Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (79 page)

She still smirked. He didn’t want to encourage her but couldn’t hide his smile. “There’s been a lot of disruption over the past six weeks but the horses have coped. Flourished, in fact,” he admitted. “Guess they find life more interesting.”

“And I think you find life more interesting too. Is that the reason you pretended to turn off your ringer but were really checking the time?” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Come on, I’m a trained reporter so I’ll figure it out. Does it have anything to do with that stunning girl you were with at Keeneland? The owner of Ambling Assets?”

“Jess isn’t the owner.”

Cathy released his hand and leaned back, oozing satisfaction. “So it is her. She did look a bit fiery. Not one to follow rules.”

“She’s damn difficult.” His mouth clamped.

“Well, you prefer difficult horses too. When we filmed Assets, I thought he was a jerk, trying to bite everyone. But he was already your favorite, and that was before you turned him into a stakes winner.”

“That spirit makes him a better fighter down the lane,” Mark said. “Did I tell you his last work was perfect?”

Cathy waved off his effort to change the subject. “Is Jessica the reason we had our last sleepover six months ago?”

“No, I believe it had something to do with your trip to Dubai.”

Her face turned dreamy. “Oh, yes. That’s right.”

He leaned forward. “Maybe you can help, Cath. You know their culture. But this has to be off the record.” He waited until he extracted her reluctant promise before telling her about the poisoned carrot.

“Sheikh Khalif isn’t behind it,” she said flatly. “His enemies are more likely to poison his horse, not Assets. They resent his close relationship with the West. Al-Qaeda thinks Dubai’s ruling family is hurting the economy with their lifestyle. That they’ve turned the UAE into a whorehouse. So even if it was some sort of terror attack, it doesn’t explain why extremists would go after your horse.”

Her phone buzzed. She gave him an apologetic smile and took the call. He flipped open his own cell and checked his messages. Nothing from the barn, and Boone hadn’t called back. Apparently he was somewhere in Europe and, according to his tight-lipped assistant, much too busy to worry about horses.

They both flipped their phones shut at the same time, looked at each other and laughed.

***

Traffic was sparse, and Mark was well on schedule. Seven-thirty. Jessica would have no reason or excuse to leave Maria’s early. At least she was safe. Still, Cathy’s mention of terror attacks left him chilled; he reached for the controls and turned up the heat.

He didn’t know who Jessica’s attacker was or why he’d tried to poison Assets, but surely the man would be caught soon. Every security guard carried the picture Dick had snapped, and even Jessica seemed shaken, so it was unlikely she’d wander off alone.

But if this man was a trained extremist, he’d know how to blend in. What they really needed was a larger data base. His cop friend hadn’t come through at all. In fact, Mark hadn’t heard from Bruce since he e-mailed the picture, even with the offer of two more Cup tickets. Of course, Bruce hadn’t been very happy during their last conversation—when Mark had complained bitterly about Jessica’s treatment by the police.

He punched in Bruce’s number, talked to his secretary and was dismayed to learn the man was on vacation. No wonder he hadn’t answered. Mark blew out a sigh as he racked his memory for other cop connections. Couldn’t think of any, not ones he trusted. His association with Bruce had developed because bailout of employees was occasionally required.

He and a rowdy friend had even spent a few hours in Bruce’s jail, although his buddy had managed to get them released quickly enough. Something about Canadian police and international privilege.

He slowed his car as he considered Kurt MacKinnon. He hadn’t seen him in a while, not since their boisterous celebration following an upset win. But he remembered Kurt admitting he had something to do with the RCMP. Something secretive.

He scanned his directory for the number. Kurt was probably running at Gulfstream but maybe had moved to Woodbine. He found a cell number and punched it in, praying it worked.

“MacKinnon.”

The laconic answer made him smile with relief. “You’re in a bar, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, my girl just won another race. Can’t lose with a hot jock.” Kurt’s chuckle was slightly wicked. “And no training tips. You’ll have to win the Juvenile on your own.”

Mark turned down his whirring heater, straining to hear Kurt’s voice over the country music in the background. “I have a police question,” he said. “Need your help.”

“Just a sec.”

