Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (4 page)

contact.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I'll prepare the

paperwork.” He turned his attention to Jenna. “You

understand you’ll have to sign a release that you're

discharging yourself against my better judgment?”

Jenna gave a quick nod.

“I’ll send someone in to help you dress.”

****

lot, cursing himself for his impulsive action. His plans for

Jenna didn't include being her nursemaid. Somehow he'd

been drawn into her life through no fault of hers. Had he

endangered her life by firing Dimitri?

Hills' questioning irritated him. He resented the cop's

implications that Dimitri hung himself because he'd been

fired. He'd told Hills the truth. Dimitri had been acting

strange for months. The cops should be investigating why.

Pink fingers of dawn stretched into the sky as he

climbed into the Pathfinder and drove to the front of the

hospital where Jenna waited with a beefy-looking orderly,

who assisted her into the passenger seat. The man rolled

his eyes at Rye, mouthed the words ‘good luck’ and closed

the door. Great. She must have been practicing her nasty

act. When Jenna’s fingers fumbled with the seat belt, Rye

reached across the seat to help. She snapped at him. “I

can do it.”

Christ, they hadn't even left the hospital grounds,

and she'd already pissed him off. He clenched his teeth

and decided to ignore her.

Until her next words pushed him over the edge.

“I'll give you directions to my house. You can drop me

off.” Rye took a right and gunned the engine. The tires

squealed, surprising him as much as his passenger.

“You're coming with me. Tomorrow, you can go home. And

don't,” he turned his head and glared at her, “you dare say

another word.”

Her body stiffened, but she kept quiet. Rye relaxed

and concentrated on driving.

“Do you blame yourself?”

The softly asked question several minutes later

18

Dead Heat

caught him off-guard. “What?”

She looked at him as if he were the devil incarnate.

“Do you blame yourself for Dimitri's death?”

“No. Why should I?” He was damn tired of people

making him out to be the villain. First the police and now

Jenna. Christ. He had no idea why Dimitri hanged

himself. The questioned nagged at his brain. The man

could’ve found other owners willing to hire him and built

his own stable of horses in no time. Leaving Rye's barn

wouldn't have harmed his career.

Yet, guilt poked at his conscience. Could he have

prevented it if he’d dug more deeply into Dimitri’s

problems?

“You fired him.”

“I fire a lot of people. Dimitri's the first one to commit

suicide. Besides, I don’t think that's why he did it.”

He turned the SUV onto US 60. Traffic was light, so

he settled back and enjoyed the view of fields of bluegrass

and miles of gentle, sloping countryside. They'd be at the

farm in less than fifteen minutes. He pondered the

strange note found on Dimitri's body.

He glanced over at his passenger. She leaned against

the door, her face pale. “Are you okay? Want me to pull

over?”

She shook her head. “I keep seeing Dimitri dangling

from that rope. It doesn't make sense. Why knock me out?

Why not just wait till I left and then do it? Why pick my

tack room in the first place?”

Rye had asked himself those same questions. “I don't

know. Perhaps we'll never know.”

“What did you think about the note the police found

in Dimitri's pocket?”

The lady read his mind. “It's not really a note. More

like a list of sorts.” ‘Win, ransacked, sluttish, maniac’. The

words played in his head. Just a bunch of words, or

something more sinister? Win could be racetrack related.

Maniac sure as hell described Dimitri. Ransacked and

sluttish meant diddlysquat to him.

When he glanced at Jenna, her eyes were closed, her

lips slightly parted. She looked sexy as hell. His groin

tightened, and he wanted to run his thumb over her full

bottom lip as he’d done in the hospital. His fingers

19

Pam Champagne

tightened on the steering wheel. “Jenna. Wake up.”

She jerked awake in a fighting mood. “Don't do that.”

He chuckled. “Hey, don't take it out on me. Dr.

Haynes said you should stay awake.”

“Right,” she muttered and looked out the side

window.

The remaining miles slipped by in silence, and soon

he turned the SUV through an open black iron gate. He

proceeded slowly down the paved road lined on both sides

by tulip trees.

“Wow. Nice driveway,” she drawled.

Was that sarcasm in her voice? He pushed aside his

sensitivity. Most people either didn't know, didn't believe,

or plain didn't care that he'd worked damn hard for what

he had. He'd started at the bottom with nothing. Thanks

to a combination of skill and luck, he'd made a name for

himself in the world of thoroughbred horseracing.

He turned off the road onto a circular drive and

braked in front of a large brick antebellum-style house

with white pillars. Rye prepared himself for another

comment, but Jenna remained silent.

He climbed out and stretched. By the time he got

around to her side, she stood beside the car. She teetered

momentarily before leaning heavily against him as they

climbed the granite steps. Being this close fanned the

flame already simmering in his groin.

Back in his younger days he would have considered

Jenna a possible soulmate. Even though she cared for

horses the same way he did, the little voice in his head

said this woman was trouble. After seeing his parents'

and then Brett's marriage crumble, he knew love was

nothing but a cruel hoax that fed people's fantasies.

Unlike the movies, in real life love had no happy endings.

The security system alerted the main house

whenever someone turned up the drive, so his

housekeeper, Millie, stood in the doorway waiting for

them.

“As soon as you called, I prepared a guest bedroom

for Ms. Green,” she said, her plump face full of concern.

“Thanks, Millie. You're a gem.” Rye cupped Jenna’s

elbow and led her down the hall to a room on the left. He

continued across the Oriental carpet to a couch in the far

20

Dead Heat

corner of the huge living room.

“I smell lemons,” Jenna said, her voice sounding

weak to Rye.

