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Because Jake had gone undercover numerous times, the jolt he felt when he looked in the mirror was familiar. Eve and Julia had done an excellent job.
Contacts made his blue eyes look muddy brown, and his hair was now cropped short and blonde.
The appliance over his teeth was not only annoying, but would change his appearance and his speech—and he’d have to refrain from eating in public while he wore it.
Wardrobe for the duration would be slacks and dress shirts, with those gawd-awful shoes that looked two inches too long—like elf shoes. Derby Day, he’d wear a suit.
He grinned at Angie’s get-up. “Wow, I have a hot wife.”
“I hate wigs.” She pushed a long blonde strand off of her face.
“You could’ve had a dye job like me.”
She grinned. “Dying my hair would be like false advertising. People need to know when they’re dealing with a redhead.”
“Guess your secret man has no problems with that,” said Eve.
Angie’s grin softened. “None.”
“Will he have a problem with you and me being married for a week?”
“I told him we weren’t kissin’ cousins, so he won’t have to kill you.”
“Good to know.”
Dhillon came into the room and stood staring at his mother. “Blonde doesn’t work for you. Neither does all that eye gunk.”
“Ah, the honesty of a twelve-year-old. You and Chance aren’t going to give anyone a hard time while I’m gone, right?”
He rolled his eyes and, for the first time, Jake saw a similarity between mother and son. “Worse for us than them.”
“Excuse me?” said Julia. “Living here with me is no hardship, young man.”
“No. But I’ll have everyone else breathing down my neck while I’m here, and Chance has to obey extra rules like staying off the couches and stuff.”
Angie stifled a snort. “Go ahead. Milk it, kid. See how well it works for you.”
With a laugh, Dhillon snapped his fingers and the greyhound jumped to his side. “We’re headed for the pool.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t think of getting in the water without adult supervision. I’ll just hang out until somebody shows up.”
After he left, Angie asked, “So which one of you is going to fall for that?”
Eve held up her hand. “I’ll go. Mother can have second shift.”
Julia rubbed her palms together absently as she stuck her head out the door and looked both ways. “You’ll call him every night?”
“You know I will.”
Jake caught an odd edge in Julia’s voice that was echoed in the pronounced stiffness of her shoulders.
“Is something wrong?” He was surprised by the fleeting glimpse of uncertainty in her expression.
“Not really.” Her hands stilled and she stuffed them into her pockets. “I’ve invited Grace and Logan to work this op from a different angle. Don’t acknowledge them if you happen to cross paths. They’ll get word to you if they pick up any useful information.”
Angie’s gaze met her mother’s. Locked on. “You never fuss. What’s up?”
The older woman’s spine straightened, making Jake think he’d imagined the odd look she’d worn moments before. “Nothing concrete, but there’s something off about this trip and I can’t put my finger on it.”
#
After a good night’s sleep in the Louisville safe house, Jake and Angie drove to a nearby hotel and boarded a tour bus to see some of the most famous breeding farms in Kentucky. The kinds of places with miles and miles of black fences, hundreds of acres of green fields, and horses worth six and seven figures.
Their guide was a pretty woman in her twenties who was entertaining, and able to spout facts and figures about earnings and stud fees as though she’d eaten numbers for breakfast. She even shared a few small tricks of the trade, such as farm staff sprinkling oats in the pastures flanking long driveways and lanes so horses would be close and provide great photo ops.
As the bus passed a field with about twenty horses all the same color, Jake nearly cheered when a passenger asked how anyone could tell them apart. Their guide pointed out that all the horses wore halters and neck-straps bearing brass nameplates. Foals were identified by their mother’s name, and the year of their birth because they didn’t yet have a name of their own. In fact, names were not required until a year after their birth.
The operator went on to explain that registration and naming was quite expensive, and therefore some didn’t bother until the last possible moment. And babies with physical defects would sometimes be left unregistered.
When one of the passengers pointed out a foal with neither a halter nor strap and commented about mistaken identity, the guide laughed. “There are people who look after a hundred foals on a farm and can tell you who each one’s mother and father are without looking at their collars.”
Angie muttered for his ears only, “Definitely an area that could be messed with. Why the hell aren’t they chipped at birth?”
Jake whispered back. “Apparently it’s cost prohibitive and not foolproof.”
By the end of the day, they’d ogled a dozen stallions whose fees were about equal to the price of a four-bedroom home. Jake couldn’t imagine making that kind of a gamble.
Forking out a couple hundred thousand just for the swimmers was too big a risk for him to fathom. And the initial outlay was only the beginning. After that there’d be vet bills, feed, board, and transport. Sure you didn’t have to pay the stud fee if there was no live foal, but what if it had something drastically wrong with it? Poof, there went the entire investment.
