Exposed in Darkness Page 7

  My entire body trembled as I let out a shaky breath.

  “You don’t answer to them anymore,” he continued.

  “Damn right I don’t,” I said.

  We both stiffened when there was a knock at the door. Ty stepped back. “You expecting someone?”

  “No.”

  Through the thin curtain on the door’s window, I could see the outline of three people, men by the size of them. I walked to the door and stood there with my hand on the doorknob while Ty turned over the papers he’d been working on and closed the laptop. When he nodded at me, I opened the door.

  Truman and two members of his security detail, plain-clothed state police officers, stood outside.

  “Hello, Governor,” I said. “Officers.”

  “Hi, Brooke. Can I come in?” Truman asked. He was carrying a manila folder.

  I stepped back and allowed him in. He shot his detail a look that asked that they remain outside. “You didn’t come the day after the party. I was sure you had left town.”

  “Yet somehow you figured out I hadn’t?”

  “Declan told me he saw you out Saturday night. We play tennis every Sunday.” He looked uncomfortably at Ty, then me.

  “Oh, sorry. Governor Spencer, let me introduce Tyler Jamison, a friend of mine. Ty, meet Governor Truman Spencer.”

  “I knew Teddy,” Ty said, shaking the governor’s hand. “He was a wonderful man. I’m sorry for your loss, Governor.”

  Truman nodded, then turned to me. “Can we speak alone?”

  “We can, but anything you say to me, I’ll just turn around and tell Ty, unless it’s classified, of course. He’s former FBI, counterterrorism analyst, ex-military. Whatever you want to say, you can trust Ty with your life. I do.” I shrugged again. “So maybe you can save me the time of having to relay everything after you leave?”

  “Fine. I need your help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Someone is obviously trying to kill me, but more than that, someone is trying to harm the people of Kentucky. The FBI is claiming that this attack was an act of domestic terrorism. They haven’t taken over the investigation, but they’re also not being very quick to share information.

  “You know I don’t have access to information the way I did when I had my own Office of Homeland Security. Ever since the federal government stopped funding homeland security at the state level, we’ve struggled to gather intelligence on federal crimes committed in Kentucky.”

  “I remember Teddy talking about how the Kentucky Office of Homeland Security shuttered its doors years ago,” I said.

  “Almost every other state picked up the funding slack, but Kentucky went straight from the housing bust to a forty-billion-dollar state employee pension crisis. Hell, we never had the chance to recover from the internet stock bubble, and that happened in the last millennium! With basic government programs slashed across the board, funding the Kentucky Office of Homeland Security fell on the sword.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “I want you to be my eyes and ears. I want you to do what you do best: find information, analyze it, and report back to me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He was asking me to share sensitive information.

  “I want you to work for me.”

  “For you? Is the state of Kentucky offering me employment?” Jobs were falling out of the sky these days.

  “Not exactly. I don’t have the budget for what I’m asking, but I’m willing to find the personal funds to cover whatever fee you require. I received another threat. That bill I told you about? If I don’t veto it by next Monday, they say they’ll strike again.”

  “Did you give the evidence to the police?”

  “Yes, and to the FBI. They won’t tell me anything, though. Not even what made them come to Kentucky.”

  “And what do you hope I can do for you that your own state police investigators can’t?”

  “I know you were an analyst for the FBI. And before that, a special agent. You have contacts. I know that you’re very talented and resourceful, and good at your job. And beyond that… I need someone who’s on my side in this.”

  I looked at Ty—who shrugged, apparently agreeing with the governor—then back at Truman. “Fine. Ty and I will see what we can find. You’ll need to pay Ty’s fee. I don’t work without him.”

  Truman nodded, and Ty gave him a dollar figure. Truman agreed to it without hesitation.

  Then he turned back to me. “And you? What’s your fee?”

  “I won’t take your money.”

  “Why? I guarantee you’ll work for it.”

