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“I don’t think anyone would want to hurt the Gypsy—”

“Just like you didn’t think anyone would want to hurt Sentimental Lady,” he charged.

“That was different—”

“How?”

“Different horses, different circumstances . . . I don’t know.”

“That’s just the point; until we understand the motive behind the drugging of Sentimental Lady, we’ll never be certain that Gypsy Wind is safe. And we’ll never be able to comprehend the motive until we find out who was behind it.”

“But that might be impossible.”

“Not really. Ian O’Riley should know exactly who had access to the horse and who didn’t.” Brig pulled pensively on his lower lip, as if he were attempting to visualize exactly what had happened to Sentimental Lady, as if by thinking deeply enough, he could reconstruct the events leading up to the tragedy.

Becca touched his arm lightly. “Brig, be reasonable—you’re talking about six years ago! You can’t expect Ian to remember every person who had access to the horse.” Becca was incredulous and her wide green eyes reflected her feelings.

“I think you’re underestimating your trainer. I’m sure he gave the California Horse Racing Board the name of every person near the horse in those last few hours before the race. The board surely has the records. . .”

“But that list probably includes the names of grooms who have left us. I have no idea how to reach them. And what about security guards at the track, other trainers . . . what could you possibly expect to find that the board overlooked?”

Brig’s smile was grim, his jawline determined. “I doubt that the board overlooked anything that was reported. What I’m looking for was probably never brought to their attention.”

Becca shook her head at the folly of his idea. “What can you possibly hope to find?”

“I don’t know—maybe nothing. But there’s a slim chance that we can dig up some shred of evidence that might shed some light on Lady’s death.”

“It’s been too long.”

Brig had started toward the door, but stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t youwantto find out what happened?”

“Of course, but I think it’s too late. All we would do is stir up the entire mess all over again. The only thing we would accomplish would be getting the press all riled up. Sentimental Lady’s picture, along with yours and mine, would be thrown in front of the public again.”

“That’s going to happen anyway. Once the press gets wind of the fact that you’ve bred a sister to Sentimental Lady, they’re going to be breathing down your neck so fast it will make your head swim. My investigation isn’t going to change the attitude of the media.”

Becca had reached up to switch off the lights, but hesitated when she felt Brig’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, but couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked gently. “What makes you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid—”

“But something isn’t right, Becca.” His face was softened by concern for her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there are a few things that just don’t add up.”

She drew in a deep breath and tried to mask the ever increasing dread. “Such as?”

“Such as the fact that, for the most part, you held your silence after the tragedy.”

“I told you why. I thought you were involved.”

“Thought.Past tense. You don’t anymore?”

She shook her head and snapped off the lights, hoping that Brig wouldn’t notice that her hands were unsteady. “No.”

Becca pushed the door open with her shoulder and walked outside. She hoped that Brig would change the subject, because of the unnamed fear growing stronger within her. The wind had quieted to occasional chilly gusts that seemed to rip through Becca’s light jacket and pierce her heart.

“What made you change your mind?” Brig asked after he had secured the door to the barn.