Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (6 page)

weeks ago he showed up, demanding I give the horse

back.”

Rye touched her shoulder. “Kincaid looked desperate.

Steer clear of him. Might be a good idea to get a

restraining order.”

She lifted her shoulders, then let them drop. “Like he

said, I've got to talk to him sooner or later.”

“Jenna...”

She rose, knocking his hand from her shoulder. “I

work for you, Rye. My personal life's my own.”

He stood as well, so Jenna had to look up at him. “I'm

not interfering in your personal life. I'm concerned.

There's a lot of weird shit going on around here.”

She settled back on the pail, grateful when he did the

same. She felt more in control on the same eye level. “I'll

be careful. Promise.”

“Do you know why Kincaid wants the horse?”

“No.” She smiled wryly. “Unless it's because he

realizes Rising Sun's worth ten times what he paid for

him.”

Rye laughed. “That, and then some. Jenna, look at

me.” As if she could refuse. She wondered if she could

refuse this man anything. The sooner she came to terms

with seeing him every day, brushing against him every

day, the better.

“I've heard stories that Charles is involved with the

mob. For all we know, he might have used their money to

buy Rising Sun in the first place. Could be they're putting

pressure on him to get the horse back.”

Now he had her full attention. “The mob? Where'd

you hear that?”

Rye glanced away. “Someone mentioned it in

passing.”

“They'll kill Charles.” Even as she said the words, she

realized they might kill her, as well, since she had the

horse they wanted.

“So you understand the seriousness of the situation?”

“What should I do? Give Rising Sun back to

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Charles?”

“No. I think it's time to involve the law. I’ve made

arrangements to beef up security around the barn twenty-

four/seven. Also, you shouldn't be living alone. Why don't

you move out to the farm until this is resolved?”

Jenna's head spun. “I'll think about it.”

Rye jumped up knocking over the pail at a loud bang

outside. Jenna followed him just in time to see Jamal

ducking under the webbing of Tsunami's stall. A rake lay

on the ground in front of the tack room door.

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Dead Heat

Jenna glanced at her watch, checked the stalls one

final time and hurried to retrieve her jacket and purse

from the tack room. Two horses from the barn had raced

this afternoon. She’d stayed to watch even though they

weren't on her roster of horses. She loved watching these

athletes do what they were born to do.

Jamal came around the corner and walked past her

without speaking. After the ugly scene with Rye

yesterday, she wasn’t surprised. Rye had chosen that

moment to accuse Jamal of not cooperating with his

trainer. Of course, Jamal denied it, just as he denied

eavesdropping outside the tack room while she and Rye

talked. Jamal insisted he had come to ask about

Tsunami's training schedule and decided not to disturb

them. At least that's what Jenna thought he said. His

Jamaican dialect was hard to follow.

Rye hadn't returned to the barn from the races.

Maybe he decided to go out celebrating, as both his horses

ran in the money. He'd better not expect her to party all

night if one of the horses she trained won. Dawn came too

damn early to stay up half the night. She made sure she

was in bed before ten o'clock every night. And coming to

work with a hangover held no appeal whatsoever. Die

hard race trackers worked seven days a week, three

hundred sixty-five days a year. Horses didn't celebrate

Christmas or any other holiday. And they didn’t care if

their groom had a cold or the flu.

Tonight Jenna planned to relax and enjoy the

evening at a local country-western bar, catching up with

her friend, Dani, who’d just returned from a track in

Florida. She wished Dani's riding career would take off.

Because so many trainers were reluctant to use green

jockeys, especially female ones, Dani earned most of her

money as an exercise girl.

“Leaving?” Rye spoke from behind.

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Pam Champagne

Jenna's heart lurched as she spun around. “Jesus. I

wish you'd stop sneaking up on me.”

He leaned against the wall, somehow managing not

to knock any tack down. His eyes twinkled. “Make you

nervous, do I?”

“I've got an appointment.” She threw her jacket over

her shoulder. “And I'm running late.”

He pushed away from the wall. “If you're meeting

Kincaid, let me tag along. You know damn well he was

acting off kilter yesterday morning.”

“I'm not meeting Charles.” Jenna glared at him. “I'm

not stupid. I'm going home to change, and then I'm

meeting a friend for a few beers and supper.”

His brows drew together. “I'll follow you home. Just

in case Kincaid's at your place waiting.”

Jenna sighed. “Do you really believe Charles is

involved in Dimitri's death?” Rye's comments about her

former lover roused fears and insecurities. As hard as

she'd tried to throw herself into her work and forget what

happened to Dimitri, his murder sat on her shoulders,

heavy as a hundred pound bag of oats.

“At this point, I’m not ruling out any possibility.”

Jenna's independence teetered, then caved. “All

right. You win. Do you know where I live?”

“I know the general vicinity.”

“Then you don't need directions.”

“Probably not, but I’ll follow you anyway.”

Rye’s hard body brushed against hers as they walked

together to their vehicles. Faded denim jeans molded his

legs. He always wore jeans, a denim shirt and Western

style boots, whether he had horses racing or not. No

expensive silk suits for him. Did he dress like that just to

turn her on?

Before she actually met him, Rye had been a mere

daydream. Working with him, day after day, made him

too attainable. Any involvement between them would

bring her hurt and pain. And she didn't need anymore

heartache. Not now. Now she had to concentrate on her

career.

“Given any thought to moving out to the farm?” He

tossed the question out in a ‘the weather’s been nice’ kind

of voice.

