Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (60 page)

She grabbed the boy’s hand and tugged him across the corridor toward the steps, the bag of tickets bouncing against her leg. They bolted downward—third floor, second floor, bottom.

God, where were all the people? She yanked the kid to the left. Saw a man with wispy gray hair pushing a mop. But he was too feeble, too stooped.

“Call security,” she yelled, her voice breathless as they streaked past. “There’s a man with a knife in the skyboxes.”

“You stoopers shouldn’t be up there.” He shook his head in disapproval and turned back to his shiny floor.

She ran out the side exit, around the paddock and toward the security booth with the kid sticking so close she could feel his ragged breath. Usually she resented the security guards and their anal need to check credentials, but tonight the lights of the guardhouse were a welcome beacon.

She charged to the booth and pressed against the grilled window, weak with relief. “A man chased us,” she panted, “and he had a knife. A really big knife.”

“Can you describe him?” The guard swiveled in his chair, leaned forward and picked up a pen.

“No, just his voice.”

“How did you know he had a knife?”

“Shiny.” She squeezed her eyes shut, overcome with emotion. God, her throat hurt, and it was so hard to breathe. Everything was okay now though. The security guards had radios; they’d catch this creep.

“Was it another stooper?” The second guard set his thick sandwich on the desk and stepped closer to the window, his voice rising as though she had trouble hearing. “Maybe it was a shiny plastic bag.”

“Maybe it was someone working an area you wanted,” the first guard added.

“No, no! It wasn’t like that. Listen, do you speak Spanish? Because this boy was with me. He’ll tell you.” She glanced over her shoulder, but the kid had vanished.

“Hey, k-kid!” She tried to yell but her voice squeaked, and trembles wracked her body. She frantically turned back to the guards. “You have to find him. Help him.”

The two guards exchanged glances. “Can we see your credentials, miss?”

She fumbled to unclip her card, but her hand shook and her fingers were too cold, the blackness around her too malevolent. She sensed the man’s presence. Knew he was out there, watching. Knew it with a certainty that made her sick.

“Please. Just find the boy. Quickly.” She stared over her shoulder, weak with fear. “He’s all alone. We have to help…” She could no longer hold back her wave of nausea and bent over and vomited.

Chapter Fourteen

Mark smiled at the pretty waitress, switching to English to order another round of Corona then back to Spanish once she’d left.

“And with the rest of the cash, I will bring up my mother and younger brother,” Carlos announced. “What’cha doing with your Breeders’ Cup money, boss?”

Mark shrugged and grabbed his pen, uncomfortable with the topic. Dino and Carlos had already spent every dollar Assets might make. Mark wasn’t overly superstitious, but he didn’t like to fool with karma either. Racing luck was fickle, and the fastest horse didn’t always win, just like his gray today.

He scribbled another notation on his training sheet. “I want to concentrate on the filly’s gate work,” he said. “The starter wasn’t happy. Steve said she spooked and came out of the gate ragged. Then stumbled.”

“She sure ran tough though.” Dino’s voice faded as his attention drifted to the bar. “Is that Trish over there? She’s looking damn good.”

Mark glanced over his shoulder. Several people from the track had drifted in, including Trish, all gussied up. Maria and Pedro were huddled over the bar, although he didn’t spot Jessica’s regal head. She and Maria had struck up an unlikely friendship considering Maria’s aversion to rich white folk. And Jessica—he sighed just thinking of her. There was simply no sense guessing what she might do or who she’d do it with.

He turned back to the table and added another notation. Smelled Trish seconds before she squeezed in beside him. He tried not to stiffen but wondered if horses disliked strong perfume as much as he did. Jessica always smelled of herbs and flowers, a fresh smell that Buddy obviously liked. Of course, Buddy liked everything about Jessica.

He’d also noticed Jessica didn’t eat much meat, bought a lot of salads and hated anchovies. Maybe Buddy liked that she didn’t smell like a meat eater. Or maybe it was her voice Buddy liked. Or the confident way she moved…

Jesus. He shook his head, annoyed he wasted so much time thinking about Jessica.

“Working, Mark?” Trish asked, her voice coy.

“Yeah. In the middle of a meeting.” He flipped over his barn notes before she saw them.

