Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash (33 page)

Jenna’s throat tightened. Without a reference and blackballed by the powerful Burke family, Wally might have considerable problems. As would she. “What did you do with all that cash from the massages?” she asked quietly.

“Paid for the surgery for the Tutty horse. Remember Copper Duke…also the Fraelic mare.”

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. Two expensive surgeries. No wonder Burke despised Wally. The Canadians had ignored all the help Wally gave struggling owners. Overlooked the free services the Center provided. But Burke called it stealing. The reason didn’t matter. He didn’t condone thieves or liars. And he considered her to be both.

“I’m sorry. You tried to help everyone, and it turned out to be such a disaster. You lost your severance because of me.” She blew out a ragged sigh. “Emily is quitting college,” she admitted.

Wally shrugged. “Not surprised.”

“She was doing well until her boyfriend dumped her. That messed her up.”

“You blame everything on men.” Wally’s voice turned dry. “Emily is just spoiled.”

Jenna automatically shook her head then stopped and blew out another sigh. “Guess she lied about how well she was doing.”

“And you can’t blame that on the boyfriend.” Wally propped his legs on a bulging box and leaned against the sofa. “Wonder if the new manager will put the sofa by the other window. I always liked the view of the gallop track.”

“Don’t know.” Jenna swallowed, relieved he’d changed the subject. Wally was ever empathetic. “Expect she’ll want the walls painted though. Think she favors red.”

“Red? Good grief.” Wally forced a carefree laugh. “Glad I’m moving.”

Jenna managed a weak smile but set down her unwanted beer. “Larry is due for his security check. I’m going to gather Peanut and get out of here once his truck leaves. Tomorrow I’ll come up with my car and we can move your stuff to my place.” She hesitated. “Don’t drink any more, okay?”

“Nah, I’m done. Take the flashlight, kid. Larry won’t see a thing.”

“I’m okay. Don’t need one on the path.” She impulsively reached over and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best friend I ever had. The best friend Mom ever had too.”

He smiled. But it was flat and humorless, and her heart twisted. “See you tomorrow,” she added, slipping out the door.

She padded down the dark hall, pausing when she heard Larry’s diesel. Stayed motionless while he checked the locks. At least, Burke didn’t know she’d been sneaking Peanut in for free sessions. He’d only despise her more.

Larry’s pickup rumbled off and she continued toward the oxygen wing. Nifty stuck his head over the stall door, eyes bright and content. Obviously he enjoyed having company in the next stall. Of course, other than Burke, who didn’t like Peanut?

She couldn’t even see her pony and had to press close to the door and peer down. Peanut lifted his head, stalks falling from his mouth, then turned back to the expensive hay as though keen to finish.

“Okay, fellow. Eat up. We won’t be back here again.” She stepped into his stall and ran her hands over his shiny coat. So much improved. Peanut would be an excellent testimonial for Three Brooks if only his treatment hadn’t been so furtive.

Snap
. She stiffened at the sound of breaking metal. A door? Not Wally. The noise came from the receiving doors at the other end. Burke? Shit. She dropped into the straw, pressing against the wooden wall. If he didn’t look over the door, maybe he wouldn’t spot Peanut.

Two people, masculine voices. Her chest thumped and she pressed deeper into the prickly straw. Burke? Back with the police? Was he having them arrested?

She hadn’t really believed he’d press charges. Thought he’d be content to fire her. But he’d definitely view Peanut’s presence as an added betrayal. He’d really hate her then. Probably would involve the police.

Despairing, she slumped in the straw, trying to gather an excuse. But oh, God, she was so screwed.

“Is this the horse?” someone asked, an unfamiliar voice, low and rough.

Police? She knew many of the officers. They’d visited often when her father was binging, but she couldn’t place this voice, not at all.

“Yeah. Useless fucker’s shooting blanks.”

Jenna’s nails curled into her palms. David Ridgeman—unmistakable. But they’d already moved away. Something clicked, then a grinding noise, a mere twenty feet away.

“Explosion will hide the break-in.” David’s laugh was thick with satisfaction. “Can’t have another accident on my property.”

