Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (13 page)

Brett sprinted through the open door, gun drawn.

“Talk to me.”

Rye gestured toward the bathroom.

“Sweet Jesus.” Brett's breathless response carried

into the living room. “She picked it up?” he asked, walking

toward them.

“Looks that way. Touched it anyway.”

Jenna quivered in his arms, seemingly oblivious to

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her surroundings.

“Is it one of her horses?”

Rye shot him a warning look. “I'm taking Jenna to

the main house. Did you drive down?”

“Yeah. Keys are in the ignition.”

With his arm still around Jenna, Rye led her outside.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Brett? Check inside the

upper lip. If the horse was a registered thoroughbred, he'll

have a tattoo, and we can make a positive identification.”

After settling Jenna in the passenger seat, Rye

climbed into the Jeep and drove the short distance. He

pulled up at the front door, scrambled out and came

around to her side. Jenna had already stepped out. Two

steps forward and her legs gave way. Thinking on his feet,

he managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

Putting an arm around the back of her knees, he picked

her up. Her intermittent shivering vibrated against his

chest. The wide gray eyes stared at nothing. He tightened

his fingers on her cold and clammy skin.

Millie opened the door and stood aside, wringing her

hands. “Thanks, Millie,” he murmured, passing her to

climb the stairs. Thank God, Brett called the housekeeper

to tell her what had happened.

“I'm cold,” Jenna moaned, her teeth chattering. “So

cold.”

His arms tightened. “I know, baby. You'll be warm in

a minute.”

He kicked open the door to his bedroom and headed

straight for the bathroom. “Can you stand?”

At her nod, he set her on the floor and steadied her.

His fingers grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt. As he

started to pull it over her head, she backed up, pushing

his hands away.

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?”
Please say yes. I couldn't stand it if I

have to stay here and watch you undress
.

“Thank you. I'm fine.” The stoicism worried him.

Rye retreated to his room and pulled a clean shirt

from his bureau drawer. Once he heard the shower, he

slipped into the bathroom, sat in a chair, and waited,

watching the mirror turn foggy from the steam.

He rested his head against the wall and tried to

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make sense of what was happening. He was no cop, but it

seemed that some psycho was getting a kick out of

torturing Jenna. A cat playing with a mouse before

making the kill? Perhaps it wasn't organized crime at all.

Could someone from her past have returned to haunt her?

His muscles tensed when the water stopped running.

Almost as if she expected him to be sitting there, Jenna

peeked around the curtain, the dark smudges under her

eyes emphasizing the gray irises.

“Thanks for your help, but I'd rather do this alone.”

An arm appeared from behind the curtain.

He handed her the thick white towel. “Are you feeling

better?”

“In the shower I saw blood swirling down the drain.

Do you know if it was...if the head was...”

He heard tears in her voice. “Not yet. I'll make a call

now, if you'll be okay by yourself.”

Her lips trembled when she smiled. “I’m fine. Thank

you.” Rye brushed his finger down her cheek. “I'll be right

in the next room. Call me if you need anything.” He softly

closed the bathroom door on his way out. He grabbed the

phone beside the bed and quickly punched in the number.

“Jeb? It's Rye. Any trouble with Tsunami and Rising

Sun tonight?”

“Nope. I'm looking right at 'em.”

Rye relaxed. “They're both safe in their stalls?”

“Sure are. Why wouldn't they be?”

“Great. I'll fill you in tomorrow. Don't let either one of

those horses out of your sight.”

Talking with Jeb lifted a hefty weight from his

shoulders. The head in the bathtub wasn't Rising Sun's.

But someone had wanted Jenna to think it was.

Brett knocked at Jenna's door, then walked in

without waiting for an invitation. “Where is she?”

Rye gestured toward the bathroom. “Was there a

tattoo?”

Brett looked a little green around the gills. “Yeah,

here's the number.”

Rye snatched the piece of paper his brother held. “It

needs to be run through the thoroughbred registry.”

Brett sighed and lowered his body into an arm chair

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next to the bed. “Being done as we speak. Whoever

delivered the head walked in through the front door. You

must have left it unlocked.”

“Damn it. I've never had a reason to lock doors here.”

“Dump the guilt, Rye. If the door had been locked,

they'd have gone in a window.”

“How'd they get through the gate?”

Brett shook his head. “They didn't. Looks like they

hiked up through the woods from the road.

Rye shrugged impatiently. “Any chance of finding

footprints? Fingerprints? Tire tracks? That's a hell of a

long way to carry a horse head.”

“I've got two men scouring the area for evidence. The

head must have been bagged. Not a drop of blood in the

cottage. At least none apparent to the naked eye.”

Brett's cell rang. “Talk to me.” A frown wrinkled his

brow. “You're positive? How can that be? Okay, thanks.”

He flipped the phone shut and turned to Rye. “Bad news.”

He glanced toward the bathroom door and lowered his

voice. “The tattoo is registered to Rising Sun.”

Blood drained from Rye's head, making him dizzy. He

sat on the end of the bed. “That's impossible. I just spoke

to the guards. Rising Sun is in his stall.”

Brett shrugged. “Call them back and tell them to

check the tattoo. Someone must have switched horses.”

He sounded weary.

Rye fumbled with his cell, dropping it twice before he

managed to dial the number. The short wait for the

security personnel to check the tattoo of the horse in

Rising Sun's stall seemed a lifetime.

They read off the number. The same number as the

one on the piece of paper he held in his hand. “You're

sure? You double checked?”

“I had Joe read it to me twice.”

“Right. Talk to you later.”

