Jockeys and Jewels Page 31

  He unlocked the door, following her into the stiff silence. The bed seemed tauntingly big, the centerpiece of a tawdry room. She jerked her head away, staring instead at the cheap picture above the desk.

  Clearly she thought he was dragging her here in hopes of some quick sex.

  “We won’t stay long,” he said quickly. “I’ll take you back to celebrate with your friends. I just want to explain some things, things that affect you and me.”

  If anything, her expression turned more remote. He propped a nonchalant shoulder against the door and fought to look relaxed. Christ, he’d faced mob bosses with less fear, but she looked so wooden. It didn’t seem the ideal time to admit he was a cop on a case; her entire body language was unreceptive, so different from in the tack room before the race.

  Before the race—when she wanted to ride his horse.

  Well, maybe she’d been playing him too. He knew how people could pretend. Nothing surprised him anymore. “So you hit the Calgary big times. Guess you’ll be riding ten thousand dollar claimers now, instead of two.” He tried to joke but his gut knotted so tightly, his words sounded mocking.

  She flinched but raised her head, facing him, and he knew then he was wrong. She had the heart of a lion but, unlike him, wasn’t a fake.

  “I love what I do,” she said with quiet dignity, “and I’ll always be happy to ride a claimer. Those horses are more level than some trainers I know. They’re certainly easier to understand.”

  “That’s actually what I wanted to explain,” he said. Her bleak expression scared him and he paused, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It was easier to deal with naked women, easier to show feelings with actions not words, but she didn’t seem like she wanted to get very close. In fact, she was eyeing him as though he were a sex offender.

  “Are you that reluctant to be here with me?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the guilt from his voice, trying to pretend her answer wasn’t even very important.

  She stared at him, much braver than he, not attempting to hide the vulnerability in her eyes. “Of course I want to be with you,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. But it’s afterwards. You always seem to have regrets. You turn mean. Even now, that nasty crack about claimers—”

  “Oh, honey.” He crossed the room in three strides and wrapped his arms around her, his heart beating in double time when she didn’t push him away. “You’re the last person I’d want to hurt. But there’s other stuff going on. It makes me cranky, and I gotta tell you about it.”

  “The truth is,” her voice wobbled,” I want to be with you, even if it is just for sex. And it doesn’t really matter how cranky you get.”

  “Julie.” He breathed her name in a shuddering sigh. Found her mouth, unable to talk, unable to do anything but cover her with a grateful kiss. He didn’t intend anything more, but her taste, her feel, her smell, the way she pressed into him...

  “It’s definitely not just sex, honey,” he managed, his voice thick. “And we need to talk.” But he was strung too tight, couldn’t bear to let her go, and when she tugged his head back down and slid her hands beneath his shirt, he forgot everything but the quickest way to peel off their clothes.

  Soon nothing was between them, and he was able to reacquaint himself with her sweet little body. Couldn’t get enough. He wanted to go slow, had always considered himself a decent lover—a little selfish maybe but who wasn’t. Still, if sex were a drawing card, he’d play it. He lingered over her sensitive spots until sweat beaded his forehead, and she nipped his shoulder in frustration.

  He finally eased into her velvety warmth, watching her expression, savoring her complete trust. He intended to linger, make it last, but when she raised her hips and wiggled, he began thrusting, no longer able to pace himself.

  The noises in her throat made him quicken, and he drove deeper until her shuddering climax wrapped around him. Oh, Christ. He jerked with a last surge of pleasure and collapsed, rolled to his side and pulled her with him.

  “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, breathless. She snuggled against him, languid as a cat while he massaged her back, finding each ache, moving gentler around the bruises and rubbing each knot until he was certain there was no tightness left.

  Her necklace had slipped over her shoulder and he straightened it, then tucked the sheet around them. Drew in a fortifying breath. “I want to tell you why I’m here. Why I brought Lazer. Why we met.” He leaned over, needing to watch her expression, hoping she’d see his sincerity.

