Summer Kisses (103 page)

The colt dripped a trail of water when Kurt led him from the wash rack to where he could nibble on the sweet spring grass. Lazer chewed greedily until a ruckus sounded behind them. He snorted, head high, grass forgotten. Kurt tightened his grip on the lead before checking out the commotion.

Two horses appeared on the walkway. The first, a bay mare, bounced like a pogo stick, churning up clouds of dust. Otto lumbered beside her, big fist clenched around the chain that circled her nose. A rider perched precariously on the mare’s back, head and shoulders set with concentration, and he spotted one curving cheekbone, a strand of blond hair.
Julie
.

He squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. This wasn’t good. He needed both Otto and Julie at the track. Needed them both healthy and accessible, not out of reach in some damn hospital.

Sandra detached herself from the melee and trotted her gelding toward Kurt, stopping a cautious distance from Lazer. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, her face sparkling with anticipation. “Rodeo time. Come watch. Otto’s gallops are always the highlight of our day.”

Kurt’s gaze swung back to the tiny rider perched on the furious horse. “Why the hell does she risk her neck like that?”

Sandra shrugged. “She has to prove herself. It’s the fastest way.” She wheeled Okie but called over her shoulder. “It’s okay. She doesn’t usually come off.”

Doesn’t usually come off. The words nipped at Kurt as he hurried Lazer back to his stall. It was dangerous enough to gallop sane horses. Otto’s mare didn’t seem to belong in that category. Besides, he needed Julie, at least until he found out what she knew about Connor. He blew out a sigh and joined the people rubber-necking by the rail.

Julie, still in the saddle, seemed unfazed by the mare’s contortions. It was hard for the horse to drop her head and buck while Otto manhandled her, but Julie would be alone on the track. Otto hadn’t even hired a stable pony. He should have stayed on Cisco, Kurt thought grimly. He would have been willing to pony the mare.

Otto reached the gap, whipped off the chain and leaped back. The mare wheeled, lashing out with murderous hooves that sliced the air only inches from his head. Free from his stranglehold, she dropped her head and ripped out a series of jolting bucks.

Kurt squeezed the rail in a sympathy grip, watching Julie lean back, brace her feet and pull the horse in a circle. She’d lengthened her stirrups since riding Lazer. Now she looked like a bronc rider. A damn good one.

The mare hesitated. Julie picked up the opposite rein, calmly asking her to turn, and amazingly enough the mare listened. The pair trotted off along the outside rail, the horse suddenly a picture of obedience. The onlookers drifted away amid a chorus of jeers and cheers. It seemed the show was over.

Kurt’s grip on the rail loosened but he lingered, puzzled by the change in the horse’s attitude. Now she acted like any other animal on the track although, as Julie had said, she wasn’t quite sound. She stepped evenly in the front but there was a slight hitch in the back. Not a hip problem—it appeared lower, and she didn’t track up with either hind leg.

He glanced at Otto, only fifteen feet away, holding the lead shank and hunched over the rail. Sweat drenched the man’s t-shirt, and dark stains looped beneath his armpits. It was hard work leading an animal who didn’t want to cooperate.

“Do you have more than one horse, Otto?” Kurt struggled for a friendly tone.

Otto grunted.

“Pardon,” Kurt said, hoping the man only had one horse. No rider should have to tolerate dangerous behavior like the mare’s. Julie galloped for Kurt too, so of course he had an interest in her well being. Only natural.

But Otto ignored him, and Kurt’s jaw tightened in frustration. At this rate, they wouldn’t be on speaking terms for another two months. They didn’t have time for this shit. The case was turning cold.

“I just wondered if you have another horse.” Impatience edged Kurt’s voice but Otto only grunted again, and the sound blasted Kurt out of his civility zone. “One grunt yes, two grunts no?” he asked.

“Fuck off,” Otto said.

Ah, finally. As usual, poking stirred a reaction and that seemed the best way to pull any response from Otto. Kurt had never liked placatory pretending anyway. He preferred to whip up emotions, any emotions, so long as they weren’t his own. Connor was the pacifist. One of the reasons why they worked well together.

Had
worked well together.

He braced against the rail, staggered by an abrupt sense of loss, then dug his heels in the dirt and wheeled back toward Otto. “Sure hope you have some other runners. Looks like your mare only has two wheels.” Remembering Otto’s reaction to Julie’s vet suggestion, he added, “Maybe I should call the doc over? Get your mare some attention?”