  “Fine—you can pay my tab here at the B&B. But, you can’t tell anyone that Ty and I are sniffing around for you—including the FBI. Especially Declan and Aidan. They must continue to believe that I’m just passing through, looking to work part-time as a rider.”

  Truman narrowed his eyes. “Declan told me you asked for a job. I was so confused that I didn’t say anything to him.”

  “Did you tell him anything about me?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you first.” He studied me. “Wait a minute… You don’t think he has something to do with the attack? That’s crazy.”

  “Is it? It was his bourbon. What do you know about him?”

  “I know he brought thousands of jobs to Kentucky and is the most generous man around, both with charities and politics. And I know he didn’t kill my lieutenant governor or try to kill me. He’s my friend.”

  “Well, the FBI is interested in him. Therefore I am. Ty and I will start poking around and gathering information. You forward me anything the state police sends your way.”

  “I’ve made copies of everything I have.” He handed me the folder he’d been carrying. “But since the FBI arrived and claimed that this was part of an ongoing federal case, they’ve refused to share much information with KSP or anyone else.”

  “I’ll handle the FBI. We’ll let you know when we find something.”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you, then. For now, I have a funeral to preside over.”

  “My condolences,” I said. I thought for a split second about attending the funeral to gauge the reactions of the people attending, but I hadn’t been to a funeral since Teddy’s. Attending one now would most likely do me more harm than good.

  I walked Truman to the door. Before he left, he turned and hugged me. Then, holding me at arm’s length, he said, “Teddy said you were the absolute best analyst he’d ever witnessed. That you could find needles in haystacks.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” I said, then urged him out the door before I lost control of my emotions.

  When the governor was gone, I faced Ty. “I’m going to have to eat my words, aren’t I?” I was going to have to play nice with the FBI.

  “Working for the FBI is the only way you’re going to get info from them.”

  I sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Well, not yet. First I’m going to get information about Declan and his company. There’s no way Declan will talk to me after he discovers I’m FBI. And that friend of his…”

  “The trainer? Aidan, is it?”

  “Yeah, they seem tight. Protective of each other, even.”

  “Can you play nice?”

  “I don’t know. Aidan’s quite the asshole. But I might not have much of a choice.”

  Besides, I reminded myself, I had been a female FBI agent. I had dealt with his type my entire career.

  I threw my tack over the stall door and began the daily routine of making sure my gear was cleaned and in good shape before it was put away. Thanks to the other rider’s broken leg—and my proving my ability to ride the most temperamental of young thoroughbreds gracing Barn 35—Aidan had asked me to ride On Liam’s Watch the last three mornings in preparation for this weekend’s big stakes race. On Liam’s Watch was now getting a lovely bubble bath and rubdown after a light workout. I leaned against the interior wall of the barn and watched the lovely speci
men shake his head and body, spraying the groom tending to him.

  I could use a bubble bath and rubdown myself, I thought as I rubbed the back of my neck.

  This had been On Liam’s Watch’s next-to-last workout before the big race, and Aidan had instructed me to jog him several times around the track, then push him for one last sprint down the stretch and across the finish line. He said it was so the horse would get a feel for crossing that imaginary line—but I knew it was because that was where the media had camped out to get a glimpse, and photographs, of the favorite to win the million-dollar purse.

  But the money wasn’t the real stakes here. The real prize was the hundred points going to the winner of the Lexington Stakes on the road to the Bluegrass Derby. On Liam’s Watch desperately needed the points after a dismal finish in his last race. I had watched the race several times on YouTube, and had seen that On Liam’s Watch’s loss had been the jockey’s fault. He had whipped On Liam’s Watch down the stretch, so the horse had pulled up. He wasn’t even breathing hard after the race; he had simply rebelled against the cruel treatment.

  I smiled at the memory.

