Dead Heat (33 page)

Anna kept speaking over the top of Leslie’s indignant protest. “This one killed a werewolf, tore him to pieces with magic. A human simply doesn’t stand a chance. The werewolves will be wearing black Converse sneakers, so you’ll know not to shoot them or react to their presence. They are doing this because we feel it necessary, Leslie, putting their lives on the line. They are, all of this pack”—Hosteen had clarified this—“living as human. If you reveal what they are to the public, it might ruin their lives.”

Leslie made an unhappy sound. “I will keep their secrets, and make sure Marsden and Leeds are apprised, too. How long are we going to be protected?”

“Thank you,” Anna said, air leaving her in a whoosh of relief at Leslie’s agreement. “Until we are all convinced you have the right fae. If you need us, we’re going to the Arabian horse show at WestWorld in north Scottsdale. If we don’t pick up the phone, text us.”

“The horse show?” said Leslie. “Let’s see. Ms. Newman’s four-year-old class is going to be there in the morning and Miss Baird’s five-year-old class in the afternoon. Apparently they do it every year. Tomorrow it will be the two-year-olds and then Mrs. Hepplethwaite’s three-year-old class. Do you want any of the classes’ daily schedules by day? The music teacher on Monday and Wednesday is also the swimming instructor Tuesday and Thursday. Did I tell you we are taking a very close look at that day care?”

Anna laughed.

“Why do the two-year-olds have a teacher?” Leslie asked. “Don’t you think they should have a babysitter? Or even an entertainer? Can’t they just be toddlers and not students?”

“Students pay more for school than toddlers pay for babysitters,” Anna suggested.

“Hmm,” said Leslie. “Okay. That makes more sense. Thank you.”

“Just don’t talk too much to Ms. Newman,” Anna suggested, “or you might be overcome with the temptation to steal all of her students out from under her iron rule and take them outside to run around and have fun like normal four-year-olds.”

Leslie laughed. “Look,” she said. “There is no way I can get you and Charles in to see McDermit before our expert has a go. But call me this afternoon.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Anna told her.

“No promises, but I’ll try,” Leslie said, and ended the call.

Anna pulled on her socks and boots and trotted down the stairs through the empty house; everyone else, including Maggie and Joseph, was already at the horse show. Both of the little kids were riding today and no one wanted to miss it.

No one. A chill ran down Anna’s spine. The fae were tricksy. They were also supposed to be all locked up in reservations, but one fae had been in Kathryn Jamison’s garden. Presumably, because neither she nor Charles had seen him, the janitor was a second. The bodies had been found in a house he owned. But Anna had learned to listen to her instincts; they told her there was a third fae, the real Doll Collector, complete with ties to the day care, the fetch, and the janitor.

Happily Anna wasn’t the only one whose instincts were on edge. Hosteen had claimed guard duty on the kids for himself, and Wade was assigned to Chelsea. But Anna thought it was a good thing that she and Charles were going, too. Two more werewolves keeping an eye on four victims who had escaped, mostly escaped anyway. Their job would be floating security, looking for any signs that the fae was stalking the Sani family. She found it very interesting that Sunshine Fun Day Care was scheduled so that the whole day care, staff and students alike, was going to be at the show at one time or another.

Charles was down in the kitchen finishing his breakfast. The family and most of their staff had left before dawn. Hosteen had suggested she and Charles come after the show opened to the public.

“I warned Leslie,” Anna told him. “She told me that the whole day care is going to be at the horse show today and tomorrow. She also said there wasn’t a chance of us getting in to see their captive fae today. She’s going to try to get us in this afternoon.”

He had set his silverware down as if he were finished eating. She sat on his lap and ate his last piece of bacon. “So I guess you get to take me to my first horse show.”

“The last time I went to this show it was at Paradise Park. I think it was about 1965, long before you were born.” He quit speaking, frowning a little at her.

“Are you planning on worrying about how much older you are than I am when you are four hundred and I’m only two hundred?” she asked him in an interested voice. “I’m only asking because my father said it was dangerous when you start tuning out your spouse, but I don’t know how long I can worry about it.”

He laughed; his arms surrounded her and pulled her tighter in a brief hug.

