Sabotage. Kit Wilkinson

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СКАЧАТЬ relationship with Peter Winslow. You could be key in securing him as her trainer.”

      Derrick stiffened. “You ran a check on me?”

      “I’m careful about who works on the estate. And with my daughter.”

      “I can appreciate your concern for your daughter.” Derrick moved toward Redman, still hooked in the cross ties. Taking the animal by the chin strap, he led him into his stall. “But I think you overestimate my influence over Peter. He’s not likely to take a client he doesn’t want just because I ask him to.”

      Mr. Gill took a step closer.

      “There’s more to what you’re asking, isn’t there?” Derrick narrowed his eyes.

      Mr. Gill feigned a smile and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “You have to understand that the Gill name sometimes raises conflicts. I travel a lot and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of Emilie in my absence. I need your assurance that you will watch out for her best interest, make sure nothing untoward happens.” Untoward? Derrick shook his head. “You mean you want me to babysit her.”

      “No.” Mr. Gill looked annoyed. “My daughter doesn’t need a babysitter. But I do worry about her business, her travel, the media. Just be there. Keep things under control. Notify me if you feel a situation warrants my involvement. Mr. Garcia and I had a nice relationship. I was hoping you and I could have the same.”

      “So, I’d be a bodyguard? An informant?”

      “Mr. Randall, I don’t know if it’s necessary to label this. You need money to finish veterinary school. I know your scholarship fund ran dry. So, I know you could use this.” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and handed Derrick five one hundred dollar bills. “And I get the comfort of knowing that my daughter is safe.”

      Derrick backed away, lifting both palms in the air. He did need money, but this didn’t seem like an honest way to go about getting it. “Mr. Gill, no disrespect, but this doesn’t seem ethical to me. I think my coming here was a mistake.”

      He tried to pass, but Preston Gill placed a firm hand on his chest to stop him. He leaned in close to Derrick’s face and stared with large green eyes, similar to his daughter’s in shape and color. But different. In Emilie’s, he’d seen sadness, irritation, sometimes a flicker of playfulness. Her father’s displayed nothing, keeping everything locked away.

      “Think this over, Mr. Randall. I’m on the board of your university. I can make it difficult for you to return.”

      “Well, vet school is looking less and less appealing.” The urge to laugh passed over him.

      “I had a feeling you would say that. It seems you’ve spent your life not finishing what you start.”

      Derrick dropped his head. The insult stung deeply. He thought about shoving Mr. Gill off his chest. His fingers curled into fists. Please, Lord. He forced a deep breath into his lungs and prayed for calm.

      Mr. Gill took a step back and placed the money back into his own coat pocket. “There’s nothing underhanded about this, Randall. The simple truth is that as CEO of a leading financial group I travel constantly and I can’t be there for Emilie. But my daughter is still important to me. I don’t trust her care to anyone. Especially after such upsetting events. I want to know she’s taken care of.”

      “Does your daughter know about this…arrangement?”

      “I see no reason for that.”

      Derrick nodded, certain his conscience wouldn’t allow him to agree to those terms. “Then my answer is no. My regrets to your daughter.”

      He pushed by Mr. Gill and walked straight to his car. Shaking with emotion, he stood on the concrete sidewalk in front of his ten-year-old Honda. It looked like scrap metal wedged between a shiny Escalade and a fully loaded Ford F-350.

      He searched his pockets for his keys then groaned, remembering he’d left them and his rain gear next to Redman’s stall. He hated to go back inside. He didn’t know if he’d be able to hold back if he saw Mr. Gill again.

      But Emilie. He needed to go back for her. He’d shaken hands with her. Promised to work there. She’d just lost someone she’d been close to. He shouldn’t walk out without saying a word.

      Derrick made his way to the Redman’s stall. His rain jacket and pants lay there, his car key inside the jacket pocket. Redman poked his head over the door and stared at him with liquid eyes. He stroked the horse’s face. A feeling of peace seemed to flow straight from the animal to the pit of his soul. Derrick pulled away and nearly collided into the full wheelbarrow and manure fork he’d left in the aisle.

      Seems you never finish what you start. Mr. Gill’s words tore at him.

      Derrick rolled the waste to the compost pile then swept the concrete aisles. Afterward, he put away the equipment and walked toward Emilie’s office. The drone of Preston Gill’s voice filled the hallway. Derrick slowed his steps, wincing at the man’s harsh words.

      “You don’t need to hold a memorial service.”

      “But, Daddy, he worked for us for four years. We have to do something. Help me. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

      Derrick’s heart twisted at Emilie’s compassionate plea. Surely, her own father would be moved.

      “It was a tragic accident. But there’s nothing any of us can do. And I have to go. This unplanned event has made me late for an important meeting.”

      Unplanned event? The man called death an unplanned event? Mr. Gill’s callous attitude made Derrick itch and burn to step into the conversation. But who was he to do such a thing? He hardly knew Emilie. It wasn’t his place. And now that he thought about it, she might not appreciate his interference. Best to walk away. Go home. Cool off. Think things over and give Emilie a call in the morning.

      So, Derrick left. He could talk to Emilie tomorrow. She’d been through enough for one day.

      THREE

      Sleep would not come. Each time Emilie closed her eyes, her head clouded with distorted visions of Camillo. His twisted body. Blood.

      After restless hours, she slipped from her warm bed, tossed a sweatshirt over her pajamas and wound her way through the large house. In the kitchen, on the antique secretary, she found something to busy her unsettled mind—a stack of work-related documents, waiting for her undivided attention.

      Emilie forced her energy into checking receipts, preparing deposits and writing invoices. When finished, she shuffled the papers on her desk into neat piles, which uncovered a forgotten gift.

      A Bible from Camillo.

      The small leather-bound book had been there for months, untouched. She reached for it with a careful hand as if it might bite. Such an odd present for her twenty-fifth birthday. She did not share Camillo’s newfound faith. But today, the gift brought a surge of sentiment and fresh tears to her eyes.

      For the first time, she thumbed over the thin pages, finding a passage he must have underlined.

      The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my СКАЧАТЬ