Breaking Free (Thoroughbred Legacy #10) Page 12

  Conflict twisted inside him. He felt railroaded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Megan, this isn’t a good idea—”

  “For who? You and your case? Or for your child and her horse?”

  “All of it, dammit. For you, too.” He paused. “Look, I thought you came to talk about the employees on that list.”

  Her eyes held his for a long, heavy beat, a dark sensuality deepening their green color. Then she glanced down, and flattened the sheet of paper onto his desk. “This list you gave me doesn’t include some of the casual hires who are paid in cash, or in kind, or in a labor trade-off between farms. Missing from the list is Wally Kettridge, Jim Banters and Bruce Budge. They all do casual labor during the busy seasons. I’ve added their names at the bottom there.” She pointed. “And then there’s Rick ‘Sandy’ Sanford, who has done carpentry inside the main house for Louisa, and he’s fixed fencing on the estate. He’s a full-time employee at Whittleson Stud, but he’s freelanced at several other estates as well, including Lochlain. And there’s—”

  “Whoa.” Dylan raised two fingers, swiveling his seat to face his computer. “Back up a bit, so I can enter those names into my system. Spell Kettridge for me.”

  She came round to his side of the desk, scraping her chair over the wooden floor to position it beside him, and he caught the scent of her perfume as she sat.

  Swallowing against the dryness in his mouth, he entered the names as she read them, discovering it was close to impossible to type coherently with her watching over his shoulder, the sensation of her breath at his neck.

  “No—” She reached over his arm, her hair falling forward and brushing his skin. His throat tightened.

  “There’s no e there,” she said softly, way too close to his ear.

  He deleted the letter, cleared his throat. “Go ahead.”

  “There are also two pupils from the Pepper Flats high school, both in year twelve. They work weekends and holidays as trainee grooms along with several university students who work during their long holidays.” She hesitated, causing him to glance up. A mistake—her lips were so close. So kissable. His body began to hum with kinetic energy, and he saw her lids lower.

  For an unbearably long moment silence hung thick, tense, the faint tinge of distant smoke in the air as the breeze drifted in through the open windows.

  Dylan moistened his mouth, and she glanced away quickly, inhaling a little too deeply.

  “I…I don’t like thinking about the staff in this way,” she said suddenly, swinging back to face him. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to do your job, to always be suspicious, watching for something.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “To not trusting?”

  He thought of her on that black stallion, and how vital trust was in a relationship. He wondered if he could ever trust again in that way. “What are those names you’ve underlined there?” he said, nodding to the list in her lap, forcing his focus back to his job.

  She glanced down, visibly gathering herself, too. “Those are the full-time hires at Fairchild who have access to Lochlain Racing. The first is Marie Lafayette. She’s from Darwin and a new hire in the Fairchild kitchen.”

  “She was around at the time of the blaze?”

  “No, but she started just afterward. She was basically hired over the phone by Mrs. Lipton.”

  Dylan entered her name as Megan spoke, initiating a criminal check while he was at it. “What link does Marie have to Lochlain?”

  “Her uncle Reynard Lafayette works there. I think he actually helped get her the position at Fairchild. He comes to the estate to visit Marie. He comes to see Mrs. Lipton, too.”

  Dylan shot her a look. “Mrs. Lipton?”

  “I think she’s sweet on him. He brings her fresh eggs every couple of days. He’s a really odd guy, but he has a kind of roguish charm, I suppose. Yet there’s…something strange about both him and Marie.”

  “Like what?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s…just a feeling.” She laughed, slightly embarrassed, and it made her cheeks pink and her eyes glimmer. “They look at me funny.”

  “Funny?” A smile tugged at his own mouth, his eyes catching hers. And again, a silent communication swelled between them.

  Her blush deepened. “It’s nothing specific. They just seem overly curious about me. I catch them staring when they think I’m not looking. It…just doesn’t feel normal.”

  He pursed his lips. “Does Reynard ever enter the main house?”

  “The kitchen mostly. He has tea with Mrs. Lipton. She saves him brandy snaps that she bakes, apparently his favorite.”

  “And does Marie go and visit her uncle at Lochlain?”

  “Pretty regularly.”

  “So all three—Geraldine Lipton and Marie and Reynard Lafayette—have access to the Fairchild gun cabinet, as well as a working knowledge of Lochlain Racing.”

  Megan blew out a breath. “I tell you, I really don’t like thinking like this. And I’m sure Mrs. Lipton would die before hurting Louisa. She’d do anything for my aunt.”

  Like cover up a murder?

  Dylan finished entering the names. “And along with those casual hires you mentioned, they all conceivably have access to Louisa’s gray Holden.”

