Since earning her journalism degree at Cal State, she’d dreamed of breaking significant news stories, of bringing insights and information to millions of readers around the world. So far, she’d only managed to bring insights on horse racing to a limited audience through Equine Earth.
Not that Equine Earth was a bad employer; they had brought a lower middle-class Seattle girl all the way to Dubai. And soon she’d have enough experience and credentials to branch out to harder news, maybe with a mainstream publication.
As the crowds closed in behind her, she took one last glance at the mystery stallion.
“Come on, Leopold’s Legacy connection,” she muttered under her breath. For the first time in her career, a racehorse story had the potential to move beyond the business and into the mainstream.
Through the speakers above her, the announcer switched from English to Arabic to Spanish, reciting some of the more prominent horses’ names and the time left to the first parade to the post.
Julia ignored the growing excitement in the audience. Her goal was information on Millions to Spare. If she could find a program, she could look up the name of his stable and potentially be on her way to a significant story.
Cadair Racing.
The lettering on the side of the eight-horse trailer was in both English and Arabic. There was a phone number beneath, but a telephone call was the last thing on Julia’s mind. Millions to Spare was in that trailer. And Julia was in the middle of an honest-to-God covert operation here.
She’d figured out the one thing, the one little thing that would tell her for certain if Millions to Spare was a lead in the Leopold’s Legacy parentage mystery, or just another dead end. And that little thing was his DNA.
She’d watched men load the stallion into the eight-horse trailer just a few minutes ago. Now, the last groom was walking away, leaving it unattended, and providing Julia with her golden chance.
Carter Phillips had run into nothing but resistance when he’d checked out the DNA of the other Leopold’s Legacy look-alike in California. His experience had taught Julia it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Considering her DNA test might result in Millions to Spare being disqualified from the Thoroughbred registry, she wasn’t about to call Cadair in advance. She was going to gather the facts first, then deal with the implications-if there were any-later.
All she needed was a tiny sample. Millions to Spare wouldn’t even miss it. Then Carter Phillips could run the test, and she’d know if she had a live investigation on her hands, or if she was switching back to the straight fluff piece about the Prestons’ two-year-old Something to Talk About racing in Dubai.
She took a final glance around the parking lot. Seeing no one who appeared interested in the Cadair Racing trailer, she scooted out in high-heeled sandals, a sleeveless white blouse and a straight, linen skirt. It was hardly the right outfit to go sleuthing around a horse trailer, but she couldn’t let that slow her down.
She tested the handle on the small side door. The silver metal was smooth and warm on her palm. To her relief, the door opened easily.
Heart pounding, she swung it wide and slipped into the cloying dimness, quickly clicking the door shut behind her. She took a deep breath, then sneezed out a gulp of hay dust, startling the closest horse.
There were five of them in the trailer. There were also three empty stalls, and she realized the grooms could be back at any moment with more horses. She couldn’t waste any time. She took shallow breaths to keep from sneezing as she wound her way between oiled saddles, hanging bridles, black water buckets and prickly hay bales.
It was going to be easy, she assured herself. She’d seen this particular test done on television dozens of times. On humans, of course. But the principle was the same.
She had a small cosmetics bag in her purse. All she needed to do was run one of the cotton swabs over Millions to Spare’s gums and wrap it in the plastic she’d obtained from the café. Then she’d slip back out the side door and send the sample by FedEx to Carter Phillips in Kentucky. By Thursday, and the running of the Sandstone Derby, they’d have their answer. And, with luck, she’d be writing a fantastic story.
She squinted at the horses, trying to ignore the sticky sweat dampening her blouse. The horse in the farthest corner whinnied and shuffled, bouncing the trailer. Then there was a clanging of hooves as another horse reacted to the disturbance.
Julia identified Millions to Spare and made her move, murmuring low as she passed the helper mare. She crouched under the barrier, then, moving steadily, she passed another Thoroughbred in the middle stall. She came abreast of Millions to Spare and patted him on the shoulder as she spoke.
“Good horse.” Pat, pat, pat.
“I’m just going to…” her sweaty hands slipped on the clasp of her leather purse “…take a little test of your saliva. It won’t hurt a bit.”
She pawed her way past her wallet, lipstick, comb and a little loose change. The Thoroughbred in front of Millions to Spare twitched. Julia automatically shrank back, her stomach clamping down and her mouth going dry. A kick in here could cause a disaster.
Finally, she located the cosmetic bag and her cotton swabs.
“We can do this,” she crooned to the horse. “You and me, Millions to Spare. Then nice Dr. Phillips will tell us who your father is.”
She carefully inched her fingers along the horse’s cheek, pulling gently on the bottom lip, stroking the cotton along his gums.
Millions to Spare snorted and pulled his head away.
But Julia had succeeded.
She carefully wrapped the swab then tucked it back in her purse, giving Millions to Spare a final pat. “Good boy.”
Just then, the truck’s diesel engine rumbled to life.
The horses all shifted, shaking the trailer, and pitching Julia into the wall.
Sucking in a breath, she pushed herself back to standing. She ducked under the barrier, coming abreast of the middle Thoroughbred. Intent on the side door, she was determined to jump out before the truck got rolling. As long as no one happened to be looking in the rearview mirror, she’d be free and clear.
But the middle horse shifted again, canting its hip, knocking Julia sideways and pinning her in a groove of the molded metal wall.
An unladylike swearword burst out of her, and she scrambled to regain her footing.
She gave the horse a firm shove.
It didn’t budge.
She shoved harder.
The trailer lurched and rolled forward.
Julia smacked the horse sharply on the rump.
It shook its head, but its hindquarters stayed planted against the center of her chest.
Panic threatened, but she fought it down.
She could breathe. Sure, they were moving now, but they would have to stop soon. There’d be intersections and red lights between here and Cadair Racing. All she had to do was get free and make her way to the side door.
Then she’d wait for an opportunity, hop out and hail a cab.
She groaned, shoving impatiently at the horse’s rump one more time.
Nothing.
Okay. Deep breath. This wasn’t a disaster. It was just your typical investigative reporter stuff. She’d be laughing about it later tonight with Melanie and Robbie-over a glass of Merlot and a really big lobster tail. Thank goodness alcohol was tolerated in the international hotels in Dubai, because she was going to need it after this experience. The Thoroughbred’s hip bone was leaving a mark.
The bumps and bruises of polo made it a young man’s sport.