The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty (8 page)

“You'll get used to her rolling gait. Just keep your weight centered, stay relaxed, knees with even tension, which is to say, very little. She'll be very sensitive to the tension she feels in your body, which is mainly telegraphed by how tightly you hold the reins, and the pressure you exert with your legs against her sides.”

Not that he appeared to need this little bit of instruction.

She let them go around the ring once at a steady walk, then said, “Okay, now, slow her down. You can pull back slightly on the reins.”

He pulled Petunia to a stop right beside her.

“Pretty good,” she said.

“Pretty good?”

“Okay, you were very good.” Probably needed to hear that after every performance, she thought, knowing she was being less than charitable, but reaching for anything that would give her an edge against the effect he seemed to be having on her so effortlessly. “For a beginner.”

He took the comment in stride, but didn't tip his imaginary brim again.

“Next class we'll work on turning around and coming in to the center of the ring. After that, we'll work on speed. Trotting, then cantering.”

“No galloping?”

“No galloping.”

His dark eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “How about outside of the ring?”

She smiled dryly. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“Well, the idea is to eventually ride the horse in something other than an endless circle.”

“Yes. But this isn't like the movies. I hate to break it to you, but trail riding rarely involves galloping.”

“Do you?”

“Trail ride?”

“Gallop your horse. In or out of the ring.”

“Neither at the moment—she's pregnant.”

“But otherwise?”

She folded her arms. “Why do you ask?”

“You normally work with racehorses. I assume it's rather like guys who work around race cars. Or Lear jets.”

“You think I'm a speed junkie?”

He looked down at her from his higher perch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I don't know what to think about you.”

“I could say the same,” she responded, before she thought better of it.

He held her in silent regard for a long moment. He seemed quite relaxed, but Petunia stepped a little restlessly, proving there was more tension in him than he was showing. “Could I interest you in grabbing a bite to eat? Later, once you're free?”

The offer shouldn't have caught her so off guard. They'd been circling each other almost from the moment he'd entered the stables. But it did. “I—I have chores. Then my horse…I have to see to her.” She was stuttering. She never stuttered. “I'd feel more comfortable if we kept this purely a professional relationship.”

“Okay,” he said, a little too easily.

Perverse creature that she was, she wished he'd at least been a bit more put out by her immediate refusal.

“Doesn't mean we can't share a meal, does it?” he went on, making her feel inordinately better, which was a double warning sign.

She didn't want him pursuing her. On any level. No matter how good it made her feel. She couldn't risk enjoying even something as simple as having her ego stroked. Much less any other part of her. She tried like hell not to look at his hands again.

He grinned a little. “We can discuss a strategy for helping me show Mac up when we ride together for the first time.”

She laughed in surprise. “So, that's it, then. This is all just some kind of macho contest.”

“Where men and horses are concerned, isn't it always?”

She chuckled. “Most of the time, yes. And yet, somehow I don't see you as the cowboy type.”

“What do you see me as?” He laughed a little and shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe I don't want to know.”

He caught her gaze and held it. The combination of that twinkle in his eyes and the laughter was downright lethal. Her nipples ached, her thighs were all twitchy, and there were butterflies dancing in her tummy.

“Or you can tell me over dinner.”

She'd never wanted to accept an invitation more. She had no doubt that if the two of them were alone anywhere outside of a business-only situation, dinner wouldn't be all they'd be having. Reason enough to end this little banter session. “I'm afraid I can't.”

She thought he might continue to press, and was surprised to find, even knowing better, she almost wanted him to. Maybe he'd find a way past her defenses, find a way to make it okay to take what she wanted and damn the consequences. Only the consequences, in this case, were huge. And didn't involve only her. Knowing that didn't make the ache go away, though. If anything, it only intensified. Her desires had always been career-oriented. She'd never wanted anything purely for the sake of having it.

But she'd be lying if she said that, right then, right there, she didn't want him. Just for now. Or at least until he could make the damn ache go away.

“Okay, then,” he said, easily enough. Damn him. “Class over, I presume?”

