Exposed in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

Ty had stopped chewing briefly. He dropped his sandwich into its basket and wiped his fingers on the white paper napkin. “Did they put something in your sandwich?”

  “What?” I waved a hand. “No. I’m serious.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Declan didn’t poison anyone with his own bourbon. And neither did his best friend. He’s in Kentucky because he loves things that Kentucky has to offer. The governor is being targeted over this Heritage Economic Development Act, and I’m guessing that Declan O’Roark is as well. Someone’s trying to make Declan look guilty. To sabotage his company or his reputation, maybe both. But it’s not Aidan.”

  Ty studied me for a few minutes, and I could almost see the little wheels of analysis turning inside his head. “Oh, no,” he said finally.

  “What?”

  “You’re falling for him. For this man who ‘celebrates history’ and ‘deep foundational roots.’” He put air quotes around some of his words.

  I blinked. Thought about Ty’s words. Then I looked down at the remains of my sandwich. Almost before I realized what was happening, nausea rose in my throat. I climbed from the deck and ran for a tree in the distance, away from other diners, and tossed up what little I had already eaten.

  After several seconds, Ty’s fingers gathered up my hair and held it at the nape of my neck. He rubbed my back until there was nothing left in my stomach, then helped me back to the table.

  “Sweetie,” he said as I took a large gulp of sweet iced tea, “I’m going to say this one time. Then we don’t have to talk about it ever again, unless you want to. But I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t tell you. Someday you’re going to fall in love again.”

  I held up a hand to stop him. With fear in my eyes, I searched his. “I don’t know if I can. Just considering the idea, and look what happens.” I gestured to my vomit. Ty scrunched up his nose in response.

  He paused, then grabbed my hands. “You are too special. You will meet someone who will want to take care of you and love you. And—”

  “I can’t, Ty.”

  “Maybe not today, maybe not Declan O’Roark, but yes, you can. And you will. And Teddy will smile down on you when you do.”

  I looked off into the trees and thought about those train tracks that had once led to who-knows-where. I thought about the roots we put down. Sometimes the tracks change or shift in new directions. And sometimes our foundation gets cracks in it or crumbles.

  Like mine did when Teddy died. And it took my entire life down with it.

  Chapter 9

  I didn’t hear from Declan the next day, which was fine since I wasn’t quite sure what I needed from him with regard to the investigation anyway. Though I didn’t care for his trainer and best friend, I didn’t think either of them was guilty of murder, and I planned to prove it.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I held up a lab report the governor had emailed us that morning. Carrie Anne had been nice enough to allow me to use her printer. “According to the state lab, traces of tacin were found on pieces of shattered glass that held the bourbon that killed Melissa Centers.”

  “Never heard of it,” Ty said.

  “Neither have I,” I said. “Don’t remember that being one of the chemicals Teddy, Mike, and I investigated.” But tacin was obviously similar to the chemicals we had investigated in one important way: it was lethal to humans when ingested.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” Ty sat across from me, clicking away on his laptop. “What about other people’s glasses?”

  “No toxin was found inside any other glass, julep cup, or in the actual bottles of bourbon.”

  Ty stopped typing and stared across the table. “So someone actually put the poison in the glass while at the event—when the drink was poured, or between the time when it was poured and the time when it was offered to the lieutenant governor.”

  “Right. Which tells us two important facts: the killer was present at the time of the murder; and he knew exactly who he was poisoning.”

  “The governor wasn’t the target,” Ty said.

  “No, he wasn’t. The lieutenant governor was a warning shot. The killer wanted to give the governor a chance to veto the KHEDA bill. Still wants to.”

  I flipped through the documents in the folder Truman had dropped off a few days earlier until I found the list of people who had attended the event where the lieutenant governor had been killed. “Aidan Gallagher attended that event. As did Darren and Sasha O’Roark.”

  “Husband and wife?” Ty asked.

  I turned to my laptop. After waking it up and typing the password, I clicked until I could answer the question. “According to the O’Roark Industries website, Darren is Declan’s older brother and one of the company’s vice presidents. It doesn’t mention a wife. Sister maybe?”

  “So, Aidan attended as one of the trainers with a horse in the Bluegrass Derby, and Darren attended as a representative of O’Roark Industries.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Well, according to a simple internet search, tacin is a chemical that was once used in the manufacturing of fertilizers used to fight pests that targeted corn and other crops.” Ty read from his screen. “Chemical companies eventually stopped using it when they realized it was harming livestock.” His eyes widened as he read further.

  “What?”

  “When fertilizer companies stopped using it, the military began scooping up stockpiles of the chemical in its raw form.”

  “Why would the military be interested in it?”

  “This article doesn’t say.”

  “Does it say if there are any corporate inventories of tacin in the United States?”

  “No, but I know someone who might know more. I’ll see him while I’m in DC this weekend.”

  I lifted my head. “James getting restless with you away?”

  “Yeah. I’ll keep watching the chat rooms while I’m away, though. And I’ll touch base with my contacts to see if they know anything about tacin.”

  “I’ll be attending the Lexington Stakes. I’m going to see if I can learn more about the server who was killed.”

