“Well, Mr. Stafford, yes and no.”
Ian frowned. “What does that mean?”
Morton cleared his throat as if the bad news he was about to deliver was stuck in his throat. “Well, sir, unfortunately, the Bradys were at Epsom training for the Derby, but they apparently left without warning just two nights ago. The only trace they left was a note to the Epsom officials that Seabiscuit II would be running in the Derby this Saturday.”
“Damn!” Ian cursed. “So the Epsom officials have no way of contacting them?”
“None that I’m aware of, sir,” Morton responded. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, Harold. There was no way you could have anticipated this development. Please come meet with me tomorrow, and we’ll try to think of where they might have gone. I’m anticipating that it will be nearly impossible to approach the Bradys on race day, especially since their horse is favored to win. We’ll have to find another way to contact her.”
“Agreed, sir. I will see you tomorrow.”
Ian hung up and paced the barn aisle, trying to come up with an alternative plan. It was extremely frustrating knowing the identity of the woman who held the key to his future and not being able to find her. It was almost as if she was purposely hiding from him.
Ian’s musing was interrupted when Tempest poked his head outside his stall down the aisle and nickered to him softly, nodding his head slightly as if to encourage him to approach. Ian smiled to himself at the cheekiness of the handsome and very spoiled horse and walked over to the stallion.
“Hello, my good man.” Ian laid his palm against Tempest’s broad forehead and rubbed him affectionately. “How are you faring after your ordeal with the vet the other day?”
Tempest snorted loudly as if in disgust, and Ian wondered just how much English this horse understood.
“If only you could talk, I’m sure you could tell us exactly who arranged for you to escape your stall and gorge yourself on that very tasty grain.” Ian wondered to himself if the culprit could have been Michael’s friend, Lionel Hayes, since he was the only other person staying at the manor who would have had easy access to the barn at that hour of the night. However, Lionel had been Michael’s friend for as long as Ian could remember and did not seem the type to try to injure a horse for any reason. Ian knew of the incident at the Olympic trials over a year ago when Michael had discovered Lionel doping his horse and turned him in to the authorities, but according to Michael, all was forgiven.
As Ian’s attention drifted away from the stallion, Tempest pawed the ground, which Ian understood to mean the stallion was impatient with him for his lack of full attention and desired some kind of treat. “I’m sorry, old man,” Ian responded, “I don’t have any treats on my person. Maybe Mike and Jessica will come out and give you something later tonight. I know they’ll be in the hay loft later, if at all possible.”
Ian’s stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since his lunch with Michael. He started back to the manor. Night was starting to fall, and the yard had grown quiet. A peaceful feeling permeated the yard, but for Ian that peace was fleeting. He looked down at the bulky electronic ankle bracelet the court required him to wear and kicked a nearby stone in frustration. His freedom had appeared to be so close, but now, after Morton’s phone call, it seemed more elusive than ever.
He cursed under his breath and racked his brain, trying to puzzle out how a famous race horse, his owners, and caretakers could just disappear into thin air. Practically, if the horse were to have any chance of winning the Derby, he would have to stay in training, which would require a track. But which track? Ian reluctantly straightened as he strode back toward the house. He wasn’t getting any closer to finding Megan Brady standing by and waiting for someone else to find her. It was time to use Michael’s computer to see if he could figure out where she might be.
Inside, Ian found Michael hard at work at his computer, uploading video from a digital camera to YouTube.
“Hey, Mike. Let me know when you’re finished. I need to Google race tracks in the U.K. to try to find where Megan Brady and her family have taken their horse.”
“Have you thought about asking Uncle Tommy if he knows the Bradys?”
“Uncle Tommy?” Ian mentally kicked himself. Of course, why didn’t he think of this himself? Their uncle, Thomas Stafford, was a well-respected race horse trainer based at the Brighton Racecourse just an hour’s drive from where they were now. There was a distinct possibility that Uncle Tommy knew the Bradys. The idea seemed too good to be true, but he had to give it a try. “That is an excellent idea. Thanks, Mike.” Ian flashed a smile. “In fact, that’s a brilliant idea. I’ll call him right now.”
“No problem. Glad I could help,” Michael replied. “Good luck.”
Chapter 9
“Ian, I’m so glad you called.” Thomas Stafford smiled and listened as his nephew related the purpose of his call and his request. “I must say I’m very proud of you for standing up for Miss Brady the way you did. You’ll be happy to know I’m looking right at Megan Brady as we speak. She and her father and brother arrived here very recently, and although they don’t know your name, they speak very highly of you.” Megan looked up at Thomas with a questioning gaze when she heard her name mentioned.
Thomas winked at her to reassure her nothing was amiss and then continued, “Rather than speak on her behalf, let me put her on the phone, so you can speak with her directly.” He handed his cell phone to Megan, who took it uncertainly. “It’s my nephew, Ian,” Thomas whispered. “I think you two have met, although rather inauspiciously.” Thomas handed Megan his phone and walked off, whistling a tune Megan didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” Megan began hesitantly, “This is Megan Brady. Who is this?”
