he asked.
“Nope. It might be behind the barn.”
“What day is it?”
Dot glanced at her partner. “Wednesday.”
“And the time?”
She checked her watch. “Nearly four in the afternoon.”
“Wouldn’t there be people out here doing chores? Or boarders riding their horses?”
“One would assume yes, but we don’t know their operating hours. It wasn’t on the sign.”
T.J. leaned forward and peered up through the windshield. “Nor was who is running it.” He drew back and looked pointedly at Dot. “Gear up. My danger radar is going off.”
Dot wouldn’t tease him or rebut. T.J.’s track record for successful missions was legendary. Some of his guys might have come out with injuries, but no one died on his watch. That uncanny intuition had saved Dot’s hide on more than a few occasions, past and present.
They exited the SUV and made short work of vesting up and arming themselves. Before approaching the barn, T.J. double-checked the small building.
“Office,” he said as he pulled back from the lone window. He tried the door and found it unlocked. He poked his head in. “Hello?”
No answer. He stepped back, shutting the door.
He gave her a single hand motion to move forward. They made for a human-sized entry next to a closed large bay roll-up door.
“It’s hotter than fucking Hades out here and they have all the barn doors shut,” Dot said in a low voice.
“Maybe they have it air-conditioned.” T.J. circled his hand around. “By the looks of the place, this Van Houten person has money.”
Dot grunted. “If you put lipstick on a pig, does it still make it pretty?”
Ignoring her, he tried the side door, and it opened. He took point, Dot right on his heels after she did a quick check of their backsides.
The building, an enormous riding arena, was, indeed, cooler. Pampered horses could be beneficial to humans, after all. The ring—its flooring a mix of sand and dirt—took up most of the building. To their left was an alley where trucks and trailers could pull in, hence the large bay doors. Behind them, against the wall, a set of stairs led to a wide deck perched above their heads. Dot assumed it was a lookout or observation deck.
Otherwise, the arena was empty.
T.J. cautiously moved forward, his rifle pointed down, hand resting on the stock that was pressed to his chest for ready access. Dot lingered a few steps back, her trusty Colt 1911 gripped in her right hand and aimed over her left shoulder. She studied the staircase and slatted wood above their heads.
As he stepped past the edge of the observation deck, T.J. paused and squatted. “Got something.”
Dot halted. Before she could ask him what he found, a dark blotch hit the back of his neck with a splat.
“What the fuck?” He cupped his neck and pulled his hand away.
Dot grimaced at a dark-red smear on his skin. She looked up. A large black stain covered two of the slats near the end of the observation deck. The slats were wedged tight, giving no clear view upstairs.
T.J. edged around a puddle in the sandy dirt and pointed his rifle upward. “I see a shoulder.”
Dot broke away and darted up the stairs, slowing as she neared the upper deck. With the 1911 preceding her progress, she eased up one step at a time until she could peek over the lip of the deck. Except for the body of a male subject sprawled against the railing, the deck was empty.
Dot hurried up the last of the steps and over to the man. She hesitated when she got a look at what should have been his face.
“Got a DOA,” she called down.
“Coming up,” T.J. answered.
As he pounded up the steps, Dot scanned the area of the observation deck. A glass-enclosed room covered the whole western side of the deck. Or it had had glass windows at one time. Most of the panes were shattered, and jagged edges clung to the corners of the frames. Dot moved closer, spotting blood splatter on the pristine white wall near a door.
T.J. joined her as she eased up to an empty frame. They peered inside.
The hulking form of a man was draped over a broken armchair—dead if the huge pool of blood under his body was any indication.
“What the hell went on here?” T.J. muttered.
“Neither one of these guys is our target,” Dot said as she entered the room through the shattered remains of the window. “We better see where that door goes.”
They carefully stepped over upended furniture and glass shards as they crossed the floor toward the dead guy. Just to be certain, T.J. checked for a pulse and shook his head.
“Body’s still warm,” he said as he straightened. “This all went down recently.”
Dot grabbed his shoulder before he opened the door. “We need to remember everything we touched here and tell law enforcement when we call this in.”
He drew in a breath and let it out with a growl. “This is why you never say these jobs will be easy.”
The door handle was smeared with blood and hadn’t closed all the way. Using his rifle barrel, T.J. eased the door aside far enough to open it farther with his boot. Dot stepped through onto a landing. She checked the ground below and spotted a paved walkway and a rolling trash bin below. She didn’t bother to wait for T.J. and hurried down the stairs, T.J. hot on her heels.
Laid out in a strategic manner were several more modest-sized barns with sectioned paddocks and between them a large pasture where another herd of horses milled about, their tails swishing.
“The horses are agitated,” Dot remarked.
“I would be, too, if someone had been shooting the place up and strange people were running around.” T.J. pointed to a single-story house to the right of the barns. “That way.”
Staying alert, they headed for the home. It was the only place on the property meant for humans.
