True Betrayals

by Nora Roberts

  Pimlico, the Preakness. I was there. Sure was.” He winked. “Had some money down on your colt, too. You didn’t let me down. Maybe, seeing as I’m rolling hot, I’ll take a trip up to Belmont. Think you can cop the whole Crown, do you, Gabe? You do, we’ll have ourselves a real celebration.”

  “There was trouble at the Derby.”

  “I know about that. Shocked I was, too, sitting in my room watching it on TV. Crying shame to see a horse go down that way.” He shook his head sadly over his drink. “Damn shame. But then, it didn’t hurt you any, did it?”

  “Somebody helped that horse go down.”

  Lips pursed around his cigar, Rich nodded. “Now, I heard about that, too. Nasty business. Christ knows it happens.” He reached for the beer nuts, popped two in his mouth. Gabe noticed he was wearing a ring on his pinky, little diamonds shaped into a dollar sign.

  “Oh, not as much as it used to,” Rich went on. “Harder to get away with pumping a horse up with chemicals these days.” He puffed out smoke, amusing himself by stringing Gabe along. “Now, back in the days when your granddaddy and me used to play the ponies, there were plenty of tricks. Didn’t have so many tests then, so many fucking rules on the horses and the jocks. But that was forty years ago and more.” He sighed reminiscently. “Too bad you never got to know your granddaddy, Gabe.”

  “Too bad he got a bullet in the brain over a . . . difference of opinion.”

  “That’s the truth,” Rich said, with no sarcasm. He was a man who’d loved his daddy. “It’s like I always tried to teach you, son, sometimes cheating’s just part of the game. It’s a matter of skill and timing.”

  “And sometimes it’s a matter of murder. A horse, a man. One’s not so different from the other to some people.”

  “Some horses I’ve liked better than some men.”

  “I remember another race, in Lexington. I was just a kid.” Gabe picked up his cooling coffee, watching his father over the rim. “But I remember you were nervous. It wasn’t that hot. The Bluegrass Stakes is in the spring. But you were sweating a lot. You had me working the stands, looking for loose change, panhandling. A horse broke down that day, too.”

  “Happens.” He turned back to the monitor. Despite the chill from the air-conditioning, the back of his neck was damp. “I’ve seen it happen plenty in my day.”

  “It was a Chadwick horse then, too.”

  “No shit? Well, that’s bad luck. Hey, can’t you see I’m dry here?” Rich slapped a hand on the bar.

  “A jockey hanged himself over it. As I recall, we didn’t stick around long after that race. A few days, that’s all. That was funny, too, because our room was paid up.”

  “Itchy feet. I’ve always had them.”

  “You were flush after that. The money didn’t last long. It never did, but you had a nice fat roll when we headed out.”

  “I must have bet some winners that day.”

  “You’re on a roll now, too, aren’t you? New suit, gold watch, diamond ring.” He picked up Rich’s hand. “Manicure.”

  “You got a point here, boy?”

  Braced against the stench of bourbon, Gabe leaned closer. His voice was low, icily controlled. “You’d better hope I don’t find out you were in Kentucky on the first Saturday in May.”

  “You don’t want to threaten me, Gabe.”

  “Oh yes, I do.”

  With fear and rage circling through his system, Rich picked up his fresh drink. “You want to back off is what you want to do. You want to let things lie and get your mind on that horse you’re running next week. Keep your mind on that and on that pretty blond filly you’re banging.”

  In a flash, Gabe had a hand wrapped around the knot of his father’s new silk tie. The bartender hustled over.

  “We don’t want any trouble here.”

  “No trouble.” Rich grinned into Gabe’s face. “No trouble at all. Just a family discussion. That’s a prime piece you’re putting it to, son. Blue blood. I bet a thoroughbred like that’s got plenty of kick, and lots of endurance. Maybe it’s time she met your dear old daddy.”

  Gabe’s hand ached with the pressure of making a fist. The fist ached to connect. Yet no matter how repugnant, there was no escaping the fact that the man was his father. “Keep away from her,” Gabe said quietly.

  “Or?”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  “We both know you haven’t got the guts for that. But we’ll make a deal. You keep out of my business, I keep out of yours.” Rich smoothed down his tie when Gabe allowed him to jerk free. “Otherwise I might just have me a nice long talk with your pretty lady. I’d bet we’d have lots to talk about.”

  “Keep away from what’s mine.” Gabe took out a bill and put it on the counter beside the coffee he’d barely tasted. “Keep far away from what’s mine.”

  “Kids.” Rich beamed a fresh smile at the nervous bartender when Gabe strode away. “They just never learn respect.” He picked up his drink, tried to ignore the fact that his hand was unsteady. “Sometimes you just got to pound it into them,” he muttered.

