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“Which means they didn’t want us talking to him.”
Niko watched the flat pastures slide past as Rayne picked up speed. He considered the meeting with the Orwells. It’d felt like an awkward dance, with the brother and sister attempting to avoid the simplest questions as they’d hurried to find a way to end the conversation. The unease had been more than just a lingering grief at Nat’s death. It’d been . . . fear. And it’d gone from bad to worse when Rayne had recognized the picture of Henri Wagner.
“The question is whether Henri knows something about Brooke and Trent they don’t want exposed,” he said. “Or if he knows something about my sister’s death.”
Rayne nodded. “There has to be a reason Nat had a picture of him hidden in her special box.”
Niko made a sound of frustration. Natalie had always been bubbly and outgoing, but there was a part of her that she hadn’t been willing to share with others. Not even with him. But he couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t have reached out if she was being threatened. She had to know that he would do everything in his power to protect her. Didn’t she?
The thought that she’d hidden the note instead of calling him was gnawing at him like a cancer. If she’d only told him what was happening, he would have . . .
“I think that’s the stables.” Rayne thankfully interrupted his dark thoughts.
With a small shake of his head, Niko forced himself to concentrate on the cluster of buildings that were crouched together, as if trying to take as little space as possible. Or maybe they were leaning against one another in an effort to stay upright, he wryly acknowledged, taking in the sagging roofs of the outbuildings and the peeling white paint. There was an air of neglect that extended to the fence that framed the small paddock and the weathered sign that swung from a pole next to the open gate.
“Nothing compared to the Orwell farm,” Niko said as Rayne pulled to a halt in front of the small house that was long and narrow, with a tin roof and a porch that had lost most of its railing.
Rayne sent him a humorless smile. “Not many places are.”
“True.” Niko pushed open his door, grimacing as he caught sight of the rusty nails and old beer cans scattered across the front yard. “Have you had a tetanus shot?”
“Not recently.”
“Then be careful.”
Together, they left the van and picked their way across the frozen ground, exchanging a glance as they climbed onto the wooden porch that groaned, as if it was considering collapsing beneath their weight. Whatever Henri’s grand plan when he emigrated to America, he’d ended up in a place that wasn’t much more than a crumbling shack.
Niko nodded toward Rayne, who knocked on the screen door while he leaned toward the side, trying to peer through the filthy window. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but it was always possible one of the Orwells had called the man to warn him that Rayne was stirring up the past.
There was a long pause before the heavy inner door was yanked open to reveal a slender man dressed in a brown shirt and filthy khakis. He had dark, shaggy hair threaded with gray that brushed his shoulders and a three-day growth of whiskers on his narrow face. His eyes were dark and currently bloodshot, as if they’d wakened him despite the fact that it was close to noon.
“Yeah?” the man demanded, staring at them with a bleary confusion.
“Henri Wagner?” Rayne asked, studying the man. Was she trying to determine whether or not he was the same Henri she’d known in Austria?
“Yes.” The man confirmed his identity, along with a hint of a German accent. “If you want a lesson, they’re by appointment only. Call the number on the sign.”
Niko shuddered. He couldn’t imagine the condition of the poor horses in the stables. Henri didn’t look as if he could take care of himself, let alone high-maintenance animals.
“We’re not here for lessons,” he assured the man.
“Are you lost?”
Niko shook his head. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
Henri scowled. “If you’re from Animal Welfare—”
“We’re not,” Niko interrupted, silently promising himself he was going to make a hotline report as soon as they were back in Chicago.
It was possible the horses were in fine shape. The man had worked in stables for a number of years and he might very well put the well-being of his animals over himself. But Niko wanted someone in legal authority to check out the place.
“Then what do you want?” Henri snapped.
“I’m Rayne Taylor,” Rayne told him.
Henri blinked. Either he simply didn’t remember Rayne, or his mind was fogged from a night of heavy drinking. By the stale stench of beer that wafted from inside the house, Niko was betting his brain was toasted.
“So?” the man muttered.
