“I have a dog who must really need to go out by now,” she said.
He smiled, lowering his head. “Yeah. But first...”
She didn’t know what to expect when he opened the compartment between the seats. What he produced was a can that looked like it might contain hair spray.
“Pepper spray,” he told her. “Better than nothing.”
“How does it work?”
“Flip this tab. That’s it—no safety or anything. Flip the tab. Keep it on you at all times, okay?”
“That’s going to be a little tough.”
“Why?”
“I don’t carry things when I’m working. I leave my purse in the office, and I shove my phone in a jeans pocket.”
He sighed with exasperation. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Keep the pepper spray with you, in your bag, so you have it while you’re in your car, or going to and from your car—whenever you’re out. I’ve got something else that’ll do during the day. This is the best I can manage unless you want to go to a shooting range, and that can’t be done for a while.”
“What is it?”
He reached into the console compartment again. The next thing he took out looked like lipstick.
“This one, you do have to pull the cap. It’s also pepper spray. It works just like a tiny perfume bottle. The spray is small but you can at least aim for the eyes and blind someone temporarily.”
She took it from him. “This will fit in my pocket,” she said. She’d bent close to listen to him and could feel the energy of his body, which seemed to radiate to hers. They looked at each other. She’d already been rejected once, but...
She leaned in even closer and kissed him swiftly. Felt his lips, and the vibrant aura of assurance about him. Something threatened to spring to life and she instantly pulled away—not giving him another chance to reject her. Then she opened her door to get out of the car.
Oddly, she was hurting more than she had last evening. But, of course, he was right. If they got involved, where could they go with it?
“Wait up,” Dustin said, exiting the car and running behind her. He stepped in front, blocking her as they reached the porch. “Someone’s been here,” he said.
She glanced around him at the porch. The dirt she’d left yesterday had been disturbed. He moved ahead of her gingerly, hunkering down to study the prints in the dirt. She bent down to look. “There’s not enough to get a clear impression. But I’d say a man in boots—probably a size twelve or thirteen.”
“That could be Aaron, Mason, Sydney or Drew,” Olivia said. “Or half the men in the area. It’s horse country, farm country—cow country, too. Everyone wears boots.”
He nodded. “But who gained the most from Marcus’s death?”
“Well,” she replied unhappily, “Aaron.”
He stood up and smiled grimly at her. “That means Aaron might have been here. On the other hand, the fact that he benefited from the will doesn’t prove anything. So...it could equally be someone else. And whoever it was may well have come here to hurt you.”
“So we haven’t got anywhere?”
“No. But it’s a good thing you’re getting an alarm put in tomorrow,” he said.
“I have to let Sammy out and feed him.”
He stepped aside, and she started to open the door, inserting the key. She gave him a questioning look before she turned it, despite Sammy’s frantic barking.
He raised his voice. “We already know that whoever came here wears gloves,” he said. “This person wouldn’t have known if you were here or at Marcus’s house, but probably tried both.”
“So, if someone asks where I was last night, what do I say?” Olivia asked.
“My guess is that no one will ask because no one’s going to admit he was hunting you down.” Dustin shrugged. “Or if someone does ask—and there is, of course, a slight chance that your visitor was legitimate—you can say you were going back and forth between the two places. That’s not even a lie. You were at both houses last night.”
Olivia opened the door. Sammy greeted her as if she’d been gone an eternity. “Hey, boy! It was just overnight,” she murmured.
Either Sammy didn’t know it was Dustin’s idea they not spend the previous night there or he was so happy to see anyone human that he leaped up on Dustin in a frenzied greeting. “Down, boy, down, and I’ll scratch ya good, I promise.” Dustin kept his promise, and Sammy barked happily, then headed for the door.
“Does he need a leash?”
“No, not really, but—” Olivia broke off, remembering that the dog had recently been injured. “One of us should be out with him. He’ll just run around and then head to his spot at the side of the house.”
“I’ve got him,” Dustin said. Olivia set her bag down. She hurried into the kitchen to refill the dog’s food and water, then changed her mind. Sammy was coming to work with her. The camping trip was tonight, and she’d leave him at the Farm with Sydney.
She ran upstairs and packed fresh clothes, then exchanged the regular shoes she’d been wearing for her boots. When she hurried down, Dustin and Sammy were back inside. “He’s coming with us today,” she told Dustin.
“Okay.” They went out again, Dustin starting for his car, and Olivia for hers. He made an abrupt turn.
“What’s your schedule today?” he asked.
“Two groups in the morning. A couple of hours with a patient—but only in the pasture—this afternoon. A group meeting with Mariah and the kids coming on the camping trip at five. And then we all head out.” She hesitated. “Are you going to be around during the day?”
“I have some business to deal with, so I’ll need a few hours this morning. Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re with the groups. I should be back by about noon. First, though, I’m going to see that you get there safely, and please keep that pepper spray handy.”
She waved, and Sammy jumped into the car. “You can hang around the horses but you have to behave, okay, Sammy?”
Sammy gave a pleased whine, obviously grateful that he wasn’t being left home again.
He could call it professional interest. Or curiosity. Either way, Dustin wasn’t really worried about getting into the morgue.
And, in fact, it wasn’t difficult. He flashed his badge. The handsome middle-aged woman at the reception desk accepted his credentials without question and told him she’d page Dr. Wilson. A moment later, he came out and shook Dustin’s hand.
Dustin told the most plausible story he could, which was—in the midst of his lie—the truth.
“I’m attending the Horse Farm, doing a few sessions there. It’s a vacation with some therapy thrown in. I’ve been on some rough cases lately,” he told Wilson.
Wilson shook his head. “I worked L.A. for a while and wound up doing autopsies on some of the victims of a serial killer—a sexual sadist. I can see where you guys might need a break now and then.” Wilson seemed trustworthy and solid. He was probably in his late fifties, lean, with white hair that was thinning and tufted on top. “Come on into my office,” he invited.
When Dustin was seated in front of him, he asked, “What can I do for you, Agent Blake?”
“I’ll get right to the point. I’m interested in Marcus Danby. I’ve become aware of some, shall we say, dubious circumstances concerning the way he died. What can you tell me?”
“Mr. Danby was buried four days after his death, you know.”
“Four days? It was about eight, wasn’t it, before you let the police have the results of the autopsy?”
Wilson nodded. “I was holding off. Not stalling, mind you, but holding off. I was waiting on a few of the tests I had done because, frankly, I didn’t want the truth out there. Trust me—every move I made was within the law. But I have to say, it broke my heart to release that report. I sent a nephew out to do some sessions at the Horse Farm. Changed his life. Well, I guess the whole rehab thing I got him into had a lot to do with it, but the Horse Farm gave him a new direction. He’s still working with horses. He bought into a hack ranch in the area. Anyway, I had a lot of respect for Marcus Danby.”