“Yeah. Steve’s up though. Looks okay.”
Jessica stared blindly at the group of horses, now led by Mark’s riderless gray, who galloped gaily around the turn, reins flapping as she pulled away from the pack. Little good that would do.
“Why did you pick Steve to ride?” Her voice rose. “Why not Emma Rae, or someone who can at least stay on?”
“Stop thinking of yourself.” Mark dropped his arm, and she immediately regretted her thoughtless words. “It’s hard to stay on when a horse stumbles. It’s also dangerous for everyone out there. No one knows what a loose horse will do.”
“Well, your horse is going to win the race.” She sighed. “And it won’t even count.”
The jockey in striped green silks made a huge run on the outside, closely followed by the jockey in yellow. They couldn’t catch Mark’s riderless gray though, who crossed the finish line ten lengths in front. The perfect finish—all three horses on her betting ticket—except the filly had no rider.
Carlos materialized beside Mark with a beige cooler over his arm. They left her and walked onto the track, talking animatedly. An outrider snagged the loose filly, turned and escorted her back to the waiting group of trainers and grooms.
The outrider grinned as he passed the reins to Carlos, and the prancing filly looked so proud of herself, Jessica felt like screaming. She looked around for someone who shared her frustration, but Maria was draped over the rail, slapping hands with a beaming Pedro. Clearly, they were both delighted with the race results.
The inquiry sign flashed but when the ambulance rolled up and Steve hopped out, his shrug was self-explanatory. Mark patted Steve on the back, grins all around.
“Russell has his horses running so fast, the riders need seatbelts,” the man on her right grumbled.
Ah, an understanding ear. Jessica waved her betting stubs in disgust. “I would have had the trifecta if that rider hadn’t fallen off.”
“Yeah, well I would have had the Pick Six,” the man said. “Twenty thousand smackers down the tubes.” He snapped his fingers in disgust and walked away.
“Mommy,” a young voice called. “The horse I patted came first! She’s so fast she didn’t need a rider to whip her.”
Jessica spotted the little girl on crutches. Ketchup stained her tiny face, but didn’t hide the brilliance of her smile, and Jessica felt a rush of shame. The filly had run well. Even a little girl recognized it. If Jessica hadn’t bet every dollar she owned, as well as her advance, she’d also be proud.
Squaring her shoulders, she smiled at the girl and trudged to the concession stands. Clearly handicapping wasn’t the cinch she’d first thought, and stooping would probably be the best way to fill Buddy’s coffee can.
***
“Yuk.” Jessica flipped over a darkened ticket, wrinkling her nose at the wad of tobacco stuck in the middle. Lemonade, beer stains, even mustard were okay, but she didn’t want to touch anything that had been in someone else’s mouth.
Race fans still trickled from the clubhouse but an army of stoopers had appeared, armed with clear plastic bags and gloves. A lone photographer snapped pictures of the deserted track but so far, security hadn’t bothered them.
She bent back down, shuffling along the concrete as she scooped tickets into her bag. She had the rhythm now—shuffle, drop, scoop but it would be much easier if she were short like Maria.
“How you doing, kid?” Maria called. “It’s almost dark, and I’m meeting Pedro to celebrate his win. Think I’ll go back and get cleaned up.”
Jessica shook her bag, letting the stubs settle. Half full. “I’m going to stay a bit longer,” she said. “Maybe check upstairs.”
No way was she walking back with Maria. It was nice that Pedro’s horse had won, but Jessica was still slightly bitter about Steve falling off. She didn’t want to hear any more replays of that particular race.
She climbed the concrete steps and shoved the door open. Amazing how fast the building emptied. The escalator was motionless, so she bounded up three staircases and pushed through several doors until the concrete changed to plush carpet.
This was the place to be. Millionaires’ row. She scooped quickly, working through the elite boxes that extended onto a balcony high above the track. A garbage can clinked—another stooper perhaps, or else cleaning staff. She ignored her aching back and scooped faster. No telling what riches she’d pick up here, but she needed to grab them before others did.
