"After the race," Flick repeated. "What about the payments before the race?"
Dillon's puzzled frown grew. "Before?"
"As a down payment," Demon explained.
Dillon shook his head. "There weren't any payments before the race-only the one payment after the deed was done. And someone else took care of that, not me."
Flick frowned. "They've changed their ways."
"That's understandable," Demon said. "They're presently targeting races during the Craven meeting, one of the premier meetings in the calendar. The betting on those races is enormous-one or two fixed races, and they'll make a major killing. That's something the jockeys will know. They'll also know that the risk of being questioned by the stewards is greater-more attention is always paid to the major races during the major meets."
Dillon frowned. "Last season, they didn't try to fix any truly major races."
"It's possible they've been building up to this season-or that they've grown more cocky, more assured, and are now willing to take greater risks in the hope of greater rewards. Regardless, the jockeys for the Spring Carnival races would obviously demand more to pull their mounts." Demon glanced at Dillon. "The going rate for the two races we've heard fixed is five ponies."
"Five?" Dillon's brows flew up. "I was only once directed to offer three."
"So the price has gone up, and they're locking the jockeys in by offering some now, some later. Once the first payment's accepted, the jockey's more or less committed, which is less risky for the syndicate." Demon looked at Dillon. "They would, I fancy, be happy to make a down payment to avoid a repetition of what happened in the first race this year."
Dillon slowly nodded. "Yes, I see. This way, the fix is more or less certain."
"Hmm." Flick frowned. "Did you ever hear anything from the jockeys you organized about how they got paid?"
Dillon paled. "Only from one, early last season." He glanced at Demon. "The jockey wasn't too happy-his money was left at his mother's cottage. He didn't feel easy about the syndicate knowing where to find his old mum."
Demon met Dillon's gaze. He didn't like what he was learning. The syndicate sounded disturbingly intelligent-an evil, ruthless and intelligent opponent was, in his book, the worst. More of a challenge, but infinitely more dangerous.
That, of course, would normally whet his appetite, stir his Cynster blood. In this case, he only had to look at Flick to inwardly curse and wish the whole damned syndicate to hell. Unfortunately, the way the situation was shaping, it was going to fall to him to escort them there, while simultaneously protecting an angel from the consequences of her almost certain involvement in the syndicate's fall.
While the thought of the syndicate didn't stir his blood, Flick did-in quite a different way, a way he hadn't experienced before. This was not mere lust. He was well acquainted with that demon, and while it was certainly in the chorus, its voice wasn't the loudest. That distinction currently belonged to the impulse to protect her; if he complied with his inner promptings, he'd tie her up, cart her off to a high tower with a single door bearing a large and effective lock, and incarcerate her there until he had slain the dragon she was determined to flush out.
Unfortunately…
"We'd better go." She gathered her gloves and stood, her stool grating on the floor.
He rose more slowly, watching the interaction between Flick and Dillon.
Dillon was looking earnestly at her; she tugged on her
gloves, then met his gaze. "We'll let you know what we discover-when we discover something. Until then, it's best that you stay out of sight."
Dillon nodded. Reaching out, he caught her hand and squeezed. "Thank you."
She humphed and shook free, but without any heat. "I told you I'm only doing this for the General."
The statement lacked the force of her earlier rendering; Demon doubted even she believed it.
Dillon's lips twisted rather ruefully. "Even so." He looked at Demon and stood. "I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay."
His expression impassive, Demon met his gaze. "I'll think of something, never fear."
Dillon's eyes widened at his tone; with a curt nod, Demon turned to Flick.
Frowning, she glanced back at Dillon. "We'll look in in a few days." Then she turned and led the way out.
Following on her heels, Demon breathed deeply as they emerged into the night. A quick glance at the sky revealed a black pall-the moon had been engulfed by dark clouds. Within the cottage, the light of the lantern dimmed, then died. Eyes adjusting to the dark, Demon looked around as he strode across the clearing; no other human was anywhere about-just the two of them alone in the night.
Flick didn't wait for help but scrambled into her saddle. Untying Ivan's reins, Demon quickly mounted, holding the stallion steady as Flick trotted Jessamy over.