Backstretch Baby (3 page)

“It’s a small track,” Eve said. “Everyone here struggles.” But a wave of misery swept her because it did seem their luck had been unusually bad. It was exhausting trying to put on a brave face for her staff, her boss and the owners, along with the constant worry about when she could send money home to Joey. And she wouldn’t earn anything until the horses did. She gulped, clearing the sudden thickness from her throat.

“Maybe you should make friends with the security guys,” Megan said. “It would make their day to flirt with a pretty woman trainer. Although you probably prefer thefts to the guards.”

Eve gave a weak smile. They both understood and accepted her aversion to men in uniform.

“Seriously though,” Megan added, “just chat them up a bit. Throw them a smile or two. It won’t take much. Just enough so they don’t forget your barn during patrols.”

Eve wrinkled her nose. Megan was far more pragmatic than she could ever be, even remaining tactful with the cops who’d botched her brother’s murder investigation. But Eve couldn’t pretend to respect someone if she didn’t. People always knew how she felt.

“Our barn is quite isolated,” she said, trying to be fair. “And the guards are busy with their regular patrols. But we’ll keep the tack room locked. And the feed room. And anything else that can be picked up and carried off.”

“It doesn’t sound like a very safe place,” Megan said. “Can’t Jackson hire a watchman?”

“Victoria has him on a tight budget. She’s making changes.”

“Wives tend to do that,” Megan said. But her laugh sounded troubled. And that wasn’t good. She tended to be over protective, worrying about Eve and Joey, and always rushing in to help.

It made Eve feel incompetent.

“We’ll be fine.” She spoke a little more crisply than she intended. It was best to change the subject before Megan suggested that Eve quit the horse industry and start a safer occupation, something like basket weaving or making jewelry.

“Mom is looking after Joey while I’m up here,” Eve added. “But I’m driving home after the races on Sunday to see him. We can talk more then.”

Megan hesitated. “I planned to visit my mother this weekend,” she said. “And I was hoping Scott and I could take Joey. I know the timing isn’t good, especially with you working away, but it would mean a lot.”

Eve jerked away from the picnic table. Megan was Joey’s aunt, and it was important that he spend some time with his other grandmother. She lived on a farm, and Joey always enjoyed the visits. But it meant Eve wouldn’t see her son for two whole weeks, fourteen days that they couldn’t hug and laugh and hold hands.

“Sure,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “He’ll like that. It’s probably good not to drive home this Sunday anyway. I can stay and guard our stuff. Maybe sleep in the barn and catch the thief.”

“But you need your rest, especially if you’re galloping all those horses. I’ll have Scott send an investigator.”

“No need,” Eve said. “I have two grooms and only four horses to ride.”

“Thought you had six?”

“I do, but a couple got hurt. The two that were entered to run last week.”

“So you haven’t even raced yet?”

“No.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut, hating the reminder. She must be the worst trainer ever.

“The two horses that were supposed to run last week? They’re the ones that were hurt? That’s weird.”

“Just bad luck,” Eve said.

“Maybe,” Megan said, her voice troubled. “But we both know things aren’t always what they seem. I think it’s best if Scott comes up. Checks it out. I’ll talk to him and call you back.”

“No,” Eve said quickly. “He’d be bored here. And he has an investigative business to run.” She rounded the table in time to see Stinger rear. One of his big hooves waved perilously close to Ashley’s stomach.

“Maybe someone else then—”

“Sorry, but I have to go,” Eve said. “I’ll call you back.”

She didn’t fully exhale until she’d cut the connection and rushed over to grab Stinger’s lead line. Didn’t want to admit that her staff was extremely limited in its capabilities. And that right now Megan and Scott’s unruly horse posed the biggest threat of all.

The police dog whined with excitement, his quivering nose pointed at the ground. His handler raised an arm. “We’ve got something,” he called.

Rick Talbot felt little satisfaction. They’d already recovered a bloody ball cap, and he’d been confident the corpse had been buried beyond the stand of trees. But once again, discovery came too late for the victim. And despair hollowed his chest.

