"You never said," he repeated, while sweat soaked his shirt and pooled nastily at the base of his spine.

"Disqualify him, you said, so Sheba would have a chance to place."

"You wanted the details left up to me," Rich reminded him. He was drinking top-grade Kentucky bourbon now and enjoying the view of D.C. from a lofty hotel suite. He could afford it. He could afford a great many things now. "And you got what you wanted. Your filly placed at the Derby. Nobody's going to call you a sucker now, are they? Nobody's going to snicker behind your back."

"You were just supposed to see the colt was disqualified."

"I did." Rich grinned. "Big time. The Chadwicks lose, suspicion points at them, at my cocky young son, and you, Billy boy, come out smelling like a rose." He chose a candied almond from a bowl. "Now, let's be honest here, Billy. You don't mind giving Gabe a backhanded slap, do you? After all, he cost you the family farm and a good dose of your dignity five years ago."

"No, I don't mind taking him down a peg. But-"

"Both of us know that filly of yours didn't have a chance in holy hell of winning that race," Rich continued. "Likely with Three Willows and Longshot in the running, she maybe takes third if she's beat all the way to the wire-more likely fourth or fifth. That wasn't good enough, was it?"

Not with the hole he'd dug himself, Cunningham thought. "No, but-"

"No." Rich crunched down on another almond, his face as earnest as any used-car salesman's. "You needed an edge, and I supplied it. Now, truth is, I didn't expect her to do better than show, but that girl ran with her heart. She'll breed champs," he said with a wink. "That's the bottom line, right? You'll syndicate her now and make yourself a pot of money as long as she'll lift her tail for a handsome stud."

It was true, all true, but Cunningham's glands were still in overdrive. "If it comes out, Rich, I'll be ruined."

"How's it going to come out? Am I going to tell somebody?" He grinned again. "You haven't been bragging to that pretty little piece in bed, have you? Some men can't keep their mouths shut once they've dipped their wick."

"No." Cunningham swiped a hand over his mouth. "I haven't told her anything." Not that he thought she'd notice. Marla was more interested in spending his money than how he came by it. "But people are asking questions. And the press is hounding me."

"Of course they are," Rich said heartily. "All you have to do is shake your head and look sad and reap some free publicity. You can always add a little flourish about how you know Naomi Chadwick and Gabriel Slater, and can't imagine either of them would stoop so low. You make sure you link Gabe's name in there. I'd appreciate that."

Cunningham licked his lips, inched forward. "How'd you do it, Rich?"

"Now, now, Billy boy, that's my little secret. And the less you know, the better. Right? You're just a lucky guy who picked up a horse at a claiming race and carried her through to the Derby."

"The Preakness is in two weeks."

Rich grinned, brows wiggling. "That's greedy, friend. And dangerous. You know how risky it is to race that horse again."

"She has another in her." He forgot his guilt, and his fears. He forgot the men who had died and the sight of the colt falling at the sixteenth pole. "I only need her to show."

"No can do." Chuckling, Rich wagged a finger in the air. "Even if you put her in, and she didn't break down, that leg of the Triple Crown has to run clean. Otherwise they might start looking at you, Billy boy.

And who knows-if they look at you, they might start looking for me. That happens, and, well ..." He rattled the ice in his glass. "We wouldn't be friends anymore."

"A lot of money's at stake."

"You want more money? Bet on the Longshot colt. I know my boy. He'll put everything he's got into winning. Vindicate himself." Rich's grin turned sour. He poured more bourbon into the melting ice.

"Always had a tight ass about winning clean. Taught him every trick I know, every fucking one, but he figures he's better than me, see? Too good to salt the game." His eyes narrowed, went hard as he drank.

"We'll see who comes out on top this time. We'll see."

There wasn't any use arguing, not when Rich started pouring with a free hand. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You scratch her from Pimlico, Billy. Say she pulled up lame in a workout and you don't want to risk her. Look disappointed and righteous, then put her out to pasture until it's time to choose her a lover."

"You're right." It hurt, but Cunningham put aside his greed. "Better not take the chance. I'm going to syndicate her, get the bitch pregnant next spring." He smiled a little. "I might even make a deal with your boy, Rich, to breed her with his Derby colt in a few years."

"Now you're talking." He leaned forward and slapped a hand on Cunningham's knee. "I've worked out a little bonus, Billy."

"Bonus?" Instantly wary, Cunningham drew back. "We had a deal, Rich. I kept my part."

"No argument there. Not a one. But look here, Billy, you raked in a bundle at that race, between the purse and the betting window. I've got to figure your take at three, maybe four hundred grand." His smile widened as Cunningham began to sweat again. "And with the syndication deal, the foals she's going to drop in oh, say, the next ten years, you'll be sitting real pretty. Couldn't've done it without me, could you?"

"I paid you-"

"You did indeed, but let's tally up the cost here. I had to pay Lipsky."

"That was your idea. I had nothing to do with it."