Oh, God! Horror chilled her. Her breath jammed in her throat and she couldn’t move, was grateful she was already on the floor. The oxygen chamber? An explosion would kill Nifty. No wonder David had wanted the horse stabled in this part of the building.

She groped for her phone, fingers so stiff she could barely tug it from her pocket. 911 or was it 411? Her mind blanked. She pressed a familiar speed dial number, and Wally answered on the second ring.

“David Ridgeman and a man are here,” she whispered. “Think they’re planning to kill Nifty.”

“Can’t hear you, Jenna. Speak up.”

“They’re trying to blow up the oxygen chamber. Get help please,” she hissed. “Call Larry or someone.” The sawing stopped and she abruptly ended the call.

“Wait. I heard something.” David Ridgeman’s voice moved closer. She stared at her phone, trembling with horror, blocking the illumination with her hand. If she turned it off, did it chime? It was so new, she didn’t know. Was it on vibrate or ring? She couldn’t remember that either.

Don’t call back, Wally. Please, please, please, don’t call me back
.

“It’s okay. Let’s get that oxygen turned on. We’ll light this place up.” David’s voice quivered with excitement.

Powerful lights flicked on. “Hey!”

She slumped with relief at Wally’s indignant holler. He was here. Everything would be okay. Even the bright aisle lights made her feel safer.

“This is a restricted area,” Wally said, his voice hard and authoritative. “Who let you people in—”

“Shut up,” Crude Voice said.
Thump
. A grunt of pain.

“Don’t shoot him.” David Ridgeman’s voice turned urgent. “They’ll notice a bullet.”

“What do we do?”

“Stick him in the oxygen chamber,” David said.

“What the hell—” Wally’s voice thinned with shock, and Jenna jammed her hand over her mouth, flinching at the scuffling sounds. Then silence, horrible silence.

She dropped back into the straw, her hand trembling. Pressed 911 and whispered frantically into the phone.

The operator’s calm voice was reassuring. “Stay on the line,” the voice said. “We’ll have help there soon.”

“How soon?” Jenna whispered.

“Very soon. Just stay on the line.”

She almost choked on her panic. If they were driving from town it would take at least fifteen minutes. Not fast enough. Once oxygen released, the chamber filled quickly. Burke was closer. She cut the connection, pressed his number but it rang endlessly. Oh, God, maybe he was too furious to take her call.

She hunched in the straw, hands shaking. Were they opening a valve now? Setting some sort of incendiary device?

There was no time. The oxygen supply had to be cut. She inched the door open and crept down the hall, willing her trembling legs to obey.

David and a shorter man in a dark shirt leaned over the control panel, but the jimmied door was wide open. No way could she pass without being seen.

Impossible.

The gap was too wide, too visible, her legs too wobbly. They’d spot her. She wanted to slink outside, hide in the dark and wait for help. She’d heard enough burn stories. Seen too many pictures of gas explosions. Horrible, horrible pictures.

Wally’s white face pressed against the window of the oxygen chamber. His gaze caught hers, and he abruptly banged on the thick glass. Both men swiveled toward the chamber, and she bolted across the opening and down the hall.

Oh, God. She couldn’t believe she’d done it.
Thank you, Wally
. But her breathing was so ragged she was afraid they’d hear. She stumbled through the door of the control room, her gaze scrabbling for the master valve. Where the hell was it? She’d always listened to the safety talks but never imagined she’d have to use the information.

But there it was. Definitely the safety valve. She tugged at the red knob on the left wall then wrenched it desperately to the right. It moved one inch, three, then was completely buried. Done!

She pushed a chair in front of the conspicuous knob and crawled beneath the table, shaking with fear and adrenaline, unable to move another step. Pressed against the cold wall, her breath escaping in terrified pants.

Had she turned it off in time? She didn’t want to sit here, didn’t want to die, but couldn’t desert Wally or Peanut or Nifty.
Ring
. Oh, damn. Her phone. Startlingly loud. Way too loud. She grabbed it, frantically scrambling for the mute button.
Oh, God
!
Burke
.

A hand yanked her wrist, twisting until the phone clattered to the floor.

“What the hell? Someone else is in here,” Crude Voice grumbled, kicking the table back and dragging her out. “You said the place would be empty.”

