She looked around. Chance wasn’t here. Mike Towers wasn’t here. Her breath quickened. Chance didn’t seem to have predictable duties. In fact, he seemed more often than not to be watching her, but since he’d just walked off—
The tack room. She didn’t know where the horses’ bridles and saddles were kept. She’d seen a couple of youngsters working out on the small training track early in the morning. No one seemed to exercise the stallions, a crime in itself. Rebel would be jumpy and hard to control, but if she needed him to go—no horse would catch him.
Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Please don’t let Chance come back. Don’t let anyone see me.
She didn’t find tack stored in the stallion barn. As quickly as possible, she crossed over into the mares’ barn, ignoring the nickers directed her way until she saw a groom taking out a wheelbarrow of soiled hay. She lifted a hand in his direction and approached the nearest stall, crooning at its occupant and hoping her penchant for visiting the horses was well known enough that the groom wouldn’t approach her. Or call Chance.
When he disappeared out the door, she hurried down the stall. The office was near the center of the barn. She pushed the door, finding it open, and went in, looking around.
Bingo. A second door inside the office opened into a pantry-like room. Bridles hung on hooks, along with a few exercise saddles, blankets, and miscellaneous grooming and medical supplies.
None of the bridles was labeled. She chose a headstall that should slip over Rebel’s head quickly and debated the use of a saddle. Riding a Thoroughbred like Rebel full out and bareback was a fool’s errand. The driving muscles, the sweat he’d work up almost immediately in the hundred-degree heat—the saddle made sense, and throwing it on would be quick work. But Chance or anyone else could appear in seconds.
She picked one up anyway. Chance knew he’d left her in the stallions’ stable. He clearly hadn’t worried about that. Surely his rounds would take him away long enough for her to get a head start.
Her arms shook slightly as she slipped out of the tack room. She clutched the tack close to her chest and made herself walk normally toward the exit. If anyone saw her, maybe it would help if she pretended she had every right to be there.
Rebel snorted and pawed the bedding in his stall when she slipped in carrying the tack. He’d never been good about the bridle.
“Quieto, Rebel,” she muttered, nudging the corner of his mouth until he opened his mouth and took the bit. With a sigh of relief she moved to his side and placed the saddle. She hadn’t picked up a blanket. There hadn’t been time. Hopefully the saddle wouldn’t rub him enough to make him try to throw it, and her.
She pulled the girth tight and heard a noise outside the stall.
Damn.
Jaime stood outside the stall, one of the dog handlers beside him, a cell phone in his hand. And two of the Dobermans sitting silently inches from the door.
“Hola, Ms. Owens. Where are you off to?” He smiled. “Mr. Towers is nobody’s fool. Sometimes he runs … shall we say, security checks. On the security personnel?”
AJ gaped a little. She hadn’t seen who was in the helicopter, but surely Mike didn’t leave without protection. Chance wouldn’t have had any reason to tell her that Jaime hadn’t gone.
“I called Landin. I don’t believe anyone’s allowed to ride these horses. Did he give you permission, Ms. Owens?”
Best to play dumb—at least until Chance arrived.
“Who is Mr. Landin to give me permission? Sorry, Jaime, but Mr. Towers told me to make myself at home.” She smiled at the sour-faced man. “This is the prettiest of the horses, and I know how to ride—I figured it would be fine.”
“He’s a racehorse, ma’am. Or he was. I’ve never seen anyone ride any of the stallions.”
“What’s up, Jaime?” Chance asked, coming up behind the guard. He took in the bridle and saddle. “You can go,” he added to the dog handler, then addressed Jaime. “When I told Ms. Owens she could ride, she didn’t take my suggestion as to which horse. You can go. I’ll handle this.”
“Might want to be careful, Landin,” Jaime said darkly, then shrugged. “Just saying.” He stalked off toward the house.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chance demanded furiously as soon as Jaime left.
AJ shrugged. “No one exercises Rebel. There’s a training track a few yards from here. What do you think I was going to do?” She let the exasperation over being caught creep into her tone. “Do you think I have a trailer hidden somewhere along the drive and thought I could just ride him off, load him up, and be gone?”
