Onyx
“Ma’am?”
I almost missed the young kid with the Drake Stables shirt and ball cap. I was too busy looking around and getting my bearings.
“Your name?” he asks.
“Onyx Baqri.”
He hands me an auction paddle with the number eight.
“You’ll find the corresponding number on the back of your assigned seats.”
“Thank you.”
When we arrived, we were directed up a set of stairs to a semi-circular gallery overlooking the exercise ring below. Stools are arranged side by side along the railing with a second row behind it. The wide, shelf-style banister doubles as a bar-height table, a tray with a jug of water and glasses placed on top every two or so feet. A program, notebook, and pen are left on each stool.
When I look down the gallery, I note only three spots taken.
“Looks well organized,” Hamish comments softly behind me.
“I know.”
I’m glad we got here early. It gives me a chance to observe most of the other buyers as they come in.
Jacob’s call woke me up this morning. It was a short call, he was just checking in, but it left me feeling a bit guilty. Jacob has always just been a voice on the phone, but I can’t help feel he and I have had some kind of connection. Something…more than simply a relationship between boss and employee.
That’s probably why the memory of last night’s visit to Hamish’s room felt a little like betrayal this morning.
I was just pulling on my boots when Hamish knocked on my door at nine. I’d already had my shower, was dressed, and was ready for a proper cup of coffee and some breakfast.
Seeing him wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been had I not gone over to clear the air last night. We ended up eating at the breakfast bar in the hotel dining room, and conversation was easy and geared toward the auction.
I sit down in the front row while Hamish takes the stool behind mine, assuring me he can easily see over my shoulder. I would’ve felt better with him beside me, but seating was set up this way for a reason.
I’m nervous, I won’t lie.
When we arrived, I had to fill out a form which asked for my address, phone number, and banking information. That made me a little uneasy and my hands were shaking. I’m handling more money than I ever have before and it’s not even mine. I had to bring a cashier’s check for fifty-thousand dollars made out to Gilded Bridle Auctions, as a security deposit. If I win a bid, I have fourteen days to transfer the funds into the seller’s account, after which my deposit will be returned, and we’ll be able to take possession of the horse. If I don’t honor my bid, I lose the fifty thousand.
So yes, I’m a bit jittery, although Hamish doesn’t seem worried at all.
Only ten more minutes before the auction is supposed to start and barely half of the sixteen buyers have arrived. So far, I’m the only woman here, which is probably why I can feel eyes on me at all times.
To my left I see a gentleman I met at the fundraiser come in. He is handed a paddle as well.
“What’s his name again?” I ask Hamish on a whisper.
“Gordon Chen,” he returns under his breath.
Then he gets up from his stool when the man approaches.
“Ms. Baqri, Mr. Adrian, pleasure to see you.”
“And you as well, Mr. Chen,” I respond with a smile.
“It promises to be an exciting afternoon,” he comments, scanning the ring before returning his eyes to me. “I wish you the best of luck.”
He’s already moving past us before I have a chance to mutter, “The same to you.”
By the time the first yearling is led into the ring, sixteen prospective buyers—some with a guest—have filled the gallery on either side of us.
It’s definitely an older crowd. I’m guessing the average age is probably in the fifties with a few exceptions, myself being one of them. Hamish and I both get our share of stares, but I don’t let them bother me. Let them look.
Unfortunately, no one I’ve seen so far has raised any flags. What I remember from Wheeler is that he wasn’t particularly tall—maybe five ten—he was fair-haired, had light eyes, and he was husky. Of course, other than his height, any of those identifiers can be changed. Still, I’d like to think, regardless of any changes to his appearance, I’d be able to recognize him.
Maybe it’ll be his eyes, his voice, the way he walks, or some distinct mannerism that gives him away. It may trigger memories I’ve successfully suppressed for many years, but I’m willing to go there if it means finally taking David Wheeler down.