“Besides,” she said airily, sliding off his lap, “I’ve heard that Vlad the Impaler established without a doubt that having a stick up one’s ass was detrimental to one’s health. And I am very interested in keeping you healthy.”

She didn’t make it to the door before he had her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other around her middle, pulling her back into his body.

He put his mouth against her ear and growled playfully, “So I’m in danger of suffering the fate of Vlad’s victims, am I? Maybe you should do something about rescuing me?”

The vibration of his voice against her ear made her shiver, but she tried to keep her voice steady anyway. “Why, sir, what could you possibly mean? Are you propositioning
moi
?”

He growled in her ear and she squeaked because it tickled, and caused a more interesting sensation in her stomach. Then he moved his right hand down to cup her breast and his left hand slid south. He said a few sentences in French, his voice rough and hungry. She thought maybe he’d forgotten she didn’t really speak French.

“Charles,” she said, her own voice husky with need, because her mate was hard to resist at any time. But he was never sexier than when he was feeling playful.

He picked her up and took her to their room, his steps slow and deliberate—and that was its own kind of foreplay.

It was a while before they actually got to the show grounds. They were still early. Kage had said that crowds didn’t get really big until the last three or four days. That being said, the place they finally found to park was a quarter-mile walk to the entrance.

Armed with a map, Charles led the way briskly through what felt like miles and miles of kiosk shopping in the huge main building. He ignored the surreptitious attention he was garnering, for both his looks and, Anna thought, his air of dangerous intent.

Michael’s class was getting its fifteen-minute warning call as they finally found the seats the Sanis’ ranch had reserved in the indoor arena. Anna had been beginning to despair when Charles spotted the mobility cart bearing the ranch’s logo in silver and brown parked tightly behind the rows of blue stadium seats. From there it was easy to find familiar faces.

Anna and Charles found seats next to Mateo and Teri, just behind Maggie, Joseph, Max, Chelsea, and Wade. Max twisted around and grinned at Anna.

“Mackie is a little tyrant,” he said. “She declared that everyone had to see her ride.” He raised his voice to a squeak that was supposed to sound like his little sister. “Ev-er-ee-bo-dee.” He grinned. “And then Michael, not to be outdone, declared that we all had to be here to watch him, too. So Dad and Hosteen are getting the kids and horses ready for the class so that the rest of the crew can watch from the rail.”

Anna thought it seemed reasonable to her: children ought to feel comfortable demanding an audience if they were going to ride in this huge building. The bleachers were empty, but the stadium seating along the arena railing seemed to be pretty full.

“Where’s Mackie, then?” Anna asked. “Her class isn’t until this afternoon, right?”

“She seems to think that Michael might need some coaching,” said Joseph. If his voice was hesitant, the twinkle in his eye wasn’t. “Bossing, more like. It’s a good thing that boy is laid-back or Kage’s household will be hell until they both grow up and go out on their own.”

“She’s got a good heart,” Maggie said repressively.

Joseph looked at her, and Anna saw that he adored the woman who sat beside him. “She’s just like her grandma,” he said, patting her hand. “Tough, straightforward, and determined. You didn’t turn out so bad, Maggie my love. If she’s half the woman you are, the world better watch out.”

“Joseph,” said a stranger who came down the short stretch of stairs until he could stand next to Joseph’s chair, which was on the aisle. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“My grandson’s riding,” Joseph said with dignity. “Where else would I be?”

And the two men started talking about other days and other shows. Horses they’d owned, horses other people had owned. They were joined by an older woman who could have stepped out of the Grand Ole Opry of the ’80s. She glittered in gold and black tiger stripes, wore too much makeup, and had a voice that decades of smoking had roughened to Marlene Dietrich level. She was bawdy and made both of the old men laugh. Maggie leaned sideways and added a sharp remark that showed that she, too, was a welcome part of this group.

They tried to include Chelsea, and she smiled on cue, but she was noticeably tense in the big, noisy crowd. Anna glanced at Charles, who was watching Chelsea, too.