“Good evening, Trish. How’s everything in barn thirty-nine?” Dino grinned. “Hear your new boss is a bigger prick than Mark.”

Trish’s smile tightened, but she nodded hello to Dino and Carlos before turning back to Mark. “Thought you’d like to know my barn has a nice three-year-old dropping in class,” she whispered. “He runs next week. Probably a good claim.”

“Trish, stop.” Mark raised his hand. “Don’t tell me that stuff. You work for Radcliff now. At least show him some loyalty.”

“But my loyalty is to you.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “I keep telling you I’m sorry about what happened. That one mistake—”

“One mistake, but a huge one,” he snapped, irritated Dino and Carlos were grinning like fools, hanging on Trish’s every word as they checked out her low-cut shirt. They’d love it if he rehired her. As if Jessica wasn’t enough.

And wouldn’t that be chaos. Trish and Jessica in the same shedrow—double the distraction, double the trouble. He shuddered and grabbed his beer.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping since you fired me.” Trish leaned closer, and her leg pressed against his thigh. “Lost a few pounds.”

“You look good,” he admitted, letting his eyes drift over her undeniably lovely body.

“I think so too,” Dino added, while Carlos nodded with so much enthusiasm he spilled his beer.

“Look, we’re at a work meeting here, Trish.” Mark scowled at his two employees who were obviously thinking of everything but work.

“Then let’s talk later.” She squeezed his arm and rose from the seat “Once you finish your work. Or tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be around. Whenever you want.”

Dino chuckled, watching Trish’s cute butt wiggle away. “You must feel a little sympathy for your old man now. He had these kinds of opportunities every day.”

“He was married, and he was a prick.” Mark flipped over his worksheets.

“Well, you’re not married.” Dino’s gaze remained locked on Trish. “And she’s sitting by herself. It’s mean not to cheer her up. I think she feels really bad about Belle.”

Even Carlos, whose tendency to hold grudges was legendary, nodded.

“Yeah, she feels so bad about Belle she didn’t yet ask if the mare recovered,” Mark said, effectively silencing the two men. “No rain is forecast for tonight, so we’ll go ahead with Assets’ work,” he added. “Four furlongs, first set tomorrow. This is huge.”

His phone vibrated. He scowled at the interruption but checked the display. Security. “Just a sec.” He flipped open his phone, listening with growing irritation as a guard explained a stooper had been caught posing as his employee.

“Look,” he interrupted. “Just deal with it. ID theft, whatever. I don’t care. Whatever your policy is.” He flipped his phone shut and looked at Dino. “Track security. Christ, why are they calling me.” Shaking his head, he returned to his notes. “Same company we used in the spring is sending us a barn guard. Starts today, twenty-four seven. Unless one of you wants to sleep there?”

“I will if I can bunk with Jessica,” Dino said. Carlos nodded, grinning so wide his lip stretched over his broken tooth.

Mark flipped his pen in exasperation. Women loved Dino, and if they helped his friend forget his ranch and busted marriage that was fine. But Mark didn’t like the idea of anyone sleeping with Jessica…and Dino was a charming bastard. “No more jokes,” he said, avoiding Dino’s amused gaze. “But it’s been a long day. Go relax. We’ll continue this in the morning. I’ll check the horses on the way home.”

He rose and shoved the notes in his briefcase, ignoring Trish’s lingering gaze. He wished Jessica were around. She was a great buffer; other women tended to step back when they saw her. Good horses had that effect too. The really great runners had a fearlessness, an air of invincibility that made other horses back away.

He nodded at Maria who gave a jerky wave and ducked behind Pedro. Five years and she was still intimidated by him, no matter how approachable he tried to be. She couldn’t speak any English when he first met her. Now she talked as snootily as Jessica.

He walked over and shook hands with Pedro. “Congratulations on the race today. If we couldn’t win it, I’m glad your barn did.” He smiled at Maria. “Saw you feeding Buddy tonight. Is Jessica off somewhere?”

“No, no,” Maria stammered. “She’s probably working in her room.”

Maria sometimes mixed up words when she was nervous so he switched to Spanish, hoping to put her at ease. “I’m assigning Missy to Jessica and giving you Belle, the filly Trish rubbed. Belle is running in the undercard on Breeders’ Cup weekend,” he added.

Maria’s eyes widened as she realized the purse money involved. “Thank you, boss.” Her smile deepened.

