Jockeys and Jewels Page 23

  Kurt helped her from the car and into his truck. Started the engine, blasted on the heat, and thumbed the tear tracks from her cheeks. “Do you know if Martin fed the horses?” he asked gently.

  She remained blank-faced for long seconds but finally nodded. “At first we didn’t notice anything,” she whispered. “There was a bad smell and the horses were restless, but we were laughing…we didn’t know…we were laughing.” She groaned and swung to the window.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his cell phone, punching in Archer’s number as he loped to the barn. Wasted no time with civilities. “Goddammit, Archer. A farrier was found dead in Otto’s stall this morning. City’s been here and removed the body. They’re calling it an accident. It’s not.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What happened at the border?” Kurt struggled to keep his voice low. “I thought Otto would be searched up his fucking ass.”

  “Don’t know.” Archer’s voice was unusually subdued. “But I’ll find out.”

  “A bit fucking late now.” Kurt ground his heel in the dirt as he turned and checked his truck. Julie was sitting exactly as he’d left her. “Better get some plainclothes guys out here with video and camera,” he said. “There’s blood. Maybe not all Nick’s. And lift fingerprints off the stall door. I’ll watch it here until they show.”

  He snapped the phone shut and rejoined Julie. Fiddled with the heater, the blanket, the radio. She seemed oblivious to his stalling.

  Ten minutes later an unmarked Crown Vic swooped in front of the barn. Kurt signaled he would return and drove from the lot to his motel.

  He opened the truck door and guided her into his room. “Still cold?” he asked.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, pale, silent, unspeaking. Only her fingers moved, twisting and pulling at the edge of the blanket.

  Kurt joined her on the sagging bed, just wishing she’d let it out. “Does Nick have a family?” he asked.

  She nodded and sucked at her lip, eyelids blinking furiously.

  “Oh, honey,” he murmured, hating his helplessness. He stroked her cheek; the gesture seemed to penetrate her shell. A tear welled in the corner of her right eye. She looked at him then. Her face crumpled, and she buried her head in his chest.

  He didn’t know how long she cried. Didn’t care. But by the time her shaking subsided and her sobs dwindled to weak hiccups, his shirt was damp.

  “I didn’t think a horse would ever do that.” She rubbed at her pale cheeks. “Especially to someone like Nick. He was so good with them. Loved them all. Nick was supposed to shoe our horse last night.” Her voice strengthened, turning thoughtful. “Strange he was in Otto’s stall. Maybe the horse was cast, and he was trying to help him up.”

  “Maybe,” Kurt said. Skepticism roughened the word, but he kept his hands gentle as he stroked her back.

  Her eyes narrowed. “The last time Otto hauled a horse in, someone else died. So weird. Someone should ask him—”

  He planted a kiss on the top of her hair, hoping to distract her. “Give it time,” he murmured. But she felt so good in his arms, he lingered. Couldn’t resist dragging his mouth along her jaw and nuzzling her neck.

  A second later she stiffened and jerked away. Stared at him, then at the bed and her thoughtful expression turned to disgust. “My God. You’ll use any situation to take advantage of the ladies.”

  “No ladies here,” he said jokingly, deciding any topic that took her mind off Nick and Otto was probably a good one.

  But she winced, clearly insulted.

  He mentally groaned at his poor choice of words. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said quickly.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m obviously not a lady. You only needed one trail ride.” Her voice cracked, but she gave a dismissive shrug. “Everyone needs a little fun. However, the next time I have sex, I’ll do the choosing.”

  “But you did choose the last time. You said ‘yes’, very clearly.” He stretched back on the bed, pretending her words didn’t hurt, but his face felt like it was carved in granite.

  She jerked up and jammed her hands on her hips. “That kind of yes doesn’t count. We just ran into a mother grizzly. What happened afterwards was basic relief.”

  “Ah, so those little noises you made were sighs of relief?” He watched as color flagged her cheeks; she wasn't a bit pale now.

  “You're an unprincipled asshole who’d nail anything that moves.”

  “Not lately,” he said.

  “I’m leaving.”

