True Betrayals

by Nora Roberts

  need to do it. For my mother. For the colt. I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I have Boggs, the rest of the crew.”

  The heat died from his eyes. He stepped back, increasing the distance, nodded briskly. “I’ll get out of your way. If it turns out you need anything, Jamie will be around.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was a nightmare. When Kelsey staggered back to the hotel near midnight her emotions were like a raw wound. She knew the officials had already spoken with Moses and her mother. They’d told her. They’d told her she hadn’t just lost a prized colt. It hadn’t simply been chance or fate, or Boggs’s bad luck.

  It had been murder.

  Pride had been injected with a lethal dose of amphetamines. A drug that had overworked his heart, one that, as he’d galloped valiantly around turns, down the stretch, had fed off his own adrenaline and sped greedily through his nervous system until, at the sixteenth pole, that heart had stopped.

  Now, Three Willows and everyone involved would face questions, speculation, investigation. Had they drugged their horse, misjudging the dose, gambling somehow that the drug wouldn’t be found in Pride’s saliva?

  Or had someone else, a competitor, doctored the horse, and the odds? Someone who wanted to win so badly he would assassinate the colt and risk the life of the man on his back.

  She hesitated in front of the door to her mother’s suite. What else could be said there? Naomi had Moses to comfort her, to reassure her.

  She turned to her own room but couldn’t face it. Under the fatigue was a ruthless energy that continued to whip at her mind. Riding it, she walked quickly down the hall and knocked on Gabe’s door.

  He wasn’t sleeping. He hadn’t expected her, not after she’d sent him away. Certainly not after he’d gotten the news about Pride. But she was there, her eyes shadowed, her face so delicately pale he thought he could pass his hand through it. He simply stepped back and let her in.

  “You’ve heard?”

  “Yes, I heard. Sit down, Kelsey, before you collapse.”

  “I can’t. I’m afraid if I sit still I’ll never get moving again. Someone killed him, Gabe. That’s what it comes down to. Someone wanted Pride out of the running so badly, they murdered him.”

  He crossed the parlor to the wet bar and busied himself opening a bottle of mineral water. “My colt won.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry I haven’t even congratulated you, but—” Then she saw his eyes, and stopped cold. “Do you think I came here to accuse you? Even to ask if you had something to do with it?”

  While his blood raged, his hands were steady, casually pouring sparkling water over ice. “It’s a logical step.”

  “The hell with that. And the hell with you if you think so little of me.”

  “I think so little of you?” His laugh was quick and harsh. “What I think of you, and about you, Kelsey, is hardly the point. The facts are your horse is dead, and mine raced me to somewhere in the neighborhood of a million dollars in just over two minutes. That’s a pretty good motive for murder, and you won’t be alone in thinking it.”

  “So.” She shoved away the glass he offered to her, spilling water onto the carpet. “Facts and logic, then. You forgot an ingredient, Slater. Character.”

  “So I did.” He set her glass aside and sipped leisurely from his own. “Well, mine’s black enough.”

  “Let me tell you something about yourself, Gabriel Slater, high roller, tough guy. You’re a marshmallow about those horses. You’re as dazzled by and devoted to them as any twelve-year-old girl dreaming about Black Beauty.” She tossed back her head, delighted to see those carefully controlled eyes widen in shock.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You love them. You fucking love them. Did you think it wouldn’t get around that you tried to buy Cunningham’s filly because you were worried she was being mishandled?”

  The shield dropped down again, but she’d seen behind it and plowed on.

  “You think your crew doesn’t talk to ours about how you play with the foals like they were puppies, or sit up at night when you’ve got a sick horse? You’re a sucker, Slater.”

  “I’ve got an investment.”

  “You’ve got a love affair. And another thing,” she continued, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t appreciate you telling me what you think I should think when I know. You wanted to win that race as much as I did, and fixing a race isn’t winning. For somebody who’s spent his life playing the odds, you should know that. So if you’re going to stand here feeling sorry for yourself when you should be feeling sorry for me, I’ll just leave you to it.”

  “Hold on.” He grabbed her arm before she could storm out. “You’ve got a fast trigger, darling.” Setting his own glass aside, he rubbed his chest. “And a hell of an aim. You got me, okay? So can we sit down now?”

  “You can sit. I still need to walk this off.”

  Not entirely sure if he was embarrassed or amused by her accuracy, he lowered himself to the arm of the sofa. “I’m sorry, Kelsey. I know that doesn’t cover much, but I’m so goddamned sorry.”

  “I’m trying not to think about how bad I feel right now. I’m worried about Naomi.”

  “She’ll fight back.”

  “I guess we all will.” She paced by the table, picked up one of the glasses, and soothed her scratchy throat. “It was horrible when they told me about the drug. It was like losing him all over again. They’re checking the sharps boxes. Every needle, but even if they find something, what difference will it make? Pride’s dead.”