Otto’s face mottled and a thick vein bulged in his neck. “Mind your own damn business, Mr. Hotshot. No one touches my horses but me.”

Kurt could no longer look at the man who was quite possibly Connor’s killer, and the angry throbbing in his head had to be controlled. Deep breaths, they’d taught him. But Otto was glowering, swinging the chain on the lead line in an obvious challenge, and the urge to get close and personal was almost overwhelming.

Clenching his jaw, Kurt turned and walked away. It took a few moments to steady his breathing, to relax his fists, but all in all, it wasn’t a bad day.

At least he’d learned one very important thing—Otto was even more protective of his horse than the trailer—which made Kurt very keen to examine the man’s volatile mare.

Back in the privacy of his motel room, Kurt entered his password and tapped some keys, waiting as the laptop downloaded a glut of information. Archer’s office had forwarded a summary of the cases Connor had been involved with, including call history and a timeline of his activities.

Kurt scrolled down, choosing two pages for scrutiny—persons of interest in Connor O’Neil’s murder. The list was short, only two, and one he now considered as more of a witness.

WEST, JULIE A.: Female Caucasian, Age 23, Green Eyes, Blond Hair, Weight 48.9 kg/108 lb, Height 1.5 meters/5 ft 2 in. Occupations: university student. Distinguishing Features: none. Prior Convictions: none.

He skimmed her history. No siblings, mother deceased. Plain vanilla. He wished for more. Was rather curious about Julie. He’d request a more comprehensive report in the morning, more pictures too. This one was rather blurry. She wasn’t smiling and it didn’t do her justice, not one bit.

He flipped the page over and turned his attention to Otto. Ah, now this page wasn’t as pretty, but it was definitely more interesting.

LAING, OTTO P.: Male Caucasian, Age 36, Brown Eyes, Brown Hair, Weight 109.7 kg/242 lb, Height 1.8 meters/5 ft 11 in. Occupations: trucker, metalworker. Dual U.S./Canadian citizenship. Distinguishing Features: scar on right shoulder. Prior Convictions: assault and battery. Prior Charges: robbery, drunk driving, resisting arrest, spousal abuse, rape. (See Report B0T-1826-1)

Kurt reached into the bar fridge and pulled out a can of beer before tackling Report B0T-1826-1. He snapped open the can and turned to the glowing screen.

Otto’s adult record had begun in Montana. Convictions included drunk driving and assaulting a police officer. He’d spent time in jail for various misdemeanors, but a rape charge had been dismissed when the alleged victim disappeared.

The man’s history was extensive, although one omission was gaping. It didn’t include drugs.

Kurt tilted in the wooden chair, propping his feet on the bed as he tried to draw a link between Connor and Otto Laing. The room was an ideal thinking spot, silent except for the drone of the laptop and the occasional ticking of a pipe. However, he couldn’t find anything to connect the two men. Couldn’t imagine what Connor had seen on the highway.

Dispatch records showed he’d stopped to help Laing with a flat tire. A racehorse had been reloaded; everything appeared routine. But something had trigged Connor’s suspicions, enough that he’d run the man’s license plates and followed him to the track. It had to be something noticeable, something other than Otto’s abrasive personality.

The trailer had been unremarkable. Had to be the animal.

There were no races tonight. In a few hours the backside would be empty, the perfect time to poke around the barn. Kurt tilted the beer can and took a speculative swig as he wondered what he’d find on Otto’s horse.

“Good evening, sir,” the guard said. “You keep long hours.”

The same young guard watched the horsemen’s gate, but now he was lonely and slightly more talkative. Short hair emphasized his skinny neck, and a lumpy Adam’s apple rippled when he spoke.

Kurt flipped open his trainer’s license. “One of my horses is prone to colic. Have to make regular checks. Many people around?”

“Just a few guys.” The guard scanned his credentials and returned them with solemn authority. “Should be quiet the rest of the night.”

Excellent. Kurt slid his license back in his pocket and followed the dark path to G barn.

He eased into the barn and paused, stopped by insolent eyes. A black cat with a sagging belly sprawled in the aisle, a squeaking mouse pinned beneath its claws. The cat picked up the mouse, glaring at Kurt as it chewed. The squeaking stopped as the mouse disappeared, tail last, but the cat lingered in the aisle, licking its paws.

