Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (5 page)

the hot current racing through her blood.
Oh yeah. I’m in

trouble.

24

Dead Heat

His lips curved into a knowing smile.

Move Jenna. You're not naïve. You know damn well

where this is heading.

Rye dropped the pencil, reached over and traced her

mouth with his thumb. “I've wanted to do this again since

the day we left the hospital.”

She wrenched her gaze from him and backed away,

shaking her head. “I've been down that road. I'm not

interested in traveling it again.”

He tilted back in his chair and chuckled. “A trip down

the same road in a nicer vehicle makes all the difference.”

She tried to scowl, but laughed instead at the

absurdity of his statement. It was damn near impossible

to stay angry at this man. “Not interested, Cameron.

Even in a Mercedes.” Before he could make a comeback,

she changed the subject. “You need to fire Jamal.”

An astute businessman replaced the laid-back flirt.

He stiffened in the chair. “Why? He's the best groom in

this barn.”

“He won't let me near Tsunami. I wouldn't be

surprised if he sleeps in the damn stall.”

His brow wrinkled as he frowned. “I'll talk to him.

Jamal keeps to himself. Always has, although I thought

he and Dimitri were close.” He paused and picked up the

pencil. Tap, tap, tap. “Any other groom, I'd say fire him

yourself. No need to check with me. But Jamal's been

with Tsunami since he was a yearling. I'll talk to him

today. Let me know if he's still uncooperative tomorrow.”

“Fair enough.” Jenna reached over, grabbed the

pencil out of his fingers and snapped it in half. “That

tapping drives me crazy.”

Heavy silence filled the room. Their gazes locked.

The wanton in her ached to reach over, take his hand,

lead him to the small bedroom and strip off his clothes.

Beads of sweat trickled slowly between her breasts. She

was suffocating. “I've got to get back to...”

His gaze dropped to her breasts before returning to

her face. One finger caressed her cheek. “Jenna—”

A knock at the door and Sergeant Hills' booming

voice interrupted the moment. “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Back here,” Rye answered, his eyes still on Jenna.

Hills lumbered through the door. He studied both of

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Pam Champagne

them before doing a visual sweep of the room. “Never

been on the backside of a racetrack before.”

“Sit down.” Rye waved toward an empty chair. “I

doubt you're here for a tour.”

“I heard some disturbing news this morning.”

Panic welled in Jenna's throat. The cop's face was too

serious. She snuck a look at Rye. He leaned back in the

chair, his face a mask of serenity, waiting for the cop to

continue.

“The preliminary autopsy report came back on

Dimitri Manos.”

“And?” Rye prompted.

“He was dead long before someone hung him from the

ceiling of Ms. Green's tack room. Died from an overdose of

Ketamine.” Hills watched their reactions, like an eagle

would eye a dying fish flopping on the shore.

Jenna rubbed her forehead to ease the pain behind

her eyes.

Rye's voice came from far away. “Jenna?” He rose,

took her arm and pushed her into his chair. “Are you all

right?”

“Yes. Just a headache.” She raised her gaze and

looked at Hills. She leaned her head into the warmth of

Rye’s body behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders.

“Are either of you familiar with Ketamine?” Hills

asked.

“Of course,” Rye responded. “It's a horse tranquilizer.

And since we're on a racetrack full of horses...” he trailed

off. The Sergeant pulled out his ever ready notebook and

started writing. “Yeah, on the street it's known as Special

K or Vitamin K. Some people take it to get high.”

Rye's fingers dug into her shoulders, communicating

his anger. “Then they’re fools.”

“Dimitri was murdered?” Jenna asked.

Sergeant Hills gave a disgusted snort. “Unless he

injected the stuff into himself, then decided to make it

look like he’d hung himself.”

Jenna's temper spiked, along with the pain in her

head. “There's no need for sarcasm.”

The Sergeant rose and walked around the room. “Do

you by chance keep any of that tranquilizer around here?”

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Dead Heat

“No. It's dispensed by a veterinarian.”

“What's the name of your vet, Mr. Cameron?”

“Dr. Goodwin.” Each time he spoke, Rye's fingers

squeezed Jenna harder. Surely, she’d have bruises.

“And where can I find him? Does he have an office on

the track?”

“’He’ is a ‘she’. Valerie Goodwin. She makes rounds

every morning, goes from barn to barn.” Rye glanced at

the clock on the wall. “She'll probably be here within the

hour. You're welcome to wait in the other room. Jenna

and I have work to do.”

Rye took Jenna’s hand and walked toward the tack

room. Jenna had to run to keep up. “I'm taking Rising

Sun out to the track,” she whispered. Her eyes pleaded

with him to understand her need to be alone.

He inclined his head, his thoughts obviously

elsewhere. She grabbed the needed tack and almost ran

down the shed row.

Rising Sun spied the tack she carried and bobbed his

head up and down, whinnying his excitement. Once

saddled, Casey gave her a leg up. “A trainer who exercises

their own horses. I think that’s great.”

Jenna smiled at Casey’s compliment, but made no

comment.

The early morning frenzy had subsided, leaving the

track nearly deserted. In an hour it would close, and the

tractor crews would prepare the surface for the afternoon

races.

The wind whipping through her hair while she

galloped a horse always made life's troubles seem small.

She willed the wind to blow all her problems away. But

this ride didn't get Dimitri out of her head. Why did she

and Rye seem to be in the middle of whatever was

happening? Who'd want to kill Dimitri? And why hang

him where she'd be the one to find him? Even though Rye

disagreed, her gut said that his firing Dimitri had to be

part of the equation.

Could her old flame, Charles Kincaid, be involved?

He and Dimitri had been friends when she and Charles

were an item.

