Balancing Act: Kovak & Quaid Horse Mystery Series (Kovak & Quaid Horse Mysteries Book 2)

by Toni Leland

  BALANCING ACT

  Kovak & Quaid Horse Mystery Series

  Book 1

  Toni Leland

  Kim Kovak is a well-known equine photographer, a profession she adopted after recovering from a shooting accident that maimed her leg, killed her police horse, and forced her retirement from the Columbus Ohio Mounted Police Unit.

  When a simple magazine assignment in Chicago involves an encounter with a runaway carriage horse, Kim is catapulted into the news, and the owner of a new equestrian attraction begs Kim to find the person responsible for the deadly epidemic sweeping through the barn. Horrified by the brutality of human nature, Kim accepts the job, but not without reservations. She may be retired law enforcement, but she’s no private eye.

  Insurance fraud investigator Garrett Quaid is also in Chicago, looking into a client’s suspicions about an unfaithful husband. When Kovak calls to ask for help, Quaid finds himself again working with the woman who both hindered and helped track down a horse theft ring in Ohio the previous summer. Only this time, the working relationship is different.

  A nasty scheme for revenge takes Kovak & Quaid on a roller coaster ride through professional jealousy and love-hate relationships in the world of talented and valuable performing horses. Will the two of them catch the perpetrators of a treacherous plot to put the Dream Horse Ballet out of business?

  Copyright 2013 Toni Leland

  All Rights Reserved

  BALANCING ACT

  Chicago, Illinois

  “Look out!”

  Shouts echoed down the street, punctuated by the staccato sound of hoof beats on pavement. Kim Kovak jerked her attention from a map in the Chicago guidebook and spun around to view the commotion. Careening around the corner, a large gray horse raced toward Kim, pulling a city carriage and heading directly for a statue in the traffic circle. The carriage wheel snagged on the tailgate of a double-parked delivery truck and the carriage tipped over, spilling its occupants onto the street. The carriage shafts broke away from the harness, setting the frightened horse free.

  Kim dashed into the street, not thinking about the consequences of colliding with 1500 pounds of terrified horse. As he closed the distance between them, she saw the red flesh inside the huge flared nostrils. Froth bubbled at the sides of his mouth and sweat darkened his neck. Full flight response.

  Waving her arms wildly, she hollered “Whoa! Whoa!”

  The horse broke stride for an instant, then veered toward the other side of the street. Kim glanced at the large bronze statue. If the horse hit it, he would be dead. She raced toward the space ahead of the horse, and then lunged at his head as he came close. Grabbing a dangling rein, she yanked back hard, pulling his head around.

  “Whoa! Whoa!”

  The physical change of direction worked. The horse’s iron shoes clattered on the pavement and, as he scrambled to stay on his feet, his large head slammed into Kim’s face. Pain seared through her cheek and, for a moment, she saw stars.

  Out of nowhere, a man’s hand reached for the bridle. “Here, I got ’im. Whoa, boy.”

  Kim let go of the rein, then flexed her sore fingers. Her shoulder ached and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Low grunts punctuated the horse’s labored breathing and he tried tossing his head, still intent on escape.

  Kim took a deep breath and smoothed her hand along his sweat-soaked neck. “Easy, boy, easy.”

  A gruff voice intruded.

  “You took a helluva chance trying to stop a runaway horse. Glad you got ’im, but you coulda been hurt bad and then you’d be suing the city.”

  Kim looked at the man who had commandeered the runaway. A burly, middle-aged, working stiff wearing a dark gray livery uniform and cap. “Windy City Carriage Rides” was embroidered across his jacket.

  She scowled. “You’re welcome.”

  Turning away, she almost collided with a television reporter. The girl’s voice sounded nasal and high-pitched with excitement as she pushed a microphone close to Kim’s face.

  “Miss, could you tell us what happened? How did you know what to do? What’s your name?”

  Kim shook her head and dodged to the side, escaping through a gathering crowd near the scene. At the corner, she glanced around to get her bearings. Which way was her hotel?

  A small voice drifted from below. “Lady?” A small boy with red hair gazed up at her with serious blue eyes. “You dropped this. I saved it for you.”

  Kim took the city guidebook from the boy’s hands and smiled. “Why, thank you. I really need this.”

  She reached into her pocket, then held out a five-dollar bill. The boy backed away, shaking his head.

  “No, ma’am. You saved that horse’s life. You’re a hero.”

  Chapter 2

  Kim watched the boy disappear into the crowd. With a quick glance back at the carriage horse, she headed down Michigan Avenue. Her right knee hurt like the devil and even the old gunshot wound in her thigh protested about her adrenaline-powered activities. Turning onto a side street, she spotted a bench. Every muscle in her body was now in full response to the quick ebb of energy.

  “What’s the matter with me?” she muttered. “This was supposed to be a simple assignment.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, images springing to mind of her last “simple” assignment as a professional equine photographer. Sales photos for a customer. That was all she had to do, but no – she’d ended up embroiled in one of the most horrifying horse theft plots imaginable. She gently massaged her sore knee, trying not to think about the events that caused it. Thank Heaven for Dixie.