  “Yes. Look, Dylan, I’m not thinking any of these people are guilty or anything. It’s just possible that someone else took her gun and used her truck that night.”

  Or that Louisa paid them to.

  But he wasn’t about to tell Megan about the anonymous tip.

  “How do you know about all these casuals if they’re not on the official employee roster?” he asked. “You haven’t been there that long.”

  “I asked Mrs. Lipton. She’s up on all the comings and goings. Nothing escapes that woman.”

  “And she told you all this voluntarily?”

  She pulled a face. “I wasn’t exactly truthful in why I was asking.”

  Dylan studied her features, guilt and conflict and lust tightening inside him. He’d never have gotten this simple information without a warrant. And perhaps not even with one if there was no record of these people on the Fairchild payroll. He was indebted to her. And he was going to use what she’d given him to take her aunt down.

  He was worried not only about that, but about what the Fairchild legal machine could do to her if they found out she was helping him.

  “Megan,” he said slowly. “You do know that D’Angelo will crucify you if he finds out you’re telling me this.”

  “So? What can he do, sue me?”

  “That shyster would sue his own mother. You’re going against the powerful Fairchild clan here.” He paused. “Against your brother, too.”

  “No. I’m not,” she said, leaning forward earnestly. As she did, her hair fell in a curtain over her shoulder, releasing the scent of her shampoo. Her warmth.

  “It’s in their interests to have you back off from charging my aunt,” she said, eyes piercing his, her breasts rising and falling softly in tune with his own rapid breathing. “No one is going to benefit if this goes to court.”

  Perspiration broke out over his chest at her increased proximity. He met her gaze steadily. “But if it does go to court, Megan, D’Angelo will drag you by the hair through the legal muck.”

  “And you, too. D’Angelo takes no prisoners, Dylan. That’s why I need you to drop the charges.”

  Silence thrummed between them.

  “You see?” she said softly, her eyes falling to his mouth. “I think we both want the same thing.”

  Heat shot clean through to his groin.

  “We’re just not agreeing how to get there.” She leaned forward as she said it.

  And at that moment his world began both to spin and to stand still. He was at the cusp, that dizzying instant before you leap and change everything—or don’t. A line from which there could be no going back once crossed. And Dylan leaned forward, over that line, inexorably pulled towards her, his body acting quite
apart from his mind, which couldn’t even seem to register his surrounds as everything narrowed onto her.

  She covered the distance, slowly, allowing his lips barely to skim hers.

  Her breath mingled softly with his. He could taste her. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his, opening her lips under his, her tongue tentatively, seductively, entering his mouth.

  Electricity cracked through him. Dylan grabbed the nape of her neck, cupping the back of her head, thrusting his fingers into her thick, soft hair, pulling her firmly against him as he moved his lips hungrily over hers.

  He could feel her hand moving up his forearm, fingers exploring his skin, her body growing warm. Heat began to swirl and throb between his legs.

  A car engine sounded outside, and Dylan pulled back, suddenly grounded, shocked at what he’d just done.

  Megan looked at him, the expression in her eyes heavily seductive, her lips full and pinked from their kiss.

  He jerked to his feet, dragging his hand over his hair.

  He was in uniform, dammit! Functioning as the station sergeant, representing his state force, his town, his community, justice. He was up to the bloody hilt in potentially the most damaging case of his career—investigating this woman’s great-aunt for murder, this woman he’d just gone and kissed. A woman who lived in Sydney, who stood to inherit a fortune. Who wanted things from life that were at odds with everything he stood for.

  He just could not afford to do this. For so many goddamn reasons.

  Yet he’d been incapable of stopping himself.

  “This…this is wrong,” he said, his voice thick, his head pounding.

  She swallowed. “I…I should go.” She stood, straightening her shirt, her nipples still hard nubs against the soft yellow fabric. Heat arrowed to his groin again, intensifying the swollen ache. He swore softly to himself and stepped back.

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “For your help with the list.”

  She inhaled deeply, pressed her hand to her stomach as she gathered her trademark poise. “It’s nothing,” she said. “If I don’t help you, I’m not going to get what I want. I won’t clear my aunt.”

  “I’m a fair cop, Megan. Please don’t forget that.”

  When I finally do convict your aunt and her accomplice.

  She hesitated, then she turned quickly and walked to the reception door. He watched her rear move in those hip-hugging jeans, thinking just how much he’d like to get her out of them. But she spun to face him again, and he stiffened his spine.

  “What about Anthem?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I have a Fairchild groom, driver and horse trailer organized for one-thirty tomorrow afternoon. Plus the vet has agreed to be on hand at Lochlain to help move her. That’s if it’s okay with you?” She smiled a nervous smile that made his heart tumble.