She broke eye contact, praying that nothing of the thoughts going through her head showed anywhere on her face. He was far too astute as it was. “For this round, yes. You can dismount here. I'll take care of the rest.” The faster she increased the distance between them, the better.

“No, that's okay. I'll do what's expected,” he said. “Not fair for you to do my work.”

“First-timer's pass,” she said. “We've gone a bit longer than I anticipated and I still have a list of chores to get through. It will go faster if I take care of her this go. You'll definitely be in charge of that next time.”

“So, you're willing to have a next time?”

Do I have a choice?
she wondered, but didn't say it out loud. Not that she thought Kate would lean on her to help out her friend, but Elena wasn't a novice when it came to work politics. In her previous field, she'd learned quickly that getting ahead sometimes meant doing things because you might benefit later from the favor. Even if the short-term risks didn't seem worth the effort.

“You're a quick study,” she told him. “A few more lessons and you'll have the basics down. Enough to trail-ride with Finn and Mac, anyway, if that's your goal.”

“Okay,” he said, then hesitated for a second, as if he was going to say something else, but apparently changed his mind. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

“For a friend of Kate's, not a problem.” Best he understand her motivation was purely professional, just in case he had other ideas. Especially if they were anything like the ideas she was having.

His wry grin reappeared. “So, how do I get down from here without blowing what little horse cred I built up tonight?”

She laughed again. He really had to stop making her do that. This would all be a lot easier if he'd stayed an enigmatic hard-ass. “Hand on pommel, body weight forward, swing your right leg behind you, kick your left foot out of the stirrup, and slide to the ground.”

“What do I do with the rope?”

She stepped forward and showed him, this time far more aware of his hands, his thigh brushing her shoulder, than she wanted to be. He slid off far too easily, and before she could step back, landing him once again deep inside her personal space. Right where she wanted him most, and least needed him to be.

He smiled as he handed her the rope, his knuckles brushing the inside of her wrist. A sensitive spot she hadn't known she possessed until that exact moment.

“Not too bad,” he said, that smile flirting at the corners of his mouth—a beautifully sculpted mouth.

A mouth she had no business looking at.

“At least I didn't end up on my ass.”

“Not this time, anyway,” she said, intending to create distance. But neither of them stepped away.

There was a tremendous pull in that tiny space between them, the kind of pull that made it almost impossible not to lean forward, or pray he did first, allowing her to indulge, just for a moment, without any of the guilt of having taken the initiative.

This close, she saw that his eyes weren't black, but a brown so dark they almost matched his irises, but with just enough color in them to create that gleam, that twinkle. His skin was incredibly smooth, despite the hint of five o'clock shadow, with such a gorgeous golden tone to it, she imagined it would always be naturally warm to the touch. And yet the angles of his jaw, the hard line of his nose, his chin, the thin white scar that ran length-wise, just above one eyebrow, all combined to make him more rugged than pretty. Made her want to touch. Taste.

“Shouldn't you hold on to this?” he asked, grabbing the lead rope from her suddenly lax grip. That teasing glint was back in his eyes, as if he'd been able to read her every thought. And, mortifying as it was to contemplate, maybe he had. She wasn't skilled in these kinds of games.

It took enormous willpower not to snatch the rope back from his hand and drag poor Petunia away. “Thanks,” she said, as casually as she could manage. As if just looking at him didn't make her want to get naked and do things she hadn't thought about doing, much less needing to do, in a long time. “I can take it from here.”

He stepped the tiniest bit closer and for a second, she wasn't sure what his intentions were. She went still rather than move away, her breath trapped in her chest. But he only moved between her and the horse, so he could stroke Petunia's neck and murmur a few good-byes.

She felt supremely foolish until he turned to her with a half smile and a knowing look that suggested maybe he'd been using the horse as an excuse to get closer. Not that he needed an excuse.

“We still haven't discussed your fee.”

Had his voice always been that deep? That smooth? Her gaze dipped to his mouth, unbidden, and she had to fight the urge to wet her lips.

