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

Tonight, when the grounds were quiet, he’d take a closer look. Maybe the trailer had a false floor. Something had aroused Connor’s suspicions, enough that he’d run the license plate and followed Otto to the track.

A horse clopped down the concrete alley, the sound resonating through the thin door of Kurt’s tack room. “Come on, Okie,” a female voice said.

He recognized the voice of the friendly pony rider he’d met earlier, so he opened the door and stepped into the aisle. “Hi, Sandra,” he said. “How's that loose horse I saw you chasing?”

“Fine. Quite a commotion though. The trainer was hysterical.” She shrugged with the nonchalance of someone who’d seen everything. “How you settling in? Find everything you need?”

“So far. But I have to rent a trailer while mine has some bodywork. Would the owner of the blue Sundowner consider renting?”

“No way.” Her scowl was so fierce, her eyebrows almost touched. “That belongs to Otto Laing. You don’t want that wreck anyway.” She brightened. “But Julie West—that's the rider I was telling you about—her dad, Adam, has a nice three-horse trailer he sometimes rents.”

Kurt nodded, filing away every bit of information. Sandra had worked at the track for almost twenty years and would be a useful source. It was already clear she loved to talk.

“I also need an exercise rider,” he said. “This Julie you recommend, is she dependable?”

“Sure. Shows up early every morning, ready to ride.” Sandra slapped her stirrup over the horn and tugged at her cinch. “She’s good too. Not scared of much.”

“Where can I find her?”

Sandra jabbed her head in the direction of the end door. “That’s her coming now.”

He turned to study the approaching figure. Sunlight streamed through the end door, shadowing Julie’s face, but her body was clearly outlined. Petite with a tiny waist and good shoulders, the perfect riding silhouette.

“Sorry I left you alone,” Sandra called to Julie, blasting the words much too close to Kurt's ears. “Bill Chandler wasn’t happy. Says he’s going to quit and go back to training dogs.”

Kurt edged away from Sandra’s hollers but kept his attention on Julie, the last person reported to have seen Connor alive. She was only five stalls away when recognition struck, and he smoothed his flare of distaste.

This was the same kid who’d been dumped in the manure pile. The startling green eyes were unmistakable. Not a kid though. The vest and helmet were gone, freeing shoulder-length blond hair and high cheekbones, a face startling beautiful without the dirt.

Damn curvy too. He gave a hard gulp. She didn't look much like a murderer, and his distaste was joined with a more irritating reaction. He yanked his gaze back to her face, afraid he’d been ogling. Besides, looks were irrelevant. It was already clear she had a quick temper and way too much pride.

Not a coward though. She walked right up to him. Didn’t avoid eye contact, didn’t slow her step, didn’t hide her regret. He heard her soft intake of breath as she squared her shoulders, seemingly resigned to letting him choose the tone of their next encounter.

And his tone was set. She was to be his new best friend, unpleasant though her company would surely be.

“Hello, Julie,” he said. “I'm Kurt MacKinnon. I believe we met earlier.”

“Yes, we did.” She gave a cautious smile, as though surprised by his civility. “I’m very sorry about what I said earlier. Thank you for trying to rescue me from the…mud.”

Her diction was precise, almost formal, but her smile carried a hint of dimples, a whisper of mischief. He almost smiled back but stopped himself, preferring to keep her on edge and observe a little longer. He crossed his arms and used his deadpan expression that always made people twitch.

She waited, not fidgeting, not speaking, just looking at him with a guilelessness that surprised him. Such beautiful eyes, darkened now with a myriad of emotions. Regret, shame, hope—she was young, open, and a cinch to read.

Excellent. Relief softened him, and he finally nodded and smiled back. There’d be no trouble learning what she knew about Connor's death. It might even be possible to wind the case up by week's end and return to his real race business.

A stall door banged shut. “Come see his horses!” Sandra called.

“I already saw the gray,” Julie said to Sandra. “He looked huge but I was flat on the ground.” She turned back to Kurt, and dimples fluttered in her cheeks. “You were right about not paying attention. I was thinking of something else.”

“What was on your mind?” He was careful to display only polite interest.

“Another horse,” she said so ruefully, he grinned. A bit of a surprise since he wasn’t a spontaneous man. Control was a quality he’d learned to value.