  He propped a pillow behind his head, watching through narrowed lids. Thought she was moving stiffly but wasn’t quite sure. “Walk out now and you’re not riding my horse tonight,” he said.

  She’d already reached the door, but her hand dropped from the knob and she wheeled to face him. “Even you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Sure I would.” But he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Sex is pretty important to unprincipled assholes like me,” he added.

  She flushed with temper. Her cheeks were still stained with tears, but the signs of shock had vanished. A little more color, and she’d look completely normal.

  “Just one kiss and you can ride Ace,” he said.

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “A little more and you can ride Lazer,” he added, reassured by her reaction. If she really thought he was a complete asshole, she wouldn't look so shocked by his ridiculous proposal. His face didn’t feel so tight now; in fact, the side of his lip even started to twitch.

  She stared intently, probably guessed he was joking. However, she continued to look beautifully indignant, and anger was preferable to her helpless sadness that tore at his gut.

  “A little more and I can ride Lazer?” She crossed her arms. “What do you mean? How much is a little more?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever you feel like. Gotta hurry though.” The sides of his lips quivered, and he knew his stone face was cracking. He was just so damn relieved she was back to normal. Fresh, feisty and refreshingly honest.

  “Just a minute,” she said. She swept into the bathroom and closed the door. The tap gurgled. Something clinked. Maybe she was brushing her teeth, always a good sign. The door inched open. “You have to close your eyes,” she said.

  He obligingly closed them, listening to her steps as she approached the bed. “It has to be a good kiss, honey.” He'd only been joking, but he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. She had him balled in knots, and a kiss from her might keep him going for a week.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be good.” Her sultry voice purred above him. “And wet.”

  Splash! A wall of cold water slammed like a gut punch, soaking his face, his shirt, the bed.

  “Fuck!” He scrambled up, splattering water like a dog, rivulets streaming down his face.

  “You don’t look so smug now…honey.” She turned, carried the ice bucket back into the bathroom then tossed him a towel.

  He snagged it with one hand and blotted his face, absorbing the water, his disappointment, his shock. “You’re full of surprises,” he said. “How did you know I wasn't serious?”

  She gave a smug smile. “That definitely isn’t the way successful trainers pick their jockeys.”

  “Depends how badly we want them.” He lunged. One squeal and he had her flat on her back, pinned to the bed. She stared, eyes incredulous, then started thrashing. “Hold still, or you’ll hurt yourself,” he said. “I want that shirt off. Now.”

  Her eyes glittered with fury as he unbuttoned her shirt. He shoved it open and softly whistled.

  “Ah hell, Julie.” Compassion roughened his voice when he saw why she’d flinched when he’d helped her step down from the truck. Why she’d been walking stiffly. Ugly bruises snaked from the top of her ribs to below the waistband of her jeans.

  She understood now and lay still, staring up at him, vulnerable and exposed. “I’m okay to ride though. I’m really okay.”

  He rose and stepped back, shaking his hea
d at the blotchy smear of color. Hated what he had to do. “No, you’re not okay. Not combined with what happened this morning. I’m sorry.”

  “It won’t affect my riding.”

  He reached down and probed her hip. She flinched.

  He sighed and lowered himself on the bed. “I can’t let you ride the two-year-old. You’re in no shape for acrobatics. It could be a wild race tonight with all the first-time starters.”

  “Please, Kurt. Please let me ride.” She tugged at his arm. She rarely touched him but did now, looking at him with her heart in her eyes. Her heart for his horse.

  “No!” He set his shoulders, steeling himself against her plea. There was no way he could let her ride. “Absolutely not.”

  “Please. It’s important to me.”

  He turned his head and rose, didn’t want to see her disappointment. Rifled through a drawer, cursing as he fumbled for a dry shirt. Glanced over his shoulder. She slumped on the bed, looking so shattered his chest constricted.

  “Goddammit, Julie,” He slammed the drawer shut. “Ride him if it’s so fucking important. But you might screw yourself up for Lazer. And that’s a bigger race.”

  Her wobbly smile made his heart kick.

  “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ll take good care of Ace. I promise.”

