Page 38 of The Front Runner
She drops her head low and gets to work almost instantly. The season hasn’t started yet, but she’s going to be ready when it does. Jose is light in the irons, gently hovering above her, letting her stretch out and not over-managing the way Patrick does during his rides.
Not that he ever shows up to practice days. If it’s not race day, you don’t find him down here at Bell Point Park. I imagine he’s hanging in his mansion wearing one of those red crushed velvet robes you see in movies, sucking on a cigar. The guy is just such a douchebag. I can’t wait to bury him once and for all.
Jose and Silver thunder past where I stand, pulling my attention from my Patrick plans. And true to her name, she looks like a silver streak, a blur, as she gallops past with her dark dapples flashing under the sun. She’s a beautiful mare. Although, last time I spoke to Jose, he cackled and told me she’s ‘a bit of a bitch’ and that ‘her attitude will win her races.’ Her muscled haunches push her through the turn, and I can’t help but smile. I told him we could just refer to her as a ‘go-getter’ from now on. Call her what you want, but he’s not wrong—that mare has winner written all over her. Plus, she’ll make a hell of a broodmare one day.
Happy with what I’ve seen, I turn and begin my walk back to the stables, wanting to have a quick chat with some of the staff down here at the track. I pass the winner’s circle—a place I’d like to spend more time—and then turn toward the barns. It’s quiet here this time of year, there aren’t any spectators, just staff working quickly and efficiently. Which is why I’m surprised when I hear Patrick Cassel’s voice filtering out of the mouth of the first barn alleyway.
“You’d look a lot prettier if you smiled more, you know.”
I roll my eyes while standing around the corner, out of sight.Total douchebag.
“I’ll smile when you show me what you’re hiding in your pocket.”
My blood runs cold. Another voice I’d recognize anywhere. A voice that has me leaping into action, because I sure as hell am not leaving Mira alone with a pig like Patrick. And truthfully, I’d intervene no matter who was here with him. The mere fact Patrick is at the facility on a day when there aren’t races is suspicious.
With my hands slung in my pockets and my neck held tall, I turn into the wide-open end of the barn and lean a shoulder up against the frame before casually crossing an ankle over my shin. Mira’s gaze finds mine almost instantly, while Patrick has no idea I tower behind him. His lack of self-awareness might be his most impressive quality.
“I think Dr. Thorne looks especially lovely when she’s frowning.” My voice comes out as a snarl, which makes perfect sense. Seeing Patrick alone in a barn with Mira has me feeling a bit feral.
He spins, cheeks reddening, lips curling into a vicious smile I don’t trust at all. “Stefan, how lovely to see you.”
His tone tells me he doesn’t actually think it’s lovely.
“Did you find your misplaced work ethic, Patrick? Putting in some extra hours? Not sure I’ve ever seen you here on an off day.”
He sneers at me, and I see Mira worrying her lip behind him, her eyes darting down to the pockets of his bomber jacket where his hands are shoved in. It’s not a stretch to say he looks like he’s covering something. But I already know that.
“Fuck you, Dalca. You fired me, remember? The work I do now is none of your business.”
My fingers curl into fists in my pockets. The problem with men like Patrick is they think they’re much smarter than they are. He thinks he must be the smartest man in the room right now, simply because we haven’t caught him.
Yet.
Mira pipes up now. “As the person in charge of these horse’s health and well-being, you trying to enter their stallsismy business.”
He scoffs as he turns back to face her. “I was doing no such thing. Just taking a shortcut through this barn.”
He’s a poor liar, and the way Mira arches her brow says she thinks so too.
“You were.” Her eyes narrow, and if looks could incinerate a person on the spot, Patrick would be on fire right now.
“Okay, Mira, then get a search warrant,” he chuckles condescendingly. “No one is going to believe the little country bumpkin with the worst case of resting bitch fa—”
That’s not happening.
My hand snakes out, fingers clamping around the back of his neck, hard enough I hope it hurts. “That’sDoctor Thorne. And it’s time for you to leave. Now.” My fingers pulse, and I feel him tense.
Being the weasel that he is, he tries to leave immediately, but my grip pulls him back as I lean in toward his ear and chuckle darkly. “A gentleman like you wouldn’t leave without apologizing to Dr. Thorne, would he?”
“Of course not.” His voice is thin with barely contained rage bubbling beneath perfectly enunciated words. But he’s also not brave enough to do anything about it. “My apologies,Dr. Thorne.Now get your fucking hands off me, Dalca.”
He squirms around like a slippery fish, trying to escape my grasp. I almost wish I had a bat to put him out of his misery. It’s just pathetic enough to make me smile before I let him go. He marches out with his head held higher than is fitting for someone who is fleeing a losing match.
“He was up to something.” Mira stares at me, dark eyes searching my face like she’s looking for something.
“No doubt.” I shove my hands back in my pockets to ease the urge to wrap her in my arms. To assure myself that she’s okay. “But he’s not wrong. Short of holding him down and frisking him, it would be hard to prove.”
She grunts in dissatisfaction, jutting her chin out in the way of saying goodbye. “Thanks for running interference,” she adds as her eyes dart down just before she turns to saunter back through the darkened stable.
