by Nora Roberts
distance, raced away from him. And I lost. I lost Philip, I lost you, I lost my freedom. A very high price for pride.”
She grimaced as the doorbell rang again. “It looks like the day isn’t over yet.”
“I’ll get it.” For the second time that afternoon, the visitor was unwelcome. “Lieutenant Rossi.”
“Ms. Byden, sorry to disturb you. I have a few follow-up questions for you and your mother.”
“We’re in the sitting room. Is there any progress, Lieutenant?” she asked, as she led the way.
“We’re investigating.”
Trained eyes took in the sedate comfort of the room, as well as the two glasses of whiskey, the half-full glass of milk. Naomi rose as he entered. As a man, he appreciated her grace. As a cop, he admired her control.
“Lieutenant Rossi.” Though her skin had gone cold, she offered a hand. “Won’t you sit down? Would you care for some coffee?”
“I appreciate the offer, Ms. Chadwick, but I’ve had my quota for the day. I just have a few more questions.”
“Of course.” They always had a few more questions. She sat again, keeping her spine erect. “What can I help you with?”
“You were fairly well acquainted with the victim.”
“I knew Mick.” Keep the answers short, Naomi reminded herself. Say nothing more than necessary.
“He was employed at Longshot for the last five years, approximately.”
“I believe that’s correct.”
“He also worked for the previous owner, Cunningham?”
“On and off.”
“Off,” Rossi continued, “when he was fired, about seven years ago.”
“Bill Cunningham let Mick go, as I recall, because he felt Mick was too old. At the time, my trainer offered Mick a position here, but he decided to leave the area.”
“The information I have is that he worked the tracks in Florida during that two-year period.”
“I believe so.”
“Would you know if he had any enemies?”
“Mick?” She dropped her guard for a moment, the question was so absurd. “Everyone loved Old Mick. He was an institution, a kind of monument to the best in racing. Hard-working, tough-minded, bighearted. No one disliked him.”
“But someone killed him.” Rossi waited a beat, fascinated by the way Naomi drew herself in. “The horse was injured. Mick Gordon was assigned to that horse as groom. My report is that there was a long, shallow slice on the left flank, approximately twelve inches in length.” He took out his book as if checking facts. “Preliminary reports indicate that this wound was caused by the same weapon used against the victim.”
“Obviously someone was trying to hurt the colt, and Mick tried to stop him,” Kelsey put in. “Moses told me that colt’s very levelheaded. He’d never have trampled Mick if he hadn’t been hurt or frightened.”
“That may be.” Rossi had to wait for the autopsy report before he could be sure if the knife had killed Mick Gordon, or the horse had. Murder or attempted murder, he intended to close the case. “Mr. Slater’s colt was competing with yours that day, Ms. Chadwick.”
“Yes, or he would have been if it hadn’t been necessary to scratch him.”
“And your horse won, didn’t he?”
She kept her eyes level, steady. “By a neck, as we say. He paid three to five.”
“You and Mr. Slater have a history of competition. Particularly in the last year between these two horses. He’s edged you out of the top spot several times.”
“Double or Nothing is an admirable colt. A champion. So is my Virginia’s Pride. They’re incredibly well matched.”
“I don’t know much about racing myself.” He smiled placidly. “But, from an amateur’s standpoint, it seems it would be to your benefit to”—he tipped his flattened hand back and forth—“shift the odds.”
“That’s an uncalled-for accusation, Lieutenant.” In automatic support, Kelsey dropped a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Absolutely uncalled-for.”
“It’s not an accusation, Ms. Byden. It’s an observation. Horses are sometimes deliberately injured, drugged, even killed to up another’s chances, aren’t they, Ms. Chadwick?”
“Unscrupulous and criminal behavior happens in all walks of life.” She fought against trembling. Cops’ eyes could detect even the slightest fear. “Those of us in racing prefer to say it happens much more often in the show ring than at the track.”
“Three Willows doesn’t need to resort to tactics like that,” Kelsey said, furious. “And I’ve told you that my mother was with me all morning. Dozens of people saw us.”
“They did,” Rossi agreed. “As a veteran of the racing world, Ms. Chadwick, wouldn’t you agree that an owner, or a trainer, interested in improving his chances would hire someone to do the job rather than risk harming a horse himself?”
“Yes, I would.”
“You don’t have to answer questions like this.” The outrage of it seared Kelsey’s throat.
“I’m sure your mother is well aware of her rights,” Rossi said coolly. “And the procedure of a murder investigation.”
