And she’d been so silent.
She reached for his hand, raised it to her mouth and kissed it. “If you tell me any more,” she said, “you’re either going to have to kill me or marry me.”
His breath escaped in a half-sigh, half-groan, and he pulled her to his chest, and then all she could hear was his pounding heart.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d think.” And then after a moment, he spoke again. “Riding with the club wasn’t too bad. Prep involved spending time in prison which meant a weekly piss test after release. That gave me a valid reason to refuse the drugs.”
She traced a finger along his tattooed arm, tracing the gray lines, then peered up at his hard jaw. “Were you ever asked to…kill someone?”
“Only once, but I had police pick him up in time.”
Her breath released in a slow exhale. He was a good man. If he’d ever had to murder someone just to gain the trust of a club, no doubt he’d be irrevocably scarred. But they could deal with this. She didn’t care about anything else, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask about other women. That was in his past. None of her business. Just like a horse with a troubled history, they could work through it.
But her throat felt tight, and she remembered Ashley’s comments about bikers and their interchangeable women. How there was even a badge for having oral sex in front of club members. And Dex had once said that all prospects are given assignments to weed out police plants. She didn’t want to think about what Rick had been forced to do, but unfortunately her mind wasn’t listening.
A callused thumb brushed the curve of her cheek. And then he raised his other arm, cupping her face with both hands, holding her like she was precious. He stared down, his eyes dark with understanding.
“You should ask about it,” he said gruffly. “Anything you want. Let’s get this out of the way.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “Just one question,” she said. “I’ve heard that women are plentiful. And that they’re not treated well. Did you…participate in that?”
“It can be a misogynistic society,” he said. “But a prospect is low man on the totem pole. There was always a patch that wanted her first.”
“Are the stories about sharing true?”
“Every chapter is different. Depends on the president. Mine was more of a family man.” His hands tightened around her face, and for a moment his eyes glittered with something akin to anguish.
“You don’t think they’ll come after you?”
“The president is dead. Everyone else is in prison.”
She gulped. That explained his emotion, the sadness in his voice. Naturally he’d have grown close to club members, even if they were criminals.
“Let’s go to sleep,” he said, his voice flat. “You need to think about all this.”
She automatically rose from the table. It was tempting to head for the bedroom, to enjoy some glorious sex, and then a dreamless night’s sleep. But her gaze shot to the closet.
“There’s something I have to tell you too,” she said. “The reason Juanita came tonight. When she was packing up Camila’s things, she found some cash. Quite a bit. Nearly five thousand dollars.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Small bills?”
“I don’t know. But she brought it over while you were in the shower. She thought the money would be safer here.”
“Where is it?”
She gestured at the closet. “In a cardboard box with Camila’s clothes. The money’s in a cracker box.”
He pulled open the closet door. With his other hand, he reached beneath the kitchen sink and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He found the money, fanning it in his hands for an expert count before lifting it to his nose and sniffing the bills.
Eve blinked. She’d been picturing him as a prospect in a biker gang and the switch to a seasoned cop was rather disconcerting.
“I’ll have Scott check this out,” Rick said. He replaced the money then skimmed through the rest of the box, pulling out a pink ball cap, a small notebook and a T-shirt that said: NUMBER ONE GROOM.
It was tragic seeing someone’s possessions reduced to a two-foot cardboard box, and Eve averted her head. “We’re going to mail that big box on Monday,” she said. “But use a bank to transfer the money.”
“Did the police release this?” Rick asked, fingering the notebook.
“I guess so.” She studied the tips of her fingers. “Her room wasn’t taped off or anything. Juanita just went in and gathered Camila’s stuff. Her little sister wants it.”
“So will the police,” Rick said. “And the money has to be reported.”
“We’ll report it,” she said. “After it’s sent.”
He replaced the notebook and looked up. He didn’t say anything, just gave her a flat-eyed stare that she’d seen him use on Ashley a few times, but never on her. It was rather intimidating.
Her back stiffened and she crossed her arms. “We’re sending it on Monday.”
“Can’t,” he said, his voice just as clipped. “We have to turn it over.”
“But you know what the police are like. All the legalities. That money could be tied up for years. Maybe forever. And Camila’s sister is an orphan. She needs it now.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “But it still needs to be reported.”
“But the police were the idiots who didn’t find it. And Juanita trusts me to do the right thing.”
“Giving it to the police is the right thing.” He replaced the box and shut the closet door with a click of finality.
She hadn’t seen this coming, and gave a disapproving sniff. “Your cop colors are showing. And I don’t like it.”
His face softened. He even had the audacity to smile. “I wouldn’t have had a chance with you if I wore a uniform. Good thing I’m not still a cop.”
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one. Because you know I’m right. Once the police are involved, this will get complicated.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“So you agree? They’ll just mess it up?”
“I have to turn the money in. Otherwise this could blow back on Scott. And I work for him.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said brightly. “We’ll just pretend you didn’t see it.”
He strode to the sink and yanked the tap tight, stopping the drip. Then he stared out the dark window, his hands gripping the counter.
