by Toni Leland
Taking advantage of the privacy of the early hour, she logged onto the internet and began searching for rehabilitation programs. As she read various sad case histories, and tales of success, Jess became more determined to stay on top of her friend’s alcohol problem. But when everything was back on track, she would definitely take some time for herself. She grinned at the blue computer screen, and quickly typed in a search.
“Whoa!” she whispered.
Over fifty hits featured Howard London, and she began clicking on links. Thirty minutes later, she sat back in wonder. High profile cases, astonishing verdicts, New York’s darling. Her backwoods lawyer was some piece of work. More reason to get her life in order.
She unlocked the desk drawer and removed the bulging envelope. Her fingers trembled a little as she counted the down-payment money, reassuring herself she had enough to play serious poker.
Mona stepped through the door. “Morning!”
Jess nearly jumped out of her chair and Mona grinned.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare the hell out of you. Which horses go out today?”
Jess tried to act nonchalant. “Mmm. We’ll have to look at the lesson schedule.”
Mona strode up to the desk, giving Jess no time to hide the cash. “Wow! That your mad money?”
Jess rose and glanced down at the stack of bills as though it weren’t important. “I wish!” She moved away from the desk and stood in front of the planner on the wall. “We have lessons all day. Faith will have to tell you which horses stay in.”
“Okey doak. . .I see you have some new barn help.”
“Yeah, college students with time on their hands.”
Mona grunted, then disappeared through the door. Jess exhaled sharply, quickly stuffing the bills back into the envelope, then into her shoulder bag. Her clanging heartbeat began to slow. This money is determined to get me into deep trouble.
Jess spent the afternoon working with two young hunters she’d purchased as school-horse prospects the previous fall. Both horses had muscled up under her conditioning program, and she felt confident they’d be ready for students by late fall. Seated atop a chestnut Thoroughbred, Jess’s problems faded like a bad dream. She urged the horse into a canter and took him over three consecutive jumps. He was well-collected, but his landings were a little rough.
Faith leaned on the rail and chortled.
“He looks real good, Jessie. Kinda hops there at the end, though. We’ll have kids popping off like bread from a toaster.”
Jess laughed. “You read my mind. Could you work him over fences a couple times a week? Smooth him out a little?”
“Sure, but it’ll have to wait ’til after my clinic on Saturday.”
A car pulled up in front of the barn, and two little girls spilled out.
Faith sighed. “Well, back to the salt mines.”
Later that afternoon, Faith dropped into the chair by the desk. “I can’t believe the Classic is only three weeks away.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “One farm show and Devon are all we have left between now and then. I hope these kids keep up their dedication.”
She opened her eyes and frowned.
Jess tensed. Uh-oh. Here it comes. The phone rang and she snatched it up like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.
“Easton Ridge Equestrian Center, Jess speaking.” Her stomach pitched at the voice on the other end of the line, and she glanced at Faith, now examining her fingernails.
“Yes, Naomi, I understand. The only thing I can figure is it got lost in the mail.”
Faith sat forward, eyes narrowed, and Jess assumed her best poker face.
“Right. If you haven’t received it by Saturday, give me a call and I’ll write another one and deliver it in person. . .Yeah, don’t you hate it?. . .Okay, thanks for calling. Bye.”
She hung up. “Can you believe it? Damned post office keeps raising the cost of stamps, but can’t even deliver a simple letter to the next county.” She rose from the chair, changing the direction of the conversation. “You ready for your jumping clinic on Saturday?”
“Yeah, I have–”
A sharp rap on the doorjamb preceded Frank McCarney’s voice.
“Miss Jessie? You girls busy?”
“Hey, Frank, what a nice surprise! Come on in.”
She smiled and gestured toward a chair, but an uneasy stir moved through her innards. The landlord had never dropped by unexpectedly.
He moved into the room a couple of feet, and shook his head. “I don’t mean to keep ya, but I want to talk to ya about the rent.”
Jess steeled herself. “We still have almost a week, Frank.”
