Horse of a Different Killer by Laura Morrigan Read Free Book Online Page B

the entry.
    Ortega trusted Emma and valued her opinion.
Yeah, right
.
    It was all a ruse, like the steps leading to nowhere.
    Mary led me down the corridor, past the kitchen into the living room.
    â€œJasmine had to take a phone call. I’m sure she’ll only be a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”
    Again, the views of the Atlantic were sweeping. But it wasn’t the vista that drew my eye.
    On the far wall was an enormous black-and-white photograph of Jasmine, her eyes deeply kohled and her semiprofile striking and exotic. She held her hair away from her face, her gaze focused in the distance.
    As beautiful as Jasmine was it was the other figure in the photograph that held my attention. The rest of the frame was filled with the neck and head of a gorgeous black horse.
    Her
horse. I realized with certainty.
    â€œHello, handsome,” I murmured to the photo. Could this be the reason Jasmine had called me?
    For that matter, could it be the reason Ortega had been trying to reach me? A knot of worry began to twist in my gut at the thought.
    I’d despised Ortega for what he’d done to my sister, but that didn’t mean I’d let an animal suffer for it. Another disturbing thought entered my mind. If Ortega had genuinely needed help with an animal, why ask me? Why risk the wrath of Wes to reach me?
    The sound of a woman’s voice speaking a foreign language called my attention from the photograph. I crept over to the closed door and pressed my ear against the wood.
    I wasn’t sure what I hoped to glean, given that the only foreign language I’d ever studied was as dead as Anthony Ortega.
    The conversation must have ended because the only sound I heard was that of muffled footsteps. I had just taken a step away from the door when it opened.
    The startled woman standing in the doorway was tall, lovely, and visibly upset.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “I was just about to knock. I’m Grace Wilde.”
    Jasmine blinked at me for a moment before gathering herself.
    â€œOf course,” she said, motioning toward the sitting area. “My apologies—family drama. Please, have a seat.”
    We settled across from each other on two identical linen sofas and a moment later, Mary appeared and asked if we needed anything.
    â€œI’d love a cup of tea, Mary,” Jasmine said, then looked at me. “Grace?”
    â€œTea sounds good. But only if it’s iced and sweet.” Mary nodded then moved into the kitchen to fulfill our requests.
    â€œThank you for coming so quickly.”
    â€œYou sounded upset when we spoke.”
    Nodding, she opened the fashion magazine she’d been holding to a dog-eared page and handed it to me. The photo in the full-page spread was similar to the one adorning the wall, though the magazine version had been tweaked so that the focus was on the jewelry being advertised. Highlights had been added to the pieces sparkling on Jasmine’s finely boned hand, wrist, and neck.
    Her hair was wavy and wind tossed, matching the horse’s thick mane.
    â€œA Friesian?” I asked, referring to the breed.
    She smiled with a nod. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”
    â€œVery. He’s your horse?”
    â€œWhat makes you say that?”
    I tilted my head toward the enormous photo. “You can tell by the way he’s looking at you.”
    Worry lines pinched her brow as she gazed at the image. “Heart. That’s his name, and what he is to me. Especially now.” She paused then looked at me, eyes bright with tears. “He’s missing.”
    â€œMissing? You mean Heart’s been stolen?”
    â€œNot quite.”
    â€œI’m not following.”
    â€œRight, sorry.” She rubbed her forehead with shaking fingers. “I don’t know where to begin. You see, Heart isn’t mine. Though I think he was going to be.”
    I waited, hoping she would say something that made sense.
    â€œTony was