He rolled his eyes, showing the whites, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of the armed men outside.

I reached out, letting him smell my hand, which was still covered in the faint scent of dish soap and diner grease.

He blew a hot, wet breath against my palm.

Slowly, I backed down the ramp, guiding him by his halter.

He limped heavily, barely putting his rear left hoof to the ground.

Dante returned from the utility doorway, his face expressionless as he holstered his gun.

“The intruder is gone,” Dante said. “They knew the camera blind spots. They were looking for something.”

He looked at Vesper, then at me.

“Bring him inside,” Dante said. “The main stable is secure.”

We walked into the building.

It was unlike any barn I had ever worked in.

The floors were made of poured, seamless rubber to protect the horses’ hooves.

Polished brass fittings gleamed on the dark oak stall doors.

It smelled of expensive leather, cedar shavings, and antiseptic.

“Put him in the wash bay,” I said, pointing to an open stall with overhead hoses and concrete drains. “I need light, warm water, and clean towels.”