Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (3 page)

ruckus. Holding a flashlight, she walked down the shed

row, shining the beam of light inside every stall. A horse

would sometimes lie down too close to the wall and not be

able to rise without help. In a panic, they could do serious

harm to their legs. A cast horse was dangerous business.

Other than being a little jumpy, they all seemed fine.

She needed to go home and grab a few hours of sleep.

Four o'clock was just around the corner.

Yawning, she turned and headed back to close the

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tack room door. She whirled at a noise from behind. A fat

rat sped down the shed row, ducking into the stall where

all the grain was stored. God, she hated those beady-eyed

creatures. Perhaps that’s what riled the horses. Rats

scurried around the stalls at night, searching for grain. A

movement in her peripheral vision grabbed her attention

right before tremendous pain exploded in her head.

****

Was she blind? She breathed in the familiar scents of

fresh straw, manure, and the strong smell of liniment.

The way her head throbbed reminded her of the

morning after she and her friend, Dani, had shared a

bottle of tequila. She curled her fingers and encountered

dirt. Why was she laying in the shed row?

Her memory returned. The horses had been acting

up, and she’d come outside to check on them. She rubbed

the back of her nape. Along with a giant lump, her fingers

encountered a warm stickiness. Someone had knocked her

out, and she was bleeding.

She pushed the button to light her watch. Twelve

twenty. She'd only been unconscious for about five

minutes. She struggled to her knees, grabbed the wooden

rail enclosing the shed row and pulled herself upright.

Whoa. The world tipped and turned. A wave of

nausea rolled in her stomach. She needed help. Where

was her cell phone? She searched, but couldn't find it in

her jacket pockets. Maybe she'd left it in the tack room.

Could she walk that far without taking a nosedive?

The shed row was dark. Had the lights been on when

she'd come out? They stayed on all night. The tack room

was dark, too.

She remembered the flashlight. Dropping to the

ground, she felt around the area until her fingertips

touched metal. Yes!

She reached up and grabbed the webbing across the

nearest stall to pull herself up, the flashlight grasped

tightly in her left hand. Warm breath, smelling of hay and

grain, blew against her neck. She let the horse nuzzle the

palm of her free hand. “Sorry, no treats.”

Where the hell was security? Supposedly, someone

rode from barn to barn all night long. If they'd done their

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job, they'd have noticed the lights out and found her.

Christ, the guards were probably drinking or smoking

dope. That's why people like Rye Cameron hired their

own security.

By the time she made it to the tack room, Jenna had

to sit down. She swayed and grabbed the corner of the

desk for support. She flipped the light switch, blinked two

or three times in the bright light and fainted.

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Voices faded in and out, stirring Jenna to

consciousness.

“...admit her?”

“...waiting for test results...depends on...”

“Police want to question...”

“...have to wait.”

Admit her? Test results? Police? Where was she?

Were these people talking about her?

A strong scent of antiseptic stung her nose, bringing

tears to her eyes. Something tightened on her arm, almost

painfully so. She struggled to open her eyes. Bright lights

sent a stabbing pain through her skull.

“She's waking.”

The familiar voice soothed her fears. Mr. Heartthrob,

Rye Cameron. What was he doing here? Where was ‘here’?

A hand curled around her wrist. “Jenna, this is Dr.

Haynes. Can you hear me?”

She groaned, turning her head into the pillow to

escape the light.

“You're in the hospital emergency room.”

Hospital? The memory of the night of her father’s

heart attack flashed through her mind. “The lights,” she

whispered. “Please shut off the lights.” She swallowed and

winced at the raw soreness in her throat.

Footsteps tapped across the floor. Once the lights

dimmed, she squinted at the two men standing by the

bed. “What happened?” she croaked.

The doctor leaned close and peered into her eyes with

a pencil-like light. “You don't recall?”

She shook her head, and then remembered. Her

stomach tickled her tonsils at the memory of a man

hanging from the ceiling, his tongue protruding

grotesquely. Her eyes widened in terror, and she opened

her mouth to scream.

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Callused hands cupped her face, thumb pads gently

caressing her lips. “It's over, Jenna. You're safe.”

The nightmare continued to rush forth. A bloated

face...feet dangling. She clutched at the hands touching

her as if her life depended on it. “Somebody hit me in the

back of the head.”

“With a shovel,” Rye confirmed.

“Who...who was hang...”

“Dimitri Manos.”

The man hung himself because he lost his job? And

he picked her tack room to do it? “I don’t understand.”

“Put it out of your mind for now.”

The warmth she saw in her employer’s eyes kept

terror at bay. She clung to his work-roughened hands.

They smelled like Dial soap, a familiar scent that was

oddly comforting. “What time is it?”

“About two o’clock.”

“In the morning? My horses. I've got to go...” She

tried to rise.

Rye gently pushed her back by the shoulders before

sitting on the edge of the bed. His hip pressed into her

side. “Don't worry. It's all taken care of. They’re being

moved to my barn.”

“Jenna,” Dr. Haynes's professional voice intruded.

“You need to have some tests. A head X-ray and CAT

scan. Then I’d like to admit you for observation.”

“I don’t want...”

Rye effectively cut off her protest. “Let’s discuss

whether or not you stay after your tests.”

“Fine, but I have no intentions of spending even a

day in the hospital,” she muttered as the orderlies

wheeled her bed out into the hall.

The procedures took less than an hour, since it was a

slow night at the hospital. She appeared to be the only

emergency. By the time she returned to her cubicle in the

emergency room, a jackhammer had taken up residence in

her head.

