Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (25 page)

Perez looked at Natalie. “Tell her what you heard.”

Natalie swallowed and looked down at her feet. “I, uh, I heard O’Leary talking to some of the grooms and stuff.”

“Okay.” Elena had a sinking feeling in her gut.

“They were doing some shots.”

“They were?”

“Yeah, tequila.”

Oh no. O’Leary had told her he’d stopped drinking. It had only been a few days, but she thought he’d been sincere about making an effort.

“And he was saying how he was going to get the ride on Karma. He said that he was going to get the ride because you still wanted to be with him.”

“What?” Elena said. She was incredulous. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

Natalie bit her lower lip. She nodded. “I was right there. That’s what I heard. I was inside Karma’s stall. I swear. I’m sorry.”

Elena shook her head. “No. It’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” She felt emotion grab the back of her throat and tighten her chest. Her fear that O’Leary had come back into her life with guns blazing, only to hurt her again, was true. He didn’t really want to be with her. He never really did. Even back in the day when her father bribed him with good mounts, he’d chosen the horses over her.

And, it looked as if he had done it again.

57

O’Leary spotted Elena heading toward the accommodations. She was supposed to have gotten in touch with him already. They were going to have dinner together again. He called out her name. She didn’t turn around.

He jogged up alongside her. “Hey, El. Forget something? Or someone?” He nudged her.

“No.” She kept walking and didn’t look at him.

“Um, yes, I think you did. Me.” He tried to put an arm around her, but she shoved it away. “Hey. What’s that all about? Are you upset with me?”

She stopped walking, crossed her arms, and stared at him.

Oh no. He recognized that look. That was look on her face the day she’d told him to go to hell after her dad had put him on one of his best horses. But this time he had no idea what he’d done.

“I should have known better, Pete.”

This was bad. She called him Pete. There were two times she ever used his name: if she was in the throes of passion or really pissed off at him. They certainly weren’t making love at the moment. “I’m sorry, El, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really? How about your little drunken soiree with some of the grooms? Where you told them all you were working me so you could ride Karma in the Infinity?”

“What?! That’s ridiculous. I told you I stopped drinking, and as far as running my mouth off with stupid shit like that, that’s something I would never do. I’m not working you. Do I think Perez is the right jock for your horse? No way. But I’m not trying to take his ride. I’m not like that. I’m in this for you.”

She laughed, but with some cynicism. “Right. Like you were when my dad gave you a fat check. Money talks, doesn’t it, Pete? People don’t change.” She tossed up her hands. “I can’t blame you. Look at you. Big fall from grace from who you once were out here on the track.”

She was fighting back tears. He could see it. He tried to say something, but she cut him off. “Then you see my filly, me, and think, ‘Oh, bet I can sweet-talk Elena. Get in good. Get her in bed.’ Nice idea. Bet tonight was supposed to be the big culmination of your plan.” She clapped her hands. “Bravo. But, you didn’t plan on the fact that you would be talking smack and drinking with the grooms and then, lo and behold, my bug hears you say that shit about me and the horse!”

“Excuse me? Your bug? That kid? The girl? The one diddling Perez?”

“She’s a good kid. She isn’t a liar like you are, and now I know why you keep throwing Juan Perez under the bus.”

O’Leary shook his head. He could not believe this. He couldn’t even speak for a few seconds. In a calm voice, he finally said, “You know what, El, if you want to believe the bug and Perez about me, go ahead. That’s on you. I know what I was in this for. And it wasn’t to ride the filly. It was for you.”

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to. O’Leary could see the doubt in her eyes.

He turned and walked away, fighting his own tears.

58

June 23, 2011

Ivy’s wife had died on 9/11. Quentin could not have designed it more perfectly himself.

Quentin loved three things in life: He loved his capacity for control. He loved Tarantino movies, thus the name change. And he loved the idea of the apocalypse.

Which he would cause.

And survive.

And the world would be a much better place.

His
world.

