Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (2 page)

Low chuckles and some indifference wafted through the room. It didn’t take long for high fives to resume, guys thinking ahead to their evenings, back to business as usual.

“Don’t listen to that guy,” Tommy said to O’Leary. “Everyone knows you can ride, man. You have to ignore guys like him. You’re too good a man to allow someone like Perez to light you up. Like I said, you can ride, and that’s what matters. Get your mojo back, and you’ll be in the winner’s circle again.”

O’Leary gave him a sad smile. “My days are about done, kid. Just done.” He shook his head. “But yours…yours are just beginning. Be smart. I like you. Look, I’ve gotta go. Things to do. Have a good one.” He patted Tommy on the shoulder, and with his head down, walked out—a beaten man. The industry did that to some guys.

Tommy watched O’Leary leave the locker room, feeling sorry for the guy. A legend like that shouldn’t have to put up with this shit from the likes of Perez. Maybe he should take the guy for a drink, try to pump him up. Not let him give up like that.

But he had plans with Katarina.

His girl.

O’Leary would have to wait.

No one knew about Katarina—that she was his girl. Katarina was another jockey, and she was a real good one, too. She’d requested they keep things between them quiet. There was enough politicking she had to deal with, being a female jock, and she was afraid that if any of the other jockeys caught wind of their affair, she’d be harassed. But dammit, he was falling in love with the girl, and he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Tommy checked his watch. They would meet at their favorite bar in an hour and then go back to her place. It was nicer than his place—but not for long.

If the filly…

If that sweet, beautiful filly Karma’s Revenge kept going as she was, surely the owner and trainer, Elena Purdue, would let him continue riding her. He was forming a connection to the horse. She
loved running for him. She wanted to make him happy. He could feel it with every stride on which she lengthened herself out.

The adrenaline.

The energy.

God, it was pure bliss. That horse was opening some doors for him!

Tommy bowed his head in front of Jesus Christ hanging on a cross inside his locker. He touched the small picture of the Virgin Mary taped to his locker door as well. He said a prayer and crossed himself, not forgetting
who
had gotten him here and
who
was in charge.

He shut the locker and wove through the locker room, receiving a few more congrats on the day’s big win. He hoped Katarina would be as happy for him. He knew she would likely be pouty, since he and Karma had left her and her horse in the dust just out of the starting gate. His girl was as competitive as any of the guys, and she did not like to get beat. He would make it up to her. They had agreed business was business and best left on the track.

He headed to his jeep, sure to be upgraded to a sports car—soon! He dialed Katarina’s cell to see if she was on her way, too. She didn’t answer. He left a message and headed out, but first he drove over to the barns. He parked the jeep in front of barn four, took a carrot from his bag, and walked over to Karma’s stall. Everyone had gone home for the day, and the sounds of horses chomping on their feed echoed up and down the aisle. Tommy spotted one of the security guards pacing the barn aisles. They gave each other a cursory nod and a brief “Good evening” and went about their business.

Tommy walked up to the lovely bay mare. She lifted her head from the feeder and stuck her nose out at him, expecting the treat. A perfect white snip adorned her face as her delicate ears flitted forward, attentive, waiting. Out of her nostrils came a warm breath of
anticipation. A thick line of lashes added femininity to the horse’s bright and kind eyes. What a gem.

The jockey made this a daily ritual with the mare. Not only did he like speed and adrenaline, but he loved the horses. He had respect for them, and especially for this filly, which he knew was his meal ticket to better days.

Karma took the carrot from the palm of his hand. Tommy gave her a pat on her dark neck, which shone like satin in the dim lighting of the barn row. “You done good today, filly. You done good. We’re going places. We are going places, girl.” Karma took her perfectly sculpted head and nudged him. He laughed. “Nope. I don’t have no more. Tomorrow.” He kissed the warm nose and headed back to the jeep to meet up with his other girl.

Life was so very sweet for twenty-two-year-old Tommy Lyons.

At the bar, Tommy ordered a beer and waited for Katarina. And waited. He thought about Karma. He thought about O’Leary and Perez. He wished he could have helped O’Leary, and he was anxious to get out there and kick Perez’s ass on the track. Pompous jerk! And he waited some more—for nearly an hour he waited and kept calling her cell phone. Panic set in because just the night before she had insisted that he agree to her rules. “We don’t fall in love. We don’t tell no one. We are having fun and that’s it. No relationship. Deal? I don’t have time for a relationship, Lyons,” Katarina had said in her Irish lilt, shaking a finger at him, “and neither do you.”

He’d agreed, but he wasn’t feeling that way at all. In fact, Tommy was already in love with the just-under-five-feet, blue-eyed, redheaded freckle face from the Emerald Isle. His hope was that over time she would come around.

Maybe she had sensed his hesitation to truly agree to her stipulations. Maybe he had freaked her out. He called and left her one more message, saying that he was headed home and for her to
please call because he was worried. He knew she wouldn’t like that, but dammit, it was true.

Tommy paid his tab and headed to the jeep. He got behind the wheel a little buzzed and definitely on a high from the day’s win with the filly. As he started the engine, he spotted something on the passenger seat that had not been there before.

Or had it been?

No. It had not.

A racing form from that day. He picked it up. What the hell? He could see in the dim light that a typed sticky note was on top. It read,
Sacrificial Lambs. That’s all. Point to make. Bigger fish to fry.
“What the he—?” Before Tommy could finish the sentence, something struck him hard on the head from behind. He had no time to defend himself before he blacked out.

He called himself Joque.

It was a pun.

“French for jockey, huh, boy? Pretty fucking smart, aren’t I?” He winked at Tommy Lyons who was bound, tied, and gagged, seated in a folding chair across from his pretty little girlfriend, Katarina. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

Ahhh. So sad.

