The Troubles (The Jessica Trilogy Book 2)

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “Jessica! Are you alright?” His stomach dropped as he looked at her bloodstained shirt and dazed expression. Papers scattered from his dropped satchel as he crossed the floor in one stride. He held her by her upper arms and scanned her for more injuries. She stayed there, stiff and distant, refusing to look him in the eye. Satisfied only her hand that was cut, he led her to a chair and gently sat her down. He carefully dressed her hand and cleaned up the rest of the glass. Then he sat with her.

  Her eyes followed him. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

  He had seen that look in her eyes before and it always meant trouble. It was the way she followed his every move without moving her head, sitting forward on the edge of her seat, as if ready to make a break for the door the second his back was turned. He knew the way her eyes took inventory of the room when they weren’t following him, looking for something to defend herself with. She was going to bolt, and it was only a matter of time before she did.

  The past few days he had been intent on simply being together, feeling united in the unspoken ease they shared, but the accident was more than either one could handle, made even more challenging by how hair-trigger sensitive she was. Over the past week, he watched as the emotion behind her eyes changed from trust and hunger to confusion and hurt and, after yesterday, wariness and fear.

  “And a bad driver, too,” he teased before bringing up what he really wanted to ask. “Yesterday you said the accident wasn’t an accident and that either of us could have been the target.” He waited to continue until he saw her reluctant shrug of agreement. “I want to stay focused on you.”

  “No. Not me, Michael. I need answers. I need you to tell me why someone would target either of us.” Her lower lip threatened to tremble. She bit it still.

  “I shouldn’t have waited to talk to you. I’d been so focused on learning the intricacies of the Charity I failed to see the whole picture. Its legacy includes inheriting enemies, but insiders are a threat, too. You’re at risk because you exposed the criminal dealings of my father and the Charity. You did that to save your own skin, but some people hate you for it. It’s complicated, but exposure threatens the livelihoods of men and women with families.”

  Jessica nodded. “I know. I can feel that in my relationship with Nan. She tolerates me as a favor to your uncle, not out of loyalty to you. I’d feel better if I thought your uncle viewed me as more than just a distraction or a dalliance.”

  “Liam, Nan and Magnus were friends when they were young. Nan looks to Liam as Magnus’ successor because she doesn’t know me. In her eyes, the whole enterprise is at risk because I’m not in full control. She’s like all the others who watch my every move to see how I fill the void.”

  It wasn’t just the legacy of the Charity he grappled with, but the violent legacy of his father. Vestiges of Magnus’ leadership haunted him as much as any spirit in the hills, and recent events made him question what else Connaught blood carried. His father killed and maimed to wield control and Michael felt baited to do the same. He wanted to go back to the beaches of Gibraltar with Jessica. He wanted the sun to bake his worries into distant thoughts. The days of wishful thinking were behind him as he looked at his reality. Jessica sat by the window, hunched and weary, sunlight hitting the side of her face. He yearned to go back to their carefree days, but the swollen scrape on her cheek where the airbag slammed into her was a clear reminder that he couldn’t. He felt trapped and manipulated, pushed into taking actions he hadn’t fully thought through. He had no choice. “I want you out of here.”

  She turned around and faced him. “Where should I go? I have no family, and my story hasn’t faded enough for me to go back to Kentucky without more hiding.”

  He bent down to eye level and brushed a loose strand of hair off her face. “Let me take care of where to go, okay? Don’t take off on your own again.” He tried to keep his voice and demeanor upbeat, but he knew his words betrayed his concern.

  He was reassured when her body lost some of its tension. She offered a weak smile. “Well, you had an easy enough time tracking me around with that box filled with papers. I’d think you’d be an expert by now.”

  “The papers? In a box?” He sat back on his heels. “I put together newspaper clippings, court transcripts and some documents for Nan a few weeks ago as background, but I don’t know anything about a box.”

  “Not just the newspaper clippings. I’m talking about my mother’s pictures and journals.”