“But I have seen it,” he said.
She recoiled, shocked by the finality of his words. Obviously it had been a mistake to associate his appearance with a sliding morality scale. And probably she should have known better. She’d witnessed how tirelessly he worked for her barn. He’d bring that sense of duty to every job. Of course he’d feel honor bound to Scott.
She didn’t quite understand his code. She’d been raised in a world where it was clever to outsmart authorities, and uniforms weren’t to be trusted. But she was filled with a grudging respect. And she couldn’t ask him to be less of a man, no matter how inconvenient.
She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Sorry,” she said, pressing her cheek against his back. “Don’t worry. We’ll report the money.” She hesitated for a moment but he’d been so open earlier, she wanted to match it. “And I do still love you. Even if you sometimes act like a cop.”
His entire body stiffened. He wheeled and scanned her face, his eyes incredulous. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Then he shifted, wrapping her in his arms, his legs, his entire body, and when his mouth claimed hers, it felt like he was absorbing her into his very being. Filling her senses with his amazing love.
And leaving her with the conviction that she and Joey would never be alone again.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The sun shone especially bright this morning, slanting through the mist and gilding the track. Even the horses seemed burnished with a golden glow. Or maybe Eve was just happy.
Joey was arriving today, and Stinger was racing,
and Rick… She couldn’t stop smiling.
Stinger gave an exuberant buck, as if sharing her enthusiasm the only way he knew. But she tightened her reins, wanting to save his energy. This was just a morning stretch and one last chance to school in the paddock.
A rider cantering a horse mid-track called out a cheery greeting and a wiry man on a chestnut congratulated her on Tizzy’s race. At some point she’d been accepted by this insular community. They were genuinely happy about her win yesterday, no longer treating her as the outsider from Santa Anita. It might have been because of Juanita’s influence and the welcoming spot she’d made for the children. But more likely it was because of Rick.
She gave a happy sigh and Stinger gave another buck, his ears pinned on a passing horse. He wasn’t being nasty. He was just eager to run. And he didn’t like to take orders from anyone but himself. And of course, Rick.
She rounded the turn, her gaze drifting to the railbirds waiting by the gap. As usual, Rick was in the middle, surrounded by an attentive group of people. She understood the feeling. She liked to be close to him too. Even though she was on the track, fifty feet away and separated by a rail fence, his gaze connected with hers. And her heart sang.
It no longer mattered that Jackson still hadn’t returned her calls or that Juanita would be upset when she learned the money had to be turned over. With Rick by her side, life was fuller, brighter. Even Victoria’s scheming faded into the periphery.
A neon shirt flashed and hooves pounded, sending dust swirling. Dana, the Pink Viper, slowed beside Eve.
“You look happy,” Dana said. “Good sex last night?”
Eve’s smile widened.
The Viper glanced at the gap then gave a wistful sigh. “Can’t remember the last time a man left me grinning like that.”
Eve couldn’t remember her last time either. She’d loved Joey’s dad but it was different with Rick. More trusting. More complete. She was happier now than she’d ever been, in spite of the tumultuous events. In fact, she felt almost weightless.
“I must say,” the Viper went on, “you were sure decent the night of the tournament. Even giving me a coffee. I never would have made a run at your man if I’d been sober.” She gave a wry shrug. “Didn’t matter anyway. We all know how that turned out.”
Eve straightened Stinger’s head, barely listening. That incident was over and forgotten. It only helped reinforce that she’d found a man worth keeping. And what a man. The way he’d held her last night, the words of love he’d whispered, left her giddy with hope. And she couldn’t stop spinning plans.
In a year or so, she might have enough experience to leave Jackson and train on her own. She’d hire Ashley and Miguel and look for some good owners. By then her earnings might be enough to rent a house close to Santa Anita as well as Scott’s investigative office. She’d be able to have lunch every day with Joey, and she’d even learn to cook healthy meals.
Of course, there’d be nights when Rick wouldn’t be able to come home. Scott’s cases often involved lengthy undercover work. But at least Rick would have a steady job. It was expensive to live around the track but surely between the two of them they’d be able to rent a house. Maybe something with a yard.
She shifted in the saddle, excited at the prospect. Joey wanted a pet so badly. His parents had both been jockeys so naturally a pony ranked at the top of his wish list. Of course, that was impossible. Track stalls were at a premium and reserved for racehorses. But he’d be content with a small dog, or even a cat.
Maybe when she had her own training business, she could justify a stall for a stable pony, one of the dependable animals that escorted the Thoroughbreds. Of course, they weren’t actual ponies but often retired racehorses. However, they were good animals with great minds. Safer than a pony and definitely more practical.
She gave a guilty start, realizing she hadn’t been listening to a word Dana was saying. Something about the caps tournament and riding with a hangover and how Camila had advised that she drink lots of water.
“Camila?” Eve swiveled in the saddle. “You were talking to her at the tournament?”
“Just for a bit,” Dana said. “She was going to cut my hair, layer it a little. I wrote the appointment time on my hand so I wouldn’t forget. But then…” She stopped talking and they both were silent, the horses’ hooves loud in the tranquil air.
