The It Girls
Hurt? She was thinking of Emma. But the situations were different. Renee hadn’t even given me the chance to chip a nail. The last assignment had relied more on my understanding of avionics and electronics systems produced by my father’s defense-contracting business than on physical prowess.
I rode again after the doctors told me I never would. I survived the brutal training I’d gone through with Emma, Chloe and Becca. I ran the business side of my foundation without anyone there knowing about my handicap. My chin crept up and my back got stiff with steel. “I can do anything as well as anyone else.”
The tilt of Renee’s smile widened. “You’re proving my point.”
I strangled the linen napkin in one fist. Control, Alexa. Get yourself under control. If I didn’t watch out, I’d blow this. I had to make Renee realize there was more to me than my missing lower leg, and the only way I could think to do that was to put her on the spot. “Why did you ask me to join the agency if you have no faith in my ability?”
“You have many outstanding abilities,” Renee said so silkily that I could feel my ruffled feathers smoothing. Her gaze didn’t waver—almost as if she’d expected this flak from me and had her side of the argument ready to deflect anything I could throw at her.
“We brought you in,” she said, “because you know your way around a business statement in several languages. You have access to the defense industry through your father. You have connections with several highly placed branches of society both in New York and in London. And you, more than any of the other girls, can physically alter your looks to fit any situation.”
“But…” I said and waited for Renee to fill the space. There was always a damned but.
“Your blinders get in the way. I can’t give you a field assignment if I feel I’ll be putting you in physical danger.”
“We’re back to the leg thing again.” Didn’t everything in my life come back to that blasted leg? If it didn’t matter to me, why should it matter to anyone else?
“No, you’re back to the leg thing again. You made it through training. You’ve proved you can cope with your handicap.” There was actual warmth in Renee’s voice as if she really did admire what I’d overcome. She reached for my hand and squeezed it gently. “It’s your impetuous tendency that worries me. You grow impatient, you bend the rules and look for the shortcut. There’s no place for that in the field. Not when there’s so much at stake. Think of it as dressage. Everything has to be precise or you put the whole operation at risk.”
“Wait,” I said, pulling back, confused by Renee’s simultaneous praise and excoriation. “You said you were sending me to work as a groom.”
“Then you took offense and didn’t let me get to the second part of your mission.”
Second part of the mission? Man, I was burning bridges before I even got a foot on them. This was the one thing I kept forgetting about Renee: how good she was at manipulating people to do exactly what she wanted. Now I couldn’t refuse the assignment without coming across as a self-pitying spoiled brat.
“I’m sorry.” I shrugged. “It’s just a groom isn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I’d thought of an undercover assignment.”
“In this case, it’s the best means for you to gather information on the owners and workers at the Ashcroft Equestrian Center. Grooms are easily overlooked, yet people tend to speak freely around them because the stables are a relaxing environment.”
Okay, so this was a test. If I could prove to Renee I could do this, then next time she’d give me something as glamorous as she’d given Porsche Rothschild. I still couldn’t believe an airhead like Porsche had gotten to protect the actor Jeremy Reins as her first assignment. She’d even gone to the Oscars!
“You’ve heard of Firewall?”
I nodded, grateful Renee hadn’t completely written me off yet. Firewall was a seventeen-hand high fire-red chestnut that loved to jump and made it look easy. Whispers of Olympic gold floated around him. All he needed was a few more years of seasoning and he could be a real contender. “Firewall is a jumper owned by Hardel Industries.”
“With his major competitors out of the picture, Firewall comes out as a favorite to take over the summer season.”
“Killing to win seems redundant when you have such great horseflesh to do all the work for you.”
Renee lifted a shoulder. “Hardel Industries has put a lot of their advertising dollars into promoting Firewall. The more often he makes headlines, the more often the company does. You can’t buy that kind of publicity. They can’t afford to lose him. Do you know Ross Hardel?”
“I know who he is.” I’d met him over ten years ago when his trainer had insisted he improve his seat by taking some dressage lessons. He’d been an arrogant twit then and, if Rubi Cho’s gossip column was to be believed, he hadn’t changed. Treachery required hard work and Ross Hardel had never liked to work up a sweat. Of course, maybe bumping off the competition was the easiest way for him to win.
