Gambling With the Enemy: Horses - Mystery - Suspense

  Gambling with the Enemy

  Toni Leland

  Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

  To life-long friends, Jessica Rayder and Faith Angelo, Easton Ridge Equestrian Center is more than a successful riding lesson business--it's a dream-come-true, one that the two young horse trainers have planned since childhood. Set in beautiful Connecticut, the training center seems the perfect set-up, but Fate has other plans.

  When a series of tough breaks threaten disaster, Faith's tragic past surfaces and she sinks into the abyss of alcohol abuse. Jess struggles alone with financial disaster, and misses some deadly cues from a new and wealthy riding client. Jess and Faith’s friendship falters as they struggle to keep the wolf from the barn door, while Jessica resurrects a risky talent for casino gambling. While she attempts to bring the business back from the brink of financial ruin, terrorists slip into the mix and only she can stop them.

  * * *

  Dedicated to the men and women

  who have given their lives

  in the fight against terrorism,

  and to those who continue the battle.

  Chapter 1

  Jessica stared, momentarily stunned by the exotic woman standing in the doorway. Skin the color of a cinnamon latté, a serene expression, large dark eyes fringed with long black lashes. A pale yellow scarf covered her head, the ends draped over one shoulder and secured with a gold brooch. An equally lovely young girl pressed against the woman’s side, and Jess formed a mental image–the two, wrapped in silk and flowing chiffon, silhouetted against an ancient pyramid. So out of place in a horse barn.

  Faith Angelo followed the newcomers into the small office, and Jess immediately noticed her partner’s rigid features. An uneasy murmur threaded through her chest.

  Faith gestured toward the young girl. “This is Dania. She wants to take riding lessons.”

  The strained tone of voice sent another blip across Jess’s mental radar, but she rose quickly and moved from behind the desk.

  “Hello, Dania.”

  The child stared at the floor, murmuring an unintelligible response.

  Jess extended her hand to the woman. “I’m Jessica Rayder. Welcome to Easton Ridge.”

  “I am Zada Abbass Mahfood.”

  The woman’s handshake was gentle and quick, her palm soft and cool. Several gold rings adorned each hand.

  Jess smiled. “Would you like to tour the barn and meet the horses?”

  Mrs. Mahfood turned to Dania and murmured a quick question in a musical language. The child nodded.

  Zada’s lukewarm smile emphasized the awkward atmosphere. “Yes, that would be fine.”

  Faith leaned against the doorjamb, well behind the visitors. She caught Jess’s eye and frowned, shaking her head vigorously.

  Jess kept a neutral expression. “How did you hear about us?”

  A hint of Britain breezed through Zada’s perfect English. “My husband heard that your facility is very good, then last year, we met the famous Faith Angelo at the Silver Classic.”

  Jess smiled. “You’ve made a good choice. Follow me.”

  Out in the barn aisle, she turned to Dania. “Where do you go to school?”

  The girl didn’t answer, instead, turning dark eyes up to her mother’s face.

  “Dania attends the Muslim school outside Hartford.”

  Abandoning attempts to break through the girl’s shyness, Jess started the barn-tour spiel.

  “We have twenty-two horses here.” Moving along the bank of solid oak stalls, she explained the routine. “Students are expected to learn how to care for their horses. The wash rack is over there, and this is the crosstie area where we groom.” Dania seemed anxious about the idea, and Jess smiled. “We have a lot of fun here. We put on schooling shows, and we travel to organized events in other towns. We have several students your age.”

  Dania nodded solemnly.

  Jess led the visitors through the north doors and into the sunshine. “During good weather, we use the open arena for lessons and shows. We have an indoor arena for winter work, though it needs some repair right now. Last year’s blizzard caved in one corner of the roof.” A band tightened around her chest. “We hope to be able to use it again by November.”

  Faith spoke up. “When did you want to start? I’m kinda bu–”

  Jess threw her a warning look, then smiled at Dania. “You could start today, if you’d like.”

