Page 70 of Hats off to Love

“Stokes. Rosie,” Grayson says matter-of-factly.

“Did he do it? Is it him?” Stokes asks Grayson. I want to shout, Who is he???

“I think so,” Grayson says. His words are not harsh, but there is an edge to them I’ve rarely heard from him.

Stokes again rubs his hand over his face and then moves us to the couch. We sit down, and everyone in the room follows. I take his hand and hold it tight to reassure him that I’m here for him. He glances at me appreciatively before he turns to the room and says, “Start from the beginning.”

The tallest of the security guards begins speaking. I don’t know him; I really don’t know any of them. The only contact I have with security is when I come through the front gate.

“When he pulled up to the gate, he said he was here to see Roughhouse.”

Roughhouse is a stallion that has to be close to eight years old. He won the Derby a few years back, the last time the Whitlocks won it, and now lives his days being spoiled and studded. He’s also not kept in the same barn as Ace; he’s further back on the property.

“We asked him if he had an appointment to meet with the horse or Grayson, and he said it was fine, said he had spoken with you last week and you said to just come on over. Of course we instantly knew something was off. Per protocol, we called Grayson, who then called you.”

“He is a liar.” Stokes shakes his head then looks at me. “Rosie was there, she heard me tell him to call you”—he glances at Grayson—“to make the appointment.”

A gasp slips out, and Stokes looks at me.

“You’re talking about Dr. Miller?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes.” He frowns.

My jaw drops. This older man has worked with Whitlock Farm for probably thirty years. Stokes has known him his whole life.

“You did tell him that last Friday,” I confirm, wanting everyone to hear me say this, and Stokes rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.

He looks back at Grayson, wanting him to continue.

“We let him in and kept watch. He didn’t know. He did first stop by Roughhouse’s barn and was with him for about fifteen minutes. I don’t know exactly what he was doing, but once he left, the cameras picked him up heading not toward the exit, but toward Ace’s barn. I had already made my way there and was in Eternal Dust’s stall, hiding. Security alerted me when he was in Ace’s stall, so I walked out and over to check it out. He had a syringe loaded and ready to go, and when I asked him what he was doing, he jumped, clearly startled, and squirted the liquid out.”

“What was in it?” Stokes asks.

Yes! What was in it? I want to ask too. I can’t believe this. Did this really almost happen? Was Ace almost compromised? I mean . . . why?

“I’m not sure, but he became very agitated and yelled at me that I was not allowing him to do his job, said you had sent him in and because I scared him, Ace wouldn’t be getting the vitamins he needs.”

“Vitamins for what?” Stokes asks, the anger rising in him like the ocean’s tide. Waves of it are now lapping around us.

“That’s what I asked. He became even more flustered and said, ‘For the inflammation.’”

“What inflammation?” Stokes asks, gritting his teeth while tilting his head a little.

“Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with Ace at all, not one tender or enlarged spot. He’s as healthy and happy as he always is,” Grayson states emphatically. “About this time, the security team arrived, and Dr. Miller started getting very vocal. I’ve never once in all these years heard him yell, but he became someone different. He accused us of interfering with a routine procedure, said you personally spoke to him and knew he was coming, and he refused to hand over his bag. He completely refused to cooperate with us, so for precaution’s sake, they handcuffed him while we called for the police.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Stokes murmurs to the room. “Why?”

No one has an answer for him. Eventually his gaze lands on his mother, and they have a silent conversation.

“So what happens now?” Stokes asks, looking at the two police officers who’ve been observing the conversation between Stokes and his trainer.

“We’ll take him in and detain him until a judge announces bail. In Kentucky, there are several different types of trespassing misdemeanors. He can argue that he was let onto the property, but he lied about his reasons for being here. The question now is, was his intent criminal?”

“Cruelty to animals—tampering or drugging livestock,” Stokes mutters, letting out a sigh and letting go of my hand. With his elbows now resting on his knees, he leans forward and drops his head.

“Exactly,” Grayson confirms.

Eventually, Stokes lets out a deep sigh and stands. I follow suit as he turns to face the two cops. “Is there anything you need from me or my team?”