“Yeah, I know, but truth is, I’d like to know if you’re gonna be able to get current. Someone is keen on the property, and he’s lookin’ at some others, too. I’d hate to lose him if you’re not–”
Jess took two steps toward the old man, using her six-inch height advantage to strengthen her position. “Frank, I don’t have to talk to you about this until next week. I said we’d have the money, and we will. Shit, I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
His wizened features hardened, his eyes glittering with indignation. “No need to be vulgar, Missy. It’s just business.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Jess stared silently at the empty doorway. Behind her, Faith’s voice squeaked.
“Jessie, why would he do that? What are we going to do?”
Samir said goodnight to his group of friends at the casino. On the drive home to Hartford, his thoughts centered on Easton Ridge. Hafez and Mustafa had settled in and were learning the routine at the barn and, so far, everything had gone smoothly. He considered the location of the riding stable and its adjacent protected forest land. Hafez’s detailed description of the buildings and access confirmed Samir’s assessment–the farm was perfect.
He lit a cigar, then sat back and reconstructed his earlier conversation with the landowner. The old man had been reluctant at first, professing loyalty to the two women, but everyone had their price, and he was no different. An offer of double rent, paid a year in advance, had gotten his attention, especially when Samir shared his suspicion that the horsewomen were in deep financial straits. Even so, anger crawled through Samir’s gut. McCarney’s overt displeasure about dealing with a foreigner minimized Samir’s satisfaction with the conversation.
Chapter 20
Jess stared out the bedroom window into the black void she’d watched for most of the night. Her body ached for sleep, but her brain wouldn’t let go. Thanks a lot, Frank. Faith had vowed to start looking for a loan immediately, and Jess had struggled to keep from revealing her own plans for saving the business. The black sky turned gray, and she rolled out of bed. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, she could tell Frank to kiss her ass.
Stepping out onto the porch, she shivered at the chill in the morning air. A tiny patch of clear sky hovered directly overhead, but on every horizon, mounds of heavy black clouds lurked, waiting to sweep across the land. She retreated into the kitchen and turned on the television. The too-perky weather girl chirped her ominous forecast: “We’ll see gale force winds by this afternoon, with heavy rain and the possibility of damaging hail in some regions. . .Looking at New York City, we–” Jess pressed the power button on the remote, and tossed it onto the counter.
“Great. I suppose I’ll end up slogging through this mess to get to the casino tonight.”
A glance through the window confirmed it. The cloud ceiling had dropped, giving her an eerie, caged feeling. She shuddered at the prospect of driving all the way to the northeastern part of the state through a serious thunderstorm. Maybe it would clear off by the time she was ready to leave. Within minutes, the sky darkened dramatically, triggering the barn floodlights. A vicious wind sprang up, and the small decorative birch trees along the driveway contorted into dangerous angles. Ten minutes later, a sheet of rain pounded against the window.
The storm reached its zenith around noon, and
Jess stared out the window at Mother Nature’s fury. “I’m not driving in this! I have too much at stake to be frazzled when I get there.”
A few minutes later, she had the Hartford limo schedule and, knowing the poker game could last into the wee hours, booked a room at the casino hotel. Nervous energy coursed through her body, intensified by a poor night’s sleep. She couldn’t remain idle. A stack of unopened mail caught her eye, and she carried it to the couch, determined not to dwell on the upcoming evening.
The mélange consisted of bills and junk mail, catalogs and trade magazines. A postcard fluttered to the carpet and she retrieved it with curiosity. I don’t know anyone who travels. The shiny card pictured a rustic lodge, nestled amongst evergreens. In the upper corner, “Coeur d’Alene Refuge” was printed in heavy white script. Her heartbeat skipped. She quickly turned the postcard over, and eagerly scanned the precise handwriting. “Jess, just thinking again about our great evening together. Hope you can get out to Idaho one of these days. Fondly, Howard.”
“First thing on my list, honey.”
