Elena Estes - Dark Horse Part 34

"Americans," he said with disdain, standing at the edge of the ring with his hands on his hips. "He is hardly warm. The work is only just beginning. Pick up the canter."

My natural inclination was to defy him, but staying aboard the horse seemed preferable to a level playing field where he had six inches and sixty pounds on me. At least until I could get a better read on him and what he may or may not know, it seemed best to humor him.

"On the twenty-meter circle," Van Zandt instructed.

I put the horse on a circle twenty meters in diameter, tried to breathe and focus, though my hands were so tight on the reins, I thought I could feel my pulse in them. I closed my eyes for two strides, exhaling and sinking into the saddle.

"Relax your hands. Why are you so tense, Elle?" he asked in a silky voice that made a chill go down my back. "The horse can sense this. It makes him also tense. More seat, less hand." I made an attempt to react accordingly. "What brings you out so early?" "Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked. "I would have been happy to see you at dinner last night. You stood me up. That doesn't win you any points with me." "I was unavoidably detained." "Taken to a desert island? A place with no phones? Even the police let you make a phone call." "Is that where you think I was? With the police?" "I'm sure I don't know or care." "I left word with the maitre d'. I couldn't call you. You have not given me your number," he said, then changed tones in the next breath. "Collect, collect, collect!" he demanded. "More energy, less speed.

Come! Sit into him!"

I gathered the horse beneath me until I held him nearly on the spot, his feet pounding the sand in three-beat time. "Are you trying to make up to me with a free riding lesson?"

"Nothing is free, Elle," he said. "Carry him into the walk. Like setting down a feather."

I did as instructed-or tried to, rather-and failed because of my tension.

"Don't let him fall out of the gait that way!" Van Zandt shouted. "Is your horse to be on its forehand?"

"No."

"Then why did you let this happen?"

The implied answer was that I was stupid.

"Again! Canter! And more energy in the transition, not less!"

We went through the exercise again and again. Each time, something was not quite worthy, and that

something was glaringly my fault. Sweat became lather on D'Artagnon's ma.s.sive neck. My T-s.h.i.+rt was

soaked through. My back muscles began to cramp. My arms were so tired, they trembled.

I began to question my wisdom. I couldn't stay on the horse all day, and by the time I got off, I was going to flop on the ground, limp, boneless, like a jellyfish washed ash.o.r.e. For his part, Van Zandt was punis.h.i.+ng me, and I knew he was enjoying it.

". . . and make him float into the walk like a snowflake landing."

Again I brought the horse to the walk, holding my breath in antic.i.p.ation of another outburst.

"Better," he said grudgingly.

"Enough," I said, letting the reins out to the buckle. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Why would I do such a thing to you, Elle? We are friends, are we not?"

"I thought so."

"I thought so too."

Past tense. Intentional, I thought, not a misuse of the language that was probably third or fourth on his

list. "I called the restaurant later in the evening," he said. "The maitre d' told me you never came." "I was there. You weren't. I left," I lied. "I didn't see the maitre d'. He must have been in the men's room."

Van Zandt considered the story.

"You are very good," he said.

"At what?" I watched him as I walked D'Artagnon on the circle, waiting for the gelding's breathing to

slow.

"At the dressage, of course."

"You just spent half an hour screaming at me to get one decent transition."

"You need a strong coach. You are too willful."

"I don't need to be abused."

"You think I am abusive? An a.s.shole?" he asked with a lack of emotion that was more disturbing than his

usual att.i.tude. "I believe in discipline." "Putting me in my place?" He didn't answer. "What brings you out so early?" I asked again. "It couldn't be to apologize for last night." "I have nothing to apologize for." "You wouldn't recognize the occasion if it slapped you in the face. Did you come to see Sean about Tino? Is your client down from Virginia yet?" "She arrived last night. Imagine her shock when she arrived at the house to interrupt an intruder." "Someone broke into your house? That's terrible. Was anything stolen?" "Oddly, no." "Lucky. She wasn't hurt, was she? I saw a story on the news just the other night about an elderly couple being robbed in their home by two Haitians with machetes."

"No, she was not injured. The person ran away. Lorinda's dog gave chase through the lawns, but came back with only a jacket."

My stomach rolled again. My arms pebbled with goose b.u.mps despite the heat.

"Where is your groom?" Van Zandt asked, looking toward the barn. "Why is she not here to take your horse?"

"Taking a coffee break," I said, wis.h.i.+ng that were true. I watched Van Zandt's gaze go to the parking area where my BMW sat alone.

"A good idea, coffee," he said. "Put the horse in the cross-ties. We can have a cup of coffee together and make new plans."