“Come on, Julie.” Impatience edged Sandra’s voice and she pointed over the stall door. “That’s Cisco, his track pony.”

The Appaloosa remained at the back of his stall, uninterested in the attention of strangers. He rested a hind leg, and the hair on his fetlocks was so long it curled in the straw. Only his ears moved, flicking back and forth as he appraised his visitors.

Sandra chuckled. “You can always hire me if that lazy horse can’t keep up.”

“Cisco knows his job,” Kurt said, remaining behind them, amused at how quickly Sandra dismissed his Appaloosa. Everyone always underestimated the scruffy gelding. Neither he nor Cisco cared.

Julie gave Cisco a polite appraisal then followed Sandra to the adjoining stall.

“This is your two-year-old, right?” Sandra asked, glancing back at Kurt. “Mature-looking guy. You want a maiden race for him?”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah, that’s Ace. Hope to get his first start in the next couple of weeks once he’s gate approved.”

But Sandra had already turned and was tugging on Julie's arm. “This last guy is Lazer Cat, the horse I told you about. You gotta see him.” Her voice rose as she dragged Julie to the third stall. “He's out of a Storm Cat mare.”

“Wow.” Julie spoke in a reverent whisper.

“That’s the colt you saw earlier,” Kurt said, studying Julie and wondering how he’d ever mistaken her for a kid. Of course she’d worn a helmet and vest, and her face had been covered with straw. “Guess you heard him too,” he said, feeling a twinge of regret for leading the colt so close to the gap. Perhaps his horse had played a part in the filly's meltdown. He hadn’t been thinking, had been too intent on scoping out the track and locating Otto’s trailer.

“Yup, we heard him,” Sandra said. “Even if Bill Chandler stays, he won’t ask me to pony again. Or Julie to ride again.” She shot Julie a sideways glance. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“No big deal,” Julie said. “It's just one horse.”

But her voice had thickened, and Kurt guessed it was a bigger deal than she pretended. Obviously she didn't have much business which suited him perfectly. He’d already planned to use her for Lazer's morning gallops. It would be a quick way to gain her trust, and she'd be more accessible if she rode for him.

He turned to her, keeping his voice casual as though the idea had just occurred, as though he hadn’t been planning his strategy over the last two days. “Do you want another gallop job? Lazer needs an exercise rider, and he could replace the filly you lost. We can see how you get along tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” But she tilted her head and stepped back, studying him with those candid green eyes. “You’re new here,” she added, “so it’s only fair to admit I haven’t been riding here long. And your horse isn't my usual type.”

His mouth twitched, and he hid his amusement with a quick cough. Her honesty surprised him, although it was irrelevant. Archer had already summarized her background, and Kurt knew she was inexperienced. Soon he’d know much more about her.

He gave a dismissive shrug. “Lazer's just an expensive loser. He's had five races, all clunkers. This is his last chance to prove he belongs at a track.” Plus, Lazer was his slowest horse and the only animal he could race in Calgary that wouldn't be a standout. But he couldn’t admit that.

Julie’s head tilted as though absorbing his offer, but hope brightened her eyes. She was almost hooked, he guessed. She’d obviously had a shower since her fall. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but he could smell a hint of shampoo. He edged a step closer, not sure if it was flowers or something peachy.

“Where did he run?” she asked, staring over the stall door at Lazer.

Kurt jerked his attention off her hair and back to his horse. “Woodbine,” he said. “But that’s a synthetic surface. I shipped here hoping he’d like a dirt track and some easier competition. He’s agile and should be able to handle the tight turns. His mind is a problem, though.” Kurt glanced back at Julie. “It won’t be an easy job,” he went on, gauging her expression, aware jockeys were intensely competitive. “I need an exercise rider who can turn him into a racehorse. Someone dependable. Someone who isn’t afraid of his immaturity.”

The challenge drew her in exactly as he anticipated.

“I’m not afraid,” she said quickly. “I’d love to work with Lazer. And you.”

She smiled with such gratitude, he grinned back like a fool then clamped his mouth shut, annoyed by his reaction. He was too experienced to be softened by an attractive woman. He’d learned that lesson long ago. Besides, she was one of Archer's murder suspects, a person of interest. At the very least, she could be a link to the murderer.

