Angie had always preferred to work alone. Inviting other people into her sometimes elaborate undercover deceptions often resulted in confusion and hampered her ability to think on her feet. As soon as she woke and realized that Julian wasn’t in bed with her, she concentrated on what needed to happen today. Her riding lesson in the early afternoon was actually a chance to search for Gigi. The murder of three potential witnesses made it even more important to find the girl who might provide living testimony against the traffickers.
After the Gigi search, Angie would meet with Marigold. Anticipation flooded through her. She’d waited eleven years for this moment, and she feared the outcome might not be what she wanted. Marigold might be the witness who could take down Lorenzo or she might refuse to turn on the man who gave her fancy houses and jewelry. This was definitely a big day, and she wished Julian were here to talk it over.
She checked her phone and saw he’d left a text saying that he was going to see Zapata and would join her later for the horseback riding lesson. She rubbed her eyes and read it again. Zapata? The man who was in tight with a Colombian cartel? The mastermind of Lorenzo’s businesses? The vindictive monster who sent Damien to kill the Baker? If she hadn’t been edgy before, Julian’s morning agenda—which he should have discussed with her—was enough to start her adrenaline running.
What had happened to Angie the Loner? For the first time in her career with the FBI, she felt like she needed a partner, needed Julian. Though she wanted to call him or send a screaming text in all caps, she worried that someone might be listening to their communications. Reverting to her undercover role as his lover, she sent a big fat juicy heart emoji.
Her day was underway. Dressed for her riding lesson in a pair of purple Frye boots that matched a cowgirl shirt with an embroidered yoke, she took the elevator down to the OTB lounge on the lower level. Her office was behind the public area that was basically a tavern furnished with horsey memorabilia and big-screen TVs to watch every aspect of horse racing. She tapped in the code to unlock her office door, sidled inside and settled behind her long desk where a gang of computers were performing or waiting to be called upon. She waved at the screens, some of which were blank while others displayed constantly updated records of betting activity.
“Hello, boys.” Her mouth stretched in a smile. “Did you miss me?”
Some people might think it was sad that her best friends were computers, but she liked her machines. If she entered the right program, a computer never betrayed her trust. When she wanted to play, they offered gazillions of games. And if she just wanted to sit quietly with her thoughts, they wouldn’t interrupt.
The only facet of her life that a computer couldn’t satisfy was the one that Julian had activated when he kissed her.
Last night, their time together left her yearning for more. After her steamy shower, she’d dressed in a satin chemise with no panties and arranged herself on the bed, prepared to greet him with everything she had. Instead, she’d given in to exhaustion and fallen asleep.
There was a knock on the office door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Tamara. I have caffeine.”
Angie opened the door. “You guessed the magic word.”
Tamara held a tray from room service. “Do you want it out here or in there?”
Angie glanced at her friendly computers and decided not to put their beautiful circuitry in danger of a spill. “I’m pretty sure there won’t be a crowd in the lounge. Monday morning at ten isn’t exactly a busy time for horse races.”
In the lounge, Tamara set the tray on a vacant table. “I used to go to the racetrack with my dad when I was a kid. The horses were beautiful. Dad let me stand at the railing so I could get a closer look when they’d prance around the track. Then we’d go to the clubhouse, which had a really cool vibe if you didn’t mind the stink of cigarette smoke. Do you prefer coffee or tea?”
“Coffee without cream or sugar.”
“That was my first guess, but I brought a latte and hot water just in case.” She lifted the domed plate cover to reveal scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sit.” It would have been rude to send her away, and Angie realized that the last time she’d eaten was when she had the chocolate cupcake from Valentino’s. “Have you recovered from Saturday night?”
“I had a wonderful time. Thanks for helping me bust out of my shell.”
“It’s hard to resist the power of a red dress.” She shoveled a bite of silky, delicious eggs into her mouth. “Leif couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
Tamara inadvertently glanced through the door from the OTB to the sports betting venue where Leif worked. “We have a date on Thursday night. Fingers crossed, I hope there will be more. Now, tell me all about you and Julian.”
“It seems we have more in common than we realized.” A vast understatement! “We connected.”
