Grace Under Fire, page 17
“What happened next,” Bill prompted.
“I saw red. I realised something had happened to Bailey, and I went berserk.” Outrage at the thought someone had hurt an animal had propelled her into action. “I ran down the hall, flicking on lights, yelling for Bluey to help me, saying I’d called the cops.”
“Was Bluey here?” Ryan asked.
“No.” Automatically she played hostess, pouring tea into the cups. “Milk?”
“I’ll get it.” Ryan got the jug from the fridge and handed it to her before taking the seat beside her. “Finish it.”
“There was no one here except me. Bluey goes home at night. I must have scared them off. Because the next thing I knew, I was alone with a cold breeze. I checked the back door and saw someone running down the drive.” Her stomach heaved at the memory.
“Any chance of identification?” Bill leaned forward. “Police are a hopeful bunch.”
“It’s a dark and stormy night, Officer.” She smiled grimly and sipped her tea. “I caught the dance of a flashlight down the drive. Not a profile I recognised.” Another car pulled up behind the house. “That’ll be the vet. Bailey was my first priority. Then I called you. Then I called Ryan.”
“I’ll handle the vet,” said Ryan.
Half an hour later Grace helped the vet load Bailey into the back of his four-wheel drive. “I’ll come in tomorrow.” She bent and whispered in the dog’s ear. “Love you, Bailey.” Then kissed the dog’s head.
“I can call and give you a report. Save you a trip,” George answered. “Making him vomit so quickly helped a lot. His heart rate and body temperature are better, but I’ll run blood tests when I get him back to the surgery. Thanks for the sample.” He raised the garbage bag she’d given him.
“I want to see him.” She wanted to take a Bailey-as-normal-dog photo to send to her mother along with the report of tonight’s attempted break-in. The downside of being a family who talked—she’d share tonight’s attempted break-in with them. She stepped back as the vet closed the door.
“You should get back inside, out of this rain.” George squeezed her arm. “Try and get some sleep.”
She opened the back door and conversation ceased, like flipping a switch. Tension stretched tight, leaving her unsure of the source. “Don’t hold back on my account.” She pushed a hand through her damp hair, hauling it off her forehead. Then crossed to stand with her back to the stove, absorbing its warmth. Her sweater smelled like wet dog. She should have worn a coat, even for that short trip.
“Bill was asking me what I was doing before I got here tonight.” Ryan sat opposite the senior cop, pouring himself a cup from the second pot of tea she’d made.
“What were you doing?” She’d assumed he’d been asleep like her.
“Some overdue paperwork, checking in online with some people.” Ryan had been working, probably catching up on work missed when he stayed with her.
“Maybe we can stop in at your place on the way back to town, check your search history?” Bill suggested.
“The silhouette running down my drive wasn’t Ryan.” Grace crossed to Ryan’s side, placing her hand on his shoulder and making her allegiance clear. “That wasn’t what you were talking about. Or not only what you were talking about.”
“Have you checked for damage?” Pete asked.
“I ... we, haven’t had time.” Grace was struggling to process the attack on Bailey and the house.
“I explained that while you were outside with George.” Ryan stirred sugar into his tea, the clink of the spoon on china the only sound in the lengthening silence. “You may as well tell her. She’ll keep badgering until you do.”
Bill sighed. “We got the analysis back on the contaminants in the drums today.”
“Calcium polysulphide, also known as lime sulphur. We did tests too, Bill. Base ingredient quick lime,” Ryan said. “There are bags of quick lime missing from my shed.”
“Someone stole the bags,” she protested, dropping on the chair beside Ryan and resting her hand on his thigh. He had proved he was a reliable friend. “And the drums.”
“And quick lime is standard supply from hardware shops. It’s still being sold. Got that, Grace,” Bill said. “Pete’s been making discreet inquiries. We’re still working through the list of agricultural suppliers and salespeople who visited Ryan’s place in the last few weeks. Do you always have that many visitors?” Bill asked in disgust.
