Platinum Cowboy

She had to suck up her pride and hatred, though, because she needed answers.

Her younger brother, Johnny, was missing.

The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d been working incognito on the Diamondback.

No matter how brilliant McKade seemed through the lens of the press, she was convinced he’d made his money by cheating small-time ranchers and farmers out of their homes and property and built his empire like some sort of shrine to himself. He probably had a gargantuan ego to match that fat bank account of his, too.

She’d read the business sections, the numerous features of him in various magazines and newspapers, and knew he was worth at least a billion.

And to think what he’d bought her father out for.

No amount of money would have been enough. The Double W had been their home, her parents’ dream. They’d poured blood, sweat and tears into the place, their entire life and soul into farming and ranching, and had raised her and Johnny to love the land as they did.

It was the only place Lora Leigh had ever called home. The place where she’d run and played with Johnny when she was little. Where she’d gotten her first horse, Miss Whinny, where she’d learned to ride and developed her love of animals. Where she’d decided she wanted to be a veterinarian.

In the house on that ranch she’d shared cozy Christmases with her family, stringing the tree they’d cut down themselves with popcorn and decorating it with handmade ornaments. There her mother had painted bird feeders for the yard and planted flowers in the spring.

It had killed Lora Leigh to lose her home.

Especially knowing her father had taken out a second mortgage to fund college and vet school for her.

She swiped at the flood of tears streaming down her face, gulping back grief and anger. Two days after her father had sold their home to Flint McKade, he’d killed himself.

All because of McKade. The bastard.

A choked sob tore from her chest, the tendrils of grief clawing at her. Life had taken an even nastier downward spiral then. Johnny had turned to booze and trouble. Even while grieving for her father, she’d tried to drag him up from the bottom of the barrel and convince him to straighten up. She couldn’t lose him, too.

But when he’d finally sobered up, his anger had surfaced, and he’d started talking revenge.

Six weeks ago, he’d gone to the Diamondback and landed a job under another name. He thought he could find some dirt on McKade to destroy him, something to prove he had cheated their father out of his land. But she hadn’t heard from Johnny in over two weeks, and he always checked in weekly.

What if he’d found something incriminating, and McKade had discovered what he was up to? Would McKade be so ruthless as to get rid of her brother to keep him silent?

Panic threatened, but she tamped it down, tightening her fingers around the steering wheel. If she found out he had, she’d go to the police.

She’d considered it already, but then she’d have to admit that her brother had gone to the Diamondback seeking revenge on McKade. And what if Johnny had done something or planned to do something illegal…?

Her gaze was drawn to the pastureland and the horses galloping in the pens as she neared the Diamondback’s main house. Nerves on edge, she parked in the circular drive in front of the house, noting the nearby corrals and bunkhouse, and inhaled a calming breath as she removed her compact to repair her tearswollen eyes.

She’d wondered if McKade would recognize her name and refuse to hire her because of her father, but she hadn’t dealt with him directly or even met him yet.

He probably didn’t know half the names of the families he’d destroyed.

Money was obviously the only thing that mattered to him.

Well, family was the only thing that mattered to her. Family and her home.

He had already stolen two of those from her.

If he’d hurt Johnny, he’d be sorry.

“THE ARABIANS ARE SAFE and in quarantine now on my ranch,” Flint told Amal Jabar, the Middle Eastern contact who’d arranged for him to import the new breed. “I’m not sure if the attackers wanted to kill my men or steal the horses, but I intend to find out. I’m going to need a list of everyone who works for you, and anyone else who knew about the shipment.”

“You’re suggesting that one of my people sabotaged the plane?” Amal said, with an angry edge to his voice.

Flint was skating on thin ice here: Akeem had referred him to Amal and trusted the man. “I’m not implying anything,” Flint said. “But men died tonight, so we have to investigate every angle.”

Amal hesitated. “I’ll fax you the list. And I’ll also question each one of them myself. If I find anything suspicious, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Amal. I appreciate it.”

“Take good care of the Arabians,” Amal said.

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He hung up, undressed, then climbed in the shower. He closed his eyes as the warm water sluiced over him and the images of the dead men haunted him. Three men had lost their lives on a job for him, which meant their blood was on his hands.

He would find the responsible party if it killed him.

Then the families could have some closure, knowing that the killer had been brought to justice. It was the least he could do for them.

He stumbled from the shower, then dragged on a pair of jeans and a denim shirt, tensing at the sound of the doorbell ringing. The last thing he wanted right now was company.

He wanted to down a stiff drink, to mourn his friend in peace, and to figure out who had attacked his shipment and his men tonight, because they had attacked him.

And what if someone came after the Arabians again?

He’d gotten them settled into the quarantine area for the two weeks necessary to run the veterinary tests required under state and federal law. Maybe he should hire extra security.

A knock sounded at his suite door. “Mr. McKade, you have a guest.”

Hoping it was the police, with answers, he opened the door and found Lucinda, his housekeeper and cook, staring up at him with swollen eyes. She’d worked for Flint for ten years now and felt more like a mother to him than an employee. He’d asked her repeatedly to call him by his first name, but she refused.

And she had been friends with Grover, the older ranch hand who’d died tonight, and had taken the news badly. “Who is it?”

“Dr. Whittaker.”

Oh, hell. He’d forgotten she was supposed to arrive tonight.

“Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Lucinda nodded and descended the stairs. He buttoned his shirt and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. He’d been dreading this meeting for weeks, ever since her father had committed suicide. He’d been shocked when she’d applied for a job as one of his vets and he’d wondered if she had somehow discovered the truth about the deal he’d made with her father.

Maybe she wanted to thank him for bailing out her father before he lost everything they owned. And then for giving her a job…

Not that she couldn’t practice anywhere in the state. He’d read her credentials; she’d graduated top of her class. Besides, she was an Aggie grad as well, and Aggies took care of their own.

He heaved a weary breath and went down the stairs, half expecting her to be short and stubby like her father, a boyish girl who was strong enough to handle the horses.