Cord’s head turned toward Thorne, who had stepped back until he was little more than a tall shadow beneath the eaves of a nearby stable. “We’re going to walk Dev around the yard.”
“Yes suh.”
That was all either man said, but Raine knew that Thorne would follow them, a shadow watching shadows for movement that shouldn’t be there.
Cord turned Dev toward a deserted part of the stable yard. The path he chose avoided the men and horses who were returning to the area they had so recently abandoned. There was no point in testing Dev’s good nature by mixing with horses that were still neighing and kicking and shying nervously.
“Do you think that the smoke bomb was more than a sick prank?” she asked after a few minutes.
“It could have been, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Too dicey with so many people running around. If someone just wanted to kill you, the smoke bomb might have worked. But what they really want is to use you to get to your father. For that, you have to be alive.”
She flinched at the blunt assessment but didn’t argue the point. “What about the rest of my family?”
“They’re well guarded against kidnapping.”
What he didn’t say, what he had no intention of saying, was that there was no foolproof way to guard against assassination. Anybody could be killed, as long as the assassin didn’t mind dying, too.
So far, Barracuda had been more interested in surviving to strut on the international stage than in dying a martyr to a blood-drenched cause. Barracuda had had a long, violent run as a terrorist.
But it would be over. Soon.
In the quiet hours while Raine had slept in his arms, Cord had planned how he would fish Barracuda out of troubled international waters. It would be his parting gift to Justin Chandler-Smith. Blue was one of the few men on earth Cord truly respected.
It would also be Cord’s gift from the cold violence of the past to a newer, warmer future. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, watching for a nameless man who was narrow between the eyes.
Watching for the assassin who would kill Cord’s wife, his children, his soul.
“Don’t worry about your family,” he said quietly, bringing one of Raine’s hand up from his waist to his lips. “I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t ask again.
Together they rode Dev until he was cool and calm, ears pricked alertly, nostrils sniffing the night air. All the other horses were back in their stalls. Except for a few curious people—the ones who couldn’t believe that a man had ridden Devlin’s Waterloo bareback and lived to tell about it—Cord hadn’t seen anyone in half an hour. He knew Kentucky was still out there, watching, but he was invisible. Cord smiled in cool satisfaction. Kentucky was a good man. One of the best.
With a growing feeling of contentment, Cord absorbed the feel of a fine horse between his knees and Raine’s soft, trusting weight lying warmly against his back.
“Back to the stall,” she said finally, reluctantly stirring against him.
“Afraid that carrying my weight will wear him out?”
She snickered. “He could carry two of you for five miles at a hard run.”
“I like this better. Slow and lazy.” But he could feel the tension returning to her. “Back to the stables it is.”
The soft sound of hoofbeats going down the deserted stable aisle brought a few curious whickers from other horses. Otherwise it was quiet. The smell of hay and dust and horses was slowly overcoming the bitter aftermath of the smoke bomb.
Together Cord and Raine groomed the big stallion. Dev ignored both of them, except for a nudge with his muzzle from time to time if he felt someone wasn’t working hard enough.
“You’re so spoiled it’s a wonder you don’t rot where you stand,” Cord said, stroking the black muzzle.
Dev blew softly against the man’s chest, utterly content. Peace slid through the stable like a special kind of moonlight. Cord petted the stallion for a little while longer, but he was watching Raine. He could see the tension in her.
It was still there as they walked back to the motor home. Her movements were quick, restless. Her eyes were wide and clear. She wasn’t ready to go back to sleep.
He pulled out an odd-looking key and opened the motor home door. “Worried about Dev?”
“No.”
He drew her into the motor home and locked the door behind her. “Competition nerves?”
“Yes,” she admitted, following him to the bedroom. “Being awakened like we were didn’t help.”
“Puts the adrenaline count right over the moon,” he agreed.
He braced his hands against the wall and stretched his back and legs thoroughly, easing muscles that were complaining of recent abuse. A lot of his body wanted to knot up and stay knotted. Dev was a hell of a powerful horse.
Raine watched Cord, remembering the violent ride and its unexpectedly gentle ending. “I can’t groom Dev, which is what I usually do when I get edgy like this. So,” she said slowly, “I’m going to groom you.”
His black eyebrows arched in amusement. He pushed away from the wall.
“I’ll bet the brush will tickle like hell,” he said, unclipping his holster and spare magazine and putting it aside. “As for the currycomb,” he added, slipping out of his jeans and standing naked, hands on lean hips, “forget it. My hide just isn’t that tough.”
“Wrong color, too.” Her words were soft. She was enjoying his honey colored, smooth skin, and the shadow patterns of body hair gleaming in the subdued light.
“I’m getting a better idea,” he said, watching her approving glance move over his body. Blood beat thickly, quickly, arousal surging.
“I can see that,” she retorted. “Facedown on the bed, Mr. Elliot. It’s your turn for a rubdown.”
“I wondered why you brought that liniment from the stable.”
“It’s the least I can do in return for saving my knot-headed horse.”
