“Have to talk to you,” came Julia’s hoarse voice.
Harrison turned back. Huge tears had formed in her eyes, magnifying her terror. She looked young and vulnerable, all but naked in the wet bathing suit.
He could have kicked himself.
What the hell was he doing?
This might be the UAE, but he was British, raised on the principle of justice, not revenge. There was no way in the world he’d kill somebody over a horse.
He loosened his grip.
“I didn’t,” she rasped again, her gaze going frantically around to Alex, Nuri, Leila and the other staff who had assembled.
“Please,” she said to Harrison, those shimmering blue eyes getting to him. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
Harrison turned to Leila again, jerking his head to motion her forward.
The poor girl was shaking with terror.
“Thank you,” Harrison said, making sure Nuri heard the words. “Now, can you tell me what she did?”
Leila was obviously incapable of speaking, so Harrison looked to her father. “She’s a good girl,” he told Nuri, a wealth of meaning in his tone.
Then he looked back down at Leila. “She went into the stall?”
Leila gave a shaky nod.
“Did she feed anything to Millions to Spare?”
“I don’t… I don’t think so.”
“How long was she in there?”
“Two minutes, maybe.”
Harrison nodded. Then he took in the assembled staff, selecting Darla. “Darla. Have Leila help you in the office for the rest of the day.”
Darla quickly nodded and came forward for the girl. She would understand what Harrison wanted. He wasn’t about to risk Nuri’s wrath on Leila before the man had a chance to calm down.
Harrison turned back to Julia. “I’ll have the whole truth, and I’ll have it right now.”
“Harrison?” came a puzzled, female voice.
All eyes turned to gape at a crisp and proper Brittany Livingston, standing frozen on the pool deck in ivory pumps, a knee-length, pleated, white skirt and a frosted pink, eyelet blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves. She stared at Harrison and Julia in obvious confusion.
Harrison immediately dropped his hand from Julia’s throat, while Alex quickly intervened.
He positioned himself between Brittany and Harrison, blocking the woman’s view.
“You must be Brittany,” Alex put in smoothly, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He offered his arm, deftly turning her back up the veranda stairs. “Please, introduce me to your grandmother. Harrison’s tied up for just a short time.”
Julia rubbed her chafed throat while Harrison watched the woman named Brittany walk away with an American man. Julia was more stunned than hurt, but she was becoming very frightened.
Now that she knew she wasn’t about to die, her mind grappled with the news that Millions to Spare was dead. Who could have done such a terrible thing?
“I need to talk to you,” she began.
Harrison shot her a glare that shut her up. “You can bet your ass we’re going to talk.”
“Alone,” she said. There was no reason not to tell him the whole truth now. But she didn’t know what on earth could be going on, nor did she know who she could trust.
She didn’t like the man named Nuri. He was the one who had had her arrested, and she was sure he would hurt Leila when he dragged her away from Harrison. She didn’t trust him one little bit.
Harrison nodded his consent, steering her none too gently by the arm as he propelled her into a changing hut. He shut the door against the curious staff, then he leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest in the dim, relatively cool building.
Julia wished she was wearing something more than a bathing suit. Her skin felt clammy, and he was watching every move she made.
She lowered herself onto a painted, wooden bench that wrapped around three sides of the octagonal hut. “Start talking,” said Harrison.
“I didn’t kill Millions to Spare,” she said. “I’d never, ever harm a horse.”
“He was poisoned,” Harrison said bluntly. “Fannew.”
She had no idea what fannew might be, but horror washed through Julia at the thought of the life leeching out of the poor, defenseless animal.
“I saw him at Nad Al Sheba,” she began, determined to come clean. “He reminded me of a friend’s horse, and I thought… That is, I hoped…” She didn’t know how to explain it concisely.
“You looking to go back to jail?”
“He’s the spitting image of Leopold’s Legacy,” she said.
“And who is Leopold’s Legacy?”
“My friends, the Prestons—they’re here to race Something to Talk About in the Sandstone Derby. But their champion stallion is Leopold’s Legacy. There’s a problem with his lineage, and he’s been disqualified from the U.S. Stud Book, because they can’t find his real sire.”
She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug. “I wanted a DNA sample. I thought if I could either prove or disprove a relationship between the two horses, I could maybe…” She paused again. “Maybe help solve the mystery and get Leopold’s Legacy reinstated.”
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