Exposed in Darkness Page 13

He laughed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you getting it on with the little bird.”

  I shot him a look that told him not to say another word about Brooke. “Little bird” was a way of calling someone a girlfriend in Irish slang, but the way he said it made it sound cheap.

  Of course, Aidan never knew when to shut up. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, man?”

  “Yes, and you will treat her kindly at the track tomorrow.”

  He stopped chewing and just looked at me. “Are you serious?” he asked through a mouthful of strawberry-rhubarb pie, a Carrie Anne specialty.

  “She’s the best rider we’ve seen in a while.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “She could help On Liam’s Watch win the Derby.”

  He continued to eat nearly half the strawberry pie in silence, while I drank the rest of the wine and considered what little information Brooke had shared about her past. Something had damaged her, caused her to retreat from everything in her life, including a job she obviously liked and was good at. I knew that her husband, Teddy—the governor’s brother—had died a little over a year ago. No doubt that was a big part of what had changed her. A huge part. But something told me there was more to it.

  I would be patient and let Brooke tell me when she was ready. But she’d have to find a way to move past this extended season of mourning. I would not let that vibrant, beautiful woman spend the rest of her life pining for someone who was gone forever. She had another chance at happiness. I’d make sure she took it.

  My phone buzzed against the table.

  “David,” I said as an answer.

  “Miss Fairfax is safely inside the cottage.”

  “You see any sign of someone following her?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That will be all, David. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter 16

  I was able to fit in three different horses’ morning workouts before eight a.m. By the time I rode On Liam’s Watch, the sun was rising over the horizon on the east side of Kensington Race Track. I had yet to lay eyes on Declan, which was a good thing, since I wasn’t sure how I would react when I did. Aidan and I had kept our conversations to horse business, and even then, we exchanged very few words.

  I was organizing tack when José approached me. “Some of us are grabbing breakfast at the track kitchen. You want to join?”

  “I’m in,” Marti answered behind me. She was rubbing down A Fool’s Errand after his bubble bath. “Mom just messaged me that the café was slow, thanks to the scare yesterday morning. She doesn’t need me ’til lunch.” There was regret, sadness, and a whole lot of anger behind her words.

  I shot her an empathetic look. “Sure,” I said to José.

  “I’ve got an hour,” José said. “My shift at the distillery starts at ten.”

  Declan’s vehicle pulled up to the edge of the training barn. David was driving. Declan exited the back seat, a phone to his ear. His eyes found mine almost immediately. He lifted a hand and motioned me over.

  Was he summoning me? I almost laughed at the thought. I had no desire for the entire barn of employees to think I had more “business” with him than simply as a rider of his horses. No one would talk to me if they thought we had some sort of relationship.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to decide right then, because my phone rang—Truman.

  “I’ll meet you guys there,” I called to José and Marti, pointing to my phone. José nodded, but Marti didn’t hear me—she had turned to talk to a groom I had yet to meet, but whose man bun and beard made him look more like a hipster musician or artist than a stable worker. I walked back toward the track, away from potential eavesdroppers and away from Declan.

  “Hi, Truman.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were back to working for the FBI? You said you could help me.”

  “I am helping you. It’s complicated.” That was an understatement. I couldn’t tell Teddy’s brother that the director of the FBI had promised me access to classified information surrounding Teddy’s death.

  “No, you’re helping yourself. You won’t be able to share information with me if you’re under the sanctions of the federal government.”

  I sighed, squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Truman, calm down. Are you at your office?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there by ten thirty.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you then.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Can you get me a VIP tour of Elkhorn Reserve Distillery this afternoon? There is such a thing, right? Something more behind-the-scenes than a standard tour.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure Declan would be happy to give you a private tour.”

  “I can’t explain, but I don’t want him to know. Who’s the best tour guide over there?”

  “That would be Freddy. I’ll make a call.”

  “Thanks, Truman. Schedule the tour for sometime around two, please.”

  He hung up without even saying goodbye.

  When I turned, Declan was there. “Aidan says the morning workouts went well.”

  I eyed him curiously, wondering if he’d overheard my conversation. If he had, he wasn’t saying. “Very well. On Liam’s Watch was feeling good. He sprinted well, seemed fit. He’ll be ready. We’ll keep him in shape and healthy. I want to improve his start and his turns a little, but other than that…”

  “That’s not really why I followed you over here.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about last night. Not exactly how I hoped our evening would end.”

  “It’s fine.” I waved him off, then started to walk around him back toward the training barn, assuming he would walk with me.

  Instead, he stuck out an arm, stopped me with a grasp to my waist. “Have dinner with me again tonight. Let me make it up to you.”

  I looked up to his serious face. “Declan, I can’t. I’ve agreed to help with an investigation. And your name—your company—continues to come up in that investigation.”

  “You don’t believe I had anything to do with the murder of those two people. If you did, you wouldn’t have come to my house last night.”

