Horse of a Different Killer by Laura Morrigan

put on the back burner.”
    Though I appreciated his honesty, it didn’t make me feel much better.
    â€œThe owner of R-n-R wasn’t around today but I’m going to head back tomorrow and talk to him and see what I can find out from the horses.”
    His phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen and said, “I’ve got to go. Let me know what happens after you talk to Mister Ed.”
    â€œTheir names are Scout and Lucy,” I told him as I walked him out.
    â€œOf course they are,” he said, turning as we reached the front door. He leaned down to brush a kiss first on my cheek then on my jawline. He stopped and pulled in a deep breath. The sensation sent a shiver of electricity down my side. “Just so we’re clear—I like the way you smell.”
    And he was gone.
    I don’t know how long I stood there, weak-kneed and flushed, but a knock at the door had me snatching it open. I half expected to see Kai, but that was just wine and desire fogging my brain. I must have looked a little crazed because the pizza delivery guy took a step back when he saw me.
    The pizza smelled good, not that I was terribly hungry, having filled up a little too much on wine and not enough Kai.
    I shared a slice with Moss anyway and tried to process what Kai had told me.
    Not that he liked the way I smelled, though I replayed his words over and over with a goofy smile on my face as I headed to the bathroom to finally take my shower.
    I understood Boyle’s suspicions, but still didn’t think it gave her the right to dismiss the fact that Heart was missing.
    Suddenly, I remembered I hadn’t listened to the last message Ortega had left me, the one from the day before—the morning he was killed.
    I stared at his number on my voice mail for a few moments, then tapped the screen to play the message.
    Ortega’s voice filled the room, echoing off the marble and glass.
    â€œGrace, I know what you must think of me, and I deserve it. But, please, call me as soon as you can. This isn’t just about me, it’s about Emma.”

CHAPTER 7

    It was a stunning, mild, November morning. Waves glittered as they swept over the beach. The rising sun turned the wet sand along the water’s edge into a wide ribbon of glowing, orange light.
    I should have taken more than a millisecond to admire the sight, but my head ached from too much wine and my shoes seemed to be lined with lead.
    The beautiful weather was not lost on the rest of the population, however, and there was a plethora of people and dogs out and about. I looped Moss’s leash around my wrist and gripped it tightly. Distracted or not, today was not the day to have him running loose.
    Usually, my sister was up and annoying me as early as possible. But Emma had still been asleep when Moss and I had left for our run. Her delayed start to the day meant two things: no pre-run coffee for me—I couldn’t convince Moss to wait while I got a pot going—and I still hadn’t had a chance to discuss Ortega’s message.
    It nagged at me like a sore hangnail.
    What could he have meant? He and Emma were no longer connected—Wes had seen to that. The divorce had severed every tie. They didn’t co-own property or a business. How could anything Ortega was involved in pertain to Emma?
    I’d wanted to call as soon as I’d heard the message but rather than interrupt her date with Hugh, I’d decided to leave her a note in the kitchen.
    E—Need to talk re: Ortega!!!
    Adding plenty of exclamation points and underlines for emphasis.
    I also needed to talk to her about a dozen other things, not the least of which was what happened at Ortega’s murder scene.
    Looking forward to coffee, ibuprofen, and an overdue conversation with my sister, I turned Moss toward home.
    The pit bull came out of nowhere.
    A blur of muscle and smooth, fawn-colored fur, he hit Moss square in the side. The blow caught us both off