Sarah Armstrong - 02 - Blood Lines Read Online Free Page B

evening.”
    “And you’d like me to . . . ?”
    “Figure out if this stalker is really dangerous or just some crackpot fan,” he said. “Also, maybe you can tell if the man they’re looking at is the right guy.”
    I scanned the folder and noticed the girl’s name. “That’s the singer? Cassidy Collins?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” he said. “You know who she is?”
    “Maggie has every one of this kid’s CDs,” I said. “And that’s something that hasn’t made me happy. Collins is a teenager but she acts like she’s twenty-four. Some of her songs are, well, let’s just say not what I want Maggie listening to.”
    At that moment, Emma Lou neighed softly in the shed behind us, reminding me that I had a sick expectant mom to care for.
    “I better go, Captain,” I said. “I’ll look at this later.”
    “Yup, duty calls,” the captain said. “Sarah, I’ll see you at the office.”
    Another neigh, this one coupled with an impatient snort, and I waved at him as I turned toward the barn. I had an appetizing bucket of oats and hay to fetch for the pinto’s breakfast. When I walked into the shed, feed bucket in hand, Emma Lou shook herwhite mane, and I ran my hand over her muscular back, giving her a solid tap on her right hip. She’s one beautiful animal, the foal of Mom’s favorite brood mare and a neighbor’s prime sire. We’d picked her parents and raised her, then had her bred to extend her bloodline. But the truth is that folks who love horses understand you never really own one. You don’t buy the horse, just the right to care for one of God’s noblest creatures.
    “I’m here, girl,” I whispered. I ran my hand down to her round belly and felt the foal move. Emma Lou nudged my shoulder, pushing my arm away. “Tender down there?” I asked. I remembered my own pregnancy, the rush of watching my infant daughter’s feet pushing against my abdomen, as if eager to enter the world. “Don’t be in such a hurry little one,” I whispered. “It’s a big world out here. A crazy world. You stay inside your momma as long as you can, where you’re safe.”

 
     
     
Four
     
     
     
    G etting Maggie on the school bus that morning wasn’t easy. She doted over Emma Lou, talking to the horse, rubbing her neck, helping Frieda put drops in the pinto’s eyes and arguing that a few days off school wouldn’t matter.
    “Mom, my grades are good. My teachers won’t care,” she pleaded. “Just today, so I can talk to Doc when he comes this afternoon. Please?”
    I assured her that Mom and I would memorize every word Doc had to say, but it wasn’t until Bobby showed up and cajoled her with promises of his and Mom’s uninterrupted care for the horse that she climbed onto the bus. I guess sometimes a new voice helps. Maggie’s probably pretty used to Mom’s and mine.
    That settled, I left the ranch in my burgundy Tahoe right after rush hour, when the freeways in Houston no longer resemble slow-moving parking lots. The entire staff swarmed me when I walked in, clapping and hugging. The captain’s secretary, Sheila, a plump woman wearing a beige dress covered with red orchids, brought donuts, remembering that I like chocolate frosting and jimmies.Munching on my second disc of fried cake, except for worrying about Emma Lou, I felt like all was pretty right with the world.
    My office was as I’d left it, papers piled in neat stacks on the desk, photos of Bill, Maggie, and Mom on the shelves, along with my most recent Criminal Laws of Texas volume and manuals on skull reconstruction, crime-scene investigation, and forensic techniques. I soaked in the place for a minute, glad to be back. Then I stowed my brown leather purse and my rig, the black, tooled-leather double belt with silver buckles that holsters my Colt .45, in the bottom right drawer. Settled in, I opened the file on teenage idol Cassidy Collins.
    It started with a photo of Collins, a head shot I think they call them, the kind performers use for