At Risk Read Online Free Page B

us
realize. They don't always make the papers, but I hear about them
on my rounds sometimes. Foxdale's more vulnerable than most
operations because no one lives on the premises." He smoothed his
fingers through his hair. "Someone out there doesn't mind taking
risks for what I would have thought was a small profit."
    "Maybe they like the risk more than the
profit," I said.
    His gaze sharpened on my face. "What makes
you say that?"
    I shrugged. "Firsthand knowledge."
    Greg shook his head. "Jesus."
    I pulled the slices out of the toaster and
dropped them on my plate. "So, what kind of profit are we talking
about?"
    "Well, let's say the bottom'd dropped out of
the meat market, and all they were getting was fifty cents to the
pound. For a thirteen-hundred pound horse, that would be about
six-hundred-and-fifty bucks. Round up seven good-sized horses, and
they'd end up with about forty-five hundred. That's not bad for
something that didn't belong to them in the first place. As the
price gets closer to a dollar a pound, it just plain gets more
tempting."
    "What's the price right now?"
    Greg shrugged. "Haven't heard."
    "How hard would they be to sell? They're some
nice-looking horses. Wouldn't they stick out?"
    "Put 'em in a crowded lot for a week or two,
and they'd look like nags by the time they turned up on the auction
block or, more likely, at a packing plant."
    I spread some margarine across the toast.
"Then they get slaughtered?"
    "Yeah, but probably not in the states. Most
of them are hauled to Canada first. Then the carcasses are shipped
to Europe."
    "Why there?"
    "Because horse meat is a common . . . Well,
people eat it."
    I made a face. The idea seemed alien, like
eating the family dog. "What about proof of ownership? Wouldn't
they need that?"
    "Some outfits aren't very careful with the
paperwork end of it. And if the thieves have a connection
somewhere, it would be easy."
    I slid the plate down the counter and perched
on the edge of a stool, hoping I didn't look as stiff as I
felt.
    Greg eyed me across the rim of his mug. "What
goes wrong with people that they'd do something like that?" he
said, and I knew he was no longer referring to the horses.
    "Things don't go wrong, people do. It was
their choice," I said and was surprised by the anger in my voice.
"Nobody forced them."
    Greg looked at me with an expression I
couldn't read. Guess he hadn't expected Philosophy 101. Not from me
anyway. He sighed. "I suppose you're right."
    He glanced at his watch, then fished his
wallet out of a pocket. "Here's my card. Pager number's on the
bottom. If you need anything, let me know. The clinic's closed
today, so we should be eating around seven. Why don't you come
over? Susan would love to have you."
    I almost smiled at his choice of words and
tried to suppress my runaway imagination by blocking her out of my
mind as best I could.
    "Come on, Steve." He glanced around the
loft—an actual hay loft that he'd converted into a spacious
apartment for his teen-aged daughter before she'd decided at the
last minute to attend college out of state. I'd considered myself
lucky when Greg had offered to rent it to me. "It'll do you good to
get out of here, have a home-cooked meal for a change."
    "Some other time, thanks."
    He downed the rest of his coffee and stood
up. "You sure?"
    I nodded, and Greg reached over and placed
his hand on my shoulder. His palm pressed down on an area of
bruising that was still tender. I flinched, and he dropped his hand
to his side and stared at me.
    "Nothing a Percodan won't fix," I said.
    He shook his head and ambled over to the
door. "That's strong stuff. Make sure you follow the
directions."
    "Yes, Mom."
    He grinned as he pulled the door shut.
    The sky had cleared, and the brood mares,
heavy with foal, were grazing in the field where the deer had been.
I walked back to the counter and fingered the toast. It was cold,
and the margarine had congealed into an unappealing film. I decided
I wasn't hungry after all.
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