“Get the sense Van Houten—whoever the hell that is—doesn’t live here,” Dot muttered as they walked onto the grassy yard.
“Got another body,” T.J. said.
To the left of the house, half hidden by the small porch, lay another man. Dot winced at the sight of his mutilated body.
“Someone’s using a shotgun,” T.J. said. “Both barrels close range will do that kind of damage.”
“Our Marine?” Dot asked.
“Maybe. And if that’s the case, he’s more than a shoot mortars kind of Marine.” T.J. stepped in front of her. “Hello! The house!”
Silence greeted them.
“Cade Porter? I’m T.J. Roman, and this is my partner, Dot Ybarra. Your lawyer sent us to check on you.”
More silence.
“We should call this in,” Dot pressed.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Dot didn’t like the rigid lines in his face. He was mildly stubborn on a good day but a real horse’s ass in situations where he was stressing out.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“Fuck you,” she barked and marched past him.
“Dot …”
She hopped onto the rail-less porch and approached the open door with more caution than she planned. If T.J. was going to go all army ranger on her, then she would repay in kind.
Not calling in backup. WTF?
She glanced over her shoulder and found him missing. He’d better have gone around back, which he’d probably done.
Like T.J. had done inside the riding arena, Dot used the 1911’s barrel to ease open the door enough for her to enter. The front hall walls were riddled with pockmarks. Sheetrock chunks and dust littered the floor. Dot made out tracks in the debris and followed it past a combo bathroom and a tiny den. She moved past a set of narrow stairs leading up to a loft area.
“Coming in,” T.J. hollered from the back of the house.
Dot pulled up at the entry to the kitchen with a small dining table as T.J. stepped through the shattered screen door.
Two more bodies bracketed what remained of the table and lone chair. One of the victims sported a leg from the chair through his chest. Neither man was Cade Porter.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” T.J. groused.
Dot lowered her 1911. “Any signs outside he’s still here?”
T.J. shook his head and let his rifle swing into his chest. “There was a spot back here where it looked like a vehicle had been parked. It’s long gone.”
Dot holstered her 1911. “Ready to call in the reserves?”
He dug out his cell phone. “Gotta call the troopers.” He winced. “What the hell did Vivian get us into?”
Chapter Three
During his time in the army, T.J. Roman had seen and experienced enough instances of violence to give him a healthy awareness of when it was necessary and when it was not. Between the total annihilation of villages brought down by rivals over something as trivial as believing a different way, the disputes over the poppy operations that left both sides of the coin dead and rotting in the fields, and walking into homes where defendants had succumbed to their chosen poison, he was able to see the telltale signs of amateur versus professional.
What had gone down here at Van Houten’s horse farm held the distinct signs of amateur thugs sent to deal with a professional Marine. Cade Porter, five. Thugs, zero.
It’d taken a hot minute for the Idaho state troopers to arrive with their investigative team. While he and Dot waited, T.J. did a reconnaissance of the farm for more clues on how their guy managed to kill five men and escape. T.J. had located weapons on or near all five victims, so they’d come with a plan. But what was the plan?
What had Cade Porter done or gotten involved with it garnered such a violent outcome? By all indicators, this looked necessary, like Cade was fighting for his life. Why would he need to resort to killing? And where had he gone?
Dot had remained near the house. When he came out of the riding arena, she was on her phone. She ended the call as he joined her.
“Vivian is letting the judge know that Cade Porter is AWOL.” Dot slid her phone into the front pocket of her Kevlar. “Once this spreads, every recovery agent in dire need of cash is going to be scrambling for his bond.”
T.J. stared at her, letting her news sink in. “How big is the bond?”
Rigid lines deepened Dot’s cheeks, making her high cheekbones more prominent. Her sharp, dark brown eyes narrowed.
“How big, Dot?”
“Half a mil.”
T.J. staggered back a step. “For drug charges?”
She turned to the house and stared pointedly at the mutilated body gathering flies in the summer heat. “Vivian’s associate failed to mention to Vivian that she knew nothing about this case or this client.” Dot looked at him. “She’s a junior associate in the firm. This whole fuckup was dumped on her by a senior lawyer.”
“Obviously, his file would have the reason for a half-million bond. What was it?”
“Nobody knows. The bail bondsman of record doesn’t exist.”
“Sonofabitch! How is any of this fucking possible?” T.J. paced. “This favor Vivian owes us has compounded interest. By 100 percent.”
A fleet of black-and-white-striped SUVs approached, putting a halt to T.J.’s pacing. He and Dot watched the lead car park in the roundabout lane. The door opened, and a familiar figure emerged.
“Roman and Ybarra. Didn’t think I’d see either of you this soon,” Detective Sergeant Cassius Larrabee drawled.
“Larrabee,” T.J. said and shook the Idaho state trooper’s hand. “Believe me, I thought we wouldn’t ever have to meet up again.”