The garbage can clinked again. Someone must be concentrating on the stubs in the numerous metal bins. She’d tried that earlier but found it too messy. Must be a newbie. Smiling with a pro’s complacence, she glanced into the adjoining skybox.
Her smile flipped to dismay. A young boy rammed a half-eaten hotdog into his mouth; his other hand clutched a container of greasy fries, and he wolfed the food as though starving. Concern pushed her closer, her steps absorbed by the thick carpet.
He twisted, sensing her presence. They stared in shock.
“You,” she said, recognizing his face. He moved first, leaping sideways trying to evade her grip, but anger blasted her forward, and she grabbed his arm. “Where’s my phone? Why’d you bust my bike?”
He muttered a torrent of words, waving the hotdog, eyes large in his thin face. His arm was bony beneath the filthy shirt, and her anger dissolved. Oh God, he was skinny.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I don‘t care about the phone. Or the bike. It’s okay.”
He didn’t seem to understood her words, but he obviously sensed her softening. Keeping a wary eye on her face, he rammed the hotdog in his mouth, no longer trying to bolt, seemingly more concerned she might steal his meal.
“It’s okay,” she repeated. She wished Maria were here to translate. She thrust her hands in the air and backed up a step, trying to show she didn’t want his food. Watched helplessly as he rummaged through the garbage. Witnessing his hunger made bile rise like a sour wave in her throat.
A door slammed, and the rims of the boy’s eyes flashed a startled white. She reached out and touched his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll get you more food. I’ll help.”
But he was having a complete fit now, backing up and staring toward the door, muttering such a high-pitched, incomprehensible string of words, her grip tightened. “I need help,” she called, afraid he’d bolt.
“Where are you?” a man yelled. “I hear the boy. Is he with you?” The voice was harsh with a heavy accent, and doors slammed as he moved along the skyboxes, checking each room, moving toward them. Moving fast.
The sharp smell of urine cut the air. The boy’s arm trembled beneath her hand, and she glanced down, shocked at the stain darkening the crotch of his jeans.
“Do you know that man? Is he your father?” Her voice cracked in dismay. What sort of fear would make a kid piss his pants?
Impulsively she reached out and turned the door lock. Moments later the handle shook. The boy edged back, his eyes swinging from the door to Jessica. He raised his arm and made a slashing gesture across his throat.
“This is our skybox. We’re finishing our drinks,” she called, trying to inject some righteous annoyance.
“Open the door. Give me the boy.” The door handle rattled, and the voice thickened with frustration.
“What’s your name?” She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans as her gaze scrabbled around the room. Dirty plates, race programs, glasses. No phone.
“Open the door,” he said. “No one will be hurt.”
Okay, this wasn’t good. No one ever said that except in the movies, and it was always a lie. She jerked away from the door, pressed a finger to her mouth and pointed to the sliding glass doors at the front of the box. The boy nodded and slid them open.
“Just a minute,” she called brightly. “We’ll be right out.” She grabbed her plastic bag of tickets, holding it out from her body so it wouldn’t rustle, and joined the boy by the balcony overlooking the track.
She slid
the door wider, letting in a rush of dark and chilly air. The boy bolted to the left, but she grabbed his arm and pointed to the right. The balconies connected, and they vaulted over the railing, her adrenaline so pumped she kept pace with the nimble boy as he crossed two rows of boxes.
Silence now. The man had stopped pounding on the door. Must have already circled to the next box. She grabbed an empty wine bottle, tossed it in the opposite direction, then pulled the boy between the chairs as glass shattered.
They huddled in a ball, pressed into the grimy floor, watching as a figure swooped onto the balcony. Only five boxes away, not nearly far enough. Oh God, what was in his hand? Something glinted. A knife? Her breath leaked in a gasp of disbelief, and she flattened against the floor, oblivious to the discarded nachos rammed against her cheek.
Maybe it’s a beer can. Not a knife. Please, God, not a knife. Someone made a whimpering sound, and the boy’s hand pressed against her mouth.