“I’ve made some big changes. I get stickybeaks, local media looking for stories and suppliers hoping to sell me something, even school kids doing projects.” Ryan admitted to running an open house.
“Smithhouse?” Bill’s face was deliberately blank.
Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “Not that I know of.”
Hearing the name immediately raised Grace’s hackles—Smithhouse had swindled her family—but she knew what she’d seen. She sat back, releasing Ryan’s thigh. “He has a very recognisable profile, Bill. It wasn’t him. Smithhouse can’t move that fast.”
“Done any business with him?” Bill directed his question to Ryan.
“He wasn’t happy I bought Donovan’s place before it went on the open market.” Ryan leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly linked through the handle of his cup.
Bill pursed his lips. “What makes you so sure?”
“He told me.” Ryan waved his cup in dismissal. Miraculously no tea sloshed out. “Old business.”
“How come you knew it was for sale?” Pete asked.
“Grace’s father.” Ryan glanced at her, and his mouth twisted. “Another thing you didn’t know about your dad. He got my contact details from Mum and sent me a message. Why all the interest in Smithhouse?” Ryan asked.
“Your mother noticed him going into the pub with one of your short-term hires a few months ago. She said you didn’t think much of it?” Bill was asking for reasons.
“The guy was straight when he worked for me. After the job finished, he needed to look elsewhere for work. You can’t condemn a man for looking for work,” Ryan said levelly, placing his cup on the table.
“Rochelle?” Bill asked.
“She’s called by once or twice. Not for a while?”
“What did she want?” Bill held his tea cup with the delicacy of an aging duchess, a ploy to unsettle witnesses.
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to say. But the offer of sex was a means to an end.” Ryan scrubbed his face with his hands.
Grace hissed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Rochelle didn’t know she and Ryan were an item. No one knew they were an item. She knew the rules. Jealousy was ridiculous.
“Take her up on it?” Bill asked conversationally.
“I hate being used for my body, Bill.” Ryan’s jaw jutted forward. “You know how it is.”
Bill whistled. “Got any other enemies around here?”
“Not that I know of,” Ryan repeated his earlier phrase, and Bill snorted his disbelief.
“But you’ve put a few noses out of joint,” Pete replied.
“That’s part of the territory when you do something different.” Ryan sounded indifferent, while Grace was seething on his behalf.
“Where are you heading with this, Bill?” Grace couldn’t make the pieces fit.
Bill drained his tea, set the cup on the table. “You caused gossip when you took off, Ryan, gossip when you returned and gossip when you splashed cash around.” Bill was digging for something.
“And?” Ryan shifted, a subtle movement of mind and body. He was on guard.
“There are people who resent your good fortune.” Bill was matter-of-fact.
“Leaving here had nothing to do with good fortune.” Ryan stared hard at the cop. Bill had been the first on the scene after they found Danny’s body. Another crime no one was held accountable for.
“I know that.” Bill frowned. “But you’ve got a nasty tongue when you want. Let’s go back to our working theory. Someone wants to cost Grace money so she can’t afford to buy the farm. What’s the target tonight?”
“More contamination?” The blood turned to ice in Grace’s veins. She made to rise.
Ryan reached out a hand to hold her in place. “They didn’t need to come into the house for that. What’s your most valuable asset?”
“My cheeses.” She stared at him in disbelief. Dumb, dumb, dumb—she’d been trying to figure out the attacker’s target in the main house.
“Where are they?” Bill demanded, focusing on the new angle.
“I’ve converted the back of the second farmhouse, so my production and storage are there.” Her mind raced, calculating the value of what she had in storage. A pulse in her temple throbbed uncontrollably. Irreplaceable. Without her stock she couldn’t meet her orders, and the dominoes fell with frightening speed. Her hands trembled. Loss of business, damage to her reputation. Worst of all, she wouldn’t have the regular income to make loan payments.