“How stupid can you be, AJ? You’re about to blow this for me.”
She knew he realized what he said when his face tightened and his shoulders tensed. Fear stormed back at his unexpected words and reaction. What was she about to blow for him? Had he just admitted that he had plans involving Rebel?
“Have you even ridden him before?” he asked, when she didn’t say anything.
“Of course. You don’t get it, do you, Chance? Rebel is my horse.”
“You let Mike know you think that, AJ, and—” He broke off the sentence, then shook his head. “He won’t just hand him over. Everyone here believes Rebel is Mike’s horse—a wedding gift from Gina and your mother.
“Your ride probably should wait,” he said, after a short silence. “Mike’s on his way back.” Without a backward look, he stalked away.
She turned and unsaddled Rebel without comment, knowing he was right, then removed the bridle, rubbing a hand over his head. “Bet you wanted to run, huh?” she whispered. “Well, don’t you worry—next time. Next time we get out of here.”
She grabbed the bridle and saddle and went to put it up.
Chapter Ten
AJ couldn’t sleep. Again. She tossed the covers aside and walked over to the window, looked down at the well-tended lawn. The grass must drink half the Rio Grande; vegetation on surrounding properties had burned in the searing summer sun.
As she watched, Chance crossed the lawn, striding purposefully, flashing a light at the house, the carefully planted bushes and hedges, down toward the stable.
Chance. She smiled. Such an intriguing man. Such a sexy man. More than once this afternoon she’d remembered him crouching inches away from her legs, remembered the feel of his breath on her skin. She’d scripted a whole erotic scene over what might have happened if he’d stayed in that position much longer. Just the memory of some of the things he’d done to her—at least in her decidedly lustful imagination—heated her all over again.
But then she’d found the paper from Gina. She walked over to her dresser and picked it up. Lenny. She wondered who he was. Had he grieved for Gina, too? Or had he been some casual friend of Towers, coming over for dinner, maybe bringing a bottle of wine or flowers for the hostess?
She pulled out the brocade-covered vanity chair and sat down, idly picking her brush up and dragging it through her hair. Over and over, with the mindless concentration that always relieved stress. Gina always scolded her, claiming that she wouldn’t have a hair left by the time she hit thirty. Well, she’d been wrong. But she wasn’t here to take the words back. AJ took a deep breath and threw the brush down. She would not cry.
Outside, somewhere far off, a bloodcurdling wail seeped in the window. High and keening, the sound rose and fell, muffled, but chilling. Inescapable.
La Llorona. AJ swallowed hard. The sound undoubtedly belonged to some predator, though it didn’t sound like a coyote. She’d heard that the occasional mountain lion still wandered up from deep in the interior of Mexico, and only a few years ago, the Laredo papers reported the story of a lost bear cub startling people at Lake Casa Blanca. Well, logic was well and fine. Somehow she knew the sound had nothing to do with four-legged animals, and everything to do with a woman’s grief.
AJ stood up, agitated. She couldn’t face these memories and this sense of loss much longer. There were so many complications—Towers, who had
come back from wherever just before dinner. His suggestions were becoming clearer and more demanding. She couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t simply attack her. She’d spent a lifetime moving bales of hay and buckets of feed, as well as manhandling horses that weighed more than a thousand pounds each. She’d studied martial arts briefly and without real dedication. But Towers wouldn’t be an easy match. Even hatred might not protect her.
Then there was Chance. She didn’t really trust him—couldn’t—in spite of her fantasies. She couldn’t help feeling that he’d hedged on her question about Gina’s friend earlier this morning. He hadn’t explained what he’d been doing in the barn that night, either, come to think of it. Even though he knew she’d caught him, he hadn’t even offered an excuse.
