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An owl hooted, the eerie sound almost drowned out by the deep snores escaping from Chico’s stall.
Nikki rose and peered over the stall door, amazed that a tiny person like Ana could make so much noise. It didn’t bother Chico. The horse was stretched out in the thick straw, eyes closed, his head only inches from Ana’s open mouth.
Maybe he was used to the sound. Perhaps he found it comforting. It was obvious there was a true bond between the woman and her horse.
Not her horse yet. Nikki returned to her watchful position in the aisle, lay down and adjusted the blanket. Gunner gave her cheek a quick lick before putting his head back on his paws and letting out a satisfied groan.
“You like hanging out with horses, don’t you,” she murmured, inching closer to his warm body.
Jogging clothes weren’t great for cool California nights and it would have been more comfortable to sleep in the truck. However, the parking lot was outside the gates and it would be risky to leave Chico alone.
Ana was a determined woman but as the race edged closer, it seemed likely Durant would turn increasingly desperate. He knew Chico’s location and was probably aware that his scheme with the apple hadn’t worked. The man had all the signs of a sociopath and had proved to be both cruel and cunning.
It was sickening how he’d been terrorizing vulnerable employees. Fortunately Nikki had a picture of the severed arm, and that might be enough to start an investigation. Although the fact that he had control over the local police could be problematic.
Sighing, she rolled over on her back, staring out at the dark sky. Clouds had moved in, blocking the stars. Two stalls down, a horse circled in the straw, also restless. Unlike Chico, he’d been pacing all night.
She shifted onto her hip, searching for the softest spot. The straw bed was okay and she’d certainly slept in worse places. But like the pacing horse, she was too edgy to fall asleep.
According to Ana, the other horses’ grooms would arrive at about four-thirty; activity started early at the track. It was already after midnight. So if Durant tried to hurt Chico it would likely be in the next three hours. Would he come or wouldn’t he? Ana was sleeping soundly so she must think it was safe. Or maybe she was reassured, knowing Gunner would warn of any intruders.
Nikki peered sideways, checking her dog. His nose was on his paws, his breath slow and easy. But even as she watched, he raised his head, ears pricking.
She peered toward the adjoining shedrow, trying to see what had caught his attention. Saw nothing but yawning blackness. Even the moon had disappeared, wiped out by the clouds. She turned her attention back to Gunner, waiting for him to close his eyes. But he remained riveted on something hidden in the dark.
A growl rumbled deep in his throat.
She tapped his muzzle with a warning finger and reached beneath the blanket, her hand sliding around the Glock.
Gunner stared into the dark, his body taut while Ana continued her blissful snoring. Further along the aisle, a horse played with his water bucket, slurping water like a child. The same sounds they’d been hearing all night, nothing out of the ordinary.
But Gunner was rarely wrong. And he remained rigid, ears pointed toward something in the thick darkness.
Minutes dragged by. She lay unmoving, feeling the pounding of her heart. The adrenaline rush was welcome; she’d been tired waiting for something to happen.
It felt like another ten minutes before a figure finally emerged from the gloom. A man, moving furtively, not pausing by any of the stalls. Moving as if he knew exactly where he was going.
Every few feet, he’d stop and listen. He gripped something in his left hand and wore white running shoes, a poor choice for night work. The man was even smaller than Jorge and didn’t resemble any of Durant’s muscled goons.
She blew out a relieved breath. This guy was an amateur. She and Gunner would have no problem handling him. She tightened her grip on the gun, preparing to jump from beneath the blanket. Beside her, Gunner quivered with eagerness but held his position.
She studied the creeping man, trying to see what he held in his hand. A gun would cause the most problem. However, the shape was too bulky, almost square. So not a knife, not a gun. Game on.
She waited with bated breath, and a growing degree of impatience. This was the most cautious intruder she’d ever encountered. He tiptoed as if terrified, glancing around at every step. At this speed it would be another two minutes before he reached Chico’s stall.
She had to be patient though. Needed to catch him, not scare him away. Wanted to hear him confess he was working for Durant. Maybe he could even shed some light on the arm Gunner had found.
The restless horse down the aisle abruptly jammed his head over the door. The man leaped and she jerked in automatic reflex. He caught her movement and froze. Then tossed something in the aisle, turned and bolted.
Kicking aside the blanket, she scrambled to her feet, keeping hold of Gunner’s collar. She ran down the aisle, slowing slightly to see what the man had dropped.