“Elena?”

The way he said her name, with that hint of an accent, made her inner thighs twitch, made her wonder what her name would sound like when his voice was rough with desire and…then she realized she was staring at him like a half-starved wolf and jerked her gaze downward…to anything other than him. Twisting the rope in her hands, she stuttered her reply. “Uh…oh. Don't—don't worry about that. Favor for a friend, as I said.” She glanced up, smiled briefly. “Or my boss, whichever way you want to say it.”

“No. Kate isn't involved in this. I'm taking up your free time, which you don't seem to have much of as it is.”

She wondered just what he knew about her time and how she spent it, but assumed he was just being polite. Hoped so, anyway. What with all the hormones raging about, she'd forgotten all her initial suspicions. “Don't worry about it.”

After one final stroke to Petunia's neck, he stepped out from his spot between the two of them. “We'll talk about it next time then.”

She smiled, mostly in relief. “If you insist, but—”

“I do,” he said.

“Fine. Next time, then. When did you want to—”

“I'll find you.” Then he tipped his imaginary brim, grinned, and walked away.

She was still standing there, Petunia in hand, staring after him, until he was lost in the gathering shadows around the main house.

“He's trouble,” she murmured, stroking Petunia's mane.

The horse nickered softly and shook her mane, making Elena smile. “You think so, too, huh?” She rubbed Petunia's muzzle and, on a long sigh, turned and led her toward the stables. “Yeah, we're both in for it, aren't we?”

“T
urned you down flat, is what I heard.”

“It was a strategic request. I'll get over it, trust me.” Rafe walked over to where Mac was sifting through a pile of folders on the corner of Rafe's desk. “And how the hell did you find out, anyway?”

“Barn gossip.”

Somehow, he couldn't picture Elena chatting with her younger charges about their lesson. More likely she'd mentioned it to Kate, so it wouldn't come back to her that she'd spurned the advances of her boss's friend. “Since when do you skulk around the barn? Don't you have better things to do?”

“Yes. And I'm not ‘skulking around.' Kate is down there all the time, so it only follows—”

“Pillow talk. Great. And stop pawing through my files.”

Mac smacked him on the shoulder with a folder. “Lighten up. I tell you, where women are involved, the fastest way to find out if there's anything worth investigating is—”

“Unlike you, I can manage to resolve a case without falling into bed with my subject.”

Mac didn't even blink. “I'm going to pretend you said that because you're sexually frustrated after being turned down. You know I didn't go after Kate for—”

Rafe lifted a hand. “I know. And I'm not sexually frustrated.” Which was the truth, but by a slim margin. So, he might have taken a cold shower after his lesson with Elena, but that hardly amounted to frustration. “Just because you two can't keep your hands off one another does not mean the rest of us can't behave in a civilized manner even if we're not having sex five times a day.”

“Two, maybe three,” Mac said, pretending to look humble. “But I appreciate the vote of confidence. And I was only going to suggest a little wining and dining on your part. With Elena, I mean. That is, if you can get her to agree to go out with you. Even I have some principles.” At Rafe's look of disbelief, Mac simply grinned, then suddenly widened his eyes and pulled a folded manila envelope from the inside of his jacket pocket as if just remembering it. “Oh yeah, thought you might like to take a look at this. It came earlier. I snagged it from the FedEx guy for you.”

Rafe snatched it from his hands. “You opened it?”

“Of course I did.” Mac pretended to look wounded. “When did we stop sharing everything?” He adopted a hurt tone, but it was totally ruined by the twinkle in his eye. “Lately I feel like we're drifting apart. You never talk to me anymore. It's because I've gained a little weight, isn't it?”

Rafe tried to scowl, but when Mac turned and said, “It's these jeans, isn't it? They make my ass look fat. You can tell me the truth.”

Rafe couldn't help it—he cracked a smile and took a shot at Mac's head with the envelope. “Yes, it does look fat, now that you mention it. It's a wonder Kate can bear to see you naked. I could put you in touch with my tailor.”

“Very amusing.”