  I faced him, and he dropped his hand. “I came to your house because I was…” I paused, looking for the right word. “… Curious about you. My job is to gather information and provide intelligence to agents actually investigating the homicides.”

  “So, do I have a file?” He smiled.

  “Would it please you to know that the FBI has a file on you? You do realize that’s not an accomplishment to strive for, right?”

  “I’m not responsible for what happened to those two people.” His smile faded, and his voice took on a more serious edge. “I, more than almost anyone else, would like to know how the substance that was used as a murder weapon ended up in the wrong hands. Someone has gone to great lengths to tarnish my reputation.”

  He had a point. “I’d like to tour your pharmaceutical laboratory up in Chicago and see the security you have in place firsthand. Can you arrange that?”

  “I own the company. Of course I can arrange it. You can also speak with my chemist on staff, who probably knows more about the chemical you’re investigating than I do. Would tomorrow work? I have business to tend to today, but I can pick you up for dinner at seven. And we can leave for Chicago first thing in the morning.”

  “No to dinner. Yes to Chicago.”

  He moved closer to me. “You still believe I’m a suspect?”

  “Suspect or not, you’re part of the ongoing investigation. Going out with you is a conflict of interest, and I’m pretty sure my job would be in jeopardy.” Not to mention my heart.

  He smiled. “Great. Then we won’t go out. We’ll stay in. Bring a bag. We’ll leave early and return the afternoon on the following day.”

  “What about the morning training?”

  “Aidan will cover it. I’ll see to it.”

  “You have a tour with Freddy at noon,” Truman said when his assistant led me
into his Capitol office.

  After dismissing Susan, he sat behind his desk that was flanked by two flags—an American flag and the Commonwealth of Kentucky flag. “So, you want to tell me how the FBI lured you back into their web?” He gestured for me to sit in a chair across from him.

  “They have information I want,” I said, taking a seat. No, that wasn’t accurate. They had information I needed.

  “What kind of information?”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about your brother’s death. That I don’t even know.”

  “I was under the impression there wasn’t much to know.”

  I shifted in my seat and let my eyes wander over Truman’s shoulder to the rose garden outside his window. How did I explain to him that the details surrounding Teddy’s murder had a clearance classification that was above both of our pay grades? Or that I knew something had gone badly wrong the night my life had been altered forever? The night Teddy’s life had been tragically and brutally ended.

  “Brooke?” Truman stood and walked around the desk. He kneeled in front of me. “Are you saying the FBI covered up the circumstances surrounding Teddy’s death? That it was more than an illegal drug bust that went terribly wrong?”

  I stood and paced. It had been a while since I’d reviewed the details of the case Teddy and I had been working on when he was killed. I knew the evidence. I knew the details of the stakeout Teddy was on that night. He was supposed to observe and gather evidence, but nothing else. He certainly wasn’t supposed to approach the mopes until backup arrived. Until I arrived.

  To this day, I didn’t know what had gone wrong. But I’d always suspected the director did. He’d withheld information from me—classified information he was now using as a carrot to get me back in the field. And telling Truman anything could land me in jail. “I can’t tell you any more. I’ve already said too much. Just know that I’m here in Kentucky to help you.”

  He crossed his arms and sighed. “Okay, can you tell me this, then? Why have the death of my lieutenant governor and the attack at my party the other night become federal cases, and not cases for my own state troopers?”

  I guess I owed him that much. And he did have high enough clearance to receive certain information. “We have reason to believe that the people targeting you are domestic terrorists who have orchestrated attacks in the past in other parts of the country, and are now planning an even bigger act of mass violence in Kentucky. These domestic terrorists have chosen poison as their weapon.”

  “Are you saying the choice of weapon ties my case to another federal case?

  “Among other things,” I said, keeping it vague. “It’s not just any poison. It’s a lethal chemical that can be found only in specific labs or on the black market.” A chemical that could be found in Declan’s laboratory.

  “A lot of this still doesn’t make sense to me. How did the feds figure out this connection so quickly? The FBI was on my doorstep barely twelve hours after the lieutenant governor’s death.”

  “Someone contacted me with information.”

  “You? Why would someone contact you about the death of Kentucky’s lieutenant governor?”

  “The person who contacted me is a confidential source that sometimes fed me crucial data on my FBI cases.”

  “With Teddy?”

  I nodded. “I turned this information over to the FBI, of course. Then I came to Kentucky to see if I could help you in some way.”

  “None of this explains why you agreed to help them. I know what Teddy told me. He claimed you were the best analyst in the business, and a talented agent. That you could find information that no other could.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose. How did I explain this without compromising my chance to access the classified information that might explain Teddy’s death? And without putting Truman at greater risk? “Yes, I am good at what I do. I’m going to find out who killed your lieutenant governor and that kid. And I’m going to try to stop them before they hurt anyone else.”

  “And when you’ve done that, you and I are going to talk about your future.”

  I lifted a brow. “My future?”

  “Someday I hope you’ll tell me why you left the Bureau. Teddy loved you—”

  I put up a hand as soon as he started down that road.