Ian hesitated a moment. After days of hoping he would be able to find this woman, now that he had her on the other end of the phone, he was unsure of himself. Her voice was much as he remembered it from that day in the pub—a honey smooth contralto that resonated deep within his chest when he heard it. His reaction to the sound of her voice alone took him off guard and rattled his normally unshakable composure. He mentally shook himself, trying to regain his balance quickly. He needed to let this woman know she could trust him, not to mention that he had many questions for her about their encounter at the pub. Why was she there to begin with? Why had she left the pub? Why were those men threatening her? Is she safe now? And, most importantly, was she willing to help exonerate him? He mentally steeled himself and began. “Miss Brady, my name is Ian Stafford. I was the man at the Rusty Nail Pub who intervened on your behalf and took on the thugs who accosted you there.”
As soon as Megan heard his voice, she knew that the man on the other end of the line was the man who had saved her. Her heart started racing, and her knees had suddenly grown weak, so she anxiously searched for a place to sit down. She quickly located a nearby stack of hay bales next to Biscuit’s stall and sat on that.
A part of her had hoped she would be able to find this man, but common sense told her that the chance of finding him would be slim. The fact that he was here, speaking with her by phone, was miraculous. Megan found herself struggling to speak past the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “Mr. Stafford,” she croaked, embarrassed at what she must sound like to the man on the other end of the phone. She quickly covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand, cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and continued in her more natural voice, “I am so glad you found me. I owe you a tremendous debt for what you did to help me that day in the Rusty Nail. I might even venture to say you saved my life.”
Ian was gratified, but at the same time a bit embarrassed by the effusiveness of Megan’s response. “I’m not sure I would go that far, Miss Brady, but I am glad I could be of service to you. Those thugs were completely out of line, and I believed i
t was my duty to intervene on your behalf.”
“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree on that count, then,” Megan responded. “I, for one, am not inclined to minimize your heroism. I am convinced you saved me from if not death, then a fate worse than death, and I am truly grateful.”
Knowing that if ever there was an opportunity to make his request, this was it, Ian continued. “In that case, Miss Brady, it appears I do need your help.” He pressed on before he lost his courage, “After you left the pub, I fought with the four men who accosted you, and in the process, stabbed one of the men fatally. The police were called, and based upon the statements of witnesses on the scene, all of whom were either working with the men or intimidated by them, I was arrested and charged with manslaughter. I am now under house arrest and will be scheduled for trial soon. If convicted, I could face twenty years or more in prison.”
“Oh my God!” Megan gasped, shocked at what had happened to her rescuer. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”
The tension Ian hadn’t realized he was holding slowly melted away after hearing Megan’s response and offer. “My hope is that you will be willing to talk to the police and provide a statement that when the man was stabbed, I was acting in your defense. If the police and prosecutor find your testimony credible, this will go a long way toward exonerating me of these charges.”
As Megan had listened to Ian’s narration of the events that occurred after she left, she was shaken and mortified. Not only had she left the poor man at the mercy of bloodthirsty thugs, she left him to the mercy of the misguided local authorities as well, which now meant his very future was in her hands. Certainly she would do whatever she could to exonerate him. Her voice quivered with emotion as she tried to find the words to reassure him. “Mr. Stafford, I will do everything in my power to make sure the authorities know you were not at fault that day. Just tell me when and where you want me, and I will be there. You have my word.”
Chapter 10
Ian paced nervously in the waiting area of the Surrey Police Station as he waited with Michael to see whether Megan’s witness statement would be enough to clear him of the manslaughter charges being brought against him.
“Ian, please calm down,” Michael said. “You’re making me even more nervous with your constant pacing.”
“I’m sorry, Mike. If I don’t move, I feel like I might explode.” Ever since they had arrived at the station, and even after meeting Megan and her father there, Ian couldn’t relax. The tension was overwhelming. For as long as he could remember, Ian hated not being in control of every situation. In part, that aspect of his personality was what made him such a good SAS soldier. His need to ensure his team’s safety led to meticulous preparation, anticipating every possible outcome of a particular operation until he felt as much in control of the scenario as possible. His team grumbled and complained about the extra detail work, but they also appreciated it when it ended up saving them more often than not—a fact he had reminded them about frequently. That he clearly wasn’t in control here frustrated him to the extreme.
The door leading to the interview rooms opened, and Megan emerged, accompanied by her father and the officer who had introduced himself to the group earlier as Constable Gordon. Megan and her father were smiling, and the constable was, while not quite smiling, not looking quite as grim as he had when Ian first arrived at the station.
The constable addressed Ian directly. “Mr. Stafford, I would like to make arrangements for Ms. Brady to speak with the Crown Prosecutor. Since your arrest, the witnesses that originally provided statements that day at the pub have mysteriously disappeared, and their contact information has proven false. In addition, when we ran a background check on the man you stabbed at the pub, we discovered he had a lengthy criminal record with several arrests for assault. If Ms. Brady’s statement is as convincing to the prosecutor as it was to me, I believe the charges against you will be dropped, and your actions resulting in the death of the man in the Rusty Nail Pub will be considered to have been in self-defense.”
