The Alibi Man

Chapter 34

When she had come to Star Polo to interview for a groom’s position, Lisbeth had driven past the mansion Jim Brody lived in three or four months of the year (it was a second home then, a weekend place) and thought to herself that one day she would live in a house like that. An incredibly wealthy, incredibly handsome, incredibly sexy man would pluck her out of the stable yard and she would be just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman-except that she wouldn’t have to be a prostitute first.

How wrong she had been.

She had gotten the job, been given an apartment over the stables, had her magical entree to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. All of that had happened.

The polo players had taken a shine to her because she was cute and had a great figure. Mr. Brody had taken a shine to her, and suddenly she was invited to parties and getting attention from the kind of men she had dreamed of sweeping her away. But none of them had fallen in love with her, and she had certainly been made to feel like she was a prostitute.

She sat on her bed with her knees drawn up, looking at the rack of expensive clothes she had purchased with the generosity of her wealthy gentleman friends. She enjoyed looking pretty. She enjoyed parties.

So had Irina.

Lisbeth wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and rocked herself as the tears came. Her eyes were already nearly swollen shut from crying. She couldn’t seem to stop.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have other friends, but Irina had been so strong, so sure of herself. She had walked into the world of the wealthy as if she had been born to it. Lisbeth felt lost in her sudden absence, cut loose from her anchor. Now she felt like she was the only one who knew all the secrets, and that was a very scary place to be.

Irina wouldn’t have thought so. Irina would have laughed at her. Irina loved to play games, to angle for power. Lisbeth had both admired and resented her for that. It was all a game for Irina. Nothing meant anything. Lisbeth wished she could have been more like that.

Irina would have been the one to end up living in a house like Jim Brody’s with a husband like Bennett Walker, and she would have accepted it all as her due.

In contrast, Lisbeth believed she would never feel like anything more than a hanger-on, a hick kid from the rural Midwest. An outsider with her toe in the door.

The clock saved her from sinking even deeper into the pain. It was time for night check, and it was her night to do it.

She held a cold wet cloth to her face for a few minutes, as if that would really help. The horses were probably going to freak out at the sight of her. Her head felt like a water balloon.

The stables were dimly lit at night. The barn manager was rabid about not startling the horses when they were resting. Lisbeth went from one stall to the next, doling out flakes of hay, checking legs, adjusting blankets.

It was a peaceful job and one she normally enjoyed, but she was jumpy, and exhausted, and shivering uncontrollably. She went up and down the aisle, bent over like an old woman.

So alone, she kept thinking. She felt so alone.

She had to pull herself together, she knew. She thought about quitting Star Polo. Good grooms were always in demand during the season. But she was afraid to do it. She didn’t want to call attention to herself. She didn’t want Mr. Brody to think she was turning against him.

She tried to think what Irina would have done if the situation had been reversed.

Irina would have gone on as if nothing had happened.

Knowing that only made Lisbeth feel worse.

Finished with her chore, she stepped outside the barn and looked out at the night. She rubbed her medallion between her thumb and forefinger, wishing the habit would calm her. Moonlight shone on the pond that spread out like quicksilver between the stables and the canal running perpendicular to the road. A heron waded in the shallows on long stilt legs. It paid no attention to her.

So alone…

The bag went over her head so quickly, Lisbeth couldn’t even react. One second she was looking at the heron, and the next she couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Some kind of cord tightened around her throat, choking off her air supply.

Lisbeth grabbed at it, tried to get her fingers under it to pull it loose. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. She tried kicking at the person behind her, but he yanked her off her feet and shook her like a rag doll until Lisbeth didn’t know which way was up.

Dizzy, disoriented, terrified, she vomited inside the bag the second the cord loosened around her throat. The man dragged her backward, Lisbeth kicking and twisting and flailing like a wild animal caught in a trap.

The cord went tight again. Tighter. Tighter. Colors burst before her eyes. I’m going to die, she thought, astonished.

It was the last thought she had.