  He grabbed my hand and held it. He didn’t speak until I finally looked at him. “My brother loved you. But he also respected the agency you both worked for. I think he would be proud of you and respect you for the decision you’re making now to help with this case. I will respect that decision as well. But I also know Teddy would want you to be safe, and not to take unnecessary risks with your life. If the job has become too dangerous for you, or if your desires have changed, we can find a way to use your talents differently.”

  “Differently,” I repeated back to him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Like I told you the other day. The federal government effectively abolished the Kentucky’s Office of Homeland Security. I’m not even allowed into my own intelligence fusion center here in Frankfort, let alone the SCIF. I want to bring back the KOHS. And I want you to help me do it.”

  “And how do you plan to get the funding?”

  “That’s my problem. Yours will be to get the respect of the federal agents you would have to work with inside Kentucky’s fusion center.”

  Ty met me at the main entrance to Elkhorn Reserve. He’d gotten back to town that afternoon.

  “How’s James?” I asked as soon as I saw him.

  “He was mad at you, but when I explained that you graciously volunteered to housesit for our two new puppies for two weeks in June so that we could go on a much-needed vacation, he decided to forgive you.”

  “Did I agree to do that?”

  Ty jutted out a hip, crossed his arms, and lifted both brows.

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. “Fine. You better make sure the fridge is stocked—both the main fridge and the wine fridge.” I grabbed his arm. “Now, let’s go learn about how bourbon is distilled and bottled.”

  We made our way to the gift shop where we checked in for our tour. Six other people, all from the same family, were also waiting. Two members of the group—a young man and woman—were clinging to each other, laughing, and having no problem with public display of affection. A woman nudged them. “Would you two cut it out? Save it for the honeymoon.”

  “Oh, Mom,” the girl laughed. “We can’t help it.”

  The rest of the group laughed with her.

  A thin black man descended a staircase and, after speaking to the woman behind the gift shop counter, approached us. He clasped his hands together and spoke with a thick southern accent. “So, who’s ready to learn about one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind—fine Kentucky bourbon?”

  The other six people in the group chuckled and fell in line close behind Freddy. Ty and I stayed at the back and listened to the history of bourbon in Kentucky, and more specifically the history of the Elkhorn Reserve brand of bourbon.

  “Generations of the same family have been crafting bourbon on the land where you’re currently standing for more than two hundred years. Declan O’Roark took over the family business two years ago. He currently maintains a fifty percent stake in the company.”

  I looked at Ty. He mirrored my lifted brows. Before I could stop myself, I lifted a hand, “Excuse me, Freddy. Who owns the other fifty percent of Elkhorn Reserve?”

  “Ah,” Freddy said with a lifted finger and a smile. “That’s a great question. But nobody knows. He took on a silent partner for this particular branch of his company. Someone outside the family.” When I didn’t ask a follow-up question, Freddy continued. “Mr. O’Roark had already made a mark on Central Kentucky when he brought his multi-billion dollar empire to the area, bringing with it thousands of jobs, but he also had already established himself as a leading master crafter of a line of microbrews in the state. As a chemist himself, Mr. O’Roark—”

  “Wait. Declan is
a chemist?” After receiving a couple of strange looks, I realized I had called him by his first name.

  How had I not known that Declan was a chemist? I thought he had a simple degree in agri-science and a graduate degree in business. I thought he was a billionaire because of his business savvy.

  But he was an expert in mixing chemicals. And now he owned his own laboratory.

  “Yes. Mr. O’Roark is a chemist. And a chef,” Freddy added. “He has a hands-on approach to crafting award-winning microbrews by experimenting and trying new flavors on a regular basis. People line up to sample his latest brews. It’s the same with his bourbon.”

  One of the men from the group scoffed. “Though not everyone can afford to sample all his bourbons.” The man wore a Tennessee Volunteer T-shirt and jeans.

  “Or his own poison?” Ty whispered so that only I could hear him.

  Tension spread across my shoulders and neck.

  “Freddy, you gonna let us sample the latest in Mr. O’Roark’s master collection?” the Volunteer asked. I watched the faces in the group. Both of the older women gave their husbands looks of warning. Both men were slightly agitated.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Freddy said with a chuckle. By the surprised looks on their faces, the entire group was a little surprised at Freddy’s answer, but excited at the prospect.

  Ty leaned in close to me again. “If it’s from the most recent special batch, I sure hope the bottles have been tested.”

  I shot him a warning look that had him straightening.

  Freddy led us through several buildings, explaining the process of charring the white oak barrels, and how various flavors were brought out in order to craft the different batches of bourbon that Elkhorn Reserve produced. Then he led us to the warehouse, where barrels of bourbon were stored for the aging process—a part of the VIP tour that people on regular tours didn’t get to see. He pointed to various barrels, naming the well-known labels of Elkhorn Reserve bourbon.

  “None of those are the special small batches. Where are they stored?” the Tennessee Volunteer asked.