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that had happened since he hired Jenna.

57

Pam Champagne

Jenna strode down the shed row with little regard to

anyone in her way.

“Heads up!” A hot walker yelled the standard

warning. Jenna stepped to the side in time to avoid a

collision with a lathered horse.

Wake up, Jenna
. Her father had taught her from the

time she was two-years-old to always pay attention

around horses. Being alert on the backside was

mandatory for one's well-being, as well as the safety of

these magnificent athletes.

She couldn't let go of what Brett had told her. The

FBI believed her father had fixed a race. And he hadn't

died of a heart attack. Someone had murdered him. Just

like Dimitri. Could Brett’s accusations be true? Her mind

refused to accept the theory. Why hadn’t she seen any of

this?

Granted, six months ago, her relationship with

Charles kept her busy. Still, wouldn't she have known if

her father had fixed a race?

She stopped at Rising Sun's stall and fingered the

nylon webbing before ducking under. The horse

immediately came over and rubbed his soft muzzle

against her neck. His warm greeting took away some of

her pain. She petted his nose and scratched behind his

ears.

“Hey, Jenna. I didn't expect to find you here today.”

Casey's voice snapped Jenna from her melancholy mood.

“Why not? I'm here everyday.”

He shrugged and quickly looked away.

“I've got work to do. These horses need attention

twenty-four/seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year.

You know that.” Jenna knew she should apologize to

Casey for her harsh words. Her bad mood wasn’t his fault.

She clipped Rising Sun's halter to the chain hanging

on one side of the stall. “Miguel's coming by at eight

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Dead Heat

o'clock to gallop Rising Sun a mile. If I'm not around when

he gets here, tell him to ask more of the horse for the last

two furlongs. It’s time to push the colt.”

She pushed her personal concerns to the smallest

corner of her mind and moved further down the shed row

with Casey, giving instructions for the rest of the horses

in her care. The last of her charges was Tsunami.

Today, she'd go at it with Jamal. He'd either

cooperate, or she'd fire him.

The webbing was open when she arrived, the horse

chained to the wall, while Jamal vigorously curried him.

His skills as a groom impressed her. He handled a brush

and curry comb like they were extensions of his hands.

Tsunami glowed, his coat dappled and shiny with health.

Jamal ignored her presence. Not an encouraging sign.

“Jamal, tack up the colt and bring him out. He's

going to the track this morning.”

Now she had his attention. He scowled, and his dark

eyes snapped fire. “Gwey.”

“I'm not going away. Drop the dialect, Jamal. I've

heard you talking with the other grooms. You've got five

minutes.”

Jenna expected him to refuse. The words, 'you're

fired, pack your gear and get out' sat on the back of her

tongue, waiting to roll out. A flicker of disappointment

ran through her when he brushed past her and strode to

the tack room, promptly returning with the saddle and

bridle. How pathetic was she? Would firing Jamal make

her feel better?

Tsunami took one look at the saddle and reared, his

front legs pawing the air. His eyes rolled back in his head

with fear. Jamal dropped the saddle at Jenna's feet and

hung the bridle outside the stall, giving her an 'I told you

so' look.

“Did yuh see dat?”

Jenna frowned and moved the saddle out of the

horse's sight. “How long has this been going on?”

Jamal shrugged and held up three fingers.

“Three weeks?”

Jamal nodded, his dreads whipping back and forth.

“Do you know why?”

Another nod and Jamal gestured her to follow him

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Pam Champagne

into the stall. The horse had stopped rearing, but the

muscles in his shoulders still quivered. Jamal took her

hand and placed it near the right side of horse's withers.

Her fingers encountered a hard lump about the size of a

grape.

She looked at Jamal. “What happened?”

He drew her out of the stall and picked up the saddle,

pointing to the cantal area that would rest where the

lump had formed. She examined it and shook her head,

not understanding. Then her index finger found a small

slit in the leather. Jamal's gaze never wavered from her

face. “Ouch.” She pulled her hand back as something

pricked her finger. “Someone deliberately harmed the

colt?”

“Yeh.”

“Who?”

“Dimitri. Dat a bad bwoy.”

“Why didn't you tell Mr. Cameron?”

The groom turned away and fiddled with the bridle.

“Jamal? You should have reported this.”

“Im run di rude bwoy bizness.”

What? “You were afraid of Dimitri?”

A deep frown puckered his brow, but Jenna had her

answer from the fear in his eyes. “Okay. Back to square

one with Tsunami. Put the bridle on him. Forget the

saddle for now.”

Jamal's eyes widened in horror, and Jenna

deliberately turned her back. He'd really be offended if

she laughed. She waited outside for Jamal to ready the

horse, listening to him softly croon to Tsunami. Jamal

loved his charge. Her anger towards him dissipated as she

realized his strange behavior stemmed from fear of

Dimitri.

Tsunami bolted out of the stall under muscle,

dragging Jamal who held onto the bridle. Inactivity had

given him excess energy. Other than her father, she

couldn't think of one person who wouldn't think she was

crazy for riding a spooked horse bareback. The look on

Jamal's face put him in the majority. Jenna had faith in

her ability to quiet the high strung thoroughbred. God

had graced her with a gift for communicating with horses.

She and this colt would get along just fine.

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“Give me a leg up. Then walk us two turns around

the shed. As soon as he settles down, I'll take him out to

the track.”

The moment her weight lowered onto his back,

Tsunami grew skittish. He tried to rear, but Jenna

pressed her knees firmly into his sides and tightened the

reins, letting him know that she was staying on his back

whether he liked it or not. She avoided putting any

pressure on his injury.

The moment they left the shed row, Tsunami bowed

his neck and attempted to gain control of the situation.