Rafe grinned. “I know. And you have to understand, with your head on Kate's pillow every night, I'd rather play it safe if you don't mind.”

Now Mac did look hurt. “You think I'd compromise—”

“Not intentionally,” Rafe said. “But you aren't always objective where Kate is concerned, never have been. Even you'd admit that.”

Mac perched on the corner of Rafe's desk. “Fine.” He nodded at the envelope he'd given Rafe. “So, I guess you don't want me to tell you about the fire marshal's report?”

Rafe snapped the envelope open and slid out the documents. “At Charlotte Oaks?”

“What other fire would there be?” He settled his weight. “They were looking for arson. Several different angles came into play.”

“Insurance.”

“Several different kinds, actually. In addition to who might have benefited—or not—from the loss of the racehorse—”

“Wait—if he died in a suspicious fire, surely the insurance companies aren't paying out on any insurance claim on his life.”

“By arson or an act of God, like lightning, no. But—”

“But what? Stables don't combust spontaneously.”

“They do when kerosene tanks explode.”

“So, it was ruled an accident?”

“Investigations aren't complete yet. Both the local departments and the insurance companies still have their men on the job. But it looks like they're hitting dead ends and the official result will be inconclusive evidence, ruled an accident.”

Rafe stopped flipping through the extensive report—one he'd only gotten his hands on by calling in a few favors—and looked at his partner. “You read the whole thing?”

Mac shrugged. “Most of it. But listen, there was another angle besides the life insurance policy itself.”

“Such as?”

“Collecting on the life insurance while he was still worth something.”

“He was a retired champion, put to stud. So his worth was established.”

Mac nodded. “Initially. His progeny, had he had any, would have been worth a pretty penny. And if any had gone on to do anything on the track—” He flipped his thumbs toward the ceiling. “So, when he suddenly goes up in flames—the only fatality in that fire, by the way—the very same night he shows up at Charlotte Oaks, it naturally raised some insurance suspicions.”

“You mean about his viability as a stud?” Rafe flipped through the report again. “Says they investigated his medical records to see if there was any reason he couldn't reproduce.” He looked up at Mac. “I guess that makes sense. If he was impotent—”

“No babies, no money,” Mac finished.

“And?” Rafe skimmed the documents.

“He had good swimmers.”

“Did they take any samples for future use?”

“No, just the samples for medical evaluation. They would have, eventually, but he'd only just gotten there.”

“So, no insurance fraud there. What's the hang-up with the life insurance?”

“Divorce.”

Rafe looked up, eyebrows raised. “Divorce?”

“Gene Vondervan, owner of Charlotte Oaks, was served with papers a week after his purchase of the horse went through, which was a couple weeks before the horse was delivered from Kentucky.”

Rafe tapped the papers against his hand. “That sounds potentially messy.”

“Divorces between people with a lot of money and assets usually are.”

“So, now we have potential sabotage as a means of reducing assets?”

“Or just plain vindictiveness if one party didn't want to share with the other.”

“Seems rather extreme, especially from someone who has made his fortune from horses. Is there anything in there about the horse being central to their divorce settlement?”

“I don't know. Nothing in that report other than the notation that the owners are in the middle of divorce proceedings, warranting further exploration.”

“What was the deal with the kerosene tank?”

“It was in an adjacent storage shed, but it looks like the final report will be inconclusive as to whether it was tampered with.”

“Why is it taking so long to get the reports done?”

“Apparently the Vondervans are complicating things, tying it up in court, hiring independent investigators. As you said, people with money…”

“Anybody else hurt besides the horse?”

“No, which is suspicious in and of itself. A brand new multimillion-dollar acquisition, there should have been all kinds of people around him.”

Rafe looked at the first page of the report. “Says here the fire started around three in the morning. How many people would have been out there at that time?”

“At least four. Because of the intense media coverage surrounding his retirement and subsequent sale, he was put in an outer set of stables that weren't currently in use. They were installing a full security and monitoring system, as they have in their main stables, but it hadn't been completed yet. According to the report, after he'd been brought in, checked out, and settled in his stall, they'd assigned one of the head trainers and a few stable hands to stay with him that first night.”

