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Boldwood Books - Evie Hunter

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149 pages

English

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The gripping new revenge thriller from the bestselling author of The Fall and The Trap.

When stable girl, Farah Ash, is sacked from her job, her only concern is the beloved horses she cares for. Farah suspects foul play and is determined to expose the secrets and lies she’s uncovered - no matter what.

Self-made millionaire, Isaac Fernandez witnesses Farah’s shocking dismissal and senses immediately that she has uncovered something dangerous – perhaps even deadly. And his fears are confirmed when Farah is almost killed.

And as more threats come Farah’s way, it’s clear someone is out to silence her for good. Unless Farah and Isaac can uncover the truth and put a stop to the deadly chase – before it’s too late.

Praise for Evie Hunter:

'A brilliant read that hooked me from the outset. The Fall is a tale of sweet revenge that I couldn’t tear myself away from!' Bestselling author Gemma Rogers

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Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	02 juin 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781802802641
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,2050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE CHASE

EVIE HUNTER
CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

More from Evie Hunter

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Evie Hunter

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
For David Keast
Thank you for introducing me to the sport of kings.
I think! x
1

‘Don’t let the price fall below twenty dollars a share.’
‘Sure.’ Kristen’s silky voice purred down the line, echoing above the engine sounds and impatient hooting of other drivers stuck on the M25 – the infamous London ring road more commonly referred to as a car park. Today it was living up to its reputation and the mood of those stuck on either side of Isaac was becoming increasingly ugly.
‘Get Patrick to take the shareholders’ meeting,’ he added. ‘Doesn’t look like I’ll get there in time.’
‘ Soo frustrating for you,’ Kristen said, her voice now oozing sympathy.
‘Right, catch you later. Possibly,’ he added, glancing dubiously at miles of stalled traffic ahead of him and sighing.
Isaac Fernandez pushed the button on the steering wheel of his Lotus Emira, a gift to himself after completing his latest company takeover, and ended the call. The sapphire-blue speed machine was drawing envious glances from fellow road users who had nothing better to do than drool. He ignored the smiles of a glamorous driver on the inside lane and thought instead about all the things he ought to be doing at that precise moment.
Isaac inched his car forward. It was stop-start for miles, until he reached the turnoff for the M23. On a whim he cut across a lane when a gap appeared and took the slip road. He’d never make the shareholders’ meeting but Patrick was more than capable of deputising, and taking all the inevitable flack. Perhaps the traffic stall had done him a favour, he reasoned. For the first time since he couldn’t recall when, Isaac had decided to award himself a morning off.
He joined the M23, which was mercifully clear, and put his foot down. The engine responded with a purr that would have made Kristen weep with envy. Isaac felt an adrenalin surge from the sheer explosion of raw power that put him in mind of his racehorses leaving the starting gates.
And that was where he planned to play hooky, he’d already decided. His three horses were with the latest training sensation, Guy Levant, in Newbury. Isaac seldom visited and never without making an appointment; he didn’t have the time to waste if the people who mattered weren’t available to answer his questions. Besides, he wouldn’t thank anyone else for interfering in the day-to-day working of his own company and winced as his mind reverted to his demanding shareholders who were happy to take the profits as they rolled in, but also seemed to think they knew better than he did when it came to the complexities of the money markets. He was required to handle them with kid gloves, a bit like Guy was obliged to soothe the egos of eccentric horse owners.
Only Guy exercised more tact and patience than Isaac customarily managed.
As far as he was concerned, the trainer knew his business and Isaac paid him a king’s ransom to get the best out of his horses. It was just a hobby, albeit an expensive one, but Isaac was never off-duty. He saw his status as an owner as a golden opportunity to entertain would-be clients, enticing them to place their trust in his investment company. But he had grown increasingly enthusiastic about the thrill of the chase. Having a winner gave him the same hard-on as identifying an ailing company that would benefit from his expertise in taking it over and making it profitable again did.
There had been one or two disappointing results with his horses lately but Guy had explained that he’d entered them in higher classes where the competition was stronger. It was all part of the game and Isaac accepted that you couldn’t win ’em all.
Even so, Isaac didn’t like failing at anything he did and wanted to reassure himself that his horses were fit and well. That was the downside of being a control freak, he reasoned. He always needed to be on top of things, to understand them, and he most emphatically didn’t understand the complex world of horseracing, where charlatans appeared to lurk around every corner.
