Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (21 page)

This man might be an FBI agent, but didn't have a

brain to call his own. “Anyone with connections to the

mob ends up dead.”

Brett lightly touched her arm and repositioned the

bucket for her to sit. “I won't argue with that. What

exactly did Kincaid say? Try to remember his exact

words.”

“He told me Rising Sun was no longer an issue with

the mob. That the problem had been resolved. Actually, I

don't think he used the word mob.”

“Resolved in what way? He didn't go into details?”

“No.”

Brett sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I'll send an

agent over to talk to him. If Kincaid agrees, we'll put him

under protective custody. He’d make an excellent witness

if this case ever goes to trial.”

“And if he doesn't? What then?”

Brett shrugged. “We'll take him downtown for

questioning and explain the situation. I'm sure he’ll help

us if it means saving his own ass.”

Dani barreled toward them. “Jenna! What's going

on?” “We're being killed one by one. Just like in the book

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Ten Little Indians.”

Dani whirled around. “Well Mr. FBI man? Isn't it

your job to arrest the bad guys and protect the innocent?”

Jenna tried to swallow it, but failed. Another giggle

welled up and bubbled out when Brett backed away from

the tiny woman as if she were a three-hundred-pound

wrestler.

“Dani.” Rye stepped between them. “Calm down.

Everything's under control.”

“Under control?” Jenna said. Did that high pitched

noise come from her? “You call this under control? No

one's been arrested. You don't even have any suspects.”

“Jenna, that's enough.”

She ignored Rye. “Enough? I don't think so. Find my

mother. She's probably the one behind this.”

Brett's face turned grim. “Rye, take Jenna back to

the farm. There's nothing either of you can do here. I'll fill

you in at dinner.”

Jenna launched herself off the bucket. She'd wipe the

smugness off his face. “Why you...”

Rye caught her around the waist. “Dani, is

everything set for tomorrow?”

“You still want to work the horses?” Dani asked.

Rye nodded. “Now more than ever. The distraction

will be good for everyone.”

Jenna half-heartedly pried at the hands holding her.

Enticed by the heat of his body, she burrowed closer,

tempted to press her face against his sunburned neck. She

couldn't remember ever feeling so alone.

Brett's ire focused on Dani. “Don't you have some

place to be?”

Dani muttered “jerk” under her breath.

Jenna couldn't resist saying, “I told you so.”

“Friends don't say I told you so,” Dani retorted,

giving Jenna an angry look. “I'm going home. See y'all in

the morning.”

“We're leaving, too.” Rye led Jenna away from the

mayhem.

“What's wrong with your brother?” Jenna asked,

removing her arm from his grasp. “Why's he such a

woman hater?”

For several seconds, he didn't answer. “He has his

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reasons,” Rye finally replied.

****

stole a glance at the pale woman sitting next to him. “The

FBI will find out who's behind this. It's important to your

well-being that you believe that.”

She turned toward him, her eyes the color of the

thunderheads rising in the east. “Three people have been

killed. How many more have to die before the FBI finds

out who's behind this?”

“I don't know. I hope you're not letting Sergeant Hills

get to you? His comment was totally out of line.”

“He spoke the truth.”

“He should have kept his mouth shut.”

Jenna fell silent, face leaning against the passenger

window, hands clenched into fists rested on her thighs.

What dark thoughts lurked in her mind?

Millie stood in the door when they arrived. “Brett

called me. You poor thing,” she clucked over Jenna. “Run

along to your room. I'll bring up some hot soup.”

“I'd rather—”

“Millie's right, Jenna.”

Her eyes met his. “But...”

He raised his hand and wrapped a loose curl around

his finger, then stroked her pale cheek. “Millie's soup

cures all ills.”

Tears shone in her eyes. “Please. I don't want to be

alone.”

The pleading in her eyes and emotion in her voice

tore at him. He hugged her. “I've got to speak with Pete.

It won't take long. I'll be up in a bit.”

“Come along now,” Millie hustled her up the stairs.

Rye watched them for a moment. Thank God for

Millie.

****

the desk.

“Did you?”

Pete's gaze moved everywhere in the office except to

Rye. “Yeah. Just had a phone call.”

God, I hate suspecting you Pete.
“You been here all

morning?” Ever since finding Pete in this office the night

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they’d discovered the horse head, Rye'd been plagued with

doubts about his long time friend and employee.

Pete's job was barn foreman at the track. Lately, he'd

been spending more time at the farm than the track. The

odor in the air was off.

Pete cleared his throat and straightened a stack of

papers on the desk. “I did stop by the track, but

everything was running smoothly, so I didn't stay.”

Rye lowered himself into a chair. In spite of Pete's

uneasiness at his presence, he intended to get to the

bottom of this mystery. “Been spending a lot of time on

the farm lately. Got something you want to get off your

chest?”

Beads of sweat formed on the man's brow. One slowly

dribbled down his weathered face and splashed on the

smooth oak desktop.

“We go back a long way, Pete. There's nothing you

can't tell me. Anything said goes no further than this

room.”

“You can't help me.”

“Try me.”

A harsh laugh tumbled from Pete's mouth. “I got

myself in a heap of trouble. I have to find my own way

out.” “What kind of trouble?”

“Nothin' for you worry about.”

Rye stood and put his hands on the desk, his face

inches from the other man's. “I'm only going to ask once,

so listen up. Are you mixed up with all the killings going

on?” The old man's shock was genuine. His eyes opened

wide and his bottom jaw dropped. “Jesus, no, Rye. How

could ya think such a thing?”

“Don't go getting all indignant on me, Pete. You

haven't been yourself. I'll be blunt. You're acting like a

man who's got something to hide.”

