Courting Disaster (8 page)

Since I could only follow one, I opted for the informant and nudged my way through the crowd until I reached a clearing by the gate. Standing on my toes, I scanned the area. People’s voices rose as the paddock gates opened. It was almost post time. I was going to lose the man.

I saw a horse coming toward me and realized I was too close to the path. When I stepped back, a blow caught me between the shoulder blades. I stumbled forward, almost falling to my knees before I regained my balance. “Watch it!”

I twisted to confront the idiot when another blow struck, pushing me over.

I reached out to break my fall as I hit the ground. Pain shot from my hands into my arms. My knees scraped against the gravel.

Behind me I heard a woman’s scream and an agitated whinny. Fighting to catch my breath, I half-rolled over. The silhouette of a horse loomed over me as it reared.

Sun glinted off its hooves as they came thrashing down at me.

I screamed and flung my hands out, trying to crawl out of the way. Strong hands gripped mine and yanked, dragging me over the gravel like a sack of manure. A hoof landed to the right of my head and lifted again.

Another jerk sent pain searing through my shoulder as my body was dragged forward again. Then those strong hands gentled as they touched my face.

“Carling! Are you hurt?” Through the haze of pain I saw two Jareds crouched over me.

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I reopened them, there was only one. Much better.

“Honey?” Checking for injuries, Jared ran his hands along first my arms and then my legs. “What hurts?”

“Other than a bad case of road burn on my legs, I think I’m okay.” To test my theory, I struggled to sit up.

Jared circled his arm around my shoulders and helped me. I drew in a shuddering breath as my bruised body protested the movement. However, as I checked myself out, bruises and scrapes seemed to be the sum of my injuries. My favorite kelly-green jacket was a goner. My black pants were ripped at the knees, not to mention the dirt ground into the material from my being dragged. I glanced up and saw a crowd of spectators had surrounded us. A jockey dressed in pink and black silks pushed through.

“Lady, what the hell did you think you were doing? You spooked my horse!”

I narrowed my eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything. Someone shoved me in front of you.”

“What?” Jared’s arm tightened until he was almost crushing me. “Someone pushed you? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

The jockey’s angry expression faded. “I’m sorry…I thought…” His Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed. “Are you all right?”

I heard the recorded horn blare. “I’m fine. Get back into the race. I have your horse to win.”

Tipping his cap, the jockey smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned and hurried away. Immediately, several people ran toward the doors leading to betting cages. The odds were going to drop on the horse. Damn.

I considered the painful step of getting to my feet. A man dressed in a white polo shirt and tan chinos crouched beside us, placing a black bag on the ground. “I’m the track’s medic.”

“She says no broken bones,” Jared advised him.

“Let me double check.” After a quick exam, the medic cleaned, applied ointment to and bandaged the cuts on my knees. When he was finished, I rolled down my pant legs. As he packed his bag he asked, “Do you want to go to the hospital? I can call for an ambulance.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Keep those cuts clean and at the first sign of any redness or infection, get to your family doctor.”

The crowd had dissipated with the announcement of one minute to post time. I watched a woman dressed in a sleek black suit and carrying a clipboard approach us from the clubhouse. From her serious expression, I placed her as the track’s risk manager.

“Hello.” She gave us a quick survey before smiling. “I’m Irena Kozlov, the track’s claims manager.”

Bingo.

“I need to ask a few questions if you feel up to it.”

Not sitting down, I didn’t. I drew my legs up with my knees protesting the movement and with Jared’s help scrambled to my feet.

Irena proceeded to do the protect-the-racetrack-from-a-lawsuit thing. She rattled off a series of questions but stopped when Jared held up a hand.

“Aren’t you going to call the police?”

Irena frowned. “Whatever for? I assure you. I will file the accident report with our carrier. We are self-insured and will be more than happy to pay Ms. Dent’s medical bills should she see a doctor.”

Her gaze flicked over my clothes. “We’ll also pay for a new outfit.”

“Carling said she was pushed into the horse’s path.”

The woman tapped the end of her pen on the clipboard. “Sir, and you are…”

“A friend.”

“Did you see Ms. Dent pushed?”

“No, but she’s—”

“It’s always crowded by the paddock at race time. What makes you think it was deliberate?”

Time for me to intervene. I pursed my lips. “Hmm, let me think. Sharp blow delivered precisely between my shoulder blades?”