He pulled his gaze off the sniffer dog and his triumphant handler, gave a brief nod to the lead detective and trudged away from the circle of officials. He was certain there was only one male in that shallow hole, one adult male. But just in case…

Bile climbed his throat. He swallowed and walked faster, trying to control his reaction.

A uniformed officer stepped in front of him. “Going to hurl? Think the head is off?”

Rick gave a non-committal grunt.

“You’ll get used to it,” the officer said. “This is my fifth. Besides, it’s nothing but bottom feeders in those holes. No sense feeling sorry for them.”

Rick ignored the man’s blathering. His gaze shot back to the grim knot of people. Already the corpse dog and his handler had been relegated to the fringe of the crime scene, beyond the yellow tape. The black lab sat quietly now, tongue lolling while a man in plastic-covered boots used a spade to scoop away the clinging earth.

Moments later a foot appeared, a big boot encased in dirt. Had to be at least a size twelve. Definitely an adult. Rick’s breath escaped in a whoosh of relief.

“Haven’t seen you before,” the garrulous cop went on. “Undercover?”

“PI,” Rick said.

The man stiffened. His gaze slid from Rick’s black jacket down to his faded jeans and worn leather boots. When the officer spoke again, his voice rang with fresh authority. “This is a crime scene,” he said. “Secured by LAPD. You need to move back to the road. Immediately.”

“Trying to,” Rick said mildly. “You’re blocking my way.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. His hand shot to the top of his bulky holster. “What are you doing here? How did you get past security?”

“Came with the investigators.” Rick flipped open his agency ID. “We supplied the information about the dumping ground.”

The officer studied the ID with a suspicious expression. Seconds later, his head shot up. “You’re the guy who was involved with the Cache Creek gang? That one with Taylor Agency?” His voice turned hopeful. “Any chance they’re hiring? I heard about their cases. High-octane stuff. Are the rumors about their pay true? I’m single so I don’t mind going deep. A few years of that and I could move to an island...”

The man’s mouth was still moving but Rick had quit listening. He couldn’t stop looking at the corpse. Fortunately, it was intact. But like all bodies, it shared a peculiar flatness, a distinct smell. And dirt always made them look pitiful, smaller somehow. Even if they were already small.

A familiar band tightened around his chest. He struggled to breathe through his mouth, but couldn’t suck in enough oxygen. The air was too clotted with dirt and death and decay. Even the grass was ugly, a greenish brown with tips bleached to bone white.

His forehead prickled with sweat, trembles starting in his hands and then moving inward, and the vise around his ribs turned suffocating.

“Gotta report back,” he managed. He jammed his hands in his pockets and shouldered past the officer.

He fled up the hill, away from the eager technicians, the smug detectives and that sad broken body. Retreated toward the dented Mazda with mismatched tires and three bullet holes in the trunk.

His chest still ached but at least the air here was cleaner. Eventually his heart stopped its frantic banging and it was no longer necessary to fight for his next breath. He even dared to pull his shaking hands from his pockets.

He sagged against the fender, swept by bone-deep failure. He could start the cases but he didn’t want to finish them. And if success was defined by finding a body, what was the point?

His phone vibrated but he ignored it. It wasn’t his employer. Scott Taylor would never risk calling on Rick’s regular cell. But the man deserved an update. He’d been hounding this particular cartel for years.

Minutes ticked past. Rick wasn’t sure how long he leaned against the car, but his shaking had stopped. He drew out his boot knife and pressed the lever to open the hood. Then reached into the air filter, removed his hidden phone and pressed Scott’s number.

“It’s over,” Rick said. “Our snitch was right. They’re recovering the body now.”

“Excellent.” Scott blew out a satisfied sigh. “You can finally leave that hellhole and go home.”

Rick squeezed his eyes shut. He had no home. Just a sterile house surrounded by happy families and picket fences and kids kicking a soccer ball. The boys were the worst. He could hear them playing in the street, even when his garage door was shut.

“My plants have all died by now.” He forced a chuckle. “So I can stay deep.”

Scott was silent for a moment. A phone blared in the background, but the man didn’t speak. “I think you should come in,” Scott said. “Take some time off.”

“No, I want to work.”

“You’ve been out a long time.”

“It’s okay. I like the street.”