Shit, she was making that noise. Okay, deep breaths. She tried to steady her breathing and think, but they were stuck. Too high to jump, and the back doors of the skyboxes all opened onto the same corridor. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid the man would feel her gaze. Willed him to walk in the opposite direction. He’d already checked these boxes; surely he’d go the other way.
The boy pressed against her, his hand still rammed against her mouth. I’m the adult here, she told herself. She opened her eyes, removed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. If only she had her cell phone, she could call for help.
The man turned and vanished into the skybox.
She sucked in a shallow breath, trying to gather her courage, knowing they had to move. Pushed herself up on shaky legs and tugged the boy behind her. They sidled along the balcony, through a sliding door and into the adjoining box.
Similar to the first. No phone. But there had to be a fire alarm in the corridor.
The boy balked when she reached for the doorknob, but she forced a reassuring smile. There was no alternative. They had to leave. Once the man reached the end he would simply search the remaining boxes. He’d find them, stuck like rabbits in a hole.
She pushed the door open a crack and peeked up the corridor. To the right, thirty endless feet, perched a red alarm box. To the left, a staircase, headed down. She was a fast runner. So was the kid. A door opened, and she jerked backwards, holding the door, holding her breath. A dark shape flashed in the corridor then disappeared into the last skybox.
She grabbed the boy’s hand and tugged him across the corridor toward the steps, the bag of tickets bouncing against her leg. They bolted downward—third floor, second floor, bottom.
God, where were all the people? She yanked the kid to the left. Saw a man with wispy gray hair pushing a mop. But he was too feeble, too stooped.
“Call security,” she yelled, her voice breathless as they streaked past. “There’s a man with a knife in the skyboxes.”
“You stoopers shouldn’t be up there.” He shook his head in disapproval and turned back to his shiny floor.
She ran out the side exit, around the paddock and toward the security booth with the kid sticking so close she could feel his ragged breath. Usually she resented the security guards and their anal need to check credentials, but tonight the lights of the guardhouse were a welcome beacon.
She charged to the booth and pressed against the grilled window, weak with relief. “A man chased us,” she panted, “and he had a knife. A really big knife.”
“Can you describe him?” The guard swiveled in his chair, leaned forward and picked up a pen.
“No, just his voice.”
“How did you know he had a knife?”
“Shiny.” She squeezed her eyes shut, overcome with emotion. God, her throat hurt, and it was so hard to breathe. Everything was okay now though. The security guards had radios; they’d catch this creep.
“Was it another stooper?” The second guard set his thick sandwich on the desk and stepped closer to the window, his voice rising as though she had trouble hearing. “Maybe it was a shiny plastic bag.”
“Maybe it was someone working an area you wanted,” the first guard added.
“No, no! It wasn’t like that. Listen, do you speak Spanish? Because this boy was with me. He’ll tell you.” She glanced over her shoulder, but the kid had vanished.
“Hey, k-kid!” She tried to yell but her voice squeaked, and trembles wracked her body. She frantically turned back to the guards. “You have to find him. Help him.”
The two guards exchanged glances. “Can we see your credentials, miss?”
She fumbled to unclip her card, but her hand shook and her fingers were too cold, the blackness around her too malevolent. She sensed the man’s presence. Knew he was out there, watching. Knew it with a certainty that made her sick.
“Please. Just find the boy. Quickly.” She stared over her shoulder, weak with fear. “He’s all alone. We have to help…” She could no longer hold back her wave of nausea and bent over and vomited.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark smiled at the pretty waitress, switching to English to order another round of Corona then back to Spanish once she’d left.
“And with the rest of the cash, I will bring up my mother and younger brother,” Carlos announced. “What’cha doing with your Breeders’ Cup money, boss?”
Mark shrugged and grabbed his pen, uncomfortable with the topic. Dino and Carlos had already spent every dollar Assets might make. Mark wasn’t overly superstitious, but he didn’t like to fool with karma either. Racing luck was fickle, and the fastest horse didn’t always win, just like his gray today.
He scribbled another notation on his training sheet. “I want to concentrate on the filly’s gate work,” he said. “The starter wasn’t happy. Steve said she spooked and came out of the gate ragged. Then stumbled.”
