“You have quite a diverse registration of horses, Mr. Zacherson,” Rafe observed, recalling the file he had spent days poring through and the unsettled feeling left in his gut that had caused him to make a trip to Florida in the first place.
“It started out as a hobby,” Caleb said, his eyes flicking to the ground at his feet. “And turned into something lucrative.”
“Right.”
Caleb cast him a sideways glance and Rafe didn't give one shit if he made the owner uncomfortable. They made it to the entrance of the first barn and Caleb stopped.
“Where would you like to start?”
Rafe wanted to start by going through Caleb Zacherson's private files and finding out exactly what this man was hiding, but that wasn't his jurisdiction. All he could do was examine the horses that had been raced in Kentucky and talk to the people who had worked in the state as well.
“I'd really like to talk to Ryan Zacherson and Jesse Hart.”
Caleb's face tightened marginally. To an untrained eye, he wouldn't have shown any kind of reaction. But Rafe wasn't an amateur.
“Ryan Zacherson was terminated several weeks ago,” Caleb said with a head shake, like he was sorry to have to deliver that information. But he wasn't sorry at all. How convenient, Rafe thought. The person who'd had the most access to Faramir's Fire, medically speaking, was terminated before the colt's untimely death.
“And Hart?”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Hart is right through here.”
***
Rafe had listened to all of Jesse Hart's answers to the standard line of questions and nothing produced any red flags. What had been most prominent in the man was his apparent sorrow when questioned about Faramir's Fire. That was real grief in there. It still didn't ease the feeling in Rafe's gut that something was amiss.
Jesse Hart had been arrested on suspicion of animal cruelty. The stables had been raided, the horses under his care tested, and all had been found to be in perfect health. In fact, no trace of the virus that had infected Faramir's Fire was found anywhere. The virus was an anomaly. The other horses that had run the Derby with Faramir's Fire had been tested as well, as a precaution. The stables at Churchill had been sterilized and scrubbed clean.
Jesse and George had been released, all charges dropped what with the lack of evidence.
Rafe couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister was at work. It had burrowed into his brain and wouldn't let go. No reason in the world for a virus to pop up without a trace, claim the life of one of the strongest colts in history, and disappear into thin air.
He stood up and walked around the small office in the main stable. He paused at the window that faced an open paddock that was currently empty.
“What can you tell me about Ryan Zacherson?” Rafe asked quietly. When he was met with silence, he slowly turned to face the trainer.
Jesse's eyes were staring at the table in front of him, the sorrow etched even deeper in the lines around his face. Frowning, Rafe went back to his chair and slid into it.
“Who is she to you?” Rafe asked, not caring that he'd deviated from his planned line of questioning. His supervisor wouldn't approve. But there was a reason Rafe was so good at his job. He paid attention to his gut. And right now his gut was asking the questions.
Jesse inhaled slowly. “She was an interning equine veterinarian that was responsible for Red's physical well-being during the recent racing season.”
“Red?” Rafe watched the trainer's reaction and wasn't disappointed.
Jesse swallowed and nodded in defeat. “Yeah, she called him Red.”
“She wasn't just an intern, was she?” Rafe pressed, urging Jesse to trust him with his low tone.
Jesse's jaw gave him away again and he finally lifted his eyes to connect with Rafe's. “She was fired.”
Rafe leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That's what I've heard. Can you tell me why?”
“Our boss believed we were breaking his non-fraternization policy and she was let go.”
“Were you?”
Jesse's eyes snapped up to Rafe's and darkened. “No.”
Rafe tilted his head towards one shoulder and nodded. “I get it, actually. Sometimes you get to working with a person and you spend more time with them than not, and you become friends.” Jesse's eyes narrowed. Rafe leaned back casually and laced his fingers together behind his head. “There's nothing wrong with getting along with your coworkers.”
Jesse's mouth pulled tight and he crossed his arms over his chest, casting his eyes out the window.
Rafe pursed his lips and studied the young trainer. “Why does she have the same last name as the owner?”
Jesse snorted but didn't look at him and didn't answer.
“Is she a relative? Is that why Caleb didn't want you working with her anymore?”
Again, silence.
“Sister? Ex-wife?” Rafe pressed. He leaned forward, dropping his tone further. “Did you fall for your boss' wife?”
Jesse shook his head, his eyes pulling down on the sides in succession with his mouth. “She's his estranged daughter,” he murmured.
Rafe sat up straighter, not expecting that answer. Jesse took a deep breath and sighed heavily.
“I'm not going to talk to you about Ryan. She doesn't have anything to do with what happened and... and I don't have any contact with her anymore anyway.” His resignation made even Rafe's chest hurt. Jesse's haunted eyes swept up to connect with Rafe's. “You'll have to ask her dad.”
Jesse shoved to his feet abruptly. Rafe simply nodded once at him, his mind and gut at war with what must be done and what shouldn't be done.
The door to the office closed, taking all of Jesse's taut energy with it.
Rafe sat in silent contemplation for several minutes. He flipped the folder open and scanned the personnel list for the information he wasn't supposed to use for what he was about to use it for.
