“It only means there are two men.” But his voice softened and he began kneading the stiff muscles in the back of her neck. “The security company is sending over a second guard, but I want you to sleep here until this is over.”
“Gosh, I don’t know.” She sighed and tilted her head, giving him better access. “Let me think. A bed, food, sex.”
“And bubble baths, foot rubs and intact horse magazines,” he added.
“You had me with the bed,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Who do you think is behind it?” Dino asked. “Radcliff is a jealous prick, but even he wouldn’t poison a horse.”
Mark dragged a hand over his jaw. “Guess there’s a Middle East connection that wants Sheikh Khalif’s horse in the winner’s circle. I just can’t believe the sheikh is involved.”
“We wouldn’t know about that connection if not for Jessica,” Dino said. “Assets would have been sick. Or dead.”
For the twentieth time, Mark glanced out the door to where Jessica was icing Buddy’s front legs. He paced the office, still punchy with fear. “Jessica might have been dead too. The police haven’t matched a name with that picture. Dick didn’t see his attacker, and no one can find the kid. But we’ve got two guards on now and only a week to go. They can’t get to the horse. Only person left is the jockey.” He swung around, fists clenching. “Better call Steve and warn him. Don’t think they’ll go after the jock, but…”
He shrugged and stared out the door. Jessica had finished with Buddy and was leading the horse inside. Horror still chilled him when he thought of what had happened last night, what would have happened if Kato hadn’t leaped.
His gaze shifted to the pitiful bag behind the desk. He’d have to find something better to wrap around the cat. He owed Kato, and Jessica wouldn’t want her beloved pet buried in a feed bag. Impulsively he grabbed his roping jacket. It would hide the stiffness and was the proper sendoff for a hero cat.
Dino groaned. “I don’t believe it. American Quarter Horse Roping jacket. For a cat?”
Mark ignored Dino’s incredulity. Just arranged Kato’s tiny body in the jacket, tied the sleeves and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to make those calls.”
Dino rose from his chair, his voice solemn. “Sure, boss. But first, I think there’s a funeral I want to attend.”
Mark entered the shedrow and stopped in front of Buddy’s stall. Jessica glanced up, her smile slipping when she saw what was in his arms. But her mouth braced and she carefully accepted the precious bundle. “Thank you,” she said. “I just need a minute.”
His throat thickened as she disappeared into her room. Goddamn. He helplessly rubbed his knuckles, wishing he’d been the one to meet the man last night. He jammed his fists in his pockets and joined Carlos at the end of the shedrow.
“Hole is ready, boss.” Carlos gestured. “Maria had some boys move the big flower basket, the one with the concrete, and I’ll make sure it covers the spot once we’re done.” He shook his head. “Never thought a cat would save my horse.”
Technically, Jessica had saved Assets and Kato had saved Jessica, but Mark only nodded. It was clear Carlos was grateful. As Assets’ groom, Carlos would make a lot of money if the horse won.
Mark was damn grateful too. He propped his hip on the edge of the door and stared at the dark hole. He hadn’t really thought of the horse, was still grappling with the fact that Jessica almost had her throat slit. He’d relish five minutes alone with the creep.
He sensed her presence and straightened as she appeared with Kato’s body cradled in her arms. He couldn’t bear to look at her anguished face, so he stalked from the wall and walked directly to the tiny hole. Maria, Dino and Carlos appeared with a few other workers trickling behind them.
Jessica walked up and passed him the bundle, clearly expecting he wanted the jacket back. His chest tightened at her resolute expression, so sad but so brave, and he tucked the leather collar over Kato’s head and arranged him in the hole. Someone had lined it with a purple cooler—he guessed Maria, and he thought it was one of the nicest graves he’d ever seen.
“Thank you, Kato,” he said. “You were a good cat.”
He punched the shovel into the brown dirt and began refilling the hole, conscious that Dino had wrapped his arm around Jessica. He didn’t like the familiar way Dino hugged her so he sped up, so fast a sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He continued dumping the moist earth back into the hole, simultaneously trying to keep an eye on Dino.