Cord could think of a few other things she might do—quite a few—but she had a determined look on her face and liniment on her hands. Besides, a rubdown beat the hell out of being worked over by a currycomb.
The pungent odor of liniment filled the room. Oily, sharp, clean, oddly soothing, the smell brought back a rush of memories from Cord’s childhood. He lay across the bed on his stomach and remembered horses and men and campfires, the scents and laughter of another world. Silently he asked himself why he had ever left that world.
There was no answer.
Raine’s strong hands kneaded his back and arms and hips, loosening tense muscles. He made a long, low sound of pleasure and contentment.
“I love your hands, sweet rider. Strong and competent and . . . womanly.”
“Comes of working with my knot-headed stallion.”
His back moved in silent laughter. “Comes of grooming the red devil, too.”
Smiling, she leaned into her work, using all of her strength to loosen the long, powerful muscles of Cord’s body.
“Wait until you see me work over Dev after the endurance run,” she said. “I’ll spend most of the night kneading him like a great pile of dough. Otherwise he would be too stiff to canter the next day, much less to jump anything.”
Cord’s only answer was a purring groan of pleaure as liniment and knowing hands turned his muscles into putty.
Smiling, she leaned harder into her work, probing and kneading until his muscles became supple beneath her hands. Then she slid down and concentrated on his legs and hips. She knew just which muscles he had used during the wild minutes when Dev acted like a rodeo stud.
For a long time the only sounds were the slide of her hands over Cord’s legs, his occasional rumble of contentment, and the erratic mutter of the scanner. She didn’t notice the scanner. She no longer even heard the mutter of electronics or saw the flicker of television screens. The
y had become like chairs or desk or bed, just a part of the room.
At last she sighed and sat up, flexing her hands. Cord didn’t move. His head was turned away from her and he was breathing evenly, deeply, utterly relaxed. Asleep. Smiling, she very gently brushed a kiss between his shoulder blades. She wanted more—she ached for it—but she wasn’t going to wake him up. She knew that he had slept even less than she had in the last few days.
Careful not to disturb him, she slid off the bed. Maybe one of the mysteries she had kicked under the table could hold her interest this time.
Before she could take a step, a muscular arm snaked around her knees.
“Still restless?” he asked, turning his head so that he could see her.
“A little,” she admitted.
His hand slid up between her legs. When he discovered the wet, ready heat of her, he forgot to breathe. “What do you do after you’ve groomed Dev and groomed him again and you’re still on edge?” he asked huskily.
“I usually get on bareback and take a slow, lazy ride.”
He rolled over and pulled her down astride him, sliding into her hard and deep. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 17
The sound of his beeper going off brought Cord instantly awake. He grabbed it from the bedside table, read the numbers in the lighted window, and got quietly out of bed.
Raine made a sleepy sound and started to sit up.
Despite the adrenaline licking in Cord’s veins, his hands were gentle as he urged her back down. “Sleep, honey. You don’t have to get up for almost two hours.”
She hesitated, sighed, and settled back into the warm nest she and Cord had made. He brushed a kiss over her lips, touched her cheek with his palm, and smiled when she snuggled against his hand like a kitten. With a gentle caress, he tucked the covers under her chin.
There was nothing gentle about him when he went to the special phone, punched in numbers, and said, “Blue Moon here. Where’s Blue Herring?”
A few moments of hissing static, then the answer came. “Hello, buddy. How’s fishing?”
Bonner’s voice was calm, but Cord knew him well enough to hear the anticipation surging beneath.
“The way I like it,” Cord said. “Lazy and calm.”
“Well, they’re rising just outside your quiet little bay.”
Even though Cord had expected it, his mouth flattened. “Anything worth getting up early over?”
“How about a Barracuda?”
“Just one? They usually hunt in groups.”
“Not this time.”
For a moment Cord was quiet. Either something had gone wrong with the inner cell of terrorists or Barracuda figured he had a better chance of success this time if he went in alone. If so, Barracuda was right. It was always harder to spot one man than a crowd.
“When?” Cord asked, knowing Bonner would understand.
“Not today.”
“Positive?”
“As close as I ever am. Timing is wrong. The fish would have to swim like hell just to get to your bay.”
“Tomorrow?” Cord pressed.
“The guessing here is divided.”
“What’s your guess?”
“After the whole event is run, when everyone is relaxed and passing out medals.”
“Next best guess?”
“During one of the Baby contests, when everyone is in one place, watching all the contestants do their tricks.”
Cord’s smile was thin, cold. If Barracuda thought Chandler-Smith was going to be quietly watching from a ringside seat—or from any single location—the terrorist was in for a real disappointment.
“Sure hope Blue has kept in shape,” Cord said. “The last thing he’ll be doing is sitting in my boat watching the waves go by.”
Raine awoke to the alarm and the smell of liniment. She rolled over beneath the covers, expecting to find and curl up against Cord’s solid presence for a few quiet moments.
He wasn’t there.
She sat up suddenly, heart pounding, eyes searching the room. Television screens and electronics flickered restlessly, but no man sat in the chair, monitoring them. She listened, but didn’t hear the sound of the shower in the small bathroom nearby.
