Page 61 of Hunter or Hunted

Rhiannon greeted her with a pat on the cheek. She trailed a hand down her mane, whispering sweet nothings. Bubbles relaxed into Rhiannon’s touch. After she planted a kiss onto the horse’s snout, she ushered her from the stall. Once outside, Rhiannon fixed a blanket around her frame, followed by the saddle and reigns. When she was all set up, Rhiannon climbed onto Bubbles’ back and flicked the reins.

In no time, the two of them were sprinting down the winding trail. The bitter wind slapped against Rhiannon’s cheeks, fluttered through Bubbles’ mane, and for a while, all was right with the world. Riding in the dark could be a treacherous feat in these conditions, but Bubbles knew the trails, and maintenance did their best to clear them. The snowflakes fluttering from above passed by Rhiannon like stars in a spaceship. She could hardly make out where they were, everything on the trail, but she hunched forward and enjoyed the breeze. The freedom.

Rhiannon had always loved horses. Even as a child. When she’d first started working here, before the ranch became the ranch, the horses had been her favorite part. She loved working with the kids, but she loved the horses more. The uniqueness of their personalities, the beautiful definition of their muscles, the skill they navigated the mountainous trail with, and most of all, this. Venturing with them through nature. Dissolving into the peace of the wilderness.

Rhiannon envied their freedom. To gallop through a field all day, then retire to a warm stall for the night.

Sometimes, Rhiannon wondered how it would feel to live that way. She loved her silence, her peace, her independence. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the mountains, alone, unbothered.

But her work at the ranch kept her fulfilled. Besides, life on her own, without her friends, her girls, would never be enough.

These treks in the woods with Bubbles gave Rhiannon that ounce of silence and independence that she needed. Rhiannon’s watch buzzed, informing her it was 9 o’clock. She would love to stay out here with Bubbles longer, but she needed to do it all over again tomorrow. She would get through the night and the following day knowing that when it was over, she would get another run through the woods with a quiet horse who asked for nothing, needed nothing, and wanted only what Rhiannon wanted. An hour long run.

Rhiannon returned to the stables just after 9:15. Once she dismounted, she led Bubbles into her stall. Given the time, Rhiannon needed to get back to the house and turn in for the night. But she didn’t want to. Not yet.

She grabbed a brush from the closet, came back to Bubbles’ stall, and threaded the bristles through Bubbles’ mane. Little ice crystals had formed on the ends, tugging at Bubbles’ skin. She tilted her head away, and that was all Rhiannon needed to see.

“Alright, alright. We’ll worry about the mane tomorrow. Is here okay?” She dragged the brush over Bubbles’ shoulder. Ever so slightly, Bubbles stepped closer. As if to say, God, yes, that’s the spot. Rhiannon laughed, trailing the brush over her some more. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Bubbles chuffed.

“Horses, huh?”

Unsure if she heard that correctly, Rhiannon called, “What was that, Andrea?”

Hay shuffled underfoot. The voice came from just behind her now, saying, “I don’t know any Andrea, but the lady working here left a few minutes ago. Right before you got here.”

Rhiannon turned, and ice flooded her veins. She never heard this woman’s voice, but she had seen her mug shot.

Angela Burke.

Rhiannon laid the brush on the wooden post to her right. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Does it matter?” Angela crossed her arms against her chest, giving Rhiannon a once-over, then the barn. “Quite a place you got here. So much to do. Horses to ride. Big fancy pool to swim in. Cafeteria full of food. Auditorium for concerts. It’s like your own little world, isn’t it?”

“You’re not welcome here, Miss Burke.” Rhiannon’s hand fell to the gun against her hip. The one she had brought in case she encountered a coyote or bear while on her ride. “I’m gonna ask you once, and only once, to leave.”

“Not gonna ask for my sob story first?” Angela propped her forearms on the wooden gate between them. “That’s what this place is for, right?”

Fighting hard to keep from clenching her jaw, Rhiannon said, “That’s really none of your concern. But you are on private property, my private property, and I already asked you to leave once⁠—”

“Relax, would you?” Angela’s shoulders fell as she took a step back, giving the place another look around. “I’m leaving. I was just hoping you and I could have a couple words first.”

Rhiannon kept her hand on the holstered gun. “About what?”

“My granddaughter. And her mother.” Angela trailed her tongue over crusted lips. “I see what you’re doing here, and it’s real nice. Running a safe place for victims and everything. Give them a place to stay, food in their bellies—I’d never hold that against you. But I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. Jess is no victim.”

Simone—formerly Jess—was the walking, talking definition of a victim. Rhiannon had seen the police reports, the marks on her skin when she’d arrived, and the ones David had left her with the last time they’d seen one another.

Angela refused to see her as such because doing so would mean facing the reality of the man she’d raised. It would mean facing that her son was the type of man who would’ve abused her if the roles were different. Probably, at least in part, because David grew up watching his mom’s boyfriends and husbands abuse her. That normalized behavior in his household enforced the idea that, when he abused his partners, nothing bad would happen. Angela never made her horrible partners take accountability for what they did, so he’d never take accountability either.

But Rhiannon couldn’t save Angela. Angela didn’t need saving anymore. From what Rhiannon could tell through the records Colleen had obtained, Angela’s most recent partner died in prison eight months ago. In time, she may share her life with another shitty man who would take advantage of her and beat her the way the others had, but Angela accepted this behavior. She didn’t want out. Angela was a victim, but Rhiannon wouldn’t assign herself responsibility for her pain.

“I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say about her,” Rhiannon said. “Please leave. Or I will contact security.”

“Contact them,” Angela said, arms raised at her sides in surrender. “But I have something to say first.”

So be it. Rhiannon grabbed the walkie-talkie from her other hip, held it to her lips, and said, “Level yellow breach at the stables.”