  Her breathing was relaxed, her soft lips curved and her long eyelashes flattened against her cheeks. Serene, untroubled, asleep. Still smiling too, at least for now.

  He brushed back a strand of silky hair and cradled her in his arms, accepting that sleep wouldn’t come to him quite that easily.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Quit it, Blue,” Julie mumbled. Morning light filtered thought the curtains, along with his insistent nose, nudging her awake. She jammed her face in the pillow and yanked the sheet up. Her legs felt unusually heavy, her entire body lethargic. She needed more sleep, and she definitely needed Blue to stop kissing her neck.

  Her eyes jerked open.

  “It’s rather disturbing how you always confuse me with your dog, special though he is,” Kurt whispered, his eyes glinting with amusement. His warm mouth drifted down her neck, lingering at her throat, made her skin tingle as it dragged over her sensitive collarbone. Dropped lower.

  Her breathing turned ragged as his lips trailed across her stomach to her thighs and then… She bucked in shock but he held her in place with his hand, working on her, scattering her resistance. When he finally thrust inside, she welcomed him, wrapping her legs around his hips. They explored each other again, filling the room with breathy whispers and hot kisses until she gripped his back and arched into him.

  He stiffened. One last thrust. She clung to him, wanting him to stay, but he rolled over with a satisfied groan. His chest was warm and safe, and she snuggled into it, loving his feel, his smell, the reassuring thud of his heart and how his damp chest hair tickled her nose.

  “Let’s stay here all day,” she said.

  His magical hand rubbed her back, so slow, so caring, and she stopped talking and closed her eyes in contentment. No wonder his horses loved him.

  “How about I check on the horses and then we'll go for a quiet breakfast?” He sounded resigned. “Some place away from the track.”

  “Sure.” She really wished he’d keep massaging her back, but the chance for more sleep was tempting too. The mattress shifted as he rose, and she cracked open her eyes, admiring him as he padded toward the bathroom. His muscular legs and tight butt looked good in jeans but even better naked.

  The bathroom door closed. She adjusted a pillow and burrowed under the covers. Her skin felt tender against the sheets, and it was likely she had whisker burns in several places, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling so damn happy. She rolled to his side of the bed, found the warm spot he’d just left, sighed in contentment and fell asleep.

  The sound of a drawer woke her. She caught a whiff of soap and opened her eyes. He stood by the bed, tucking in his shirt, and the tender expression on his face made her heart skip a beat.

  “I’m getting up. Soon,” she said. Her voice sounded oddly husky, sexy even, but that probably happened to any girl after spending a night with Kurt.

  “You’re not galloping this morning,” he said.

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. She'd have to work on his bossiness though. Other than that, and his regrettable tendency to moodiness, he was absolutely perfect.

  “Please, Julie,” he said. “Don’t gallop for anyone this morning. I’ll be back soon. We really need to talk.”

  He asked so sweetly she relented with barely any hesitation. “Okay, no riding. But I have to drop by the barns sometime this morning.” She kept her face perfectly serious. “I haven’t seen everyone yet, and they'll all want to congratulate me on my magnificent ride.�
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  He moved like a panther, flipping her over and swatting her rear, chuckling at her indignant squeal. “Don’t let it go to your head, honey. You’re only as good as your last race. Tomorrow you might be a bum, although you do have a beautiful one.” He pulled the covers back up then covered her mouth with a toe-curling kiss, a wicked glint darkening his eyes. “If you’re still in bed when I get back, we’ll skip breakfast.”

  “No way. I’m starving. I’ll be ready.” She stroked the stubble on his chin. “Aren’t you going to shave? You look mean, and we all know you’re actually a very sweet guy.”

  “Shush,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

  She heard his diesel truck roar to a start, the crunch of gravel, and then it blended with early morning traffic. Oh, wow. She yawned and stretched in utter contentment.

  There was some soreness in her knee where she’d hit the gate and her left side still ached from the earlier fall, but overall she felt super. It had been a perfect evening from beginning to end. Absolutely perfect.