  Nursing his drink, he turned back to the monitor and waited for his horse to come in.

  It was nearly dusk when Kelsey walked out of the barn for the last time. She’d put in a backbreaking twelve hours, hauling manure and straw, scrubbing down concrete, polishing tack. Now every muscle in her body was weeping. All she wanted was a blissfully hot bath and oblivion.

  “Want a beer?” Moses sat on a barrel, two cold bottles dangling from his fingers. He’d been waiting for her.

  “No.” She gave him a nod as frosty as the brews. “Thanks.”

  “Kelsey.” He held a bottle up. “I couldn’t find my peace pipe.”

  Reluctant, she gave in and accepted one. She’d have preferred a gallon of water, but the beer washed away the taste of dirt and sweat just as well.

  Moses narrowed his eyes at the purpling bruise on her upper arm. “What happened there? Pacer take a bite?”

  “That’s right. So?”

  “You’re not going to be able to stay pissed off at me for long. I’m too charming.”

  Kelsey drank again. “No, you’re not.”

  “Works with your mother,” he grumbled. “Listen, I think you screwed up, and I let you know it. Now I’m telling you you’ve done a good job. And not just today. For the most part.”

  “For the most part?”

  “That’s right. You learn fast, and you don’t make the same mistake twice, but you still need somebody looking over your shoulder. You’ve got a temperament problem, but we’re used to that around here, between the horses and your mother.”

  “My—” Her jaw dropped. “My mother.”

  “She can be a mule when it suits her. Not that she flies off the handle much now the way she did when she was younger. I’m sorry about that sometimes.” He looked down at his boots. “Damn sorry about that. It’s not that they broke her, but they changed her. Toughened her, I guess, so she learned how to pull in. I came down on you today more because of her than because of the job.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you turn away from her now, it’ll kill her. She wouldn’t want me to say it, but I’m saying it. There’s nothing that means more to me in this world than Naomi. I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

  “I’m not turning away. I’m not trying to hurt her. That may be a lot for you to take on faith, but I wish you would. I wish you could.”

  “You know, I figure anybody who can purge a horse and not run for cover’s got to be trusted. See you in the morning.”

  “Sure.” She started away, then looked over her shoulder. “It’s a pretty evening.”

  “It is that.”

  “Women like to walk in the moonlight.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “There should be plenty of it in a couple of hours.” Satisfied, Kelsey continued toward the house. She’d done her job, all around, she decided. Now she was going to let Gertie stuff her with an
ything available in the kitchen, then soak out all the aches in a marathon bath.

  An hour later, she was dozing amid a swirl of bubbles and scent. Her world had smoothed out again. She was in the middle of a lazy yawn when the door opened.

  “Gabe.” Flustered, she scooted up, spewing froth dangerously close to the rim of the tub. “What are you doing?”

  “Gertie told me I’d find you up here.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and simply enjoyed the view. “I was going to get you and bring you home with me. But it doesn’t look like you’re dressed for the ride.”

  “I often bathe naked. It’s a habit of mine.”

  “How about I wash your back, and any other hard-to-reach places?”

  “I can handle it.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and struggled not to give in to the urge to cross her arms over her bubble-bedecked breasts. “Listen, why don’t you wait downstairs until I’m finished?”

  He considered, then shook his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Nope. I’m coming in.”

  “You are not. We’re in my mother’s house, for God’s sake.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “That’s not the point.” Hurriedly, she scooped her bangs out of her eyes. “Keep that shirt on, Slater. Gertie’s downstairs,” she hissed.

  “She’ll have to stay there. There isn’t room in that tub for the three of us.” He tossed his shirt aside and sat down to pry off his boots.

  “It’s not a joke. It’s just not appropriate.”

  “I need you, Kelsey.”

  Her protest turned into a sigh. She could see it now, the tension in the set of his shoulders. It was all but coming off him in waves. “Dammit,” she murmured. “Lock the door.”

  “I already did.”

  His jeans joined hers on the floor, then he was easing himself into the steamy water behind her. His arms encircled her waist. He buried his face in her hair.

  “God.” He drew in her scent, wallowed in her texture while he fought off the fury that had roiled inside him since the confrontation with his father.

  He needed it to go away, just for an hour. She could do that for him. She could do anything for him.

  “Gabe, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Ssh.” He slicked his hands up to the slippery curve of her breasts, skimmed wet fingertips over her nipples. “Just let me touch you. I only need to touch you.”

  He drowned her in tenderness. He’d never been so gentle before, so patient, so careful. With her leaning against him he did only what he’d said he’d needed. Only touched her. Fingers sliding along a long thigh, skimming down from knee to calf, flowing up again to dip inside her so that the heat melted her bones.