“I’m perfectly aware of both, Lieutenant. And equally aware that those rights don’t always protect the innocent.” Her lips curved humorlessly. “Certainly not the half-innocent. I could remind you that my colt wasn’t the only other contender in that race, and that not once in the fifty years that Three Willows has been in operation have we been cited for any infraction. But I’m sure you know that. Just as I know an ex-convict always carries a cloud of suspicion. Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“Not for the moment.” A hell of a woman, he thought, and tucked away his pad. He was going to have to schedule extra time to study her file a little more closely. “I appreciate the time. One thing, Ms. Byden. You did say you met Mr. Slater outside the barn yesterday, before the two of you went in to look over the horse.”
“Yes, he was talking to his trainer.”
“Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”
“That was outrageous!” Kelsey exploded the moment the door closed. “How could you just sit there and take it? He all but accused you of paying for murder.”
“I expected it. And he won’t be the only one to consider the possibility. After all, I’m once guilty.”
“Don’t be so calm, dammit!”
“I’m not. The pretense is all I’ve got.” Weary, she rose. She needed a quiet room, a bottle of aspirin, and the coward’s escape of sleep. But she paused, took a chance by framing Kelsey’s face in her hands. “You’re not even considering it a possibility, are you? That I might have had a hand in this.”
“No.” There was no hesitation.
“Then I’m wrong,” Naomi murmured. “It seems I have a great deal more than pretense. Go for a ride, Kelsey. Work off some of that anger.”
She went for a ride, but her temper continued to rage. She headed for Longshot with a dual purpose. Handing over Justice’s reins to a willing groom, she strode from barn to house.
Too stirred up to think of the propriety of knocking on the front door, she went in through the pool house, moving from spring to high summer, then up a short flight of stairs into the steady warmth of a casually furnished great room.
She realized then, because she hadn’t a clue which direction to take, that she was trespassing. Upbringing warred with instinct until she turned left and headed down a corridor. So, she thought, she’d work her way to the front door, go outside, and knock. Unless, of course, she found Gabe in the meantime.
It wasn’t his voice she heard, not immediately. It was Boggs’s, his grainy tones coming through an open door.
“He wouldn’t want no fancy service, Mr. Slater. None of that flowers and organ music stuff. Once when we were sitting around, he told me how he thought he’d want to be cremated, and maybe his ashes could be spread over the practice track here. So’s he’d always be a part of the place. Sounds kinda funny, I guess.”
“If that’s what
he wanted, that’s what we’ll do.”
“That’s good, then. I’ve got some money set aside. I don’t know what it costs to do things that way, but—”
“Let me do this for him, Boggs,” Gabe interrupted. “I’m not sure I’d be sitting here today if it hadn’t been for Mick. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me take care of him.”
“I know it ain’t the money, Mr. Slater. Maybe it’s not my place to say, but he was real proud of you. Told me he knew the first time he saw you hustling to walk hots at the track that you’d amount to something. I sure am going to miss him.”
“So am I.”
“Well, I better get back.” He stepped out of the doorway, flushed a bit when he saw Kelsey. “Miss,” he muttered, tipping his cap and hurrying off.
Ashamed at having so blatantly eavesdropped on a private conversation, she stepped into the doorway to apologize.
He sat at a beautiful old desk, the arched window behind him letting in the watery sunlight. Wherever there wasn’t glass welcoming the light, there were books. The two-level library was stunning, and unmistakably masculine.
The man who owned it had his head in his hands.
Embarrassment melted into compassion. She stepped forward, murmuring his name. Her arms were around him before he lifted his head. “I didn’t know you were so close to him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He hadn’t felt grief, not in years. Not since his mother. It surprised him how deep it could cut. “He was good to me. I must have been about fourteen the first time he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. He took an interest in me—I don’t know why—and talked Jamie into hiring me. And he made sure I learned. Goddammit, Kelsey, he was seventy. He should have died in bed.”
“I know.” She drew away. “Gabe, Rossi was just at the house.”
“Busy man.” Gabe dragged his hands through his disheveled hair. “He left here less than an hour ago.”
“I think he’s got some idea that Naomi’s involved.” When Gabe said nothing, she moistened her lips. “I need to know if you think so.”
Composed again, he studied her. “No, I don’t. And neither, I see, do you. Rossi has a couple of ideas. The other is that I arranged the business myself.” He waited a beat. “Double or Nothing’s heavily insured.”
“You’d shoot yourself in the foot first.” She let out a sigh. “That was the other reason I came over. I could tell when he was questioning me that he was toying with the idea. I guess I came over to warn you.”