Jessica looked numb, and Dino had turned her against his chest, holding her much too close. Mark dropped the shovel and stalked over to Dino. “I’ll take over here.” He rammed the shovel in Dino’s hand, guided Jessica back to his office and slammed the door.
“That was nice of you to give Kato your jacket,” she said. “Maria said she’d make sure there were flowers when I’m gone.”
Mark just stared as she spoke about plastic flowers in the winter, but he couldn’t focus on her words. He’d never realized he had such a possessive streak. Possessive with horses, sure, but not with women. Never with women. She was leaving in a week, was extremely high maintenance, not to mention Boone’s granddaughter. And he hated those gaudy purple braids.
But life would be so gray when she left. She didn’t just color his horse, she colored his world.
Unable to speak, he stepped forward, pulled her into his thumping chest and simply held her.
***
Jessica chewed on the tip of her pen as she deciphered Mark’s scribble. Usually she liked office work but after the funeral Mark had assigned her such boring tasks, she suspected he was really looking for an excuse to keep her inside.
She rose and edged to the door, but he raised an eyebrow and motioned her back to the desk. My God, he was a tyrant. She’d liked the work for the first couple hours; in fact it had made her feel useful. But now she was bored and keen to slip over to Maria’s.
Abdul knew ninety-six words of English now, and Maria and Pedro were eager for her to hear every one. Plus, Maria had a funky roll of purple wool that Jessica intended to braid Buddy with tomorrow. His last race—Buddy would definitely go out in style.
Mark uncoiled from his chair, still talking on the phone, and tossed some brochures in front of her. Retirement homes for off-track Thoroughbreds. Now that was more appealing. She sat back, her interest caught as she flipped the pages. Two of them weren’t homes, just adoption facilities, but the third was an actual center.
No grass though. She chewed thoughtfully on the end of the pen. She wanted Buddy to have pasture turnout and maybe another sweet gelding or two for company. Or maybe he’d prefer a pretty mare. Mares tended to be bitches though, and she didn’t want him bossed around. Mark said geldings liked to be told what to do, but she didn’t believe that. No one liked to be told what to do.
She jotted down a list of questions for the center and waited for him to finish his phone call. Sometimes he let her use his cell, but usually she had to pry it from his hands. He’d been on this call a long time, and she could tell by his laugh that he liked the person on the other end.
He laughed again, not a chuckle but a real laugh. It was good to hear that; he’d been quiet all day. Almost brooding. She knew he was worried about Assets but with two guards, no one could harm the colt now. She glanced out the window, reassured by the stern man standing by the shedrow entrance, arms at his side, alert to any intrusion. He’d even made her show credentials, and his clone watched the back door.
“Okay, Cathy. I’ll meet you at seven. And I’ll have a stall ready on Sunday.”
Her fingers tightened around the pen as she realized he was laughing with the beautiful and successful Cathy Wright. Jessica had checked Tattler back issues searching for snippets of gossip. Mark and Cathy had been romantically linked in spring and summer issues, but there had been no mention of them in the fall.
Mark was still smiling as he passed her the phone. Yes, indeed, dea
r Cathy made him very happy. “Want to grab something to eat after you call those places?” he asked.
She glanced at her watch, almost five o’clock. “I don’t know,” she said, swept with an odd contrariness. “I’d rather eat in a couple of hours. Maybe around seven. I need to get Buddy’s mane conditioned for tomorrow, give him a little massage, put that new poultice on.”
“Okay. Seven then.” He pulled the phone back. “I just have to reschedule a meeting with Cathy.”
“But I need to use the phone now,” she said, “so I can call this retirement place before they close for the day.”
“Which one do you like?” he asked, passing her back the phone.
“I’m not really sure.” She stared blankly at the phone, hating her moodiness, her despondency, her desperation. But in a few days Buddy would be on a trailer heading to his retirement home. And in another week she’d be gone too.