“Look at you,” Tamara said. “You’re glowing.”
“Am I?” Glowing and blushing hadn’t been part of her undercover disguise. Pretending to be involved with Julian was going to be easy.
“You make a classy couple—him looking like a professor with his glasses and you with your gorgeousness.”
Angie concentrated on devouring her breakfast. “There’s not much high-profile horse racing on today’s schedule. I’m going to take advantage of the downtime to have another riding lesson with Waylon.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s okay.” She had gotten far enough that she could mount and sit astride without feeling like she was going to puke.
Two gray-haired duffers shuffled into the lounge and settled themselves at a table where they opened their copies of the Daily Racing Form. These two were regulars and came to Nick’s every day.
“Bert and Ernie,” Tamara said as she stood. “I’ll get those two some coffee. What time does your bartender come in?”
“Eleven o’clock and thanks for taking care of my guys. It’s lonely down here. I want more bettors who stick around and start bringing their friends.”
She finished her breakfast, sat back and sipped excellent coffee while Tamara chatted with the gruff but oddly charming old guys. Angie didn’t know much about racing or off-track betting and still didn’t completely understand the codes and notes on the racing forms, but she liked the atmosphere. Everybody at Nick’s was easygoing and friendly. This would have been a great place to work, except for the criminal element. Last night’s eruption into violence was a reminder that Nick’s was more than yummy room service and lightweight legal vices.
She returned to her office to deal with the computerized aspect of gambling, which was several times bigger than the in-house OTB. Most of the members of this gentlemen’s club placed their wagers online. According to her stats, the recent legalization of sports betting in Colorado hadn’t affected the cash flow at Nick’s, probably because Lorenzo offered advances on bets...for an exorbitant interest rate.
While she worked, Angie lost herself in a world of numbers. Her undercover identity claimed she was a math genius. Not true, but she enjoyed computations, projections and algorithms. When she finally looked up from her computers, a couple of hours had passed. She yawned, stretched and wondered why she hadn’t heard from Julian.
What had happened at Zapata’s office? She’d been trained to imagine alternatives and contingencies, most of which were disasters. As her colleague, Julian needed to keep her informed. In his pose as her lover, his attitude definitely had to change. He had to portray a guy who was obsessed, besotted and crazy about her, had to act like he couldn’t stand being apart from her.
When she checked her phone again, there were no other texts from him. Instead, she accessed the encrypted link with her handler at the FBI. Special Agent Hemming had left details about the autopsies which provided very little new information. Damien and one of the others had the triple H tattoo from the Colombian cartel. The third man had a tat of Roman numerals. MMXV stood for 2015, a year that held significance for a gang that had started in Denver and spread across the Southwest. The gang called themselves the Fifteen.
Why was Damien in touch with MMXV? Had he been planning a double cross, breaking away from the cartel and doing business with a local gang? She hated to see so many other dangerous people involved with the trafficking, but that was the way these schemes worked.
From studying Lorenzo’s accounts and computer files that she had access to, she suspected that the service he provided was mostly logistical. Zapata would collect payment from the cartels and gangs that smuggled human cargo, whether it was kids, maids, sex workers or field hands. Zapata would arrange contacts and transportation which resulted in a second payment. Lorenzo was pivotal to the operation but—true to his expensive taste with original artwork and the fantastic Glass Palace—he kept his hands clean. She had questions, a lot of questions, and needed to find time to sit down with Julian and compare data.
When she emerged from her office, she counted six patrons in addition to Bert and Ernie who had moved closer to one of the big-screen TVs. Waylon had joined them and was giving a low-key lecture about how to tell which horse was a winner.
“You can read all the stats you want,” Waylon said, “but there ain’t no substitute for experience and instinct. I spent my whole life with horses, and I can take a look at the field for this race and tell you the result. Win, place and show.”
Bert and Ernie didn’t agree with the old cowboy. They had a complicated system with different colored markers that checked off various aspects on the racing form. Then they factored in the history of the horse, took a look at the breeder and trainer and jockey. Their bets were generally under fifty bucks.
“Our system works,” one of them said as he took a swig from his coffee mug. “Angie, tell him. It works.”