  As though on cue, her cell phone chimed and her best friend’s number appeared on the screen.

  “Good timing, Dix. I was just thinking about you.”

  “So how’s the Windy City? Having a good time?”

  “Right now I’m just trying to find my way around. This is a busy place – it sure isn’t Columbus, Ohio.”

  Dixie’s tone softened. “You take it easy. You shouldn’t even be doing this so soon. That knee needs more time, I think.”

  “I know, but you forget that I’ve been out of commission for almost three months. I had to take this job – I need the money.”

  “Just be careful. Oh, by the way, Garrett says hi.”

  Kim sucked in a short breath. She hadn’t talked to Garrett Quaid in over a month.

  Dixie chuckled. “He asked if he could come and visit Bandit.”

  “Ha, do you have any idea how hard it was to get that horse back from him?”

  “I do, indeed. He got pretty attached while he was taking care of him for you. Maybe you should call him.” Dixie’s voice changed and Kim could hear the mischievous grin. “He’d be real glad to hear from you.”

  “Dixie, do you ever give up?”

  “Not if I can help it. Hey, gotta go. Call me when you get home.”

  Kim stared at the dark screen and thought about all the circumstances of the past three months, situations that had taken her face to face with death, thrown her back into the work she’d loved best, and brought her some sense of normalcy. Not the least of which was finding Bandit, her beautiful horse who filled an aching void.

  The familiar clip-clop of hooves against pavement drifted on the air and Kim watched two police officers on horseback move along the street. Her throat tightened. How she had loved her job as a mounted police officer with the Columbus unit, but she could never go back.

  Opening the guidebook, she found the index. The Chicago Police
Mounted Patrol stabled their horses at the South Shore Cultural Center. Thumbing the pages until she found a map, Kim located the address. Before she left this city, maybe she’d visit them. She closed the book and gazed at a crack in the sidewalk. Why? Do I really want to bring back all the memories? She let out a soft breath. No, she did not. The past was just that.

  She rose and walked quickly down the street toward her hotel.

  The next morning, Kim gingerly stepped onto the station platform of the elevated train known locally as the El. Every part of her body ached, and the aspirin she’d taken had barely made a dent in the pain. She took a deep breath and shook her head. Fifty years old wasn’t exactly over the hill, but the past few years had definitely taken a physical toll on her.

  From where she stood, the Knight’s Horse Theater was only a couple of blocks’ walk. She checked her watch as she strolled down the street. The owner had agreed to give her a tour at eleven o’clock, but she was a little early. At the front of the theater, she examined the fine brickwork that distinguished the building. The turrets and statuary gave it a medieval appearance. She had researched the location, absorbing a story that spanned over a hundred years. One of Chicago’s oldest livery stables had seen its ups and downs, but its current renovation was most assuredly a high point. Owners Mark and Susan Knight had taken the abandoned building and transformed it into an amazing and unique attraction.

  Kim dialed the theater number and an automated recording came on, listing show schedules and openings, but offering no opportunity to leave a message. Checking around the entrance, she could see no doorbell or way to alert anyone of her arrival. She frowned and leaned against the wall to think about this freelance assignment. The magazine editor wanted a photo essay about a new horse ballet theater scheduled to open in the Chicago area. The editor thought that it would be important for Kim to also see Knight’s – the well-established horse-themed production company that would be the new kid’s biggest competitor. Kim gazed at the framed posters advertising the Legend of Sleepy Hollow performance. In one, a magnificent black horse reared, pawing the air, the headless rider silhouetted against a huge full moon. In another poster, a handsome male rider flew around the arena on a coppery chestnut mount. She pursed her lips. Attending one of the performances made more sense than wandering around the quiet theater and stables, but with her current economic situation, Kim wouldn’t question the instructions of anyone who might provide her with a paycheck.

  The iron door handle rattled, one of the dark wooden doors swung open, and a young woman peered out.

  “You the reporter?”

  “Photographer, but yes, I’m here to meet Mark Knight.”

  The girl stepped aside and gestured toward the dark interior. “He had an emergency, but I can show you around.”

  A quick glance at the dirty jeans, run-down boots, and rough-skinned hands pegged the girl as a stable worker. Kim stifled a sigh. Would this person have answers to questions about the production? Probably not.

  The lobby of the building had been elegantly restored to an earlier era, with red and cream colored walls, polished dark wood, and an iron wood stove on a raised hearth.

  The girl’s footsteps echoed on the more modern ceramic tile flooring. “Whadda ya wanna see first?”

  “The stage area, I think,” said Kim, pulling out her camera. “Would you turn on some of the lights?”

  “Oh, sure. Come on, it’s down this way.”

  The girl strode toward a set of double doors, then moved to the wall and flipped some switches. A moment later, Kim entered the interior of the old building, now bathed in light. The center of the room had been transformed into a circular arena beneath an elaborate latticework of stage lights. Dust danced through the spotlight beams. National flags and heraldry banners of different countries hung over three of the walls, and the fourth side of the theater featured the audience section.

  Kim pointed at the tiers of seating. “Looks as though you can handle a lot of people.”