Christ. Her face grew hot, remembering how naïve

she'd been a year ago. She'd believed Charles had loved

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Pam Champagne

her. For six months she'd waltzed around in a daze. Until

the morning she'd stopped by his barn when he hadn't

been expecting her.

The grooms hanging out in the shed row told her he

was in the tack room — that he was busy. She'd laughed.

Charles would never be too busy for her. She'd opened the

door and walked in, a smile on her face. Oh, he'd been

busy for sure. Busy screwing a young hotwalker.

Good thing for him that her hurt had been greater

than her anger. Without a word, she'd bolted out the door.

Later that same night, Charles had stopped by her

apartment, demanding to know why she was pissed. It

hadn’t meant anything he’d said. The girl threw herself at

him, and he obliged. Jenna had told him to go screw

whoever he wanted. The relationship was over. Never

again would she wear blinders when it came to a man.

Nope. She wouldn't make that mistake again. With

anyone, including Rye Cameron. She loved the racetrack,

but not the lifestyles that prevailed. Too many boots

under the wrong beds. Infidelity was an accepted way of

life for many people in the world of racing.

The relationship with Charles hadn't been a total

loss. In the initial heat of their love affair, they'd gone to

the Keeneland Yearling Sales. Charles had basked in the

role of the suave trainer, and told her to pick out a long-

shot yearling she thought had potential.

Rising Sun had caught her eye, and Charles had

bought him for a mere seven thousand dollars. Every

horseman there had laughed. A large, gangly colt, Rising

Sun didn't have the breeding to amount to anything. Or

so they all said.

Two days later, on her birthday, a horse van pulled

up at her dad's barn. The driver unloaded Rising Sun

with a red ribbon around his neck, along with a note from

Charles. Happy Birthday, sweetheart. He's yours.

After the breakup she'd heard nothing from Charles

until a few months ago, right before her Dad’s death. He'd

stopped by the barn one morning and demanded she turn

Rising Sun over. She'd told him to suck it up and get lost.

The horse was hers.

A voice on the loud speaker announced the track

would close in five minutes. Jenna slowed Rising Sun to a

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Dead Heat

walk. With reluctance, she turned the horse towards the

barn, back to the real world.

Casey stood ready to grab the reins and Jenna

dismounted. “I'll cool him out.”

“Thanks, Casey. I'll take care of him. You have

enough to do.”

“I don't mind, Jenna. Honest. He's a beautiful horse,

and you being a trainer and all...well you shouldn't be

grooming horses.”

Jenna removed the bridle, and hid her face in Rising

Sun’s sweaty neck to hide her smile. “That's nice of you,

but...”

“Let the kid take the horse. You and I have to talk.”

The hair on Jenna's arms stood at attention. Charles.

Had her thoughts conjured his presence?

With deliberate motions she continued removing tack

from the horse. “We've said all that needs to be said.

Rising Sun's not for sale. And I'm sure as hell not giving

him away.”

She unhooked the saddle, pulled it off and hung it on

the rail. As she removed the bridle, Casey slipped the

halter over the horse's head, clipped the shank in place

and led him away.

Only after Casey had rounded the corner of the barn

did she give her full attention to Charles Kincaid, the

man she once thought to be the love of her life.

Some of her anger faded. He looked ill. The last time

she'd seen him, he'd been robust, full of energy. Today, his

eyes sunk into a thin, pale face. But nothing, not even

sickness, would get him what he wanted.

“Come for a ride with me. Please, Jenna. We have to

talk.”

“I have work to do. And I've told you before. We've

nothing to talk about.” She turned to walk away, but he

grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him.

His eyes narrowed and his face was pinched in anger.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “You know what I want,

Jenna. I don't just want it. I need it.”

She jerked her arm away, and rested her hands on

her hips. “I've told you before, and I'm damn sick of

repeating it. The horse is legally mine. You gave him to

me. I have the papers.”

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Pam Champagne

He reached out and clutched a handful of her hair,

yanking her closer. “You don't understand...”

Disbelief that Charles would lay a hand on her dulled

the pain. Suddenly, she was free. Rye held Charles by his

jacket collar. “You heard the lady, Kincaid. Get lost.”

The fierce look on Rye's face, along with the nerve

pulsating next to his mouth, said he meant business. She

watched the interchange between the two men.

Charles stood his ground. “This is none of your

business, Cameron.”

“I'm making it my business. Get the hell away from

my barn and stop harassing my trainer.”

Charles pulled away from Rye's hold and

straightened. “I'm leaving. For now.” He cast a desperate

look in Jenna's direction. “You and I are going to talk

sooner or later. For everyone's sake, make it sooner.” He

spun on his heel and left.

Jenna focused on Rye. “You didn't need to ride to the

rescue. I could have handled the situation.”

“What's going on? I thought you broke it off with him

a long time ago.”

Jenna checked out the area to make sure no one was

listening. Jamal lounged in front of Tsunami's stall, his

arms hanging at sides, fists clenched, and a sullen

expression on his face. “Let's talk elsewhere.”

Jenna's long-legged stride brought her to the end of

the shed row a few steps ahead of Rye. Once inside, she

grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor with a

vengeance.

“Put down the damn broom.”

She kept sweeping until he wrestled the broom away

and hung it on the wall.

He pulled over two five gallon pails and tipped them

upside down. “Sit.”

Jenna complied, refusing to look at him.

He tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Come

clean. What's going on between you and Kincaid?”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Not that

it's any of your damn business, but nothing's going on.”

“What did he want?”

She took a deep breath and released it, blowing away

loose strands of her hair from her face. “Rising Sun.”

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Dead Heat

Rye's eyes narrowed. “Didn't he buy the horse for

you?” “He did. I have legal ownership papers, but several