“Would he recognize you?” Renee asked.
“I doubt it. We don’t run in the same circle.” Nor was I the type of woman likely to be photographed clinging to his elbow. He preferred blond Barbie-dolls with IQs smaller than their bustlines. Of course, I’m sure he wasn’t seeking intelligent conversation from them.
“Perfect,” Renee chirped. “Since both Waldo, Leah Siegel’s horse, and Firewall are the top two candidates to become the Horse Ripper’s next victim, your job is to make sure nothing happens to them and to report any information you glean about who might have a stake at seeing the competition eliminated.”
A secretary who shoveled shit—definitely not what I had in mind when I asked for excitement. Still I put on my best obedient agent face. “That’s going to be tough if I’m stuck cleaning stalls while Ross and Leah are hobnobbing poolside.”
“Which is why you’re to accept any invitation from Ross Hardel.”
Oh, God, no. I didn’t think I could stand being around that that arrogant prick for five minutes. Being pawed by a pervert was not my idea of fun. Or having him feel my prosthesis and shrink back in disgust. “This guy has a reputation for being a cad.”
“And a reputation for a fondness for stable girls. That gives you an in at keeping tabs on him and who might want to do his horse harm.”
My fork snapped through the scone and plinked on the gold-trimmed plate. “I certainly hope you’re not expecting me to sleep with him!” I didn’t need this assignment that badly. “Your whole undercover ploy is going to fall apart if anyone finds out about my leg. There aren’t too many one-legged riders around. And he’ll have heard of my accident since he was training with my coach at the time.” Not to mention that one look at my residual limb usually sent my dates scrambling for excuses to run out the door. Funny how they never called back. Which is why I usually got the leg business out of the way first thing—before I could get attached.
The Mona Lisa half-twist to Renee’s mouth had me wondering what she found so amusing. “I don’t expect you to prostitute yourself. You can be charming when you put your mind to it, Alexa.”
Renee had this groom scenario all figured out. I could accept the assignment and prove myself to her. Or I could pass and very well get skipped over every time. “I’ll pack some charm. But wouldn’t I be able to get more out of Ross and Leah if I played someone within their circle? I could play the role of an owner. Bring one of my horses along.”
“As a groom, you’ll have a better chance of extracting information from the help. I’m told they will know all the dirty little secrets the owners try to hide and the goings on behind the scene. The help wouldn’t talk to you if you played the role of an owner. From what I understand the horse world is small and almost incestuous.”
She got that right. When I’d showed, I’d bumped into the same group of people every weekend. And if someone were to write a book about the lowdown, dirty things that really went on behind the glitz and glamour of the show ring, no one would believe it. Reality was much stranger than fiction.
Renee fingered the edge of the file sitting on the linen tablecloth, and like a good performer, waited until I was practically salivating before opening the red cover. “Ally Cross is to report to Bart Hind at the Ashcroft Equestrian Center just outside of Ashcroft, Connecticut. He’s the center’s manager and knows nothing about the operation. He’s expecting Ally at seven tomorrow morning. Your résumé and job were provided by the center’s owner.”
“Who is that?”
“Patrick Dunhill.”
“The former Olympian?” His black horse Messenger had soared through many of my dreams as I was growing up. He spared no expense on his horses, and his facilities were said to be the Rolls Royce of stables. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Renee nodded. “He’s made sure you’ll be assigned to both Ross Hardel and Leah Siegel’s horses. That will allow you to get close to both of them. Alan will provide you with all the necessary paperwork to backstop your Ally Cross identity. No one is to know your true background. Since you used to show, will that be a problem?”
I hadn’t stepped foot into a show ring in ten years. Memories were short. “Dressage people and jumping people run in different circles.”
“This will require hard physical work, Alexa. Are you up to the job?”
I’d never let my “defective” leg stop me from achieving my goals before. I certainly wouldn’t now. If Renee wanted a groom, I could become a groom. “How hard can it be to muck out a stall?”
Chapter 2
My next stop was the elevator hidden behind the rack of shoes and the rows of designer clothes in the closet in Renee’s office. I entered my code on the temperature control panel, followed the prompt for a palm print and an iris scan and waited patiently while the computer decided I was indeed who I claimed to be. The panel slid open and I stepped into the car. The glass elevator reminded me of a bullet and was just a little bit disconcerting in the way it blurred the concrete walls as it rushed to the basement level.