  “If the Racing Commission finds the needle that killed him, it might lead to who used it.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I can’t believe anyone would be careless enough to toss it into a sharps box, or if they did, to leave fingerprints or any other evidence.” Restless, she stuffed her hands in her pockets, then pulled them out again. “When I find out who—and I will find out—I want them to suffer.” She picked up her drink again, looked down into the glass, and watched the tiny bubbles rise. “He raced his heart out, literally raced it out.” She shuddered once, then pulled back the grief. “Reno dislocated his shoulder, snapped a collarbone, but that’s all. Thank God.”

  “Joey let me know. You’ll have him up again in a few weeks, Kelsey.”

  “Maybe by the Preakness.” Shift gears, she ordered herself. Think about tomorrow. “You know our colt High Water. He could make a decent showing.”

  “Atta girl,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “We’ll have a lot of work to do. I watched them take Pride away today, and it hurt. I’ve never lost anyone I cared about. I didn’t realize the first time I did it would be a horse. And I did care.”

  “I know.”

  “So did you.” She walked over and laid a hand on Gabe’s cheek. “I’m sorry if I was cold when you offered to stay with me. I’d have fallen apart if you had, but I knew I could get through it by myself.”

  “I figured you didn’t want me around, reminding you I’d won.”

  “I’m glad you won. It’s the only bright spot in the day. If I could have, I’d have watched you walk into the winner’s circle. I’d love to have seen them hand you the trophy.” On a quick laugh, she reached into her pocket. “God, I forgot. See?” She showed him two tickets, one on Pride, one on Double. “I hedged my bets.”

  He stared at the tickets, as touched by them as he would have been by a declaration of undying love. “Same money on each horse.”

  “I guess they both mattered the same amount to me.”

  He looked up. The color her earlier temper had brought to her cheeks had faded again, leaving her face as pale and delicate as fine glass. The hand in his had toughened with work, but was long and narrow and elegant. She still wore the trim blue silk and slim heels she’d donned for the race.

  He lifted a hand and ran it over the hair that was escaping from the intricate French br
aid. It was the color of wheat struck by afternoon sunlight.

  The touch and the sudden silence had her pulse jumping. She was tired, she reminded herself. Drained. She’d spent hours facing reporters, avoiding them. Answering questions, fighting off speculation in what promised to be only the first course of a media feeding frenzy. So why did she feel so energized?

  “It’s late. I should go.” She hadn’t meant to jerk back, but she found herself in retreat when he rose. “I should check on Naomi.”

  “She has Moses.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  Now he smiled, slowly, his eyes warming on hers. “Nonetheless,” he repeated.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “The longest. The kind that stirs up every emotion and wrings it out to dry. Do you know how arousing it is to watch everything you’re feeling on your face?” He moved closer, but didn’t touch her. “Nerves, needs, doubts . . . urges.”

  How could they not be on her face when they were storming through her like gale winds? “I’m no good at this, Gabe. You might as well know that up front.”

  “No good at what?”

  “At—” She bumped into a chair, cursed, skirted around it. “At this seduction, surrender, satisfaction business. And the timing—”

  “Sucks,” he agreed. “The timing sucks.” He could step back and let her go. He’d suffer, but he could do it. “You’re going to have to tell me you don’t want me. Right now. You’re going to have to say yes or no, Kelsey. Right here.”

  “I’m trying to, if you’d just let me think.” She jerked back again when he pressed his palms to the wall on either side of her head.

  “You figure it’s risky, and you haven’t quite figured the odds.” The old familiar recklessness was moving through him now, churning like an engine. Win or lose, he’d let it race. “The stakes are high, and it’s always safer to fold. Is that what you want? To be safe?”

  Hardly aware she was moving, she shook her head, slowly, from side to side. Because her eyes never left his, she saw the quick flare of triumph in them.

  “The hell with the odds.” He pulled her against him. “Let’s gamble.”

  She tossed aside logic and caution. She didn’t want them now. She wanted exactly what he was giving her, a hungry mouth, urgent hands. Whatever the risks, she’d already lost herself in the game.

  Her breath caught in a gasp of shock when he shoved her back to the wall and dragged her jacket from her shoulders. She hadn’t expected this hair-trigger urgency from him. From herself. But her own fingers were tearing at his shirt, rending cloth and buttons in a heedless race for that basic feel of skin.

  Then he was under her hands, the taut muscles, the narrow planes. On a surge of greed she locked her mouth on his and fought for more.

  She didn’t want soft words, slow hands. Something was erupting inside her, and she wanted it to happen fast, to happen hot. Take me. That thought, only that pounded in her brain, in her blood. She heard her own laugh, husky, breathless, and strange, when his mouth seared a line of fire down her throat, over the shoulder bared by her crumpled blouse.