I focus on the pretty yearling being led around the ring below. It isn’t one I’ll be bidding on. Hamish suggested I sit the first few out to get a feel for the process. I’m supposed to bid on the yearling with hip number nine, just to let everyone know I’m a serious contender. Of course, the horse I’m really interested in is the dapple-gray filly, Arion’s Moon, but she’s not up until later in the program.
It isn’t until the fifth horse is auctioned off, I begin to follow what the auctioneer is saying. I try to catch the bids, but those are challenging to pick up on as well. Sometimes it’s just a flick of the wrist or a jerk of the chin to alert the auctioneer.
When hip number nine is up, I sit on the edge of my seat, my paddle at the ready.
“Relax,” Hamish rumbles. “You look like you’re about to jump over the railing.”
I feel his hand lightly on my shoulder.
“See if someone else bids first,” he reminds me.
The opening bid is set at sixty-eight thousand, which is more than I used to make in a year. We agreed beforehand I wouldn’t go over eighty so I’m a bit shocked when the bids reach seventy-five in no time flat. When the auctioneer calls for seventy-six, and it looks like there are no other bids, I raise my paddle.
“Seventy-six to the lady.” He points his hammer at me. “Can I have seventy-six five?” He nods at someone to my left. “Seventy-six five bid. Can I have seventy-seven?”
I wait for a moment to see if anyone else is bidding before I lift my paddle again. This time I glance to my left to see who started bidding against me and recognize Gordon Chen. He catches my eye and winks as he signals the auctioneer again.
Asshole.
“He’s bidding you up,” Hamish whispers.
I figured as much, but two can play that game.
This time when the auctioneer calls for a seventy-eight-thousand-dollar bid, I flash my paddle right away, making it seem like I’m eager. Predictably Chen tops my bid by five-hundred dollars.
We do it twice more, bringing the bid to eighty thousand on the nose. However, this time when Chen tops my bid, I glance over, calmly lay my paddle face down in front of me, and wink back at him.
A few chuckles go up in the gallery as Chen pretends to tip his hat.
“Well done,” Hamish compliments.
I don’t bother hiding my smirk as I turn my attention back to the ring below, but some of my newfound confidence disappears again as the next several horses are auctioned off.
When hip number sixteen is called, I keep my eyes on the area behind the auctioneer where I’ve noticed people come and go every time a new horse is led in. I figured they were probably the owners or agents.
As the young guy I saw at the filly’s stall yesterday brings her in, I catch sight of Oliver Doyle but no one else appears to be with him. Looks like the owner is a no-show after all.
Disappointment washes over me, but I don’t get much of a chance to wallow in it, since the auction of Arion’s Moon is underway.
Hamish had suggested I put in a few bids early, figure out how many were interested, and then pull back to give the impression I was out. Then when bidding slowed down, I’d go back in with an amount ten thousand over what was last called. If it works, the hope is others aren’t comfortable with that big a jump and will bow out. If it doesn’t, I have carte blanche from Jacob to make sure I walk away with the winning bid.
Either way, I will have drawn attention from whoever is behind Pegasus GLAN, which is the objective.
As predicted, the bidding is stiff on the filly, the numbers going up by five-thousand-dollar increments. Already we’re heading toward four-hundred thousand when I hear Hamish behind me.
“Four others left bidding. Time to back away.”
When the auctioneer glances my way, I give my head a little shake, passing on the bid, which is quickly picked up by another. Once four hundred and fifty thousand is reached, only two are left bidding, and the pace has slowed down dramatically.
“Wait for him to start calling,” Hamish mumbles.
When I see one of the buyers indicate he’s done, I close my fingers tightly around the paddle. The moment I hear, “Four-hundred and seventy-five thousand, going once, going—”
“Five-hundred thousand,” I call out, jamming my paddle in the air.
My blood is rushing in my ears as the adrenaline pumps and I can barely hear what the auctioneer is calling.
It’s not until I feel Hamish squeeze the back of my neck and hear him say, “Congrats,” I realize our strategy worked.