  “Louisa is okay with this?”

  “She doesn’t know that Heidi is your daughter, Dylan, only that I have a friend who needs stabling for an injured horse.”

  “Why are you doing this, Megan?”

  “I…I don’t know,” she said softly, honestly, an unexpected sadness filling her eyes. “Maybe it’s just my way of putting things right between a father and a daughter. A chance I never had.”

  She turned to go, but not before he could see the sudden glimmer of emotion in her eyes.

  “Megan—”

  She stilled.

  He studied her, liking her more and more by the minute, knowing at the same time he’d crossed a line they were both going to regret. How badly, he wasn’t sure yet. He had to pull back, stop this, but he couldn’t.

  And here he was going another step further.

  “Heidi will still be in school at one-thirty,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  “She’d want to be there when Anthem’s moved.”

  “Oh.” Warmth filled her eyes. “I’m so pleased you want to do this. But one-thirty is the only time I could get the trailer and staff this week. Plus the Lochlain vet will be available then. I…. I thought we could surprise her, Dylan, and have Anthem at Fairchild by the time Heidi comes to ride tomorrow afternoon.”

  Snared by Megan’s enthusiasm, smitten by the way she wanted to make his child happy, slipping further into her world, knowing just how damn difficult it was going to be to extricate himself when the time came, he agreed. “I’ll meet you at Lochlain tomorrow, then,” he said, a whispering sense of foreboding shimmering along with anticipation in his gut.

  He’d arrive at Lochlain early, use the time to question Reynard Lafayette, perhaps talk to Tyler Preston about some of the other casual hires on Megan’s list, like Sandy Sanford.

  “Deal.” She smiled.

  And Dylan felt he’d just sealed his fate.

  Megan drove fast, too fast, the Aston Martin purring gloriously along the straight road, fields and fall colors blurring by.

  She felt expansive, full. Exhilarated. A little wild. She smiled, tossing back her hair in the warm wind. She was experiencing the heady rush of first love, and there was nothing quite like it. Pure, intoxicating.

  But deep down a whispering anxiety underlay the sensation. That was part of the thrill, she supposed as she turned onto the road that led back to Fairchild Acres. Because Patrick was right—there was always the risk she could lose it all. The danger almost made it more enticing.

  Approaching the Fairchild gates, she slowed the convertible and wheeled into the driveway, thinking no matter what happened between her and Dylan, there was one thing she was certain about. Dylan stood at an intersection with his daughter.

  Megan felt it intuitively.

  Both Heidi and her dad were good, good people, but there was a chasm growing between them, just like the one that had yawned between Megan and her own father.

  And Megan’s father had died angry. With her. And there was no way to explain what that had done to her, the void it had left in her.

  If she could help bridge that divide between a father and daughter now, if she could help Heidi and Dylan through this rocky place in some small way, Megan might just make peace with her own dad.

  With her past.

  With herself.

  And that would be worth it.

  Chapter Nine

  Dylan watched paint track down weatherboard as Reynard Lafayette, general handyman at Lochlain Racing, dragged his brush with a steady hand in spite of the edginess in his eyes.

  Horses were being exercised in the distance, and the sound of construction punctuated the air—a farm slowly being pulled back together after the devastating blaze, the blackened, cordoned-off ruins of the crime scene a stark reminder of the road yet ahead.

  A reminder they still had to get to the bottom of what happened.

  “Yeah, so I’m from Darwin. What of it?” Reynard said, carefully dipping the tip of his wide brush into the paint tray, avoiding Dylan’s eyes. “I already spoke to other investigators. Why are you questioning me now?”

  He was hiding something. A sixth sense in Dylan was sure of it.

  “You spoke to the arson squad,” Dylan said. “This is a homicide investigation now, and we’re just covering all bases. Marie Lafayette is your niece?”

  A pulse increased at his neck, yet his hand remained steady as he tracked another broad streak of paint over the board. “What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?”

  “That’s what you take Geraldine Lipton, isn’t it? Free-range eggs from Lochlain. You visit Fairchild Acres what—a couple of times a week?”

  “So, I know Mrs. Lipton.”

  “That’s how you also knew there was a vacancy in the kitchen, wasn’t it? Through Mrs. Lipton? You got Marie the job at Fairchild.”

  Reynard set his brush carefully on the tray, too carefully. He stood up, pushing back the peak of his cap, years of sun and hard living evident in his features. “My niece has nothing to do with this.”

  Dylan watched his eyes. He’d done a background check on all the staff Megan
had drawn to his attention. None had criminal records apart from Reynard, although his was a spent conviction which, under Northern Territory law, basically meant he’d paid his dues to society and his slate had been wiped clean.