***
Ryan closed the drawer of the g-strings she'd just finished tagging and arranging.
Working in a Victoria's Secret had been more beneficial to her writing than she could have ever expected. For example, she now understood the difference between a g-string and a thong.
And yesterday she had learned that even if a girl had a boyfriend, that didn't mean she couldn't take a different guy bra shopping with her. You know, as friends.
And the day before that, she had learned that if you look even a little bit like Heidi Klum (she didn't — unless you counted the fact that they were both natural blondes), college boys would ask you to model product for them.
Yep, it was an all new kind of education. Ryan took notes. It was all going to get used in future and current manuscripts. Real life was stranger than fiction.
She stood up and glanced around for new customers. Chelsea was smiling and talking up an attractive gentleman at the entrance. That was it.
Ryan decided to unpack one more box of panties before her shift was over. As long as she stayed busy, Chelsea didn't seem to have too much of a problem with her.
The earpiece in her left ear hissed with static. “Ryan, I have a customer asking about a robe you sold to him last week.”
Ryan frowned and pressed the button to reply. “I didn't sell a robe last week.”
“Can you just come talk to him?”
Ryan could hear the frantic smile in Chelsea's voice. She didn't like to be argued with, especially in front of customers. And especially over the headset.
“Of course.” Ryan changed her trajectory and headed back out to the floor.
Nope. She definitely had not sold this guy a robe. She had never seen him before in her life.
Not tall, not short. But that didn't seem to matter, his presence had a presence. He exuded authority and... something else. Rebellion? That didn't make sense. His suit was black and clean and perfect, white dress shirt unbuttoned at just the top. No tie.
No, his clothes didn't say rebellion.
&
nbsp; His eyes did.
The entire eye area of his face, actually.
His dark hair was swept back like frustrated fingers had run through it too many times. One chunk of the longer hair on top kept swinging down into his eyes like a forelock. Black eyebrows framed eyes so dark brown, they were nearly black themselves. And alert. They were that, too.
Ryan realized too late while she had been cataloging his appearance, he'd been doing the same to her.
Chelsea gave her wide eyes. “This gentleman says you sold him a robe last week and he wants to see if he can get a matching negligee.” She flashed her best sales smile at the man as she rested a firm hand on Ryan's arm. “Ryan would be happy to finish showing you what we have available.”
Her tone couldn't be mistaken. Ryan already knew she was going to get a rundown on how to suggestively upsell to a customer who was already making a purchase before she was allowed to clock out for the day. It wasn't fair that she was going to get the lecture simply because Swarthy Cop Face couldn't remember which blonde he'd talked to a week ago.
“Of course,” Ryan smiled her most polite smile at the man she had never seen before in her life. “I'm so glad you came back. I would be more than happy to help you pick out something for your wife or girlfriend...?” she led the question along with the man to the section of the store where their most recent line had just been displayed.
“Thank you, Miss Zacherson,” the man said, his voice coming out like rough cut timber. No, that didn't make sense, but it's how she heard it.
Ryan's steps faltered briefly when he said her name. Her head swiveled to face him, but he wasn't looking at her.
A quiet alarm sounded in the back of her mind.
“Which color were you looking for? Our classic pink or perhaps black?”
He came to a stop, his eyes skimming unseeingly over the displayed items, a frown darkening his features even further.
“Miss Zacherson, my name is Rafe Trudeau. I'm an investigator for the Kentucky Horse Racing Commission.”
Of course he was. Ryan sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I was wondering if we could talk.”
She wanted to roll her eyes and tell him to get bent. But Chelsea entered her peripherals and she bit the hostile part of her tongue. Instead, she smiled and replied, “I'm not involved in that industry anymore, so I won't be much help.”
“Off the record, Ryan,” he murmured.
Ryan narrowed her eyes while keeping her smile frozen on her face.
“This isn't Kentucky,” she pointed out quietly.
“No,” he agreed, looking slightly uncomfortable. Another customer entered the store and Chelsea greeted them enthusiastically, not having gone far. Rafe stared at them for a beat, his jaw ticking. “I would very much like to buy you a cup of coffee,” he said to Ryan.
“I would very much like to not get lectured by my boss when you leave about missing a perfectly good sale.”
Rafe's dark eyes lit with understanding and he looked down at the table of lacy underwear in between them. “I don't really —” He swallowed, cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I don't actually need anything.”
Delighting in his discomfort and the red creeping up his neck, she pursed her lips. “Well, I don't need to get a cup of coffee with a stranger.”
He closed his eyes for a beat before nodding. “Fine. What do I have to buy?”
Ryan's smile grew. “Let's start with that negligee and then see if we can find some matching panties. And maybe a fragrance.”
Four hundred dollars later, Ryan handed him his large pink, tissue adorned bag with a smile. Rafe's maroon face refused to make eye contact with her as he handed back his signed credit card receipt. She separated his note and slid it into her pocket, watching him walk out of the store.
***
Ryan hadn't spoken to Jesse in a week and the lack of information in the press was driving her crazy. Every day she went home and scoured the internet for rumors and reports about what was going on. But there hadn't been anything since the day of the raid. Even the gossipy forums were astoundingly quiet.