She thought about that, mulled over the little she knew about him. He was built like the hottest of actors or bodybuilders. He worked for a despicable man who had destroyed her sister’s life. He had followed her across an international bridge—doing his job. He’d stopped her attempt to take Rebel and run—doing his job when someone called him to check her out. She frowned. Jaime might have told Towers. If Mike asked, she would use the excuse about choosing the wrong horse. And pray. Would Chance have tried to explain her actions away to Jaime? To protect her, and maybe his own lack of watchfulness? She needed to remember his job. And most infuriatingly, that he’d accused her of insurance fraud.
Insurance fraud. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped in her tracks. Of course. Only a man with some knowledge of horses—or crime—could know that insurance fraud was a huge problem in the blood horse industry. Thoroughbreds, pricy show horses—too often owners destroyed the animals to collect huge sums of insurance money. Stable fires were hideous enough, but she’d heard of some other horrible tactics. Inhuman.
Why would the idea of insurance fraud come so easily to Chance—unless he knew something about the practice? He couldn’t collect insurance money himself, of course, but he worked for a scheming, conniving beast. Could Mike Towers not have booked his multimillion-dollar stallions because he had another plan for profiting from them?
Not Chance. She didn’t want to believe he was capable of such horrendous acts. He doted on Gordito, treating the baby much like a son. He had protected her from Mike Towers, and let her return undiscovered to the ranch. He hugged her when Gina’s loss threatened to overwhelm her. He hugged her.
A computer. She needed access to a computer. She’d left her own desktop hidden at the trailer in Laredo, not wanting Mike Towers to get the idea that she was moving in. She also knew that Internet access wasn’t always secure, didn’t want to use her computer to contact anyone back home. So that was out. So was Mike Towers’s study; as Chance had said, she wasn’t spy material. Not quiet enough. Too likely to disturb something and not notice that she’d left traces of her presence.
So how? She wondered briefly if Rosa had one, but dismissed the idea. The young woman seemed well educated and somewhat friendly, but she was a servant in this lavish home. Somehow she doubted that Mike Towers allowed his help to have Internet access.
Chance! She glanced at the ornate wall clock. Not quite midnight. Chance seemed to be a night owl, always out and around after dark. He wouldn’t be happy to catch her snooping in his room, even if he’d turned a blind eye to her investigations of the stud book. Still, there was little choice. She snatched up her robe and pulled it on over her nightgown. She didn’t bother looking for her slippers; bare feet made less noise. With her pulse racing, she slipped out of her room and down the hall.
Quietly she pushed open his door. The room was dark and empty, as she expected. She eased the door shut, but didn’t lock it. Someone passing along the hall who happened to check knobs, as she’d seen Rosa do, might question a locked door—if they knew Chance hadn’t yet turned in for the night. And Rosa kept close tabs on Chance, despite her insistence that she’d given up on seducing him.
Excitement and relief coursed through AJ when she spotted his computer sitting on a neat, uncluttered desk on the far side of the room. The desk was slanted away from the wall; perhaps Chance never stopped watching for possible problems and wanted to keep an eye on the door as he worked. Whatever the reason for the somewhat awkward placement, it suited her perfectly. Hopefully she would see or hear if anyone started to open the door. And hopefully he wasn’t worried about unauthorized users and didn’t lock the machine.
She looked around the room dubiously. Nowhere to hide, though. Except under the bed, of course. She bit back a nervous giggle at the idea of rolling under the massive bed, and walked over to click the computer on. Amazingly, the computer was unprotected. As long as she finished before he came in for the night, he should never know she’d been here. Then she thought of Mike and frowned. If Mike were paranoid enough to have a head of security and guard dogs, would he monitor computer usage? She didn’t know much about cyber tracking, but knew it could be done. Anxiously, she slanted the screen toward her, wishing it weren’t so bright, and glancing frequently at the door as she called up a search engine.
After a moment’s hesitation she typed “Thoroughbred insurance fraud.” Too broad. She erased it, thought for a moment, and then typed Mike Towers’s name and ‘horses.’ Hit the search key. There weren’t many returns; he had said the stable was new. Scanning the information, she didn’t even find a stable name; apparently the horses simply ran under his name. A few of his horses with stakes wins turned up, as did his purchase of the stallion, Infierno.
