Page 42 of Sin Wager
"You're early," she says, accepting the coffee with a smile that makes my pulse quicken.
"Wanted to make sure you were safe getting in." I fall into step beside her as we head toward the stables. She may haverefused my ride, but I have men following her anyway. "How did you sleep?"
"Better, knowing you were going to be here." She glances up at me, and I lean in and press a kiss to her temple. I intend for it to be warm toward her, but I feel the heat of it too.
"Let's walk," I say, pulling back so the aura of her sweet scent doesn't get beneath my skin this early in the morning.
We reach the stable office, and I hold the door for her. "What's your schedule today?"
"Morning turnout for the horses in building three, then I'm helping with pre-race prep for tonight's card. The usual." She sets her coffee on her desk and pulls up the day's assignment sheet. "Storm's End is running in the fifth race. Want to check on him with me?"
"Absolutely."
This is perfect. Storm's End's stall is in building three, the same section where Sonya conducted yesterday's envelope exchange. If the pattern holds, she'll be back there this morning, and having Vera with me gives me cover to linger in the area.
We walk toward building three together, and I note every person we pass, every face that turns to watch us. Two stable hands nod respectfully when they see me—they know I represent track management, even if Vera doesn't. A trainer waves from the exercise ring. Everything appears normal, but I've learned to look for the details that don't fit.
"There," Vera says, pointing toward Storm's End's stall. "He looks good today. Alert."
The horse is indeed alert, head up, ears forward. A good sign for tonight's race. I approach the stall door and run my hand along the animal's neck, feeling for any sign of tension or discomfort.
"How's his appetite been?"
"Excellent. He cleaned his bucket last night and took a few apples too." Vera checks the water supply, making notes on her clipboard. When the horse nudges her sweetly, she leans in and kisses his nose. "The trainer wants him walked for thirty minutes before noon."
"I'll handle that," I say. "You can focus on the other horses."
She looks surprised. "You don't need to?—"
"I want to. Besides, I know my horse. We understand each other."
It's not entirely false. Storm's End is one of three horses I own under shell companies, placed strategically to give me insight into race conditions and training schedules. But my real motivation is different—walking Storm's End will give me reason to stay in this section of the stables for an extended period where I can keep my eyes on Vera and watch the activity.
We spend the next hour systematically moving through the building. Vera checks each horse, makes her notes, coordinates with the trainers and grooms. I stay close, offering help with feed buckets, checking water supplies, playing the attentive companion. To anyone watching, I'm a man in love, eager to spend time with his woman and learn about her work.
The performance is so convincing that I almost believe it myself. Being near Vera is as natural as gravity. I don't have to think about staying close. My body is pulled in her direction wherever she is.
At ten thirty, I spot movement near the feed storage area. Sonya emerges from behind a stack of hay bales, adjusting her jacket to close it, which means she had it open. And if that's the case, she likely took out one of her fancy little envelopes from it. She doesn't look in our direction, but her presence confirms my suspicions about her expanded operations.
"Stay close to me," I whisper, because I don't know what Sonya is capable of and until I do, I won't leave Vera alone near the woman.
"I'm fine," she mutters, but her body language tells a different story. Her shoulders are tight, her grip on the clipboard tenser than necessary. She knows exactly who Sonya is and what she represents, but she's not ready to admit it. To do so would be to admit she made a poor choice by working with the woman.
"Stay here," I tell her. "I want to check something."
I approach the feed storage area where Sonya emerged, scanning for any sign of what she was doing there. Behind the hay bales, I find a small metal lockbox hidden beneath a tarp—empty now, but recently used based on the dust patterns around it. A dead drop location, likely for payments or instructions. And they planned it in a blind spot where track security feeds can't see the interactions.
When I return to Vera, she's moved on to the next stall, but I can see the tension in her movements.
"Everything all right?" I ask.
"Fine. Just… I don't like when she's here."
"Why?"
"She makes me nervous. I just want to be done working for her.” Vera glances toward where Sonya disappeared. "Some of the other workers think she's connected to what happened to Pavel."
"What do you think?"
