Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (9 page)

murder.”

Hills leaned back, his chair giving an ominous creak.

“Actually, there's a bit more to the story than that.”

Jenna glanced toward the doorway at the sound of

footsteps entering the tack room. She stared at the man

who walked in. Other than being taller, he looked enough

like Rye to be his twin.

A self-satisfied smirk spread over the detective's face.

“Speak of the devil. Jenna, the FBI has arrived. Meet

Brett Cameron, Rye's brother.”

Jenna's gaze flew to Rye. He sat in stoic silence. Hills

rambled on. “Agent Cameron, you'll be happy to know

that your brother's been keeping a close eye on Jenna —

just as you requested.”

A numbness spread through Jenna. Hot tears scalded

the back of her tired eyes. She slid off the desk and

walked out of the room. Rye had lied from the beginning.

She poured a cup of coffee with unsteady hands. He didn't

hire her because of her ability to train horses. The FBI

had asked him to spy on her. Was firing Dimitri part of

the master plan to make an opening in his barn?

Rye came across the room toward her. “Coffee

ready?”

She backed away. “Help yourself.”

Hills lumbered into the room. “I've been dismissed for

now, so I'll be seeing you around.”

Jenna remembered the call she'd received. “After the

explosion, my cell rang. The same distorted voice that

called the apartment told me, 'Last warning. Next time

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you die.' Can you track the call? I dropped my cell

outside.”

Hills smiled without humor, his eyes cold. “Tell the

FBI. They're handling the investigation now.”

Brett spoke from the doorway. “I'll walk you out,

Sergeant. I've got a few questions.”

Jenna squared her shoulders. “I need some fresh air.

Seems you're more privy to what's going on than I am, so

you can answer any questions the FBI might have.”

Rye touched her shoulder. “Stay in sight of the two

security guards.”

Jenna forced herself to walk, not run, out the door.

Blocking recent events from her mind, she concentrated

on the one thing over which she had total control, training

horses. She refused to let anyone manipulate her, the bad

guys or the good ones.

Someone, allegedly the mob, was threatening to kill

her. Kill her over a horse? Common sense told her the

mob wanted more than Rising Sun, but she didn't have a

clue what that might be.

So much for believing that Rye thought her to be a

great horse trainer. What a freakin' liar. He'd hired her

because his brother ordered him to. Jenna didn't have an

ego problem. She was good at what she did. More than

anything else, she hated that Rye Cameron made a fool of

her. Twice.

“Evening, ma'am,” one of the guards said as she

approached him in the shed row.

“More like good morning,” Jenna joked. “I'll be

spending a few minutes with my horse.” She ducked

under the webbing and woke Rising Sun who never failed

to give unconditional love. ****

Rye returned to his desk and slumped in the chair.

He leaned forward, closed his eyes and rubbed his

forehead. What a fucking mess. A few days ago, he had

been in control of his life. Hard to believe that he’d just

banged a right onto Murder and Mayhem Street. Adding

Jenna Green to the quagmire gave him one volatile

situation. His emotional misery came close to physical

pain.

As much as he needed to explain his side of the story,

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Jenna would close her ears to anything he had to say. Not

that he blamed her. Right now, he needed to keep her

safe. How could he do that if she refused to trust him?

Why hadn't he told her the truth about Brett?

Simple. Because she would have turned him down flat

when he offered her the job. He hadn't lied about

admiring her training ability, although he probably

wouldn't have hired her without Brett’s prompting. A

woman with authority in a barn full of males created its

own set of problems. But he did hire her, and he ended up

with a great trainer who just happened to own a fast

horse.

A rooster’s crow announced the backside coming to

life in the pre-dawn. Horses stirred and rattled their

webbings. He could hear grooms murmuring softly to

their charges. Rye concentrated on those soothing sounds

and ignored Brett when he entered.

“Sleeping on the job?”

Rye opened his eyes. “You've put me in an awkward

position.”

Brett's mouth, so much like his own, quirked with

humor. “Tell me about it, little brother. Maybe I can fix

it.” Rye pounded his fist on the desk. “I'm serious. I did

you a favor. It backfired and screwed up my life.”

His brother sat in a chair and put his feet on the

desk, crossing his ankles. “I take it your agitation involves

Jenna Green?”

Rye's mouth tightened. The amusement in his

brother's eyes irked him. “I did what you asked. The

situation got out of hand.”

“In other words, you're sleeping with her, or you

want to sleep with her. Which is it?”

Rye's irritation grew. His brother would never

understand the mesh of emotions churning inside him

with regards to Jenna.

At a slight gasp, Rye looked up to see Jenna in the

doorway, her gray eyes stormy, her hair a mass of tangled

curls around her shoulders. She'd yet to wipe the dirt

from her face. Her lips curved into a stiff smile. “Don't

answer that Rye. It's none of his business.” She shifted

her attention to Brett. “So you're the FBI brother?”

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Brett swung his feet off the desk and stood. “Yes,

ma'am. You must be Jenna.”

Jenna ignored the hand Brett held out. “Someone's

trying to kill me. I want you tell me everything you

know.”

Relief turned Rye to mush. He’d braced himself for

Jenna to chew him up and spit him out for lying. Instead,

she faced the FBI and boldly demanded the truth. Her

strength through all that had happened amazed him. His

body ached from being thrown to the ground like a rag

doll. Surely hers must hurt, too.

Brett gestured for her to have a seat. “Did Rye

mention the mob to you?”

“He mentioned it. I don't know details.”