Dr. Haynes stood next to her bed, reading her chart.

“The police need to ask you some questions. Feeling up to

it?” Jenna forced her gaze from Rye who sat in a chair

beside her and focused on the doctor.
Hell, no. I don't feel

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up to tying my own shoes, never mind being questioned by

the police.
“Do I have a choice?”

“You can talk to them later — after you rest.” Rye

said. “No.” Jenna shook her head and grimaced at the

pain. “I want it over with.”

Rye pushed out of the chair, stepped back and

winked at her. “I'll be close by if you need me.”

Jenna's pulse picked up its pace at the thought of

talking with the police. Why was she so nervous? She was

a victim, not a criminal.

A large-framed man with balding hair stepped

through the institutional green curtains encircling the

bed. His dark brown eyes bored through her as if

searching for her soul. “Ms. Green, I'm Sergeant Hills

with the Lexington Police Department.”

“Call me Jenna.”

“Jenna, it is. Tell me everything you remember about

last night.”

A chill ran through her body. She remembered the

rat and seeing a slight movement before getting conked

on the head. “I stayed late to clean tack. Around

midnight, the horses grew restless. I went outside to see

why they were spooked.”

“And?”

“Everything seemed okay, so I headed back to close

up for the night. I saw a quick movement and felt a sharp

pain in my head. That's it. I came to about five minutes

later.”

“How do you know how long you were unconscious?”

What kind of question was that? Was she on trial

here? “I looked at my watch.”

“And then?”

“I noticed the lights in the entire shed row were off.

They'd been on when I first came outside. I retrieved my

flashlight and went back to the tack room.”

She twisted the corner of her blanket, noticed fraying

in the cotton weave and wondered how many others had

fidgeted away their worries under the same blanket. She

searched the room for her lifeline, but he was gone.

“Jenna?” Sergeant Hills prompted.

She licked her dry lips. “Could I have some water?”

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The sergeant reached over and poured her a glass from

the carafe on the table beside the bed.

She took a small sip. “Where's Rye?”

“In the waiting room.”

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to

continue. “I walked into the room, flipped on the light

switch. There was a man hanging from the ceiling. I saw

his tongue...” Her hand trembled, sloshing water onto the

blanket. “I must have passed out.” She put the glass on

the table, brushed at the spilled liquid on the soft cotton

and wrapped her arms around herself. “Who found me?”

The detective, busy writing notes on his pad, didn’t

look up. “Security personnel. They were near your barn,

heard your scream and called 911. How well did you know

Dimitri Manos?”

“I knew who he was. We'd say hello in passing. We

weren't friends. I didn't do business with the man.”

Dr. Haynes came over to take her pulse. “I think

that's enough for now Sergeant Hills. My patient needs

her rest.”

Hills placed his hands on the arms of the chair and

heaved his ample body to an upright position. “I may have

more questions.” He glared at her. “Don't leave town.”

Jenna groaned. This was like a scene from a third-

rate murder movie.

The cop fired another question. “Mr. Cameron told

me he terminated Dimitri Manos yesterday and hired you

as his replacement.”

“That's true.”

“Strange,” Hills murmured. “I'll be in touch.” He

saluted, took one more step towards the door before

pivoting. Reaching in his pocket, he removed a piece of

white paper and handed it to her. “This mean anything to

you?”

She took it with shaky fingers. “Win, ransacked,

sluttish, maniac...” Jenna frowned as she read the words

aloud. “No. Should it?”

The cop retrieved the note. “It’s a copy of what was

found in the deceased's pocket.”

Dr. Haynes followed the detective from the room.

Jenna listened to the hum of the blood pressure machine

and stared at the green curtains. The cuff on her arm

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Dead Heat

tightened again. She'd forgotten to ask Rye how he knew

she was here.
Get serious, Jenna. By now the entire

racetrack is probably buzzing about where you are and

why.
She had a sudden urge to leave before she lost her

mind. She threw off the blanket and swung her legs over

the side of the bed, holding onto the edge of the mattress

for balance. The Velcro made a loud tearing noise as she

tore the cuff from her arm. Now to find her clothes.

Dr. Haynes stepped in and glared at her. “What do

you think you’re doing?”

Jenna’s heart jumped. “I want to go home. Where are

my clothes?”

The doctor frowned. “I don’t think so. I’m admitting

you. I understand you live by yourself. You shouldn't be

alone, so you'll stay here for at least twenty-four hours.”

She set her jaw. Jenna's childhood nickname hadn't

been Mule for nothing. “I know my rights. You can't force

me to stay in this hospital.”

The doctor's face turned ruddy. “Technically, that's

true, but...”

Rye poked his head between the folds of the curtain.

“What’s going on?”

“Mr. Cameron.” The doctor released a sigh and

peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “Maybe you can

talk some sense into this young lady. She insists on

leaving, and it’s my recommendation that she stay.”

“What did the X-rays and scan show?” Rye asked.

“Nothing, actually. But with this type of injury...”

“I’ll make sure she’s not alone.”

Jenna couldn’t believe it. Rye Cameron offering to

baby-sit?

Dr. Hayden appeared doubtful. “Are you sure you

want the responsibility...”

“I'm sure.”

“I don't need a damn babysitter.”

Rye's eyebrows raised a few notches. “Where are your

manners?”

Jenna glowered. “I was raised by wolves.”

His mouth turned up at one corner, and his blue eyes

held her gaze. She squirmed, feeling like a bug under a

microscope. She looked down at her hands to break eye

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