Pedro thumped her back in hearty congratulations.

“You deserve it. You’re a hard worker,” Mark said. “I appreciate how much you’ve helped Jessica.”

“But I like her.”

“I do too,” he admitted, turning away. Trish was still posed on the stool but busy talking with the bartender, and he slipped out the side door with a sense of relief.

***

“Everything’s quiet in the barn, sir.” The guard, spiffy in his crisp khaki uniform, flipped open the logbook. “Last visitor was Carlos, who checked the horses at six.”

“And another check by Jessica at eight?” Mark asked as he glanced down the aisle at Assets, who played with his hay net and now had long stalks stuck in his forelock.

“No, I haven’t met Jessica yet,” the guard said.

Mark frowned and looked in Buddy’s stall. Jessica spent a lot of evenings with the horse and sometimes was a little sloppy with her time, but she’d never missed a night check. He strode down the aisle and rapped on her door. No answer.

Kato brushed against his leg, impatient to get in. He turned the knob, and the door opened. Damn. Over two hundred dollars on a new lock, and she didn’t bother to use it. Kato bolted to his empty dish then turned, arched his back and yowled indignantly.

Mark stepped into the room, grabbed the cat food and dumped a pile into the dish. It was just an old horse stall but now so stamped with Jessica’s presence, he felt like an intruder. Her busted bike was propped against the wall, serving as a drying rack for T-shirts and incredibly wispy underwear. He jerked his head away.

Buddy’s win picture hung in a place of honor above the head of her bed, but the rest of the walls now had beautiful pictures of their own. He sank down on the cot and studied the artwork. It was apparent now who cut out the pages in his magazines. Clever how she’d arranged them. The fields ran together, making it look like an endless window and giving remarkable depth to the tiny room. The end wall was the view from the clubhouse, but her emphasis was on horses running free in green fields and not racing at a track.

Papers crumpled beneath his leg. He shifted, pulling them out. Just notations on today’s results written in her elegant writing. ‘Race two, photo, runners three, nine, seven. $$$$$ Check betting machines. Race three, disqualification, two, eight, five (five moved to the win $$$$. Ask Maria about gloves. Lots in first aid kit.)

His gut spasmed, and he thrust the papers aside and leaped to his feet. Scrolled through his display and frantically called the guardhouse. “That stooper. What was the name on the stolen credentials she had?” he asked.

“Jessica Boone.”

“Damn. Look, just tell her I’m sorry, and I’ll be right there. She’s one of mine.”

“Too late. Our policy is to turn them over to the police. And you did say—”

“What station?” His hand squeezed the phone.

“Jamaica. It’s on the corner of Ninety-first and—”

“I know where it is.” And at least the station chief there was a friend. He snapped the phone shut and rushed down the aisle, past Assets, who shook his head in irritation, past the curious security guard, and into his car.

He called the station while he weaved through traffic. A clerk answered the phone, huffed a moment, then reluctantly put him through to the chief. They began their usual negotiating.

“For this one—eight tickets on Breeders’ Cup weekend,” Bruce Connelly, the station chief said, sounding rather complacent, as though aware he held all the bargaining chips.

“Come on, Bruce. Only four. And the seats might not be together.”

“Not much fun if they aren’t together. And I need at least six. Especially if I drop two counts of resisting arrest. She pushed one of the officers, and they both ended up in the mud.”

“All right. Six seats. But I’m picking her up now.” Mark closed his phone, sped the last half mile, and charged into the station.

He signed every form the scowling clerk shoved in front of him then waited by the steel-enforced door. Someone with filthy jeans and muddy hair was escorted from a side room, but he kept his gaze on the door, fighting his guilt. If only he’d taken the time to answer the phone, if only he’d listened to what the guard was saying—

“Mark?”

He swung around, too stunned to speak. Jessica? Christ. It looked like she’d rolled in the mud. And maybe something else, he thought, catching the unmistakable smell of overripe food. If Bruce’s officer looked half as bad, it explained why Bruce wanted six tickets.

“I gather you had some trouble stooping?” he finally managed. Her lower lip wobbled, and he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “It’s okay, Jess. Everything’s okay.” He tried not to breathe too deeply.

He nodded at the impassive guard and carefully escorted her down the hall.