Kristi Burke, the undercover stylist, was waiting for me when I got off the elevator. She twisted her hands like a mad scientist facing a brand-new experiment. The lab coat didn’t help the effect.
“I had such fun shopping for this assignment,” Kristi said, leading me toward the dressing room. Two rolling racks of clothes waited beside a three-way mirror. She sat me in the hairdresser’s chair and stood behind me.
“Fun? For this assignment?”
Kristi’s nose wrinkled cutely as she smiled. “It’s not every day I get to dress down someone as gorgeous as you are. I thrive on a challenge.” She ran her fingers through strands of my long hair. “First, we need to tone down that beautiful mahogany into something more mousy.”
“Mousy?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
“I’m going to dye it a flat brown, then overdry it and butcher the ends so they split. Stable girls don’t have the money for designer haircuts.”
“Sounds absolutely splendid.” Oh, yeah, this was definitely a glamorous assignment. “I suppose you want me to bring back my acne and crooked front teeth.”
“Could you?” Kristi joked, then knuckled my chin. “Chin up, girl. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ll be able to bring you back to your old self in a couple of hours when your assignment is through.”
Chewing on orange-flavored nicotine gum, Kristi chatted about her horrible Internet dating experiences as she dyed and shampooed and snipped and dried my hair into a dull brown frizz that nearly brought tears to my eyes. She took a raggedy scrunchie from one of the drawers by the mirrored table and twisted my hair into a messy bun. “This is the going stableyard style, I’m told. Or try a single braid down your back.”
I took in a long drag of air, hating my drab reflection in the mirror. “I think I can manage.”
“Good. Now makeup.” She showed me how to apply a concoction that dulled my skin and, voila, I was my mother’s worst fear come to life. Common. I wanted to treat that poor pasty girl in the mirror to a day at Bliss Spa. She deserved it.
Kristi swiveled the chair around until it was facing the racks of clothes. “Wardrobe’s up next. I had a hard time finding jeans that were long enough for you in the leg, but managed to unearth three pairs of Levi’s at the Goodwill store.”
Goodwill? That was a long way from Barney’s on Madison. Oh, this was getting worse by the second. Wearing other people’s clothes. I shuddered and scratched at imagined cooties jumping over my skin. Kristi went through the piles of underwear—cotton instead of my usual LaPerla silk—and T-shirts with advertising splashed across the front. She was especially proud of the faded red Barn Goddess one. By the time she closed the zipper on the scuffed L.L. Bean duffel bag, I was near tears. I wasn’t vain. Not really. But this was, well, so beneath my station. “If you need anything more, let me know and I’ll see what I can dig up.”
I hoped to identify the Horse Ripper within a week. I could survive a week in itchy clothes, forking manure. I could. Really. “I think I’m set. Thanks.”
Kristi beamed. “My pleasure.”
Alan Burke, Kristi’s brother, poked his head, dark-brown hair perfectly coiffed, through the dressing room door. “All done?”
“If she was, she’d be with you already, now wouldn’t she?” Kristi snapped. Since Kristi had started her smoke-cessation program, she tended to take out her frustrations on her brother. Poor thing.
Ignoring Alan, Kristi reached for a box on top of the dressing table. “I had some darker contacts made with your prescription. Your eyes are such a distinct warm sienna that I figured they might attract attention.”
I stashed Kristi’s Goodwill-filled duffel bag by the elevator door and made my way to Alan’s tech room. The room was filled to the brim with computers, closed-circuit television screens and a wall full of electronic gadgets that would listen, see and record any kind of information you could imagine. I looked at them with envy, knowing a groom wasn’t likely to need any of those beauties.
“How’s Kyle?” I asked Alan as I took a seat beside him in one of his high-tech chairs. Kyle was a Versace model who lived in Venice. Alan had met him at a recent ball and fallen head over heels in love.
His chocolate-brown eyes drooped at the corners like a disappointed puppy’s. “He hasn’t called in a while.”
“He will. How could he resist a sweetie like you?”