"I'm like a subcontractor, Billy," Rich explained patiently. "What I do all leads back to you. You don't want to forget that. Now, Lipsky took out that old groom, and I took out Lipsky. Now, we won't get into details about the others on my payroll, but they're necessary expenses, and I have to pass them on.

We've got ourselves two dead men and a dead horse, and what's standing between them and you is me." He beamed, ticking off murder on his fingers. "So, keeping me happy's got to be pretty important to you. It ought to be worth another hundred thousand."

"A hundred-That's bullshit, Rich! Just plain bullshit. I've got all the expenses. Do you know what it costs to keep a Thoroughbred? Even just one fucking horse? Plus the entry fees."

"You don't want to nickel-and-dime me, Billy boy. You really don't." Rich's smile was as friendly as a death's-head. He kept his hand on Cunningham's knee, squeezing. As Rich intended to squeeze his wallet for some time to come. "A hundred thousand's a bargain. Take my word. I'll give you another week to figure out how to cook your books. You bring it on by here the day before the Preakness. In cash." He sat back, delighted with himself. "I've got a hankering to lay down a bet on my boy's colt.

Family ties, you know."

He was laughing as he dumped more bourbon into his glass.

Her own family ties had given Kelsey a splitting headache. She'd expected the trip to Potomac to be difficult, but it had been much more than that. Her father had been furious, as angry as Kelsey had ever seen him. It had hardly mattered that his temper hadn't been directed at her. As Candace had coolly pointed out, she was the cause of the problem.

Milicent had made good on her threat. She hadn't been able to break the terms of Kelsey's grandfather's will, but she had altered her own. In Victorian and melodramatic terms, Milicent no longer had a granddaughter.

With her car still idling in the drive at Three Willows, Kelsey rested her aching head on the steering wheel. It had been a horrible, horrible scene. Milicent's cold fury as she made the announcement, her father's shock, then his outrage. And Candace, already prepared, aiming little darts of blame toward Kelsey's heart.

On a quiet moan of pain, Kelsey straightened and turned off the ignition. She hadn't realized it would hurt so much. She and Milicent had been at odds for so long, it would have made more sense to be relieved.

But she wasn't relieved. She was wounded.

Wearily, she got out of the car, thinking aspirin at least would take care of her throbbing head.

She heard the music, the hard, driving beat of vintage Stones. Mick and the boys were grinding out their sympathy for the devil. Kelsey followed them around the side of the house.

There was a splattered drop cloth over the stones of the patio. A boom box belched out rock and roll from the glass-topped table. At an easel, her hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, an oversize man's shirt hanging to her knees, Naomi fenced with a crimson-tipped brush.

She might have been wielding a sword, Kelsey thought. Dueling with the canvas that had already exploded with color and shape. Her face, turned in profile, was set in stone, her eyes spewing smoke.

It seemed a very intimate battle, and Kelsey started to back away. But Naomi's head whipped around, and those angry eyes pinned her.

"I'm sorry," Kelsey began, drowned out by the music. Naomi reached over and turned it down to a pulsing throb. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's all right." The passion was fading quickly from her eyes, as if when not facing the canvas she was calm again. "I'm just having a private tantrum." She set down her brush, then picked up a cloth to wipe her hands. "I haven't painted in a while."

"It's wonderful." Kelsey stepped closer, studying the streaks of violent color, the still glistening brushstrokes. "So primal."

"Exactly. You're upset."

"Dammit." Kelsey shoved her hands into her pockets. "I'm beginning to think I have a sign on my forehead that broadcasts my feelings."

"You have an expressive face." So had she, Naomi remembered. Once. "I take it the family meeting didn't go well."

"It went down the toilet. I've caused a rift between my father and my grandmother. A big one. And, I think, a smaller but no less difficult one between him and Candace."

"By staying here."

"By being who I am." She picked up the neglected glass of iced tea Naomi had brought out with her, and drank. "Milicent has not only cut me out of her will, but out of her mind and heart. As far as she's concerned, I no longer exist."

"Oh, Kelsey." Naomi laid a hand on her arm. "I'm sure she doesn't mean it."

Glass clinked against glass as Kelsey set the tea down. "Are you?"

Sympathy and concern hardened into fury. "Of course she means it. It's just like her. I'm sorry I've caused you this kind of trouble."

" I caused," Kelsey exploded. "This is mine. It's time everyone started to understand that I can think and act and feel for myself. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. I'm not here to spite them or to placate you. I'm here for me."

Naomi took a deep breath. "You're right. Absolutely right."

"If I wanted to be somewhere else, I'd be somewhere else. But I won't be threatened or bribed or guilted into giving up something that's important to me. My family is important to me. Three Willows is important to me. And so are you."

"Well." Naomi reached for the glass herself, and her hand was unsteady. "Thank you."

Kelsey resisted, barely, the urge to kick a pot of geraniums. "It's hardly a matter for gratitude. You're my mother. I care about you. I admire what you've been able to do with your life. Maybe I'm not satisfied about all the years between, but I like who you are. I'm certainly not going to go scrambling back and pretend you don't exist because Milicent would prefer it."

