by Nora Roberts
four,” he said although it was past six.
“Okay. Couple hours.” She felt herself drift down a widening tunnel, light as a feather. “Just a quick nap.”
He shifted her gently, brushing the hair away from her face, spreading the tangled sheet over her. Her face was still pale, the shadows under her eyes like flaws on marble. For a few minutes he watched her sleep. And watching her sleep, he fell in love.
Uneasy with the sensation, he backed away from it, and the bed. He reminded himself that great sex, no matter how much affection was involved, was a long way from love.
He’d wanted her. Now he had her. That didn’t mean he had to know precisely what happened next. She needed a friend every bit as much as she needed a lover. Since he intended to be both, he’d better get started on being a friend.
Gabe took a shower, and when he came back to dress, she hadn’t moved. Without a thought to her sensibilities, he walked into the parlor and picked up her purse. Her wallet, a palm-size pack of tissues, a leather appointment book, and, he discovered to his amusement, a hoof pick. Her key was tucked inside a little zippered pocket along with a lipstick, a small vial of perfume—which he indulged himself by sniffing—and a twenty-dollar bill. Items, he supposed, a woman like Kelsey wanted to keep handy.
He slipped her key into his own pocket and left her sleeping alone.
His initial stop was Naomi’s room. Moses opened the door at the first knock. He looked strained and tired, but he offered Gabe a hand and a genuine smile. “I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you. Your colt ran a beautiful race.”
“He had top competition. It wasn’t the way I wanted to win.”
“No.” Moses led him inside with a slap on the back. “It’s a hard one, Gabe, for all of us. Now that we know something about how it happened, well, it’s harder yet.”
“There’s no more news, I take it?”
“The investigation’s rolling. And Three Willows will roll one of its own.” In his seamed face, his eyes were hard as onyx. “All I know is somebody meant that horse to die. Goddamned waste.”
“Whatever I can do—whatever anyone at Longshot can do—you have only to say the word. I want the answers every bit as much as you do.” Gabe glanced toward the bedroom door as it opened.
Naomi stepped out. If she’d been a boxer, he might have said she was in fighting trim. None of the frailty that had haunted her the day before showed now. She wore a dark purple suit, as close to mourning as she had available, and a look of grim determination.
As Gabe had said, she’d fought back.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She crossed to him, put her arms around him, and rested her cheek against his. “This is hard on both of us.” She drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “A lot of the talk’s going to circle around you, too. I want a united front.”
“So do I.”
“I hate what happened. I hate it for me, for you, and I hate it for racing. But we’re going to deal with it. I’ve just scheduled a press conference. I’d like you to be there.”
“Where and when?”
She smiled, then touched his cheek. “At noon, at the track. I think it’s important that we do it there. We’ll be taking Pride home immediately after the autopsy.” She paused, took a long breath. “We should both be prepared for a lot of press in the coming weeks—and with the Preakness, even more speculation.” Her eyes hardened. “You damn well better win that one, Gabe.”
“I intend to.”
Satisfied, she nodded. “I’m going to give Kelsey another hour or so before I call her room. She took on a lot yesterday. I hate to ask her for more.”
“She’s got more.” The nerves that trickled down his back struck him as ridiculous. He slipped his hands into his pockets, fingered Kelsey’s room key. “Kelsey stayed with me last night. She’s sleeping now. I’m going to get some things for her out of her room, then make sure she eats.”
The silence dragged on. Five seconds. Ten. Naomi broke it with a sigh. “I’m glad you were with her. I’m glad it’s you.”
“You might not be when I tell you it’s going to stay me.”
She arched a brow. “Are you talking about marriage, Gabe?” For the first time in hours, she laughed. “Ah, the face pales. Such a man thing.” She patted his arm as he continued to stare at her. “You’d better get out of here, honey, before I start to ask you more embarrassing questions. If you could have Kelsey here by eleven, we could all go out to the track together. Oh, and get her the navy suit with the coral blouse.”
Naomi nudged him out the door, closed it, then rested back against it. “Oh, Moses, what a horrendous twenty-four hours this has been. And now, for just a minute, I feel so good. Do you think she knows he’s in love with her?”
All Kelsey knew was that she was furious with him. Not only had he let her oversleep, but he’d taken off—with her key. She was stuck, without a decent stitch of clothing, in his room.
She stepped out of a frigid shower, which had done little to cool her off, and wrapped herself in the hotel robe hanging on the back of the door. With her hair bundled in a towel, she paced from bedroom to parlor and back again.
She debated calling Naomi’s suite, but shied away from the idea of explaining that she was essentially naked and marooned in Gabe’s room.
When she heard the parlor door open, she marched in, fire on her tongue. “I’d like to know what the hell you think you’re—oh.”
She and the room service waiter stared at each other with equal parts of distress. “I’m sorry, miss. The gentleman said I should come right in and set up breakfast quietly because you were sleeping.”
“Oh. Well. That’s all right. I’m up.” She folded her hands, and her dignity. “And where is the gentleman?”
“I can’t say, miss. I only had my instructions. Would you prefer I come back later?”