Kurt eyed the far wall, wondering which path the cat had taken. He wasn’t keen to invite any bad luck, but he also didn’t want to inconvenience himself over a silly superstition. Always a quandary.

“Scat.” He waved his arm. The cat ran to the left, leaving clear passage along the right side of the aisle. Cisco leaned over the stall door, ears pricked, as though amused by Kurt’s maneuvering. That horse was too damn smart.

Kurt avoided Cisco’s gaze and walked directly to Otto’s stall. He crouched down and peered through the knothole then jumped, startled by the big brown eye staring back. Obviously the mare had discovered the peephole and now kept close watch on barn traffic.

He slid the latch back and opened the door. She rushed back, pressing against the far wall, tail clamped, her trembles visible even in the gloom.

“Easy, sweetie.” He stepped into the dank stall, concerned by her reaction. Examining her would take much longer than anticipated.

He left the door slightly ajar. From the outside, no one could see it was unlatched. But if the mare went berserk—and that seemed a distinct possibility—he could escape. He waited, fighting the urge to rush, trying to show he wasn’t a threat. And finally, she turned. She still hugged the far wall but at least faced him, nostrils flaring as she sucked in his scent. He edged forward, pausing each time she considered wheeling until finally she was close enough to touch.

“Easy, sweetheart. I’m just going to check you over.” He kept his voice calm, unhurried, even though every instinct screamed to rush. Gradually her trembles subsided as he stroked her smooth, silky shoulder. Then—not so smooth after all—his fingers stilled over a large welt.

He pulled out his flashlight and ran the light over her coat. Abrasions marred her back and chest, and several welts were thick and crusted. A rope? Or some type of hobble? They seemed recent, the scabs a week to ten days old. He skimmed the light over the rest of her body but found no incisions to mark a hiding place.

One more spot to check. A sensitive one. He slid his hand down her rump toward the top of her tail. She humped in protest and he paused, uneasy, afraid the ruckus was too loud in the quiet barn.

He changed tactics, smoothing his hands over her hindquarters then down her legs, gentling her again to his touch. At this rate it would take some time to check her cervix. Her trust in humans had clearly been shattered.

He touched her left leg, noting how her ears pinned. Obvious pain and heat. Reached over and gently felt her other leg. Both hind legs were swollen, the puffiness extending along the tendons from the hocks to the fetlocks. He leaned forward and shoved the straw away from her hooves.

Disbelief rocked him back on his heels.

He’d never seen such a mess. Nail holes riddled her hoof walls. So many holes—

The mare’s sudden leap knocked him off balance, and she flung herself against the side of the stall, smashing at the boards with lethal hooves. What the hell? Then he heard what she already knew. Voices. And very close.

He sprinted across the aisle, thankful the mare’s noise muffled the latching of her door. Vaulted over the top of Cisco’s stall and rolled under the startled gelding’s belly.

The speakers entered the barn. Two voices. One was Otto’s but the second had a harsh accent. German or Scandinavian maybe?

The mare’s kicking increased as they moved closer and her angry hooves pounded the wall, blocking pieces of their conversation.

“Be suitable to ship next week. Get one race in before the trip to Idaho…take her next week while I’m away,” the accented voice said.

“Okay, we’ll race…leave on Monday. When do I get my money?” Otto’s voice was different, oddly meek.

Kurt considered rising from the straw and meeting Otto’s companion. But two night visits within twenty-four hours? Even Otto might question that. And the skin on the back of his neck prickled, always a barometer of danger.

So he remained flat in the straw, curbing his sneeze while hiding behind a stoic Cisco. The muffled voices shifted to the far entrance, lingered for an endless moment, then faded. Kurt’s breathing steadied. He allowed himself a muffled sneeze but waited a full fifteen minutes before leaving the sanctuary of the stall.

He gave Cisco an affectionate pat before crossing the aisle and peering through the hole. The mare was calm again, staring with a soulful eye. She was priceless too, better than a watchdog when it involved Otto, and he whispered his thanks.

But when he eased outside into the friendly darkness, his hands fisted. He still had no idea what had sparked Connor’s interest in the mare. Tomorrow he’d have to pump Julie for information. Pump her hard.

Sexual images nudged into his thoughts, thoughts he muscled into line. He hadn’t come here to socialize. Had never been reluctant to play hardball. As always, he’d do what was necessary to make sure she cooperated, and feelings had nothing to do with it. Absolutely nothing.