  Shuddering, she tried to turn to face him, but he pressed her back. “Not yet.” His mouth danced over her glistening shoulder, along the nape of her neck where falling tendrils curled damply.

  So she surrendered, more completely than she had before, letting his hands take her where he chose. Water lapped, bubbles dissolved. Each time she climaxed, felt her body tighten, tremble, explode, she was sure it was the last. Yet he slowly, patiently, quietly, built a new fire.

  She could float on the smoke of it, drift, deaf to her own throaty moans. When at last he shifted her, letting water spill carelessly over the rim, over the tiles, she sank back through the clouds of smoke, into the flames.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  THAT HORSE WAS NOT GOING TO WIN. RICH HELPED HIMSELF TO Cunningham’s scotch. After all, a man shouldn’t get himself hung up on one kind of liquor. Or one kind of woman. Or one kind of game.

  The boy had never understood that, he thought as he downed a double and poured another. He’d never been able to teach that little son of a bitch anything.

  Well, he was going to teach him now. Good and proper.

  There would be no Triple Crown this year. No, indeed. He was going to see to that. He’d come to do a job, and if it turned out it had the benefit of a little personal revenge, so much the better.

  He settled into Cunningham’s easy chair, propped his shiny new Gucci loafers on the footstool. And smiled. This was the life for him, all right. Lord of the manor. A fine house in the country, a couple of spiffy cars in the garage, a hungry woman in bed.

  He was going to have it too. Once he tied up this last loose end, he was taking his winnings out to Vegas. They knew him in Vegas. Yes, sir, they knew good old Richie Slater in that town. He’d be a high roller, penthouse suite at Caesars, a top-heavy babe hanging on his arm.

  When he’d cleaned up there, he’d buy himself a house. Maybe right in Nevada, come to that. One of those fancy digs with cactus and palm trees and a pool in the backyard. Then when the urge struck him, or the level got low in his billfold, he’d just slip on into town and clean up again.

  He sat there, dreaming a bit about a wheel that always spun to his tune and cards that fell like angels into his hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Flushed and breathless, Cunningham stood in the doorway. Rather than the commanding tone he’d hoped for, his voice came out in a squeak.

  “Hey there, Billy boy. All finished talking with your partners? Word is you’re syndicating that filly for a million flat.”

  “That’s my business.” The deal was nearly set, and nothing, nothing, he promised himself, was going to interfere. There was a loan to pay off, and it was nearing deadline. “You got your money, Slater. You and I are done.”

  Lips puckered, Rich contemplated his last swallow of scotch. “Now, that’s downright unfriendly, Billy.”

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Can’t an old pal drop by for a visit?” He grinned guilelessly. “That pretty little bed-warmer of yours was a lot more welcoming when she let me in. On her way out shopping, she said. Down to Neiman Marcus. Needless Markup, that is. Get it?” He chuckled at his own wit.

  “Marla,” Cunningham said with what dignity he could muster, “is my wife.”

  “No shit?” After slapping himself on the knee, Rich rose to pour another drink. “Got yourself a ball and chain with first-class tits, did you? Well, congratulations, Billy boy. You’re a bigger fool than anybody could’ve guessed.”

  If he wasn’t a fool now, Cunningham thought, he’d certainly been one when he’d slid back into a deal with Rich Slater. But now, and from now on, everything was legitimate. The syndication deal, which Cunningham had just shaken hands on down at his barn, was every bit as big as Rich had heard. So it was time, way past the time, to cut old ties. All of them.

  “I’m going to ask you to leave, Rich. We’re square, you and me, and it isn’t smart for us to be seen together.”

  “Nobody here but you and me.” Rich winked and settled back in the chair again. Oh, he knew what Cunningham was thinking. Yes, indeed, he did. Billy boy figured he didn’t need good old Rich anymore. “Now, don’t you worry. I’m not here to squeeze you for more money. You just rest easy on that.”

  It pacified him, a little. “What is it, then?”

  “A favor, that’s all. Just a favor between old friends and former business associates. There’s a horse that needs to be taken care of, Bill.” He lifted his glass, enjoying the way the sun burst through the window and struck the facets.

  “I don’t want any part of it.”

  “What you want and what you’ve got are two different things.” He shifted his eyes from his glass to Cunningham. “I’m going to take out my son’s colt, Billy. And you’re going to help me.”

  “You’re crazy.” Shaken, Cunningham swiped at the sweat beading on his upper lip. “You’re crazy, Rich, and I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Let’s talk about that,” Rich said, and smiled.

  Kelsey’s suitcases were neatly packed and lined up next to Gabe’s by the bedroom door. They would leave for New York at seven A.M. sharp. Six hours from now, she thought as she gazed up through the skylight over the bed.