  “The server? You think he was more than just some random victim?”

  “Probably not. But I don’t believe in coincidences. And apparently he also worked for Aidan in the racing operation, as a hot walker.”

  “So he’s also tied to Declan—indirectly.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “You going to see Declan while you’re there?”

  “I don’t know that it’s necessary, since I don’t see any reason why he would have poisoned his own bourbon. Also, this legislation that the governor’s being threatened over? Declan O’Roark would be in favor of it. It just seems silly that he would have anything to do with what’s going on.”

  “But…” I pointed a finger at Ty. “I think it just might be time to face Agents Donaldson and Salazar—find out what they have on Declan. It’s possible I’m missing something.”

  Chapter 10

  I’d grown up going to the races. Always in the clubhouse or in box seats with prime views. Never this way: on the backside of the track where I could be myself.

  I liked this better.

  I wore jeans and a fitted cotton blouse, untucked, sleeves rolled to my elbows. A straw cowgirl hat kept my hair from blowing too much in the spring breeze and kept the harsh sun off my face. My Sig was tucked into a holster between my breasts. It was more discreet there than at the small of my back, given my attire.

  I sat with a group of employees that had witnessed my firing a couple of days before, including Marti and José. No one said anything to me about the incident. They came and went from the backside bleachers throughout the day as the horses they cared for raced. Listening to a couple of conversations in Spanish told me that On Liam’s Watch was in good hands for the day, as far as grooms and hot walkers went.

  I knew Aidan wouldn’t be on the backside of the track on Lexington Stakes Day. I knew his type. He only wat
ched races from clubhouse box seats. And with five of Declan’s horses running, he would be back and forth from the training barn to his box—and hopefully to the winner’s circle—throughout the day.

  I had gained a new respect for Declan after learning he’d made the difficult decision to change the jockey on all five of the horses he was running that day—especially considering all the top jockeys were already scheduled on other top horses. And he had defied his trainer in the process. Worse, the jockey that had been scheduled to ride all of Aidan’s and Declan’s horses today was out of a job on a high-stakes day—and something told me Aidan had some sort of partnership worked out with that jockey. Running into Aidan today would not end well for me.

  I was sitting in a folding sling chair Carrie Anne had let me borrow from the bed and breakfast, waiting on the next race, when I heard his voice—that smooth mix of Irish, English, and something else I still hadn’t decided on. He was shaking the hands of the men and women who worked for Aidan, and therefore, indirectly, for him.

  I sank deeper into my chair and pushed the straw hat farther down on my head. I sipped my iced tea, giving my hands something to do, tasting the sweetness of the simple syrup and mint that was also used to flavor summer juleps and other race day cocktails.

  I didn’t dare look up as I listened to the conversations going on between Declan and his employees. I tried not to move more than was necessary, hoping that he wouldn’t stay long, and praying to the heavens he wouldn’t recognize me with my hair down and my face hidden by the straw hat.

  The conversations quieted. I thought he was gone, so I began to relax.

  “Miss Fairfax, it’s nice to see you here today.”

  I stiffened. Why did I think I could hide from the billionaire back here?

  I set my tea into my chair’s cup holder and looked up into familiar blue eyes. I held up my hand to block the sun from my own eyes, but Declan moved to the side, doing the job for me.

  “Declan. Congrats on your two wins. A nice start to the day.”

  “Thank you. Let’s hope it continues.” He looked off toward the track at the sound of the bugle for the call to the post for the next race. He seemed to get lost in the sound for a few seconds.

  “Is that your cue?” I asked. Please say yes.

  “No. I don’t have another horse in until race seven.” He reached out a hand. “Walk with me.”

  I stared at his hand, then up at his pleading eyes. “Why?”

  His eyes slid toward his employees, then back at me. “Because I’d like a private word with you. I promise it will neither be painful nor take long.”

  After several seconds, I pushed out of my chair, refusing his hand. He turned his back on the people who were craning their necks and stretching their ears to hear what Declan would say next. I didn’t roll my eyes, but only because I, too, was curious what he would say next.

  “I got your note.” He walked with his hands behind his back. His arm, clothed in an expensive light gray suit, brushed against the ten-dollar shirt I’d purchased as part of a recent consignment shop haul. The contrast between our outer appearances didn’t go unnoticed by me, or, I assumed, by the people around us who were now staring.

  We walked past the backside concession stand. A family of five sat at a picnic table eating burgoo and bread pudding, two staples of the southern racetrack. I smiled at a young girl twirling in her pink and blue dress while holding a hot dog.

  I didn’t notice Declan staring at me until it was too late. “You should smile like that more often,” he said.

  I turned my head away, toward the racetrack. When I turned back, I had stopped smiling. “I’m sorry I sent the note. I overreacted.” And it was rather melodramatic of me. I should have just cashed the check. Instead, I had gone out of my way to draw attention to what a jerk Aidan Gallagher was for firing me for my honesty.

  He pulled the check from his pocket and handed it to me. “I appreciated your honesty. And hopefully it will pay off when On Liam’s Watch races later under a new jockey. Not many will tell me the truth.”