“But investigators need time off after deep undercover,” Scott said. “Company policy.”

“Must be a new policy. You didn’t mention that when you hired me.”

“Policy is constantly evolving,” Scott said.

Clearly the man was too tactful to mention burnout and that left Rick edgy and rather pissed. He appreciated candidness. Besides, did his boss think he was fragile? Well, screw him.

“Fine,” Rick said. “If you don’t have any cases for me, I quit.”

“No,” Scott said. “I can probably find something.”

Rick flipped his knife, snagging it in midair, relieved the man hadn’t forced his hand. He liked working for Taylor Agencies—liked and respected Scott Taylor—but more importantly he didn’t want to go through any more job interviews, along with the painful psychological checks. He’d made enough market investments to retire and live on the interest, but free time was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

“I’ll take anything.” He spoke with a victor’s grace.

“Good,” Scott said, so quickly Rick wondered if he really was the victor.

“You’ll go to Riverview Racetrack,” Scott went on. “A small Thoroughbred track a hundred miles north of LA. This job is more low-key than you’re used to, but it’s important. And personal.”

Rick shrugged, then realized Scott couldn’t see him. “No problem,” he said. “I just want to stay busy.”

“My wife’s relative has her first training job there. But Megan thinks Eve is experiencing an unusual amount of bad luck.”

“Someone stopping her horses?” Rick asked. “Doping maybe?”

“Nothing like that. None of her horses have even made it to the starting gate, including ours. But her boss is having marital problems, and Eve is single. There might be blowback. I’d go up myself, but she refuses that.” His voice softened. “She’s proud and extremely independent. I don’t want to tangle with her.”

“So you want me take a day or two? Look around?”

“No. Stay up there for the month. There’s been some theft so help her with whatever she needs. I’ll have Megan tell her you’re coming.”

Rick dropped into the driver’s seat. He refrained from slamming the door. But it seemed Scott had maneuvered him into taking a vacation after all.

“Sounds boring as hell,” he muttered.

“Maybe. But stay alert.” Scott’s voice was oddly pensive. “I’ve always found racetracks to be full of surprises.”

Eve studied her forlorn car, parked by the side of the barn. The little Honda Civic hadn’t moved for six days, not since someone had stolen her battery. But the tack store was five miles away, the sun directly overhead, and it would be a hot and blistering walk.

“We can get the car going,” she said, giving Ashley and Miguel an encouraging smile. “It doesn’t weigh much. I’m sure it will start with just a little push.”

“Too bad it’s not parked on a hill,” Ashley said, gloomily tugging at her baggy shirt.

“You get behind the wheel,” Eve said. “Miguel and I will push.” Which meant she’d be the main muscle. Miguel was lean and wiry but his fastest gait was a shuffle. On the other hand, Ashley was pregnant. No way was she letting her push.

“Let’s go,” she said, feeling like a cheerleader. “We can do this.”

Ashley maneuvered behind the steering wheel while Eve and Miguel took their place behind the dented back bumper. With a little straining, and after Ashley remembered to depress the clutch, the little car started rolling, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

Eve’s wrist ached, but she bent lower, pushing harder and running faster as the car gained momentum. At some point, Miguel was left behind but the car was really moving now and crunching over the gravel.

“Okay,” she called, giving a last shove before stumbling to a halt and staring hopefully.

Ashley popped the clutch and the car jerked, then sputtered forward. A black cloud spewed from the exhaust. But today it was a welcome sight.

Eve turned and flashed Miguel a triumphant thumbs up. “I’ll pick up your chewing tobacco,” she called. “After we buy the bridles.”

She jogged to the car, ignoring the ache in her wrist.

A grinning Ashley moved from behind the wheel to the passenger’s seat. “This is awesome. We’re not stranded anymore.”

Eve nodded, sharing her excitement. The luxury of leaving the track, even just to run errands, was always appreciated. More importantly, she could postpone buying a car battery until the horses earned some money. And despite losing a precious day of training—most of the morning had been spent filing a report about the stolen tack—the mood in her little car was upbeat.

They cranked the radio, joining Kenny Chesney in a raucous country song. Eve even waved at the thick-necked guard as they passed the security booth at the entrance to the track.