Breath rumbled in the older man's chest. He gulped

air and blurted, “I'm in debt up to my eyeballs.”

“How did that happen? Why didn't you come to me?

You know damn well I'd have helped you.”

“It's a gambling debt.”

“Gambling?” Rye was poleaxed. “You don't gamble.”

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“I did. Once. Wagered every cent of my savings and

then some on a sure thing. Turned out it wasn't so sure.”

“What do you mean and then some? You borrowed

money to gamble? From who?”

Pete squirmed in his chair, still avoiding Rye's eyes.

He fixed his gaze on an old picture of a photo finish win,

hanging on the wall.

“Who, Pete?” Like a sucker punch to the stomach the

answer hit him. “Jesus, Pete. Not the mob?”

Laden silence gave him the answer. “Christ. How

much do you owe them?”

“Fifty grand.”

Rye pushed his disappointment aside. “I'll have the

money for you in the morning. Pay it off.”

Pete swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and

turned his eyes to Rye. “I got a feelin' it's too late.”

A gnawing pain ate at the lining of Rye's stomach.

Here it comes. “Meaning?”

“They upped the stakes.”

“They want more money?”

Pete shook his head and with a quick movement of

his hand, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Rye toughened his stance, refusing to be softened by

his friend's grief. “Spill it, Pete.”

“Got a call this mornin'. Somethin' about making

sure a certain horse of yours didn't win a certain race.

Told me I'd get the particulars later.”

Organized crime strikes again. “That's what

happened to Jenna's father. They killed him anyway.”

Pete's watery blue eyes widened. “He borrowed

money from the mob?”

“Not money. They found another way to get to him

through Jenna.”

“God, I'm an old fool. I screwed up big time.”

“Won't argue with you there. Come up to the house.

Brett should be home soon. Tell him everything. Then

you'll disappear 'til it's over.”

“Disappear?”

Rye'd known Pete for twenty years, but now realized

he knew nothing of the man's personal life. “Got any

friends or relatives you haven't seen for a while?”

“No family. Friends all dead.”

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“Don't worry about it. Brett will find a safe place.

Think of it as a vacation.”

Pete's voice cracked with emotion. “I don't know how

to thank you.” A wistful, far away expression crossed his

face. “Always considered you the son I never had.” He

stood and held out his hand.

Christ. Rye's own eyes began to fill. He walked

behind the desk and embraced the older man. “Me too,

Pete. Now let's get out of here before we embarrass

ourselves.”

Brett's car pulled up just as they arrived at the

house. He opened the door and got out, moving like

someone twenty years older. Brett was exhausted. Rye

suspected he was also discouraged.

“Pete's got some things to tell you, Brett.”

“Where's Jenna?”

“In her room. I hope. Why?”

“Just wanted to be sure she's safe.”

“More like you wanted to make sure you were.” Rye's

chuckle turned into a laugh at Brett's pissed off

expression.

The three men walked through the front door in

silence. Rye headed toward his office, breathing in the

strong scent of lemons. Millie and her penchant for

dusting.

He sat at his antique oak roll top desk. “Go ahead

Pete. Fill Brett in on what's happened.”

Thirty minutes later, Brett leaned against the couch

cushions and closed his eyes. “Charles Kincaid is more

than eager to save himself.”

“So he's agreed to testify against the mafia?”

“Hell yes, he can't wait to get out of Dodge.”

“Did Kincaid tell you any ground breaking news? Rye

asked.

“Not really. Except like everyone else he'd been

approached by the mob, and they’d offered deals too good

to refuse. So far, Jenna's father was the only one who had

to be blackmailed into cooperating.

“The mob's like an octopus. Their tentacles reach out

and snare the greedy. It's difficult to pin anything on

them without catching someone in the act.”

“What's the official cause of Jamal's death?” The brief

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glimpse Rye got of the body hadn't shown anything

obvious.

“Have to wait for the autopsy, but there was a needle

puncture mark on his left arm.”

“Any anagram?”

“Nope. How long has Casey Jones been working for

you?” “Pete does most of the hiring.”

“About six months,” Pete offered.

“Where's his application? References?”

“Filed in the office at the barn.”

Brett nodded. “Good. I'll look at them tomorrow.”

“Any leads on Laura, Jenna's mother?” Rye asked.

Brett snorted. “She might as well be a ghost. Can't

find any evidence she ever existed after leaving Green.

The only fingerprints on the letter Jenna's father received

were his own, yours and Jenna's.”

“Interesting.”

“We'll keep looking.”

Millie bustled into the room, preventing further

speculation about Laura. “That poor little girl,” she

murmured.”

Rye grinned. “Millie, she's twenty-seven, hardly a

child.”

“You listen to me, Rye Cameron. That girl has been

through hell. She may be tough on the outside; inside,

she's hurting.”

Millie shook her head. “Poor thing grew up in man's

world with no mother. God knows how she survived.”

She pointed a finger at Rye. “You hurt her and you'll

answer to me.” Millie's gaze swept all three men. Brett

shifted position on the couch.

“What's for dinner, Millie?” Brett changed the

subject.

“You'll know when it's on the table.” She marched out

of the room.

“Whew,” Brett sighed. “Millie's quite the dragon.”

Rye rubbed the back of his neck and rose. “I'd better

go check on Jenna.”

“Better you than me,” Brett muttered.

The fifteen stairs took forever to climb. What would

he find? A weeping Jenna? Or would she be belligerent?

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Perhaps indifferent? The possibilities were endless, and

he'd seen them all. Including a self-assured professional

horse trainer.

For a moment he listened outside her door. Hearing

nothing, he tapped softly with his knuckles.

“Come in.”

Bracing himself, he opened the door and walked in. A