  “That’s very sad,” I said before I could stop myself.

  He smiled. “Please take the check. You earned it.”

  A bell sounded in the distance, signaling the start of race five, followed by, “And they’re off.”

  I wanted to tear up the check to show him how much I cared about his stupid money, but I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t need it. So I took it and stuck it in my breast pocket, right behind the ticket for the bet I had placed shortly after I’d arrived at the track that day—a ticket I intended on cashing. The odds on On Liam’s Watch reflected the last-minute jockey change, but they were slowly improving—as that jockey had picked up two wins already today.

  “Can I ask you something?” Declan said.

  “It’s your walk.” I immediately regretted my harsh tone.

  His lips thinned into a tight line before he relaxed again and continued walking. “Why’d you do it? You knew Aidan would fire you.”

  The horses from the fifth race literally thundered past, as we were mere feet away from the track. I admired the streaks of bright colors from the various jockey silks. “Let’s just say I don’t enjoy seeing animals or people mistreated. And taking money from your trainer who does both… felt icky.”

  “Icky,” he tried out the word on his lips, then nodded. He reached down and picked up my hand, rubbing a thumb across the back of it, then lifted it to his lips. After kissing it softly, he said, “I’m sorry that anyone under my employment has made you feel… icky. I hope I can make it up to you one day.”

  “It’s hardly your responsibility to make up for Aidan’s actions.”

  “Maybe. But it works as a reason to see you again.” He let go of my hand. “Good day, Miss Fairfax. I’m glad you’re here to see On Liam’s Watch run his race. You helped get him here.”

  And with a quick bow, he turned and walked away.

  Back in my temporary home away from home, I watched the rerun of On Liam’s Watch winning his race and listened with interest to the commentary about the risk Declan had taken in changing jockeys at the last minute—and how that risk had paid off. Aidan said in an interview, “It was the right decision—one that Declan and I made together.”

  “Asshole,” I yelled from the kitchen to the TV as I popped the cork on a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley.

  I had submerged myself in a hot bubble bath after I got home from the races, and was now dressed in a pair of silk pajamas—a gift from my mother years ago—and a cardigan sweater to suppress the chill.

  As I poured the red wine, someone rapped on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone—Ty had returned to Georgetown to see James for the weekend—nor did I want to see anyone. I was quite content to be alone with my bottle of wine. In fact, I’d been looking forward to celebrating On Liam’s Watch’s victory with a lovely cab from the horse’s birthplace of California.

  Ignoring the knock in the hopes that whoever was at my door would assume no one was home, I lifted the glass to my nose and took in the scents of red currants, black pepper, and smoky oak.

  As I took the first sip, they knocked louder.

  I closed my eyes, savoring the taste.

  The knocking came again; whoever it was, they were quite insistent.

  I lifted my Sig, my personal weapon of choice, from the kitchen counter, and barefoot, I padded to the door. Through the sheer curtain, I saw that I had three visitors, and they were all wearing dark suits.

  My fingers on my free hand curled into a fist at my side. After a deep breath, I tucked the Sig into the pocket of my sweater, keeping my finger near the trigger, and pulled open the door.

  “Hi, Brooke.” Mike thumbed over his shoulder. “He’s not with us.”

  Behind Mike and Carlos stood a man I immediately recognized as Declan’s driver. He held a white box that stretched across both outstretched arms.

  “Can I help you?” I asked him.


  “A package for you, Miss Fairfax. And a note.” He nodded toward the mini ivory envelope taped to the top of the box.

  I glanced at the two agents, who stood with their hands clasped in front of their bodies. Their eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses even though the sun was already fading.

  I grabbed the envelope and yanked the card from it.

  Miss Fairfax:

  Please accept my gratitude for your caring treatment of On Liam’s Watch this week. I would be honored if you would join me at my house this evening for a small gathering to celebrate our victory. I will send a car for you in one hour.

  ~Declan

  He’d lost his mind. There was no way I was attending some party at his house. He probably wanted to hire me back because of some ridiculous Irish luck superstition. Well, he could forget it.

  “Miss Fairfax,” the driver said. “There is an additional note on the back. And he would like a reply.”

  I stared at Declan’s driver for several beats before I turned the card over.

  If you’re thinking I wish to hire you back, you’re wrong. I know you would turn me down. I simply want to thank you in person.

  My eyes widened. Damn right I’d turn him down. I didn’t need his stupid job, no more than I needed whatever was in that box. Nonetheless, I stepped past the two agents and opened the box.

  Inside was neatly folded fabric in a beautiful shade of royal blue. A cocktail dress. I glanced up at the driver. He looked at me with little emotion. “A reply, Miss?”

  I turned to Mike, reached inside his front pocket, and grabbed the pen that I knew would be there.

  On the back of the card, under his handwritten note, I penned my reply:

  Congratulations on your and your stable’s victory. But I’m busy. Thanks anyway.

  I slid the note back into the envelope, closed the box still in the driver’s arms, and set the note on top. I turned, and walked back inside. After ushering the two FBI agents into my home, I closed the door.

  “Want to tell me what that was about?” Mike asked.