"He needs to be hosed off."

"The Russian can do it. That's her job, not yours."

I considered picking up the reins and running him down. Easier said than done. He would be a moving target, and D'Ar would try to avoid hitting him. Even if I could knock him down, then what? I would have to go over a fence to get off the property. I didn't know if D'Artagnon would jump. He might as easily refuse at the fence and throw me.

"Come," Van Zandt ordered. He turned and started for the barn.

I didn't know if he had a weapon. I knew I did not. If I went into the building with him, he would have a big advantage.

I gathered the reins. My legs tightened around D'Artagnon's sides. He danced beneath me and blew through his nostrils.

A flash of color near the fence caught my eye and my attention. Molly. She had propped her bike and climbed through the fence, and was now running toward me.

I raised a finger to my lips in the hopes of keeping her from calling out my name. As if it mattered. My training as the child of a defense attorney: never admit anything. Even in the face of overwhelming evidence: deny, deny, deny.

Molly pulled up, looked at me, looked at Van Zandt, who had just noticed her. I climbed off D'Artagnon and held my hand out toward the girl.

"It's Miss Molly the Magnificent!" I exclaimed. "Come to call on her Auntie Elle."

Uncertainty filled her eyes, but her expression was a blank. Too much practice with volatile situations between Krystal and the men in her life. She came to me, breathing hard, her forehead s.h.i.+ny with sweat. I put my arm around her narrow shoulders and gave her a squeeze, wis.h.i.+ng I could make her invisible. She was here because of me, and now because of me, she was in danger.

Van Zandt looked at her with something like disapproval. "Auntie Elle? You have family nearby?"

"Honorary Auntie," I said. My fingers tight on her arm, I said to Molly, "Molly Avadon, this my friend Mr. Van Zandt."

I didn't want Van Zandt to a.s.sociate her with Erin. And I also thought it might be one thing for Van Zandt to make me disappear, but he might think twice about killing a relative of Sean's. He had to believe with the conceit of a sociopath that he had a good chance of getting away with what he'd done so far. Otherwise I thought he would already have been on a plane to Brussels or places unknown. If he still believed he could come away unscathed, he could still have a business here, could still hobn.o.b with the rich and famous.

Molly looked again from me to Van Zandt, and said h.e.l.lo with cool reserve.

Van Zandt smiled a brittle smile. "h.e.l.lo, Molly."

"I promised Molly we'd go to the horse show today," I said. "I'd better take a rain check on that coffee,

Z. I don't see Irina, and I have to get this horse put away." He frowned at that, considering his options. "Let me help you, then," he said, taking D'Artagnon's reins. Molly looked up at me with worried eyes. I thought I should tell her to slip away, to run for help. Van Zandt turned back toward us before I could do it. "Come, Miss Molly," he said. "You are interested in horses? Like your Uncle Sean?" "Kind of," Molly said. "Come, then, and help with taking off this horse's boots." "No," I said. "If she gets stepped on, it's my fault." I looked at Molly, trying to will her to read my mind.

"Molly, honey, why don't you run to Uncle Sean's house and see if he's up?" "He is not home," Van Zandt said. "I called as I was driving here. I got his machine." "That only means he didn't answer," Molly said. Van Zandt frowned and continued on toward the barn with the horse. I bent as if to brush a kiss against Molly's cheek and whispered in her ear, "Call nine-one-one." She turned and ran for the main house. Van Zandt glanced over his shoulder and watched her go. "Isn't she a doll?" I said. He didn't comment. We went into the barn and he put D'Artagnon into the grooming stall, removing his bridle and putting on his halter. I went to the opposite side of the horse and crouched to pull one of his boots off, keeping my

feet under me and one eye on Van Zandt.

"You owe me dinner," I said.

"You owe me for a lesson."

"Are we even then?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I don't believe I'm through teaching you, Elle Stevens."

He came around the front of the horse. I moved behind the horse to the other side and bent to pull off another boot.

"You are if I say so."

"There are many kinds of lessons," he said enigmatically.

"I don't need a mentor. Thanks anyway."

I moved to the cabinet with the grooming supplies and surrept.i.tiously pulled out a scissors. I wouldn't hesitate to stab him with it if he made a wrong move.

Maybe, I thought, I should stab him anyway-the best defense being a good offense. He was a murderer. Why run the risk of him hurting me, hurting Molly? I could step in close, shove the scissors to their hilt in his stomach at his navel. He would bleed out before he could do more than realize I'd killed him.

I would plead self-defense. The 911 call would establish I had felt in danger. Van Zandt was already known to the Sheriff's Office as a murder suspect.