Alan shrugged and got down to the business of going over the technical details of my mission as Ally Cross. “Here’s your driver’s license, credit card, ATM card, check book, car registration, insurance card. I’ve also taken the liberty of getting you some of those annoying frequent-shoppers cards. Blockbuster, Stop & Shop, Starbucks. I also found one for an on-line tack shop.”
“Impressive.” He handed me my new life story stuffed in a faded navy-blue ripcord wallet with Velcro tabs. Swell.
“Everything’s backstopped and will stand up to a fairly rigorous investigation.” He added a set of keys on a battered brass stirrup keychain to my booty. “Now, I’ve arranged to have an old Ford Focus modified with a steering wheel accelerator so you can drive it.”
Because my right foot was missing, making it difficult to feel the pedal, I had to have a special modification to drive. God, I hated driving, but a groom wasn’t likely to arrive at a minimum-wage job in a chauffeur-driven limousine. “You think of everything.”
“That’s what they pay me for, darling. I also have this.” He reached into a drawer and took out a cell phone and a silver locket. He dangled the locket from his index finger. “It doesn’t look like much so the risk of having it stolen is practically nil. If you press the front like so.” He demonstrated by pressing his thumb against the diamond chip in the middle of the rose scroll and set off an alarm on his computer. “We’ll get an SOS signal and be able to come to your rescue. Of course, that’ll work better once you’re back in the city, but we’ll be able to keep track of your movements in Connecticut. It’ll just take us longer to get to you.”
Somehow that didn’t sound as reassuring as it should.
He secured the locket around my neck, then flipped open the phone. “This is really a small computer in disguise. With this, you’ll be able to transmit pictures back to me, record conversations should you need to and, using the sliding keypad, record whatever information Renee needs. Plug it in the recharging base every night. At 2:00 a.m., it will automatically transfer whatever you’ve entered in the computer to our mainframe here. If you need to send something before, just dial Hal’s number and he’ll take it from there.”
Hal being the mainframe. Did I mention Alan loved movies?
“I have a cell phone that can do most of that.”
“This one encrypts communications. And this one is registered to Ally Cross.”
“Good point.”
Alan smiled at me as he handed me the gadget. I stuffed it in the knock-off Dooney & Bourke purse Kristi had given me as part of my disguise. “You can call me anytime by pressing the number one on the speed dial function.” He scooped up a plastic bag at his feet. “Here are a couple of videos from last year’s Grand Prix jumping events. That should bring you up-to-date as to who’s who in the jumping world. I’ve also included a book on horse care and grooming. You’re a quick study so getting the procedures down pat shouldn’t take you long.”
I clutched the bag to my chest. Although I’d never personally attempted the feat, cleaning stalls wasn’t rocket science. “Great. Thanks.”
My last stop was to see Jimmy “The Heartbreaker” Valentine, the agency’s personal trainer. I loved him. Of course, so did every other agent, even though “Backbreaker” would be a more apt title for him. He’d worked for the CIA and didn’t take any of the crap we dished out. And I can honestly say that none of us have made Jimmy’s job easy.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Jimmy said as I walked into his gym. He stood in his black shorts and sweat-stained gray T-shirt in front of the mirror doing bicep curls with thirty-pound dumbbells. “How’s my girl?”
I fluffed my frizz. “As you can see from Kristi’s work of art, I’m going undercover.”
He broke out into a face-eating grin. “Congratulations, I know you’ve been waiting to lead a case for a long time.”
“Well, it’s not exactly what I had in mind.” I flopped onto a padded bench beside the neat rows of dumbbells on a rack.
“You can do it. I have faith in you.”
And his boat-wide smile made shoveling manure suddenly sound like a true opportunity rather than a punishment.
Jimmy was the only one who understood how hard I’d had to work to hide my condition and make my handicap look effortless. He understood because his older brother, Mario, had an arm ripped off above the elbow in a motorcycle accident when he was eighteen. Jimmy had grown up watching Mario endure the long process of fitting an artificial limb and the painful and frustrating hours of practice that went into rehabilitation.
“Hey, guess what?” he said.
“What?”
“Kara’s pregnant.”
For whatever reason, Jimmy tried to reassure me every time I came to the gym that if an ugly, one-armed, junkyard dog like his brother could find a beautiful woman to marry him, then my finding a partner was definitely in the cards. I’m not sure he understood how superficial men in my social circle could be. “When’s the baby due?”