Down below I catch sight of Oliver ducking out of the ring, a white-haired man right behind him.
Dammit, I didn’t get a good look at him.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m on my feet and moving.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I shoot him a quick smile and head for the stairwell. The young guy is still guarding the top of the stairs.
“Where can I find the bathroom?”
“Down the stairs and to your right. It’s by the side entrance.”
There is no one in the hallway when I come downstairs. Instead of going right however, I turn left, toward Arion’s Moon’s stall.
I’m about three doors away when I hear voices coming from her stall that stop me in my tracks. One voice I recognize as Oliver’s, but it’s the other that has the hair at the back of my neck standing up. I press my back against the wall, my hand clutched to my chest. I try to catch my breath as my heart races and my head spins.
“…any information you can find. I expect you to report in back at Grandview tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“I am, and I’m taking Jason with me.”
I glance to my right when I hear a stall door open and catch the young stable hand stepping out, the white-haired man right behind him. I hold my breath until I see them turn away from me. As they start walking toward the rear doors, the older man places his hand on the back of the young guy’s neck.
A shiver runs down my spine and I quickly turn the other way, back to the stairs.
“Is everything okay?” Hamish asks when I slide back in my seat.
That’s not a question with an easy answer.
“We’ll talk later.”
I lean my head back and close my eyes the moment I get into the truck.
“Onyx?”
“Just give me a minute.”
I hear the engine start and wait until we begin moving away from the farm before I open my eyes.
“I need to call Jacob,” I announce, pulling out my phone.
“Hold on one sec, don’t leave me in the dark here. You looked like you saw a ghost back there.”
“Something like that.” I inhale deeply and blow out a breath. “I think we found Wheeler. I caught him talking to the agent downstairs.”
“You saw him?”
“More like heard him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. That’s not a voice I’ll ever forget.”
I can feel his eyes on me and turn to look at him.
“You know him,” he concludes accurately.
“I was living in a youth home. David Wheeler was a benefactor.”
I give him some time to let it sink in, I’d rather not spell it out. Luckily, it doesn’t take him long.
“That’s how you know he’s a predator. You were a victim,” he bites off.
I nod, looking away from his angry eyes.
“One of them. I wasn’t the only one, there were more of us at the home, and who knows how many since then. He was reported to have perished in the fire when the home burned down many years ago, but we recently became suspicious he may have somehow survived.”
The truck suddenly swerves onto the shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Turning around,” he snarls, the knuckles of his hands white as he clenches the steering wheel. “What do you think I’m doing? If that bastard is there now, I—”
I reach out and stop him with a hand on his arm.
“He’s already gone. He left minutes before I came back up to the gallery.”
Hamish drops his forehead between his hands on the wheel.
“Did he see you?”
“Wheeler? No. At least not when I went downstairs. He may have caught sight of me during the bidding, but even if he did, there’s no way he knows who I am.”
It’s highly doubtful he’d recognize me after twenty-four years. I was a skinny teenager, I didn’t have a white streak in my hair, and it was never really me he was interested in anyway.
I give his arm a gentle squeeze.
“Do you think we can go to the hotel now? I want to have a shower, put a call in to Jacob, and order in room service.”
He lifts his head and glances my way.
“Are you okay?”
I could lie but there doesn’t seem to be a point.
“No,” I tell him honestly. “It stirred up a lot of old crap, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
He lifts his right hand off the wheel and reaches out to gently touch my face, mumbling, “Soft, and yet so strong.”
Then he abruptly pulls his hand back and steers the truck back on the road.
“While you call your boss and have your shower, I’ll pick up some dinner.”
That’s kind of him but I really just want to veg in my pj’s and maybe find something distracting on TV. My emotions are too close to the surface right now. Anyone says one nice thing to me and it’ll all be bubbling over.
“I appreciate the thought, Hamish, but I’m not sure I’ll be good company.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“That’s fine. I’ll just be dropping off your sushi.”
Tears well up anyway when I realize he remembered my favorite food.