The Secret Brokers (6 page)

“Yet,” he told her. “Trust me, if they put a tag team on you, they are going to talk to you sooner or later. They’re just waiting for the right moment.”

Gwen studied the man’s profile. “And how would you know that?”

Dallas grinned. “Experience.”

Gwen let her eyes linger on his lean frame. “What kind of experience would you have with the FBI?”

“More than I care to remember.” He turned away and quickly walked toward the red barn.

The long barn had ten wide stalls, and as they made their way down the center aisle, horses began poking their heads out from behind every stall door. The aroma of horses mixed with manure, wood shavings, and hay filled the air around Dallas. After living for so many months in the cement confines of New York City, he had forgotten how pungent the odor of these large animals could be.

***

Gwen walked up to one of the stalls and held out her hand to a tall, strawberry roan. When Gwen began rubbing the animal’s long head, the horse closed his eyes and gave a loud sigh.

“This is Fred.” Gwen scratched the horse’s head. “He came from a race track in Cajun country outside of Lafayette. He was a stall walker.” She turned to Dallas. “He paced around his stall most of the night and when race day came he was too tired to run. So they shut the door on him.”

Dallas stared at Gwen. “Shut the door? I don’t understand.” He waved at a passing fly.

“When a race horse is no longer profitable, many owners simply shut their stall doors and starve them to death. When the animal is dead, they pay off the vet to say the animal died of undetermined causes, so they can collect the insurance.”

“Starve them to death?” Dallas shook his head. “You mean they literally starve them to death?”

Gwen nodded. “No food or water; usually takes a couple of days. The lucky ones get bullets or bats to the head. The general public doesn’t know how really cruel the racing industry is to these magnificent creatures. There are only a few horses that win races, Dallas. What do you think happens to the losers? No one wants them, so they are killed off, or….” She turned back to the horse. “The lucky ones are discovered by people like me. I get anonymous tips from caring grooms or hands on the track that will let me know when they have closed the stall on an animal or marked them for termination. I go in, offer to buy the horse, and haul them away. The owners don’t care who takes the animal off their hands, as long as they can make some money out of the deal.” She looked down the shed row of stalls. “Every horse in this barn has been rescued from a race track. I fix them up and get them new homes.”

Dallas took in all of the horses in the barn. “I never knew that went on. I guess I thought they all ended up in a pasture somewhere.” He swatted at another passing fly.

Gwen took a step away from Fred. The horse reached out his nose and nuzzled her hand. “No one knows, except those of us who do rescue. Sometimes we can get them new lives as jumpers in the show ring, or find people willing to take a disabled horse.”

Dallas walked over to a tall, dark bay in the next stall. “Disabled? They all look pretty healthy to me.” He reached out and stroked the animal’s long head.

She walked over to the stall Dallas was standing in front of. “Yeah, they look good, but on the inside they’re suffering. They have been through years of drug abuse to increase their performance, and it has done a lot of damage to their kidneys and livers. I can’t tell you how many horses I lose to kidney disease at young ages like eight or ten. There are no regulations on what trainers can pump into these animals, and no one gives a damn about the long-term effects. Then they may be pin fired,” she said as she pointed at the front legs on the dark bay Dallas was petting “You see those pin marks on his front shins?”

Dallas looked down at the animal’s legs and saw the small dots she was referring to. He nodded as he turned his head back to her.

“They do that to set the bones faster on younger horses so they can run them sooner. It helps to protect against bone chips or hairline fractures from running them too young.”
She sighed as she lovingly stroked the bay’s head. “Thousands of these beautiful animals die every day as a result of the cruelty that is inflicted on them by the racing industry. But I guess the cruelty of people shouldn’t be a big surprise to someone like you, should it, Dallas?”

Dallas cast his eyes to the sawdust gathered on the barn floor. “Meaning?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Carl didn’t tell my father much about you except that you were the best at what you do. Was he talking about protecting people, or did he have something else in mind?”

Dallas raised his ice-cold eyes to her. “Something else?”

She folded her arms across her chest and stared into his face. “I get the impression there is more to this than either you or Carl are willing to admit. You don’t look like a bodyguard.”

“And what do I look like?” he asked, keeping his face void of emotion.

She let her blue-green eyes travel down his toned body. “You look like someone more used to killing people than protecting them.”

Dallas raised one dark eyebrow. “If I was a killer, Gwen, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

“What did Carl promise you? Money, power, some untold fantasy fulfilled if you get me to talk?”

Dallas turned away and stepped over to another nearby stall. “Talk? About what? I was hired to protect you. Why would you think otherwise, Gwen?”

She quickly walked up to him. “I’m not an idiot. The FBI can protect me just as well as you. Carl Bordonaro wants something from me, something he has sent you to get; so let’s not pretend anymore.”

“And what if I was to say you’re reading too much into this? Carl hired me to protect you. If you have anything to say then I suggest you call him. I’m not Carl Bordonaro’s interrogator.” He paused and gazed about the barn. “I suggest you show me the rest of your property before it gets dark. I want to get my bearings before we turn in for the night.”

Dallas swatted at yet another passing insect.

Gwen frowned at him. “What’s up with you and the flies? Are you allergic or something? Because if you are, you better let me know right now, in case you get bitten.”

Dallas shook his head. “I’m not allergic.” Another fly came close to his face and Dallas jumped out of the way.

“I can see this is going to be a real fun two weeks,” Gwen commented. She turned around and headed for the barn doors. “The storage and supply shed are this way, but there is nothing in there but extra feed, a tractor, and an ATV that I use to go through some of the trails in the woods,” she added over her shoulder.