Confused, Rye faced Brett. “I don't know what the

hell's going on, but the horse standing in Rising Sun's

stall has the same tattoo number as the head in the

bathtub. Since the horse in my barn has been guarded

since all this began, I think it's safe to assume he's the

real Rising Sun. Or at least the horse Jenna has always

known to be Rising Sun. The only other possibility is

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someone switched horses the night Jenna was hit over the

head. But I'm certain Jenna would know if the horse in

my barn wasn't hers.”

“Jesus.” Brett paced the thick carpet, running his

fingers through his hair. “Montega must have arranged

for a ringer for Rising Sun. Probably had some big plan.

That must be why Charles tried to get Jenna's horse. But

what changed Montega's mind?”

“Who knows? You're the one trained to get inside the

criminal mind. You tell me.”

“What's the process for lip tattooing?”

“The Jockey Club issues a Certificate of Registration,

which is presented to a tattoo technician. After the tattoo,

the horse is registered with the Thoroughbred Racing

Protective Bureau.”

The bathroom door creaked open, and they stopped

talking. Jenna stepped into the bedroom wearing only the

T-shirt exposing her long legs. She wrapped her arms

around herself like a protective shawl.

****

The two brothers stood in the room with guilty

expressions. Were they waiting for her to fall apart? Her

heart fluttered like a caged bird seeking freedom, but she

reached deep inside and drew on her inner strength. “Is

Rising Sun still alive?”

Rye hurried over and took her arm. “Come sit down.”

She shied away from his touch. Her gaze bounced

between Rye and Brett. “Somebody answer my question.”

Inside, she howled from frustration. The coppery smell of

blood still filled her nose. She could even taste it.

“Sit down, and I will.” The determined set of Rye's

mouth told her she wouldn't win this battle.
Pick your

battles wisely, Jenna
. Her father's sage advice popped into

her head. She walked to the bed and sat.

“The dead horse and Rising Sun have the same

number tattoo.”

Jenna jumped up. “That's impossible! The Jockey

Club would never make a mistake like that.”

“You're right. I doubt it was a mistake,” Brett said

wryly. “Whoever accomplished the feat had inside help.

Now, for some reason, it seems their original plan has

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been changed.”

Jenna asked the dreaded question. The question she

wasn't sure she wanted answered. “How do you know

which horse is dead? I mean...if they both have the same

tattoo number. Are you sure that a switch wasn't made on

the track?”

Rye gently pushed her onto the bed. “I spoke with the

security guards. They swear that Rising Sun is safe in his

stall.”

“I need to make sure.”

The mattress sank as Rye sat beside her. “Of course

you do. I'll wait downstairs. There are some clean jeans in

the chair. As soon as you're dressed, we'll go.”

She nodded, the lump in her throat making speech

impossible. Both men walked out. The door clicked shut,

and Jenna rose to slip into the jeans. Her hand was on the

doorknob when her stomach decided to revolt. She barely

made it to the bathroom in time. The next few minutes

she spent on her knees. Long after her stomach was

empty, the spasms continued.

She wanted to curl up and die when a callused hand

curved around the back of her neck. “Feel better?” Rye

knelt next to her.

She nodded, but her stomach told a different story as

the dry heaves continued. Gentle fingers removed strands

of hair stuck to her cheek, tucking them behind her ear.

Heat radiated from Rye. Shivering, she sought his

warmth, nestling close against him.

Rye stood and lifted her to her feet. Holding her with

one arm, he wet a washcloth with the other.

He gently wiped her face and poured mouthwash into

a paper cup. “Here.”

Like a child, she did as she was told, tossing the cup

in the wastebasket after she’d rinsed.

His arm slid around her shoulders. “Come lay down.”

Jenna wobbled to the bed, relieved to sink onto the

mattress. The thought of sitting upright sent her stomach

into a triple somersault mode. “What's wrong with me?”

She’d forgotten Rye until he spoke, his voice soft.

“You're in shock. You've experienced more traumas in the

last few days than most people experience in a lifetime.

No wonder you're sick.”

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The wet cloth soothed her, cooling the heat in her

face. “Do you trust me, Jenna?”

Did she trust him? Good question. Except for her

father and Charles, she'd never trusted anyone. And look

how trusting Charles had ended up. “Why?”

He sat on the edge of the bed. She scooted over,

putting more distance between them. “If you want to go to

the track now, I'll take you. But I think it’s best you stay

in bed.”

Her fingers worried a corner of the blanket. “I have to

be sure my horse is safe.”

His gentle blue eyes moved over her face. “I know.”

An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Is

there a special mark on the horse that would convince you

that he’s Rising Sun?”

Yes. A white star-like mark on the inside of his back

right leg
. But she didn't tell him that. “Call the guard.

Ask him to look at the inside of the horse's right back leg

and tell you what he sees there.”

The smile disappeared. “Guess that answers my

question about trust,” he replied in a dry voice. “Did you

think I'd lie if you gave me too much information?”

Keeping his gaze glued to hers, he dialed his cell.

Jenna held her breath until he disconnected. “Well?

What did he say?”

“Jeb says there's a patch of white on the inside of the

right back leg. He said that if he used his imagination,

he'd describe it as a star.”

“Yes!” Jenna pushed to her knees and hugged him.

“It's Rising Sun.” As fast as the snap of fingers, someone

pulled the plug, and all energy drained from her body.

She slumped back on the mattress.

“You okay?”

She yawned. “I think I’ll rest now.”

“Good idea.” He turned back the covers, and she

crawled inside the haven and burrowed her face into the

pillow.

“Rest easy,” Rye murmured and left the room.

Jenna flipped onto her back and stared at the rustic

wooden beams on the white ceiling. Better to stay awake