To keep herself from buckling into a chair, Naomi braced a hand on the table. "You can't imagine, can't possibly imagine what it's like to hear from a grown daughter that she likes who you are. I love you so much, Kelsey."

Her anger skidded to a halt. "I know."

"I didn't know who you would be when I saw you again. All the love I had was for that little girl I'd lost.

Then you came here, and you gave me a chance. I'm so dazzled by the woman you are. So proud of you. If you left tomorrow and never came back, you'd still have given me more than I ever thought I'd have again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Leading with her heart, Kelsey stepped forward and opened her arms. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

With her eyes tightly closed, Naomi absorbed the feel, the scent of her daughter. "I want to say I'll make it up to you. That I'll find a way to soften her heart."

"Don't. It's not for you to worry about." Steadier, she eased back. "You can be mad with me. I'm so goddamned mad." Riding on the mood swings, she whirled away to pace. "And hurt. I can't believe how much it hurt. For her to think I cared about her money. For her to use it, and my feelings, against me. To try to control me with them."

"Control is essential to Milicent. It always has been."

"She couldn't break my grandfather's trust. I bet that burned her. Not having the power to change that.

And Dad was so upset. He shouted at her. He's never raised his voice to her."

"Yes, he has." There was a grim satisfaction in Naomi's smile. "It's probably been some time. I'm glad he stood up for you."

"I wish I could say I was. It was horrible to see them fight that way. And to see the distance all this has put between him and Candace. To know, right or wrong, that I'm responsible. Grandmother's so unbending, so unwilling to see someone else's side." And hadn't the same been said about her? Kelsey remembered. And shuddered.

"Then she has two choices," Naomi put in. "She'll bend, or she'll die lonely."

"I have to believe they'll make up," Kelsey murmured. "I have to. I'm not sure Grandmother and I will ever come to terms again. Not after today. She actually used Pride against me. She said that you'd probably gotten one of your hoodlum friends-her exact words, by the way-to drug the horse. After all, if you'd killed a man ..." Appalled, Kelsey trailed off.

"Why would I stop at the idea of killing a horse?" Naomi finished. "Why indeed?"

"I'm sorry." Disgusted with herself, she rubbed at her still aching temples. "I'm wound up."

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure she's not the only one who's had the thought. One of the reasons I'm out here, venting," she said, gesturing toward the canvas, "is that a rumor's circulating that I might have arranged for Pride's death to collect the insurance."

Kelsey dropped her hands, then balled them into fists. "That's hideous! No one who knows you would believe that."

"It's not an unheard-of practice, unfortunately. There's a lot of ugliness in this world, too, Kelsey. The rumor will pass." She picked up her brush again, contemplating. "Simple arithmetic will scotch it eventually. Even though he was heavily insured, Pride was worth a good deal more alive, at the track and at stud, than he is dead. But it stirs memories. Mine. Others."

Calmer, she began to paint again. "This was my therapy in prison. More, it was a way to survive, a way to channel emotions. You don't want to bring attention to yourself inside. With anger, grief, with fear.

Especially not with fear."

"Can you tell me about it?" Kelsey asked quietly. "What it was like?"

For a moment Naomi continued to paint in silence. She'd wondered when Kelsey would ask. Not if.

The need to know the answers, to find the solutions were as much a part of her daughter's makeup as the color of her eyes.

So she would paint another picture, with words rather than with her brush.

"They strip you." She said it quietly, reminding herself it was done, over. "Not just your clothes, though that's one of the first humiliations. They take everything away from you. Your clothes, your freedom, your rights, your hope. You have only what they give you. The tedious routine of it. You're told when to get up in the morning, when to eat, when to go to bed at night. It doesn't matter what you feel, or what you want."

Kelsey stepped up beside her. The birds were singing now, celebrating spring. The air was ripe with flowers and paint.

"You eat what they give you," Naomi continued, "and after a while, you get used to it. You forget what it's like to go out to a restaurant, or just to wake up at night and go down to the kitchen." She let out a little sigh without realizing it. "It's easier if you forget. If you keep too much of the outside with you, it'll drive you crazy. Because you know it's not yours anymore. You can see the mountains, flowers, trees, the seasons changing. But they're all outside, and really have nothing to do with you. You can't be who you were anymore. And even if you ache for companionship, you don't get too close to anyone. Because people come and go."

She changed brushes and began to paint with the energy that was boiling up inside. "Some of the women kept calendars, but I didn't. I wasn't going to think about the days passing into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years. How could I? Some had pictures of their family, their children, and liked to talk about them. Or what they would do when they got out. I didn't do that. I couldn't do that. It was simpler for me to focus on the routine."

"But you were lonely," Kelsey murmured. "You must have been so lonely."

"That's the deepest punishment. The loneliness, and the conflicting lack of privacy. It's not the bars. You think it's going to be the bars, closing you in. But it's not."

She took a deep breath, and made herself continue. "If you had free time, you read, or you watched TV. Fashion magazines were big, but I stopped looking at them after the first couple of years . It was too hard to watch the way things were changing, even something as frivolous as hemlines."

"Did you have visitors?"