“No.” She wasn’t letting that coffee out of the room. “No, this is fine. I’m sorry I startled you.”
While he set up, she debated whether to gather up the scattered clothes or to pretend not to notice them. Opting for the latter, she accepted the check, added a tip she hoped would make Gabe bleed, and signed it with a flourish.
“Thank you, miss. Enjoy your breakfast.”
She was pouring her first cup of coffee when Gabe strolled in. “So, you’re awake.”
“You pig.” She gulped the coffee black and hot enough to blister her tongue. “Where’s my key?”
“Right here.” He drew it out of his pocket, then laid her suit over a chair. “I think I got everything. You’re an organized hotel guest. Cosmetics, toothbrush. By the way, you’ve got great underwear. I figured this little navy thing went with the suit.” He held up a teddy and grinned. “Want to put it on?”
She snatched it out of his hand. “You’ve been pawing through my things.”
“I collected your things. Your mother suggested the suit.”
“My—” Kelsey gritted her teeth and prayed for patience. “You’ve been to see her?”
“She’s doing fine. More than ready to handle the backlash. She’s set up a press conference at the track for noon. How’s the coffee?” He poured some for himself. “We’re to meet her at eleven in her room, and go out together. She suggested the suit, but not whatever baubles you wanted to go with it. So I picked what I liked.”
“She told you what clothes to get for me?” Kelsey drew in air, then expelled it slowly. “Which means you told her I was here.”
He sat, then lifted the silver dome from a plate to reveal ham and eggs. “I told her you were with me last night.” His gaze flicked up. “Is that a problem?”
“No, but . . . No.” Giving up, she pressed a hand to her temple. “My head’s spinning.”
“Sit down and eat, you’ll feel better.” When she did, he reached over and closed a hand firmly over hers. “We’re in this together. Got that?”
She stared down at their joined hands. He hadn’t meant the press conferenc
e, not just the press conference, and they both knew it. Another risk, Kelsey thought, but she lifted her eyes until they were level with his.
“Yeah, I got it.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“YOU NEVER SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KILL THE HORSE.” CUNNINGHAM mopped his sweaty face. It seemed he spent all his time sweating these days. In front of the cameras with a big sloppy grin on his face. At celebration parties where people thumped him on the back and bought him drinks. In bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, reliving that final stretch of the Derby over and over.
He’d wanted to win, but had gratefully settled for second place. Yet the cost had ballooned into more than he’d ever expected to pay.
“You never said,” he repeated, while sweat soaked his shirt and pooled nastily at the base of his spine. “Disqualify him, you said, so Sheba would have a chance to place.”
“You wanted the details left up to me,” Rich reminded him. He was drinking top-grade Kentucky bourbon now and enjoying the view of D.C. from a lofty hotel suite. He could afford it. He could afford a great many things now. “And you got what you wanted. Your filly placed at the Derby. Nobody’s going to call you a sucker now, are they? Nobody’s going to snicker behind your back.”
“You were just supposed to see the colt was disqualified.”
“I did.” Rich grinned. “Big time. The Chadwicks lose, suspicion points at them, at my cocky young son, and you, Billy boy, come out smelling like a rose.” He chose a candied almond from a bowl. “Now, let’s be honest here, Billy. You don’t mind giving Gabe a backhanded slap, do you? After all, he cost you the family farm and a good dose of your dignity five years ago.”
“No, I don’t mind taking him down a peg. But—”
“Both of us know that filly of yours didn’t have a chance in holy hell of winning that race,” Rich continued. “Likely with Three Willows and Longshot in the running, she maybe takes third if she’s beat all the way to the wire—more likely fourth or fifth. That wasn’t good enough, was it?”
Not with the hole he’d dug himself, Cunningham thought. “No, but—”
“No.” Rich crunched down on another almond, his face as earnest as any used-car salesman’s. “You needed an edge, and I supplied it. Now, truth is, I didn’t expect her to do better than show, but that girl ran with her heart. She’ll breed champs,” he said with a wink. “That’s the bottom line, right? You’ll syndicate her now and make yourself a pot of money as long as she’ll lift her tail for a handsome stud.”
It was true, all true, but Cunningham’s glands were still in overdrive. “If it comes out, Rich, I’ll be ruined.”
“How’s it going to come out? Am I going to tell somebody?” He grinned again. “You haven’t been bragging to that pretty little piece in bed, have you? Some men can’t keep their mouths shut once they’ve dipped their wick.”
“No.” Cunningham swiped a hand over his mouth. “I haven’t told her anything.” Not that he thought she’d notice. Marla was more interested in spending his money than how he came by it. “But people are asking questions. And the press is hounding me.”
“Of course they are,” Rich said heartily. “All you have to do is shake your head and look sad and reap some free publicity. You can always add a little flourish about how you know Naomi Chadwick and Gabriel Slater, and can’t imagine either of them would stoop so low. You make sure you link Gabe’s name in there. I’d appreciate that.”
Cunningham licked his lips, inched forward. “How’d you do it, Rich?”
“Now, now, Billy boy, that’s my little secret. And the less you know, the better. Right? You’re just a lucky guy who picked up a horse at a claiming race and carried her through to the Derby.”
