Platinum Cowboy. Rita Herron
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larger bay is Sir Huon, and the other, Lord Myers. The chestnut is Iron Legs, and the gray one, Eastern Promise.”
“Nice,” she said, stroking Eastern Promise’s mane. One of her jobs would be to verify a horse’s good disposition before reproducing; another was to meet the quarantine standards and administer medical care.
Iron Legs whinnied and kicked the stall, as if agitated, while Sir Huon stood almost docile. She eased from stall to stall, quietly assessing each horse, noting the refined, angular heads, the large eyes and nostrils, and the small muzzles, searching for any indication that they weren’t well bred. But the distinctive concave profiles, the arched necks and structure of the throatlatches looked good, as did the well-angled hips, high tail carriages, and well-laid-back shoulders of the beasts.
“So what do you think?” Flint asked.
She reached out and stroked the taller of the bays. “They’re incredible. Of course, I’ll conduct some tests, but I think you made a wise choice.”
When she angled her head to look at him, he was smiling. “I’m glad you appreciate my animals.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart tripping as she met his gaze. Of course she did. The fact that he was a talented, cutting-edge breeder and an intelligent rancher and businessman wasn’t in question.
The fact that he cunningly used people to ensure his own personal success was. His choices had driven him to ruin her father and others.
That was why she needed to take him down.
FLINT’S CHEST SWELLED with Lora Leigh’s compliment, even though an odd tone tinged her words, as if giving him praise pained her.
But why?
He’d read her résumé and files. She was smart—possibly brilliant—and specialized in equine care.
And she was a horse whisperer. That hadn’t been in her file, but it was obvious by the way the animals had quieted the moment she entered the barn. Her quiet, melodic voice had mesmerized them.
As it did him.
Workwise, they would make an incredible team.
But there was definitely an underlying tension between them, a disdain for him, which he couldn’t ignore. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a partner—just an employee who could complement his staff.
His cell phone trilled, jarring him from his thoughts. The chestnut Arabian whinnied and started to kick at the stall. Flint excused himself and stepped outside to check the phone number. The police.
Maybe they had information about who had sabotaged his shipment and killed his men. “Flint McKade speaking.”
“Mr. McKade, this is Detective Brody Green. I’d like to talk to you today.”
“Do you have a lead on who attacked my plane?”
“Let’s discuss it in person. I’ll be at your house at noon. Meet me then.”
Flint agreed and hung up, although anxiety knotted his gut. Knowing he had an enemy put him on edge.
He glanced back at the barn, then across his land. Overhead in the distance, he spotted a lone vulture soaring above a copse of trees, its talons bared, as if preparing to swoop down and attack, reminding him that he had a stalker of his own.
Was it possible that one of his own employees had sabotaged him? Had they wanted the Arabians or just to hurt his business?
Who had it in for him? Was it someone he knew and trusted, someone who worked for him or for a competitor?
He mentally ticked down a list.
His half brother, Tate, who hated him because Tate was a leech and Flint had cut him off financially? Lawrence McElroy, because Flint had outbid him for Diamond Daddy? Someone who didn’t like his connections to Viktor and the Middle East?
He hated to suspect his own men, people he considered part of his family, but having money meant making enemies, and he obviously had garnered at least one.
He had to figure out who it was before anyone else got hurt.
HE STUDIED THE DIAMONDBACK mansion from his horse. Dammit, how had things gone so wrong at the airport? Nobody was supposed to die that night.
But someone had betrayed him, and that was the cost.
He just hoped to hell that Flint McKade and the police didn’t figure out what was going on.
But the murders had attracted the attention of the cops. Not a good sign.
He had to do something to distract them, throw them off the scent.
First, he’d hack into McKade’s files, doctor a few things, then sabotage the ranch.
And if anyone interfered, he’d get rid of them, just as he had the men on the plane.
Nothing was going to get in his way now. McKade would go down, one way or the other.
And he’d be laughing as the arrogant bastard fell.
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