Her head jerked upward, and her eyes searched his face. “Why in the world would you do that?”
Scott lifted a shoulder. “Call it a hunch. If Zach was involved with Haldeman in a cloning scheme, there’s still the matter of the laboratory. Where better to hide it than in the middle of suburbia?”
Her eyes widened as his logic sank in. Then her chin lifted in that stubborn pose he was getting accustomed to seeing. “Then I think we should call—”
“The police. I know.” He handed her the cell phone. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
He didn’t wait to hear her arguments, but unsnapped his seat belt with one hand as he opened the door with the other. He slipped out, crouching, and closed the door as quickly and quietly as he could. The light inside had only been on for a few seconds. Hopefully, not long enough for anyone to notice.
Not that there was anyone to see. The streets were void of movement, though light illuminated the windows of most of the single-story homes that lined both sides of the street. Scott walked down the sidewalk with his arms swinging at his sides. If anybody happened to glance outside, he’d look as if he was just out for a casual stroll.
When he neared the house into which Zach had disappeared, he bent low and darted through the grass and into the side yard. Thankfully, there was no fence. Nor were there any windows on this side of the home, except for a single small one high up, probably in a bathroom. He leaned against the brick and willed his breath to remain even. If he’d known he was going to be sneaking around in the dark, he would have worn his black jeans and shirt.
There was a front window, but no shrubberies or anything else to give him cover. His best bet was to sneak around to the back and hope he could see something from there.
Placing each foot with exaggerated care, he crept along the side of the house. A peek around the corner showed no sign of movement. A privacy fence encased the yard behind this one, so he couldn’t be seen from that direction. There was no fence on either side, but there was no sign of anyone there, either.
Four windows on the back of the house. The far two were dark. Bent double, he slunk toward the first one, through which a bright light shone. With extra caution, he inched upward and looked inside.
A kitchen. Not a very clean one, either. The sink held a load of dirty dishes, and a couple more stacks littered the counter beside it. The stove, too, had pots and pans on it. In the corner, a garbage can overflowed.
Nothing moved inside. Scott strained his ears for any sound from within the house. A dog barked a few houses away, but from inside, nothing. Where was Zach, and why wasn’t he talking to whoever lived here?
He moved on to the back door. The handle didn’t budge. Probably a good thing. He might have been tempted to sneak inside if it had. The window in the door was covered on the inside with a curtain through which he could see nothing.
The other two windows looked in on empty rooms. Though they were dark, his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see there wasn’t a stick of furniture in either one. And the doors were closed, so he couldn’t see anything beyond them, either.
He sagged against the wall, disappointed. He’d hoped to find something to justify this harebrained jaunt, so he didn’t look like a complete fool in Becky’s eyes. Which was stupid, of course. What did it matter what Becky thought? She was going back to her husband.
She was probably right, and they should just call the police. But what if he accused his boss and friend of killing someone, and it turned out the hoof pick he found wasn’t the murder weapon after all?
He headed back the way he had come. Maybe he could call Trooper Whitley or Detective Foster and tip them off that he’d found it, and they wouldn’t have to tell Zach where they heard it from.
A sound halted him. Someone was coming around the corner. His glance circled the yard frantically, looking for cover.
A moment later, all thoughts of hiding fled. Two familiar figures stepped into the backyard, one with an expression of pure terror on her face. Becky.
In the next instant he realized why. The other figure, walking behind her, was none other than his boss, Zach Garrett. And he held a gun to Becky’s head.
TWENTY-FIVE
Becky looked at Scott’s face and saw her fear mirrored there. Zach’s grip on her arm didn’t hurt, but she imagined her skin burned where his fingers touched. He was a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. The barrel of the gun bumped the back of her head when he jerked her to a stop.
What if she screamed? Surely someone in one of these houses would come to investigate. But he might shoot her or Scott in the meantime.
“I think we’d better go inside.” She felt Zach’s breath on the crown of her head.
Scott’s gaze was fixed on a point behind Becky. On Zach. “It’s locked.”
