Millions To Spare

by Barbara Dunlop

  Brittany decided to throw all caution to the wind. “Who is she?”

  “A walk?” he offered again. “The garden?”

  But now that she’d started down this road, she didn’t want to back off. “Then, who are you?”

  “I’m the senior vice president of Cadair International.”

  That surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected. A bodyguard, maybe? “Funny we haven’t met before.”

  “I don’t attend many social functions.”

  “Ah.” She sat forward, liking that his facade had cracked. “Was that a slight?”

  “No, ma’am. Of course not.”

  “Are you suggesting social functions are the only places you’d find me?” It was probably true. But there were days Brittany wished it weren’t.

  He stared at her in silence. There was something dangerous in his eyes, and she found it intrigued her. Men never looked at her that way. Most of them were too afraid of her father.

  “Can we please,” he finally said on an exasperated sigh, “for the love of God, go for a walk in the garden?”

  “If you tell me who she is.”

  “She’s Julia Nash. A reporter for Equine Earth Magazine.”

  Brittany rocked back. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Not that she’d expected anything in particular. “She must have written some story.”

  Alex rose. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean,” said Brittany, coming to her feet, “the woman wasn’t drowning.”

  “You really need to talk to Harrison about this.”

  “Why? Don’t you make up all his lies for him?”

  Alex’s jaw went tight all over again. “Does Harrison know you’re like this?”

  Brittany couldn’t help but grin. She wasn’t normally like this. But there was something about Alex that brought out the devil in her. “You mean nosy?”

  “I mean rude and sarcastic.”

  She gave him her sweetest, most innocent, wide-eyed, finishing-school smile. “But, Alex. I’m never rude and sarcastic. Ask anyone.” She turned for the door with a flourish.

  Julia clutched the door handle of the SUV as Harrison rounded a bend on the dirt road leading to Route Eleven. They were meeting Melanie and Robbie in Dubai this afternoon, an hour’s drive away.

  “Melanie said they’d checked the hospitals,” Julia told Harrison, recapping her telephone conversation. “And they called the police. But the police didn’t know anything about me.”

  “That’s because my bribe was large enough to erase all records of your arrest.”

  Julia’s attention shot from the dusty road to Harrison’s profile. “Your bribe?”

  He nodded, wrestling the steering wheel as they rounded another bend.

  “You bribed the police to release me?”

  He gave her a brief sideways glance. “You’d rather I’d left you there?”

  “What kind of man are you?”

  “Oh, right. You break into my property. You lie through your little teeth. You try to steal from me. And my ethics are in question?”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to bribe a police officer.” She didn’t mean for the assertion to sound superior, but somehow it did.

  He hit the brakes as a herd of camels appeared, ambling alongside the road. “I find cash usually works best.”

  It was unnerving to discover he did this with some regularity. “So I was never really in your custody?”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “But not legally.”

  “I don’t know if you want to hang your hat on the term legally under these circumstances.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”

  “Did you bribe somebody to get the title, too?”

  “For God’s sake. It was a minor charge. I helped a couple of officers with their pension funds to expedite its dismissal. A thank-you wouldn’t be out of order.”

  The road turned from dirt to pavement, and a few adobelike houses and some scattered greenery popped up along the desert.

  “Thank you,” said Julia, reminding herself how grateful she’d been to him that night.

  He grunted a response, pressing down on the accelerator as the road smoothed out and traffic began to increase.

  “Do you always drive this fast?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I have company back at Cadair.”

  “Who was she?” asked Julia.

  “My grandmother.”

  “She sure didn’t look like your grandmother.” In fact, the woman looked like a movie star-perfect nose, perfect teeth, perfect hair.

  “Brittany’s not my grandmother. She’s a family friend from London.”

  “A close friend?” asked Julia with obvious meaning.

  Harrison sighed. “Yes. A close friend.”