“I'll tell you what I can. The FBI's investigating

Rafael Montega's involvement in the racing world. He's

the head honcho for organized crime in this area. Jimmy

Rosato is one of his lieutenants. We have evidence that

Dimitri Manos was up to his neck with Rosato. They've

been seen together a number of times. Kincaid’s also been

seen in their company.”

Brett paused, his look encompassing both Jenna and

Rye before continuing. “The FBI has reason to suspect the

mob was behind your father's death.”

Jenna paled. The shockwaves vibrating from her hit

Rye as well. Jesus, why hadn't Brett told him? And why

spring it on Jenna like this?

Her gaze flew to Rye. What did she want?

Understanding? Support? Or did she believe he'd known

about her father and not told her?

“I had no idea, Jenna,” he said softly. “This is the

first I’ve heard of it.”

Her fingers gripped the undersides of the chair as

she turned her attention back to Brett. “What proof do

you have to back up this theory?”

“Tests were done at the hospital the night your father

was admitted. The same drug that killed Dimitri Manos

showed up in his blood tests. An autopsy proved he didn't

die of a heart attack. He died of an overdose of horse

tranquilizer.”

Jenna's face turned a darker shade of red. “Who

ordered an autopsy? How could you do an autopsy without

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Dead Heat

my permission? I never agreed to anything like that. Why

wasn’t I told that he didn’t have a heart attack?”

“The FBI ordered the tests, the autopsy and finally,

the gag order. A federal crime had been committed.”

Jenna withdrew like a turtle hiding in its shell. Rye

touched her arm. She stiffened and moved away and sat

in a chair between the two men. “What federal crime?

Why would the mob want to kill my father?”

Rye had a bad feeling about Brett's answer and

wanted the conversation to be over. “Let it go, Brett.”

“No,” Jenna barked. “I have a right to know.”

Brett crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you

remember a horse your father trained called Cash a Bet?”

She nodded curtly.

“About six months ago, Cash a Bet went off the 2:1

favorite. In the same race, a horse trained by Kincaid

called Renegade had odds of 20:1. Cash a Bet got lost in

the pack and ran sixth. Renegade won.” He paused. “The

mob made a lot of money that day.”

Jenna shot up and out of her chair like a volcano

spewing molten lava.

Rye jumped up, too, just as she grabbed Brett's suit

jacket with both hands. “How dare you imply my father

would fix a race? He was honest, trustworthy. You son-of-

a-bitch. He wouldn't do that.”

A single tear made a trail through the dirt on her

cheek. She wiped it away. Rye wanted to go to her, but

figured his comfort wouldn't be welcome. She swallowed

hard and shifted her gaze between the two men. Without

another word, she yanked her clipboard from its hook on

the wall and walked out, slamming the door in her wake.

“Whew!” Brett whistled and wiped his brow. “That

feistiness along with those looks makes her one hot

woman. Even with dirt all over her face. No wonder you're

in a quandary.”

Rye kneaded his forehead. A pisser of a headache

threatened to magnify an already horseshit day. “Christ,

Brett. Did you have to tell her like that?”

“I'm not running a kindergarten here. You realize

there's a possibility she's involved?”

“Someone's trying to kill her, for God's sake.” Rye

argued.

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“Yeah, well, what about Dimitri and her father? They

cooperated with the mob and ended up in the morgue.”

“Do I take it you're hanging around until this is

solved?”

“Yep. As your brother. I'd rather people around the

track didn't know I was FBI.”

“Get real. Hills knows. The entire police department

knows. By now I'm sure half of Lexington knows. You

could at least get rid of the suit and wing tip shoes.

They're a dead give-a-way. I've asked Jenna to stay at the

farm, but with you there, I doubt she will.”

“Why not? The place is big enough. We don't even

have to run into each other. It's important to keep her

close. Even if she's totally innocent, she might know

something that she's not aware of.”

That thought had already occurred to Rye.

“How'd she get to you, little brother? She's not your

usual type.”

Rye's hackles rose. “And just what is my usual type?”

“A woman who looks good hanging on a man's arm,

dresses fit to kill. One who knows what to say, when to

say it and when to shut up. A woman who knows the

score and just smiles when you tire of her and say

goodbye.”

Rye scowled at the picture his brother drew. “I like

Jenna. She's a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Brett said, his expression doubtful.

“You've got a groom working for you by the name of

Jamal?”

“What about him?”

“One of our agents followed him the other day. He

walked to a convenience store. When he left, one of

Montega's men approached him. The tail couldn't hear

what was said, but the discussion got explosive. A lot of

hand gesturing. Both men lost their tempers.”

“Jamal is Tsunami's groom. I’m beginning to suspect

the mob may have designs on the horse.” Rye opened one

of desk drawers and pulled out a manila file folder.

Thumbing through some papers, he yanked one out and

handed it to Brett. “Here's his job application.”

Brett's brows rose. “He's from Jamaica? Is he in the

country legally?”

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Dead Heat

Rye snickered. “Of course he is. Do you think I'd hire

an alien when my brother works for the FBI? By the way,

are you working with Hills, or is he off the case?”

“He'll hang in the background,” Brett mumbled, still

reading the job application.

“Right after Jenna's car exploded, Jenna received a

threat on her cell.” Rye scribbled a number on a piece of

paper. “Here's her cell number. She dropped the phone

outside near the car.”

“I found the phone last night. I'll have someone check

it out.” Brett retrieved his briefcase from the floor. Setting

it on the table, he flipped it open and removed a pad of

paper along with a pen. “Tell me everything that's

happened since you hired Jenna. Assume nothing’s

irrelevant. Then we'll talk with Jamal.”

Rye stood and stretched. He poured himself a cup of

coffee, hoping the caffeine would chase away his

headache. No way was he telling his brother everything