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Dead Heat

She glanced at him. “Not really.”
Liar.
The thought

had popped into her head at least ten times in the last

hour. “There's plenty of room. You don't have to stay in the

main house. A couple of the bungalows are empty right

now. They're small, but you'd have a bedroom, bathroom,

kitchen and living room.”

She opened her car door and slid behind the wheel.

“How about I let you know tomorrow? And Rye, I do

appreciate the offer.”

Jenna started the car and drove off, resisting the

urge to look in the rear-view mirror as she turned the car

onto Man 'o War Boulevard. During the twenty minute

ride to her apartment, she thought about Rye's mob

theory.

Rumors ran amok about the mob's involvement in

the horse racing world. Jenna believed the mob probably

owned racehorses as a way to hide dirty money and then

they used their losses as a tax write off. As to rumors that

the mob fixed races by drugging horses, she wasn't quite

so certain.

Drugging horses wasn't as easy as a lot of racing

fans, and those opposed to racing, believed. Racetracks

diligently checked a winning horse's urine after the race

and could demand to have any horse in the race tested in

the same manner. Random drug testing for horses was

commonplace.

No matter how hard she tried, Jenna couldn’t wrap

her mind around Charles being involved with the mob.

Why jeopardize his career? He trained for prosperous

owners who trusted him. If Rye's theory that Mafia money

bought Rising Sun was true, then they wanted more than

their seven thousand dollars back. They wanted Rising

Sun. Anyone with half an eye for a good horse knew by

now the colt was a potential stakes winner.

The horse had made the front page of the Daily

Racing Form after his workout. Professional handicappers

predicted great things for his future.

Jenna turned down Codell Drive and looked in the

rear view mirror. Rye's SUV turned right behind her. A

charge of lust hit her and she squeezed her thighs tight.

Admit it, Jenna. You want to screw your boss.

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Pam Champagne

****

car, turned and waved. He enjoyed the wind playing

havoc with her unruly auburn hair. With a laugh, he

forced himself to stop tapping his fingers on the steering

wheel.

After a battle to give up cigarettes, he'd finally quit

about eight months ago. Whenever he was nervous and

normally would reach for a butt, he tapped instead. The

doctor would be thrilled with the substitution, but not

Jenna. He'd not paid much attention to his new habit

until she'd pointed it out. He chuckled, remembering the

way she'd snapped his pencil in half. The woman certainly

had no problem speaking her mind.

Rye hashed over his earlier confrontation with

Jamal. Despite the man's denials of eavesdropping, Rye

had put him on notice. The next time he refused Jenna

hands-on access to Tsunami would be the last time.

The hostility in the groom's eyes at his ultimatum

had made Rye uncomfortable. He’d instructed security to

keep a close eye on the man, day and night. Even though

Jamal was one of the best grooms he'd ever come across

and Rye would hate to lose him, he wouldn't tolerate

dissention and disrespect in his barn—from anyone.

He shifted in the seat, his patience gone. Jenna had

been inside for at least twenty minutes. Plenty of time to

shower and change. He slid out of his SUV and strode

towards the apartment. Keys dangled from the lock. The

woman needed self-preservation lessons. He removed

them and walked in.

“Jenna?”

He stood in a small foyer and checked out the

surroundings. A sparsely furnished living room spread

out to his left with a small corridor leading to what he

assumed was a bedroom. A second hallway went straight

ahead. A thud to his left grabbed his attention. He cocked

his ear. After listening for several moments, all was quiet,

so he walked forward and entered a small kitchen. The

sound of running water came from behind a closed door

off the kitchen. She must be taking a shower. He opened

the refrigerator and helped himself to the lone beer on the

shelf before settling down at the small wobbly table.

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Dead Heat

Just as he tipped the bottle to his lips, the phone

rang. He grabbed the receiver off the counter. “Hello?” A

heavy breather. “Who’s there?”

Click.

“Hold on. I'm coming.” Jenna charged out of the

bathroom, a towel wrapped haphazardly around her body.

Dripping water, she came to a sliding halt. She grabbed

the chair for balance and took two steps back. “I thought I

heard the phone ring. How'd you get in here?”

Rye dangled the keys. “Still in the lock. Either you're

not thinking clearly or perhaps you had a secret wish for

me to join you in the shower.” He took a long swallow of

his beer, keeping his gaze pinned to hers. “Do you always

talk to a ringing phone before you answer it?”

A flush turned her cheeks pink.

He chuckled. Redheads sure had a hard time hiding

their embarrassment.

“Since you were outside, I didn't think anyone would

come barging in. I don't normally leave the keys in the

door.”

“Glad to hear it. For the time being you've got to be

more aware of your surroundings and use common sense.”

He nodded toward the phone. “Whoever called hung up

when I answered.”

A frown marred her brow. “Crank call?”

He shrugged. “Could be. Get dressed, and we'll get

out of here.” He drank the last of the beer and set the

bottle on the table. He ogled the gentle sway of her hips

as she walked down the hall toward the living room. The

towel covered her body. All but those long, gorgeous legs.

Man. And here he thought he was too old to get this

excited over a woman. He'd only hired Jenna because

Brett had asked him to. Even toyed with the idea of them

having a little fun in the hay. What he hadn't reckoned on

was the way his heart thumped loud double beats

whenever she was near. Or the yearning that infiltrated

his mind, seeing her wrapped in a towel. Or the sudden

rush of fear, knowing she might be in danger. And more

important, he hadn't been prepared to meet a woman who

knew and loved horses the way he did. Nope. He hadn't

been ready for any of those things.

“Rye!”

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Pam Champagne

The urgency in that one word shot him out of his seat