Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  He was exactly the kind of man who would kidnap an old man and force him to talk. At the thought of what Mick would have endured before he told where Limerick was, Patrick clenched his fist. He drew it back and aimed it at the wall but held himself in check. Smashing walls wouldn't undo anything. It would only prove he was out of control, and of all times he needed every ounce of intelligence and power, it was now.

  Mick needed him.

  Limerick relied on him.

  Catherine had even put her faith in his ability to get the horse and Mick back safely. And, by God, he was going to do it. He knew exactly the next step that had to be taken. He couldn't find Mick and Limerick. He hadn't the first idea where to look. But he could find David Trussell and find out the truth of the racing agreement.

  The thought that perhaps Trussell, an old man who felt cheated out of the end of his life, might be involved in Limerick's disappearance blossomed in Patrick's mind. Trussell and Mick were old friends. Long-time friends. Trussell could have met Mick at O'Flaherty's, offered a drink, and taken him without a struggle. Mick wouldn't have been the wiser until it was too late. And Trussell might be holding Limerick just long enough to cause a forfeiture of the race, so that Catherine would lose the horse to Kent Ridgeway. Not a perfect solution but a biblical justice— eye for an eye and all of that. Yes, it was a scenario that might appeal to Trussell.

  For the thousandth time Patrick glanced at his watch. Catherine knew where to find him. They'd settled it all before she'd left for Wicklow. He'd simply have to endure the waiting, and as soon as she arrived, they would head for Castlerock, the Trussell farm. It was across the country, north of Beltene on the Dingle Peninsula. It was spectacular countryside, as rugged as County Galway. And, like the country, David Trussell was a hard man, capable of stealing Limerick and holding Mick.

  Patrick had the exhilarating feeling that at last he was on a hot trail.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "David said to tell you it's not personal, man, but he has nothing to say to anyone from Beltene." Stephen Trussell stood beside the gate to the inner stable yard at Castlerock, one hand resting on the latch in an unconscious gesture of defensiveness. He shot a look of hatred toward the Volvo where Catherine sat.

  Patrick assessed the young man who spoke to him, hat pulled low over his eyes, face stubbly and clothes unkempt. It was David Trussell's nephew, one of the last Trussells to remain on what had once been one of the most prestigious breeding and racing stables in western Ireland.

  "Is your uncle forgetting that the Shaws and Trussells go back in time together?"

  "He's not forgetting. He's just hurting something fierce about King's Quest." Stephen Trussell shook his head. "That horse was his heart, his hope for the future."

  Patrick sighed. "That's what I've come to talk to him about."

  "Talk to that redheaded devil who sent you here." He jerked his head toward the car. "She's the one tricked him out of the horse. He can't see enough to read anymore and she put the wrong papers on the table. Trusting fool that he is, he signed them and gave away his last dream." As he spoke, Stephen's face grew white with anger. "There's a special place in hell for the likes of her."

  "If that was the way it happened, you have a right to hate her." Patrick took a few seconds to try to figure out the best way to tell Stephen what he had come to tell him. "I had some sore feelings toward Catherine Nelson myself, as you can imagine. Beltene has been in the Shaw family for generations."

  "And how did she trick you?" The young man was eager to learn the details. They would be fuel to feed his anger. "And how is it you're traveling the country with her?"

  "Wasn't any tricking involved. She bought the farm fairly. If there was any fault, it was from my family. Da' had taken out some loans against it."

  "Yeah. Colin." Stephen shook his head. "Uncle Davey talked about the troubles you had. He could see the road Colin was taking, but there was no way to get him on another track. He admired Colin in a way, and pitied him in another. He said the time for rebels had come and gone in Ireland. When Colin was in prison, we thought it was done. That he'd be there long enough to grow up a bit. Then when he escaped…"

  "It nearly killed my da'." Patrick said it simply enough. He'd trained himself not to let the hot, boiling emotions rise. Colin, his older brother, drew so many conflicting things from him. In most recent years, resentment was the primary emotion, mixed with a good portion of anger. Colin had jumped from one bad incident to another, breaking his parents' hearts and costing a fortune in legal fees. Beltene had eventually been sacrificed to Colin's wild dreams of Irish independence. But there had been a time when Colin was the hero every young boy worshiped, especially a younger brother. He was a man who believed in a cause, and was willing to fight for it. Storybook stuff. Until their sister was killed.