“I just dusted with lemon oil this morning.” Millie

smiled and helped Jenna remove her suede jacket. A slip

of paper fell out of the pocket and fluttered to the floor at

Rye's feet. He bent to retrieve it.

Jenna took the paper from him. Her brows drew

together. When she glanced up, a flicker of fear flashed in

her eyes.

“What is it?”

She handed him the note.

“Jury ornate nun,” he read the words aloud. “What's

this?”

“Certainly not my grocery list.” The gray eyes

darkened. “It's not mine. I don't know how it got in my

pocket.”

Rye read the words again. “So now we have two

mysterious notes. Neither of which makes any sense.”

Jenna pushed a strand of hair from her face and sank

onto the couch.

Millie hovered over her like a Blackhawk helicopter

protecting troops on the ground. “I think Ms. Green needs

a hot bath, and perhaps a bowl of fresh, tomato basil

soup.”

“I don't have any clothes. Other than the ones I'm

wearing.”

“That's okay, dear. I'll wash them. I'm sure there's a

bathrobe around here you can wear while they dry.”

Millie continued to flutter around Jenna, making

Rye’s presence unnecessary. “Jenna, I'll leave you in

Millie's capable hands. Remember, don't let her sleep for

several hours, Millie. Keep an eye on her and call my cell

if you need me.”

Jenna snapped to attention, her eyes wide with what

looked like fear. “You're leaving?”

Rye’s gut twisted. With everything that had

happened, no wonder being alone in a new environment

frightened her. “I've got business back at the track. I'll

swing by the police department and drop off this note. I

won't be long.”

“You run along, Rye,” Millie said. “Jenna and I will

21

Pam Champagne

be just fine.”

Rye walked out, telling himself guilt was nothing but

a self-imposed emotion. He had no reason to feel guilty.

Jenna was in good hands. Millie meant well, although the

woman would probably overwhelm the very independent

Jenna.

On the drive back to Lexington, he thought about

Dimitri's suicide. His gut screamed it was just the tip of

an entire iceberg. He wasn't convinced the man had killed

himself. Suicide didn't fit the Dimitri he'd known.

Although the man had changed drastically during the last

few months. Several times Rye had attempted to talk to

him. Find out what was wrong. But Dimitri had refused

to confide his problems, insisting everything was fine.

Something sinister was going on, and he and Jenna

appeared to be right in the middle of it. Where the hell

was Brett?

22

Dead Heat

“Hey, Jenna. Can ya look at Mystic's right ankle? I

think something's wrong.”

Jenna glanced up from the workout schedule she'd

been studying and smiled at the young groom standing in

the tack room doorway. “Sure, Casey.” She hung the

clipboard on a wall hook and walked with him to Mystic's

stall.

After two days of rest at the farm, she felt like a new

woman. Only the second morning training in Rye's barn,

and it seemed like she'd been here forever. The busy

routine kept her thoughts away from Dimitri's death.

Rye had given her a contract this morning. She’d

skimmed its contents and eagerly signed on the dotted

line. She'd scoffed at Rye's suggestion she have an

attorney look it over. As far as Jenna was concerned, she

was right where she wanted to be.

The workers were terrific. All except Jamal,

Tsunami's groom. Tsunami was Rye's pride and joy, but

Jamal guarded the horse as if Jenna had plans to

assassinate the animal. How could she train a horse she

couldn't get near? The problem had to be dealt with today.

Jenna followed Casey into the stall and knelt in the

thick cushion of straw. The groom hunkered down beside

her. She ran her hands down Mystic's ankle. “You're

right, Casey. Heat and swelling. Best to keep weight off

his back for a few days. Walk him for an hour today and

pony him tomorrow. Make sure that ankle is iced an hour

each day before you bandage his legs for the night. I'll

take a look at him tomorrow. Let me know right away if

he gets worse. We’ll get the vet here.”

“Thanks, Jenna. Dimitri would have sent him to the

track anyway.”

“That's enough, Casey.” Rye's stern voice from

outside the stall wiped the smile from the young groom’s

face. “You know my policy,” Rye continued, positioning

23

Pam Champagne

himself in the stall's opening. “Zero tolerance for gossip in

this barn.”

Jenna reached over and squeezed Casey's arm. “We'll

talk later.”

Ducking under the webbing, Jenna ignored Rye's

dark look. She linked her arm through his and steered

him down the shed row, not stopping until they reached

the office.

Rye's set-up surpassed any she'd seen on a track. The

three-room unit had a small bedroom off the office area,

as well as a good-sized tack room and a small bathroom.

She waited patiently until Rye settled in the chair

behind his desk. He drummed his fingers, and then picked

up a pencil. She tensed when he began tapping it on the

desktop. Most annoying habit. Like fingernails running

down a blackboard. Her irritation increased when his eyes

twinkled with amusement.

“I presume you dragged me in here for a reason,” he

drawled.

“I'm your trainer. Correct?”

He nodded. “I hired you. You signed the contract.”

“Then don't discipline the help for giving me useful

information.”

In spite of the black cloud that descended over his

face, she stood her ground.

The tapping got faster and louder. “I meant what I

said. I won’t tolerate gossip.”

Hands on top of the desk, Jenna leaned closer, until

she was a few inches from his face. “Casey telling me how

Dimitri would train an injured horse is not gossiping.

Information like that helps me do my job.”

The storm in his eyes passed as quickly as a summer

thunder shower. The muscles in his face relaxed. “You're

right. I guess I overreacted.”

The sexy black flecks in his blue eyes knocked the

oomph out of her sails. The quickening below her belly

button told her to back away.

Mesmerized, she watched the myriad of changes in

his eyes. When the chilly blue shade turned warm like the

sky on a hot summer's day, she drew a sharp breath at