“Let’s just take a look, anyway. I need to see everything,” he insisted behind her.

She turned to him. “There’s the manure pile behind the shed. Do you want to check that out, too?
”

He came up beside her. “Not unless you think the bad guys are hiding in it.”

“If that were the case then you could just smell them coming and shoot them with your fancy gun.”

Dallas shook his head. “Just show me the shed, Gwen.”

“Suit yourself.” She turned away from him.

Dallas felt a ripple of apprehension make its way down his spine as he followed her out of the barn. He wasn’t comfortable with this assignment. The woman knew too much and Carl had left a hell of a lot out of the profile, making Dallas vulnerable. And he hated
feeling
vulnerable, because being vulnerable in his business was as good as being dead.

Dallas was in the kitchen going through the pantry when Gwen sauntered in. The room was done in pale shades of taupe with dark walnut cabinets and beige tile covering the countertops. The appliances were stainless steel and looked relatively new. There was even an assortment of copper pots hanging from a pot rack over an island located in the center of the kitchen. On the countertops were a microwave, gourmet coffee maker, a Cuisinart machine, and fancy Italian bread maker.

“You must like to cook,” Dallas commented as he closed the pantry door.

She walked over to the refrigerator. “What makes you say that?”

He nodded to the bread maker and Cuisinart. “Not the usual things people have on their kitchen counters.”

Gwen glanced at the appliances. “I do like to cook, but not for strangers.”

“What do you cook?” Dallas asked, leaning his hip against the kitchen island.

“What do you mean, what do I cook? Food, of course?”

Dallas snickered. “What kind? Italian? French? Chinese?”

She placed her hands in the back pockets of her blue jean overalls. “How do you know so much about cooking?”

“I grew up cooking in my mother’s restaurant,” he stated, watching her fidget.

“And how did you go from helping your mother at the family restaurant to doing what it is that you do?”

“Does it matter?”

Gwen shook her head. “No. And I’m really not a cook.” She motioned to the appliances on her counter. “My ex wanted me to be a cook and bought me these things, hoping I would pick up the skill. When I left him, I took everything with me. Figured there was no point in letting him keep them.” She opened the freezer door and grabbed a frozen dinner from inside.

Dallas spied the selection of frozen dinners neatly stacked inside of the freezer. “That’s what you’re going to eat for dinner?”

She looked down at the lasagna dinner in her hand. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it? It’s easy, saves me time so I can get back to work, and there are no dirty dishes after.”

“But it’s also unhealthy, full of sodium, and, from my experience, tasteless,” Dallas argued.

Gwen slammed the freezer door closed. “There’s soup in the pantry, if you prefer something else.”

Dallas opened the refrigerator door. Inside he found half of a rotisserie chicken, some eggs, milk, a large wedge of cheddar cheese, cold cuts, bread, and a few fruit drinks. He pulled out the eggs, cheese, chicken, and milk, and placed them on the counter next to the refrigerator.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to the grocery and restock your fridge. If I’m going to stay here, you’re going to have to try my cooking instead of those frozen dinners.”

Gwen frowned at him. “What do you mean ‘we’? You’re the one with the frozen dinner issues, not me. If you want to go to the store, then you go alone.”

Dallas pulled a copper pan from the pot rack above the island. “Wherever I go, you go. Even if it means tying you up and throwing you in the trunk, we will be going to the store together in the morning.”

Gwen ripped open the frozen dinner box, pulled out the plastic tray, and tossed it in the microwave. “Fine, but I have to feed the horses first. Animals get fed before the humans around here.”

Dallas gave her a devilish grin. “Why does that not surprise me? Your animals probably eat better than you do.”

Gwen tried to maintain the angry glint in her eyes, but the more she stared at him, the more he could see the smile trying to sneak across her lips. Finally, she broke out in a fit of laughter.

Dallas noted how her features softened before him as the warmth from her smile lightened her appearance. Her small nose crinkled, her eyes became less guarded, and for an instant he could see the beautiful woman hiding beneath the mask she had been wearing ever since he had set foot on her property.

Gwen grabbed at her side as her laughter ebbed. “Oh, God! Are you always like this? You’re such an asshole.”

Dallas was taken aback by her admission. “I’m an asshole? Lady, you should take a look in the mirror!”

Gwen took in Dallas anew. “I have,” she whispered. “I know what I am, Dallas. The problem is I think you’re trying too hard to push my buttons.” She sighed. “Look, I don’t trust a lot of people, and letting a stranger into my home is difficult enough for me. I’ve been angry with my father and Carl for putting me in this situation, and unfortunately, I have been venting my frustrations on you. I promise to try and be more…civil…if you promise to stop scowling all the time.”

He examined her face, searching for a hint of sincerity, but instead he became distracted by the Gwen’s alluring beauty. The softness of her skin, the curl of her pale lips, and the depth of her blue-green eyes intrigued him. Up until that moment he had never been enticed by her beauty, but he found himself momentarily bewitched by her. Then he remembered what she said about not trusting people, and her words instantly brought to mind another woman who had once told him the same thing. He wondered if he would ever be free of Nicci’s spell. Dallas turned away from Gwen and walked over to the stove with his pan.

“I’m just doing my job, Gwen. How you take it is up to you.” He went back to the counter by the refrigerator and picked up the eggs.

At that moment, the microwave started beeping.

Gwen went to the microwave, grabbed a nearby towel, and took out her frozen dinner.

“I have paperwork to do. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my study,” she said as she headed for the door.

“Bowls?” Dallas questioned behind her.

Gwen turned back to him. “Try the cabinet next to the stove. I think that’s where they are.”

“You think?” Dallas commented in a sarcastic tone.