Irena’s brow arched. “Can you describe this person?”

“No.”

“Is there a reason why someone would single you out to attack?”

“Perhaps because the lovely lady has had amazing luck today.” Vladimir Petrov rushed down the sidewalk.

For the first time I remembered my bag. Fortunately, I had looped it across my chest and had fallen on top of it. The tan leather purse was battered with deep claw-like marks, but it was intact. I opened it and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my bulging wallet.

“I came as soon as I heard you were hurt. Are you sure we can’t take you to a hospital?”

I threw a smug look at the other woman. “I’m fine, Vladimir. Nothing that a few ice packs won’t cure.”

Then I caught Jared’s dark expression. Was he jealous? I thought about playing up to Vladimir, but I wasn’t really attracted to him. Besides, I didn’t know what was going on at the track. I suddenly didn’t want to play games in shark-infested waters. I took a small step toward Jared.

He draped his arm around my shoulders and gave Vladimir one of those testosterone-laden “she’s mine” smiles. “Ms. Kozlov here has our information. If you don’t need anything more, I’d like to get Carling home.”

All cool business, Vladimir gave an abrupt nod. “Of course. I will report the matter to the police in case there is someone working the track to rob winners. They may call you.”

“Carling will be happy to cooperate.” When Jared carried his routine one step too far by squeezing my shoulder, I gave him a sharp elbow nudge in the ribcage.

We took our leave but I could feel Vladimir’s gaze burning a hole in my back. I fumed until we reached the parking lot. When Jared tried to steer me in the direction of his car, I dug in my heels.

“I’m taking my car.”

“No, you’re coming with me as a safety precaution. How much did you win?”

“Enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“Lady Luck was with me today. Several thousand.” That was vague enough. He’d throw me over his shoulder and toss me into the car if he knew how much was in my purse. On the other hand, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“Carling. You have that look on your face.” Jared’s eyes narrowed. “You’re holding out on me.”

Lesson learned. I shouldn’t think yummy thoughts about Jared’s hands on my body while trying to maintain a poker face.

“If you’re so worried about my safety, you can walk me to my car and see me off.” I limped across the sun-baked asphalt toward the shaded spot where I had parked.

Jared made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl of frustration and then caught up with me. “Are you ever going to listen to me?”

The day’s events had left a stew of conflicting emotions simmering inside me. Had Jared really met with an informant? Or was that envelope he received a bribe? Had I been pushed for my winnings…or because I was a threat to someone?

I needed a release and egging on Jared fit the bill. I reached the driver’s side of the Mustang and clicked open the lock.

“Only when you whisper sweet little nothings in my ear,” I taunted. Jared’s pillow talk had never been sweet, but rather hot, hot, hot.

Abruptly, he spun me around until my back slammed against the warm metal door. “Oomph!” I exhaled as Jared’s hard body pressed against mine.

“You always have to push people’s buttons, don’t you? You can never leave things well enough alone.”

But I couldn’t answer the charge because Jared’s mouth soon devoured mine. A nip of my lower lip. A click of teeth. Then complete possession as his clever tongue explored every crevice. He shifted, spreading his legs slightly so that my body cradled his hard length.

The summer heat didn’t compare to the firestorm that ignited inside me. I whimpered as his mouth turned to pressing hot kisses along my neck.
Damn it, why wasn’t I wearing a skirt?
I knew only too well how his hands would have felt beneath the hem, his long fingers sliding under the lace-trimmed edge of my panties to—

Just as suddenly, the sensual assault was over. Jared, his chest heaving, a heated glaze to his eyes, released me and stepped away. “Damn it, Carling! I don’t want it to be like this.”

In other words, he didn’t want to want me. Hurt curled around my heart, squeezing until the pain was unbearable. I wrapped my arms around myself. I would not cry.

“It takes two to tango.”

“And it takes two to fight. Just once, I would like—” He halted, running a hand through his hair. “Look. Get in the car and go. I’ll follow you home.”

My devastation was complete. I’d been in a public parking lot, ready to come with one more touch, and now he was sending me home like I was a child. I gathered what dribbles of pride I still had and opened the door.

“Carling, that didn’t come out right.”

I slid onto the seat, wincing at the hot fabric, and started the car. Thank God the engine roared to immediate life, its growl matching my snarling mood. I cracked open the window.

“Watch your toes.” Then, with a press on the accelerator, I peeled out.