  “Yep, three hundred to be exact.”

  Kim made a mental note, wondering if the place had ever seen that many spectators at one time.

  The girl popped her gum. “Too bad you can’t take pitchers when the horses are working, but today’s their day off.”

  “When is the next performance?”

  “‘Sleepy Hollow’ opens tonight. You know, with Halloween comin’ ’n’ all.”

  Kim tried to imagine what the production would be like. For sure, it would be unique. She might just need to see for herself.

  “Where do the horses stay?”

  The girl gestured toward a rear door. “The stalls are down there, but right now, the horses are outside so we can get the mucking done. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  A long, narrow corridor sloped gradually down to another level where cinder-block stalls lined both sides. Each stall had a sliding wooden door with iron bars along the upper half. Other than a cart filled with soiled bedding and a wet spot near the water spigot, the stall area was clean and well maintained. Kim took several shots to help refresh her memory when she started composing the photo captions.

  A few minutes later, they walked out the back doors into the pale October sunlight. A fenced parking lot filled with horse trailers, trucks, and storage sheds spanned the block. Following the girl to the corner, Kim spied a group of blanketed horses in a fenced field across the street.

  “This is bizarre,” she said with a grin. “A pasture smack in the middle of the city.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a good thing we have it. These poor guys would never see daylight if we didn’t.”

  Kim thought about Bandit and his lush new pasture and comfy stall. Suddenly she missed him so much that it hurt. In the month since Quaid had brought him down to her from Cleveland, she’d only been able to visit him a few times. But now her strength was returning, and she would soon be able to spend at least every other day with her new horse.

  She put the personal thoughts out of her mind and began taking pictures of a group of white horses nosing along the dusty ground sprinkled with sparse grass. A chestnut horse stood near the black wrought iron fence that surrounded the field. His ears were pricked, his attention on Kim. She walked over and reached out to stroke his neck. Immediately, a large black horse sidled up to the chestnut, ears pinned, head bobbing. The chestnut hurriedly moved away from Kim’s attentions.

  “Herd hierarchy prevails, even among city horses,” said the girl.

  Kim replaced the lens cap on her camera and smiled. “So I see. Thanks for the tour. I might call the owner later to clarify some things.”

  “Sure thing.” The girl glanced toward the back entrance and a frown flickered briefly over her features. “Have a good one.” She turned quickly and hurried away.

  Kim watched, now aware of a tall man standing in the shadow of one of the horse trailers. The girl started toward him, then looked back at Kim and quickly changed direction to disappear into the dark interior of the building.

  Kim made a pretense of being busy with the camera while she watched the man from the corner of her eye. He ground out a cigarette with his boot, and then strode after the girl. When he was out of sight, Kim strolled down the sidewalk toward the corner so that she could take pictures of the front of the building. I’ll bet that was Mark Knight and he was here the whole time. So, why didn’t he want to talk to me?

  Chapter 3

  As Kim traveled above the city on the El, she thought some more about the man lurking in the theater parking lot. Maybe her imagination was working overtime, but her cop instincts had definitely picked up something not quite right.

  I should have stayed and snooped around a little...yeah, right. The last round of amateur sleuthing had cost her – big time. No...whatever seemed “off” at Knight’s Horse Theater had nothing to do with her – probably a lover’s spat or something similar, given the bristly attitude of the girl as she’d hurried past the man. Kim shook her head. Romance in the workplace
was never a good idea.

  A memory flashed through her head, a quick vision of a brief moment of something akin to a romantic spark of her own. Several minutes in Garret Quaid’s arms as he’d shielded her last summer from a swirling crowd of demonstrators in California. With that embrace, the dynamics of their unlikely alliance had changed from competitive to cooperative as they’d worked to catch the masterminds of an elaborate international horse theft ring. The two of them had actually covered a lot of ground once the gamesmanship ended.

  By the time Kim made it back to The Loop, her energy had waned. She stepped off the train at the station near the Art Institute, not far from where she’d caught the runaway carriage horse. She gazed in that direction. What had happened to cause a basically bombproof horse to spook like that? Whatever it was had happened on another street, sending him charging around a corner onto Michigan Avenue. Could have been something as simple as a balloon or plastic bag blowing into his face, although those horses would be trained and desensitized to ignore most things.

  She grinned. But there were always exceptions. Even her wonderful police horse, Red, had taken exception to the blue Porta-Potties set up around large events. The memory sent a sharp ache through her chest and wiped the smile from her face. Red had been so solid, so calm in the face of craziness. He’d stood right there and taken a bullet. Tears welled up, burning Kim’s eyelids. Would she ever be able to put those images behind her? Even with Bandit now helping to salve the wounds?

  Kim clenched her jaw and strode toward a sidewalk café. She would finish this blasted photo assignment and go home. It was time to start living again.

  “This is Kim Kovak. May I speak to Natalie Danseur?”

  The responding voice sounded small and timid. “This is Natalie.”

  “I’m the photographer who’s assigned to interview you and take pictures for Elegant Equine magazine.”

  “Oh, yes. Okay, tomorrow would be good. Can you come to the race track at ten?”