And if you were breeding for the sales ring? Speculating the return on the dollar meant even more expenses before there was any chance to get back even a portion of your money. Nope, not a chance in hell he’d make that kind of a gamble.
Once they were back at the house and able to speak freely, Jake asked Angie, “Would you ever consider investing the kind of money it takes to breed a racehorse?”
“Not in this lifetime. Pretty obvious why they call it the sport of kings.”
The next day, they actually met stud managers when they joined a smaller group visiting some lesser-known farms, and Jake was impressed by how different the managers were from each other.
One was a smooth-talker who made everyone feel at ease. He encouraged questions and enjoyed talking about the famous horses he’d known.
Another was a rough fellow, obviously uncomfortable with people, but when he was touching a horse, he softened visibly, which of course, made Jake think of Tara. Just placing a hand on one of the horses in that barn in Ohio had totally changed her mood. Relaxed her.
More reminders came with the last farm on the tour and one of the people on Tara’s list.
Something uncomfortable crawled up Jake’s spine when they were introduced to Thomas Brady. Not sure if it was his brash manner or what sounded like a contrived Irish accent, but one glance at Angie confirmed she, too, was feeling it.
Jake stayed close to her when the group moved into a barn where Brady pointed at stall plaques—as opposed to the horses themselves—while rattling off the prices the stallion’s yearlings had brought at the last sale.
When they moved outside to visit a group of mares and foals, the man still ignored the creatures.
He doesn’t like them, Jake thought, and they didn’t like Thomas Brady much either.
A lady at the front of the group asked, “Do you own this farm?”
“Hell, no,” he said as though it didn’t have good enough stock for him.
“Oh, so you just an employee.”
He straightened as though trying to appear much taller than his average height. “I’ve made this farm what it is today. Put it on the map as one of the finest facilities around.”
Jake still couldn’t place the accent.
“I’m a specialist. My skills are highly sought after and farm owners pay me a great deal of money to turn an enterprise like this around. Create a grander atmosphere I do, for all of my clients.”
Now he had the woman’s attention and she even took a step forward. “What’s your secret?”
Jake only had a back view of her, but he got the impression she was more interested in the man than the horses or the business. Looking for personal wealth to attach herself to, perhaps.
Brady addressed the group then, but slid a sly look her way. “Tis I that’s able to predict what the best crosses will be and choose exactly the right stallion for the right mare. Aye, and it’s a gut instinct I was born with.” He’d exaggerated the accent.
“You’re Irish?” Jake smothered a smile and was impressed at Angie being able to squelch a snort.
Brady’s smile was slathered on like the accent, and he added a wink to his delivery. “Aye. From a long line of horsemen, I am, with a touch of leprechaun in me pedigree. I’ve singlehandedly saved nearly a dozen breeding farms from financial ruin for I knew where the pot of gold be hidden.” He laughed long and hard, with much of the group joining in.
“Gag me with a fucking shit-shovel,” muttered Angie.
“Bells ringing,” Jake whispered in her ear. Something was off.
“Do you own any horses yourself?” someone asked.
“Not outright. But I’ve put together a vast number of syndicates. It’s the perfect way for an ordinary person to become a horse owner. If anyone here is interested, you can buy into a horse for as little as a thousand dollars a month. Not much to pay for bragging rights, recognition, and prestige, to show the world you’re somebody who fits right in with the movers and shakers.” Now he was on a roll.
“What kind of horse do you get for a thousand a month?” asked someone with a skeptical tone.
“The finest beast you’d like. Take this last syndicate I developed...” He went on and on about race records, return on the dollar, future deals and more.
But Jake had heard enough. He slung an arm around Angie’s shoulders and guided her away. “Let’s get out of this muck,” he said under his breath and they headed back toward the bus, leaning in as though more interested in each other than horse talk.
Once on board, Jake said, “He just got bumped clear up to the top of the list.”
“Gives me the creeps. Thinks he’s God’s gift, too. Did you see the sly smile he kept shooting at that woman? The one with the silicone tits and over-injected lips? Ten to one she does him this week.”
He laughed. “I thought he was having a hard time seeing past the rocks she was wearing.”
“They were as fake as the rest of her.”
He stared. “You could tell?”
Angie’s smile bloomed. “I know diamonds, and emeralds, and a few others, too. So trust me, they’re good, but they ain’t real.”
“Interesting. They’re both sniffing for money and I bet they each think the other has a great deal more than they do. A match made in heaven.”
Once everyone was herded back onto the bus, the operator did a head count and frowned. She hopped back out and soon returned with the missing woman and a handful of business cards. “Thomas asked me to share these in case anyone had questions, or was interested in joining one of his syndicates.”
Angie took one. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll win big at the Derby.”
Jake smiled. Yes, that would be a perfect ruse, as one way or another, they were going to be taking a really close look at Brady because now he was on two lists—Tara’s and Jake’s.