David loomed in the doorway. His eyes narrowed then gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. It’s just the massage girl. She knows how this works. Bring her here.”

She tried to scramble away but the man yanked her arm behind her back, so high she thought it would break. A helpless whimper squeezed from her throat.

He shoved her into the oxygen room.

“We had pressure for a moment but it disappeared,” David said, checking his watch. “Turn it on, Jenna. And hurry.”

She swallowed, tried to speak, but her throat was too constricted. “It’s…the green button,” she finally managed, staring at the controls, not wanting to look into David’s glittering eyes. “It takes a while. Pressure will build in about fifteen minutes.”

The gun was on the table, on the other side of the control panel. Fifteen feet away. She tried not to stare, but the man’s grip had loosened. Maybe she could grab it.

“That’s not what you said on the tour. Or what was written on the spec sheet.” David’s hand shot out, squeezing her arm in frustration. “What did you do, bitch!”

His hand tightened and she winced. He gave a spiteful smile and squeezed her wrist harder. “Still a little tender, I see.”

She raised her knee, tried to kick, but the man behind wrapped her legs with his, cranking her left arm higher. A hairy forearm banded around her chest. Rancid breath fanned her face.

“Good. Hold her still. Listen to the squeal.” David wrapped his fingers around her hand and pressed.
Crack
. Something shattered, the pain so intense it ripped away her cries. She jerked in agony but the man behind yanked her up. She retched, almost throwing up. David’s face blurred, and helpless thumps sounded from the chamber.

“She’ll talk soon. Has to.” David’s voice rose with excitement. “I’ll break the other wrist. Then she can join—

His body abruptly lifted, jerking in the air like a marionette. She was released so quickly, she crashed against the table and instinctively extended her hand. White-hot pain lanced her arm, and she gave an involuntary cry.

She glimpsed Burke, face contorted with fury, almost unrecognizable. He grabbed Crude Voice, smashed him in the face then tossed him aside like garbage. Turned back to David and yanked the man to his feet. Gripped the front of his shirt with a big fist.
Thud, thud, thud
.

Red covered David’s nose, his jaw and splattered Burke’s fist. A cracking noise replaced the thud. But still Burke hammered, holding David like a punching bag.

Crude Voice rose, clutching his jaw, looking much smaller now. His eyes scuttled to Burke who resembled a maddened mobster. The man turned and fled.

Burke kept striking. Hammering. Crushing. He was going to kill David.

“He’s not worth it,” she yelled. She lurched forward, trying to grab Burke’s piston arm. Something smashed her head, driving her against the metal chamber. Pain knifed.

She fought to remain conscious, struggled to listen to Burke’s frantic voice, then Wally’s. But waves kept crashing, carrying shards of agony, and finally it was easier to let the darkness cover her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Someone groaned. Jenna tried to pry her eyes open—to check who was hurt, but her eyelids were too heavy. Impossible to lift them.

“She needs more medication. Jesus Christ, can’t you give her something.”

Wally’s voice. Her head hurt. Her hand was a jumbled mass of screaming nerves. More groans and she realized she was the one making that awful noise. Tried to stop her whimpers but the pain was excruciating.

“It’s too soon,” another voice said.

“Give her more. Now.” Burke’s voice, hard and inflexible.

Who would argue with that? A little prick in her thigh, barely noticeable, and minutes later a welcome relief swept her away.

***

She turned her head, opened her eyes and blinked at the man slouched in the chair. Wally leaned forward with a huge smile. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi.” Her voice croaked. “Could I have a drink?”

“Sure.” He turned but someone else moved, and a plastic straw pressed between her lips. She tried to suck but it was difficult. Her tongue felt thick, swollen, and water spilled down the side of her mouth. A gentle finger wiped it away. She looked up and saw Burke.

“Is everything all right,” she asked, “at the Center?”

He nodded. “Both arrested. Everything’s fine. Don’t talk.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“You had surgery on your broken hand, and your face has a few…knocks.”

“Oh,” she said and fell back to sleep.

***

Jenna stared in dismay at the bulky white bandage swathing her right hand. “How long?”

“Six weeks,” Burke said, “Approximately.”

“And my face?”

He pivoted and turned his back, studying the array of colorful flowers beneath the window. “It’ll heal.”