Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by Andrea Kane

  She remained standing, launching into her speech without prelude. “We need to talk.”

  He patted the cushion beside him. “Didn’t I just say that we’ve talked enough?”

  “Yes. But trust me, we haven’t.” Devon rubbed her palms together. “This is my fault. I let it go too far. It’s just that I really like you. And I’m not good at drawing a line in the sand.”

  One brow rose. “Are you about to tell me you’re still not ready?”

  “Yes. No. Not in the way you mean.” She swallowed. “James, you’re a fantastic guy.”

  Now he was frowning. “Why do I sense a ‘but’?”

  “Because there is one.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I have to tell you something, now, before this gets totally out of hand.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Blake and I…we’re…we’ve become involved.”

  Icy silence permeated the room.

  James just stared at her, his expression a literal version of the phrase if looks could kill.

  “Since when?” he demanded.

  “It just happened.” Devon gave a helpless shrug. “We didn’t plan it. It—”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” he bit out, rising from the sofa. “It just happened. When did you plan on telling me—in bed?”

  Devon felt like kicking him in the groin. “Of course not,” she forced herself to say as he glared at her. “I planned to tell you now, while we ate. It didn’t occur to me that you’d move so fast.”

  “Obviously not as fast as my cousin.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “Which way should I be—understanding? Next you’ll be saying you want to be friends.”

  “The thought had occurred to me.”

  “Then get rid of it. I’m not ready to be that magnanimous. Not yet.”

  “I understand.” Devon’s tone was pained. “I’m sorry if I handled this badly. It wasn’t to lead you on; it was to try to salvage some kind of relationship with you.”

  “Does Blake know you’re seeing me tonight?”

  She nodded. “I told him.”

  “And he was okay with it?”

  “Not really,” she answered honestly. “But he understood.”

  “Why shouldn’t he? He won—again. That’s the story of Blake’s life.” Eyes glittering with resentment, James stalked out of the living room and grabbed his coat and duffel bag. “There’s no point in dragging this out,” he announced from the doorway. “Let’s just call it a night.”

  Devon followed him to the door. “I feel terrible about this. Especially if it hurts your relationship with Blake.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll survive. As for Blake, nothing between us will change. It never does.” James yanked open the door. “It’s still early. You’ve got the house to yourself and half a bottle of Dom Pérignon. Call Blake. I’m sure he’ll be glad to pick up where I left off. Good night, Devon.”

  THE DRIVER OF the maroon coupe was dozing behind the wheel when James stalked out, jumped into the waiting limo, and took off.

  He punched up a number on his cell phone. “He just left. No way he’ll be back. He was pissed off. I’m surprised, too. I assumed—” He broke off, peering intently out his front windshield. “Wait. Talk about split-second timing. Montgomery’s back. No, not a chance it’s a coincidence. He must’ve been watching the place this whole time. It could mean a lot of things. Don’t worry. I’ll find out.”

  CHAPTER 24

  It was three thirty the next afternoon when Devon and Blake hiked across the grounds of the Pierson farm, heading from the house to the stables.

  They’d driven up to Dutchess County at lunchtime and gone straight to Sally’s place. There, they’d checked on the animals and dropped off their overnight bags. They’d decided in advance to stay there rather than at the Pierson farm. Not only for privacy, but because it would eliminate the tension that would result from staying next door with both James and the elder Piersons around.

  “Your grandparents looked less than thrilled to see me,” Devon commented as they crunched through the snow. “I guess they must associate me with Frederick’s death.”

  “They’ll get over it.” Blake waved away her concern, then reached for her gloved hand, gripping it in his.

  “And James looked like he wanted to choke me,” she added.

  “That’s part jealousy, part hangover. I suspect he downed an entire bottle of booze last night before crashing. Needless to say, he doesn’t take rejection well.” Blake gave an offhand shrug. “Besides, the way he looked at you paled next to the way he looked at me. He would have beaten the crap out of me if he wasn’t seeing double.”