  The girl’s huge eyes glowed and she nodded enthusiastically, her small pretty face beaming from the frame of her white head-scarf.

  Faith’s shoulders slumped, and she gestured toward the far end of the barn. “Okay, let’s go find a pony that’s just right for you.”

  Relieved, Jess turned to Zada. “I think that’s our cue to get lost.”

  Confusion darkened the woman’s eyes, and Jess hastened to reword the comment. “I mean, let’s go back to the office and take care of the paperwork. I can answer any questions you might have.”

  Zada threw an uneasy glance at her daughter’s retreating back, then followed without a word. In the office, she settled into a chair, smoothed her skirt, then folded her hands in her lap. Discomfiture sharpened her remarkable features, and Jess attempted to reassure her.

  “She’ll be fine, Mrs. Mahfood. Faith is wonderful with kids. Has Dania ever ridden a horse?”

  “Once. We visited a farm in Massachusetts, and paid for a pony ride. She loved it.”

  Jess carefully kept her expression neutral. How would Faith be able to teach the unresponsive and over-protected girl? More important, how would Dania fit in with the others? A small ripple moved through Jess’s chest. Kids could be so cruel to one another–they’d eat this little mouse alive.

  A few minutes later, Zada handed over five crisp hundred-dollar bills. Jess forgot her concern about the girl’s timid personality, and pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.

  “Here’s a list of things you’ll need to buy for Dania. We have frequent schooling shows here at the farm during the year. Lesson money is due on the first of every month. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes, may I stay and watch Dania when she takes her lesson?”

  “Of course! We love parent involvement. Let’s go see how they’re doing.”

  Zada’s features relaxed and she rose to follow Jess. In the aisle, Dania’s excited voice rang out from the crosstie area.

  “Umm! Umm!”

  Excitement colored every unintelligible word she babbled.

  “English, Habibi. You must speak English when you are here.”

  Zada bobbed her head in apology. “Sorry, she forgets.”

  Dania’s exuberance bubbled. “This is Pete. Miss Faith says I may ride him every week! Insha’Allaah.”

  Jess grinned and shook her head. The universal addiction of little girls.

  Late that afternoon, Faith dropped into the chair by the desk and let out a long sigh. “Man, I’m glad the day’s over.”

  “How did Dania’s lesson go? She’s awfully quiet. I can’t imagine how you’d be able to interact with her.”

  “Quiet? You have to be kidding! She never stopped chattering the whole time she rode the horse. The lesson went fine, except the mother hovered around, acting real protective, like she thought something might happen to the kid.”

  “It’s probably a cultural thing. I’m sure Middle Eastern children aren’t raised the way we were.”

  A shadow changed Faith’s delicate features. “I’m kinda sorry I met them–I never dreamed they’d really show up for lessons. I feel creepy having foreigners hanging around here, especially A-Rabs.”

 
“C’mon, that’s not fair. You’re judging them just because they look different than us.”

  “Well, ever since 9/11–”

  Jess jumped up and scowled. “No, I don’t want to hear that stuff! And don’t think I missed your attempts to discourage them. Faith, we have a serious financial vacuum right now, and their money is as good as anyone else’s. So get over it.”

  In the sudden quiet, Jess considered the essence of the brief disagreement. Both she and Faith had grown up in the melting pot of New England, and never gave a second thought to the diverse mix of people in the region. Though the devastating attacks on America had thoroughly shaken them both, with time, Jess had moved back into the familiar security of everyday life.

  Apparently, Faith had not.

  Chapter 2

  A hollow knock shuddered through the steering column, and Jess quickly switched off the radio and glanced at the dashboard glowing in the dark like the control panel of a jetliner. Holding her breath, she listened in the silence as the big Freightliner diesel moved slowly along the winding road, hauling its precious cargo through the night. The headlights illuminated an eerie tunnel of trees ahead, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Not a good place for a breakdown.

