Mackenzie's Magic by Linda Howard Page B

swing back toward MacNeil, she’d thought she’d lost everything. She had stepped out from the trees, moving in what felt like slow motion. She couldn’t hear anything then, not even Pleasure; she hadn’t been able to see anything except Joan, her vision narrowing to a tunnel with her target as the focus. She hadn’t been aware of whistling again, or of taking the pistol from her pocket, but the weapon had been in her hand and her finger had been smoothly tightening on the trigger when Joan jerked yet again, panicked, this time aiming at Maris. That was when Mac had shot her. At such close range, just across the hood of the truck, his aim had been perfect. The bullet had shattered her upper arm.
    Joan would probably never have use of that arm again, Maris thought dispassionately. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
    The entire scene had been recorded, complete with audio. The camera had playback capability and Dean had obliged the sheriff by playing the tape for him. Both Yu and Joan were nailed, and Yu, being the professional he was, was currently bargaining for all he was worth. He was willing to carry others down with him if it would lighten his sentence.
    It had stopped snowing, though the day hadn’t gotten any warmer. Her hands were icy, but she couldn’t leave Pleasure to warm them. Blood glistened on his black chest and down his legs, staining his white stocking, splattering on the snow-frosted leaves and on Maris. She whispered to him, controlling him mostly with her voice, crooning reassurance and love to him while she held his bridle in one hand and with the other held some gauze the medics had given her to the wound on his chest. She had asked a deputy to contact a vet, but as yet no one had shown up.
    Yu could have seen to the horse, but he hadn’t offered, and Maris wouldn’t have trusted him, anyway. It was he who had hit her on the head. As soon as she saw him again she had remembered that much, remembered his upraised arm, the cold, remorseless expression in his dark eyes. Other memories were still vague, and there were still blank spots, but they were gradually filling in.
    She must have gone to the big house to see Joan about something. She didn’t know why, but she remembered standing with her hand raised to knock, and freezing as Joan’s voice filtered through the door.
    "Randy’s going to do it tonight. While everyone’s eating will be a good time. I told him we couldn’t wait any longer, the syndicates are pushing for a decision."
    "Damn, I hate this," Ronald Stonicher had said. "Poor Pleasure’s been a good horse. Are you certain the drug won’t be detected?"
    "Randy says it won’t, and it’s his can on the line," Joan had coolly replied.
    Maris had backed away, so angry she could barely contain herself. Her first concern had been for Pleasure. It was the time when the stable hands would either be eating or have gone home for the night. She couldn’t delay a moment.
    Her next memory was of running down the aisle to his stall. She must have surprised Randy Yu there, though she didn’t remember actually coming up on him. She remembered enough to testify, though, even if she never remembered anything else, and assuming her testimony was needed. The tape was solid evidence.
    Another vehicle joined the tangle, and a roly-poly man in his late fifties, sporting a crew cut, got out of a battered pickup truck. He trudged wearily toward Maris, clutching a big black bag in his hand. Finally, the vet, she thought. Dark circles under his eyes told her that he’d probably been up late, possibly all night, with an ailing animal.
    Tired or not, he knew horses. He stopped, taking in Pleasure’s magnificent lines, the star on his forehead, the bloodstained white stocking. "That’s Sole Pleasure," he said in astonishment.
    "Yes, and he’s been shot," Maris said tersely. Her head was throbbing; even her eyeballs ached. If Pleasure didn’t settle down soon, her head would likely explode. "No