  But a kernel of uneasiness nipped at her, making it impossible to fall back to sleep. He’d made her feel cherished last night. She still tingled, remembering the things he'd whispered, his hard body, his knowing touch. However, just last week he’d only wanted a temporary relationship.

  What was temporary anyway? Six weeks, six months?

  She tugged at her bottom lip. He must care for her. Every day he seemed a bit softer, more open. He'd even given her that beautiful necklace. And he definitely had been more concerned about her safety than winning the race on Lazer.

  Lazer and Kurt—holy shit, what a package. Maybe he wanted to enter the colt in the Alberta Derby. The race was less than a month away. Yes. That's probably one of the things he was so keen to talk about.

  No longer sleepy, she threw back the covers and skipped into the bathroom, determined to be ready when he returned. Happiness always stoked her appetite, and this morning she was starving.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sandra whistled a jaunty tune, dropped the wheelbarrow with a clang and stared over the stall door, watching Kurt unwrap Lazer’s leg bandages. “Where's Julie?” she asked. “The way you ditched us last night, we figured you wanted to celebrate alone.”

  “We did.”

  “I see.” She nodded but leaned over the door, not trying to hide her nosiness. “Is she galloping today? Two trainers already dropped by wanting to talk. One of them has twelve horses.”

  “They’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he said, “or talk to her agent.” But his hands stalled over the wrap. Julie probably didn’t have an agent, but there was no doubt she’d want to take advantage of her career-boosting win. “She’ll be over after we eat,” he added, removing the wraps. “She can talk then.”

  He skimmed his hands over Lazer's legs. Tendons tight, no heat or swelling. He patted the colt, relieved he had come out of the race in good shape. He sensed Sandra’s lingering presence and glanced up.

  “You seem preoccupied,” she said, arching her eyebrow. “If you and Julie are so wrapped up with breakfast and stuff, I can pony your horses. After all, you two did win me a ton of money.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Julie’s quite tired today.”

  Sandra giggled. He tried to scowl, tried to hide his idiotic grin but it poked through anyway. He didn’t want to encourage Sandra, so scooped up the rolled bandages and strode from the stall, eager to lock up his tack room and return to the motel. He already missed Julie, and it was time to tell her the truth.

  Sandra shook her head and picked up the wheelbarrow. “Better shave before you see her dad. It looks like you rolled out of bed, and he’s pretty protective. And tell Julie her picture’s in The Herald. They sponsored the race, so it's on the front page. Even Otto saw it.”

  “Otto?” Kurt jerked around. “Otto was here? Already?”

  “Yup, he and another guy.”

  “Did the other guy have a German accent?”

  “How the hell would I know? Otto's not one for small talk. It might have been the meat man. Soon the only running that horse will be doing is from a can—”

  Kurt tossed his bandages in the aisle and brushed past. “Thanks for looking after my horses,” he said.

  He rushed outside and checked the parking lot, squinting against the rising sun. Otto’s trailer was still there. He felt in his pocket for sunglasses but found only his phone. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the mesh fence separating the lot from the road.

  A beige sedan with a buggy whip antenna was parked by the curb. Coffee cups spotted the dashboard, and two heads poked out from behind raised newspapers. Obviously the surveillance team.

  He pulled out his cell, pressing Archer's number. A recorded voice requested he leave a message. No doubt Archer was already on the plane and out of reach. He turned his phone from vibrate to ring and sent a text message: Call me. Slipped his phone back in his pocket.

  Apprehension twisted his gut as he scanned the parking lot. It was odd Otto had come to the track early, and he didn’t like oddities.

  Still, everything appeared normal. Otto's trailer was hooked to his truck, ready to haul his ill-fated horse to the meat yard, something Kurt didn’t intend to let happen. The surveillance people had slapped a tracking device on the pickup, so there wasn't any danger of losing him.

  But was his companion really the meat buyer? And why were they at the track so early?

