Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

A secret life, I mused. I knew all about that sort of thing. As did Pellini, with his Kadir connection and, on a smaller scale, his costuming sideline.

Two horses and riders rounded the turn on the track and thundered down the straight, neck and neck. Lenny went up to the rail, leaned on it and put a foot on a battered crate that seemed to be placed for that very purpose. “Miss Catherine will be clear in a minute.” He gestured to our right at a dark-haired woman in jeans, boots, and a blue t-shirt, who leaned against the rail in a similar pose by the gate about a hundred yards away. She divided her attention between a stopwatch in her hand and the two horses as they galloped by.

“How long has she worked here?” I asked.

“She grew up here just like Boo,” he said. “Pops, her dad, used to be head trainer. She worked her way up and has been head now for close to ten years.”

I caught Pellini’s eye. “We should go introduce ourselves,” I said to Lenny. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes?”

A flicker of worry passed over his face, but he simply gave a nod and went back to watching the horses.

Pellini and I strolled down the rail. “Boudreaux’s family has been here for generations,” I said. “No wonder he’s so messed up about Farouche’s death.”

He nodded, grim.

We waited for the horses to slow before approaching. “Mrs. McDunn?” I said when she looked over. “I’m Kara Gillian. I used to work with your son. This is Vince Pellini, his partner.”

“What do you want?” she asked, sounding more tired than defensive.

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard on you,” I said. “I’m sure various investigators have already spoken to you, but I was hoping you’d answer a few questions about your husband, Angus.”

To my relief, she gave me a firm

nod. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she said, mouth tightening in undisguised anger as she slid the stopwatch into the front pocket of her jeans. “I can’t believe that man lied to me for all these years. All those terrible things he did! I hope they track him down and put him away for the rest of his life.”

“You believe the accusations?” Pellini asked.

“Every one of them,” she said with conviction. “The bastard called me the day after the plantation fire wanting help. He didn’t deny any of it.”

Pellini and I exchanged a quick glance. It was clear we shared the same thought. “Did the cops happen to get a recording of that conversation?” I asked.

“Not that one,” she said. “But after that I gave them free rein to tap the phones.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “They got one last night when Angus called to try to tell me he loved me and god knows what else. I didn’t want to hear it.” She dashed away a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Mrs. McDunn,” I said. “I take it you—”

She yanked her hand up. “Ms. Kinsley,” she corrected sharply. “I’m filing for divorce and going back to my maiden name.”

“Understandable,” I said, though I wondered how Boudreaux felt about that. “What did Angus want when he called that first time?”

“Cash,” she said, a mix of fury and hurt in her eyes. “Can you believe that? Not, ‘I’m sorry I ruined your life.’ No. Money to get him by until he met up with some other people—other criminals, no doubt.” Her eyes followed the two horses coming off the track. “I need to go. Anything else?”

Pellini cleared his throat. “No, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

She forced a smile and headed toward the long barn in the wake of the horses.

“Can you get hold of that recording?” I asked Pellini as we walked back toward Lenny.

“Tricky,” he said. “I may have to call in a favor or two, but I’ll do what I can. We have to hear it.” He nudged me with his elbow and pointed toward the far side of the track.

A big chestnut horse the color of a burnished copper penny walked onto the track. Copper to Gold, a.k.a. Psycho, with Boudreaux aboard. “Holy shit,” I said under my breath, eyes riveted on the pair.

Looking perfectly at ease in the saddle, Boudreaux brought the horse to the head of the stretch then let him run. For a moment I forgot all about Angus McDunn and Katashi and valves, enthralled by the beauty of motion, power, and speed. They galloped past, and I felt as though they carried me with them as they ran for the pure joy of running. Boudreaux slowed Psycho to a canter, then a walk, before circling and heading back our way. Boudreaux patted the horse’s neck, a broad smile on his face.

“He looks happy,” I said. “Even with all the shit going on, he looks happy. I’ve never seen him like that.” I shook my head. “We need to get out of here before he spots us.”

Too late. Boudreaux’s gaze snapped to us, and his smile melted into a scowl. He stopped Psycho about fifteen feet away and vaulted to the ground with a grace I never expected. Lenny ducked under the rail and eased their way. Psycho laid his ears back and lunged toward Lenny, but Boudreaux let out a short whistle. The horse immediately settled down and allowed Lenny to take hold of his bridle and lead him toward the gap in the rail.

Boudreaux yanked loose the strap of his helmet and stalked toward us. “What the fuck are you two doing here?” he said then glared at Pellini and stabbed a finger in my direction. “How could you bring her here?” He didn’t add you traitorous piece of shit, but he might as well have.