  “Bridget’s journals?” he asked carefully, “They weren’t something you brought with you from the States?”

  “No,” she said, her eyes widening. “I thought you were behind getting them here.”

  Michael returned to his satchel and picked up the strewn papers, giving himself time to think. The discovery of Bridget’s journals and papers surprised him, but he didn’t give their presence much thought, believing they were some of the few items Jessica carried with her from her past. He wondered if assuming that was a mistake. “I’ve never seen the box or I would have asked sooner.”

  “Then who knew how to find me?”

  “Only a few people knew you were here initially. Nan. Liam. Tim. Electra helped secure the training job, so someone at Tully Farm could have guessed your identity via the horse world. If the sender knew who and where you were, I wonder if the accident is connected.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. If they knew who I was, they could have made their move here at the cottage without risking an incident out in public.”

  Both fell silent as they calculated the possibilities.

  “What about people in town?” Jessica asked.

  “Tim and Nan have been paying attention. Not until our trip to town did anyone discover who you are.” He thought for a moment and picked at the stack of papers. “The car accident could have been targeting me or you. If me, I bet it was out of frustration that I’m not doing enough for the Charity. I’m looking into that, but if you were the target, then I need to see if what we learned in Sligo might have anything to do with the crash.”

  He put typed notes in front of her. “You were upset, so I wanted to find out more about your mother and maybe put the pieces together to find out who your father is. I thought maybe her husband, Mr. Harvey, might still be living in Ireland and could either be your father or connect us with someone who could help us with answers. I had one of my men do a search for all marriages performed in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland for the time period involved.”

  Jessica’s eyes widened. “Do you suspect Harvey is behind the box?”

  “No, Jessica. I don’t think that.” He took a deep breath and avoided her eyes. He wanted to keep her away from pain, but it felt like each time he opened his mouth, that’s all he caused.

  “What did you learn?”

  He reached out and clasped her two hands in his. “Using Bridget’s birth date and name, and even changing a few details to widen the search, we came up with nothing. Your mother never married.”

  Jessica withdrew her hands. He hated to add shame to the potent mix of fear and turmoil. The shock and hurt sat visibly leaden inside her gut. She gasped, as if her body wanted to expel the news, and tried to mask it with a cough and averted face. Michael reached out to comfort her, but she held both hands up, shielding herself from anything more he might say. She walked out of the kitchen, bracing herself with a hand pressed to the wall, stumbling over her own feet.

  They spent a quiet evening together, but Michael knew she was cornered, restless, and ready to flee. His stomach tightened at the thought of her running in a country that showed a ruddy and smiling face to the world but had deep-rooted prejudices and fissures. If Jessica thought she had trouble finding helpful support in the States, she was truly ignorant of her chances in Ireland. Finding another safe place for her was his top priority.

  The next morning, he woke with her, intent upon just being near. He scrambled into the hayloft for her, tossing bales through the chute. Holdi
ng her bandaged hand to her chest, she grabbed the twine with the other and kicked her knee into the bales’ centers. The bales split open, and he threw flakes of fragrant hay into each stall. She measured grain. He delivered buckets. Only stomps and throaty whickers of hungry animals broke the morning’s silence. He led the horses to the paddocks for their turnouts and returned to muck stalls. She jotted notes while he spread fresh shavings around each stall.

  They worked well side by side, and Michael wanted this kind of simplicity for their future. Barn work done, he sat on the spare stool and idly flipped through yellowed catalogues as Jessica checked feed levels and ordered more. She would begin to write something, then frown, and go back to the feed room to measure again forgotten quantities. Her shoulders were pulled up, tense, her mind elsewhere.

  He tried to lighten her mood. “I think you cut yourself on a glass as an excuse not to muck stalls,” he teased.

  She looked at him with dead eyes and pressed lips. He wished he could bite back the words.

