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Three years later.
Jake prowled the Meyers Security boardroom while he waited for the others to arrive. He loved working with his cousins. The cases weren’t always interesting or challenging, but it beat the hell out of his old job—even though he’d co-owned the business.
Meyers provided a wide range of private security services, and while he wasn’t first on the roster yet for dangerous ops, his experience with the FBI and his training as a pilot had brought him in on plenty of interesting cases since he’d become a full member of the team a few months ago.
Quinn came through the door, talking on his cell phone, and went straight to the communications center. He pushed a few buttons and it hummed to life. Bending down and leaning on his hands, he studied three screens as they lit up. It was interesting seeing him in the leadership role. His older brother Gage was the usual leader, but he and his wife were out of the country.
Jake waited until Quinn clipped the phone back on his belt before asking, “What do we have?”
“New client. Once everyone’s here I’ll fill you in. No point telling it twice.”
Angie came through the door like a whirlwind as always. “Hey,” she said, heading straight to the coffee machine. “Where’s Rachel?”
“At home,” Quinn answered.
“No, she’s not,” said Rachel, grinning at her husband from the doorway. “I’m doing the admin job on this one.”
“You should be resting, not working.”
Angie groaned. “Quinn, shut up before your wife decks you. Being pregnant has nothing to do with anything. Works perfect to have Rachel stepping in for this one.”
Rachel planted a firm kiss on Quinn’s mouth, then pushed him aside so she could sit at the com center, and soon had the printer spitting out hard copy. It was interesting to see these two at the helm as they’d been away for a while, working on their own project.
Quinn remained standing and got the meeting underway. “This mission is right up our alley.” He nodded toward his wife. “We’ve been hired to track down a missing racehorse.”
“Anyone we know? Connections to Haven?” Rachel asked, and worry darkened her eyes.
A few months earlier, they’d helped stop a group who abused racehorses and used them to kill people. The investigation had taken the team to many tracks around the country and they’d come to know a fair number of people within the industry. They also had a small racing stable of their own and had recently opened Haven, a ranch dedicated to rescuing those in need, be they human or animal.
“Doesn’t look like it at the moment,” Quinn replied.
The grim expression on Rachel’s face lightened. “Phewf.”
“A Thoroughbred by the name of Vedigan Way, who was recently retired to stud, was stolen a week ago enroute to his new home.”
“Stolen?” asked Angie.
Quinn nodded. “According to the van driver—who is now recovering in hospital—he saw a four-horse rig on the side of the road about two hours into the trip. The driver flagged him down so he pulled over. He had a lot of room on board for their horses if they needed a lift. Doesn’t remember anything else. Can’t come up with anything more than a vague description of a white male between forty and seventy. Tall, thin, wearing faded jeans and jean jacket, and a black ball cap. The rig was a red gooseneck with a white stripe, and the truck a black dually.”
A black pickup with dual wheels. Great, that describes half the trucks on the highway.
“School bus driver called nine-one-one when she spotted the victim in a ditch the next morning. The doctors treating him for a concussion and facial fractures think he was probably beaten with a baseball bat.”
Jake asked the obvious. “No sign of horse or vehicle?”
“Van and trailer were found torched in a gravel pit about fifty miles south, but they did get a serial number. No surprise to learn both vehicles were stolen. The trailer from a training center in El Paso the day after the public announcement of the horse’s retirement and subsequent syndication for over five million. Local law enforcement have done their due diligence and come up empty. We have a map.”
Rachel put it up on one of the large wall screens, handed him the remote then sat back.
“This is the area they’ve already worked.” He clicked to zoom out and illustrate how small it was compared to the whole state. “As you can see, there’s a lot more ground to cover.”
“Do we have any more info on the horse?” asked Jake.
“Give me a minute.” Rachel’s fingers flew over the keyboard then she did some fast scanning. “Here’s what it says: ‘Vedigan Way, the Cinderella story of the century, was stolen enroute to Kentucky to live out the dream. Despite a distinct lack of blue blood, Vedigan Way—a plain brown horse known affectionately as Toby—won not only five grade one races at three different distances on dirt, but then moved to turf and beat the best of the best with his late closing style, winning the hearts of race fans.
