Excerpt of Deadly Encounter by DiAnn Mills

SATURDAY MORNINGS were Stacy Broussard’s escape,
especially when
life slapped her with stress. No better way to unwind
from the
week than to ride her quarter horse on Houston’s airport
trail and
enjoy nature. This morning promised to be the perfect
distraction
from a truckload of problems, from the anniversary of the
death of
her sister to seeking custody of a twelve-year-old boy.
She looked
forward to a lift in her spirit.

She pulled her truck into the Aldine Westfield Stables.
As usual
she was the first one of the airport rangers to arrive.
Chet’s pickup
wasn’t parked beneath the moss-draped oak, and he
normally
arrived before dawn. Strange since he took his
responsibilities as
stable manager seriously.

Finishing her latte, she grabbed her wallet and keys and
stepped
outside her truck to admire an incredible purple-and-gold
sunrise.
Not even an early morning aircraft landing disturbed her.
She walked slowly to the stables, taking in the singing
robins and
the familiar humidity. The smell of horseflesh and straw
tickled
her nose.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” she said. “Your friendly
veterinarian
is on the scene.”

If anyone heard her, they’d declare her insane. Maybe so
when
she reflected on how much she preferred an animal’s
company to
a human’s. Except Whitt . . . the most fascinating
twelve-year-old
on the planet.

Stacy ambled past each stall until she reached Ginger’s,
greeting
the horses by name, touching velvety soft noses, and
visibly checking
to ensure they were okay. Her pets looked healthy.
Spending a
few extra moments with Ginger eased the knots in her
shoulders
that no massage could ever eliminate.

She led Ginger into the stable area and grabbed a
pitchfork to
tidy up her stall. A strong horse smell and a little
manure on her
boots never hurt anyone. Being prissy was not one of her
traits.
When finished, she retrieved her mare’s blanket and
bridle from her
tack box. Her cell phone alerted her to a text.

Sorry, Stacy. Got a sick baby. Won’t b there.
No problem. Take care of her and give a hug 4 me.

She’d miss her friend this morning. The idea of a sick
child sent
a pang of loss and melancholy through her—and not just
for what
she didn’t have. Who was she fooling? Reaching the age of
thirty-
five without a husband and children hadn’t been her idea
of the
future. A quote sailed into her mind: “Want to make God
laugh? Tell
Him your plans.” Not going there. Not today.

Checking her watch, she pondered the whereabouts of her
other
partner and Chet. She saddled Ginger, adjusting the cinch
twice.
Another text landed in her phone.

Stacy, my in-laws arrived late last night. 4got 2 call.
After a soft sigh, she typed, Enjoy the visit.

Airport ranger guidelines stated volunteers were to ride
in pairs
or threes. This kept the rider safe if a situation arose
on the trail, like
in the event a rider fell or encountered a difficult
person.

But what choice did she have? Chet hadn’t made an
appearance
either. Who would ever know she made a solo ride? She
closed
Ginger’s stall door and hoisted herself into the saddle.
No point
in abandoning this beautiful morning because of a single
guideline.

“Let’s go, Miss Ginger. We’ll see if we can shake up a
few squirrels.”

She crossed the road and made her way to the entrance of
the
wooded area where the north trail around IAH began. An
aircraft
broke the sound of chirping birds and the peacefulness
that had
settled upon her. Right on time. The moment she turned
Ginger
into the brush area, another aircraft announced its
departure. So
much for the quiet.

She rode the inside perimeter of the fenced area. Nothing
eventful
to report—not even a piece of trash. As she made her way
into
a clearing, a squirrel scampered across her path. A ray
of morning
light filtered through the trees.

Ginger reared, catching Stacy by surprise. She pulled
fast on the
reins. “Easy, Ginger.”

Her mare crow-hopped and reared again.

What had startled her? A snake?

Then she saw it.

A pair of legs stuck out from a bush approximately
fifteen feet
to her right.

Her heart hammered, and Ginger had to feel it. She
struggled
to control her own fear and the horse beneath her while
her sights
were glued to the man’s lower extremities.

“Hello, are you okay?” When only the quiet met her, she
dismounted
and moved closer to where the man lay. Eyes open and
vacant. Stacy had seen scowls like this before, but not
on a dead
man. He appeared to have defied his attacker in one last
fit of anger
before surrendering to death.

