Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (16 page)

storage unit. I intended to sort through everything, but

haven't had the opportunity. He kept accurate records of

every horse he trained prior to a race. If he thought a

horse should have run well, but didn’t, he'd write in great

detail possible reasons for the bad race.”

“I may be dense, but why don't you want Brett to

know the records exist?”

“Because I need proof that my father stiffed Cash a

Bet in that race. Just because the FBI says he did it,

doesn't make it true. Perhaps there's a clue in his records

about organized crime or why he did what he did.”

Rye nodded. “Sounds like a possibility, but I still

don't see a problem telling Brett. I take it your father was

a prolific record keeper?”

“Yes. He stayed up every night writing in the day’s

events. He must have filled a hundred notebooks over the

years. He always looked for a pattern in a horse's

behavior. Then he decided how to train that particular

horse.”

“You don't look for patterns when you train?”

“No. I make my decision solely on the way the horse

is acting on a particular morning.”

“What are your plans for Rising Sun?”

Suspicion tingled her spine. “What do you mean?”

“Are you planning to race him as a two-year-old or

wait until January when he turns three?”

She relaxed. Sounded like Rye was simply making

conversation. “I haven't decided. He wasn't born until

October, so even though he officially turned two in

January with all the other horses born last year, he's still

immature. I want to work him out of the gate this spring.

That's the only plan I have so far. Maybe if a two-year-old

race catches my eye this fall, I'll run him. Why do you

ask?” He shrugged. “Just curious.”

The SUV pulled into Jenna's driveway. Right away

she noticed the door to her apartment was ajar. Rye's

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question was forgotten. She unsnapped her seatbelt and

reached for the door handle. Rye's hand closed on her

arm. “Don't go charging in. Who has a key?”

“No one. Except the landlord.”

“Then someone broke in. And they might still be

there.”

Her heart fought hard to escape her ribcage. “What

do you suggest?”

“I'll check it out. Call Brett and let him know what's

happening.”

Jenna clutched his arm. “Remember, Rye. When he

gets here, don't mention the storage unit.”

His gaze settled on her face, his thoughts well

hidden. As if he hadn't heard her plea, he slid out of the

SUV.

Jenna dialed Brett and quickly told him what had

happened. She'd just hung up when Rye waved her into

the apartment. Scrambling out of the SUV, she hurried

through the open door. Rye grabbed her by the waist as

she tried to go past him.

“Wait. You're not going to like what you see.”

“What's the matter?” Did she really want to know?

Another horse part? God, when would this nightmare

end? “The apartment has been ransacked. Someone was

looking for something specific. Any idea what?”

“My father's records?” she asked, holding his gaze. A

whiff of tobacco tickled her nose. “Do you smell that?”

He breathed deep. “No. What? I don't smell

anything.”

“Cigar. Someone smoked a cigar in here.”

He sniffed again. “Perhaps. Did you keep anything of

value in the apartment?”

“No. Brett's on his way.”

“He's going to ask you the same questions.”

Rye had changed his mind about keeping Brett in the

dark. Jenna didn't need to hear words. The apology in his

eyes told her all she needed to know.

Her mouth tightened. “You promised. If you tell him,

he'll confiscate everything before I can look through the

boxes.”

“Jesus, Jenna,” Rye snapped. “You're putting me in

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an impossible position. Where's the damn key?”

“I'll go get it.” Stepping over the couch cushions on

the floor, she entered the bedroom and gasped. Nothing

Rye might have said would have prepared her for the

disarray in the room. The mattress had been sliced in

pieces and strewn about the floor. Every drawer in her

bureau had been taken out, the contents dumped, the

drawer then thrown to the other side of the room. Clothes

that once hung in the closet were strewn about the floor.

She'd been violated. A stranger had broken into her home,

touched her clothes, destroyed her furniture.

“Now you know why I'm having second thoughts

about keeping secrets from Brett.”

A wave of panic almost knocked Jenna down. Had

whoever caused this destruction found the key? “Help me

find my denim jacket.” She dropped to her knees,

frantically pawing through the tangle of clothes and

pieces of mattress all over the carpet.

“Is this it?” Rye asked, pulling something denim from

underneath the overturned box spring.

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed it with

unsteady hands. Her fingers searched inside for the small

zippered pocket. Yes! She touched the outline of the key

through the denim material. “I've got it.”

“Hello? Rye? Are you in here?”

The sound of Brett's voice filled her with dread.

Jenna shoved her arms in the sleeves of the jacket.

“I can't do this,” Rye said quietly. “I won't put your

life in danger.”

“Can't do what?” Brett inquired, walking into the

room. “Wow!” His eyes widened at the destruction.

Rye's attention stayed glued on Jenna. He ended the

several moments of silence. “Either you tell him, or I will.”

Jenna made no attempt to hide her anger and

disappointment before turning to Brett. “When my dad

died, I stored his files and horse journals. I wanted to

retrieve them today and asked Rye not to tell you until I

looked at them first.”

Brett did a quick visual sweep of the room. “By

chance is someone else looking for those same files?”

Jenna threaded her fingers through her curls in

frustration. “I don't know. It's possible. Please

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understand, Brett. I need to know why I'm a target.

Perhaps the answer's in that storage unit.”

“Agents are on the way. As soon as they get here, the

three of us will go check out this storage unit together.”

****

attempts to initiate a conversation, each one met with a

grunt or a one word answer.

“How much further?”

She shrugged. “About twenty minutes.”

