This Case Is Gonna Kill Me (12 page)

“All of it!” Marlene snapped. “He spent half our marriage overseas, leaving me alone with the kids. And then he abandoned us. He owed me.”

“He did support you quite generously during their minority, and he paid for their educations.” I looked at my notes. “Even when Andrew changed majors three times and took nine years to graduate.”

“Whose side are you on?” Angela asked, while Andrew puffed like an outraged bullfrog.

“Yours, of course, but I’m trying to make you consider the arguments from the other side. It’s unfortunate that Mr. Abercrombie founded his company and made his fortune after the separation, but those are the facts we face. You should be glad he didn’t do it after the divorce. Then you really wouldn’t have a case.” My tone was hard enough to break rocks. “The reason this case was sent to arbitration is because there really isn’t an issue of law at stake. We’re trying to find some grounds for an agreement so you can get on with your lives and stop gnawing at this old injury. Locked in litigation is not a good way to live.”

Marlene stood. Her face was twisted as if she’d bitten into a rotten lemon. “I don’t need psychological counseling from you, young lady. These are his children.” She swept out a ring-bedecked, age-spotted hand to indicate them. “Flesh-and-blood children.
Real
children. Not some monster conceived in a disgusting act. I was his wife. I washed his socks and smelled his farts and fucked him. I want what’s mine. Come on, kids.”

She swept out of the conference room trailed by her dispirited progeny. I leaned back in the chair and let out an explosive breath.

“And I’m supposed to establish that he loved
that
,” I said aloud to the empty room.

*   *   *

Ryan whisked me away early, turning up in my office at barely 4:00. I gestured helplessly at the files and demurred, but he just laughed and told me that he was a partner and arguing was not allowed. I surrendered. A partner’s order was good enough for me, and I had found my first week back to be exhausting and depressing. There were no treasures hidden among Chip’s cases. There was just
Abercrombie,
and more
Abercrombie,
and a potentially murderous husband in a low-rent divorce case. We stopped by the break room fridge so I could grab the carrots I’d brought.

“So, you’re of the bribing school of riding?” Ryan asked, his voice catching on a laugh.

“I’m of the spoil-them-rotten school of riding,” I answered as we rode the elevator down.

I had thought we’d take the train, but Ryan had his car and driver. “Which is why I wanted to leave early,” he said as we settled into the backseat. I tucked the bag of carrots on the floor beneath my feet. “Friday afternoon traffic is always terrible.”

“The train—” I began, but Ryan interrupted me.

“Tell me the last time you’ve seen a vampire on public transportation.”

I thought about it. “I guess never. Just too déclassé for you?” I teased.

He smiled back. “Well, that’s part of the reason, but mostly it’s because we can’t pass as human, and we make you uncomfortable. Maybe in another generation the discomfort will pass, but for right now … well, it’s better not to tempt fate. There are still enough people in this country who think we’re devils incarnate, and if violence occurred, somebody would get hurt. Maybe even a vampire,” he added with another smile.

“Hence the fostering program,” I said.

“That’s the primary reason, but don’t discount the medieval tendencies of some of the old white-mustache vampires.
It worked in 1260; why shouldn’t it work fine now
?” Ryan said in a quavery old-man voice. He shrugged. “They like things to stay the same.” I absorbed that, then laughed. “What?”

“You’re giving me a totally different image of vampires. Instead of elegant traditionalists, I’m picturing you as crabby old men yelling at the neighborhood kids to
get off their lawn
.”

“Please, don’t include me in that categorization. I’m the very model of a modern vampire.”

“And a man who likes Gilbert and Sullivan, which sort of undercuts your claim,” I said dryly.

“And you are a pearl among humans because you recognized the reference.”

The traffic gods were kind—and aided in their efforts by Stephenson’s aggressive driving—so we reached Ryan’s Long Island house in a little over an hour. Stephenson dropped us at the front door. A maid came down the stairs, gathered up my small case and boot bag, and carried them into the house. There was no sign of a hostess as we walked up the curving staircase to a second-floor bedroom. It was a bit worrisome, but horsey lust had me pushing aside my concerns.

Ryan was waiting at the foot of the stairs when I came out of the bathroom, and damn he looked good in a pair of skin-tight fawn-colored breeches, high black boots, and a white shirt. The lenses of his dark glasses were almost black, and he finished off the outfit with a broad-brimmed Tilley hat.

