Onyx
I haul the last of the boxes from the back of the Navigator and carry them inside the house.
There wasn’t really that much to bring, since Jacob arranged for rental furniture. Most of my belongings are staying in my apartment, and all I’ve brought with me is my personal stuff, shoes and clothes, as well as the contents of my fridge and kitchen.
I like cooking, I find it soothing, and it helps me connect with my heritage in a positive way. So, I need my own stuff; my spices, my knives, my pots, pans, and dishes. I really look forward to cooking with them in this state-of-the-art kitchen. It makes the one in my apartment look like a children’s play set.
Mitch and Kate were here earlier with a load, but they had to leave. Jacob called with a new report of a missing nine-year-old boy from Frankfort, only a little over an hour from here.
A lot of our efforts and resources are currently going toward chasing down David Wheeler, but that doesn’t mean we don’t assist where we can when a child goes missing. After all, rescuing and protecting children is the ultimate reason each of us signed up with GEM. An opportunity to perhaps find some justice for what was done to us, and saving other kids from a similar fate.
A knock sounds, followed by a voice yelling, “Hello?”
I guess I left the front door open.
“Coming!” I call out, making my way to the entrance hall.
A burly man in a ball cap and T-shirt sporting the logo of a moving company stands in the doorway.
“We have a delivery for…” He consults the clipboard in his hand. “Baqri?”
“You have the right place. I’m Onyx Baqri.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Bruno and my partner is Wayne; he’s opening up the truck. It’s a full one. I think we’ll just start unloading into a central spot. Maybe the living room?”
“Sure, yeah. That works for me.”
There’s plenty of room. The foyer opens up to a great room at the center of the single-story home, housing living, dining, and kitchen spaces. It makes sense to distribute furniture from there.
I follow Bruno outside to take a peek at the furniture, when a dark green, dusty Dodge Ram comes rolling up the driveway. The driver is wearing a ball cap and shades, but I know it’s Hamish.
He mentioned he’d do his best to be here before noon. I’m relieved, because glancing into the back of the truck, we’re going to have our hands full. Especially with Mitch and Kate called out on a case.
As the movers start hauling the first pieces off the truck, I walk over to where Hamish is getting out of his vehicle.
“You found it.”
“I did. Nice place.”
He tosses his cap and glasses on the dashboard of the truck and closes the door, throwing me a lopsided smile. He looks so different in old jeans and a well-worn, long-sleeved shirt, but it suits him. In daylight, his scars are a little more pronounced, but I also see his eyes are a beautiful hazel. I didn’t notice them that night at the hotel, they looked brown in the artificial light.
Hazel eyes are rare, and I’ve only ever encountered one or two others with that color.
A memory stirs, but I force it back. Some things have to stay buried for the sake of my sanity.
I catch myself staring and quickly cover it by gesturing to the house.
“I’d give you a tour, but as you can see my furniture just arrived, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to deal with that first.”
“Of course. Put me to work.”
Hamish doesn’t seem to notice the looks he’s getting from Bruno and his sidekick. Or if he does, he chooses to ignore them and simply grabs the next piece of furniture off the truck and hauls it inside. I’m not sure I would be that gracious.
The extra hands definitely help, and unloading the truck goes much faster than I thought it would. The great room is pretty full and, in my head, I’ve already started allocating certain pieces to the different rooms. A few things are wrapped or in boxes, and look like they may need to be assembled, but I assume the movers will take care of that.
“Could I get you to sign this?” Bruno hands me the clipboard.
It’s an itemized list, and I quickly scan the content before I sign the papers and hand them back. To my surprise, he gives a wave and starts walking out of the house. I rush after him.
“Excuse me. You’re leaving? What about the stuff that needs to be put together?”
He shrugs, looking apologetic. “We unload the truck, ma’am, that’s all. We have another order waiting for us at the warehouse that needs to be loaded and delivered this afternoon.”
The men climb into the cab of the truck and drive off down the driveway.
“Well, that sucks,” I mumble.
“Hey, I’m still here,” Hamish announces behind me. “I even thought to bring some tools.”
I turn and watch him walk to the back of his truck, where he takes out a tool bag.
“Let’s get this done.”
It takes a while before I can see the house starting to take shape. Lunchtime has long since passed, and my stomach is growling.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Hamish, sticking my head around the door of the guest room.
He’s working on the third and final bed. The king in the main bedroom is done, and so is the one in the guesthouse.
In the meantime, I was able to get the master suite set up. My clothes are put away in the walk-in closet, the bed is made, and the bathroom is ready for use. This way I at least have a place to crash tonight.
“I could eat,” he answers, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “I can go pick us something up if you’d like?”
“I can whip us up Chicken Kahari in the same time it would take you to get to Williamstown. Do you mind if it’s a bit spicy?”
“Not in the least.”
By the time we sit down to eat at the massive kitchen island, dusk is setting in.
“Mmm. This is really good. What’s it called again?”
“Kahari.” I drop my spoon in my bowl and twist in my seat to look at him. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this late. My friends were supposed to be here helping as well, but they were called away on an emergency.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do,” I insist.
“Actually, I don’t. Although we do still have to go over the auction catalog. Discuss expectations, budget, timeline, and all that boring stuff. We can’t go into that auction unprepared.”
I’d almost forgotten about that.