  It was the sound of it that snapped whatever thin hold he had on the civilized. With what was nearly a snarl, he grasped her hands and pulled them above her head. She was trembling, but her eyes were almost black with passion and challenge.

  With her wrists trapped beneath his fingers, he tore her blouse down the center, sending tiny gold buttons flying. Her body quivered, like a string rudely plucked, but her gaze never faltered.

  There was silk beneath the silk, a sheer little fancy that barely covered her breasts before skimming down to disappear beneath her skirt. He watched her face as he skimmed a hand up her leg and found the top of her stocking, the lace-edged hem of the silk. He watched her eyes unfocus as he cupped the fire he’d ignited. As he plunged recklessly into it.

  She cried out, shocked, shattered, bucking frantically against his probing hand like a mustang with the first weight of man on her back. Sensations slapped at her, smothered her, staggered her with heat and light and a grinding, glorious need that clenched its sweaty fist in her stomach. Panicked, pleasured, she shook her head while her body exploded.

  Her release was like a geyser, boiling from deep inside, thundering up, closer and closer to the surface. Unstoppable. When she was sure she was drained, when even the colors kaleidoscoping behind her eyes began to dim, he drove her up again.

  His hands, ruthless and rough, tugged at her skirt. His mouth worked eagerly at the silk dipping over her breasts, then beneath until she was caught, hot inside it. The flavor of her flesh was exotic, spiced with sweat and soft as water. He could hear her quick thirsty pants, the dazed whimpers that caught time after time in her throat while her heart plunged desperately under his hand, his mouth.

  There was the sheer animal pleasure of her nails scraping down his back, of her body straining, shuddering, pumping against his greedy hands.

  Those hands tangled with hers in a frantic race to yank away his slacks.

  The instant he was free, he drove himself into her, hard, deep, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. Twin moans trembled on the air when he mounted her, dragging her legs up to open her fully. Then his mouth was on hers again, swallowing gasps as they rode each other to the hot, sweaty finish.

  Her head drooped onto his shoulder. Her body, so filled with frenzied energy, went limp as wet paper. If he hadn’t been pressed against her with the wall solid at her back, she would have slid bonelessly to the floor.

  “Who won?” she managed.

  With what breath he had left, he laughed. “A dead heat. Good Christ, you’re amazing.”

  She didn’t have the energy to question that. As her mind began to clear it occurred to her that she’d just made violent, frantic love standing up, and what was left of her clothes, and his, were scattered ruined at their feet.

  “This has never happened to me before. Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”

  “Good.” Realizing they could spend the night leaning against the wall like drunks, he scooped her up.

  “No, I mean . . .” She trailed off, noting hazily that she still wore one strappy high heel. Carelessly, she kicked it off. “I mean ever. When I was married, we just . . . I mean. Never mind.”

  “Don’t stop there.” He carried her into the bedroom. “I love comparisons. When they’re in my favor.”

  “That’s the only one I have. Other than Wade—there wasn’t anyone other than Wade.”

  He stopped in the process of lowering her to the bed. His eyes focused. “There was no one before him?”

  This was her problem in the bedroom, Kelsey thought grimly. She talked too much. “So?”

  “So.” Gabe straightened and kissed her again. Maybe it was a dated male fantasy to imagine yourself the only one. But he decided to eliminate Wade and enjoy it. He dropped her onto the bed from a high-enough perch to make her bounce twice before settling. “Your ex wasn’t just a bastard. He was an idiot.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” When he continued to look down at her she started to tug on the strap of her camisole—only to discover it was broken. “I think you’re going to have to lend me a robe or something so I can get back to my room.”

  He was smiling when he climbed onto the bed and covered her.

  “Really, Gabe, I can’t walk down the hall wearing this.” She felt the wrinkled ruin of silk bunch between them. “What’s left of this,” she corrected.

  “It looks incredible on you.” He skimmed his hand up until her breast was snuggled in his palm. “But this time I figure I’ll get you all the way out of it.”

  “This time?” Her heart stuttered as he stroked his thumb lazily over her nipple. “I couldn’t possibly. You couldn’t possibly.”

  His brow arched as he lowered his grinning mouth to hers. “Wanna bet?”

  She’d have lost. Several times. By the time dawn began to seep through the windows she was sprawled over him, her body still quiveri
ng from the last assault, her mind too numb to sleep.

  “I have to go. I need to get to the track.”

  “You need to sleep, then you need to eat. Then we’ll go to the track.”

  “Can we get coffee?” Her words were beginning to slur as fatigue sneaked through to overpower everything else.

  “Sure. In a little while.” He stroked her hair, her back, not to arouse now, but to lull. “Turn it off for now, darling.”

  “What time is it?”

  He glanced at the clock and lied without compunction. “About