  “It’s not the horse I’m worried about.” He yanked off his clammy shirt, pulled on a dry one and stalked toward the door. Couldn’t believe he was going to let her ride. But she’d looked so damn devastated, and it hurt to see her sad. ‘I’ll drop you off at Sandra’s.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Make sure she stays with you for a few hours. Ice your chest. Have a warm bath. Take care of yourself.”

  She just stared at him, unmoving, her beautiful face luminous with gratitude, and the last thing he wanted to do was return to a crime scene. “Come on,” he said. “I've got stuff to do. And button up that shirt, you…hussy.”

  That made her react. She bounced off the bed, still with the radiant smile, and punched him in the shoulder then wrapped her arms around him in a grateful but far-too-brief hug.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By the time Kurt drove Julie to Sandra’s and returned to the barn, it was midmorning. A white panel van was backed against the door behind the barrier of yellow tape. Solemn onlookers kept a respectful distance.

  The man Kurt had seen in the unmarked Ford waved him into the barn.

  “I’m Sergeant Hans Leaman.” He passed Kurt a pair of latex gloves and shoe covers. “Assume you’re MacKinnon?” At Kurt’s nod, he added, “We were told to work with you but to be discreet. We have a forensic team here. They lifted prints off the dead man’s tools and the door and stripped the stall for lab analysis. We've got pictures and video. Only thing left is to check the animal.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Just some nails and a lot of blood. Nails are bagged over there.”

  Kurt picked up the bag, examining its contents through the plastic. All were old horseshoe nails with the heads cut off. “The horse was moved across the aisle,” he said, dropping the bag back into the evidence bin. “Guess you’ve seen him?”

  “Yeah, but we haven’t dared open the door. He’s cranky.” Hope gleamed in Hans’ eyes when he looked at Kurt. “Think you can get close enough for a blood sample?”

  Kurt walked to the front of the stall, studying Otto’s horse as he pulled on the gloves. The bay seemed calmer. He still stood by the back wall but at least faced them.

  “Pass me the needle, but don’t latch the door,” Kurt said as he slipped into the stall. “I might need to get out pretty quick.”

  He waited a moment by the door. The horse raised his head and snorted—wary but curious. Kurt stepped closer, one foot, two, three. When the horse tensed, he stopped. Finally the animal’s shoulder was inches away. He raised his arm. The gelding flinched so he lowered it and waited, repeating the process until he was finally able to stroke the horse’s wet shoulder.

  “You’re no rogue, are you,” he murmured, patting the animal’s sticky neck.

  Sticky?

  He pulled his arm back and stared at the smear on his fingers. “This horse has holes poked through his neck,” he said slowly. “He’s all bloody. Looks like someone stuck him with a pitchfork.”

  “Maybe the poor guy he trampled tried to defend himself.” Hans' voice was dry; he remained a prudent distance from the door.

  “Then someone moved the pitchfork, because it wasn't in the stall this morning,” Kurt said. “Maybe the horse was forced over the victim’s body.”

  “So it is a homicide.” Hans’ voice lowered, and he passed Kurt a needle.

  The gelding swished his tail when Kurt pushed the needle in his neck but didn't step away, seemingly happy to oblige. Blood slowly filled the vial.

  “Need anything else?” Kurt asked.

  “Can you scrape some dried blood off each leg?”

  “Yeah, but pass me some hay.”

  Kurt exchanged the vial for four plastic bags and a flake of sweet-smelling alfalfa. The horse rushed forward and shoved his nose in the hay, delighted to have a meal.

  “Forgiving animals, aren’t they,” Kurt stated as he scraped blood from the front legs into a plastic bag.

  Hans just grunted but no longer stared at the gelding in raw accusation. He’d even relaxed enough to lean over the stall door.

  Kurt moved to the horse’s hindquarters and scraped off two more samples. He pushed the straw away from the animal’s hind feet, inspecting the trail of dried blood. Christ! He rocked back on his heels, startled by the glut of nail holes. Fresh holes, just like the mare. But unlike the mare, this horse had no back shoes.