The detailed e-mails he had been sending his patsy contained everything from falsified police reports from when “Tieg had killed his family,” photos of his “deceased wife and daughter,” addresses on Tieg and every detail about his life, Gershon, Laugherty, and of course how Ivy was to pursue his new life with his new identity—the people he would need to meet and align himself with.

Then, the e-mail that would push things to the next level.

This was one of those make-them-or-break-them moments.

By this time, Ivy had a new face and looked like a nice-guy-from-next-door type. The only thing that Dr. Arroyo could not fix
completely was the man’s hands. They had been severely burned. That bothered Quentin, who considered Arroyo a master.

“There is only so much I can do with his hands,” he’d said.

“What do you mean?” Quentin asked. “Give him new hands.”

“When we spoke of this man…” Quentin never told Arroyo or anyone Ivy’s real name. No one asked. It seemed that everyone had the understanding that Quentin was a dangerous man, so not asking questions was prudent on their part. “I did not know how severe the burns were. They cannot be made new. They can be made better, though.”

Quentin cracked his neck. A regular guy under these circumstances would have thrown his fucking gin and tonic against the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to the atrium inside the estate.

Quentin was not a regular guy. He drank the gin. Watched the doctor.

The man wasn’t lying.

It was a risk.

A calculated risk.

He would take it.

He had come this far.

“Do what you can.”

He’d gotten back on the plane, and Dr. Arroyo had gotten to work.

Quentin composed the first e-mail and gave Ted Ivy information about his new identity.

Now he was about to send e-mail number 203. The big one.

It was an e-mail about Katarina Erickson and Tommy Lyons.

He had a feeling he was going to have to fly down to visit his patsy after he sent this e-mail. Ted Ivy was a murderer. Quentin knew that. But he had to turn him into a
killer
.

He chartered the flight.

When Quentin arrived he was faced with the question he knew Ted Ivy would ask. “But these guys didn’t do any harm to me. To us. Why do I need to kill them first?”

“Here is the thing, my friend: have you ever heard the term ‘casualties of war’?”

“Of course.”

They were seated outside by the pool; a waterfall bled into the water, splashing droplets at their feet. The air was hot and humid; hummingbirds buzzed overhead. Who would have thought such ugly plans for destruction would be created in such a peaceful, beautiful place as this, situated on a hillside in Brazil?

“The jockeys are casualties of war. It’s a way to confuse the police.”

Quentin needed the police to not get too close too fast to Ted Ivy. He also needed to test Ivy’s loyalty. He’d tested people before—like Jack Jennings—and they’d failed. If Ted murdered the jockeys in cold blood, Quentin would rest assured knowing that he would carry out all of his requests.

“I’m confused,” Ivy said.

Quentin had used many tactics over the years to guide people into doing what was necessary, and Ivy was no exception. He would use subtle suggestion to help create the kind of killer he needed. “You love the horses. You loved that horse more than anything. The one that died in the fire, Dirty Games. Sucio.”

“Of course.”

“These jockeys…they don’t love the horses. Why should they make all the money they do and have access to these horses? Why?”

Ivy nodded slowly.

“They shouldn’t! You should have been a jockey. You would have been kind and decent. You never would have allowed one to get hurt, would you?”

“No.”

“What if you had been a jockey? What if you had been called Jock? Those jockeys you will kill are as guilty as the rest of them.”

Quentin could see that the rhetoric and technique was working on Ivy. By the end of the day, Ted Ivy had chosen the nom de guerre Joque. Quentin had laughed with him over that. By the end of the day, Ivy believed that he and Quentin were buddies and partners. And by the end of the day, Quentin knew he would do as he’d been told. He would kill both Tommy Lyons and Katarina Erickson. And he wouldn’t stop there.

59

They drove to Leann Purdue’s place. Holly had filled Jack in on everything she knew about Leann and the rescue facility, and most everything else that had been uncovered in the case.

“It makes sense that Ivy would take cover with this woman,” Jack said. “She’s a decent human being and accepted in the community but not considered a player. It’s her sister who is big into racing. Ivy could have been using Leann, who through Elena may have information about where certain people are located, or what races they are attending. He’s likely learned how to listen, how to pay attention. I am sure his time in prison taught him other skills as well.”