“Right before Christmas.”
“Give him my congratulations.”
Jimmy put both hands up and backed away. “Heck, no, he’s already feeling too proud of himself.”
I laughed and picked nervously at a nail that Kristi had so thoughtfully stripped of polish and clipped nearly to the quick. “So, what do you think?”
He frowned and that meant I wouldn’t like the answer. “I think you should wear your workout leg.”
“Oh, no, please, Jimmy. It’s so ugly.”
He sat beside me on the bench and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “The pretty leg will crap out under the load and your residual limb won’t be as comfortable. You’re heading for hard work, sweetheart. You’ve gotta take care of yourself.”
Coming from Jimmy that didn’t feel like a reproach, but the straight truth. I leaned against his shoulder. “How will I hide it? No one’s supposed to know who I am.”
“Wear pants. Now that it’s getting warmer, that’s a bummer, but it’s the best option. I had Kristi find you a couple of pairs of boots and fitted them with Talux feet.”
I sighed. The carbon active heel would help me walk with a fluid, natural motion in a variety of terrains. Most of all, the unit could withstand moderate impact activities that my lifelike, silicone-covered cosmetic leg couldn’t—even with its computer controls. But none of that altered the fact that the metal workout leg was butt ugly.
Jimmy scrunched his bushy eyebrows and got all serious on me. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“You gotta promise me you’re gonna take care of yourself. Two of my three kids are down with some sort of spring flu, and Linda’s driving me crazy as it is. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”
Linda being his wife who only drove him crazy because he loved her so much. Sometimes I wished he wasn’t married because, with him, my leg would never be an issue.
“I promise.”
“You’ll be expending more energy than you’re used to, so you’re gonna have to increase your calorie intake. If you lose more than five pounds, your prosthesis won’t fit properly and you could end up with all sorts of problems.”
Keeping weight on wasn’t a new issue for me. “I promise I’ll eat.”
He glared at me with the ball-shrinking gaze that was said to have cowered more than one CIA recruit. He forgot that it didn’t work as well on women. “Three squares. No skipping.”
I nodded. “I’ll pack energy bars.”
“That’s my girl.” He stood up and clamped his hands to his hips. “Now get on the mat and let me take you through the exercises I want you to do every day to keep your core strong and balanced.”
He understood me, but that didn’t mean he cut me any slack. “Backbreaker,” I teased.
His chuckle negated his scowl. “Drop down and give me ten.”
The next morning I glanced at the ugly workout leg leaning against the wall next to my bed at my Darien estate and groaned. Suck it up, Alexa. There was no use complaining. The workout leg was the best tool for the job I had to do.
An hour after getting up, I used my Ally Cross frequent-buyer card at a Starbucks before getting onto I-95, treating myself to a grande Americano and choking down an energy bar to keep my promise to Jimmy. In Norwalk, Connecticut, I switched over to the Merritt Parkway because the ride was prettier. My grip on the steering wheel tightened and I belted out a tune at the top of my lungs along with Gwen Stefani on the radio to keep my thoughts from filling my mind with doubts.
In Hartford, I merged onto I-84 and dismissed my building jitters by concentrating on finding the Ashcroft signs. Make that singular. The town was farther and tinier than I’d expected, and the clock on the dashboard was inching closer to seven much too quickly. Showing up late on my first day wasn’t the best way to start.
Once I found Ashcroft, I followed the stone wall surrounding the farm for a mile before I turned into the red-bricked pillared entrance to the equestrian center.
To say the place was grand would be an understatement. The state-of-the-art equestrian facility was located on fifty-five rolling acres of woodlands, hills and pastures. Miles of fence made from the white PVC that imitated wood planks and would last forever without needing fresh paint lined the roadway. Definitely not cheap.
The stable was as impressive as the château-inspired mansion where Patrick Dunhill lived. Brick-red paint and white accents kept the color scheme of the main house going. The cupola in the center of the roof matched the mansion’s turret. And the covered entry was a nice touch. I left the Focus in the parking lot and, with a bit of trepidation swimming around my stomach—which I blamed on the large cup of coffee rather than nerves—I headed for the barn office.