“Cord?”
There was no answer.
Vaguely she remembered hearing his beeper go off earlier, remembered him kissing her and urging her to go back to sleep. Amazingly, she had.
At the moment, sleep was the last thing on her mind. In less than six hours she would ride in the Olympics. There was a lot to do between now and then.
Keeping one eye on the clock, she shot out of bed, dressed, and ate in a rush of coordinated movements. She only had a few hours to polish tack, groom Dev, and groom herself to the elegant standards required by Olympic dressage.
Mentally she composed a list of what had to be done before she was ready to ride Dev in front of the three expressionless judges who would decide whether she was a credit or a burden to the U.S. Equestrian Team. Everything, right down to the quality of the crease in her black jodhpurs, would be judged.
For someone like Raine, who preferred the adrenaline and physical demands of the endurance run, the dressage ring was an exquisitely balanced, beautifully subtle, absolutely necessary, nitpicking torture.
She was still juggling chores in her mind when she let herself out of the motor home. Thorne was in his usual position, a man who apparently had nothing better to do than sit and watch the world go by.
“Morning, Miss Smith.”
“Good morning, Thorne. Is Cord around?”
Thorne glanced around the immediate area. “I don’t see him, ma’am.”
She smiled slightly. It had become a game with them. If Cord wasn’t around, she would ask about him. Thorne would reply politely and very vaguely, saying nothing at all about the movements of his boss.
“If you see Cord, say hello for me,” she said.
“I’ll do that, ma’am.” Thorne smiled. “Count on it.”
Morning ritual completed, she started toward the stables.
Thorne stood up with a lithe speed that belied his outward laziness. He spoke briefly into his walkie-talkie and then caught up with her.
Surprised, she looked aside at him. This wasn’t part of their usual morning game.
Thorne said nothing. He simply walked beside her as if he did it every day. Unlike Cord, Thorne walked on her right side. She understood the implication—the gun he wore was positioned for a right-hand draw—but she didn’t dwell on it. There were too many other things that demanded her attention right now.
“Going to watch me comb the red devil?” she asked dryly.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m going to do just that.”
“I didn’t know you liked horses.”
“I’m easing up to it,” Thorne said in a resigned voice.
He stayed with her the rest of the golden, sun-struck morning. He was never out of sight and rarely out of reach, following her everywhere but into the restroom. And even there he made her wait until the place was empty. Before she went in, he did, making certain that all the stalls were indeed unoccupied.
Other than that, he was remarkably discreet. Like Cord, Thorne made radio checks at random intervals and petted the cats that haunted the stable yards. He faded into shadows when other members of the equestrian team came to talk to her. If he didn’t recognize the people walking toward her, he put himself in front of her and quietly, firmly, told them that whatever it was would have to wait until after she had performed in the dressage ring.
To Raine, the presence of a quiet, muscular shadow had become normal. If it weren’t for the fact that she kept looking up at odd moments, hoping to see Cord, she wouldn’t have noticed Thorne at all.
No matter how hard she looked, she didn’t see Cord. Finally she knew that she couldn’t delay the finishing touches on Dev’s preparation any longer. The appearance of her horse would be as minutely scrutinized as her own. The three-day event ha
d begun as a military contest; spit and polish were as important as speed and courage.
Cord had promised to help her put a high gloss on the stallion, but obviously the electronic leash had led him elsewhere.
Damn.
At that moment she realized how much she enjoyed the long, peaceful hours she and Cord had spent grooming the big stallion or polishing tack until it gleamed like mirror.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered as she began Dev’s final intricate grooming. “I know how to do this better than anyone else.”
She had done it all herself before, when Dev simply wouldn’t tolerate another handler in the tense hours before a competition began. But the stallion had come to trust Cord.
And so had she.
“Fool,” she said under her breath as she picked up a curry comb. “You knew he wore a beeper.”
Despite that, she really had let herself believe that he would be there to help her prepare for her Olympic test. Though the disappointment was like a knife turning in her, she didn’t blame her pain on Cord. The fault was hers. Definitely.
“Foolish little baby,” she muttered. “You knew better than to trust a man on a leash. He’ll do the best he can, but you’ll always be second place in a two-entry race. As in last place.”
“Ma’am?” Thorne asked, hearing only the murmur of words, not their meaning.
She glanced up, reminded that no matter how lonely she felt at the moment, she wasn’t alone.
“Er, nothing. I always talk to myself when I work with Dev. It lets him know where I am.”
“Smart. That red devil could kick you into next year.”
“He’s too well mannered for that.”
Thorne’s smile told her that he didn’t believe a word of it. Last night he had seen Dev with the veneer of training stripped away by raw fear. It wasn’t something Thorne would forget soon. If ever.
Without intending to, Raine went to the stall door and looked into the yard. No man was walking toward her with the coordinated ease of a cougar. No light-eyed shadow was watching from beneath the eaves.
“Stop it,” she said under her breath. “He’ll come if he can. And if he can’t . . . well, it would hardly be the first time, would it?”
Remember Summer Page 23