  "Where is the boy now?" Stephen asked.

  Colin's whereabouts was anyone's guess. There were rumors that he'd gone to America, or to Australia. Or that he was building up a paramilitary organization in the rugged terrain of the north. All Patrick knew was that Colin had failed to show up for his own father's funeral two years back. There had been no note, no call. That his brother was in hiding was a fact— he was an escaped convict. But in Patrick's mind, not even that excused his lack of concern for his family.

  "I have no idea where he is." Patrick spoke softly, calling up his rigid control once again. "I hear he might be in Boston. I hope he's doing well."

  "Just hope he never comes back here. If he can start his own life, it'll be best for everyone."

  "True." Patrick looked around at what had once been a thriving farm. The barn roof had sloped on one end, showing a desperate need for repair. The stable yards themselves were dirty. There was a general air of neglect about the place, and Patrick felt his heart twist. If he hadn't sold Beltene to the Nelson family, it would have grown to look this way. He didn't have the money to keep it up. If he'd been able to race Limerick, he might have made it. But that was water under the bridge. Now, at least, Beltene was well kept. The farm showed signs of love and money.

  "Looks sad, doesn't it? Unc' Davey won't let go. But I'll tell you, he won't last much longer. His heart."

  "Is he sick?"

  "Nah. Not medical sick. Just he's lost his will. King's Quest was it. He'd hung on and hung on because he saw potential in that horse. The race with Limerick was to be the beginning of a new era for Castlerock." Stephen snorted. "King's Quest has potential. No doubt about him. He could have rallied the troops here at Castlerock. Now Unc' Davey's given up and all of the help except me has moved on."

  "I need to talk to him. Whether he wants to hear it or not, Catherine Nelson didn't cheat him. The papers calling for a claim are forgeries. Catherine wants to tell him that herself."

  "Be off with you." Stephen looked amused and angered. "Unc' Davey's not going to cause a stink. She can rest easy. He sold the horse to that Ridgeway character. I think that cost my uncle as much as anything could have. Ridgeway." Stephen sneered. "Might as well have sold him by the pound to the meat packers."

  "Maybe not." Patrick understood Stephen's desperate anger. It was heartbreaking to see a good horse go to a home where he would likely be ruined. "Just think this through. If Catherine has been tricked, also, then the papers can be proven to be false. David may be able to get King's Quest home."

  "From Ridgeway? How? Even if the papers are false, it doesn't invalidate the contract with Ridgeway. He has the horse and his papers."

  Patrick hesitated. "It would if Ridgeway initiated the fraud. Or if he knew about it. Catherine is willing to tell the truth. She was tricked, too."

  Stephen's face opened with the first hint of hope. "That's true." His eyes shifted to Patrick's. "If it could be proven."

  "We need to talk to David."

  Stephen hesitated. "He's gone down, Patrick. He doesn't care to see anyone." Sorrow moved across Stephen's face. "It's heartbreaking to look at him, and the old man knows it. He doesn't w
ant pity so he hides away where no one can see him."

  "Maybe I can give him hope."

  Stephen looked around the stable yard. "This place needs hope, and a lot more." He sighed, weighing both sides. "Come on, then. He's in the office. Sitting and staring out the window, more than likely. Just don't act like you're sorry for him. He'll go into a rage. And there's no guarantee about what he'll say to Ms. Nelson."

  Patrick laughed. It held neither humor nor bitterness. "That's what we're left with, isn't it? Pride."

  "If Colin were around, he could probably recruit." Stephen looked back over his shoulder. "I hope you can give Unc' Davey more than hope. That might just be the thing that finishes him off if it's pulled out from under him one more time."

  Patrick took those words to heart as he went to the car and opened the door for Catherine. "It's touchy," he told her softly. "Let me do the talking." He looked at Familiar, curled on the back seat. "And you stay put. No shenanigans from you," he warned as he carefully closed the door.