  “Oh.” So much for pursuing anything resembling Stockholm syndrome. Not that Julia had planned to pursue it. But that almost kiss had been, well, almost amazing.

  She supposed Brittany was the reason he’d backed off.

  Poor Brittany.

  Harrison wasn’t much of a prize if he’d seriously considered kissing another woman only moments after his girlfriend had arrived from London.

  “So that’s what you meant by ‘not yet.’”

  Harrison glanced her way, raising his brows.

  “When I asked you if you were engaged, you said ‘not yet.’”

  “And I’m not.”

  “But Brittany’s on the short list.”

  “Brittany is the short list.”

  “Yet…” Julia bit down on her bottom lip. None of her business.

  “I didn’t kiss you,” said Harrison, catching her meaning as he geared down, slowing his speed and easing into a traffic circle.

  “But you thought about-”

  “Brittany and I have an understanding.”

  “That you kiss other women?”

  “Not that kind of an understanding.”

  Julia thought about it. “Oh, my,” she said, getting the point. “You’re royalty. Is she royalty, too? I didn’t think they did arranged marriages anymore.”

  “It’s not an arranged marriage.”

  “Right. It’s an understanding. Aren’t you worried your children might have webbed toes?”

  “I can’t believe you said that.”

  Julia couldn’t actually believe she had, either. Maybe it was a backlash from having been under his control for two days. And now that it was over, she was free to speak her mind.

  Still, it was rude and uncalled-for. It was none of her business who Harrison did or did not marry. Another couple of hours, and she’d be out of his life forever. And Brittany was probably a perfectly wonderful woman. They’d certainly make gorgeous children together.

  “Did you find out how to ship Millions to Spare’s blood sample?” she asked.

  Harrison nodded, apparently as eager as she was to get out of their previous conversation. “My vet’s in contact with Carter Phillips. They’re going to run the test in Switzerland to save time.”

  Julia nodded, sobering. “I can’t decide whether to hope it’s nothing, or hope it’s something.”

  “It’s not nothing,” said Harrison.

  The road widened to four lanes, and Harrison moved to pass the panel truck in front of him.

  Julia waited.

  “Apollo’s Ice is Millions to Spare’s sire,” he said.

  Julia digested that news. “Picture of Perfection, the horse Carter found in California, was also sired by Apollo’s Ice.”

  “I’m sure Carter will warn them,” said Harrison.

  “It’s his fiancée’s horse,” said Julia. “And maybe the poisoning had nothing to do with the mystery of Leopold’s sire.”

  “Possibly,” Harrison allowed.

  “I can’t figure out what would be gained by killing Millions to Spare.”

  “It could be as s
imple as revenge.”

  “Against you?” she asked.

  “First place I’d be looking is my enemies or rival stables.”

  It seemed far-fetched that a rival stable would go so far as to kill an innocent animal. But millions of dollars were at stake. And the rich were involved. Who knew where the trail would lead?

  Then, an idea came to Julia.

  She paused, taking in Harrison’s profile, screwing up her courage.

  “Would you mind if I wrote the story?”

  He glanced at her.

  “About Millions to Spare? I could help with the investigation, then write a story exposing the killer.”

  “You want to turn his death into a salacious headline?”

  “I want to turn it into a serious news story. Somebody killed a valuable Thoroughbred, and there has to be a reason why.”

  “And you want the byline.”

  “Yes,” Julia admitted. “I want the byline.”

  “There you go again,” said Harrison as he pulled past another truck.

  “What?”

  “Making your actions match your words.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “We’ll see.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but then decided to leave well enough alone. She’d planted the seed of the idea, and he hadn’t said no. She’d have to be happy with that for the moment.

  Melanie pulled Julia firmly into her arms in their hotel suite at Jumeirah Beach, holding tight and rocking back and forth. “I am so happy to see you.”

  “It was a big mix-up,” said Julia, deciding to downplay her time at Harrison’s.

