"The worst," the woman said. "Jane Lennox called today. She's thinking of putting Park Lane with

another trainer. I talked her out of it." "I'm sure you did. You're very persuasive, Paris." "This is America. You're supposed to be innocent until proven guilty." "Innocent always if you're rich or beautiful or charming." "Don is beautiful and charming, and everyone believes he's guilty." "Like O.J. was guilty? He's playing golf and f.u.c.king white women." "What a thing to say!" "It's true. And Jade has a barn full of horses. Americans . . ." Disdain. "I'm an American, V." An edge to the tone. "Do you want to call me stupid?" "Paris . . ." Smarmy contrition. "Stupid Americans buy your horses and line your pockets. You should show more respect. Or does that just prove how stupid we are?" "Paris . . ." Smarmier contrition. "Don't be angry with me. I don't want you angry with me." "No, you don't." A Jack Russell terrier came sniffing around the corner then and stared at me while he raised his leg and peed on a bale of hay, considering whether or not to blow my cover. The leg went down and the dog went off like a car alarm. I stood where I was.

The woman called out: "Milo! Milo, come here!"

Milo stood his ground. He bounced up and down like a wind-up toy every time he barked.

The woman rounded the corner, looking surprised to see me. She was blond and pretty in dark breeches and a green polo shirt with a couple of gold necklaces showing at the throat. She flashed a thousand-watt toothpaste-ad smile that was nothing more than jaw muscles flexing.

"Sorry. He thinks he's a Rottweiler," she said, scooping up the Russell. "Can I help you?"

"I don't know. I'm looking for someone. I was told she works for Don Jade. Erin Seabright?"

"Erin? What do you want with her?"

"This is kind of awkward," I said. "I heard she was looking for another job. I have a friend in the market for a groom. You know how it is during the season."

"Do I ever!" She gave a dramatic, put-upon sigh, rolling the big brown eyes. An actress. "We're looking

too. Erin quit, I'm sad to say."

"Really? When was that?"

"Sunday. Left us high and dry. Found something more interesting up in Ocala, I guess. Don tried to talk

her out of it, but he said her mind was made up. I was sorry to hear it. I liked Erin, but you know how

flighty these girls can be." "Huh. I'm surprised. The way I understood it, she wanted to stay in the Wellington area. Did she leavean address-to have her paycheck sent?"

"Don paid her before she left. I'm Don's a.s.sistant trainer, by the way. Paris Montgomery." Keeping the

dog tucked against her, she held a hand out and shook mine. She had a strong grip. "And you are . . . ?"

"Elle Stevens." A name I had used undercover in my past life. It fell off my tongue without hesitation.

"So, she left Sunday. Was that before or after Stellar went down?"

The smile died. "Why would you ask that?"

"Well . . . a disgruntled employee leaves and suddenly you lose a horse-"

"Stellar bit through an electrical cord. It was an accident."

I shrugged. "Hey, what do I know? People talk."

"People don't know s.h.i.t."

"Is there a problem here?"

The man stepped into the picture. Mid-fifties, tall and elegant with silver temples highlighting a full head of

dark hair. He wore a stern, aristocratic expression, pressed tan slacks, a pink Lacoste knit shirt, and ablack silk ascot at his throat. "Not at all," I said. "I was just looking for someone." "Erin," Paris Montgomery said to him. "Erin?" "Erin. My groom. The one that left." He made a sour face. "That girl? She's good for nothing. What would you want with her?" "Doesn't matter," I said. "She's gone." "What's your friend's name?" Paris asked. "In case I hear of someone." "Sean Avadon. Avadonis Farm." The man's cold blue eyes brightened. "He has some very nice horses."

"Yes, he does."

"You work for him?" he asked.

I supposed I did look like hired help with my hacked-off hair, old jeans, and work boots. "He's an old

friend. I'm leasing a horse from him until I can find what I'm looking for."

He smiled then like a cat with a cornered mouse. His teeth were brilliantly white. "I can help you with that."

A horse dealer. The third-oldest profession. Forerunners of used-car salesmen the world over.

Paris Montgomery rolled her eyes. A truck pulled up at the end of the tent. "That's Dr. Ritter. I've got to

go."

She turned the big smile back on and shook my hand again. "Nice meeting you, Elle," she said, as if we'd

never had that moment of unpleasantness at the mention of Stellar's death. "Good luck with yoursearch." "Thanks." She set the Russell down and followed the barking beast around the corner as the vet called for her. The man held his hand out to me. "Tomas Van Zandt." "Elle Stevens." "My pleasure." He held my hand a little too long. "I'd better be going," I said, drifting back a step. "It's getting late for a wild-goose chase." "I'll take you to your car," he offered. "Beautiful women shouldn't go around unescorted here in the dark. You don't know what kind of people might be around."

"I have a pretty good idea, but thanks for your concern. Women shouldn't get into cars with men they've only just met either," I said.

He laughed and placed a hand over his heart. "I am a gentleman, Elle. Harmless. Without designs.

Wanting nothing of you but a smile."

"You'd sell me a horse. That would cost me plenty."

"But only the best horses," he promised. "I will find you exactly what you need and for a good price.

Your friend Avadon likes good horses. Maybe you could introduce us." Horse dealers. I rolled my eyes and gave him half a smile. "Maybe I just want a ride to my car." Looking pleased, he led the way out of the tent to a black Mercedes sedan and opened the door for me. "You must have a lot of satisfied customers if you can rent a car like this for the season," I said. Van Zandt smiled like the cat that got the cream and the canary. "I have such happy clients, one gave me the loan of this car for the winter."

"My goodness. If only my ex had made me so happy, he might still be considered in the present tense."

Van Zandt laughed. "Where are you parked, Miss Elle?"

"The back gate."

As we started down the road toward The Meadows I said, "You know this girl, Erin? She's not a good

worker?"

He pursed his lips like he'd gotten a whiff of something rotten. "Bad att.i.tude. Smart mouth. Flirting with

the clients. American girls don't make good grooms. They're spoiled and lazy."

"I'm an American girl."

He ignored that. "Get a good Polish girl. They're strong and cheap."

"Can I get one at Wal-Mart? I've got a Russian now. She thinks she's a czarina."

"Russians are arrogant."

"And what are Dutchmen?"

He pulled the Mercedes in where I pointed, alongside my Beemer.

"I am from Belgium," he corrected. "Men from Belgium are charming and know how to treat ladies."

"Slick rascals, more like," I said. "Ladies should be on their guard, I think."

Van Zandt chuckled. "You are no pushover, Elle Stevens."

"It takes more than a smile and an accent to sweep me off my feet. I'll make you work for it."

"A challenge!" he said, delighted at the prospect.