  They headed back to the cottage, his arm wrapped around her waist, her head on his shoulder. A movement down the drive drew their attention. Two men, heads bowed in deep discussion, walked toward them. A Range Rover was parked by the far paddock. From a distance, the men looked of average build. They wore the same tweed caps that topped the heads of most men in Ireland regardless of the weather. Their type was immediately recognizable. Whether in the VIP stands at the track or the smoky dens of mansions, they were the money people who went to eyeball their investments and hedge their bets. One man held a sheaf of papers, while the other pointed and gestured with emphasis.

  Jessica paused and looked expectantly at Michael, his relaxed manner contrasting to the urgency the men betrayed. When they looked up, one man nudged the other and nodded in her direction. They stopped midstride and assessed her from head to toe so rudely she shuddered. The shorter of the two tipped his hat with his fingers. Michael grimaced as he turned to her.

  “Up for some introductions?” he said, placing his hand onto the small of her back. He tried to give her a quick kiss to smooth things over, but Jessica put her head down as she looked at the men with a mixture of animosity and dread.

  “I’m thinking I don’t have a choice.” She gave him an unreadable look.

  Tim appeared from behind the barn and stopped. Receiving a cue from Michael, he smoothly turned and gave the men a hearty greeting. Hands were clasped and pumped. Shoulders slapped. Teeth flashed. Michael watched as they walked away toward the paddocks.

  Jessica raised her eyebrow. “Friends?”

  “Mostly.” He was distracted. He wanted this to go smoothly, and he didn’t know how to start. He took a moment before giving Jessica his full attention. “The taller man is the head trainer from Tully Farm. The other guy is a member of the syndicate who owns the horses.”

  He was encouraged when he saw a brief flicker of a smile, but he knew her better than to assume she would go along with his plan easily.

  “Tell me their presence is a coincidence.” Impatience sharpened her voice.

  “I can’t say that.”

  “You invited them here?”

  He had to be direct but diplomatic and hoped he wouldn’t be judged as being manipulative. “Yes...” he began. “Tim and I spoke last night. There’s a problem and they need your help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “They want you to ride. At Aintree.”

  Jessica scowled and waved off the statement. “That’s crazy.”

  “And they want you to ride Bealltainn.”

  “Bealltainn? Their high-earning stallion? That’s more than crazy. What are they doing racing him to begin with?”

  He shrugged. She stood in the drive in tall field boots and slim breeches, unaware of the complete hold she had on him. Her trust in him was hard earned, and he hated this moment jeopardized it. “The men who race at Aintree do so for a lot of reasons. They like to play hard and take risks. For them it’s fun. The manager of Tully Farm and members of the syndicate heard you were a hotshot trainer from the States but from the look they just gave you, I’m thinking they assumed you were a man. Regardless, they need you.”

  “What happened?”

  “Their jockey had a nasty fall off Bealltainn.” He didn’t want to say more but knew he had to tell her the full truth. “Some of the other jockeys said Bealltainn tried to kill him, but Tim says that’s nonsense.”

  “Terrific,” her voice was devoid of enthusiasm, “They checked me out like I’m part of the livestock. I guess they’re assuming I’m their penned bull?” She brought her hands up to her throat and pulled at the collar of her shirt as if she were loosening an invisible noose. “Aintree would get me out of Raphoe.”

  This was his opening. “To jettison everything that makes you who you are and take on a whole new life isn’t right. You will always have some degree of exposure because of it. The amount of protection I would need to give you at the track would be very visible. You’ve made it clear you hate that kind of attention.”

  “I don’t want it, but that doesn’t mean I have to hide from that, too,” she bit back. “You can’t protect me here.”

  Her words stung, but she was right. He failed in giving her the kind of protection she needed. Being run off the road was a reminder that people were growing impatient with him. If he couldn’t succeed in protecting her, then he would fail in gaining the confidence of those he needed to lead. Time was moving forward. He couldn’t afford to waste a minute. “I’d have to put you in the middle of that snake pit and at the same time put a wall of bodyguards around you. The show of power would send a clear message that Jessica Wyeth is untouchable, and we will not be intimidated.”