  Melanie drew back. “We’re just glad you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe. How’s Something to Talk About?”

  “He’s fine,” said Robbie, giving Julia a quick hug himself. It was the first one she could remember from him. When he released her, she was surprised by the joy and relief on his face.

  She stepped in with the introductions. “Robbie, Melanie, this is Harrison. He’s…” She hesitated. Her rescuer? Her kidnapper?

  “The owner of Cadair Racing,” Harrison put in.

  Robbie stuck out his hand, and the men shook. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Me, too,” said Melanie, offering her own hand. “I was very sorry to hear about your stallion.”

  Harrison nodded. “Thank you. Any news from America?”

  “I wish there was,” said Robbie. “We’re holding out hope. If we can identify Legacy’s real sire, and if he’s registered, the problems could all go away. Since Apollo’s Ice was the listed sire, we’re very interested in Millions to Spare.”

  Harrison nodded. “Can you bring me up to speed?”

  Robbie gestured to the table where his laptop was set up, and the two men settled into chairs.

  Melanie pulled Julia down on the sofa. “You were in jail?”

  Julia shuddered. “Thankfully, not for long. They let me go home with Harrison last night.”

  “Tell me again why he wouldn’t let you call us?”

  “He seemed to think I had accomplices. I didn’t want to tell him about the DNA, so my story kept falling apart.”

  Melanie reached out to rub Julia’s arm. “Talk about above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “I just wish I’d found something more.”

  “We have one more DNA sample.”

  Julia nodded. At least that was something.

  Robbie and Harrison rose from the table.

  “Thank you for bringing Julia back,” said Robbie.

  Harrison shot an amused look Julia’s way. “You might want to tell her she should stick to reporting.”

  “I was reporting,” Julia felt compelled to point out.

  “Her story on us will be a lot safer,” said Melanie.

  “Perfect,” said Harrison. “She can stick with her strengths.”

  Julia glared at him. She wasn’t some hothouse flower who couldn’t handle the serious stuff. Heck, she’d survived prison. And she’d survived his temper.

  “I’m still doing the Millions to Spare story,” she warned.

  “Is that a question or a decree?”

  There was something in his stance that gave her pause. She knew he wasn’t a man to mess with, but she also knew he’d mow her down like ripe alfalfa if she gave him half a chance.

  “I’d appreciate your cooperation,” she finally said.

  There was a telltale glint in his eye that told Julia he’d taken her words as capitulation. They weren’t. She was definitely doing the story. She was simply being polite about it.

  Melanie glanced curiously back and forth between them.

  “I’ll be at the Sandstone Derby tomorrow,” Harrison said to Robbie. “Hopefully we’ll have some answers from Switzerland by then.”

  His gaze paused on Julia, giving her a chance to add something, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what that might be. It seemed silly to stay angry but ridiculous to thank him.

  “I’ll see you again tomorrow,” he told all three of them.

  Robbie walked him to the suite door.

  There was nothing more to be done prior to the test results.

  “Is Something to Talk About ready to race?” asked Julia. No matter what happened with Millions to Spare and Leopold’s Legacy, Melanie’s and Robbie’s heads had to be in the race tomorrow.

  “He’s ready,” said Robbie.

  “I worked with him this morning,” said Melanie. “He’s learning the race ramp-up routine.” She smiled like a proud parent. “He knows tomorrow is the day.”

  “If I grab my notebook,” asked Julia, “can I get a few quotes from you now? If his finish is strong, I’m going to want to file the story as soon as the race is over. I’m sure Equine Earth would put some excerpts into a daily for us.”

  In Harrison’s opinion, there was nothing like a parade to the post. His two-year-old Zetwinkler, along with the Prestons’ Something to Talk About, twitched and frisked their way to the starting gates for the featured running of the Sandstone Derby. The horses’ sleek coats gleamed, and the jockeys’ colors flashed bright under the racetrack lights.