Holly’s cell phone rang as they made the run into Golden Hearts. It was just past two o’clock and the sky was darkening rapidly. She saw who it was. Her stomach tightened.

“It’s Brendan, isn’t it?” Jack asked.

“Yes.”

“You need to take it. You’re a cop. You’re investigating. Play it cool.”

She nodded, but God, this felt like an awful lie she knew she was about to tell. “Hi,” she said, answering the phone.

“Honey! I was getting worried.”

“B. I’m fine. I’ve been working this thing hard so that I can get back home,” she said.

“I know. But you’re out there on your own without your partner, and I got concerned when Chad hadn’t heard from you.”

“I called and talked to Megan.”

“I realize that, but I thought you might have called and talked to me.”

“I…figured you would be busy at work. I needed to go interview someone. I’ve got a gun. I’m fine. I’ve had a break in this case, I think.”

“That’s good news,” Brendan replied. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I am. I will do what needs to get done here and come on home.”

“Good. I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

She ended the call. Jack didn’t say anything. She stayed quiet, too. This was a messed up situation. That’s all there was to it. Really, really messed up.

The gate at Golden Hearts was closed. Jack pressed the buzzer. No one answered. He buzzed again. Holly pulled out Leann’s card and called the numbers. Both times she got voice mail. She shook her head. “Dammit! I know this is our guy, Jack. I know it. We have to find him, and Leann is our best source.”

He nodded. “I agree. Call back again. If she doesn’t answer, leave a message, let her know it’s important.”

Holly did and left the message Jack suggested.

“She’ll call back,” he said.

“What do we do now?” Holly asked.

“I say we go back to the room and wait for her to call.”

60

O’Leary had paced in his room for some time. He’d been hurt and now he was getting angry. He couldn’t focus on his writing. For a minute he thought about having a drink but knew that was stupid. No matter what, he wanted to stay clean.

Why in the hell would the bug tell Elena such a lie?

O’Leary changed his shirt and headed out the door. He was going to find the bug himself and ask her.

He searched the grounds and finally found her in the restaurant eating with a few of the other bugs. O’Leary pulled up a chair. He looked at the three other riders and said, “Get lost.” They scrambled to get up, and O’Leary focused his stare on the girl. “Natalie…it’s Natalie, right?” She nodded. “We need to talk.”

Natalie’s face paled, and the other kids took off. O’Leary knew that even as a small man he had a certain air of intimidation about him. Back in the day, a few people teased him about his Napoleon complex.

“What do you want?” Natalie asked, pushing strands of red hair back behind her ears.

“The truth. Why would you tell Elena Purdue that I was trying to take the ride away from Perez and that I was using her?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

O’Leary slammed his fist on the table, hard. Natalie jumped. A few people turned and looked. “Bullshit. Perez that good in bed, bug? Is he? Or did he pay you to say those things?”

Natalie stared at him.

“You know, everyone thinks Juan Perez is the man. But he’s a slimeball and a snake and eventually, dear girl, he will turn on you, too.”

“He’s going to win the race,” she said.

“I don’t care what he’s going to do. What I want
you
to do is tell the truth. Take it from me, if you don’t, no matter how much that guy promised you, your conscience will eat away at you. You seem like a good girl. Do the right thing. Tell the truth. Eventually Perez is going to drop you. Maybe you’ll have a few extra bucks, but not for long. And if I am right, and Perez goes down, you’ll go with him. The truth always comes out. You can shed light on it today. Or, you can wait for it to come back and bite you in the ass.”

Natalie looked scared to death. O’Leary got up and left her alone, hoping the bug did the right thing.

61

“Tell me about her,” Jack said. He picked up the bottle of red wine he’d ordered from room service. They had spent nearly twenty-four hours together at this point, and Holly had not brought up their daughter. She had been waiting for him to do so. She had tried calling Leann again but still got no answer. The day had worn on, and they mostly talked about the case. They tiptoed around the elephant in the room—their relationship.