At that moment, the back door opened. Afraid to move her head, she stared straight ahead at Scott, but from the corner of her eye saw a thin man shove the door outward and step back inside.
She heard the smile in Zach’s voice. “Not anymore. You first.”
Scott locked eyes with her for an instant. Becky saw no hope in them at all, and an answering dread welled up in her. If she died, what would happen to Tyler and Jamie? Would Christopher get custody of them? No, Lord! Don’t let that happen.
Scott walked up the three concrete steps and into the house. Zach pushed her forward into a filthy kitchen. The smell of rotting food, probably coming from an overflowing trash can in the corner, assaulted her nostrils.
“You really should clean the place every now and then, Tenney.” The gun barrel appeared in her peripheral vision as Zach used it to gesture toward a doorway to the right. “Down there, Scott.”
The thin man’s head jerked nervously toward Zach. “Perhaps you shouldn’t take them below.” He spoke in a high-pitched, nasally British accent.
“Can’t leave them up here. You never know who’s sneaking around, peeking through the windows.” His laughter sent a shiver up Becky’s spine.
Scott went through the doorway and down a set of narrow stairs. She followed, Zach on her heels.
“Go on in that room on the right,” Zach instructed. “Might as well see what you came to see.”
She followed Scott through a doorway. The room on the other side was not large, but had been refinished with a white-tiled floor and white walls. A long counter, spotlessly clean, took up most of the floor space in the center. Its surface was covered with equipment. The only thing Becky could identify was a microscope, but it had extra stuff attached to it that she’d never seen. Along the far wall was another counter, and atop this one was a machine that looked like a convection oven, with a digital panel on the front.
Zach released her, and she stepped up beside Scott, close enough to draw a scant amount of comfort from contact with his arm. His tight lips cracked in a brief smile that was really more of a grimace. She bit back her rising panic.
“You two stand over there.” Zach pointed with his gun toward a corner, and with the other hand flipped open a cell phone. He punched a couple of buttons, then lifted it to his ear. “You on your way?” He nodded. “Good. We have company. Looks like you were right.”
As he pocketed the cell phone, Scott stepped in front of her. “Let Becky go, Zach. She’ll keep quiet. You have my word.”
Zach’s smile chilled her to the bone. “I’ll wait for my partner. Then we’ll decide what to do with both of you.”
“Partner?” Becky’s voice wavered, and she swallowed. “You mean Neal wasn’t your partner?”
“Haldeman?” A humorless blast of laughter lifted his chest. “We tried. He wouldn’t have a thing to do with us. Kept going on about the purity of the breeding process. It would have been easier with his help, but we’ve done okay in spite of him.”
“They why did you kill him?”
Becky glanced up at Scott. How could he sound so calm with a gun pointed at his chest?
Zach s
hrugged. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
“You accidentally ripped his throat out with a hoof pick?”
Zach’s features tightened. Becky put a hand on Scott’s arm and squeezed a warning. Don’t antagonize the man with the gun!
“He was on to us but he couldn’t prove anything. Until he caught me in Alidor’s paddock. Or,” he corrected, “running out of Alidor’s paddock. That horse is the meanest, orneriest stallion I ever met.”
Ah. Now Jamie’s discovery made sense. “You dropped a test tube in there while trying to get a skin cell sample from him.”
Zach’s gaze slid to her. “Found that, did you? Tenney dropped it, the fool. Didn’t tell me until yesterday, though.”
Becky glanced toward the stairs that led to the first floor. “Tenney’s a scientist?”
Zach smiled. “You catch on quick, don’t you? Yeah, he’s a scientist. A cloning specialist.”
“Why, Zach?” Scott’s question sounded sincere as he looked at the older man. “You can’t clone a Thoroughbred.”
“Oh, but we can. Have, in fact. Twice. One mare’s already pregnant with our first success, Dark Diego. And see that over there?” He pointed toward the ovenlike apparatus. “In there is the clone of Samson’s Secret, all ready to be implanted.”
