HORSES AND HEROIN (Romantic Mystery) Read Free Page A

Studying, a little exercise. I even lost a few pounds.”
    She forced a chuckle even though her aching muscles screamed. Jogging an extra mile every morning certainly hadn’t prepared her for the rigors of riding school. “Did Joey make any bank withdrawals yet?” she added. “Use his phone?”
    “N-nothing.” Her mother’s quaver ripped at Megan’s heart. “And his credit card hasn’t been touched either. Maybe the police are right. Maybe he is back on drugs.”
    “No! No, I really don’t think so.” Megan calmed her voice. “He would have needed money. I’m sure he was clean. And I don’t care what the school said. He made some mistakes before, but not recently. I’m positive.”
    “Doesn’t matter what kind of trouble he’s in. Stephen and I just want him to call.”
    “I know, Mom. Listen, I’ll check back on the weekend. Say hi to Stephen. I love you.”
    She stiffened as a sleek gray car loomed aggressively in her rearview mirror. Please, not a cop. She didn’t want any trouble. Didn’t want anyone at the school to know she was Joey’s sister. She dropped her phone between the two seats—one of these days she’d get a hands-free device—and wrapped her fingers around the wheel.
    She peeked again in the mirror and blew out a sigh of relief. Not a cop. A Mercedes emblem was conspicuous on the hood. Cops didn’t drive luxury cars.
    She eased off the accelerator, pulling slightly to the side of the twisty road so the car could pass. Maybe if her truck were ten years younger, she’d have gunned it. Her rueful gaze met the driver’s, and he raised his hand in polite acknowledgement before cruising past.
    Soon he was just a gray streak on the narrow road and once he rounded the next corner—
    Oh, my God! A huge pickup careened around the bend, straddling the centerline, heading for the car that had just passed. She jammed on her brakes, certain she was about to witness a head-on collision. But the Mercedes swerved into the ditch, kicking up a flurry of gravel and dust as it bounced over the rough ground for what seemed like an eternity.
    The pickup slowed. Two heads swiveled. Then holy shit, it sped up without even bothering to stop.
    She bumped her truck to a stop on the rutted shoulder, pried her phone out from between the seats and stumbled toward the ditch, her heart pounding. Movement flashed. Clumsy with panic, she reached for the driver’s door, afraid of what she’d see. Her CPR was rusty. She should have taken that class offered in the fall, and not been such a recluse.
    “Did they clip you? Are you okay?” a man asked, his voice a deep baritone as he calmly pushed open the door and stepped out.
    “I’m fine,” she said, studying his face for signs of shock. “You can wait in my truck. I have chocolate.” Her fingers shook as she tried to press 911.
    He pried the phone from her hands. “Don’t bother the police with this. They have enough to do.”
    “But…that truck didn’t even stop.” She crossed her arms and realized she was shaking. “They didn’t care.”
    “Typical punks.” His voice hardened as he leaned back into his car, emerging with a pencil and paper. “What do you think? Late model Dodge pickup. Two-door?”
    “Don’t know. But it was cobalt blue,” she said.
    He looked up from the paper, amusement flashing in his cool gray eyes. “Cobalt. Okay, thanks. With the color and plate, the police can track them down.”
    “But I didn’t get the plate. It happened too fast. I’m almost sure it was two guys though.”
    “That’s okay. I got it.” He scribbled something, head bent.
    “You remembered their license plate? Even when you were ditching it?” She jammed her hands in her back pockets and stepped back, feeling rather useless. “You must have a good memory.”
    “For some things. Not phone numbers.” His smile was slow and deep, crinkling corners of his eyes and my God, she couldn’t look away. Chiseled jaw, a hint of stubble and