“I appreciate it.” He rotated his shoulders once to ease the lingering tension. Kelsey, standing there in splattered work clothes, compassion in her eyes, took care of the rest. “You look good, darling.”
“Yeah, mud’s becoming.”
“On you.” He took her hand, played with her fingers. “Why don’t you sit on my lap awhile?”
Amused, she tilted her head. “Is that the setup, or the punch line, Slater?”
In answer he tugged, cradling her when she tumbled. “Yeah.” He inhaled deeply, nuzzling her hair. It smelled of rain, and of spring. “This is exactly what I needed. Sit still, Kelsey. You’ll cause a lot more trouble by wriggling around. Believe me.”
“I’m not a lap sitter.”
“So learn.” Testing, he grazed his teeth over her earlobe, pleased with her quick shudder. “You only came over to tell me about Rossi?”
“That’s right.”
This time he exhaled deeply. “Okay. But I’m going to have to find a way to make you pick up the pace here. I’m starting to suffer.”
“I think you’re tougher than that.” She rested her head in the curve of his shoulder. It was entirely too comfortable, entirely too tempting. “I’m not playing games.”
“That’s too bad. I usually win.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
“SURE YOU DON’T WANT A BLINDFOLD?” KELSEY TUCKED AN ARM around Channing’s waist. “A last cigarette?”
He tipped down his red-framed Oakley sunglasses. “You’re a riot, Kels.”
“No, really, I feel like I’m sending you off to the firing squad alone.”
“I can handle Mom.” He unstrapped his helmet from the back of his Harley. “And the Prof’s no problem.”
“And Grandmother?”
With a grimace, he slipped on the helmet. “Hey, I’ve been dodging those bullets for years. As long as my brilliant mind keeps me in the top fifteen percent of my class, they can’t hassle me much.”
“The trusty shield of a four-point-oh.” She’d used it herself. “What about this summer?”
“Mom’s just going to have to accept that there’s more to my life than hitting the books.”
“My brother.” Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the side of his helmet. “The hard hat.”
“Actually, Naomi offered me a job here this summer.”
“Here?”
“Channing Osborne, stableboy. I like it. I like her.” In a lithe move, he straddled the bike. “You know, I stopped by here to be sure you were all right. I had this image planted of some hard-faced, hard-living bitch with a drink in one hand and a forty-five in the other.”
“Sowed,” Kelsey said dryly, “by the Magnificent Milicent.”
“With a few seeds tossed out by Mom. They’re as solidly aligned against you being here as they were for you marrying Wade the Weenie.”
He glanced back toward the house. It made a lovely picture with the willows greening, the daffodils and hyacinths spearing up in their Easter-egg hues of yellow and blue and pink.
“She’s not anything like she’s painted, is she?”
“It doesn’t seem so,” Kelsey murmured. “I’m glad you came, Channing. I’m glad you got to meet her.”
“Hey, it was the most interesting spring break I’ve ever had.” He leaned forward to kiss her good-bye. “And I’ll be back. See you in a couple of months.”
“I—” She wanted to tell him she couldn’t guarantee she’d be here, but he’d kicked the engine to life. With a final salute, he roared off down the drive.
Lost in her own thoughts, she walked back to the house. Had she decided to stay? Kelsey asked herself. The month Naomi had asked of her was almost up. Yet neither of them had mentioned plans to leave.
And what was waiting for her back in Maryland, in that tidy Bethesda apartment? Job hunting, solitary meals, and the occasional lunch with a friend who would sympathize over the divorce, then mention a cousin office pal old friend who just happened to be single.
The idea was more than depressing.
Here, she had work and a world she already loved, a lifestyle that suited her nature, people who accepted her for what she could do.
And there was Gabe.
She wasn’t quite sure what was going on there, but it would be a great deal more difficult, and certainly inconvenient, to try to figure it out if she moved away.
It would be dishonest to say he didn’t fascinate her. His moods, impossible to read one minute, bold as a banner headline the next. She appreciated his humor, the easy charm, the equally easy arrogance.
He’d moved her in so many ways. The way he’d grieved for Old Mick, standing solemnly in the soft dawn light while Boggs had ridden slowly around the practice track, spreading the old man’s ashes. He’d held her hand, she remembered, trusting her to understand the ritual.
That kind of loyalty and love couldn’t be learned.
Yet he could be hard, ruthless enough to gamble and win a small fortune. Even that intrigued, and the underlying recklessness that had pushed him to raze another man’s house and build his own.
Then, of course, there was that basic animal attraction, the kind she’d never felt before for any man. Even her husband.