Becky glanced around the room. There were no windows, no doors except the one they came in. No way out. And no way for anyone to see in, either. With Tenney keeping watch upstairs, no chance of a rescue.
“And then what?” Scott asked. “What are you going to do with a clone? You can’t register it.”
Zach sneered. “Sure you can. All you have to do is submit a Live Foal Report to the Jockey Club.”
Scott’s arm twitched. “You can’t fake the DNA report.”
Zach laughed. “I thought you were smarter than that, Scott. Think about it. In December, two foals will be born. One will be the clone of Dark Diego. The other was bred the regular way, from a mare and stallion the same color as Diego, and with similar markings. Their mating has been duly recorded. The hair we send to the lab for DNA testing will be from the second foal. But the pictures the Jockey Club gets with the Live Foal Report will be from the clone.”
The muscles in Scott’s jaw bunched before he spoke. “It won’t work. Clones aren’t as healthy as the original, so it will never win a race.”
“Maybe not, but they might surprise you.” The sound of a door slamming, followed by the low hum of Tenney’s British accent drifted to them from upstairs. Zach continued. “Besides, racing isn’t where the real money is made. You know yourself all the winners Alidor has sired. Over thirty-eight million earned by his offspring. Runners bred by his clone could do that, maybe even more.”
“You can’t breed a clone.” Frustration seeped into Scott’s voice, and his fist tightened. “The DNA of those foals won’t match the Jockey Club’s records, unless you forge them, too. You’ll have to breed another true foal for every clone, and keep faking the reports. You’ll get caught!”
Becky dug her fingers into his arm. Why was he trying to convince the guy? If he was going to talk, he should try to talk them out of here.
“That is not my problem.” Zach leaned against the counter, his eyes flicking toward the door. “By the time that happens, I’ll be sitting on a beach in South America, enjoying a retirement generously funded by my partner. Who you’re about to meet, by the way.”
Fear gripped Becky’s throat. When the partner showed up, their lives could be measured in terms of minutes. Lord, I don’t want to die! She moved a half step behind Scott, tilting her head so she could see the doorway around his shoulder.
When Zach’s partner stepped through, her jaw went slack.
Leslie Stevens.
The woman’s dark eyes moved as she looked from Scott to Becky, a thin smile on her face. “Now, Zach, are you giving away all my secrets?”
“I should have known.” Scott sounded angry. Color stained his cheeks. “Nick was too forgiving the other night. I should have suspected he was guilty when he let me go without calling the police.”
Leslie crossed the room to stand beside Zach, her eyes on Scott. “You’re wrong. Nicky enjoys playing the role of big-time breeder, but he doesn’t want to be bothered with the details. He’s blissfully unaware of my plan, as is my baby brother, who’s too dumb to know what he’s helping with. Though Nicky should have had you thrown in jail for trespassing.”
Becky searched Leslie’s face. Where was the love she’d seen the other day? This woman’s eyes glittered with a hardness that left Becky cold. “So you seduced Neal to try to convince him to go along with your scheme.”
Leslie’s gaze slid to her face. “No, I didn’t seduce Neal.” A smirk contorted her face. “I tried, but he didn’t want to play. But at least my efforts kept him involved while Zach and our British friend collected the specimens they needed.” She glanced sideways at her partner. “If only Zach had listened to me and tranquilized Alidor, Neal would still be alive. And that lowlife bookie would, too.”
The look Scott turned on Zach was sad. “You killed Eddie Jones, too?”
“That was your fault.” Scott jerked upright, and Zach nodded. “You told me about those tally sheets, and how you mentioned them to Eddie. I figured Eddie broke in and stole them to keep his name from coming up to the police. I couldn’t afford to let them fall into the wrong hands. My name was probably on there right along with his.”
“You’re a bookmaker, too?”
His free hand waved in the air. “Hey, I’m building a very nice retirement package.” His grip tightened on the pistol. Becky’s breath caught in her throat. “But Jones didn’t have them.”
Hugh Keller did. Becky thought of Mr. Keller’s thick, muscular build. Zach was lean and fit, but he wouldn’t have been a match for Mr. Keller. Poor Eddie Jones. Killed for something he had nothing to do with.
