Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
“Well, everything about him screams jockey, the short stature, the thin frame, the wiriness. Except for those buttocks. I would think it could affect his horseback riding. And why were you badgering him with all those questions about his being a jockey?”
“Because he was never a jockey,” I said.
Twenty–two
Beaufort remembered there was a bigger purpose for cutting out of that house. Apart from finding what Carlo had from Santangelo, he needed to find out when Pompano Park had been built. So that was the reason he was already a little on edge when he walked through Gloria’s front door to find her in her bathrobe, with Achilles in her lap, sulking. At first she appeared to want to give him the silent treatment, but he couldn’t be lucky enough to have that kind of woman.
“Where were you so late?” she asked.
The whining grated on his nerves, but he forced himself to keep his composure. “It’s nine o’clock. That’s not late.” He couldn’t help adding, “It was two in the morning when I picked you up.”
“You’re not answering my question.” Her voice quaked a little with the courage it took to say that, and he knew it was because she was a little angry, and a little scared, both of him going and him staying.
“Oh, baby,” he said. “You think I was out with another woman?” He went up to the chair, leaned over and tried to kiss her. She turned her head away and he ended up with a lick from Achilles instead. “I swear you’re enough woman for me.”
“You didn’t take your car.”
“Didn’t you see, I took my bike. They needed me at the stables,” he said.
“What for?”
“There was a night ride. Then I had to take care of the horses. Then I had a drink with the owner and shot the shit for a while. Any other questions?”
“Night ride? Sounds something like a submarine race. And I’ve seen the owner. She’s young and pretty.”
“When were you there?”
Abused women can always tell the smallest change in a man’s voice, some inflection that predicts violence. Beaufort wondered for a second why it never stopped them. If only they’d stay quiet they wouldn’t get so beat up.
“Oh, I was never there,” she said cautiously. “I just saw her, across the parking lot at Bashas’, not even close enough to talk.”
Beaufort tried to keep that dangerous inflection out of his voice. There might come a time when it would be useful but this was not one of them. What was of benefit was that the tables had turned and he was now questioning her. As gently as he could, “Then how did you know it was the owner of the stables?”