“By a mediocre stallion and from a female line whose only claim to fame was a B-circuit grinder with six wins over ten years, Vedigan Way wasn’t supposed to have the bloodlines to be a successful sire according to the critics. Those same critics were shocked to learn the stallion had been syndicated for five point six million dollars and was to stand stud at the famous White-Vurner Farm in Kentucky. With no apparent demands for ransom, there is speculation that this alleged theft may, in fact, be an insurance scam.’” She clicked the screen off.
“Interesting,” said Jake. “Where do we start?”
“This is a two-fold mission. One, we look for the missing horse. Two, we investigate the people involved.” Quinn scanned the group. “We’ll start with impressions and ideas. Angie?”
“We need to access the syndication paperwork, including any insurance files. A week’s a long time, so the horse could be anywhere by now.”
“Or dead.” Rachel grimaced. “If it’s for insurance, they won’t risk having him found.”
“But if he’s, as they say, a plain brown horse, he’d blend in anywhere.” Angie always looked for a happy outcome.
“The tattoo on the inside of his upper lip is identifiable. That puts weight in the column for getting rid of him.” Noticing the looks he was getting, Jake explained, “My company investigated a case where the wrong horse was delivered to a client. I’ve done some research.”
Quinn jotted notes on a pad. “Excellent. What else can you tell us?”
“The van drivers do their paperwork and check tattoos, especially if the horse is coming off a flight or transferring to another van. The registration papers also have the horse’s markings noted.”
“He was plain brown. No markings to check,” Rachel reminded him.
“Cowlicks would be listed then.” This he’d learned from another contact “You know, where the hair changes direction. There’d be at least one on the forehead and on each side of the neck.”
“So, if someone stole the horse to use as a sire, they’d have to match him to another horse’s cowlicks?” asked Angie.
“Not that hard really as cowlicks are noted for the neck and head only. And the descriptions used are fairly simple, like, one cowlick at midpoint of neck on left and right, or cowlicks both sides at poll.
“What’s impossible to duplicate is the tattoo. However, they can be tampered with to make them too difficult to be read.” Apparently he had the floor, so continued. “I met a woman a few years ago who’d be the perfect contact for this, but I lost track of her.” She’d literally vanished off the face of the earth as far as Jake was concerned. The only Sharon Yoste he could find had died more than ten years earlier.
“Not like you to let a good one get away.” Angie teased him the same way she would one of her brothers—his cousins. Only fair as they’d do the same to her. “Musta been old and ugly.”
“Actually, she was very attractive and—” He saw the speculation in several faces watching him and was quick to say, “But not my type at all.”
Angie was quick on that. “Oh? Why not?”
“Too much like you and the rest of my family.”
Her mouth opened, but Quinn stopped her before words could come out. “Focus, people. We have a case to work on. Rachel and I can work our racing contacts and see what comes up.”
Angie was quick to flip back to her professional role. “We’ll need to interview everyone involved. It’d be great if we could tag Grace and Logan to do some mind-sniffing, too.”
With a click, Rachel put an outline up on a second screen.
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JAKE - FIND CONTACT?
RACHEL AND QUINN - SNOOP AROUND RACING COMMUNITY
GRACE AND LOGAN - AVAILABILITY?
JAKE AND ANGIE - AERIAL SEARCHES
INTERVIEWS: CONNECTIONS, SYNDICATE MEMBERS, TRANSPORTING COMPANY, DRIVER.
QUESTIONS:
WHO KNEW THE ROUTE?
WHO GAINS?
WHO LOSES?
And they went on from there until a cohesive plan was built.
When the meeting broke up, Quinn stopped Jake before he could leave. “Stay and work with Rachel. She may be able to ferret out your contact.” He held up a hand. “I know, you’ve looked, but Rachel has a crazy sixth sense that might help.”
Jake wasn’t sure what a crazy sixth sense was, but he did as Quinn asked. Told Rachel about meeting the woman on the flight with the horses and how when he’d tried to track her down later, he’d come up blank. What he didn’t tell Rachel was how he hadn’t been able to get the woman out of his mind.