Muffled conversation. He heard Kurt talking to someone called Julie. A lilting, feminine voice. A door slammed. “What’s up?” Kurt asked, his voice distinct in the sudden quiet.

“Guy tried to poison my big horse. I have a picture, but police here can’t match it with local mug shots, and the track can’t ID him. He might be foreign. I’m hoping some database somewhere—”

“Horse okay?”

“Fine.”

“Send me the picture,” Kurt said. “Can’t do much over the weekend but should have something by Monday.”

Mark’s shoulders relaxed as he recorded Kurt’s e-mail address. If there was anything on record, Kurt would dig it up. The man was coolly capable and a helluva guy to have beside you in a fight. “Coming for the Cup?” he asked.

“No, not until I have my own entry,” Kurt said. “Be cheering on your horse though. Good luck.”

Mark closed his phone, then considered calling Maria’s house and telling Jessica he’d be early. However, he was still annoyed at her innuendos. Training involved meetings, phone calls and dinners; it was impossible to hold her hand and reassure her before each one.

He parked as close as he could to Maria’s apartment. Checked his watch. Seven forty-five. He’d been here a couple times before, but Maria had never invited him in and probably never would. Ironic that she’d befriended Jessica; Maria slotted owners and trainers in the do-not-mingle category. Of course, she probably didn’t know Jessica was a Boone.

He climbed the steps, smiling at the boisterous laughter leaking through the thin door. Sounded like a neighborhood party. Maybe Maria would let him in after all. He had a hankering to sit back in a homey living room and relax. Watch some kids play. Despite Cathy’s teasing, he didn’t mind children. Jessica clearly liked them too.

He recognized Maria’s voice and heard a high-pitched squeal. Must be a neighbor’s kid or someone she brought home from Anna House. A truck backfired and he spun, relaxing as taillights flashed red then vanished around the corner. Just a noisy truck. Normally he’d be irritated if traffic scared horses. Now he was only relieved.

He raised his hand to knock then stiffened, rooted by the blend of languages—including one he didn’t know, spoken by a child. He squeezed his eyes shut, frozen with anger. For a second he couldn’t breathe.

The kid is here
. All this time, all the worry, and the kid had been right here. He wheeled and gripped the wooden railing, staring blankly at the rows of illuminated barns.

Fuck.

He forced his stiff legs back down the steps to his car. He’d have to fire Maria if he saw the kid, and he didn’t want to do that. Not until he thought about it. She’d be devastated, and no doubt it was Jessica who’d talked her into this.

Jessica, who he’d promised not to fire.

His phone rang, but he ignored it. Probably Jessica. She was smart. No doubt calling to make sure he didn’t come early, probably wanted to meet him outside Maria’s apartment.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose as the phone buzzed, again and again. Finally he couldn’t stand the noise and checked the display. ‘Long distance.’

He snapped it open. “Russell,” he said, in a voice that sounded strange.

“Received your message,” Boone said. “Glad my horse is okay. What was in the carrot?”

“Arsenic.” Mark straightened.

“Is Breeders’ Cup the last day of the meet?”

“No. Sunday, the day after the Cup is the last day.”

“Okay,” Boone said. “Then sometime over the next seven days, I want you to fire Jessica.”

Mark’s knee jerked so hard it smashed into the steering wheel. “What! What grounds?”

“You decide. Just make it real. She can’t know.”

“But she’s working so hard,” Mark said. “Doing a great job—”

“Yes, I know,” Boone said impatiently. “You’ve said that before. But I want her working for me. Been waiting a long time for this.” Muted conversation sounded in the background. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Boone added, his voice distracted. “Probably best to fire her on Tuesday. I’ll be back in New York then, and the timing would work better for me.”

Mark heard the click but continued to hold the dead phone, staggered by Boone’s ruthlessness. Her efforts, her sacrifice, all in vain. And his staff. They’d spent so much time teaching her. She’d been a sponge too, eager to learn, never complaining about the work, not even during her inevitable loneliness.

Yet Boone had planned her failure from the very first day. No wonder she had security issues; he’d probably jerked an invisible chain her entire life. It was clear her knee was fine. She hadn’t limped in weeks, other than from boot blisters, and he’d even seen her jogging around the backside in cute little shorts, healthy as any stakes horse.