I didn’t look back until I pulled to a stop in front of my townhouse. As I exited the car, I saw Jared slowly drive past. He had kept his word.

I walked along the path. When we had been involved before, too often we’d both broken promises for the sake of our jobs. Our relationship could be summed up as blazing sex on the run. The last weeks we spent as a couple had been spent fighting or having sex. It had been enough then and if I was brutally honest, it would have continued being enough.

Once inside the house, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. I’d almost begged Jared to take me in public. I opened my eyes and stared at the garish living room. For a time today I’d been this wild, abandoned woman. There were aspects of her that I admired. Bold, not giving a damn. However, she had other traits I hated.

My heart told me I needed more with Jared. Love, commitment, compromise. The problem was that I didn’t know if either one of us was capable of these qualities.

From her pinched, haunted expression, unlike me, the woman sitting on the other side of the conference table remembered too much. However, we were connected on one level.

We were both victims of violent crimes.

Once you’ve been a victim, you possess the stain of fear for the rest of your life. If your purse is stolen, you clutch it tighter when you go out. If your home is broken into, every night you check a second or third time that every window and door is locked.

You might cover up your fear with indifference, bravado or humor, but still…you looked at the world through different eyes. You have been violated.

I knew that my eyes held the same cool, wary expression as Sheree Greiner’s. Her senior year photograph had shown a vivacious eighteen-year-old with long sun-streaked dark hair and a sweet smile, who had clearly loved funky clothes.

The girl before me was a pale reflection of that picture. After all, she had been brutally battered, raped and left for dead in a Dumpster. But somewhere beneath the light-hearted exterior, there had been a strong survivor, and she had managed to drag herself out of the trash and crawl for help.

Gone were the eyeliner and brightly colored lipstick. Sheree had applied only the merest dusting of neutral makeup. She wore tan slacks and a knit shirt that was at least two sizes too big. The only glimpse of her former style was her earrings—bright, dangling bars of gold, silver and copper.

Her once straight slip of a nose was now crooked with a bump on the bridge, and a thin reddish-white scar ran along her neck where the rapist had cut her. But the most dramatic change in Sheree’s appearance was her hair. She’d shorn it to almost a buzz cut. Her attacker had wrapped her hair around her neck, threatening to strangle her in order to control her.

That would not happen again.

The victim arched a brow. “Have you stared enough yet?” Her voice was hard and brittle. “Or do you want before and after photographs? Mr. Lopez here can supply you with all the ones you want.”

The prosecutor, Andy Lopez, gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her hand. “I’ve already supplied Ms. Dent with her discovery requests.”

Best to be straightforward. I’d had a stomach full of people staring at my scar.

“Sorry. I was just noticing the changes.”

The girl’s mouth twisted. “You mean, I’m uglier.”

“No, you’re stronger,” I said quietly. I laid out my folders and nodded for the court reporter to administer the oath.

Taking a victim’s deposition is akin to walking across a razor-edged glass bridge over a deep gorge. One false question and you can go crashing down, cutting the major artery to your defense in the process.

The world would be a lovely place if all victims were clean as a whistle, but they’re not. A crime has been committed, yes, but motives during prosecution can be convoluted. Were they fingering your client out of revenge or greed? Or, as in the case before me, might they have mistakenly identified the attacker?

The rapist should pay for his crime, but the right man needed to be behind bars.

I sped through the preliminary background questions, and then took a deep breath. This was where the deposition got tough. “Let me draw your attention to Easter weekend.”

The light faded from Sheree’s eyes, and I knew she had withdrawn deep into a shell of numbness.

“You were working in one of the ticket booths at Whiplash.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I was working ten to six that weekend.”

After I’d found the name on Borys’s disk, I had done some research. Whiplash was a new theme park in western Palm Beach. As far as entertainment, it had it all. Cram packed with the latest rides and video game arcades, it had become an instant hit with the kids. A large rink outfitted with flashing lights and a funky modern theme switched between roller-skating and ice skating with the seasons. Alternating live bands with DJ music on Friday and Saturday nights ensured it was a place to see and be seen. The park even boasted several restaurants.

Innocuous enough. However, what were the odds the rape occurred at a park owned by the Russian mob? I’d had our investigator Gabe run a criminal activity check, and Whiplash had its fair share of robberies and car break-ins. I gave a mental shrug. It could be a coincidence.