  Together they followed Stephen into the barn. The place had gone down fast. The stalls, once neatly cleaned and filled with fine animals, were empty and dirty. The barn aisle was cluttered with tools and pieces of equipment that had never been put away. Several puddles indicated there were chronic leaks in the roof, and the air itself was musty, old and forlorn.

  "Good Lord, Stephen," Patrick said with disapproval.

  "There's no money, Patrick. He put away the funds he got for King's Quest. He won't say where and he won't spend them."

  Patrick's heart sparked. "Then he still has hope himself, the old devil. He knows he's been tricked. He's hoping to get King's Quest back."

  "Maybe. He knows he's been had, that's true enough. But he hasn't a clue what to do about it."

  The thought that David Trussell might be behind the theft of Limerick and the disappearance of old Mick returned to Patrick like the bitter aftertaste of bad food. It was possible. Anything was possible. But David Trussell had always been a man of honor. He might shoot Catherine if he discovered she'd cheated him, but he wouldn't steal from her. Or at least, that was how he'd once been. They were about to discover if time had changed him.

  When Stephen opened the door of the barn, Patrick saw the anger ignite in David's eyes.

  "Get her out of here," David said. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk.

  "Give us a chance," Patrick said before the older trainer could say more. "I think you and Catherine Nelson have both been duped. She didn't trick you, David. You have my word on it."

  Catherine felt the old man's look as if it were a physical blow. Though it cost her to do so, she straightened her back and refused to look away from him. There was plenty she wanted to say, but Patrick had asked her to hold her tongue.

  The anger was slow to die in David Trussell's eyes. When it had fallen to glowing embers, he sighed. "I don't know what to believe. If it wasn't her, who was it?"

  "I'm not certain. Do you have the agreement?"

  "Ridgeway took it."

  Patrick nodded. "I thought as much. I checked the track and there isn't one filed there."

  David sat up straight. "Then it isn't valid."

  "Want to make any bets that one will appear before the race date?"

  David Trussell stood. He was a tall man, still lean and muscular even though he was in his late sixties. "Are you certain Ms. Nelson doesn't have all the copies?"

  "I'm positive." Patrick put his hand on Catherine's shoulder, a gesture of friendship and support. By word and deed he was demonstrating his bond to her. "Catherine is no cheater. You have my word on it."

  "And how can you be so certain of the family that put you out of your own farm?"

  Patrick's hand tightened, restraining her. "Because there's a clause in there that doesn't allow for a scratch unless both parties agree." His voice was soft.

  "Don't you think I know that, man?" David pounded the desk top. "If I'd had a chance to scratch, I would have pulled King's Quest from that cockamamy agreement and he'd still be here. I'd still have a future. That clause means nothing to her!" He glared at her.

  "Four months ago, I might have agreed with you. But now…I know for certain that Catherine stands to lose far more than you by the terms of that agreement." Patrick waited until he saw the interest build and grow in the older man. "Limerick's been stolen. If he isn't there to race, and if Ridgeway won't agree to a delay, Catherine will lose him. And believe me, David, Limerick is as much to Beltene as King's Quest was to Castlerock. The heart and future."

  "The stallion's gone?" David was incredulous. "How? What were you doing when they took him? This isn't possible. I thought you and that old reprobate Mick never left his side."

  "It's worse than that. Mick has disappeared without a trace or word. I'd stolen Limerick myself in an effort to force Catherine to rest his bad knee. I hid him out in the bogs, very isolated. Only Mick and I knew where he was. Someone stole him from me."

  Catherine couldn't help herself. Her hand moved up Patrick's back, stroking a soothing path. He was a man of great pride, and it had cost him to admit that he'd lost Limerick. And he'd done it for her. No one had ever given her so much.

  David sat. "This is the damnedest tale I've heard." He motioned to Patrick, Catherine and Stephen to take a seat. "What's going on here?"

  "I wish to hell I knew, but somehow I think Kent Ridgeway is behind it, or at least behind part of it. He stands to gain too much. He's got King's Quest, and if this goes off as it looks like it's going to, he'll have ownership of Limerick, too," Patrick said.

  "But the horse is stolen."