  He rose stiffly, heavy with thought as he gathered the samples and left the stall.

  Hans took the vials with a satisfied grunt, oblivious to Kurt’s turmoil. “That’s it then, buddy. Hope this doesn’t compromise your role here. We were given specific instructions to avoid that.” He slotted the vials in a square steel case. “Keep your head up,” he added.

  Kurt watched from the doorway as their vehicles crunched away, leaving him with a renewed sense of isolation. And regret. He could no longer ignore the regret. He swallowed, shoving back the sour taste in his throat. Didn’t want to think about why Nick had visited Otto’s horse—not now, not while his emotions bubbled like blisters.

  He dropped a chair in front of Cisco’s stall and sat, determined to flatten his feelings, trying to draw from years of practiced control.

  Cisco leaned over the door, always non-judgmental, always happy to see him. Kurt gave the horse an absent pat while the App tilted his neck in bliss. A few people wandered past, throwing Otto’s horse dark looks and asking nosy questions, but Kurt’s brusque answers discouraged conversation.

  An hour later, Otto finally lumbered down the aisle.

  Kurt flicked the piece of straw from his mouth and stepped into the aisle, blocking Otto’s path. “Friendly animal you trucked in last night.”

  A variety of expressions darkened Otto’s face, but none looked like remorse. Kurt’s hands clenched.

  “Yeah, the race office called. Told me what happened.” Otto sneered. “That idiot had no business fucking with my horse.”

  “Did you ask Nick to shoe him?”

  “No, he must have gone in there by himself. After I left.”

  “Now why would a busy guy like Nick do that?”

  “We’ll never know,” Otto said. “I hear he’s dead. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

  “Not yet.”

  Otto’s sneer turned gloating. “Good, because I’ve been waiting to do this again.” He stepped forward and drove a fisted slab into Kurt’s stomach.

  Kurt twisted but the blow landed hard, hard enough to drive his air out in a whoosh. He staggered and stumbled back.

  Otto charged with a maniacal laugh, and Kurt reflexively snapped his leg into Otto’s groin. The man slowed but didn’t stop. Kurt sidestepped, kicked Otto’s f
ace then whirled and chopped a lethal arm across the back of his neck.

  Otto dropped like a sack of sand.

  Get up. Get up. Kurt circled the man on the floor, fists clenched, his breath escaping in furious gasps.

  “That won’t help.” Sandra’s voice was distant, blurred by the roaring in Kurt’s ears. He looked up. She kept talking, her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t make sense of her words.

  He turned back to Otto, sprawled on the floor, and edged closer, wanting to hurt him some more—needing to hurt him.

  “That won’t help Nick,” Sandra said.

  Kurt opened and closed his hands, battling for control. The thunder in his ears hurt, and he shook his head, trying to deaden the sound. Trying to deaden his feelings.

  Slowly he backed away.

  Otto struggled to his knees, staring at Kurt, bleary-eyed but belligerent.

  “Get out of here, you asshole!” Sandra hissed, stepping between the two men. “And take that fucking horse with you.”

  Otto lurched to his feet, raking them both with a virulent glare. Sandra edged closer to Kurt as Otto shoved past her and out the door.

  “I don’t think it’s wise to antagonize him,” Kurt said, his ragged breathing loud in the tomblike barn.

  “What were you doing? And I'm not a total idiot. I only talk tough when you’re around.” She shook her head. “Otto doesn’t care about Nick at all, does he?”

  “He definitely has sociopathic tendencies,” Kurt said.

  “Well, be careful. Fighting gets people suspended, and we like you around here. And it’s not just because of your nice horses.” She shrugged as though embarrassed by her admission. “How about I pony Lazer and Ace for free today? Believe me, that’s a rare offer.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing you came along then, free ponying and all.” Kurt forced a smile, but his voice turned serious. “Thank you, Sandra,” he said. “I was rather…annoyed. You didn’t leave Julie alone, did you?”

  “No. She’s fine. Gary's with her.”

  Kurt acknowledged a slight twinge of jealousy. “Okay. And I accept your ponying offer. But just jog Ace one lap. He’s racing tonight.”