  From his suite above the Maktoum grandstands, Harrison could see the crowd coming to its feet, while those on the lawns surged forward to the fence. The announcer’s voice grew more excited, switching languages, earning cheers from the crowd as favorite horses were announced.

  Next to him, Brittany straightened in her chair and leaned toward the window. His grandmother raised her binoculars, taking a bead down the track.

  Then the bell rang, and sixteen gates clanged open as the announcer began calling the race.

  Zetwinkler was off to a good start, pulling up the center, near the middle of the pack. Harrison kept his eye on the Cadair colors. A length and a half off the leader, Zetwinkler was holding strong, moving into fifth, then fourth, and chasing down the Japanese horse for third.

  Harrison also caught sight of Something to Talk About. Far on the outside, the horse was lagging behind for the rest of the backstretch.

  Then, suddenly, he seemed to gather his strength. At the nine-hundred-meter mark, he drove his way up, closing the gap on the leaders. Harrison watched Melanie glance around, keeping herself oriented, staying outside the pack, making sure she had room.

  Meanwhile, Zetwinkler was closing in on the leader himself. Harrison stood up, as did Brittany and even his grandmother, while Zetwinkler pulled ahead by a neck.

  Then, around the turn, Melanie closed in. Something to Talk About held his pace, pushing though third, then second. Then he was neck and neck with Zetwinkler, and the two horses burst from the pack, battling it out.

  At three hundred meters, headed for home, Harrison silently pulled for his own horse, but could sense Something to Talk About’s passion.

  Sure enough, at two hundred meters, Something to Talk About grabbed a whole new gear. He streaked clear of Zetwinkler, driving his way past the grandstands to the roar of the cro
wd, through the finish line, claiming the Sandstone Derby championship.

  Melanie stood in her stirrups as the horse slowed its pace.

  “Too bad,” said Brittany, placing her hand on Harrison’s arm.

  He patted her hand, grinning ear to ear. “That is one fine animal.”

  She glanced quizzically up at him. “It took second.”

  “I meant Something to Talk About.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled down at her. “I spoke with Melanie Preston yesterday. This is a big win for her.”

  Brittany nodded and gave him a lovely smile. “That’s very generous of you.”

  “There’ll be other races,” he told her.

  Grandmother lowered her binoculars. “That was magnificent,” she beamed, taking note of Harrison’s hand over Brittany’s, her smile growing even wider.

  “Shall we join them in the winner’s circle?” asked Harrison.

  “You young people go and enjoy yourselves,” said Grandmother. “I’m a bit too tired for a party tonight.”

  Harrison would rather talk with Julia, Melanie and Robbie in person, but he wouldn’t force his grandmother to stay up late. “We can all head back,” he offered.

  “Nonsense,” she told him, and her expression gave away her matchmaking ploy.

  “Shall I call you a car?” Harrison asked, testing his theory.

  “What a lovely idea.”

  He extracted his cell phone, dialing his regular car service, happy to go along with his grandmother’s machinations.

  After settling her for the ride back to Cadair, Harrison escorted Brittany to the winner’s circle. They arrived just in time to see Something to Talk About draped in flowers and Melanie hoist the trophy.

  Beaming with pride, Robbie was at the horse’s head for pictures.

  Julia was talking to one of the photographers, and Harrison caught her eye.

  She smiled at him, then finished the conversation before approaching.

  “Brittany,” Harrison began, “this is Julia Nash.”

  Julia gave Brittany a polite greeting.

  “Did you see the race?” she asked Harrison.

  “My horse came second,” he replied.

  “Zetwinkler is Cadair?” She jotted down a note. “I should have paid more attention to the colors. Of course, he’ll be featured in my article. It was a great race,” she breathed.

  “That it was,” said Harrison, taking in her sleeveless, little navy dress, her utilitarian shoulder bag and disheveled hair, along with her spiral notepad and the pen in her hand.