Rafe looked up. “Same guy, by any chance, that Elena listed as her reference? John?”

Mac shook his head. “Different trainer. JuanCarlo something-or-other. From the report, Geronimo had traveled well from Kentucky and hadn't had any issues with his new surroundings. Other than the media coverage, it was all a relatively smooth nonevent. He had a pretty full schedule that first week, both with media, further medical evaluations, etcetera. Which, of course, never happened.”

“So, no other horses, but at least four lives, were at risk. If it was arson, that's a potentially hefty price tag. Which makes the fact that apparently none of them were there at the time of the explosion pretty suspicious. Any reason the crew responsible for watching him would have done this? Any gains to be made there?”

“Other than, assuming arson, they were being paid by the person who wanted Geronimo dead, no. But they've all been interviewed. They were found guilty of negligence and are all facing possible civil suits from Vondervan, who terminated their employment, but none of them are currently under suspicion with the police.”

“They really think it was an accident, then?”

“I wouldn't say that, or they wouldn't still be hounding away at this. But the Vondervans' investigators are making sure they have a lock-tight case otherwise, and, as yet, it doesn't appear the locals can put one together that's beyond doubt.”

Rafe gave up reading the file. “What is the story on why nobody was there when the tank blew?”

“The trainer was called down to the main stables.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Supposedly a horse cut himself pretty badly kicking at his stall door. The trainer on duty in the main stable was relatively new and wasn't sure if it warranted calling in the vet, so he called the other guy down.”

“And was the horse hurt?”

“Yes. Needed stitches. They called the vet in, so it's documented.”

“And I'm assuming Geronimo's trainer stayed at the main stable while the vet was in transit? What about the other three on duty with Geronimo?”

“Standard ‘while the cat's away, the mice will play' story. When they found out the trainer wasn't coming back up for a bit, apparently they slipped off to play cards with a few of their coworkers.”

“Leaving the horse completely unattended.”

Mac nodded. “He was settled in for the night, and no one was around. I guess they figured no harm, no foul.”

Rafe nodded. It all made sense, everyone accounted for. But his radar was still pinging for some reason. “So, what do your instincts say? An accident, and it's just lucky no one else was hurt? Or premeditated sabotage?”

Mac turned away from the window. “I'm really not sure what to think at this point.”

“Come on, your gut must be telling you something.”

“Sounds like everything points toward an accident. There are some coincidences, with people being gone at key moments, but coincidences do happen.”

“So, you're buying an accident, then.”

“I'd want to see them keep on digging, find out more about the divorce settlement, make sure there aren't any additional players we don't know about who might also have had a stake in Geronimo's well-being. But, at the moment it feels soft to me. Nothing off enough to really get my juices flowing.”

“What about Elena?” He lifted the report. “Any mention of her in this?”

Mac smiled. “I was wondering when you'd get around to that.”

Rafe didn't rise to the bait. “Yes or no? She is the only reason we're even looking into this,” he reminded Mac.

“You're no fun.” At Rafe's scowl, Mac just laughed. “No, no mention other than showing up on the employee list. She worked for the trainers, exercising the horses. Her job didn't have anything to do with Geronimo and never would have. As far as I know, and none of the reports filed to date have mentioned anything different, she never had any contact with the horse.”

“Was she interviewed by investigators?”

“Only in the employee roundup. Nothing beyond that.”

Rafe fell silent, wishing like hell his instincts were quieting with this new information. Unfortunately, they weren't. It's not like he wanted her to be involved in anything that would jeopardize her working for Kate, but none of this had a good feeling to it.

“What's rolling around in there?” Mac asked, making a knocking motion in the direction of Rafe's temple. “Has Elena done anything to make you suspicious? Did you find out anything new during your lesson?”

“No. Nothing specific. If anything, she came across as a very direct person who doesn't hide anything or pull any punches. It's just…I can't shake the feeling that something is off about all of this.”