“Check the house,” Bill ordered Pete.
“Wait!” Grace called as the cop moved towards the door. “I started locking it after the lime sulphur was dumped.”
Pete turned back. “Where do you keep the keys?”
She walked stiffly towards the keyboard inside the back door. “They’re missing.”
“Just those?” Ryan demanded, following her.
“No.” She traced a finger over the empty hooks. “The power boxes, the machinery shed, the keys to this house.”
Pete slipped out the back door. “A precaution,” Bill said. “I’m guessing they tried to get in, were forced to come looking for the keys, and you disturbed them before they could go back.”
“I should go with him,” Grace said.
Ryan turned her back to sit at the table. She murmured a silent prayer. Please don’t tell me they got into the cheese fridges. Repeating it like a mantra. No one could help her if her stock was adulterated.
Pete returned. “An attempt to jimmy the locks on the house. They were unlucky tonight.”
“Keys will need to be changed,” Bill instructed—another cost she hadn’t factored into her budget.
Grace sagged against Ryan. The adrenalin that had carried her so far was gone, leaving her disoriented. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m buying a stretch of Grace’s land,” Ryan’s announcement blindsided Grace.
“Dandy,” Bill snapped. “Who knows?”
“Me, Grace, her family and our lawyers at this stage,” Ryan said.
“You’re putting yourself firmly in the frame. Stand up, Ryan, and turn out your pockets.”
Ryan stood to empty his pockets—car keys, wallet, phone.
The sharp order cut through Grace’s fuzziness. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bill. He’s buying the land at full market value so I can get the deposit to buy the rest of the farm. And he’s buying the strip where the lime sulphur was dumped.”
“That’s why you were there.” Bill jerked his chin in Ryan’s direction. “We’re struggling to find evidence against anyone. We do this strictly by the book so no one can accuse us or him in the future. I definitely want to see your internet history.”
“Ryan is not responsible for the attacks on this farm,” she declared, outraged on his behalf.
* * *
Ryan exchanged a look with the cop, one that said Grace was dead beat and didn’t need any more of this tonight.
Bill settled back in his chair, not done yet. “You’re saying you got everything you want in this little transaction? You’re not interested in the whole shebang?”
“I’m saying I was already in the frame. I bought Donovan’s. I’m upgrading Mum’s. It’s known I’m interested in farming at scale.” Ryan outlined a plausible case against himself.
Bill studied Ryan through narrowed eyes, Bill’s brain almost visibly processing all the angles. He was no fool. He seemed to reach a conclusion. “News of the contamination got out. All those big EPA trucks and officials coming through town. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Coming through town was the logical route,” Ryan said.
“You didn’t suggest stopping for a meal and a chat?” Bill was sceptical.
“They asked for a recommendation.” Ryan held up his hands as if to say “nothing to see here.” “What’s a bloke to do?”
“The story is now doing the rounds of every kitchen table,” Bill continued. “Replacing all the locks won’t be a secret either.”
“Maybe someone will make a mistake, let something slip,” Ryan offered.
“Maybe.” Bill jammed his hat back on. “I’m also wondering if you pissed off someone enough that setting you up to take the fall suits them.”
Ryan was starting to think the same thing. His advantage, as he saw it, was that Bill had an open mind, and Grace’s attacker wasn’t smart enough to work out Ryan would cover all her losses.
“Perhaps we can see your laptop now?” Bill rose to his feet and nodded at his offsider.
Ryan also rose. “You’re welcome to go in and have a look on your way back to town. Alternatively, you can call by my place tomorrow, or I’ll bring it in. I’m staying tonight to make sure there isn’t another attempt at a break-in.” He braced himself on both feet. They’d need to arrest him to get him to leave Grace now. “That is, unless you plan to stay here and keep watch?”
“Appreciate that.” Bill gave him a vote of confidence. Not for the first time. “We don’t have the resources.”
