Mackenzie's Magic by Linda Howard

that. His mind might be easier now, but hers certainly wasn’t. He needed the vest she was wearing; she would never forgive herself if he was killed because she’d agreed to take his vest. It would have been better to remove herself entirely, even if it meant they wouldn’t be able to get any solid evidence against the Stonichers. The FBI would get another crack at Randy Yu, but she would never find another MacNeil.
    She’d gone far enough. She stopped, her back against a big oak. Snowflakes drifted silently down in the gray dawn, settling in a lacy cap on her unprotected head. She leaned her aching head against the tree and closed her eyes, listening, waiting, her breath almost halted, her heart barely beating, waiting.
     
    Mac waited, his eyes never leaving the rutted trail. They might drive right up to the truck, but if Yu was in charge, they would probably get out of the car and come the rest of the way on foot. He and Dean were prepared for both circumstances. The underbrush was thick; if they tried to force their way through it, they would make a lot of noise. The best thing to do was to walk up the trail, staying close to the edges. Maris had parked the truck so that they could bypass it only on the driver’s side; the tailgate on the passenger side was right up against the bushes. Anyone coming along that trail would be funneled into the camera’s view and duly recorded on tape.
    After what seemed an interminable length of time, he heard a twig snap. He didn’t move. His position, crouched by the right front tire, was secure; he couldn’t be seen until they walked in front of the truck, but by then they would have looked into the cab and seen it was empty, and wouldn’t pay any more attention to the truck. They would be looking instead at the trailer, and at Maris’s small footprints in the thin layer of snow, leading right up to it.
    There were other sounds now, rustles from careless feet, more than one pair; the brushing sounds of clothing, the harshness of someone who was slightly winded trying to regulate their breathing. They were close, very close.
    The footsteps stopped. "She isn’t in the truck." The whisper was barely audible, sexless.
    "Look! Her footprints go right up to the trailer." It was another whisper, excitement making it louder than the first.
    "Shut…up." The two words were hissed between clenched teeth, as if they had already been said more than once.
    "Don’t tell me to shut up. We have her cornered. What are you waiting for?"
    Though still whispering, the speaker’s voice was so forceful that it was almost as audible as if he—or she—had spoken aloud. The mike might have caught it, Mac thought. With enhanced sound-extraction techniques, which the Bureau had, he was certain the words were now on tape. The only problem was, they hadn’t exactly been damning.
    "You hired me to do a job. Now stay out of my way and let me do it." There was fury evident now, in both words and tone.
    "You’re the one who bungled it the first time, so don’t act as if you’re Mr. Infallible. If you’d been half as smart as you seem to think you are, the horse would already be dead and Maris Mackenzie wouldn’t suspect a thing. I didn’t bargain on murder when I hired you."
    That should do it, Mac thought with grim satisfaction. They had just talked themselves into a prison sentence.
    He tightened the muscles in his legs, preparing to step out and identify himself, pistol trained and ready. A crashing, thudding noise behind him made him freeze in place. He looked over his shoulder and almost groaned aloud. A big, black, graceful horse was prancing through the trees toward them, proudly shaking his head as if wanting them to admire his cleverness in getting free.
    "There he is! Shoot him!" It was a shout. Pleasure’s unexpected appearance had started them out of caution. Almost instantaneously there was the sharp crack of a shot, and bark exploded from the tree just behind the horse.
    Damn