Blood pooled on his chest and trickled over his abdomen
and
left side. One—no, two horrible holes. The wounds looked
fresh,
perhaps within the last hour or so.

Terror rose, and she thought she’d be physically sick.
She swung
her attention in every direction, expecting someone to
emerge
from the tangled green terrain along the north section of
Houston’s
Intercontinental Airport. She yanked her only permissible
weapon
from her jeans—a pocketknife—and opened it as if it would
ward
off a killer.

Why had she chosen to ride alone?

A yellow Lab snuggled near the body, her head resting on
the
dead man’s chest. A leather leash from the dog was
wrapped around
the man’s fingers. Five feet to the right, a blood-
spattered motorcycle
stood at attention. Securing the pocketknife in her palm,
she
lifted her phone from inside her jeans pocket and pressed
in 911
while she continued to look over her shoulder.

“What is your emergency?” the operator said.

Stacy swallowed the acid rising in her stomach. The
morning’s
heat didn’t help. “I’ve found a dead body on the north
trail that
runs along the FM 1960 side of IAH. The nearest entrance
is on
Farrell where a sign designates the Houston Airport
System equestrian
security trail. My name is Stacy Broussard, and I’m an
airport
ranger volunteer.”

“You’re sure he’s not alive?”

She bent beside the body and felt the side of his neck
for a pulse.
Nothing. “Very much so. He’s lost a tremendous amount of
blood
from his chest and abdomen. I’m assuming gunshots.”

“Do you know the man?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you all right?”

“Shaken. I’m alone except for a dog lying next to the
body. The
animal’s right front paw is bleeding, and I’m a
veterinarian. She’s
not protective or aggressive.” Stacy drew in a ragged
breath. The dog
rose from the body and limped to her side, while the
leash stayed
fixed in the man’s hand. She rested her head on Stacy’s
knee.

“You’re doing fine,” the operator said. “I’ll keep
talking until
the police arrive and I’m assured you’re safe. How did
you happen
upon the body?”

Keep your head. You can get through this. “I’m a
volunteer for the
airport rangers. We ride horseback to patrol the outer
perimeter of
IAH and report any problems to the Houston Police
Department.
The man is in a clearing. I checked for a pulse, and I’m
sure of his
condition.” She removed the leash from his hand and
examined the
dog’s bleeding paw, a wound that would require a few
stitches. The
man wasn’t as fortunate. “How long until officers
arrive?”

“Only a few more minutes. You’re a brave woman.”

“I don’t feel brave. How awful for this poor man.” The
victim’s
eyes would haunt her for a long time, maybe forever.

“Tell me more about the airport rangers,” the operator
said. “I
wasn’t aware Houston had such a service.”

She’s trying to calm me, divert my attention from the
blood-coated
body. “We’re not highly publicized. Normally we find
evidence of
drugs or kids’ inappropriate behavior. Never anything
like this. And
we aren’t supposed to ride alone, but the other two
volunteers canceled
at the last minute. Our stables are close by.” Stacy
avoided
staring at the body and instead concentrated on the
injured dog.
Her collar didn’t have an ID. Had the animal been hurt
while protecting
her master?

“Are there any signs of a struggle?”

She peered around for what seemed like the hundredth
time.

“There’s a motorcycle, a Kawasaki. I suppose the plates
won’t be
hard to trace.” A strange object captured her attention
in the shadow
of the bushes. Boots? Shoes? “I see something unusual,
but I can’t
make out what it is.”

“Be careful. The police can investigate it.”

No need to caution her. She was already frightened out of
her
wits. Sirens grew closer. “I hear them.”

“Stay where you are until the officers arrive. They’ll
take over
the situation.”

“I’m sorry, but it might be another body or someone hurt.
I
have to see if someone needs help.” She bolstered her
courage and
moved toward the questionable object. The dog followed
her to the
edge of the clearing, where a type of drone with four
propellers was
lodged in a fallen tree branch and bushes. A churning
panic swirled
through her. Had the dead man stopped a potential crime
of blinding
a pilot? “What happened here?” she whispered, more to
herself
than the 911 operator.

“Talk to me, Stacy.”

“I’ve found a drone. A clear dome is attached underneath,
and
it’s pointed toward the northwest end of the runway.”