“Whoever killed Marge needed a place to dump her body fast. He took it to the old graveyard by the lake, but he knew he couldn’t bury it like he did the others—not while people are looking for graves—so he dropped it in the lake instead. He knew about the graveyard, Alena—the one you helped me find last night.”

“So?”

“I went back there this morning. I started excavating that grave— the one you said had the most recent remains. You were right, just like always. There was a second body—one that wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Alena waited.

Gunner took a step closer. “We didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“Tell me what?”

Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out the buckeye; he pushed on it with his thumb.

CLICK clack.

Ruckus barked once.

Alena sank to the ground, and Gunner hurried to her side.

30

30

Riddick led the mare from her stall and tied the lead to a wooden post in an open section of the stable. It was a magnificent animal, a classic reddish-brown bay with a black mane and tail. He took out a soft-bristled brush and began to stroke the mare’s forelock and face, being careful to avoid her eyes. Then he switched to a medium brush and moved to the neck, working his way down to the powerful shoulders with a brush in one hand and a grooming mitt in the other.

I’m definitely getting one of these, he thought. He imagined himself sitting in the saddle, holding the reins loosely in his lap while the mare cantered smoothly around the exercise arena. He was a good rider—for someone who grew up in the suburbs of Virginia Beach and never saw a horse outside of a petting zoo. But he used to ride with Victoria, and she had taught him well. She taught him how to keep his shoulders back and how to keep constant pressure on the irons with the balls of his feet; she taught him how to push his heels down to stay square in the saddle and how to hold the reins to keep a constant light pressure on the bit. Victoria grew up on a horse; she knew how to ride, and now Riddick did too—and he was looking forward to riding again.

“Is she ready?”

Riddick turned. Victoria was dressed in khaki breeches with knee-length riding boots and a black blazer over a white cotton blouse; she was working her slender fingers into a pair of pigskin gloves. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail today—something Riddick rarely saw and few cameras were ever allowed to record.

“Almost. Thought I’d give her a once-over first.”

“Good.” She took a quilted saddle pad and threw it across the mare’s back.

“Want some company? I could saddle the Appaloosa.”