three
Ned shouldn’t have been able to find him, and the fact that he had meant that David hadn’t been as good at covering his tracks as he’d hoped. The only person who had his number in Barcelona was his brother Owen, so it was clear who had been the leak.
“Hey, matey! Surprise, surprise!”
Not a welcome one, that was for sure. When he recognized the voice, he was tempted to hang up immediately, though that might have got Ned suspicious.
The only thing he could do… He’d have to meet the guy, and try and somehow put him off the track.
Swearing a bloke like Ned to secrecy… Good luck with that: Owen didn’t call him Mr. Foghorn Mouth for nothing.
But why had Owen even said anything to his bad-news mate?
That was another conversation he’d have to have with his brother when they spoke.
He’d told him, no one should know his Barcelona number, not even their dad.
“Hey, Ned? Yeah, what a surprise! Where are you?”
“In Barcelona, man! Just arrived. Man, I love this place! When can you meet up?”
There it was. All the careful work he’d done to separate his existence here from his former life was in danger of being shredded. He’d have to put Ned off the trail somehow, but how?
“I’d love to, man, but… I’m… leaving… about to leave… today.”
“Bummer! But Owen said you were living here. What gives?”
“Ah, yes, I am… temporarily. I mean… I might… stay… I don’t know, haven’t figured it out yet.”
Why was he such a twat at lying? Other people seemed to lie effortlessly when the need arose, but he always twisted himself in knots whenever he had to do it… like now.
“Where are you headed? Maybe I can tag along?”
“No, ah… You can’t… It’s work… Sorry.”
Invent some work thing… make it sound plausible…
“Oh yeah? Got a job already! You done well for yourself. Where are you working?”
Lie… lie… lie…
“A… stables…”
No, not the truth! What a twat!
“Good for you, man! And traveling and all. What’s the setup?”
“Oh… it’s nothing… just a… show, a horse show. I’m going to help out.”
“Awesome. Tell me which show. I can come out and have a look. We can catch up.”
“No,” David was sweating now with the stress of having to invent all this fictitious life. “It’s a crappy little dressage and jumping show. I’m just going to help out really. But I won’t have time… We can meet when I’m back…”
“Sure, man, I’m here for a while… No onward ticket, you get me? Love this city!” He laughed. “I’ll call you in a day or two.”
“Yeah, sure, OK, cool. Bye.”
David threw down his shovel and strode from the box he was mucking out.
He needed to escape, get some air. He came out into the central yard just as two policemen turned into it, one mounted, the other leading his horse.
Oh, shit! He turned in his tracks—and that was the worst possible thing he could have done; he now looked thoroughly guilty.
He walked fast toward the back rooms behind the boxes.
Why the heck were coppers nosing around La Foixarda?
He walked into the tack room. He’d stay in here, pretend he was sorting out the harnesses until they’d gone.
Though, in fact, everything was ordered as perfectly as always here.
All the walls were hung with harness of various descriptions, neatly divided into categories: halters and leads, bridles, unattached bits, lunge reins, girth straps and other body harness.
Struts stuck out from all the walls at waist height, on which saddles, surcingles and breaking-in rig were stored.
Carme was calling his name, but he ignored her.
She’d have to wait. Once the cops had gone, he’d invent some excuse.
They wouldn’t be looking for him. There was no chance of that, was there?
Everything had been going so well right up to that phone call from Ned, and now here he was, bouncing around from one lie to another, totally freaking out.
He needed to stay calm, just settle. But Carme was still calling him.
He stuck his earphones in. He’d say he had the music up and didn’t hear her.
He took one of the bridles down to make it look like he was doing something, in case she came searching.
Had word somehow got out about the suspicious English bloke at the stables?
He’d kept his head down, tried to stay in his room as much as possible, not called attention to himself.
Carme was paying him under the table for now, so there should be no record. What were the police doing here?
He began to strip the bridle down, unbuckling its parts as if he were going to clean it, though it didn’t need it.
Carme made sure all the tack was kept in spotless condition in the stables, but it was something to do, keep his hands busy, keep him out of sight.
Then a shadow darkened the doorway of the tack room.
“Are you David?” the policeman asked in heavily accented English.
He was tall, muscular, and dark-haired, looked about thirty, with a thick dusting of beard across his strong jaw, and intense dark eyes that seemed to read all of the terrible secrets racing through David’s brain right at that particular moment.
Not trusting himself to speak, all he could do was nod.
“Carme is looking for you. We need your help. My horse, she has a cut.”
David nodded again, and then forced himself to speak, anything to get this cop to go away.
“Uh, OK, I’ll be right out… Just finishing up…”
He was intending to stall, get the policeman to leave.
Then he could do a runner, go out the back window and disappear up on Montju?c for an hour or two.
When he returned they would have left. But then the man’s message struck home: his horse was hurt.
David put the bridle to one side and went toward the door.
In the doorway, he came up close to the copper, who was still standing there, near enough to smell his masculine scent, a mix of harness leather, horse sweat, man sweat, and a particular musk that was all his own.
The man stood in the doorway, making no move to step aside, his eyes on David like he wanted to interrogate him or something.
That forced David to come near. He couldn’t squeeze by and would have to ask him to move or push up against him.
It was as if the guy knew that and was challenging him, waiting to see how he’d react.
David stopped, a heart’s beat away from the uniformed chest. He tried to control his breathing, which was now coming fast, faster than was normal.
Being shorter by several inches, his gaze connected first with the man’s throat, just where it rose from the collar of his uniform jacket.
He took in the dark curling hairs there, and the seven-day beard covering his jaw.
He raised his eyes, meeting that dark gaze.
The man’s irises were a very dark brown, so dark they looked almost black.
And at the corners, heavy-lidded creases like laugh lines gave them a slightly almond shape.
A man whose twinkling eyes in other circumstances you might dream of drowning in.
Though he wasn’t smiling now. He was gazing at David with an intensity that was almost frightening.
It made him appear angry. David broke their regard, his eyes flicking down toward the man’s lips, which were plump and pronounced.
A weird, totally inappropriate thought flashed through his mind: what would they be like to kiss.
Get off! Kissing a copper next! He’d get himself arrested.
Calm down, just calm down a minute. You can get through this.
They stood there for a second or two, David unable to say a thing, just inhaling that imposing masculine scent, to the point he was getting dizzy even.
He was going to kiss him or faint. What was going wrong in his head!
Then finally, the man took a step aside, letting him slip past and out into the yard.
As he walked quickly toward the front of the stables, his breath was coming fast and he was sweating, his head buzzing and his fingers trembling with tension, fear, and… something else he didn’t want to name.
Carme was standing at the stable entrance with the other policeman. Both police horses were tied to the yard fence beside them.
“David, there you are!” Carme called. “I’ve been calling you for ages. Can you take a look at Estel? She’s got a cut foot, in the frog.”
David clocked both horses, and walked straight to the one that was favoring its front left leg, keeping the heel of its hoof from touching the ground.
Approaching it, he stroked its head and neck for a few seconds, letting it smell him and get used to his presence.
Then he stroked his hand from its neck down over its shoulder and down its leg, letting it know he wanted to pick up its foot by tugging on the fetlock.
“Come on, baby, let’s have a look,” he crooned in English.
The cut was bad, and it was still bleeding. He’d need to clean it and get some salve on quickly.
“Has he had his boosters, you know, for tetanus?” He had no idea what the Spanish or Catalan for that was.
“Tétanos?” asked Carme, and then said something rapid fire to the cops.
“Yes,” replied the guy who’d come looking for him, who was now standing next to Carme. “All the police horses, they have them every year. It is a big danger for the horses.”