  “Do you think he can do it?” asked a man’s voice behind me. Declan’s voice—complete with the worldly accent I was slowly growing accustomed to, the result of living in several countries over the course of ten years after finishing his studies at Oxford. At least, that’s what my research had told me.

  “Do I think he can do it?” I asked, repeating the question and therefore stalling. I finished storing the saddle and pulled the saddle blanket out to be washed. I turned slowly, pressing the blanket to my chest, while taking in the scent of hay and musky saddle oil.

  I looked Declan in the eyes and considered my answer. Did I tell him that the only way On Liam’s Watch would win the Lexington Stakes was with a jockey change? His jockey couldn’t even make time to work with the horse in the days leading up to the race; he claimed to have scheduling issues. He didn’t deserve his share of the purse, even if he could pull off the win.

  But if I overstepped, I could lose my job.

  “It’s possible,” I said finally. Coward.

  Declan looked both ways down the long corridor of the training barn. Several horses bobbed their heads over the stall doors.

  “You don’t think he’ll do it, though.” He took two steps closer. “Why?”

  When he took another step, putting himself only inches from me, my hand went instinctively to my hip where my gun would normally sit. The motion did not go unnoticed by Declan. I’d reached for my weapon because I simply felt more comfortable when my concealed weapon was nearby, and because I was messed up in the head when it came to men entering my personal space. I wouldn’t have drawn my weapon, but I wondered what he thought. Did he know I was reaching for a gun that no longer hung there? Did he sense that his movement toward me made me nervous? Could he hear the thumping of my heart against my chest cavity?

  I swallowed. I didn’t know how to answer his question.

  Then I remembered: I didn’t give a horse’s ass about this job. I simply wanted to get closer to Declan, and since this job had done little to help me achieve that aim—apart from providing occasional tiny moments like this one—I needed to find another way. Besides the obvious way, I thought, as Declan stood so close I could smell his aftershave. So close that if I stretched my neck even a little, he wouldn’t have to lean much farther to place those rose-colored lips on mine.

  I slammed my eyes closed, wincing at the rogue thought. When I reopened my eyes and focused on Declan again, his eyes searched mine. Looking for what? Someone to tell him what he wanted to hear? Honesty?

  “You obviously know horses,” he said. “Better than you led on when you came to us last week. I’m willing to bet you’d already watched On Liam’s Watch’s previous races, based on how well you rode him the first time. And now you’ve exercised him for several days straight. So tell me: why don’t you think he can win?”

  The animal was worth more to me than the measly dollars I earned each week. And I was already lying to Declan about who I was. Why prove my lack of integrity further? “He won’t win,” I finally answered, “because you’ve got the wrong jockey.”

  Declan’s brows shot up. Was he surprised by the truth I spoke, or was he actually shocked I gave him the truth when most people around the barn did nothing but kiss his ass? This assessment included Aidan, his best friend since they were toddlers, according to an interview Ty had dug up from the archives of a horse magazine.

  “It’s because he marked him with the whip, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, shocked a bit myself. It had been my experience that thoroughbred owners didn’t always pay very close attention. Many owners signed all decision-making responsibilities over to their trainers. And many trainers demanded that kind of trust.

  “I’ve watched the replay. In real time. In slow motion. On Liam’s Watch pulled up like he was injured when the whip touched him. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but he flinched, and then he slowed just enough that Invictor nosed past him at the finish.” He stepped back. “Thank you, Brooke.” He turned and left.

  That’s when I saw Aidan watching me from outside the barn. He’d heard our conversation. He turned and followed Declan toward the parking lot, where I knew Declan’s vehicle and driver were waiting for him, like they’d been every morning this week.

  I quickly deposited the saddle blanket in a pile to be washed. When I exited the barn, Declan leaned against a silver SUV, his phone to his ear. Aidan stood nearby. When Declan ended the call, he said a few words to Aidan. I couldn’t hear what he said, but by the way Aidan’s pale Irish skin reddened, it wasn’t encouraging. When the two men were finished, Declan climbed into the back seat of his SUV, and the driver carried him off to begin his day.