Chapter 21
Hot water streamed over Jess’s shoulders, easing the tension that had been building all day. She inhaled the dense steam, energized by the power of the moisture. A shiver of anticipation raised gooseflesh on her arms. Her initial apprehension over spending the evening with royalty evaporated, the concept so unfamiliar that she couldn’t feel anything but curiosity about what Sheikh Mohammed might be like. Vivid images of scowling, dark-skinned men wearing flowing white robes galloped through her head on snorting Arabian stallions–the only connection she could make to the term “sheikh.”
It had occurred to her that she might be the only woman at the table, and she didn’t know if that was good or bad. In the past, she’d found most male poker players to be influenced by her gender. The egotistical types were usually annoyed at the effrontery of a girl thinking she could take their money, but the majority of men let their own hormones interfere with their card-playing skills. On the other hand, if tonight’s group was composed of all Middle Easterners, the cultural issues might work against her. She’d just have to wait and see.
An hour later, she stepped back from the mirror, satisfied with the way she looked. She’d taken her time with the eye-makeup, enhancing her gray eyes with soft brown shadow and mascara. Tiny specks of silver sparkled in the blush across her cheeks, and soft peach lipstick gave her mouth a fuller, more feminine appearance. She stared at her reflection, wondering again why her appearance mattered in the scheme of the evening.
Jess gazed at the fountain sculpture and smiled, thinking of her first meeting with Howard in the very same spot.
“Good evening, Jessica. You look wonderful tonight.” A wink accompanied Elvora’s wide smile. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
They moved toward the rear of the casino, skirting the chaos on the main floor, then followed a uniformed man down a quiet hall. He unlocked a private elevator, and they stepped inside. As the small cubicle rose through the innards of the building, a shot of adrenaline careened through Jess’s system and her stomach twitched unpleasantly. Her entire future depended on this one night–she could make no mistakes. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing the unsettling buzz to disappear.
The elevator gears whispered on the air for only a few moments, then the doors slid quietly aside. Jess stepped into the hall, her feet sinking into the cushioned luxury of thick pile carpeting, a striking contrast to the décor of the main casino. Ivory woodwork framed pale green walls hung with excellent reproductions of Native American art, and soft lighting cast an aura of elegance over everything.
Elvora led the way to the end of the short hall, and opened the door to the Spirit Suite. Jess gazed around the large room. Attractive sofas and overstuffed chairs were positioned around a modern, glass-and-chrome coffee table. Ashtrays, boxes of cigars and cigarettes, bowls of matches, and dishes filled with hard candies and chocolates covered the gleaming surface. Directly to the side of the seating arrangement, a buffet table held steam trays, china, and silverware and, next to that, a fully-stocked bar. On the opposite side of the room, leather padded, straight-backed chairs encircled a large poker table.
Jess focused on the unmistakable figure of Sheikh Mohammed. Of medium height and heavy build, his movements were those of a man who seemed accustomed to power. He turned, revealing a craggy face behind a well-trimmed beard, deep-set dark eyes under bushy black eyebrows, and a thin mouth that bordered on a sneer. His dark business suit looked expensive, and he would have seemed like any other man, except for the red-and-white checkered scarf covering his head.
Elvora took Jess’s elbow and steered her toward him.
“Sheikh Mohammed, may I present Miss Jessica Rayder?”
The man spoke flawless English. “Miss Elvora, you did not tell me how beautiful she is.”
Jess didn’t know what to do. Bow? Nope, not on your life! Shake hands? Hell, why didn’t Elvora prepare me?
The sheikh solved the problem by offering his hand. Then, to her surprise, he raised her fingers to his lips.
“My extreme pleasure. May I call you Jessica?”
Despite her first impression of him, the sheikh seemed no different than Samir.
She smiled. “Yes, of course.”
“Would you like a cocktail? We have anything you want.”
“Mineral water, please. Thank you.”
He gestured to someone at the bar, then smiled at Jess. “Miss Elvora informs me that you own horses. I also have horses. Racing Thoroughbreds.”
