LITMIR.BIZ

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about—winning, betting, the odds.”

      “Did you learn that from your parents?” Preston asked.

      “No, no way. My mom died when I was three or four, and my dad, well, he gave me up ’cause he’s a spy and can’t afford to have a kid hanging around. He travels all over the world,” Bobby said proudly. “I know about gamblers because my last foster dad had the habit. All those guys ever talk about is hitting the big time.”

      “Carl wouldn’t even take part in the dollar World Series pool or the weekly football winners the staff had,” Abby said.

      “And why would anyone keep losing tickets?” Bobby said, pointing to the desk. “People throw that stuff out once they find out they lost.” He paused, then added quickly, “They are losing tickets, right?”

      Preston glanced down. “I’ll have to check the numbers, but the scratchers are no good.” He entered the numbers into his notebook, then put it into his pocket.

      “You need to get your lab guys in here and fingerprint this entire place! Like on TV. Especially those tickets. Once you find who put them there, you’ll be able to close the case. Right?” Bobby asked, his voice rising with excitement.

      “We’ll need more than that, Bobby, but we’ll start by taking prints,” Preston said. “There’s a uniformed officer outside named Michaels. Can you find him for me?”

      “Sure!” Bobby turned around, lost his balance for a second and fell against Preston.

      Preston helped steady him.

      “Let go. I’m fine,” Bobby muttered.

      As Bobby ambled off in a rush to go, his side-to-side gait was barely noticeable.

      Preston took a step and instantly noticed that his jacket pocket felt lighter. It didn’t take him long to put things together. Bobby hadn’t accidentally lost his balance at all. He’d had a specific goal in mind.

      Preston nearly laughed out loud. He wouldn’t say anything right now, but he’d settle this with the kid later.

      “Did you see that? Bobby left with scarcely a trace of a limp,” Abby said. “When he’s excited or distracted, he isn’t so aware of the things that are wrong with his body. I first noticed that when my twin sister got sick, and that’s what eventually led me to open Sitting Tall Ranch. Here kids have something fun to do and think about. We lift their spirits and, believe it or not, that’s a big part of the battle.”

      “What happened to your sister?” he asked.

      She shook her head and looked away, her eyes misty. “Another time.”

      Sensing that she regretted having spoken so freely, he dropped it for now. “I haven’t seen any mail around here anywhere,” he said, focusing back on work. “Did Carl have a post office box?”

      “Not that I know of,” Abby said.

      “No bank account, no bills…Something’s not right,” he said, thinking out loud.

      “I paid his utility bills,” she said. “I know it sounds like a really sweet deal, but Carl could have worked at any ranch in the county for far more than what I could pay him. He was the best animal trainer I’ve ever seen.”

      “Exactly what kind of training did he do for you?”

      “He made sure the horses were worked daily and that they’d respond to cues without any problems. He also worked with the llamas and made sure they’d be steady and reliable around the kids. We also use the camels for promos and fundraisers. Hank, in particular, can be terribly stubborn, and if he gets mad, he’ll just refuse to cooperate. Away from the ranch that can be a problem, but when Carl went along, they were always on their best behavior.”

      As Officer Michaels came into the bunkhouse, Preston went to meet him. “Have the team process this place and collect fingerprints. I have reason to suspect the killer was here.”

      “Got it. And in answer to the bike question, there’s an old five-speed in the barn office.”

      “Thanks,” Preston said, then looked over at Abby.

      “That’s Carl’s,” she confirmed.

      After Michaels left, Preston placed the casino tickets and other gambling pieces in an evidence bag, then signed and dated it. “I’ll follow up on this personally.”

      “Can you let me know what you find out?” Abby asked.

      “Not right away. This is a police matter now, but I will say this—I have a reputation for closing my cases. I never give up till the job’s done.”

      “We have that in common.”

      “You built this place from scratch. Is that right?”

      “Yeah, and it didn’t happen overnight. The only reason I succeeded was because I refused to take my eyes off the goal.”

      “That’s the way I work, too.”

      “So what’s next?”

      “I’ll go through this place with the crime scene team. I find it hard to believe the victim was so out of touch with modern-day society—no phone, no bank account and so on. My gut tells me that he was hiding something. Maybe we’ll find some answers here in the bunkhouse.”

      As the crime scene team moved in, Preston met them at the door. “Keep a lookout for any paper trail—mail, bills, receipts, social, anything. There’s got to be more to this guy than we’ve seen so far.”

      Preston remained with the crime scene unit and worked alongside them for another hour. After finding nothing, he went back to the ranch’s office. The hopeful look on Abby’s face speared through him.

      “Did you find something helpful?” she asked.

      “No. I’m sorry. Sometimes progress on a case doesn’t come quickly or easily.”

      “I’d never say this in front of Bobby, but I’m terrified the man who killed Carl will come back for me,” she whispered, standing by the window and watching Bobby speak to the kids. “Is it safe for any of us here now?”

      He wanted to hold her like he’d done before and calm her, but the badge at his belt kept him where he was. “Miss Langdon, we’ll have patrol officers close by tonight,” he said, using a professional tone of voice, something experience told him would give her the added confidence she needed. “If there’s any problem at all, dial 911. You’ll have help almost immediately.”

      “Thank you,” she said then with a shaky smile, added, “And call me Abby, please. You saved my life.”

      “Abby it is then,” he said. “Call me Preston.”

      “Preston,” she repeated, as if savoring the name.

      Calling her by her first name made good sense. He had to establish rapport with a witness and victim. But deep down he knew his motives weren’t strictly aboveboard and professional.

      He liked Abby and that could be a problem. He wouldn’t have given a strictly physical attraction a second thought—one night or two of hot sex, then move on. But he wanted to be personally involved this time—to help her even the odds and to protect her as if she belonged to him somehow. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d felt in his arms—her scent.

      Trouble. That’s all that could come of this. Enough.

      Before he could say anything else there was a knock on the semi-opened door. It was Gabe Sanchez, an officer from the crime scene unit.

      “We’re wrapping up here for now,” he said. “Anything else you need from me?”

      “Process the prints as soon as you can,” Preston said, going to meet him. “I’ll be heading to the casino next to follow up on those receipts and chips.”

      “Without

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