Her breathing jammed at the thought. Mark was so focused on Breeders’ Cup, catching the kid, finding the knife man, keeping his clients happy, talking to the police, looking after forty horses, he probably wouldn’t even notice when she left.
She slapped the phone back in his hand. “It’s too late to call now. I think I’ll just eat at Maria’s. That will give you time to see Cathy and look after your…business.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. “Jessica, it’s only payment for Trooper. I’ll be an hour with Cathy, no more.”
She rose and shoved her chair back, hating her insecurity but unable to shut up. “Sure. I know. It’s your job.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It is my job. It’s what I do. You’re going to have to work this out for yourself.”
She bit her lip, chewing on despair. All she needed was a little reassurance, something to hold on to when he was off in the evenings. But he’d already turned away. She heard the slam of his briefcase, the jingle of keys as he shoved them in his pocket.
“Come on. I’ll drive you to Maria’s,” he said, heading for the door. “And don’t walk back. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
***
“Will you let me know when Trooper arrives at the track?” Cathy asked, passing Mark a silver-embossed check. “We’re going to shoot some ‘before’ footage.”
“Before what?” He folded the check and placed it in his wallet.
“Before you turn him into a famous race horse.”
“Ah,” he said, “the crushing weight of owner expectations.” But he smiled, confident he’d be able to get the horse into winning form. “We’ll run him at Aqueduct a few times. Maybe look for some races at Gulfstream. He’s done well in New York though and doesn’t appear to mind cold weather.”
“It’s going to be so much fun.” Cathy’s smile turned mischievous. “Some of our owners have horse-crazy kids. They’re hoping to bring them along for a visit.”
“Okay. We’ll schedule a day, and I’ll put Trooper in the last set. The kids can come to the barn afterwards and pat the horsey.”
“Horsey?” She laughed so hard, she spilled her wine and had to grab a napkin. “I was joking, although they’ll be thrilled if they can bring their kids. But what happened to the man who liked his barn silent as a tomb? No running or laughing, restricted visitors and all those other rules?”
She still smirked. He didn’t want to encourage her but couldn’t hide his smile. “There’s been a lot of disruption over the past six weeks but the horses have coped. Flourished, in fact,” he admitted. “Guess they find life more interesting.”
“And I think you find life more interesting too. Is that the reason you pretended to turn off your ringer but were really checking the time?” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Come on, I’m a trained reporter so I’ll figure it out. Does it have anything to do with that stunning girl you were with at Keeneland? The owner of Ambling Assets?”
“Jess isn’t the owner.”
Cathy released his hand and leaned back, oozing satisfaction. “So it is her. She did look a bit fiery. Not one to follow rules.”
“She’s damn difficult.” His mouth clamped.
“Well, you prefer difficult horses too. When we filmed Assets, I thought he was a jerk, trying to bite everyone. But he was already your favorite, and that was before you turned him into a stakes winner.”
“That spirit makes him a better fighter down the lane,” Mark said. “Did I tell you his last work was perfect?”
Cathy waved off his effort to change the subject. “Is Jessica the reason we had our last sleepover six months ago?”
“No, I believe it had something to do with your trip to Dubai.”
Her face turned dreamy. “Oh, yes. That’s right.”
He leaned forward. “Maybe you can help, Cath. You know their culture. But this has to be off the record.” He waited until he extracted her reluctant promise before telling her about the poisoned carrot.
“Sheikh Khalif isn’t behind it,” she said flatly. “His enemies are more likely to poison his horse, not Assets. They resent his close relationship with the West. Al-Qaeda thinks Dubai’s ruling family is hurting the economy with their lifestyle. That they’ve turned the UAE into a whorehouse. So even if it was some sort of terror attack, it doesn’t explain why extremists would go after your horse.”
Her phone buzzed. She gave him an apologetic smile and took the call. He flipped open his own cell and checked his messages. Nothing from the barn, and Boone hadn’t called back. Apparently he was somewhere in Europe and, according to his tight-lipped assistant, much too busy to worry about horses.
They both flipped their phones shut at the same time, looked at each other and laughed.