  He took Jessica by the shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. “You can’t burrow into a hole and rot. You’re the only person I know who can ride an event like that. If I thought for one minute you weren’t up to the task, I’d never have even considered it.”

  “I’d be safe?” she asked, unconsciously touching her cheek.

  “You’ll be as safe as I am.”

  In spite of everything, they looked at each other and laughed. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her.

  She straightened her shoulders, the action gently shaking Michael’s hands free, and took a step back, stopping suddenly as if she had backed into a wall. “Give me the details.”

  “The events are in less than two weeks, with the major race on Saturday, June 15th.”

  “No way! I’ll never get the horses ready by then.”

  “You won’t need to,” answered another voice. Startled, both Jessica and Michael turned to see Tim and the men approach them. Tim had Kilkea on a lead and the taller of the two men continued to speak. The shorter man stood to the side, engrossed in his papers. “Bealltainn is in top condition as is Kilkea, I’m told.”

  “Kilkea?”

  “Yes. We’ve heard of his progress with you,” the man answered, looking at Tim.

  Jessica flashed Michael a fierce look. He watched as the man extended his hand to her. “I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Shamus Doherty. I’m sure Michael has had a chance to tell you about me?”

  “Not a word, Mr. Doherty.” She shook his hand, eyeing him carefully. “I’m Jessica Wyeth.”

  Her name had no effect on him. “Kilkea,” he said nodding as the horse nibbled on Jessica’s shoulder, “is one of mine. You’ve already coaxed additional performance out of him.”

  Her mouth softened. She reached out and rubbed Kilkea’s head. “I can see why he was a champion. He has an additional gear he can hit when motivated. I wasn’t surprised at his competitiveness, but I’m not sure how he would be on a crowded track.”

  Doherty turned to address Michael. “I trust Tim’s judgment. If he says my horses will be in good hands, then we can move forward. She’s agreed to ride then?”

  Jessica started to step forward, but Michael held her back. “She’ll ride at Aintree, but I have certa
in conditions.”

  “Conditions?” Doherty asked.

  “Yes. The horses will be kept in the central barns under 24-hour surveillance. No one touches them or has anything to do with them without Jessica’s express approval. No one feeds them as much as a peppermint that she hasn’t seen.” Michael put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m placing some of my men in the barns to watch over everything. Jessica’s wellbeing will be your top concern, not the horses.”

  Doherty huffed, then addressed Tim. “I guess we’ll be seeing a bit more of you in the coming weeks.”

  “No. You won’t,” said Jessica.

  Tim’s face flickered with displeasure then calmed. “Don’t be gettin’ too high on yourself. I’ll keep out of your face well enough. I’m responsible for the horses’ transportation and safe arrival. A Pullman’s coming in the morning for the horses not racing. Kilkea and Planxty will be loaded up and sent to Aintree today. We’ve got their flight chartered and waiting. I’ve already begun their mild tranqs for easing their trip.”

  “You’ve tranquillized them without asking me?” She looked at Michael with barely contained fury. “When was I going to be told of this?”

  “Today,” Michael answered without hesitation. “Tim’s job has always been to get these horses to the race track in as good condition as possible. Whether you were going or not was undecided.” Michael knew he was pushing her, but the deal was beyond the point of pulling back. “Tim assured me that tranquillizing horses is standard procedure for transporting them long distances and that the drugs will be out of their systems by the time any testing at the track would start.”

  Jessica nodded. “Yes. That’s true. I would’ve liked to have known.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just for transport and my men will help keep an eye on things at Aintree.” He gave a look to Tim that made sure there’d be no further questions about drugging.

  “Well done,” Doherty said, enjoying the volley. “Miss Wyeth only needs to pack her things.” He motioned to his companion, who produced a list. “Review this. Tell us what you need and I’ll have my men pack and ship any other needed items.”