  Devon blew out her breath, watching it emerge as a frosty mist. “I’m glad you made up that excuse about us going riding. The tension in there was so thick I could hardly breathe. Especially after Louise showed up with those legal documents. It’s like the gods conspired to make this day as tough as possible.”

  Blake digested that thoughtfully. “You’ve been subdued since we left your mother’s place. Visiting there’s tough on you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Another sigh. “I lived there as a teenager, and during my breaks from college and vet school. The place was always vibrating with activity. Now it seems so quiet, so eerily deserted. I just want things to go back to normal. I want my mother back.” Devon shot Blake a self-deprecating glance. “That sounds juvenile, doesn’t it?”

  “Uh-uh. You had a happy home life. You want to keep it that way.”

  “Well, not exactly the same way. I’d like one major change.” Devon’s smile was wistful. “As long as I’m making embarrassing, juvenile admissions, what I really want is for my parents to get back together.”

  Blake’s brows arched. “Is that in the cards?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that they’re crazy about each other. No matter how much they pretend otherwise.” Devon stopped talking and stiffened, peering ahead toward the stables. “Vista’s truck is there. Your phone call worked.”

  “No surprise. When my grandfather says jump, Vista says how high. All I had to mention to Vista is that he was needed. I didn’t specify by whom. Oh, I did let it slip that James is up for a few days from Wellington. I’m sure that was the cake topper. Anyway, let’s get down there before someone clues him in to the fact that I’m the only Pierson coming to meet him and that you’re here with me. I don’t want to give him any prep time.”

  “Good idea.” Devon nodded. “He’s either in the stables or in his trailer. Let’s start in the stables so I can poke around a little. If we run into him there, we’ll deal with him sooner rather than later. If not, I can check out the horses and see if Vista’s done anything unorthodox. Then we’ll check out his trailer and go for broke.”

  “We should have the stables to ourselves. I called ahead and told the grooms to leave early.”

  “That was smart. It’ll give us the freedom to thoroughly examine the horses without providing any explanations.”

  They reached the stables, easing by Vista’s Suburban and trailer and making their way to the barn door.

  “Look how low this thing is,” Devon hissed, pointing at the trailer. “It’s got to mean something. James nearly hit the ceiling when I mentioned it.”

  “We’ll find out.” Blake pulled open the wooden doors, and the two of them hurried inside. “Watch what you say,” Blake muttered. “In case Vista’s in here.”

  A silent nod.

  “Introduce me around,” Devon said aloud. “Last time I was in here it was to find Chomper. I haven’t met any of your horses.”

  “I’ll rectify that now. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to meet five of our best. They’re down in Wellington, competing. But we’ve got two dozen more, ranging from colt and filly to stallion and mare. I’ll introduce you to them, and we’ll do a second round of introductions this spring.” Blake pointed to a portrait hanging just inside the barn. Its subject was an imposing stallion the color of dark cho
colate. He was classically beautiful, with a thick, glossy tail, long legs, and tiny white markings on each of his hind legs. He stood tall and correct, his carriage as regal as any monarch. “That’s Stolen Thunder. I’m sure James mentioned him.”

  “Yes, he did. With glowing praise.” Devon studied the painting. “He’s breathtaking.”

  “Stolen Thunder is one subject James and I agree on. He’s extraordinary—truly one of a kind. He’s a German warmblood from a champion lineage. He’s the last in his bloodline. My grandfather paid an obscene amount of money for him. But he was worth it. By the time Grandfather bought him at age five, he’d won a long list of four- and five-year-old championships on national and international levels. Now he’s eight and priming for the World Games and the Olympics.”

  “Wow.” Devon was genuinely impressed.

  “We’ve got two more stallions down in Wellington. Gentleman, who’s also at the advanced level, and Future, who’s at the intermediate level. He’s Gentleman’s son, and he’s shaping up to be another winner.”

  “He’s the stallion your groom was riding in Wednesday’s competition, wasn’t he?”

  “Yup. Luckily, he’s got a great temperament. Spooked or not, he was back to himself in no time.”