Reluctantly, she admitted, “I don’t quite understand how they do it, but they get results. Last week, they did 18 percent better than the house, including a bet on a thirty-three-to-one long shot.”
A commotion announced the arrival of Leif Farnsworth. He wasn’t a big name in horse racing, but everybody knew the former quarterback from the Denver team. He shook hands all around before he got sucked into Bert and Ernie’s conversation.
“I’m guessing y’all know the answer to this question,” Waylon said. “What’s the best way to pick a winner? Statistics or instinct?”
Leif shrugged. “I like to go with my gut.”
“Instinct,” Waylon said triumphantly.
Bert and Ernie scowled in unison. One of them asked, “How often are you right?”
“More often than I lose, but not by much.”
“What are the signs?” Waylon asked. “When y’all go into a game, how do you know if you’re going to win or lose?”
“I always start off thinking I’m a winner. If I thought I was going to lose or get sacked or fumble, I wouldn’t leave the dressing room. I never want to screw up, but sometimes it just happens.” Leif shook his head. “I calculate the variables and check my level of confidence, but there’s no way to prepare for the unexpected.”
Not a bad way to describe life or fate or even love. No matter how confident you felt or how many calculations pointed toward success, the unexpected could rear its ugly head and wipe out any plan. When Angie heard more people approaching the OTB lounge, she craned her neck, hoping to see Julian. No such luck! Strolling through the door were Calamity Jane, Muscleman Matt the concierge and Cara, who dodged through the tables and chairs to give Angie a hug. Right behind them was Tamara, who zoomed in on Leif.
On the big-screen TV, the horses paraded around the track, giving the crowd a last look and time to place their bets. In horse racing, it seemed to take forever to prepare for a race that lasted only a few minutes. While Waylon described the gait and the energy from one of the two-year-old fillies, she went to the bar and ordered another cup of coffee.
Looking up into the long mirror behind the liquor bottles at the back of the bar, she watched the growing crowd but was still detached from it. Cara bounced across the room and climbed up on a stool beside her. Though it wasn’t appropriate or legal to have a child in an establishment that served liquor, Cara was safer here than most other locations at Nick’s.
“Waylon is gonna let me ride with my mom,” Cara said. “I told him I could handle my own horse, but he says I’m not big enough.”
And why would you want to? “Riding with your mom will be fine. She grew up on a ranch.”
“Yep.” Cara nodded vigorously, and her ponytail bounced. “We’re gonna visit for Christmas, and I’ll get to do more riding.”
While she chattered about a pony with black and white spots, Angie could hear the love in Cara’s voice. When she’d been a seven-year-old, there had been nothing or no one she cared about so deeply. Maybe if she’d had an animal companion, she wouldn’t have been such a troublemaker. Marigold was the only person she’d ever trusted. And Marigold had left her.
She felt a warm hand at her waist, looked up into the mirror above the bar and saw Julian standing beside her. Tamara was right. Side by side, they were a classy couple. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead.
Cara chirped. “Hey, Julian, you gotta give me a kiss. I’m your girlfriend, too.”
“Absolutely.” He brushed a kiss on the top of her head and tugged at her ponytail. “Why is everybody sitting around here and drinking coffee?”
“Beats me,” Angie said. “My lesson isn’t until two.”
He scanned the crowd. “Is everybody coming along?”
“I am.” Cara’s hand shot into the air.
Being accompanied by a crowd would hamper their ability to search for Gigi. This wasn’t what Angie had intended. “Jane and Matt will also be joining us. And Tamara might have mentioned that she’d like to tag along.”
“Why?” Julian asked.
“Checking out the gossip,” Cara said with a flip of her ponytail. “They want to know if you two are boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“I’ll never tell.” Julian checked his watch and leaned closer to her. “We’re going to get a head start. Just you and me.”
A good way to search without a mob! Though she liked his solution, she had a few doubts. “How much do you know about horses?”
“I grew up on a ranch in Wyoming. Is that good enough for you?”
“You’re good enough for me,” she said softly, “in every way.”
“Yuck!” Cara shouted.