***
Traffic was sparse, and Mark was well on schedule. Seven-thirty. Jessica would have no reason or excuse to leave Maria’s early. At least she was safe. Still, Cathy’s mention of terror attacks left him chilled; he reached for the controls and turned up the heat.
He didn’t know who Jessica’s attacker was or why he’d tried to poison Assets, but surely the man would be caught soon. Every security guard carried the picture Dick had snapped, and even Jessica seemed shaken, so it was unlikely she’d wander off alone.
But if this man was a trained extremist, he’d know how to blend in. What they really needed was a larger data base. His cop friend hadn’t come through at all. In fact, Mark hadn’t heard from Bruce since he e-mailed the picture, even with the offer of two more Cup tickets. Of course, Bruce hadn’t been very happy during their last conversation—when Mark had complained bitterly about Jessica’s treatment by the police.
He punched in Bruce’s number, talked to his secretary and was dismayed to learn the man was on vacation. No wonder he hadn’t answered. Mark blew out a sigh as he racked his memory for other cop connections. Couldn’t think of any, not ones he trusted. His association with Bruce had developed because bailout of employees was occasionally required.
He and a rowdy friend had even spent a few hours in Bruce’s jail, although his buddy had managed to get them released quickly enough. Something about Canadian police and international privilege.
He slowed his car as he considered Kurt MacKinnon. He hadn’t seen him in a while, not since their boisterous celebration following an upset win. But he remembered Kurt admitting he had something to do with the RCMP. Something secretive.
He scanned his directory for the number. Kurt was probably running at Gulfstream but maybe had moved to Woodbine. He found a cell number and punched it in, praying it worked.
“MacKinnon.”
The laconic answer made him smile with relief. “You’re in a bar, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yeah, my girl just won another race. Can’t lose with a hot jock.” Kurt’s chuckle was slightly wicked. “And no training tips. You’ll have to win the Juvenile on your own.”
Mark turned down his whirring heater, straining to hear Kurt’s voice over the country music in the background. “I have a police question,” he said. “Need your help
.”
“Just a sec.”
Muffled conversation. He heard Kurt talking to someone called Julie. A lilting, feminine voice. A door slammed. “What’s up?” Kurt asked, his voice distinct in the sudden quiet.
“Guy tried to poison my big horse. I have a picture, but police here can’t match it with local mug shots, and the track can’t ID him. He might be foreign. I’m hoping some database somewhere—”
“Horse okay?”
“Fine.”
“Send me the picture,” Kurt said. “Can’t do much over the weekend but should have something by Monday.”
Mark’s shoulders relaxed as he recorded Kurt’s e-mail address. If there was anything on record, Kurt would dig it up. The man was coolly capable and a helluva guy to have beside you in a fight. “Coming for the Cup?” he asked.
“No, not until I have my own entry,” Kurt said. “Be cheering on your horse though. Good luck.”
Mark closed his phone, then considered calling Maria’s house and telling Jessica he’d be early. However, he was still annoyed at her innuendos. Training involved meetings, phone calls and dinners; it was impossible to hold her hand and reassure her before each one.
He parked as close as he could to Maria’s apartment. Checked his watch. Seven forty-five. He’d been here a couple times before, but Maria had never invited him in and probably never would. Ironic that she’d befriended Jessica; Maria slotted owners and trainers in the do-not-mingle category. Of course, she probably didn’t know Jessica was a Boone.
He climbed the steps, smiling at the boisterous laughter leaking through the thin door. Sounded like a neighborhood party. Maybe Maria would let him in after all. He had a hankering to sit back in a homey living room and relax. Watch some kids play. Despite Cathy’s teasing, he didn’t mind children. Jessica clearly liked them too.
He recognized Maria’s voice and heard a high-pitched squeal. Must be a neighbor’s kid or someone she brought home from Anna House. A truck backfired and he spun, relaxing as taillights flashed red then vanished around the corner. Just a noisy truck. Normally he’d be irritated if traffic scared horses. Now he was only relieved.
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 62