Eve fingered Stinger’s short mane, hating to think how Camila’s life had ended. She’d barely been in the States a year and was apparently sending every cent back to her younger sister in Guatemala. And yet she had five grand hidden in a cracker box—and a groom only made eight hundred dollars a month.
“Do you know if she had another job?” Eve asked, keeping her voice casual. “Besides her work as a groom?”
“Don’t think so. After her boyfriend left, she hung out with Marcus for a bit. She couldn’t work as a groom that last month she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Eve blinked with surprise. “Camila had a baby?”
Dana nodded. “But even though we worked in the same barn, she never said much. Hid her pregnancy for as long as she could. She was shattered when her boyfriend bolted, and left her with no support. I think Marcus was quick to take advantage.”
Eve’s mouth tightened. Conditions had been ripe for the exploitation of a young woman in a foreign country. Hopefully Rick or Liam would find Marcus first. They could inflict a little punishment before turning him over to the police, although it was unfortunate their weird cop code might stop them from dishing out proper payback.
“Wish we could string Marcus up,” the Pink Viper said, echoing Eve’s sentiments. “Weird thing is that I hooked up with him once. He never got rough, even when we had heated words about who had the fastest horse.”
Eve eyed Dana. The girl was flamboyantly female but like most riders was tough as nails. Marcus probably needed a more vulnerable target. “Everyone seems to think he did it,” Eve said.
“Yeah. But jerks are generally consistent. Like your horse.” Dana gestured at Stinger. “He’s always ornery. We know it, understand it, deal with it. Marcus, he’s self-centered but I never thought he’d hurt anyone.”
She gave her head a regretful shake. “Camila wasn’t the friendliest girl but her last four months were rough. And Marcus is a smooth talker. Maybe she turned desperate, a little too clingy, and he just blew up. Other than that, I don’t see why he’d ever hurt her.”
Eve stared over Stinger’s ears, hating the darker direction of her thoughts. She didn’t even want to voice them. But by all accounts, when Camila had been deserted by her boyfriend she’d been pregnant, alone and broke. With nowhere to turn. And babies were in demand, especially ones from healthy young mothers who worked at a track and were subject to drug testing.
They walked another fifty feet, past the weigh scales and winner’s circle, before Eve spoke. “What happened to her baby?” she asked.
Dana shrugged. “Gave it up for adoption, I guess.”
Her disinterest was obvious. Clearly Dana had never been pregnant. Didn’t understand a mother’s all-consuming love. She also didn’t seem to know anything about the money in Camila’s dorm.
“I’ll see you just before the eighth race,” Dana went on. “Is your horse worth a bet?”
Eve blinked, struggling to get back on focus. She shouldn’t be speculating about black market babies, not when she was trying to prepare Stinger for his race. And she still had to clean up the trailer and play area for Joey, enough to satisfy his very fussy godparents.
“This is Stinger’s first start over a mile,” Eve said. “He’s always been a sprinter, mainly because he’s headstrong and refuses to rate. But I’ve been working with him. And his dam won at a mile and an eighth.”
Dana pulled a rumpled condition book from her back pocket. “Not much speed in your race,” she said, scanning the page. “He could get an easy lead. Think I’ll bet him.”
“You might be the only one,” Eve said. “Nobody
thinks he can run past a mile, even my boss.”
“Then why did you pick that distance?”
“Orders from above,” Eve said, reluctant to admit Jackson’s wife was calling the shots now. “But I’ve had four weeks to stretch him out.”
Dana nodded. “I’ve seen your gallops. You’ve made sure he has enough air. If the pace is right, he’ll win.”
Eve stroked Stinger’s neck. If he won, it would have to be considered an excellent weekend. Two wins from two starts. A hundred percent success rate. And since horses ran best when they were healthy and happy, it would be clear that Ashley and Miguel had also done their jobs. There was no way Jackson could justify firing staff with that kind of result, in spite of Victoria’s prodding.
Dana knew all the horses at the track. She galloped some, ponied many, and also escorted on race days. Her analysis was more insightful than the track handicapper’s. And she wasn’t trying to be nice. She had no idea of the importance of Stinger’s race.
Eve flipped her reins to the other side of Stinger’s neck, wishing she could feel as confident. Hopefully he was ready. But he’d missed a critical day of training, and maybe there were a few mornings she should have worked him faster. Trainers relied on a mixture of experience, instinct and horse sense. But her experience was limited.
When she was a jockey, she’d climbed on and followed the trainer’s directions. And morning gallops were also carried out in strict accordance with instructions. Of course, she gave feedback to Jackson. But this was the first time she had sole control over a horse’s conditioning.
She’d tried to ask for advice but lately her boss had been unavailable. So it was hard to tell if Stinger was properly prepared. No one would know until the draining stretch run. That’s why horse racing remained such a mystery.
However, she loved the challenge, even if it sometimes felt like balancing over a precipice. And Stinger felt ready. His ears were pricked, his walk bouncy and full of attitude. So maybe he could run beyond a mile, and bettors would be wise to pick him.
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