Nearly a year before, Larrabee had hired T.J. and his former partner for a private investigative gig. Things got out of hand, and Larrabee had to be brought into the chaos. Not only had T.J. lost a partner to retirement, and gained a new one in Dot, he’d also garnered much respect from Larrabee and a get-out-of-jail-free card if ever the need arose.
Larrabee smiled at Dot. “You a full-fledged bounty hunter yet?”
“Just about.”
Larrabee sighed. “What craptastic episode of Bounty Hunters R Us have you gotten yourself into now?”
T.J. adjusted his sunglasses, swiping at a bead of sweat trickling down from his hairline. “I’m blaming Dot’s cousin for this one.” He pointed at the riding arena, then the house. “Between these two buildings, there are five DOAs. I checked the stables and no bodies. No sign of our person of interest either.”
“Person of interest? More like suspect,” Larrabee said.
T.J. crossed his arms. “Until we catch the guy and find out what happened, he’s only a person of interest.”
Larrabee gestured for his team to get to work. “You catch the guy? This one is going to fall within the purview of the police.”
“Only until he leaves Idaho.” T.J. shifted his weight to his right leg. “I’m not constrained by state lines.”
Larrabee looked from T.J. to Dot. “You’re in it for the money.”
“No,” Dot said. “It’s more than that.”
The three of them paused, listening to the sounds of crime scene techs, state troopers, and forensic personnel speaking in low tones and moving about the grounds.
“Normally, I would be warning anyone else to stay away from something like this and let the professionals handle it,” Larrabee said. “But I’ve seen you two work.” He moved past T.J. “Be careful and call me if you need help.”
“You do realize he’s a Marine?” T.J. asked.
Larrabee looked back. “Oh, I know. You two better be the ones to find him. We don’t need any more bodies to clean up.” He waved at them. “Leave your statements with my detective. I believe we have your fingerprints on file. Good luck,” he called out as he stepped onto the porch.
T.J. turned to the woman wearing a black polo and khakis, her notepad out and ready. The detective looked like she’d just walked right out of the academy, all spit shined and new.
“Walk me through it,” she said.
*
The sun dipped low in the sky by the time T.J. drove the Suburban into the parking lot behind their office. It was a small space rented out of what used to be a strip mall. The monthly rent on the place was going up, and rumors abounded that the owner was about to sell out to some big corporate conglomerate, which would circle around to a huge rent hike.
T.J. really needed to reconsider their location for something better suited to both his and Dot’s needs. She was getting antsy to be closer to her mother, Angela, and the two adoptees, Ashley and Bethany Cooper, who were grafted onto the Ybarra family tree. If T.J. were honest with himself, he was feeling the same tug to set up shop in Euskadi.
He had procrastinated with uprooting Shadow Force Solutions, because much of their clientele—aka the bail bondsmen and women—were here in Boise. It had been the easiest and best choice to stay here to train Dot in the business. When she’d originally been approached with becoming part of the team, the plan had been to set up near her hometown and have Dot be the extension to the business here in Boise. Then the plan was shot all to hell, literally, when T.J.’s first partner, Sloane Cross, retired from the business.
It was a topic he didn’t bother to bring up.
He parked the huge SUV beside his former truck—he’d signed over the vehicle to Dot after she came on as his partner—and killed the engine. Here they sat, neither willing to get out.
T.J. rested against the headrest, the fatigue from the day pressing down on him. What had started out as a good capture with Freddy flipped a full one-eighty with the Cade Porter situation. Damn, he needed a six-pack chilled on ice and juicy medium rare steak. If he were a cigar connoisseur like Dot, he’d be smoking a fat one right now. The problem was, there was no chilled beer and no steak waiting for him. Maybe a fifth of Wild Turkey was stashed somewhere in a desk drawer. God only knew how old that was. T.J. gave up liquor a year after his DD214 from the army went live. The final push to leave the harder stuff behind came when he had to participate in a funeral for one of his soldiers, a man too damn young to die but couldn’t cope with his demons. There were just some things liquor would never solve.
“I’m going to my place,” Dot said.
Her place was a little bungalow she rented on the edge of Boise. Far enough away from the bustle of city life but still not remote enough for her.
Dot was a mountain woman. Born and raised in the shadow of the Payette National Forest, she was left to run wild in the foothills and mountain ranges of the national park where she spent a lot of her time hunting and tracking. She preferred animals to humans and isolation to inclusion. She was a woman of dichotomy when one considered how long she’d been in the army herself, flying helicopters for men like him. Forward operating bases, or FOBS, were about as remote as one could get, but there were still more people per square mile there than where she’d grown up.
“We should probably revisit all of this in the morning,” he said, reaching for the keys.
She grasped his forearm.
T.J. caught her gaze. He recognized that fierce gleam shimmering in her eyes.
Dot was filthy, smelled like a horse that had been worked heavy under saddle, and the bags under her eyes were dragging on her features. She had taken a beating today, but she wasn’t about to give up.