  Kurt rushed through every barn, accepting the smattering of congratulations as he tried to shake off his worry. Otto wasn't in any of the barns. Nor was he slouched by the rail or lazing in the track kitchen.

  He skirted the oval, following the walkway to the race office.

  Tiffany's sleek head was bent over her desk, but when she looked up her mouth curved in a warm greeting. “I heard about the race last night. Congratulations again,” she said. “You going to Champs tonight?”

  “Not sure what Julie and I are doing,” he said. “Did Otto Laing stop by and pick up his horse's papers?”

  Her smile turned to a pout. She swiveled her chair, crossing her legs. “I told you before, I don’t know that man.”

  “Did you issue any visitor passes this morning?” Kurt asked.

  “Sounds like you want special favors again.” She leaned back, her thin blouse tightening in an attractive poise he was sure she’d practiced.

  “Tiffany, please. Did you issue any passes?”

  Her eyes widened at the snap in his voice and she turned, tight-lipped, to the computer. “Otto Laing picked up his horse's papers this morning.” She didn’t look up, and her painted nails clicked over the keyboard with brusque finality. “But he didn't request a pass.”

  “Anyone with him?”

  “No, just him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She inclined her head in a regal nod, but clearly he’d used up all his favors from the race office.

  “Thanks, Tiffany,” he repeated as he wheeled away.

  He stalked across the walkway, weighing scenarios. No pass had been issued so Otto's companion must have his own credentials. Probably Friedman then, not the stock buyer. But the two men weren't supposed to meet until this afternoon.

  He checked his phone. Some mundane text messages, one e-mail about an allowance win at Gulfstream, but nothing from Archer. And surely Archer would know of any change in Otto's schedule. The surveillance people had looked unconcerned, but if Otto had met Friedman on the backside they might not even be aware the two men were together.

  Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, chilled at the idea of Friedman and Otto skulking around. His instincts clamored, and he itched for his Sig. From this side of the track, it'd be a short walk to his motel. He could pick up his gun and be back in less than ten minutes. Breakfast with Julie would have to wait, at least until he’d checked on Otto’s activity.

  He jogged out the grandstand entrance and cut across the meridian, weaving thr
ough the blaring horns and exhaust from impatient commuters. Traffic sounds dulled as he followed the walkway to his motel room. The air turned quiet, almost subdued.

  Julie hadn’t locked the door, had even left it slightly ajar. He smiled as he glimpsed her erect in a chair, hair still damp from the shower. Tendrils framed her beautiful face, but her expression was odd. She looked lifeless, blank as a store mannequin.

  He charged in.

  “Close the door,” an accented voice said behind him.

  The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign swayed on the inner knob as Kurt’s hand jerked in shock. He turned and pushed the door shut, trying to breathe, trying to control that first jolt of fear.

  Marcus Friedman studied him from the corner chair. In an elegant charcoal suit, Friedman could have been on his way to a business meeting. The thin leather gloves were out of place though.

  So was the gun.

  Kurt stared down the barrel. Looked like a Walther with a business-like silencer. A gloating Otto leaned by the corner of the door, but Kurt centered his attention on Friedman.

  “What the hell?” He strained to inject the appropriate amount of bewilderment.

  “Interesting picture.” Friedman gestured at the newspaper spread on the bed. The winner's circle was grainy, but Kurt's face was clear enough, smiling beside Lazer, Julie and the rest.

  “Nice picture. Kind of you to drop it off.” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the gun. “What’s the problem? Did you think we wouldn’t like it?”

  Friedman’s expression darkened. “No jokes,” he hissed.

  Kurt shrugged, as nonchalant as he could be with that dark barrel leveled on his chest. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Friedman’s words were squeezed through pinched lips. “But when a trainer moves. And claims my cheap horse. And visits my shop. And when a car starts following Otto—” His voice roughened. “Are you with the police?”

  “I’m a private trainer,” Kurt said, “and I work for whoever pays me. And that girl needs to get back to the barn. Everyone's looking for her. Go on, Julie.” He motioned at the door.