“Thank you for coming.” Grace followed Bill to the door. Even exhausted she seemed to produce the social niceties. She closed the door, closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on it.
“What the hell did you think you were doing, running towards an intruder?” Ryan took her shoulders and turned her to face him, pent-up fear making him sharper than he intended. “He could have been armed!”
“Bailey was hurt.” She had no energy left to fight but was unrepentant. “You’d have done the same for Satan.” She had him there.
“Where was your bloody phone? Why didn’t you just ring the cops from your bedroom and run the other way?”
“Because I left my phone over at my place.” She enunciated with care. She looked like forming words was beyond her, and seeing her helpless made his belly clench. “I was feeling a bit low tonight.”
“Why didn’t you call?” He released her shoulders to wrap her in his arms, where she should have been from the moment he’d walked in the door.
“I did.” She snuggled against him.
Ryan disengaged her morning alarm while she was in the bathroom, knowing he wouldn’t sleep again tonight. He had a lot to think about. Not just the possibilities Bill had outlined, but his reaction to Grace’s frantic call. Luckily there’d been no one on the road because he would have driven through them. Imagining her hurt and defenceless had kept his foot on the accelerator until he’d skidded into the drive.
Hell! He straightened the bed and found his hands trembling. It was far too easy to picture the intruder staying to fight and Grace tackling him single-handed and without a weapon. She could have been hurt, and he’d have known nothing about it. That shook him to his bootstraps. He’d vowed when he left the valley he’d never be powerless again, never not be there when someone he ...
He didn’t love Grace! He raked a hand through his hair. He cared for her. Friends! A friend wouldn’t allow anyone to cheat or hurt her. That’s all it was.
“I’m going to pass out.” She stumbled towards the bedroom, mumbling as if she’d failed Entertaining Guests 101. “Maybe I should sleep in my clothes, be ready for milking.”
“Take off your clothes.” Ryan pulled her sweater over her head. “That’s not a proposition.”
“I’m still wearing my pyjama top.” She yawned widely as he threw the sweater on a chair.
“Now the boots and jeans.” He backed her against the bed until her knees hit the side, and she toppled backwards.
“I can do it,” she protested.
“I’m closer.” Ryan knelt at her feet. “Practice closing your eyes. You might find you like it.”
She chuckled. “I love it. Give me more.”
“Goodnight, Grace.” He pulled off her elasticised work boots, then undid the button on her jeans, tugged down the zipper. “Lift your hips.”
“You’ve said that before.” Obediently, she did as he said, and he hooked his hands around her backside to ease the denim down her thighs.
White knickers with a dash of lace. Ryan smiled, recalling how he’d helped her out of a similar pair on the night she’d first come to him. Like winning a prize when he wasn’t sure he’d bought the right ticket. The knickers were another insight into the world of Grace. She hadn’t worn them to arouse him when they’d made love, hadn’t been conned by the fashionistas into the myth she needed props to be wholly feminine. He should have known better. She wore them for herself. So much of her wardrobe had to be practical, she could indulge her fantasies with her underwear. The fantasies she’d shared with him so far had brought him to his knees. He grimaced at the floor. Literally.
The flimsy fabric barely hid the triangle of hair at the top of her legs. Needing the contact, he rested his cheek against her. Her hands rested on his head. Having her reach for him when she was boneless with exhaustion made him feel invincible. He didn’t know what to do with the emotion. Turning his head, he pressed a last kiss to her, the scent of woman making him want to linger. Tonight, she needed tending.
“Night, Ryan.”
Lifting her feet onto the mattress, he covered her with the doona. She curled onto her side and snuggled down, asleep before he could turn out the light. He shucked his boots, jeans, heavy sweater and shirt before joining her, drawing her back against him. Her purr of contentment warmed him as much as her body. He held her gently while his mind raced, reviewing people in town, people in the district. Breaking into the farmhouse while Grace was alone marked an escalation in the attacks. Why now?