  She glanced over at Faith’s features, angelic in sleep. They’d had a good show and her partner certainly deserved a catnap.

  A moment later, Faith woke with a start, then yawned. “Mmm. Boy, I’m tired.” She chuckled. “Are we there yet?”

  Jess’s nostrils curled and, for an instant, she mentally denied the odor. She sniffed again, but the smell had faded.

  Faith peered at the digital clock on the dash. “Where are we?”

  “About an hour fr–”

  A loud clank made them both jump. The truck vibrated with the repercussions, then the agonizing screech of metal against metal echoed in the night air. Another indescribable crunch, and the truck jolted to a stop.

  Jess clenched the steering wheel. “Shit!”

  “Jessie, what was that?”

  “I don’t know, but it wasn’t good.” She opened the door, recoiling at the blast of muggy night air that pressed into the cab. “You go back and check the horses.”

  She fished a flashlight from under the seat, then walked around to the side of the hood. Clutching the light between her chin and shoulder to free up both hands, she fumbled with the temperamental latch, but it wouldn’t budge. A second later, she stared in numb disbelief, knowing it didn’t matter whether she looked at the engine or not. In the pale yellow beam of the flashlight, a perfect rosette of metal peeled back around a gaping four-inch hole in the hood.

  Faith’s hysterical shriek shattered the night.

  “Oh, my God! Come quick!”

  Jess sprinted toward the trailer access door, adrenaline flooding her system. Inside, Faith pointed her flashlight beam at a bay gelding in the end stall. He leaned against the partition, his left hind leg cocked, the hoof barely resting on the floor mat. A long, bleeding gash slanted across his hock, and dark pink flesh curled back to expose glistening white bone.

  “Turn on the lights, Faith, and get the first-aid kit.”

  The interior of the six-horse trailer brightened, and the other three horses shuffled and snorted nervously. Jess lifted the lock pins on the partition, then swung the heavy metal panel into the next empty stall, and secured it to the wall.

  “Untie his head and hold him. I need a closer look.”

  Keeping an eye on the nervous gelding, Jess inched forward to examine the nasty wound. A minute later, she straightened up and sighed.

  “The cut looks worse than it is. The bleeding’s stopped, but I’ll bandage him anyway.”

  Faith sounded forlorn. “Lexie will be devastated.”

  Jess closed her eyes briefly. Of all the horses to get hurt, wouldn’t you know it’d belong to a client? Pushing away the enormity of the problem, she concentrated on wrapping the hock, taking care not to wind the gauze too tightly.

  When she’d finished, she rose and moved to the horse’s head. He’d settled down a little, and the wild look had disappeared from his eyes. She smoothed her hand over his neck, and patted his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Jazzy. We’ll get you fixed up in a little bit. Good boy.” She turned to Faith. “Get me a tube of bute–we might as well reduce the pain.”

  The temperature spiked inside the truck cab, and Faith fanned herself with a rumpled show program. “What’s wrong with the truck?”

  “I’m no mechanic, but from the looks of the hole in the hood, I’d say we threw a rod.”

  Faith nodded blankly. “How long do you think we’re gonna be sittin’ here?”

  Jess focused on the tiny numbers fading from the screen of her cellphone. “The guy said forty minutes. That probably means at least an hour.” She shook her head and sighed. “This’ll cost a fortune. Two tow trucks and an emergency vet call.”

  Faith’s brow wrinkled. “Why two trucks?”

  “One to haul the trailer back to the farm and another one for the truck.”

  “Oh.” Faith brightened. “Well, at least it didn’t happen on the way to the show. . .”