“She sure ran tough though.” Dino’s voice faded as his attention drifted to the bar. “Is that Trish over there? She’s looking damn good.”
Mark glanced over his shoulder. Several people from the track had drifted in, including Trish, all gussied up. Maria and Pedro were huddled over the bar, although he didn’t spot Jessica’s regal head. She and Maria had struck up an unlikely friendship considering Maria’s aversion to rich white folk. And Jessica—he sighed just thinking of her. There was simply no sense guessing what she might do or who she’d do it with.
He turned back to the table and added another notation. Smelled Trish seconds before she squeezed in beside him. He tried not to stiffen but wondered if horses disliked strong perfume as much as he did. Jessica always smelled of herbs and flowers, a fresh smell that Buddy obviously liked. Of course, Buddy liked everything about Jessica.
He’d also noticed Jessica didn’t eat much meat, bought a lot of salads and hated anchovies. Maybe Buddy liked that she didn’t smell like a meat eater. Or maybe it was her voice Buddy liked. Or the confident way she moved…
Jesus. He shook his head, annoyed he wasted so much time thinking about Jessica.
“Working, Mark?” Trish asked, her voice coy.
“Yeah. In the middle of a meeting.” He flipped over his barn notes before she saw them.
“Good evening, Trish. How’s everything in barn thirty-nine?” Dino grinned. “Hear your new boss is a bigger prick than Mark.”
Trish’s smile tightened, but she nodded hello to Dino and Carlos before turning back to Mark. “Thought you’d like to know my barn has a nice three-year-old dropping in class,” she whispered. “He runs next week. Probably a good claim.”
“Trish, stop.” Mark raised his hand. “Don’t tell me that stuff. You work for Radcliff now. At least show him some loyalty.”
“But my loyalty is to you.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “I keep telling you I’m sorry about what happened. That one mistake—”
“One mistake, but a huge one,” he snapped, irritated Dino and Carlos were grinning like fools, hanging on Trish’s every word as they checked ou
t her low-cut shirt. They’d love it if he rehired her. As if Jessica wasn’t enough.
And wouldn’t that be chaos. Trish and Jessica in the same shedrow—double the distraction, double the trouble. He shuddered and grabbed his beer.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping since you fired me.” Trish leaned closer, and her leg pressed against his thigh. “Lost a few pounds.”
“You look good,” he admitted, letting his eyes drift over her undeniably lovely body.
“I think so too,” Dino added, while Carlos nodded with so much enthusiasm he spilled his beer.
“Look, we’re at a work meeting here, Trish.” Mark scowled at his two employees who were obviously thinking of everything but work.
“Then let’s talk later.” She squeezed his arm and rose from the seat “Once you finish your work. Or tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be around. Whenever you want.”
Dino chuckled, watching Trish’s cute butt wiggle away. “You must feel a little sympathy for your old man now. He had these kinds of opportunities every day.”
“He was married, and he was a prick.” Mark flipped over his worksheets.
“Well, you’re not married.” Dino’s gaze remained locked on Trish. “And she’s sitting by herself. It’s mean not to cheer her up. I think she feels really bad about Belle.”
Even Carlos, whose tendency to hold grudges was legendary, nodded.
“Yeah, she feels so bad about Belle she didn’t yet ask if the mare recovered,” Mark said, effectively silencing the two men. “No rain is forecast for tonight, so we’ll go ahead with Assets’ work,” he added. “Four furlongs, first set tomorrow. This is huge.”
His phone vibrated. He scowled at the interruption but checked the display. Security. “Just a sec.” He flipped open his phone, listening with growing irritation as a guard explained a stooper had been caught posing as his employee.
“Look,” he interrupted. “Just deal with it. ID theft, whatever. I don’t care. Whatever your policy is.” He flipped his phone shut and looked at Dino. “Track security. Christ, why are they calling me.” Shaking his head, he returned to his notes. “Same company we used in the spring is sending us a barn guard. Starts today, twenty-four seven. Unless one of you wants to sleep there?”
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 47