Jess nodded while she listened. The racing industry was heavily populated with foreign owners, especially from the oil-rich countries where money was as plentiful as the black stuff that generated it. Commanding her attention with his intensity, Sheikh Mohammed expounded at length on his horse farm.
“My stables are the most modern design, with temperature control and automatic watering systems in each stall.”
Jess smiled and nodded politely. Big deal. We’ve had those conveniences for years.
Mohammed’s chest puffed noticeably. “I have two Belmont winners–I am hopeful for a Triple Crown someday. Insha’Allaah.”
Jess stole a furtive glance at her watch. Almost eight. Let’s get on with it.
The door opened and a casino employee entered, carrying a cash box. One step behind, Samir Mahfood appeared.
Chapter 22
What the hell is he doing here?
Samir’s smile faltered when he spotted her, but the reaction lasted for only a moment. He nodded briefly, then strode up to Sheikh Mohammed. The two men embraced, exchanging exuberant greetings.
The sheikh stepped back and gestured toward Jess. “Samir, this is Miss Jessica.”
Samir’s smile was cold as he gazed directly into her eyes. “Yes, we have met. The lady manages the barn where my Dania rides horses. Nice to see you again.” He turned to the sheikh. “Your accommodations are comfortable?”
The two men moved away toward the bar, and Jess seethed under Samir’s arrogant patronage.
Elvora appeared beside her. “Let me introduce you to the other players.”
“Why is Samir Mahfood here?”
Elvora’s solemn tone was almost reverent. “He’s very important in the Muslim community. The sheikh specifically asked me to invite him.”
As she’d suspected, Jess was the only woman in the group. Including the sheikh, her opponents consisted of five men. Politely shaking hands with each one, she formed instant impressions of the individuals with whom she’d spar. Two of the four looked to be of Middle Eastern extraction, probably part of Mohammed’s entourage, but big, blonde Nate Jackson’s Texas drawl confirmed him as all American. The fifth player was Asian–Jimmy Kee’s face remained expressionless as he shook Jess’s hand.
These men were a far cry from the college kids she’d trounced.
She threw one more furtive glance toward the sofa where Samir had settled. He was deep i
n conversation with another foreign-looking man. Irritation again crawled over her shoulders at the unexpected surprise of his presence, but she pushed it away and turned back to the table to mentally prepare herself for the game. Carefully stacking her chips into neat little towers, blocking out all extraneous thoughts, her focus centered and her pulse slowed. The background conversation in the room faded to a murmur.
Elvora stepped up to the table and rapped her knuckles on the edge.
“The game will be Texas Hold ’Em. This is a challenging game, filled with potential for big bluffs, big wins, and big losses.” She scanned the players, then continued. “The two players to the left of the dealer will each put half the minimum bet into the pot before the first two cards are dealt. Players can call, raise, or fold when it’s their turn to bet.
“The dealer will discard–or “burn”–the top card on the deck before dealing each of the five community cards. The flop is made up of three cards, the next deal is the turn card, and the fifth is the river. Players can use any combination of seven cards in traditional poker hands. Good luck.”
She stepped back, and Jess glanced across the table at the Saudi sheikh as he started the deal. I don’t care who you are. . .I’m going to take your money tonight.
The first two cards hit the table in front of her and Jess left them face down. She studied the other players’ faces as they each peeked at their own first hand. Finally, she lifted the corners of her cards. The queen of diamonds and ten of spades.
Nate Jackson stared at his cards, then swore softly and laid them aside. “I fold.”
The Arab man next to him also folded. Jess pushed two thousand-dollar chips into the pot–a small bet, but her limited cash forced the cautious move. Jimmy Kee raised the bet to five, and the next player folded. Sheikh Mohammed chuckled wickedly and matched the bet. Jess called it, mentally tabulating the chips in the center of the table. Fourteen thousand dollars. If she won only this hand, she’d be out of trouble with Frank.