“What, the payment for cloning a champion wasn’t enough?” Scott no longer sounded sad. He turned a glare on Leslie. “Two people are dead, and for what? For a crazy scheme that doesn’t have a chance of succeeding.”
“Oh, I will succeed.” Leslie drew herself up and tossed her head so her dark hair flipped to her back. “I promise you, one day I’ll stand in the Winner’s Circle at the Derby. That blanket of roses will be on my horse. I’ll show those high-class snobs what a true champion looks like.” Dark fire glittered in her eyes. “Do you know what they called me in the owner’s dining room at Keeneland? They called me an upstart. They said it loud enough for me to hear, too, those snooty women. I’ll show them, one way or another.”
Becky knew exactly which snooty women Leslie was talking about, at least one of them. Kaci’s conversation echoed in Becky’s memory. She’d called Neal’s girlfriend an upstart.
A muffled thud sounded upstairs. Both Zach and Leslie looked toward the doorway, and the stairway beyond. Becky’s mind raced.
“What are you going to do with us?” Her voice came out louder than she intended. They exchanged a glance.
“We can’t let them go.” Zach raised the pistol and pointed it at Becky’s chest.
Scott stepped in front of her, shielding her from the gun’s path. “Where will it stop, Zach? Do you want to leave a trail of dead bodies all the way from Kentucky to South America?”
Leslie was staring toward the stairway. “Tenney?” she shouted. “What are you doing up there?”
Becky’s nerves felt stretched to the breaking point. She grabbed Scott’s belt and buried her face in his back. Her heart threatened to pound through her chest. Lord, help us, please!
Zach’s voice grew soft, so soft she almost didn’t hear it past the hammer of her pulse in her ears. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. But now that it’s done, I have to see it through to the end. I’m sorry, Scott. You’re a good man.”
Becky clutched the belt and pushed her face harder into Scott’s back. This was it. Her death. Maybe Daddy would fight Chris for custody. Maybe—
>
“Police! Don’t move. We’ve got the place surrounded.”
Becky opened her eyes and risked a peek around Scott’s back. An officer in a gray state police uniform ran into the room, another one directly on his heels. In the next instant, her protective barrier was ripped from Becky’s grasp as Zach, moving so quickly he was a blur, shoved Scott’s body out of the way. Scott fell to the floor. Pain shot through her scalp as Zach buried a fist in her hair. Her head jerked backward. Cold steel sent a shiver of terror through her skull as he shoved the gun into the base of her neck.
“Nobody move.” His shout, inches from her ear, reverberated in her eardrum. “I swear I’ll kill her.”
Two figures slipped into the room, moving slowly. Detective Foster and Jeff Whitley. Her heart threatening to pound out of her chest, Becky’s gaze locked on to the detective’s. How could anyone look so calm in a situation like this?
Well, he didn’t have a gun pressed to his skull, did he?
“Don’t be stupid, Garrett,” Foster said. “There are at least twenty cops around this house. You’ll never get away.”
Becky felt Zach’s body tense. “They won’t shoot me if I have a hostage.”
Her gaze slid to Leslie. The brunette stood, paralyzed, her lips tight with fear as she stared at her partner.
“Let her go, Zach.” Scott’s voice sounded as calm as Foster’s.
Becky wanted so badly to turn her head and look at him. She heard shuffling noises as he stood, but she didn’t dare move.
“You know I can’t do that.” Zach’s fingers tightened his grip on her hair.
“Come on, Zach. I know you. You don’t want to hurt Becky. She’s a woman. A mom.”
“I don’t want to,” Zach whispered. “But I will if I have to. If you make me.”
“I don’t believe it.” Scott’s voice sounded closer. He was moving toward them, toward her. “You’re a decent guy, Zach. You wouldn’t make an orphan out of two little kids. I know you wouldn’t.”
The grip on Becky’s hair relaxed a fraction. “Two kids?” Did his voice sound hesitant?
Bluegrass Peril Page 19