He gave a whistle as I descended the stairs, and I felt pretty good accepting the accolade. As hard as I try to be chic, I seem to look best in riding togs. I had picked a pair of blue breeches and a sleeveless white shirt with a high collar. My handmade Konig boots made my legs seem longer, which made me seem taller. My helmet swung from my hand. Ryan looked at it.

“You wear a helmet.”

“Yes, because I’m not an idiot.”

“But you’re a good rider.”

“Which makes it more likely I’ll get hurt, because I get stuck with rank horses, young horses, and the worst of all, ponies. Also, I do more difficult things then a beginning rider. So, yes, I wear a helmet. My best asset is my brain; I don’t really want to scramble it.”

Ryan gave me a slow look. “Oh, I don’t think that’s your
only
asset.”

I could feel the blush crawling up my neck into the tips of my ears. Okay, so it looked like Ryan was interested in something more than a good working relationship. Getting involved romantically with vampires was always risky. The relationships tended to end quickly, often leaving the woman feeling hurt and abandoned and the vampire unable to offer much in the way of comfort, because realistically she was just one in a long line of women across the centuries. Finally, there was the risk that the woman would hook up with the one vampire who, through either an epic lack of self-control or a nihilistic desire to end it all, would decide to turn her into a vampire and then they both would get killed.

I didn’t know how to respond to Ryan’s flirting so I hurried past him. “Hey, let’s go. Time’s a-wastin’.”

The barn was behind the main house and some distance away to cut down on smells and flies. Personally I loved the smell of horses, hay, and manure, but I suspected that might be unique to horse-crazy girls. Ryan had tricked the barn out with wood paneling on the six stall doors and brass rather than steel bars. There were nice big runs off all the stalls and huge automatic waterers, a tack-up area, and a wash rack.

I was about to choke with envy. It was a perfect jewel of a barn, and the five heads thrust over the stall doors watching our progress were just beautiful.

The occupant of the sixth stall stood placidly in the cross ties. He was a large black Friesian who had already been tacked up. His ears pricked forward at the sight of Ryan. The groom fished a peppermint out of his pocket and handed it to Ryan, who tucked it in the corner of the big horse’s mouth. A look of bliss filled his liquid brown eyes as he crunched the candy.

“This is Maarten. He’s my big guy.” I reflected that it was a good choice of a mount for a vampire. Friesians were big horses with gentle temperaments, and they would be less likely to be bothered when ridden by a dead guy. Ryan continued, “I thought I’d let you pick your horse.”

He led me down the central aisle of the barn. “This is Widestep, Steppi to his friends. He’s a sixteen-year-old Hanoverian, trained to Grand Prix.” I stroked the horse’s velvet black nose and straightened his forelock so it hung straight down over his white blaze.

“This is Unitario. He’s a ten-year-old Lusitano stallion. He’s a solid fourth-level horse, training to Prix St. George.” Unitario was a dark black/bay, taller and leggier than the usual Lusitano. His liquid dark eyes had a golden circle around the edges, and he had a wary look on his long face. Like most stallions, he tested me by trying to nip me, and got slapped on the muzzle for his trouble.

“This one is Lily. She’s five and a pill.”

“Of course she is. She’s a mare
and
a pony.” Lily was an Icelandic with a golden coat, black stockings, and a thick mane that blended stripes of black, gold, and white.
Just like O’Shea’s hair,
I thought. I toyed with riding her just to feel that weird gait that was something between a trot and a canter, but I wasn’t going to waste my chance here on riding a pony, no matter how cute.
And you shouldn’t waste your time getting a crush on an Álfar either.

“And finally my desert queen, Flames Sirocco.” She was an Arabian, copper-penny red with a flaxen mane and tail.

“Great, a red-headed mare
and
an Arabian.”

“She’s exciting,” Ryan said.

“I’ll just bet.”

I turned back to Steppi and Unitario, considered. “How’s Steppi on the trail?”

“Nervous.”

“And Unitario?”

“The Lusitanos are bullfighting horses. They’re brave,” Ryan said with a smile.

Both horses stood with their heads thrust over the stall doors. My head swung back and forth between them. Ryan solved my dilemma.