He didn’t look worried, so she sat back and looked around. Directly in front of them, a large group of very well-groomed and glittering horses circled the arena at a very, very slow canter. As soon as she started watching them, Charles whispered in her ear, “Half Arab, Anglo-Arab western pleasure, amateur owner to ride, section one. This is an elimination round. The best of them will go on to the semifinal round. That’s why no one in the audience is too excited about it, except for the cheering sections for each horse and rider.”

“They are very slow,” she said after a moment. “Shouldn’t they be going faster? What if something was chasing them? I think Portabella
walked
faster than this yesterday. What’s an Anglo-Arab?”

“Half Thoroughbred, half Arab. It was the first of the half-bred Arabs to gain popularity. The Thoroughbred added size, so bigger people could ride. These are almost all quarter-horse or paint crossbreeds, except for the Appaloosa down there.” He paused. “That’s a really nice Appaloosa.”

Joseph, still chatting with his buddies, had apparently been paying attention to them, too. “Still got the eye. That mare won this class the past two years running. If this is a fair sampling of her competition, she’s got a good chance of winning it again. If Helen’s daughter-in-law doesn’t take it with her Shining Spark gelding.”

Anna quit trying to parse the horse talk (for instance, what in the world was a Shining Spark gelding?) and just settled in and watched pretty horses moving very slowly with pretty riders wearing sometimes garish colors and lots and lots of glitter. The men were better off than the women, coming off conservative in comparison.

All the while, Anna breathed in deeply, paying attention to what her nose could tell her. Mostly it told her that at least two people around here were wearing too much perfume, and there were lots and lots of horses around.

The riders were called into the center, those advancing to the next level were announced, and then they cleared the ring. Almost instantly the stadium seats filled and the nosebleed bleachers saw some use. Joseph and Maggie’s gossip partners wandered off to find their seats.

Over the loudspeaker, the announcer said, “This is class one-sixteen, lead-line ages two through seven. First in is Candice Hart, riding Little Joe Green by Mister Vanilla out of Desert Wind Doll, with handlers Josie Hart and Karen Tucker.”

And a tiny girl who was younger than Michael came into the ring wearing a tiny pink cowboy outfit that glittered with pink rhinestones under the lights. She wore itty-bitty pink boots and bright pink fringed chaps. She sat on a very small black saddle that looked utterly ridiculous and precious at the same time. Instead of a cowboy hat, she wore a bright pink riding helmet. The horse, a very pale palomino, carried his tiny burden with solemn majesty. The two adults walked on the left side, one holding a lead clipped to the bridle, the other with a hand on the tiny girl’s leg.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Anna seriously.

“Just wait,” said Maggie. “It’s not over yet.”

And one at a time, each little rider was announced and led in. There were English riders, western riders, and one who looked like an extra from
The Sheik
in what the announcer called traditional costume. The costume was a bright-colored flowing thing with enough tassels, jewels, and bangles to leave any self-respecting Bedouin tribesman running for the hills.

“Next in we have Michael Sani on three-time national champion SA Phoenix by Xenophonn out of SA Rose Queen. Leading them in is Kage Sani.”

Michael couldn’t compete with the little fairy doll in pink. Instead, like some of the men Anna had seen in the last class, he was wearing a perfectly respectable blue western-cut shirt with a black shoestring tie. Like his father and Hosteen, Michael looked very much at home on top of the big bay gelding his father led.

When Michael rode past them, he gave his grandfather a solemn nod and patted his horse. Joseph returned the nod but added a grin as he held up both hands clasped together in the traditional victory sign. When the last rider was in, the announcer asked the group to reverse at a walk. They paraded for about five minutes, so that everyone had time to take photos, and then they were taken to the middle of the ring.

Anna couldn’t help a ridiculous twinge of anxiety. Michael looked awesome. But who could compete with a toddler in pink? Or a princess dressed in tassels on a white horse with a tail that dragged the ground? She clenched Charles’s hand, and he clenched her hand back, looking so serious that she knew he was having fun. She had the suspicion that it might be at her expense.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer. “Our judges have been very impressed with this group this morning. What do you say?”

The crowd exploded in a chorus of clapping and whistles. Charles covered Anna’s ears to protect them and winced a little. It was loud. Chelsea had covered her own ears. Good for her.