Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)

“I can imagine. Is there someone down there with you? Someone who can check on you, or bring you what you need?”

“Not to worry,” James assured her. “We’ve got an entire staff, including a family doctor, here in Wellington. I’m in good hands. But thanks for caring.” He paused. “How was your date with Blake?”

“Fine.” Devon saw her father grimace. “Very lighthearted and fun.”

“Fun? What did you do?”

“Sledding, skating, and snowball fighting.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Actually, it was good to unwind. This week’s been a nightmare, as you well know.”

“And Blake gave you a reprieve. I’m glad. Listen, I was thinking of flying up Sunday night. Are you free?”

Devon blinked. “Sunday’s the Grand Prix.”

“Which I plan to win. And, since there are no Monday events, Sunday night is party time. I’d rather party with you. I don’t have to be back until Tuesday. What do you say?”

“Will you feel up to it?”

“To seeing you? I already do.”

“I guess I’m a great cure for a stomach virus.”

He chuckled. “Guess so. Is it a date?”

Monty nodded.

“Sure,” Devon responded.

“Great. Since I liked that answer, I’ll press my luck a little bit. Would you consider flying down next weekend and watching me compete? I’d arrange for the corporate jet to be ready and waiting Friday night. Wellington’s got a private airstrip. You’d be here in the blink of an eye. What do you say?”

Monty was already shaking his head vehemently.

“I’d like to, but I can’t,” Devon hedged. “Not unless my mother’s safely out of hiding. My sister and brother are here with me, remember? I can’t desert them. Plus, I’d be lousy company. I hope you understand.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. But of course I understand. Just tell me you’ll take a rain check. For right after your mother comes home.”

“Rain check taken.” Devon’s gaze followed Monty, who’d spied the floral bouquet and crossed over to examine it. An anticipatory look crossed his face, and he searched the countertop until he found the card. Glancing at it, he gave a hard, satisfied nod.

He gestured for Devon to wrap up her call. Then he flipped open his cell and stalked out of the room.

By the time Devon had hung up and gone out to the living room, Monty was thanking someone on the other end of his cell phone and saying good-bye.

He whipped around to face Devon. “Interesting. James Pierson ordered these flowers personally. From Wellington. Early this morning. While his lips were supposedly glued to the toilet.”

Devon processed that. “You think he’s lying about being sick.”

“I think this story has too many

holes in it. It felt wrong before, and it feels even more wrong now. James gets a convenient, disabling, but intermittent stomach bug. Granger, the ideal rider to take his place, just happens to have low blood pressure. There’s a random drug test scheduled for exactly the right date and event—a test that ends up not mattering because Granger blacked out and required independent blood tests anyway. And the drugging procedure—if someone wanted to target James’s drink, wouldn’t he make damned sure it was James’s drink before he plopped some meds in?”

“Points taken,” Devon said thoughtfully. “I’m just not sure where your rationale is taking us.”

“Me, either. But here’s another inconsistency: James’s reaction. It’s way out of character for him to be so blasé about getting to the bottom of this. Edward’s preoccupied with the big picture. But James doesn’t know squat about the extortion scheme. So why isn’t he hell-bent on figuring out who did this to him?”

“Okay, so you’re suggesting this was all staged. Why? Granger’s no threat to James, not personally or professionally.”