  Devon’s brows knit. “You said he’s Gentleman’s son. What about Stolen Thunder’s legacy? Since he’s last in his bloodline, wouldn’t it make sense to inseminate one of your mares with his sperm?”

  “It would, and we’ve tried. So far none of his sperm has resulted in conception.”

  While Blake spoke, he and Devon scrutinized the stables, trying to assess whether Vista was inside. There was no sign of him. They strained their ears, but all they heard was the whinnying and stomping associated with horses.

  Expanding their search, Blake led Devon from one stall to the next, introducing her to the Pierson warmbloods. They were exquisite animals, and Devon enjoyed the diversion of seeing them, stroking their necks and muzzles, and speaking softly to them—all the while checking to see if there was any telltale evidence of foul play.

  “Do you know what you’re looking for?” Blake murmured.

  “Not yet,” Devon replied softly. “But I will when I find it.”

  The last stall on the left was the one where Devon had found Chomper two Sundays ago. At the time, it had been empty. Today, there was a beautiful chestnut mare inside, standing in the corner.

  “Who’s this?” Devon asked, leaning forward to caress the mare’s neck.

  “That’s Sunrise,” Blake said. “She was scheduled to compete at Wellington. My grandfather changed his mind and withdrew her. I’m not sure why.”

  “Because she’s ill,” Devon supplied.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Then no one’s filled you in.” Devon pushed open the stall gate and stepped inside. “Poor baby,” she said soothingly, continuing to stroke the mare’s neck. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” She turned toward Blake. “She’s definitely ill. She’s standing in the corner. Her head is hanging, and she’s lethargic. And look—her water’s low. She’s been drinking a lot. I’ll bet if I took her temperature, she’d have a fever.” Devon stooped down, studying Sunrise’s limbs. “She’s favoring her right front leg.”

  “Why?” Blake demanded.

  “Her hock is badly swollen. She’s had some injections.” A frown. “More than some. A lot. It had to have been in order to produce this much swelling. The entire region from stifle to hock is inflamed. The tendon area’s been injected repeatedly.” Devon rose. “I don’t like this. Why would she be undergoing this kind of veterinary treatment?”

  Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Not a clue.”

  “Well, Dr. Vista better have one.” Anger glinted in Devon’s eyes. “I’m going to speak with him.”

  She blew by Blake and out the stable door. This time she didn’t try to muffle her approach. This time she wanted to be heard.

  She tromped up to the trailer door and knocked.

  “Just a minute.” There were shuffling sounds, followed by a couple of thuds—cabinet doors closing. Then footsteps. “Is that you, Mr. Pierson?” Vista called out.

  Devon had opened her mouth to reply when Blake’s voice resounded from behind her. “Yes, it’s me.” He gave Devon a tight smile when she spun around to face him. “He didn’t specify which Mr. Pierson he was expecting,” he told her in a low, hard tone. Obviously, he was as angry as she was.

  A lock turned, and Vista pushed open the door. His eyes widened when he saw Devon, and anxiety flashed across his face. He looked only slightly mollified when he realized Blake was with her.

  “Blake, hello. I thought your grandfather would be with you.”

  “He’s in the house,” Blake said. He was already easing Devon inside the trailer and walking in behind her. “So is James. They’ll be out to see you later. But I was just giving Dr. Montgomery a tour of the stables. She asked to speak with you.”

  “I see.” Vista didn’t sound happy. “About what?”

  “I’ll let her explain.”

  While Blake had been laying the groundwork, Devon was assessing the trailer. A typical veterinarian’s quarters, with two examining areas, X-ray equipment, a water bucket, disinfectants, and floor-to-ceiling cabinets that were each labeled. The trailer was neat—too neat—without a speck of clutter or even discarded medical supplies in the trash.

  “Dr. Montgomery,” Vista pressed. “What can I do for you?”

  Devon turned to meet his gaze. “You can tell me what’s wrong with Sunrise.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Yes. She’s ill. I’m sure she has a fever. Clearly, you’ve been treating her. What’s the diagnosis?”

