Page 38 of Bridles and Bribery

Dave leaned back in the chair in front of Jordan’s desk, wondering what conclusion he was supposed to draw. Either Jordan Jacobson was the infamous Prophet, or somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to make it look that way.

Presumably after he’d overdosed.

And died.

Also on Jordan’s computer was an encrypted folder without a name. It was labeled with a simple zero.

Fortunately, Dave had taken some computer classes in college and knew a thing or two about how to get around encryption walls. Within minutes, he was inside the folder. What he found there made his blood run cold.

There were snapshots of dozens of winning gambling receipts for last year’s biggest horse races in the U.S. — the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes, and the Belmont Stakes. Also included in the folder were countless photos of injured horses. There were fractured legs, lacerated flanks, and swollen areas around the hooves. All the wounds were indicative of abuses inflicted while the horses were being ridden. Notably, each horse pictured was a horse that matched one of the winning gambling receipts. Unless he was reading this wrong, someone had been fixingraces by abusing horses to guarantee they would lose…and then betting against them. It was heinous, unconscionable, and inhumane.

The last series of photos featured a horse Dave recognized. It was that of Western Storm. According to the time stamp on them, they’d been taken around the time Jordan and his father had rescued him from Horseshoe Valley Ranch.

The disturbing folder had been aptly named. Its contents truly amounted to a zero, as in Ground Zero where all the Jacobsons’ troubles had begun.

Apparently, Jordan and his dad had stumbled across more than an abused horse. They’d uncovered a brutally dangerous horse gambling ring, and Jason Jacobson had paid for it with his life.

And now they’re trying to tie up the last loose thread.

No wonder Jordan Jacobson was currently fighting for his life in the hospital! What was contained on his laptop could potentially put a lot of people behind bars, starting with the co-owners of Horseshoe Valley Ranch. Dave unplugged the laptop and zipped it inside the backpack. It was time to take what he knew to the police.

A heavy knock sounded on the windowed door. Dave had locked it behind him after entering the building. Because of the shade pulled down over the window, there was no way to see who was on the other side.

“You in there, Jordan?” a man called menacingly.

Dave’s instincts told him it was time to move. Not only was Western Storm’s stall door open, the back door of the barn was also standing wide open. It was a miracle the horse hadn’t already taken off.

There was no time to properly saddle him, so Dave took a running jump and mounted him bareback. Nudging himwith his knees, he leaned forward and spoke quietly to get him moving. “Let’s go, boy.”

They were soon trotting across the back pasture. Seconds later, an explosion sounded behind him, sending the horse into a gallop. Darting a glance over his shoulder, Dave saw that the barn where Jordan had been living was an inferno of smoke and flames.

Chapter 7: Angry Neighbor

Jillian dragged herself out of bed, feeling tense, out of sorts, and still tired. No matter how many pillows she hugged or propped against her lower back, it was getting harder and harder to find a comfortable position in bed.

It wasn’t just the pregnancy wearing her down, though. It was also her marriage. An absent husband wasn’t what she’d signed up for. As much as she loved Dave, part of her was beginning to wonder if she would’ve been better off dating him longer instead of jumping so quickly into married life. Sure, she’d still be pulling the night shift in the ER at the Heart Lake Medical Center, but working there was the demon she was already familiar with.

She didn’t know how much more she could take of living in constant fear for his safety. It was hard not knowing his specific whereabouts or the next time he would call. It was harder than anything she’d ever dealt with. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a high-powered criminal lawyer. Poor Dave! He deserved so much better than a cranky wife with bedhead and swollen ankles.

She started her day by tugging on her longest, reddest, fuzziest sweater over her maternity jeans. In the past, Christmas colors had always lifted her spirits. This morning, she found herself shivering in front of the dressing mirror in the closet. The coldness inside her wasn’t the kind of cold that could be chased away by winter sweaters and central heaters.

Maybe coffee will help.

She and Eloise had made a quick grocery run yesterday morning. Their purchases had included no less than five flavors of decaffeinated coffee and tea for the resident pregnant gal.

She yawned and finger combed her hair into a messy ponytail as she shuffled in her sock feet to the kitchen. “Morning, Eloise,” she mumbled. “Have you heard from?—?”

“No. You?” As usual, Eloise had beaten her to the coffeepot. She was seated at the bar, flipping through a stack of manilla folders.

“You’ll be the first to know if I do.” Jillian placed a k-cup in the single-serve coffee dispenser and pushed the start button. She arched her back to stretch it while the steam rising from her cardboard cup brewed her into a better state of mind. It was impossible not to find a teensy sliver of comfort in the warm, rich scent of hazelnut. Or the festive cup painted with glittering gold and silver snowflakes — a leftover from the holidays.

“You meanwhenyou do,” Eloise corrected in a voice as grumpy as Jillian felt. “My sonwillwrap up his case, and hewillcall you. You can take that to the bank.”

Jillian reached for a plastic lid for her cup, wishing her mother-in-law didn’t sound like she was trying to convince herself of that. “What are you working on?”

“I’m butting my nose into places no one asked me to,” she confessed with a sigh. “To be more specific, I called Dave’s secretary yesterday and asked her to send me a copy of all the case files he’s been working on.”

Jillian spun around in astonishment. “And she agreed to do it?” What about attorney-client confidentiality?

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