Great. Three word response. “How long are you going

to give me the cold shoulder?”

Jenna shot him a look that would have leveled a

boxer.

“I don't care how angry you are. I won't apologize for

making a decision that might save your life.”

No response. He braked at a red light and turned to

face her. She stared straight ahead, her body stiff enough

to crack. “I would have never pegged you for a woman who

sulked.”

She turned angry gray eyes on him. “I don't sulk.”

“What do you call it?”

“I thought I could trust you. I'm disappointed to find

out I can't.”

Jenna faced front again. “The light's green.”

Rye stepped on the gas and the SUV surged forward.

“You accuse me of not trusting you. I could point the same

finger at you. Why don't you trust that I'm doing what's

best for your well-being?”

Silence greeted his question.

“It's obvious you're an only child,” he grumbled. “You

don't have a clue how to handle a disagreement.” No sense

wasting his breath on trying to make Jenna see the

situation through his eyes. He concentrated on driving.

“Turn right at the next intersection.”

Just as she spoke, Rye's cell rang. He grabbed it off

the dash. “Yeah?” His muscles tensed. “Sure thing.”

Instead of turning right, Rye went straight through the

intersection and turned into the parking lot of a

convenience store.

“What are you doing?” Jenna asked, her agitation

practically humming from her body. “You missed the

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turn.”

“That was Brett. We're being tailed. He told me to

head to the track. Don't turn around,” he warned, when

she started to look over her shoulder.

“Brett's sure someone's following us?”

“Since he's an FBI agent, it never occurred to me to

question his ability to know whether or not he's being

tailed.”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “You don't have to be

sarcastic.”

Rye ignored her. The lingering tension in the SUV

put him on edge. Jenna could emotionally blow at the

drop of a pin. Playing cloak and dagger was getting old

real fast. He breathed a little easier when he pulled onto

the backside. Jenna opened the door. He grabbed her arm.

“Wait for Brett.”

“Right,” she muttered about as enthusiastic as a

woman waiting to get a mammogram.

In the rearview mirror, Rye watched Brett's car turn

into a parking space. A dark sedan parked right beside

him. Brett cut the engine and got out.

“I don't believe it,” Rye breathed.

“What is it?” Jenna asked, stretching her body to see

what was going on.

“It's Hills. He must have been the one following us.”

“Well, since it's not someone out to murder me, I'll go

visit Rising Sun and look at tomorrow’s training

schedule.” Jenna stepped out of the SUV.

“Okay, I'll be there...” The car door slammed. “...in a

minute,” Rye finished. “She could have at least waited,”

he mumbled.

Rye joined his brother and Hills talking next to

Brett's car.

“Well, hello, Mr. Cameron.”

Rye nodded a greeting to the overweight detective.

“Jenna's gone to see Rising Sun,” Rye answered Brett's

unasked question.

Hills' eyes narrowed. “I understand there was a bit of

excitement out at your place last night.”

“I guess you could call it that,” Rye said.

“I'm wondering why the department wasn't notified.

Even though we're not officially involved in your case, Mr.

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Cameron, you do, after all, live in our jurisdiction. It's

only decent protocol to keep us informed.”

Rye smiled and nodded toward his brother.

“Complain to him, not me.” He sauntered off to find

Jenna.

****

backstretch soothed Jenna's nerves. She leaned against

Rising Sun, scratching him behind the ears.

Except for the rustle of a few horses stirring in their

straw-covered stalls, quiet prevailed. Rising Sun hooked

his head over her shoulder and pressed his muzzle into

her back. She squeezed back her tears and forced away

the foreboding that haunted her day and night. A

foreboding that something bad would happen soon.

A flood of sadness swamped her. Jenna swallowed

the emotional outburst that worked upward from her

heart.

Rye's voice interrupted the pity party. “Feel better

now that you've seen him?”

Reluctantly, she dropped her arms from the horse

and moved toward the stall opening. Her body rubbed

against Rye as she ducked under the webbing. Just that

tiny contact pushed her sexual buttons. The attraction for

this man wasn't going away. She had two choices. Ignore

it or satisfy it. Perhaps if she chose to go the satisfaction

route, she'd be able to focus on something else. With that

thought, she leaned against the side of the barn and lifted

her gaze to his. A half smile tipped the corners of his

mouth. A mouth made for kissing.

What the hell was she thinking? Shaking the erotic

thoughts from her mind, she forced herself to look away

from Rye's magnetism and pushed away from the barn.

“I'm relieved. I've no doubts now. The horse in that stall is

mine.”

Jenna closed her eyes when he raised his hand and

trailed his fingers down her cheek. “Jenna, I...”

“You two ready to go?” Brett turned the corner of the

barn and came toward them, interrupting whatever Rye

had been about to say.

“Hills is gone. The man is pissed that he's being left

out of the loop.”

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“You told him we were going to get my father's horse

journals?”

Brett grinned. “Not exactly. I told him what

happened at the farm last night. One of your neighbors in

the apartment complex had called the police station when

they saw your door open. Hills was on his way to

investigate when we pulled out of the driveway. That's

why he followed us. He's headed back to your apartment

to aid in the investigation.”

“Which leaves us free and clear to continue to the

storage unit,” Rye concluded. “Are you ready, Jenna?”

Rye fell into step beside her, leaving Brett to walk

behind. “I don't like this friction between us,” he

murmured.

A shiver went through her. Neither did she. Not too

long ago there'd been a friction between them that she'd

enjoyed very much. Her face heated remembering their