It was bloody but not a weapon. Only a piece of meat. Obviously intended for Gunner. Just as obviously not a healthy snack.
One of the many lessons Gunner had learned before flunking out of K9 school was never to eat without permission. But her anger spiked, knowing this guy had come to kill her dog.
“Get him,” she said, releasing her grip on Gunner’s collar.
She charged after them, chasing the spineless coward.
The man was fast. His feet churned in the gravel, white sneakers flashing like pistons. But Gunner closed quickly. Her legs pumped faster and she strained to catch up, glad now she wore her jogging clothes. She didn’t want Gunner to get too far ahead just in case the asshole had a hidden knife.
Gunner was growling, his streaking coat camouflaged by the night. But his growls turned to frustrated barks as two white dots danced above his head, high out of reach. Weird. It looked like the man was airborne.
She was running so fast she almost planted her face against the steel mesh of a perimeter fence, camouflaged by the darkness.
Cursing, she jammed the Glock into the back of her waistband and scrabbled up. Originally three strands of razor wire had protected the top. But the wire had been cut, the spot marked by a piece of tape. Clearly the man in the sneakers had planned his getaway, right down to the exact spot for his climb.
She wasn’t going to let him escape. If he’d admit he was working for Durant, she could call the police. They wouldn’t need Ana’s testimony. Poisoning a dog was a felony. So was trespassing.
She scrambled to the top of the rattling fence, carefully angled her body through the cut in the wire and leaped to the ground on the other side, breathless but pumped by the chase. The guy wasn’t that far ahead. She’d been faster scaling the fence. Or else the weasel was tiring.
His white sneakers flashed like a beacon. Another twenty strides and she’d catch him. Gunner was barking furiously, stuck on the other side of the fence, but she lowered her head and stubbornly kept running.
Wham. Something smashed into her chest, driving the air from her lungs and knocking her sideways.
“Bitch,” a man said, dragging her to her feet. He yanked her hands behind her back. The gun was pulled from her waistband and rough hands ran over her legs, her ass, her breasts.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only gasp for breath. But she felt the bite of the thin plastic when they tied her hands, the chill of the air on her suddenly bare butt.
“Get her shorts off, all the way. Spread her legs.”
Durant. She recognized his voice even though he was talking low. Panic galvanized her. She gave a desperate kick. Her foot landed but someone laughed and grabbed her leg.
“This one’s a fighter,” a voice growled. A meaty hand clamped over her mouth, his breath thick and hot against her neck. “We’re going to want a bit more time with this one, boss. She’s got some spice.”
“Someone go and shut up that dog,” Durant said. His belt buckle clinked.
She wrenched her leg loose and gave another frantic kick. A man grunted in pain. The hand shifted on her mouth and she twisted, trying to tell Gunner to run, but a blow to her head knocked the words from her throat.
She was flung to the ground, spread eagled against the coarse grass. She stared up, her vision spinning. It looked like three men. No, four. She heard the sound of zippers as three men bickered over who would go second and who had to go and shoot the dog.
Behind her, knees pressed against her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. Another man gripped her ankles, yanking her legs wide. Then kneeled between her thighs. The smoky cologne was familiar. And nobody questioned his right to go first. It had to be Durant.
His face was blurry but the voice was clear. “Scratch the horse by seven,” Durant said, his voice almost conversational as he insolently squeezed her breast. “Or we’ll be the last men to fuck you.”
“Someone go and shut that dog up,” he ordered, his breath quickening.
She twisted. “Run Gunner!”
Durant clamped his hand over her mouth, snickering when she tried to bite him. “You have bigger worries than your dog.”
“Dammit, boss,” the man pinning her shoulders said. “We got company.”
Her vision was hazy but she could see Gunner’s outline as he raged against the fence. Headlights cut the darkness behind him, along with the rumble of a powerful engine.
Durant pressed his mouth close to her ear. “You say anything,” he whispered, “and you won’t be alive long enough to watch Chico lose. I’ll hide you with the horses.”
“Fuck you—”
A boot slammed into her ribs, cutting off her curse. And the asshole, either by luck or design, had found almost the exact same place they’d hit her earlier.
She curled in a ball, watching them fade into the gloom, trying to memorize their size and shape. Durant was in the back. The arrogant bastard was barely running, as if he knew they wouldn’t be caught. The second guy reminded her of the guard who’d vaulted the fence back at the Durant farm. But her vision didn’t feel normal, and she gave her head a shake, struggling to clear it.
