now as she focused her attention on the sounds creeping in through the open window.
Again the high-pitched call reverberated on the cold air outside, but this time it raised the hairs at her nape and spurred her to action.
Something was wrong. Something was desperately wrong.
Emma threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, her bare feet hitting the chilly hardwood floor. She stood up, grabbed her robe off the end of the bed, pulled it on and headed out into the hallway. She stopped at the back door long enough to put on her rubber muck boots and flip on the porch light.
Halfway to the barn the sound of Navigator’s whinny forced her into a run.
Grabbing a shovel propped next to the barn door, she held it like a weapon and stepped inside. Flipping on both light switches on the wall next to the door, she prepared for battle. The interior of the stable flooded with light.
Navigator spotted her and answered with a grumbling nicker, arching his head over the stall gate.
Her attention fell on the empty cot and the undulating sleeping bag on the ground next to it. Mac?
“Mac!” She dropped the shovel and hurried to his side. Going to her knees, she brushed away the wood shavings as she searched for the zipper. Finding it, she slid in down the entire length of the bag then peeled back the heavy covering.
Air.
Life-sustaining air caught up in Mac’s lungs and he pulled it in through his nose, taking deep breaths as he stared up at Emma.
Reaching down she fingered the edge of the duct tape that covered his mouth and ripped it off.
His skin stung like fire where it tore, but he sucked it up.
“What happened?” She rocked back and began to untie the baling twine fusing his wrists so tightly together; he wondered if they’d work again.
“The colt. Is he okay?”
“Who do you think woke me up?” She continued working the knots until she freed his hands. “He’s got talent, Mac, but I know he didn’t do this. Who did?”
Mac bent and fiddled with the rope binding his ankles. “I was jumped by a thug dressed in black and his buddy used the Taser on me from behind.” He loosened the last knot, shucked the twine off his boots and stood up, then pulled Emma to her feet.
“We need to check him over, make sure he’s okay.” Striding to the stall gate, he brushed his hand down the horse’s face and leaned down, eyeing all four of Navigator’s legs.
“We can lead him around just to make sure.”
“Yeah. Let’s do that. I’ve been stuck suffocating in that sleeping bag for the last hour. Whoever they were, they had plenty of time to injure him.”
Worry laced around his nerves and attached itself to his thoughts. For all his training, he’d been no match for a man with a Taser gun and the element of surprise afforded the intruders by the diminished hearing in his left ear.
He snagged the halter and lead rope off the peg next to the gate and undid the latch. Stepping inside the stall, he caught Navigator, put on his halter and led him out into the center of the barn, moving him in a circle while Emma watched.
“He looks great, Mac. We got lucky.”
Frustration clouded his outlook on the situation. “If we got lucky, then what were they doing here?” He turned toward Emma and stopped in front of her. “Take him. I’m going to check out his stall before you put him back in.”
She took hold of the lead rope. “It does seem strange if the horse was the target that they’d tie you up like a Christmas package and simply walk away, leaving him unharmed.”
Her observation aligned with his thinking as he stepped into Navigator’s stall and moved around the perimeter, looking for anything that had the potential to harm him. Nothing.
“It’s clear, there’s nothing here.”
“Good.” She led the colt back into his stall and removed his halter. “Your description of the men sounds a lot like the one my friend Janet saw at Loomis Farm. The type that seem to follow Victor Dago around.”
He trailed her out of the colt’s stall and latched the gate. “Does Dago have a Derby prospect?”
“Not that he’s touting, but he does have a nice three-year-old stud colt named Dragon’s Soul. He’s put down some fast times on the track and he won his maiden race.”
Caution worked over him and he considered the idea that maybe the intruders were closer than they’d ever imagined. “I’ve got a contact in Lexington. I’ll give him a call, see if anything comes up on Victor Dago.”
“Great. So you were some sort of a cop before you took this job?”
“I worked for the Secret Service guarding dignitaries.”
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “And that’s how you were injured?”
He watched her as she continued to gaze up at him, knowing full well she wanted details. Details he had no intention of giving her.
“Yes.” Stepping away, he picked up the sleeping bag and shook off the shavings, then tossed it onto the cot. “I need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
Mac gave her a quick once-over. His gaze focused on the oversize rubber muck boots sticking out from under the hem of her silky robe before trailing back up to the mass of dark hair hanging loose in long waves that fell to her waist. “Thanks for letting this cat out of the bag.”
A slow smile pulled at her sweet mouth. “I heard Navigator calling. You have him to thank.” She motioned to the horse and turned for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.” He watched her walk out the barn door and followed ten steps behind.
Pausing next to the entrance, he leaned against the jamb and looked after her until she was safely inside the main house via the back door.
The porch light went out and he turned back into the stable, studying the interior. The place was as exposed as a secret with a gossip columnist chatting up the blue bloods. The intruders had simply come in one of the doors. He’d have to limit the access points immediately and consider sleeping in the hayloft over the tack room, which looked directly down into Navigator’s stall.
One of the only access points was a permanent ladder rung up the sidewall. The other was a massive loading door in the front of the barn thirty feet above the ground, used to fill the loft with hay. It offered an ideal vantage point.
Mac advanced deeper into the stable, trying to pick up on the thug’s path through the wood shavings on the floor. It was a nearly impossible task, but he spotted a faint trail leading to the rear entrance of the barn.
But something bothered him. The men had bought themselves time by using a nonlethal method to subdue him.
Time