  “I have no idea—”

  “Then you’re not treating her. Fine. Tell me which veterinarian is.”

  Silence.

  “Numerous injections have been administered to her right front leg. The entire limb is inflamed. Would you care to explain?”

  A vein was throbbing at Vista’s temple. But he fought like hell to hide his nervousness. “With all due respect, I don’t discuss my work, not even with another professional. Everything I do for Mr. Pierson is confidential.”

  “Everything you do. Does that include experimenting on horses? Because I can’t think of any other reason for a healthy mare like Sunrise to show these symptoms, or to need treatment by a genetic consultant.”

  More silence.

  “I’d like answers, too, Vista,” Blake interjected. “Since you’re uncomfortable providing them, tell me who can—my grandfather or my cousin?”

  Vista stiffened. “Leave James alone. The last thing he needs is an interrogation.”

  “Meaning he’s the one who hired you to treat Sunrise?”

  “Meaning he’s in the middle of a major competition. He needs to stay focused.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Devon marched farther into the trailer. She scanned the labels on the cabinets. They all consisted of an odd combination of letters and numbers, unlike any medical references she’d ever seen. C#124DW, L#830IN—they were all cryptic symbols that looked more like code than labels for medication.

  “I’ve never seen such an immaculate veterinary facility,” she declared aloud. “Where do you keep your files? Or that thick notebook you were carrying when I met you? In here?” In one motion, she twisted the handles of two cabinets and pulled them open.

  Bottles. Shelves and shelves of them. All filled with liquid medication. All labeled with the same code as the corresponding door. And all with their brand names torn off.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Vista barked, storming over and shutting the closet door.

  “Trying to figure you out,” Devon retorted. She folded her arms across the front of her down parka. “Are those illegal drugs?”

  “Of course not.” The genetic consultant bristled. “I’m a scientist, Dr. Montgomery, not a drug trafficker. I deal in facts. I conduct cutting-e
dge research. But I obey the law. And I resent your implying anything else.”

  He planted himself firmly in front of the cabinet. “The reason those codes look foreign to you is because I buy drugs you’re unfamiliar with for testing. The kind I do on rats, not horses. And those cabinets…” He pointed toward the back, where a cluster of unmarked cabinets formed an L with a curtain that spanned the width of the trailer, hiding the rear third of it from view. “Those cabinets contain all the traditional drugs you’re accustomed to seeing in a veterinary practice.” He glared at Devon from behind his glasses. “I hope that satisfies you. Not that I owe you any explanation.”

  Devon was barely listening. She was trying to figure out a way to catch a glimpse of whatever was behind that curtain.

  “If there’s nothing else, I’d like you to leave,” Vista said. “Blake, anything else you’re interested in, I’d suggest you speak with your grandfather.”

  “I intend to.” Blake made eye contact with Devon. “Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly, she complied. She wouldn’t get another shot at this. Whatever was back there, Vista would get rid of it the minute she left. Dollars to doughnuts, his trailer would be squeaky-clean the next time she stepped inside.

  If she wangled her way into it a next time.

  She hesitated, aware of how adamant Blake was, weighing it against how close she was.

  “Devon.” Blake waved her toward him as he shoved open the door. “Let’s head back to the house. Once the sun goes down, it’ll be freezing.” He glanced at Vista. “Keep an eye on Sunrise.”

  Rigidly, Vista nodded. “I will.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Devon muttered. She crossed over and left the trailer with Blake.

  THEY MARCHED ACROSS the snow toward the house.

  “Why did you drag me out of there?” Devon demanded, the minute they were out of earshot.

  “Because you were about to rip open that curtain,” Blake responded calmly. “Which would mean shooting yourself in the foot. Right now, Vista thinks he has the upper hand. That gives us leverage. He still has something to hide—and something to lose. Once that changes, we’re screwed. And I don’t plan to let the scales tip until we have everything we need to lock him up.”