Silencer by James W. Hall Read Free Book Online

never seen Gustavo inside the lodge. Even for such a high-ranking employee, and the son of Juan Miguel Pinto, who’d served in the same capacity for decades, these grounds were strictly off-limits. No one was permitted at the lodge except the Hammond family, a few invited guests, and their security men.
    If Gustavo was at the lodge, there was serious trouble somewhere on the ranch, most likely with one of the workers.
    She relaxed, caught her breath. That had to be it. At that very moment Earl or Browning was probably on the phone with Sheriff Prescott. A tomato picker had gotten into a scuffle with a townie from Palmdale or Clewiston, drunk versus drunk.
    She halted at the threshold of the bridge that spanned the alligator moat. She’d caught herself just in time. She’d been about to break into the lodge wild-eyed over nothing, disgrace herself in front of that gang of good old boys who’d have a few hoots at her expense. And she could picture the look on Browning’s face as he added this episode to the list of grievances against her.
    Coquina Ranch traditions were established more than a century earlier, and those rules were still rigidly upheld: no women permitted around the campfire bull-sessions or inside the lodge when the elite gatherings were under way. No women. Period. The sexist rule pissed her off mightily, and for her first year she campaigned for Browning to discard it, but he claimed it was beyond his authority. So grudgingly she abided by the anachronism, another concession she made out of respect for Earl Hammond and the ranch’s fabled traditions.
    As she turned back to the barn, the toe of her boot stubbed something in the grass and Claire stumbled against the railing.
    Only later would she realize how that fractional deviation in her stride would forever alter the world she’d come to know. If she’d simply walked back to the barn to wait for the gathering to break up, the night would have swung a different way, another outcome with consequences beyond her reckoning.
    But no. When she righted herself, she stooped to peer into the darkness and spotted an odd gleam at the base of the oleander bush. More than odd. She passed this way dozens of times each day and could navigate the pathway blindfolded. Knew every rock, stump, outcropping of roots.
    Claire squatted down and stretched her arm into the snarl of limbs, brushed her fingertips across the object. Not metal.
    She pried open the branches and waded deeper into the foliage.
    Lustrous in the soft light was the toe of a highly polished shoe. Claire took a breath and forced herself farther into the bush and made out the khaki trousers and white polo shirt the guy had been wearing earlier in the afternoon.
    His name was Brad Saperstein. Heavy-jawed man around fifty with graying haircut in a GI flattop, he was an officer with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, assigned as the governor’s single bodyguard. A smug bastard who’d openly eyed Claire like she might be on the evening’s menu.
    She spoke his name. When he didn’t respond, she touched his bare arm and found the flesh as cool as the slaughtered wildebeest’s.
    A bubble of acid broke in the back of her throat. Claire flopped backward on the path, crawled on her butt away from the body. She groaned, then struggled to her feet and swung around to stare at the silent lodge.
    Its two-story windows were glowing faintly. Tonight, as on most nights, there was only that muted halo radiating a few feet from the structure. Maybe a couple of table lamps illuminating the big den where the men had gathered to socialize.
    Calling 911 wasn’t an option. The only landline was inside the lodge, and her cell was upstairs in the master suite. Even if she’d had access to a phone, police assistance would’ve been a long time coming. As far as she knew, not one of the county deputies had ever been to the lodge, and she doubted any were experienced with