  I hurried to find my belongings and escape what I could feel was coming, but I was too late. Aidan marched toward me, grabbed my elbow, and forcefully led me to the far corner of the barn—but not far enough away to escape nosy eyes and ears.

  “Aidan, you’re going to want to take your hand off of me,” I said.

  “You don’t call the shots in my barn, Miss Fairfax.”

  I jerked my arm away from him. “When it comes to you putting your hands on me, I most certainly do call the shots.”

  He stepped closer, his face inches from mine, and though it took every ounce of strength in me, I didn’t move.

  “You are fired, Miss Fairfax. And you will not get a recommendation from me to work at any other stable. Go collect your final check, and get out of my stable.”

  I glanced over Aidan’s shoulder to where a gaggle of hot walkers and grooms had gathered to watch the show. A couple of the hot walkers spoke to each other in Spanish, taking bets on whether I would punch Aidan or simply walk away. I did neither.

  “Thank you, Aidan, for the opportunity to have worked in your stable.” I smiled, syrupy sweet, then skirted around him and walked to the stable office to get my check. I heard a couple of faint whistles and calls of admiration as I did.

  A young girl in her early twenties already had my check ready and waiting when I entered the office. She smiled nervously when I took it. At the top of the check was Gallagher Racing Stables.

  When I had spoken to Declan about the jockey change, I’d been out of line. Technically, I worked for Gallagher Racing Stables—for Aidan Gallagher. He was in charge of the training decisions being made, even if those decisions were for horses owned by Declan O’Roark.

  I raised my head and eyed the young accountant in front of me. “Since I only ride horses owned by Mr. O’Roark, does my weekly salary get billed directly to him on his monthly training statement?”

  The girl swallowed, looked behind me to see that no one was there. “Yes, ma’am. Your salary is divided up among the horses you ride each day.”

  “And do you work only for Mr. Gallagher?” I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to this. I’d seen Declan
speak privately to her several times after morning workouts.

  “I work for both Mr. Gallagher and Mr. O’Roark.”

  “Do you have a Post-it note and an envelope?”

  She turned around a Post-it note dispenser in the shape of a horseshoe. I pulled one slip out and grabbed a pen from the coffee mug on her desk. I jotted a quick note:

  Declan: Thank you for sharing your horses with me. Don’t let Gallagher Racing Stables bill you for my week’s wages, as I refuse to accept this check. I knew from the beginning it might not work out. The advice I gave about the jockey was free. Hope it makes a difference. ~Brooke

  I stuffed the check and the Post-it note in the envelope—thereby refusing my wages—then sealed it and wrote “Declan” on the front. I looked at the young girl. “Could you see to it that Mr. O’Roark gets this, please?”

  “Is it possible the attacks were Aidan’s attempt to tarnish Declan’s reputation?” Ty asked over hot brown sandwiches and French fries. “Maybe he sabotaged the special small batch bourbon?”

  “Out of jealousy? I don’t think so.” I stared out into an open field, the backdrop for the deck of Elkhorn Station, one of Kentucky’s many historic locations-turned restaurants. “You see that tree line?” I pointed.

  Ty looked to the trees and back to me without saying a word.

  “That’s one of Kentucky’s ghost railways. I read about it on the back of the menu. Train tracks once ran right along this property. Maybe they’re still over there behind those trees, abandoned, I don’t know. Either way, this restaurant, this building, was once a train stop. Midland was one of the first towns in Kentucky to have been established next to the railroad.”

  “Your point?” Ty asked.

  “History. There’s so much history in this town. So many aspects of this area and its culture—horse racing, crafting bourbon—are built upon a strong historical foundation. I think Declan’s and Aidan’s relationship is like that.” I refocused my gaze on Ty. “I think Declan’s entire purpose for being in Kentucky is based on this idea of establishing roots—heritage.”