Pitiful. Yeah.

Whatever.

Lyons eyed him. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. Good. He should be scared.

“Do you have any idea how many horses break their legs on the track each year, Tommy boy?”

Lyons just stared at him.

He’d brought them to a warehouse. The smell of rubber was thick, or maybe it was oil. The lighting was dim, but the warehouse looked to be empty. A light buzzing sound rang through the air, almost like a mosquito but continual.

“How about you?” He turned to Katarina. “You are two up-and-coming superstars. Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? Do you have any fucking clue?” he screamed. “Let me tell you how many horses break their goddamned legs on racetracks each year. Eight hundred horses. Eight hundred! Oh, and lest we forget how many suffer heart attacks. Two- and three-year-olds having heart attacks!” Joque wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. A ski mask still covered his face. He couldn’t take any chance of being spotted. He knew that wouldn’t happen. Plans had been carefully constructed and were now being executed. And this here with these two jockeys was only the beginning.

Joque walked to the corner of the room of the industrial building off Interstate 15 near Poway. He had taken Katarina first when she’d gotten into her car at Del Mar. It had been a little too easy, and he’d hoped the boy would be more of a challenge. He was sad because he had not been.

He picked up the metal baseball bat and brought it over to the kids.

The
jockeys
.

He looked from one to the other, smiling. Katarina’s eyes widened and she began to shake her head. She was the smart one. Lyons looked stupefied.

Joque brought the bat up and swung as hard as he could, connecting directly with Katarina’s shin. He heard the snap. He heard what probably was some kind of gasp from Lyons. A strange sound emitted from the girl jock. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Oh no, no. We don’t pass out. You think when a horse you’re on top of snaps his leg that he gets to stop? He doesn’t stop. He
keeps going because that’s what he’s been trained to do. Trained against nature. Or shot up with so many drugs that he can’t feel a thing for the first few minutes.” He placed a hand under her chin and shook her head from side to side. “Noooo. You are not allowed sleepy time. Not yet.”

Such a shame.

Such a waste.

A pretty girl.

And all she’d had to do to live in this life was something different from racing horses.

That was it.

Tears now fell down the girl’s face. Joque looked at Lyons. The kid was white as a sheet. “Hey, cowboy, how do you like seeing someone you care about being hurt like that? Not so fun, is it?”

“Here, let’s make it even.” Joque wrapped his palms tightly around the bat, brought it up, and swung. This time he connected with Tommy’s leg. He didn’t hear a snap, so he brought the bat up and swung again. He did that four more times. He wanted to be sure he broke both the boy’s legs. When he stopped, Tommy’s head hung. “You can’t fall asleep either.” He cupped Lyons’s chin and looked into his eyes—eyes filled with pain. “I am sorry about this. You are simply sacrificial lambs to this thing. You’re pawns. Kind of like the horses. You’re stupid. I know your stories.”

He faced Katarina. “You’re a poor girl from Ireland who grew up on a farm. You worked the tracks there and then came here. Some fuckwad—what is his name—brought you here.” Joque tapped his chin with his forefinger, pretending to think. “Oh yeah—Geremiah Laugherty. That guy. Big mistake, you coming on board with him.” He turned to Tommy. “Too bad you won’t get a chance to ask her anything about Mr. Geremiah Laugherty there, Tommy. Seems the two of you have something in common. Like getting into her pants.” Joque laughed. He took note of the
look in Tommy’s eyes. Even in pain, those eyes were now searching Katarina’s, as if to say
how could you?
“It’s all right, jock. Love hurts. And I can’t blame you for wanting to make a better life, sweetheart.” Joque tickled Katarina’s exposed arm with his free hand. “But you should have known. You both should have. You both know what goes on. It makes you as bad as the rest of them! You say you love the horses?!”

He now faced Tommy. “You don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to them. How about that colt just last week, Lyons? Cannon bone fracture. Do you know how painful that is? You know, the one in the third race? Do you even remember the horse’s name? I do. Stand by Me.

“Did you stand by him when they put the needle in him and killed him after you had run him into the ground? A goddamn three-year-old!” He was screaming again. His face burned underneath the mask and tears stung his eyes. “You’re a whore! You are both whores! Sellouts!”

He pulled the 9 mm Glock from his waistband, his rage taking over, and he pointed it at Katarina. He didn’t think. He aimed. He fired. The bullet struck between her shocked blue eyes.

“One down.” He turned back to Lyons, who was now crying. “Fucking baby! Do you think that colt cried? How much pain do you think he felt?” He shot Lyons in the stomach, where he knew it would take the jockey a few hours to bleed to death. “I’m not going to give you the mercy your girlfriend got. You should have known better!” he growled. He picked up his bat, raised it one more time, and struck Lyons in the legs again—for good measure.

With his gloved hands he pulled a couple of carrots out of his pockets. He removed the gag from Katarina’s mouth and shoved in a carrot. He did the same with the dying Lyons. “Good race, jock. Here’s your treat.”

He left the building.

Small fish.

Big pond.

Much to do.

He had much bigger plans and many, many people were going to die at his hands.

He was seeking justice and he aimed to get it.

1

Three weeks later

The news came in many forms that Monday morning. Television, newspapers, radio, the Internet, and
by invitation only
.

Eighteen three-year-old Thoroughbreds had been invited to the biggest event in horse racing history. The Infinity Invitational, to be held Friday, October 12, 2012.

On the list, fifteen colts and three fillies.

A fifty-million-dollar purse.

Only the finest, fastest animals in the world would be running.

And the world waited.

2

“Lunch in backpack?” Holly Jennings asked her ten-year-old daughter, Chloe.

“Yes,” the blue-eyed, dark-haired girl replied.

“Homework in there, too?” Holly hurriedly wiped down the kitchen counter.