‘An error of judgement,’ he said aloud, taking a wrong turning in the labyrinth of country lanes. Momentarily unsure of his location, he slowed to a crawl and realised that he was on a track that led to the back entrance to Guy’s yard.
‘The tradesman’s entrance,’ he said aloud, chuckling.
The gravel track took him directly past all the paddocks, as opposed to the parking area for owners. He felt a surge of optimism as the sun filtered through trees green with new growth and he drove past paddocks in which leggy young horses were enjoying the spring grass. Isaac assumed they weren’t in training yet. Those that were had to adhere to strict diet and exercise schedules – vital, apparently, to ensure optimum performance on the track. He’d taken the foreman’s word for it.
He halted the car when a familiar horse stuck its head over the post-and-rail fencing. A grey horse with a distinctive dark blaze. He’d know him anywhere. It was one of his.
‘What the fuck? he muttered, stopping the car and getting out to stroke Federal Force’s muzzle. An inquisitive three-year-old and Isaac’s first acquisition, the horse was supposed to be racing the following week so what the hell was he doing out to grass? He was unshod and his coat was dull through lack of grooming. Whenever Isaac had seen him before, during one of his scheduled calls, he had been impeccably turned out and glowing with health.
‘Hi, fella,’ he said, rubbing the horse behind the ears. ‘Recognise me, do you?’
It was highly unlikely, given that Isaac had minimal contact with his horses. His busy schedule didn’t allow for anything so frivolous. His horses, just like everything else in his life, were a business investment. Besides, emotional attachment always led to disappointment, a lesson learned and never forgotten from his dysfunctional childhood.
Force lost interest when he discovered that Isaac had no mints on offer, turned away, put in a massive buck and chased down the paddock with an impressive turn of speed.
More inquisitive than concerned now – there was bound to be a plausible explanation – Isaac got back in his car and drove through the impressive archway with the horses’ barns on either side. He often thought that his horses lived better than a lot of the people he knew. The barns were pristine, not a blade of hay out of place. You could almost eat your dinner off the floors.
He slipped his car into what was obviously the staff car park, given the array of muddy four-by-fours parked there. Isaac’s shiny Lotus looked as out of place as Federal Force would in a paddock full of cobs. Talk about slumming it , he thought, perfectly at home in such surroundings. He ought to be, given that he’d grown up with few advantages and only bad examples to follow and made something of himself by virtue of his own endeavours.
It could so easily have turned out very differently.
He headed towards the barn where he expected to find his other two horses eating their heads off but paused when he heard voices raised in anger coming from the tack room. There was no one else about. Presumably the grooms were out on the gallops, which was where Guy would be at that time of day, watching his charges being put through their paces. It was probably where Isaac should be, too, so he wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping. Not that he cared if he was. He had every right in the world to be here and took a dim view of full-on arguments being conducted so openly in the middle of a working day.
It was unprofessional.
Isaac recognised one of the raised voices as belonging to Dale Drummond, Guy’s foreman, mentor and trusted right-hand man. And he was giving the woman he was talking to merry hell.
‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. You’re here to do as you’re told, not use that pathetic excuse for a brain of yours and stick your oar into situations that you don’t understand.’
‘You really are a misogynistic bastard,’ a quiet voice, laced with seething anger, replied. ‘But I know what you’re doing. It’s not right and I don’t intend to keep quiet.’
A brittle silence ensued, broken only by the sound of a soft whinny from a horse in a nearby box. Tension radiated and Isaac remained right where he was, curious to know what the fight was all about. Something and nothing, he suspected.
The only thing that surprised him was that Dale could be so arrogantly aggressive. Times had changed, Isaac knew, but he was old-fashioned and would never speak to a woman so disrespectfully, no matter what the provocation. And, he thought, rolling his eyes when he recalled some of the women he’d dated who didn’t seem to understand when an affair had run its course, there wasn’t much that anyone could teach him about provocation. Even so, he prided himself upon keeping his temper in check and remaining civil.
‘You know sod all, little girl.’ Dale’s voice was deep, sinister and patronisingly threatening. ‘Now get out of here. You’ve had your last warning. You’re fired and don’t expect a reference.’
‘You can’t fire me,’ the woman shot back. ‘I work for Guy.’
‘Wake up, darling.’ Dale gave an unpleasant little laugh. ‘I run this place, in case you weren’t aware, and I decide who’s hired and who’s fired. Guy won’t even notice you’re gone. You’re less than a speck of dust on his expensive boots. Now get out. You’re trespassing.’
‘But the horses. My horses…’
There was a wail in the woman’s voice now. Clearly, she loved the horses that she looked after and the fight drained out of