And much as he hated the role he'd been thrust into, Machiavellian behavior had always been his strength. If charming Julie was required, that's exactly what he’d do. And God help her if she had anything to do with Connor’s murder.

Chapter Four

A keyboard clicked, the only sound in the dingy motel room, as Kurt updated his case journal. Contact had been made with the woman on Archer's list, and tonight he’d have a chance to inspect Otto’s trailer.

Satisfied, he closed the laptop and jammed it back in his metal briefcase, next to his gun and holster. No need to carry the Sig. He hadn’t provoked anyone, not yet. He spun the combination lock and placed the case in his room safe.

A few flexes didn’t help the kinks in his shoulders, so he tossed the truck keys back on the desk. The barns were close, and a brisk walk might loosen some tension.

The motel was a dive but conveniently located. He reached the track’s public entrance in seven minutes flat; however, the doors were locked, the clubhouse deserted. He was forced to circle to the side where a squat guardhouse blocked his way.

He paused by the grilled window and flipped open his trainer’s license. The narrow-eyed guard wore a crisp khaki uniform and was so polite Kurt guessed he was new. He scrutinized Kurt's training credentials, carefully matching photo to face before gesturing him through the horsemen’s gate.

Kurt followed the row of dimly lit buildings to G barn and paused outside the door. It was library quiet, devoid of humans, so he walked down the aisle to Cisco’s stall. The horse blinked and charged the door, ever hopeful for food.

“Not breakfast time yet,” Kurt murmured as he scratched the base of Cisco’s shaggy ears. He’d known a lot of horses, but Cisco was his all-time favorite.

Crack!

The abrupt noise made them both jump. Across the aisle a horse kicked with such force the wall boards quivered. Curious, Kurt approached the stall, but mismatched planks had been nailed over the wire mesh, blocking any view of the stall’s unruly occupant.

Something moved above his head—a dark muzzle snuffling between the top board and ceiling. Nostrils flared, revealing a healthy pink lining.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Kurt said, reassured the agitated horse was okay.

The muzzle disappeared and hooves cracked the planks again, so Kurt eased away. Obviously his presence didn’t improve that animal's disposition.

He continued his sweep of the barn, noting the absence of security cams, then slipped out the end door and onto the graveled lot.

Exterior barn lights cast only a feeble glow, and trailers of assorted shapes and sizes loomed in a murky row. He counted as he walked, five rigs over, one row back. And there it was—the slant load with Montana plates that Connor had described in his last call to dispatch.

Otto Laing’s trailer.

He gave the side door a shake but it was warped and welded shut. He circled to the back, eased two bolts out and lowered the ramp.
Creak
. The grating metal made him cringe and he paused, but the area remained still, silent except for peeping frogs and the rumble of traffic beyond the river.

He edged up the ramp, groping in his pocket for gloves, bag and flashlight.

The beam of his light revealed worn and jagged interior walls. Something fluttered. He jerked back, his heart racing until he saw it was merely a clump of tail hair caught on a wooden sliver. He tugged the hair loose and dropped it in his bag.

The floor mat was heavy and awkward, but he pulled the rubber aside, breathing through his mouth, ignoring the acrid smell of urine. Ants scurried to escape and, within seconds, vanished into a crevice. He propped the flashlight between his knees and scraped at the exposed crack. Insect eggs gleamed as rotten wood crumbled in his hand. Not much of a hiding place, only a home for ants.

He replaced the mat, careful to press it down in the corners before stepping outside.

There wasn’t much clearance under the trailer, but he dropped to the gravel and squeezed beneath the floorboards. Gravel pricked his back, along with a growing sense of urgency. Still, he checked every inch.

Found nothing.

He sprawled on the cold ground, heavy with frustration, stymied by the unremarkable floor. He’d assumed drugs were involved. That was Connor's specialty, his motive for joining the RCMP, but Kurt simply couldn't see what had prompted him to follow this particular trailer.

Gravel crunched, and the smell of chewing tobacco wafted on the breeze. Damn. He pocketed the bag and gloves, rolling to his feet just as a hulking figure charged from the shadows.

“What the fuck you doing with my trailer?” the man snarled.

“You must be Adam West.” Kurt grabbed a name Sandra had mentioned, keeping his voice relaxed. “Heard you rent your trailer. My horse is tall, and I need to make sure he'll fit.”