  "Want to bet that Limerick will suddenly reappear shortly after the race deadline?" There was anger in Patrick's voice. "I can see it now. Ridgeway at the track with your horse waiting for Limerick to show. When he doesn't, Ridgeway will make a suitable fuss and declare Catherine in default. By the terms of the racing contract, which will conveniently be found in the correct place in the office, he'll own Limerick."

  "All without risking a single thing," Stephen said. "It's genius."

  "And Patrick gets the blame." David was seeing his way to the heart of the issue.

  The three men looked at each other, then at Catherine.

  "Let's drive the snake out into the open," Stephen said.

  "How?" David asked.

  "This could take a bit of planning and a lot of luck, but that's why we came here. If anyone can help us, you can."

  The sound of a dog barking interrupted the three men. Stephen walked to the window and craned his neck. "Fancy car. Nicely dressed gent." He waited. "Well, well, the snakes are indeed crawling. It's O'Day."

  "Come to pick the carcass," David said bitterly. "Can't even wait for it to quit twitching."

  Patrick and Catherine said nothing. Benjamin O'Day was a horse trader, of sorts. He specialized in foreclosure sales on horses and then resold them as hunters or breeding stock. He had no particular concern about what happened to the animals that passed through his hands, nor about the people who once owned them or now purchased them. He made no guarantees on his "products," and rumors abounded that his tactics were often less than ethical. Yet he was highly regarded by the hunt set.

  There was a knock on the office door. David reached down to the side of his chair and let his fingers grip the handle of the cane. "Open the door, Stephen, and I'll give him the beating he deserves. Five years ago he'd know better than to put foot on Castlerock. Damn vulture."

  "Wait." Patrick spoke softly. "O'Day makes the rounds. He could prove useful to us."

  Stephen nodded at his uncle. "Let him in," David said with a bit of rancor. "I can always beat him when we're ready to throw him out."

  Patrick smiled. It was as close to the old spirit as he'd seen in David Trussell. Maybe the old man wasn't buried under bitterness and disappointment. It only made Patrick more determined to help him. Beltene was gone, sold. But Castlerock could maybe be redeemed.

  Ben O'Day hadn't
expected to see all three men and Catherine Nelson sitting in the office. He nodded at all as he stepped into the room. His tweed coat was immaculate, his slacks pressed with a razor-sharp crease. "Well, Ms. Nelson, Patrick, I hope you haven't already beaten me out of the best of Castlerock stock."

  "We're not buying," Patrick said easily. "In fact, David was asking about some of the Beltene brood mares. We're here to sell."

  "I thought you sold your stud to Wicklow." O'Day looked at David for confirmation.

  No one said anything.

  "What's going on here?" O'Day demanded. "It's like a conspiracy. You act like you're plotting the overthrow of the government." He laughed sharply. "Has the talk of Cuchulain ridin' in the mists gotten to all of you? Dreamin' the dream is a speciality of the Shaw family, but I had no idea it had wormed into the Trussell brain. And you, Ms. Nelson, a good ways out of your heritage, I'd say."

  O'Day's words were dangerously inflamatory. Patrick clenched his fists at his side, but he didn't move.

  "What talk of Cuchulain?" Stephen asked. He looked at his uncle, who shrugged.

  "I hear the old legend has risen from the grave and taken to ridin' the Clifden seacoast road late at night calling for a free Ireland." O'Day grinned. "The women are abuzz."

  "Go on," Stephen said with a snort. "I've heard that you used some mighty crude methods of cheating folks out of their stock, but this is beyond the worst I've heard."

  "I've never cheated anyone." O'Day's eyes were hard. "Ms. Nelson has no doubt enjoyed my efforts on some of her Dublin hunts. It's a hard business, boys."

  "Where did you hear about Cuchulain?" Patrick asked. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his soft voice. Only the slight thickening of his brogue attested to his emotional state.

  "Oh, it's all over Connemara. Folks are talking left and right. It seems the old legend put in an appearance night before last and scared the hell out of a family whose car had broken down. They were walking home and heard the thunder of hooves. Out of the mist rode the warrior. He called for a free Ireland and urged the family to take up arms and fight."