If Investigator Rafe Trudeau wanted to ask “off the record” questions, then so would she.
She got off work and headed to the small cafe he had written on the slip of paper he'd passed to her. She found it easily and parked in the alley out back. It was mostly empty and provided small tables for quiet conversation.
She spotted Rafe at a table in the back, his suit jacket having been discarded and his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was even more mussed than it had been previously. Her lips twitched with the urge to be smug as she ordered her coffee.
While she waited, she watched, as she was prone to do.
He was older than her. Older than Jesse, but not by much. Mid-thirties maybe? No wedding ring. Her eyes kept trying to catch all the details about him that were throwing her off but they were consistently drawn downward. To his feet. He was wearing cowboy boots. Not fancy shiny boots either, like the kind that one would wear with a suit. He was wearing black, cracked leather, worn boots.
Ryan cradled her paper coffee cup in both hands and slid into the seat across from him.
“What am I supposed to do with four hundred dollars' worth of ladies undergarments?” he growled, drumming his fingers on the table. The movement drew her eyes to the black tattoos on his forearms that peeked out from the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt.
Ryan smirked and tried to hide it behind her coffee cup. “Your wife or girlfriend will have a very good birthday obviously.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled flat out.
“Why are you here, Mr. Trudeau?” she asked. “In Tampa, talking to me,” she clarified.
His chin lifted a fraction and he measured her with those dark eyes. He remained silent as he brought his cup to his lips and paused. “I want to know what you know... Off the record,” he added quietly.
“I know all kinds of things,” Ryan said, arching an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Records or not. You'll have to be specific about what you want to know.”
Rafe's lips twitched briefly before he took a sip and set his cup down, all business. “I spoke to Jesse Hart this morning.” He held her gaze, waiting for some kind of a reaction before continuing. “All he said was that you were fired.”
She nodded in confirmation. “Yep. In front of a bunch of people. It was super fun. I hope it happens a hundred more times.”
Rafe's lips tugged up on one side in amusement at her dry humor.
“That's just public knowledge. Ask me what you really came here to ask.”
***
Rafe hadn't been expecting... well, any of it. Every ounce of Ryan Zacherson only took him further down the rabbit hole. He was well aware the moment she came into view in the lingerie store that he was in over his head. He should have gotten back in his car and gone straight back to Kentucky. Following hunches, digging into the secrets that died in the mud, those things had only ever hurt him more than helped.
Getting the coffee, changing their location, those were things meant to buy him more time. Time to get his head together.
Because he was missing something.
Something important.
And she knew it. Or she didn't know she knew it yet, but she was going to figure it out. Because one thing had become crystal clear — Ryan wasn't stupid.
That resounding thought ricocheted in his head painfully as the scattered details of the case tried to piece themselves together.
She knew something.
She was the key.
“I don't know what I came here to ask,” Rafe confessed roughly.
Her eyes lit up and she leaned further into the table. “Sure you do. You've already come all the way here. Just ask it.”
“Did you and Mr. Hart have an affair that compromised the team?” he asked the obvious question.
“No,” she said, unaffe
cted. “Jesse and I were teammates. Ask a different question.”
“Did you contribute to the viral infection and eventual death of Faramir's Fire?”
Her eyes glossed over. “No.” The fingers of one hand traced the wood grain of the table between them. “I would never hurt Red. I loved him more than anything. When he was in my care, he was healthy.”
“Why did I get the feeling that no one wanted me to come and talk to you? What is it about you that makes this horse's death feel... off?” he launched in finally, settling his forearms on the table in between them.
“I don't know.” She shook her head, her blonde bangs brushing across the tops of her eyes and distracting Rafe. She looked like her father, except a helluva lot softer. He wondered again at the nature of her relationship with Hart. But then she said something that pulled him right back into the mix. “I suspect it has something to do with my uncles.”
“Who are your uncles?”
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned slightly away from him. “Off the record... how is Jesse?”
Rafe rolled his lips in between his teeth. “I questioned him earlier today. He was polite, cooperative.” He ended on a shrug.
“Yes, but how was he?”
Rafe frowned, noting her tense posture, the tightness in her mouth and eyes. Her interest was sincere, but not romantic. It was different somehow.
“Off the record,” he repeated quietly. “He was discouraged. Resigned.”
“He didn't do anything but his job... and he was amazing at it,” she whispered.
Rafe swallowed. “Then tell me something. Tell me anything that might point me in the right direction. Give me somewhere else to look because I believe you, Ryan.” He ground his teeth together holding her eyes and attempting to drive his point home. “Help me make this right.”
“Why do you want to help?” she asked, the guard in her expression wavering.
“I don't know,” he said honestly. “But I know I won't stop until I find out the truth. People who do things like this, what happened to Faramir's Fire, they'll do it again. I want to find them and stop them before that can happen.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked at a point over his shoulder. Sighing, she leaned forward again. “My mother's maiden was Spore. She passed away a year ago...”
Stubborn Hearts Page 19