  Jess tuned out the attempt at optimistic chatter, and struggled to contain her emotions. She gazed through the windshield at a thatch of tree branches hanging over the road, bathed in the pulsing orange of the emergency flashers. A deer materialized from the edge of the woods and drifted across the road, apparently unafraid of the silent hulk of metal. Headlights glowed around a curve ahead, and a small car hurried past. The distraction gave panic an opportunity to slip in and take control, and Jess’s throat tightened. Tears burned against her lids and she blinked furiously, but no amount of self-control could keep the months of financial worry from rolling in like a high tide.

  “Jessie, are you okay?”

  Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she nodded, struggling to regain her composure–be the rock that Faith always depended upon.

  Faith patted her arm. “It’s not like we had an accident, or something really disastrous.”

  Jess’s usual I-have-this-covered attitude disappeared, and her deep frustration surfaced. Months of grappling with the impending doom of failure stoked the fires, and an angry blaze roared out of control.

  “Faith, this is a disaster! Do you have any idea how much this tow will cost? How much a new engine will cost? How much it’ll cost to have Doc Stevens out in the middle of the night on a weekend?”

  Faith blinked in stunned surprise. “Don’t we have insurance?”

  Jess’s small bit of control slipped away. “No! I had to let the roadside insurance slide. The engine warranty expired last month. And we’re responsible for client horses when we haul them.”

  The harsh words hung on the thick air, more ominous for having been spoken out loud, and her angry tears finally spilled over.

  Faith slipped her arm around Jess’s shoulders, hugging her tightly.

  “Jessie, it’s going to be okay, really. My God, I’ve never seen you like this.”

  The warm air again intensified the faint odor of alcohol, and Jess recoiled from the sympathy, glaring at her life-long best friend.

  “We’ve never been in such deep trouble before! Where the hell have you been? Have you forgotten we lost six students because of the blizzard? That’s three grand a month! Don’t you think that had some impact on our finances?”

  Pain flickered in Faith’s blue eyes, and Jess felt like a heel, but the suspicion that her partner might be drinking again quickly replaced the empathy. At that moment, Jess’s fractured state of mind couldn’t abandon the chance to bring someone else in to share the blame.

  Suddenly, brilliant headlights and a strange glow from revolving emergency lights illuminated the woods. A large commercial tow truck pulled in front of the rig, and a smaller dually parked farther up the road.

  Jess reached for the door handle. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Samir Mahfood removed the wrapper from a p
lump cigar, and inhaled the heady aroma of fine tobacco. As he performed the comforting ritual of preparing to smoke, the low voices of his companions mingled with the conversations of other café customers and the muted background noise of the casino.

  A stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard tapped the ash off a cigarette. “Samir, your business is doing well?”

  “Very well. I am waiting for a shipment from Egypt, beautiful carpets. This week, Insha’Allaah.”

  Samir smiled, watching the first satisfying plume of smoke curl away from the glowing tip of the cigar as he listened to his friends. They were so easily entertained by the ordinary things that men around the world discussed when they gathered together. As usual, the conversation eventually turned to the latest unrest in the Middle East, and his pulse quickened. Another triumph for Allaah was in the wind. He could feel it.

  The tone of the discussion changed abruptly, became sharp and angry, bringing Samir’s attention back to the group. His friends peered intently at a television newscaster, whose earnest voice sent a chill of anger racing through Samir’s chest.

  “Racial profiling took a new and frightening step this week. In Boston, Ahmed Mussawi, a U.S. citizen, was informed that his bank account had been closed, leaving him with no access to the funds. Other banks are following suit, a questionable decision based on the FBI’s attempts to stop the flow of money to terrorist groups, both here and abroad. . .”

  The outraged rumblings of Samir’s companions further incensed him, but he remained silent. Since the attacks in New York, the shadow of discrimination hovered over his countrymen, his friends, his family. What did it matter that he’d lived in America for almost twenty years? Been a good citizen, a hard-working businessman?

  He puffed on the cigar and willed away his tension, watching the television screen through narrowed eyes. These Americans do not understand with whom they are dealing. Allaahu akbar.

  Chapter 3