Mark’s phone rang again—another long distance number, but he didn’t answer. Might be Boone again and he was too disgusted to talk.

He stared over his steering wheel, watching as a lone figure plodded down the road and into a shedrow. Night check. Jessica’s job for six weeks. And on pauper’s wages. What a prick. Boone shouldn’t have bothered putting her through the grind. Mark didn’t know how long he sat, but the watchman reappeared and plodded back down the road again.

His phone rang, and he checked the display. Maria’s number. He opened it with a weary flip.

“Hi Mark,” Jessica said. “Just let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll meet you at the bottom of Maria’s steps, okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and grunted.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jessica shifted in the passenger seat and peered again at Mark. His jaw was so rigid, she feared it might crack. “Maria sent along some cookies she baked. Would you like one?”

“No,” he said, not looking at her.

“I’ll have one then. They’re still warm.” She bit into a cookie, hoping it would stop her babbling. She’d thought Mark liked cookies, but now he wouldn’t even try one. Maybe his reserve was related to the meeting with Cathy—maybe they’d had a very intimate meeting and he wanted to invite her home but couldn’t because Jessica was staying there. The cookie lodged in her dry throat, and it was hard to swallow.

Or maybe there was something wrong with a horse somewhere. Not Assets or Buddy. She’d been with Mark when he stopped at the shedrow. Assets was as nippy as ever, and Buddy gleamed, all spic and span for his race tomorrow. Must be a problem with the ESPN people or maybe the deal had fallen through. Too bad—the media exposure they’d bring would have been good for Mark and his staff.

Concern tangled in her throat. “Is everything okay with Cath—” she coughed as the cookie blocked her words.

“What?”

Her throat convulsed and she choked. Tried to cough but couldn’t make a sound. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Cough it up,” he said, slowing the car.

The cookie container tumbled to the floor, and she fumbled for the window switch. If she could only get some fresh air, she’d be fine. Cold air blasted her face as Mark lowered the window, but it didn’t help.

Her panic swelled. She had to get out of the car. Eyes watering, she yanked off her seatbelt, groping for the door handle, desperate to escape. If only she could stand. She’d be able to breathe if she could stand.

“Wait!” He grabbed her wrist as the car bounced over the rutted shoulder.

She tried to break his grip, consumed with terror. He didn’t understand. The car lurched to a stop, and the pressure on her arm lifted. She stumbled out, gasping for breath. Cars whizzed by, spotty blurs of color, and she sagged against the door. Something jerked her upright, a jolt of pressure in her chest and she was finally able to suck in a breath of sweet, beautiful, painful air.

Mark turned her, gripping her shoulders, one hand still on her chest, his eyes a slash of blue. Her ribs hurt, but she forced a shaky smile. Sputtered for a moment until she realized she could breathe again.

“Thank you. Guess I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full,” she managed, her voice wispy.

“Dammit, Jess.” But he smiled and hugged her with such relief, the scare was almost worth it. “You’ll have to talk to Maria about her cooking,” he added, helping her back into the car.

She wiped her wet eyes, too shaken to hide the truth. “Actually it’s not Maria’s fault. I traded some stalls tomorrow for the ingredients and made those cookies. Just didn’t want to admit I was baking for you.”

“Feeling guilty, were you?” His sharp tone made her squirm.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She adjusted her seatbelt, avoiding his gaze. Did he mean guilty because she was jealous earlier? Or guilty because she’d taken extra carrots for Buddy? Or maybe guilty because a fan had written after she’d been so wildly creative with his mail?

“When we get home,” he said, “you’re going to answer a few questions.”

She peeked sideways, straining to see his face through the gloom. His jaw wasn’t as rigid as before, but it definitely wasn’t relaxed. “What kind of questions?” she asked.

“And let you prepare?” He snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Then why did you tell me? Now I’ll worry all the way home.” She flinched a second after she said ‘home,’ but he didn’t seem to notice her mistake, so it was okay.

He gave a humorless smile but said nothing.

The drive was much too short. He parked in the driveway, and she trailed him up the steps to the door. Climbing made her chest ache; she wheezed, and that was the only time he really looked at her.