Michael smiled in relief. “That’s wonderful news, Constable Gordon.”
Although much relieved, Ian was looking not at the constable, but at Megan. If possible, she looked more beautiful to him now than she had at the pub. Granted, at the pub she had been under stress and tense with fear and anger. Today, she was relaxed, and her smile seemed to make the entire room light up. When she turned to him, her smile grew even bigger, and suddenly everyone else faded into the background, and he and Megan were the only people in the room. He walked over to her and extended his hand.
“I don’t know how to thank you for this, Miss Brady,” he said.
As he approached her, he was surrounded by her scent, a floral combination that stimulated his senses, making him even more aware of her. She took his hand in both of hers, and he felt a sudden jolt of awareness that quickened his heart and made breathing a bit more difficult in that moment. Only his experience as a special operations soldier, in schooling his facial expression to mask his inner thoughts and feelings, saved him from exposing his vulnerability to Megan in that moment.
He scanned her face to see if she had experienced a similar reaction. He was gratified to see that her face had flushed with color, and her pulse quickened. She was reacting to him as well. Good. He resolved then and there not to let her go until he could learn more about her and explore this extraordinary attraction.
“Please call me Megan,” she said, her breath catching a bit.
“Of course, Megan,” Ian said. “And you must call me Ian.”
“Of course, Ian,” Megan echoed.
Not a man who normally found himself tongue-tied around women, Ian found that his mind had gone blank as he looked into Megan’s arresting green eyes. In a panic, he frantically wracked his brain for a topic of conversation and then suddenly remembered Megan’s family owned a rather famous race horse. “I understand you have a horse favored to win the Epsom Derby this weekend,” he said.
“Yes, Ian. Seabiscuit II is our three-year-old stallion, and he is favored to win the Derby. In fact, if you’d like, I can reserve a seat for you in our owners’ box, so you can watch the race with us.” She immediately paled and then flashed an anxious look at her father, as if belatedly asking permission to make such an offer, but he smiled graciously in response, nodding his approval. She visibly relaxed at his response.
“I’d like that very much,” Ian responded with a smile intended to ensure she remembered him vividly until then.
Daniel and Michael, who had been observing the interaction between Ian and Megan with interest, exchanged a knowing look and, determined to leave Ian and Megan some private time, approached the constable.
“How soon can we meet with the prosecutor, Constable?” Daniel asked. “As you probably know, I’m training Seabiscuit II for the Derby this weekend and would like to resolve this matter as quickly as possible, so we can get back to work.”
“Naturally,” Michael added, “the Stafford family is also anxious to have Ian exonerated and back at home without restrictions as soon as possible.”
“I’ll contact their office right away and schedule something before you leave. I hope it will be soon, even later today if possible,” the constable responded and then went to find a telephone.
After Constable Gordon left, Ian noticed a second constable, one Ian remembered from the day of his arrest as Constable Madden, standing in the background and listening in on their conversation with Constable Gordon. When Ian caught his gaze, Madden flashed him an angry glare before walking out of the building and dialing his cell phone as he left.
~ ~ ~
“Thanks for the information, Constable Madden. You’ve been most helpful.” Colin Fitzpatrick smiled as he pressed the screen of his cell phone to end the call. The O’Reilly organization had always felt it valuable to have an in
formant working for local law enforcement, particularly in areas where they were operating a very lucrative enterprise.
In this area, the mob operated an upscale escort service catering to high-end clients from London and the surrounding communities. The convenient presence of their established informant in the Surrey Police Station was particularly valuable now. Without an insider to provide them the whereabouts of Megan Brady, her family, and Ian Stafford, it would have taken them days to find them—days they didn’t have. Now they knew exactly where they were and could make their move before the day of the race.
Chapter 11
Ian smiled to himself as he and Megan watched Michael work with Liz Randall riding Tempest. Standing next to Michael, providing her support, was Michael’s fiancée, Jessica. Liz was Jessica’s trainer and was assisting with Tempest’s training in preparation for next year’s Dressage World Cup competition.
As Ian watched Michael and Jessica together, their love for each other evident in the way they looked at each other as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, he felt a pang of envy. He was glad his brother had found the right woman and would count himself lucky to find a woman half as special as Jessica—one he could love as much as Michael loved Jess. It was too bad his PTSD made it impossible for him to have a true relationship with a woman, any woman, until he had a better handle on his symptoms.
Ian’s thoughts turned immediately to the woman sitting on the bleachers next to him. After Megan’s testimony had convinced the prosecutor to drop all charges against him, Ian had invited her to visit Michael’s training yard and meet Jessica, as well as watch Tempest perform.
Racing Toward Love (Horses Heal Hearts Book 2) Page 5