“Del, please saddle both horses for Ms. Ellery. We’ll take a trail ride, then come back so she can ride Steppi in the indoor.”

“You have an indoor arena,” I breathed in awe.

He shrugged. “It was here when I bought the place. I wasn’t going to tear it down.”

I assisted the groom as he tacked up Unitario. Horses are tactile creatures, so I introduced myself by stroking him and breathing softly into his flaring nostrils. The groom handed me the reins, and I led the horse out of the barn and toward the mounting block. But Ryan came up behind me and laid a hand on my waist.

“Let me give you a leg up.” He bent down and cupped his hands. I placed my left knee in his hands, and he tossed me up into the saddle.

You forget how strong vampires are. They’re not werewolf-strong, but they way outclass even the strongest human.
They’re all predators, even the Álfar. They just prey on your mind and heart,
I thought.
No wonder the Powers are ending up on the top of the food chain even though they only went public thirty-some years ago. They outclass us in so many ways. No, they’ve probably
always
been on top, we just didn’t know it before.

Ryan swung up onto Maarten, then led us out of the stable yard and down a path through the trees. Unitario’s ears swiveled from side to side, and he kept his head up. The raised head wasn’t an indication of fear but rather curiosity.

It was cooler under the trees. With twilight coming on there was a soft chorus from little tree frogs. The only other sound beyond the breathing of the horses was the occasional
crack
as they stepped on a fallen branch. I knew I should probably be making small talk, voicing my appreciation of the opportunity to ride, but I just wanted to feel the play of Unitario’s shoulders beneath my knees. Feel the way my hips moved in time to his walk. Breathe in the rich smell of horse as he started to sweat in the humid summer air. Watch Maarten’s big black hindquarters hitching up and down and his thick black tail swishing from side to side. Notice the hindquarters on the man too. A person either looks great in riding britches or it’s a sight to strike you blind. Ryan fell into the first category.

We emerged from the trees into a large meadow. Ryan cranked around in the saddle and grinned at me. “Want to gallop?” I grinned back, shifted my right leg behind the girth, sent my left seat bone forward, and gave a brief half-halt on the right rein. Unitario rocked into a canter. I touched him lightly with both calves. His ears twitched back in a
do you mean it
? gesture. I gave him more rein and clucked to him. I felt his tail flick up like a pennant being carried into battle, and we were off and running.

We caught Maarten in four leaping strides and shot past. The big Friesian was surprisingly light on his feet, meaning his plate-sized hooves didn’t hit the ground like thunder, but he couldn’t match the quicksilver speed and agility of the Lusitano. I threw back my head and laughed out loud.

We circled the meadow twice before pulling up. Ryan checked his watch. “If we’re going to get you on another horse, we’d better head back.”

We took a different route back, covering the ground in an easy posting trot. I gave Ryan a few tips about using that outside rein, inside leg connection that helped him keep Maarten’s head down.

Back at the barn, I fed Unitario carrots while he was untacked. Steppi, standing patiently in the cross ties, gazed at the carrots with naked longing.

“Your turn will come,” I said, and slipped him a peppermint. Which he promptly spat into my hair.

Ryan laughed. “I should have warned you. He hates peppermint.”

“Great, helmet head and candy goo,” I said. “What an attractive combination.”

The indoor arena was behind the barn. It wasn’t big enough to be a regulation dressage arena, but it would be a godsend during New York winters. Ryan wasn’t kidding. Steppi really was a Grand Prix horse. I rode bits and pieces of the Grand Prix test. Ryan sat in an observation deck and clapped each time we did one of the elaborate moves. Each time he heard the applause, Steppi became more engaged and even more flashy. I ended with a piaffe, a cadenced trot in place directly in front of Ryan.

“He’s a ham!” I called out to Ryan, the words catching on my laughter.

“I had no idea. I should have you show him for me,” he replied, snapping on the lights.

“Oh God, I’d love to.” I shortened Steppi’s stride, going for one more piaffe. He got stuck behind my leg and he stopped thinking about moving forward smoothly over his back. I don’t know why I did it, but I tapped the horse on the shoulder with the whip. He froze, then carefully lifted his front end, tucked his knees beneath his chin, and held there in a forty-five-degree rear for several heartbeats.