While I clear away the dishes, he heads out to his truck to put away his tools and grab the information on the Gilded Bridle. I set about brewing a pot of coffee, I have a feeling I’m going to need it.
“Would you care for a coffee? Or something else to drink?” I ask when Hamish walks in.
“Coffee is good.”
He sits back down at the kitchen island, pulling a pile of papers out of a manila envelope. By the time I sit down beside him, he has several documents fanned out in front of us.
The first one he shows me is a list of all horses up for auction, thirty-eight in total. He explains the listings are a mix of yearlings and horses of racing age, which I guess means two and up.
Each line starts with the hip number—which is like a lot number—the name of the horse, then names of the sire and dam, followed by the agent, and finally an amount Hamish explains is the minimum bid.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding. Pricey.”
The amounts on the list range from sixty-seven thousand to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
“For each hip number there is a separate form, listing the horse’s pedigree three generations back, as well as their and their offspring’s winnings. At the bottom it lists the horse’s own race record if applicable.”
I grab the top sheet of the pile of papers he indicates and scan the listed names, numbers, and abbreviations. It might as well be Sanskrit; it means little to me. I drop the form back on the stack.
“So how do we decide which horse to bid on?”
“That’s where your motive comes in. What is your timeline? Your objective?”
He looks at me expectantly, which has me squirm in my seat. I’m not sure how to answer him. My motive is justice, my timeline is urgent, and my objective is to find and bring down a predator with a long and vile history of sexual crimes against children. But I can’t tell him that.
Or can I?
He’s proven to be trustworthy, has come through on his promises and, in addition, has spent all day helping me get my house in order. It almost seems wrong to continue deceiving him.
Jacob did tell me it was up to me.
The decision made; I waste no time.
“Before we get into that, I should probably give you some background.”
“Background? Okay.”
He swivels on his stool so he’s fully facing me, a curious expression on his face.
“Are you familiar with the nature of Jacob’s business?”
“GEM? Yes, I’m familiar. Why?”
“Because I work for him.”
He sits back a little and runs a hand over his shaved head.
“You don’t say?”
“For almost four years now. All of this…” I wave my hand around. “…is part of my cover.”
“Your cover,” he echoes.
“The money, the farm, the horses, even that ridiculously big SUV out there—none of it is mine. The work I normally do is mostly in the background: planning, communications, counseling,” I ramble uncomfortably. “This is the first undercover assignment Jacob has sent me on, and I’m afraid I’m not cut out for the required deceit.”
“Don’t count yourself out,” he interjects with an edge.
Ouch.
I suppose I had that coming, but he doesn’t really seem that upset. At least he hasn’t marched off yet, which I’m considering to be a good sign.
“So explain to me how thoroughbred racing is relevant to missing children?”
I’m a bit hesitant to share too much, but Jacob did say he trusted this man with his life.
“We’re trying to find a predator who is responsible for the trafficking and sexual exploitation of a large number of children and adolescents over the past twenty-five years or more. We have reason to believe this man has connections to the racing world.”
I watch as his nostrils flare and a muscle starts ticking in his jaw.
“Connections, how?”
“We think he’s behind a company called Pegasus GLAN. That company is listed as the owner of a horse by the name of Pure Delight.”
“Pegasus?”
“Have you heard that name before?”
He grabs the stack of papers and starts shuffling through them. When he finds what he’s looking for, he turns one of the sheets toward me. It has a check mark in the top right corner.
The name of the horse on the pedigree form means nothing to me, but what Hamish is pointing at is right below.
Consigned by Choice Racing, Agent
for Pegasus GLAN
“I want to buy this horse,” I blurt out, glancing at the name at the top. “Arion’s Moon. I want to buy him.”
My blood is buzzing with excitement. This could be the introduction I’ve been looking for. If this works out it would be a huge break.
“It’s actually a filly,” Hamish corrects me. “But it just so happens she’s one of the two horses I had earmarked.”
“Good, because I want her.”
“Then I suggest you check your budget because she’s had a very promising first year of racing. I have a feeling you won’t be the only one bidding on her, so she’s not going to go cheap.”
I do a quick mental calculation of the money left after the purchase of the property and all related fees, which I guess is just shy of eight hundred grand. I have no idea if that’s going to be enough.
“I should probably give Jacob a call,” I announce, sliding off my stool and walking to the dinner table where I left my phone.
“Yeah, I should get going anyway. I have a bit of a drive ahead,” Hamish announces, getting up and gathering the papers.
A bit abrupt, but I can’t forget I dropped quite a load on the guy. He may need some processing time.
“Oh, yes, of course.” I tuck my phone in my pocket and follow him to the door. “I really appreciate all your help. You were a lifesaver today.”
“Gladly done, and thank you for dinner,” he adds with one hand on the door as he turns to me. “I’ll be in touch.”
I’m trying to read his eyes as they hold mine, but after a long moment he turns on his heel and heads outside. I stroll out on the front step and watch him walk to his truck, wondering if this will be the last I’ll see of him.
For some reason that leaves me with a heavy feeling in my chest.
I step back inside when he calls out.
“Hey, Onyx!”
I turn my head to see him standing by the open driver’s side door.
“Tell Jacob to expect a call from me tomorrow. I’ve got a bone to pick with him.”