His muscles tensed beneath her legs. She squeezed her

thighs even tighter and gathered the reins, giving him no

slack.
Right back at ya, big boy.
Coiled tight as a spring,

the colt fought for control. For a split second, she doubted

her wisdom. What if she couldn't handle him? Her own

safety didn't concern her, but if anything happened to this

horse, she'd never forgive herself, and she was damn sure

Rye would have her head on a platter.

Finally, the horse relaxed, and she released the

breath she'd been holding. The sun hung low in the sky by

the time they neared the track. As if he remembered how

much he loved to run, Tsunami's fears vanished with a

visible shiver when they walked onto the dirt oval. Jenna

gave him his head. The horse dug in, accelerating in a

spurt of energy.

Exhilaration accompanied Jenna on the wild ride.

Tsunami's breeding calmed her remaining fears. Every

now and then, a rogue would pop up from excellent

bloodlines, but as a rule, well-bred racehorses were

superior, intelligent animals. After a half a mile, she

forced him to slow. He balked for a few minutes, then did

as she asked. Once he'd settled into a slow gallop, she sat

back and enjoyed the ride. They galloped two miles before

winding down to a canter, and finally, a jog.

When Tsunami settled to a walk, Jenna headed back

to the barn. He stopped to sniff the chickens milling

around and butted a goat with his head. When they came

to a cat rolling in the dirt, he walked around the animal.

She patted his neck. “Good boy.” His ears pricked at her

words of praise. Tomorrow she'd show him the saddle.

****

Pam Champagne

Rye walked with Brett down the shed row to speak

with Jamal. Brett had changed into some extra clothes

Rye kept in the tack room. The pants were too short and

the shoes too small. At least he didn't stand out like a cow

in a herd of lambs.

Rye poked his head in the stall. “Where the hell is

Tsunami,” he hollered.

Jamal stopped mucking the empty stall and came

out. “Jenna ha' im.”

Fear ballooned in Rye's chest doing a better job of

opening his arteries than any angioplasty. The horse had

been acting crazy for weeks. Wild and mean. No one could

get near him, except Jamal. He struggled to get a grip. As

much as he wanted to pummel someone, it wasn't the

groom's fault. Jenna was the trainer.

“Where'd she go?”

Jamal pointed toward the track.

Rye's gaze slid to the saddle laid over the outside rail

of the shed row. His panic mushroomed. “She's riding

bareback?”
Please say no, Jamal
.

The groom nodded. Rye shut his eyes and prayed. He

hadn't heard any screaming sirens. That was a good sign.

“Trouble, little brother?” Brett uncrossed his arms

and pushed away from the rail.

“No,” Rye lied. “Everything's fine.” He returned his

attention to Jamal. “Jamal, meet my brother, Brett. He

wants to ask you some questions about Dimitri Manos.”

Taking Brett's position against the rail, Rye

attempted to concentrate on Brett's questions.

“FBI?” Jamal asked.

“Yeah.”

Rye snickered. “So much for the change of clothes.”

“Did you notice anything unusual with Dimitri in the

days before he was murdered?”

Rye gave Brett credit for not coming across like a

drill sergeant.

“Mon ban doo loo.”

“Huh?” Brett looked towards Rye.

“He said the man was dishonest.”

“Oh.” Brett tried again. “Do you know what he was

involved in or who he was involved with?”

“Is ban doo loo business dat. Tom drunk but Tom nuh

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Dead Heat

fool.” Rye chuckled. “He says that it was bad business.

Man's a criminal. Things aren't what they seem. There's a

whole lot going on under the quilt.”

Brett laughed. “I can see this interview will break the

case wide open.”

“Manos hurt Tsunami.”

Jamal's coherent statement got both men's attention.

“Jenna say I tell.”

The tiredness Rye had been fighting all morning

disappeared. “How did he hurt him? Do you know why?”

The dreads swayed with a negative head shake.

Jamal moved to the saddle and pointed to the slit in the

leather. “Im put needle. Jab Tsunami.”

“That son of a bitch,” Rye muttered. “No wonder the

horse didn't want to be saddled. If he weren't dead, I'd kill

him myself.”

“More dutty mon come.”

“What'd he say?” Brett asked.

“He says more bad men are coming.”

Brett faced Jamal. “These men want to hurt

Tsunami?”

Jamal shrugged.

“Do you know who they are?”

Jamal shook his head no. But Rye swore fear burned

bright in the dark eyes.

Before he could push the issue, Jamal ducked under

the rail and grabbed a five-gallon bucket, filled it with

warm water and added a glob of shampoo. Then, he tossed

a sponge in the bucket and put it next to the hose.

Less than thirty seconds later, Jenna rode up on

Tsunami. Rye scrutinized the groom. How the hell did he

know she was coming?

Jamal caught hold of the bridle. On cue, a hot walker

brought the halter. The bridle and halter exchange took

place in one fluid move. Tsunami behaved like a tired

puppy who’d played too hard.

Leaving Jamal and the hot walker to bathe the horse,

Jenna snatched the bridle and saddle and strode to the

tack room without a word to anyone.

Rye glanced at Brett, who shrugged. They fell into

step behind her.

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Pam Champagne

Rye bit his tongue. He didn't want her to know how

worried he'd been. How angry he was that she'd taken

such a chance with her life. “How'd he go?”

“Excellent. He's ready for some serious training. As

soon as he accepts the saddle, I'd like to have Dani take

him for a spin.”

“You're the trainer.”

Jenna still refused to meet his eyes. She busied

herself cleaning tack.

“Jamal told Brett and me what Dimitri did to

Tsunami.”

Her hands stilled. She looked at him, her eyes the

color of rain clouds. “He told me, too. There's a lump near

his withers. The vet should take a look at it in case it

needs lancing. My guess? It’s probably a callus.”

“Do you think he's sustained permanent damage? I

don't mean physically.”