“The Preakness is in two weeks.”
Rich grinned, brows wiggling. “That’s greedy, friend. And dangerous. You know how risky it is to race that horse again.”
“She has another in her.” He forgot his guilt, and his fears. He forgot the men who had died and the sight of the colt falling at the sixteenth pole. “I only need her to show.”
“No can do.” Chuckling, Rich wagged a finger in the air. “Even if you put her in, and she didn’t break down, that leg of the Triple Crown has to run clean. Otherwise they might start looking at you, Billy boy. And who knows—if they look at you, they might start looking for me. That happens, and, well . . .” He rattled the ice in his glass. “We wouldn’t be friends anymore.”
“A lot of money’s at stake.”
“You want more money? Bet on the Longshot colt. I know my boy. He’ll put everything he’s got into winning. Vindicate himself.” Rich’s grin turned sour. He poured more bourbon into the melting ice. “Always had a tight ass about winning clean. Taught him every trick I know, every fucking one, but he figures he’s better than me, see? Too good to salt the game.” His eyes narrowed, went hard as he drank. “We’ll see who comes out on top this time. We’ll see.”
There wasn’t any use arguing, not when Rich started pouring with a free hand. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You scratch her from Pimlico, Billy. Say she pulled up lame in a workout and you don’t want to risk her. Look disappointed and righteous, then put her out to pasture until it’s time to choose her a lover.”
“You’re right.” It hurt, but Cunningham put aside his greed. “Better not take the chance. I’m going to syndicate her, get the bitch pregnant next spring.” He smiled a little. “I might even make a deal with your boy, Rich, to breed her with his Derby colt in a few years.”
“Now you’re talking.” He leaned forward and slapped a hand on Cunningham’s knee. “I’ve worked out a little bonus, Billy.”
“Bonus?” Instantly wary, Cunningham drew back. “We had a deal, Rich. I kept my part.”
“No argument there. Not a one. But look here, Billy, you raked in a bundle at that race, between the purse and the betting window. I’ve got to figure your take at three, maybe four hundred grand.” His smile widened as Cunningham began to sweat again. “And with the syndication deal, the foals she’s going to drop in oh, say, the next ten years, you’ll be sitting real pretty. Couldn’t’ve done it without me, could you?”
“I paid you—”
“You did indeed, but let’s tally up the cost here. I had to pay Lipsky.”
“That was your idea. I had nothing to do with it.”
“I’m like a subcontractor, Billy,” Rich explained patiently. “What I do all leads back to you. You don’t want to forget that. Now, Lipsky took out that old groom, and I took out Lipsky. Now, we won’t get into details about the others on my payroll, but they’re necessary expenses, and I have to pass them on. We’ve got ourselves two dead men and a dead horse, and what’s standing between them and you is me.” He beamed, ticking off murder on his fingers. “So, keeping me happy’s got to be pretty important to you. It ought to be worth another hundred thousand.”
“A hundred—That’s bullshit, Rich! Just plain bullshit. I’ve got all the expenses. Do you know what it costs to keep a Thoroughbred? Even just one fucking horse? Plus the entry fees.”
“You don’t want to nickel-and-dime me, Billy boy. You really don’t.” Rich’s smile was as friendly as a death’s-head. He kept his hand on Cunningham’s knee, squeezing. As Rich intended to squeeze his wallet for some time to come. “A hundred thousand’s a bargain. Take my word. I’ll give you another week to figure out how to cook your books. You bring it on by here the day before the Preakness. In cash.” He sat back, delighted with himself. “I’ve got a hankering to lay down a bet on my boy’s colt. Family ties, you know.”
He was laughing as he dumped more bourbon into his glass.
* * *
Her own family ties had given Kelsey a splitting headache. She’d expected the trip to Potomac to be difficult, but it had been much more than that. Her father had been furious, as angry as Kelsey had ever seen him. It had hardly mattered that his temper hadn’t been directed at her. As Candace h
ad coolly pointed out, she was the cause of the problem.
Milicent had made good on her threat. She hadn’t been able to break the terms of Kelsey’s grandfather’s will, but she had altered her own. In Victorian and melodramatic terms, Milicent no longer had a granddaughter.
With her car still idling in the drive at Three Willows, Kelsey rested her aching head on the steering wheel. It had been a horrible, horrible scene. Milicent’s cold fury as she made the announcement, her father’s shock, then his outrage. And Candace, already prepared, aiming little darts of blame toward Kelsey’s heart.
On a quiet moan of pain, Kelsey straightened and turned off the ignition. She hadn’t realized it would hurt so much. She and Milicent had been at odds for so long, it would have made more sense to be relieved.
But she wasn’t relieved. She was wounded.
Wearily, she got out of the car, thinking aspirin at least would take care of her throbbing head.
She heard the music, the hard, driving beat of vintage Stones. Mick and the boys were grinding out their sympathy for the devil. Kelsey followed them around the side of the house.
There was a splattered drop cloth over the stones of the patio. A boom box belched out rock and roll from the glass-topped table. At an easel, her hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, an oversize man’s shirt hanging to her knees, Naomi fenced with a crimson-tipped brush.