When she looked again, there were four shadows, not three. But they were getting smaller, definitely leaving. She squeezed her eyes in relief then shifted and studied her savior’s lights.
A dark form was scaling the fence, the rattling mesh protesting under his weight. He must be a good-sized man. Surprisingly Gunner hadn’t tried to stop him. And his barking didn’t sound as frantic, so maybe he sensed this person was an ally.
“It’s okay, Gunner,” she said, but her voice was so weak she wasn’t sure if he heard.
A man paused by her side then disappeared into the shadows, so quickly Nikki thought she might be hallucinating. But no, Durant and his men wouldn’t have left without a reason. And something was parked on the other side of the fence. Looked like a motorcycle. As long as it wasn’t an Escalade, she was happy. It meant there truly was a rescuer.
She drew in a shaky breath and sat up. Her arms were tied behind her back and she twisted her wrists, left and right, trying to free them. But the zip ties had been yanked tight. Clearly Durant’s men had trussed up women before. Little wonder Ana flinched whenever she mentioned the men.
A wave of nausea swept her and she threw up, unable to control the spasms in her throat.
Gunner’s cries sounded pitiful now and she turned her head toward the fence, hoping to reassure him. “It’s okay, boy,” she managed.
And then the man was back. He kneeled behind her, his hands slow and gentle. “I heard the barking. I’m Rick Talbot, track security. Where do you hurt?”
“Just my pride. You came in the nick of time.”
His fingers stilled, as if surprised by her calmness. Seconds later he’d cut the plastic and her hands were free.
She stumbled to her feet, relieved he didn’t try to pull her up. She couldn’t have accepted a man’s touch now, even the hand of a helpful savior. He seemed to understand and remained well back, even turning away and giving her lots of time to gather her shorts and undies.
She pulled them on with trembling hands, furious at herself. Durant had sent a rabbit. Used a fence to immobilize Gunner. And she’d fallen for his trap.
“Are you injured?” Rick asked. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No. I’m not hurt. Like I said, you arrived just in time.”
“Then are you able to answer a few questions?” he asked, turning around and studying her.
She stepped back, suddenly wary. He drove a powerful motorcycle, moved like a ninja and even with her blurry vision, she could see the intimidating arm tattoos. Looked like prison ink. And he lacked the khaki uniform that the other track guard wore.
On the other hand, he couldn’t be working for Durant or her ambushers wouldn’t have run. The guard at the gate had referred to someone named Rick. So the man must be legit. And though Rick’s voice was gentle it had a steely core, suggesting he held a position of authority. Probably not the type to overlook attempted rape...which wasn’t convenient, considering that she had driven in with Ana. And used a fake ID.
Ana was Chico’s trainer on record and couldn’t afford a suspension, no matter how short. Chico needed to race tomorrow.
“I don’t know those men,” Nikki said, her words rushing out. “Chased them without thinking. Guess they were trying to steal our tack.”
“So you scaled a wire fence, pursuing a gang of thieves? A woman alone?” His skeptical eyes narrowed over her jogging clothes. “What’s your name? I assume you have creds?”
She tugged her shirt further over her hips, struggling to remember the name she’d used. Usually she had an excellent memory but now she could only picture the face on the groom’s pass. She crossed her arms and realized she was shaking.
He noticed too, and his voice softened. “You need to warm up.”
“Yes, I’d love a hot shower.”
“Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?”
She knew what he was asking and she gave a curt nod. “Yes. And thank you for stopping those punks. I really want a shower though. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
He studied her for a long moment. She wiped at her eyes and added a little sniff. He’d already shown his empathy and she needed to take full advantage. Hopefully by the time she ran into him again, Chico’s race would be over. And the fact that she’d used fake credentials would no longer matter.
“By the way,” she added, the name suddenly popping into her sluggish brain. “My name is Gloria. Gloria Cortes.”
“Okay, Gloria. Just one important question for now.”
Her heart sunk. Maybe she’d provided the name too triumphantly. He was looking at her oddly, as if he knew she was lying. Judging by the steel in his tone, he didn’t intend to let her slip away.
She composed her expression while desperately trying to figure out how to best protect Ana. How to keep any blowback from affecting Chico. “Of course, Rick,” she said. “What would you like to know?”
He gave a sudden grin, the smile so disarming it felt out of place in the seedy darkness. But it was his question that really knocked her off balance.
“Why isn’t your dog on a leash?” he asked.