She went to the next page. Scanned down a few entries. Her hands froze on the keys. “Towers’s Olympic Candidate Dies.” She clicked on the hyperlink and read an account of how three show jumpers—two Hanoverians and a thoroughbred, two World Cup horses and a successful graded stakes winner—had been found in their stalls. Two were dead—broken legs. Axe blows to the heads. Tears streamed down her cheeks, scalding her. The third had been put down. The trainer, a man whose name she didn’t recognize, had been arrested, accused of arranging the slaughter. He was, apparently, part owner of the horses. The motive, according to police sources, was financial gain—his share of the insurance money would have been more than his share of any purses the horses might have won.
Plus, the reporter claimed, there were personal issues involved; the man apparently had serious disagreements with Mike Towers over selling the jumpers to move into racing.
So. She didn’t doubt that Mike Towers arranged for the deaths of the horses. He’d found someone to take the fall. Had he hired Chance for a new attack? Towers must have been cleared in the last incident. Would he risk his reputation with another attack? She knew he would. Horses as valuable as his were undoubtedly covered by insurance that would pay on damages that occurred anywhere in the world. Here in Nuevo Laredo, where the Towers fortune employed hundreds and likely could buy the silence of hundreds of others, he faced little risk.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. Okay. Knowledge was power. She’d come here with a plan—not a good plan, she knew, but the only one that occurred to her. Well, half of the plan would never have worked anyway. Since Randy, her inspiration for stealing Rebel back, had written about using two horses, she’d brought the gelding with an idea that she could ride him across the river and lead Rebel back to the U. S. side. Failing that, she’d thought she might be able to manage a switch—the two horses looked so alike if you didn’t know them. But she could never leave Goof now that she knew what kind of man Mike Towers was—and maybe, what kind of man Chance was. She’d simply start the plan on this side of the river. That would be easier anyway—she would wait for the clearest shot she could get and ride him to the river and across. Once Rebel set foot on U. S. soil, she could fight for him the right way.
She drew a deep breath, glanced around the room again, then typed in a new search. Rebelde Dorado.
There were details of his races, announcement of the injury that had ended his career. There was the initial bulletin that he would stand at stud for one season only a
t Towers’s Laredo residence. Nothing after that. Again she wondered if Gina understood fully what had happened once her husband gained control of Rebel. AJ sighed heavily. She hoped not. She knew that speculation around Florida tracks and among Gina’s friends centered on Towers’s money. Gina married for love, though, not money. She’d gambled and lost. AJ shook her head grimly. Why hadn’t she just come home? Surely she could have escaped, even if it meant leaving Rebel here.
She logged off the computer, staring at the screen as it went through the familiar shutdown process. Thought about love. About dying for love. She didn’t hear the door open and close. But the soft sound of a bolt clicking into place jerked her rudely back into awareness. Chance leaned against the door, face taut and arms crossed.
She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she didn’t speak. He didn’t either, just watched her with those dark, probing eyes. Finally he pushed off the door and came across the small space of open floor toward her.
“I thought if anyone came in, I’d hide under the bed,” AJ ventured. The truth seemed as harmless as anything else she could think of—at least, part of the truth. She wouldn’t tell him the whole truth.
“What were you researching, AJ?”
“None of your business.” Hardly true, since she was in his room, on his computer, but oh well.
He sighed. “Did you erase the history?”
“Damn!” she muttered.
“You’re putting us both in a bind,” he continued, not following up on her lack of stealth. He’d made his point: if she wouldn’t tell him, he could just check.
She raised an eyebrow, and stood slowly, careful that her robe didn’t snag on the chair and pull open. She felt exposed enough already.
“Do you have any idea how Towers will react if he finds us here together at one in the morning?”
She hadn’t thought of that, as a matter of fact—at least, not recently. Her main concern had been Chance. With reason. She went to step past him, but he didn’t let her.
A Love Beyond Page 11
