Read Wrong Place, Wrong Time for Free Online Page A

I’m glad I’m here.”
    Edward unbuttoned his coat and loosened his collar. “I had to get out of my apartment, and out of the city. I breathe better up here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Plus, I needed someone with a level head to help make arrangements. You’re it.”
    “I’ll do whatever I can.” Blake scrutinized his grandfather’s hard amber gaze — the color of his eyes so unusual, so compelling, and such a mirror image of his own — wishing he were the kind of man who’d accept comfort. “Where’s Grandmother?”
    “She stayed home. She wasn’t up for the trip. She’s taking this news very hard.”
    Evidently, she wasn’t the only one. Edward’s breathing was a little too shallow to suit Blake. “Grandfather…”
    “Don’t start that invalid crap again. I had enough of it when I was in the hospital. I’m fine.”
    “All right.” Blake bit back his concern. “Do we have another update?”
    “Yes.” Edward shrugged out of his camel-hair overcoat and tossed it on a stool. “Only one body’s been found so far. Male. I’m having Frederick’s dental records faxed up there.” He averted his head, a muscle working in his jaw.
    “Come into the living room and sit down.” Blake put a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder.
    Edward stiffened. “Like I said, I’m fine. I’m not having another heart attack.”
    “That’s a relief,” Blake returned drily. “There’s enough drama going on without adding a coronary to the mix. Humor me. Sit down. Take it easy. I’ll get you something to drink.”
    “Bourbon. Straight up.”
    “Forget it. Ice water. On the rocks.” Blake waited until Edward relented and walked into the living room, lowering himself unsteadily onto the sofa. Then he went to the sideboard and did the honors. “What did you decide to do about James?”
    “I told Niles to keep his mouth shut. The last thing I need is for James to hear news like this two days before the Wellington Classic. It’ll screw up his concentration — and his performance. That Grand Prix is too damned important. He needs to win or at least to place. Not just this Sunday, but every damned Sunday between now and the U.S. Open Jumper Championship in March. He and Stolen Thunder are going to win that cup.
And
be one step closer to Olympic gold.”
    No surprise there, Blake thought, bringing the glass of ice water over to the couch. Edward’s oldest grandchild was the apple of his eye, his one soft spot. His skill as a horseman solidified their connection. These past three years James had been showing almost exclusively on Edward’s prized stallion, Stolen Thunder. The two made quite a team. James was good, but Stolen Thunder was extraordinary. The German warmblood came from a highly acclaimed, champion lineage. He was the last in his bloodline. He’d won an impressive number of four- and five-year-old championships on a national and international level before Edward bought him for a small fortune. Edward was now hell-bent on James riding Stolen Thunder to a record number of qualifying Grand Prix wins, then on to the World Games in Aachen and — their ultimate goal — to the Beijing Olympics. There was no way, after the huge financial and emotional investment he’d made, that anything was going to interfere with that.
    “Besides,” Edward added, taking a gulp of water, “there’s not a damned thing James could do here. As it is, we’re just sitting on our hands, waiting.”
    “True enough. And waiting’s not exactly James’s forte.”
    “No. It’s not.”
    Blake lowered himself into the armchair across from his grandfather. “You said the police found one body. What about Sally Montgomery?”
    “She’s still missing.”
    “‘Missing’ as in they haven’t found her body yet, or ‘missing’ as in she wasn’t there when the fire started?”
    “Beats the hell out of me.” Edward shrugged, taking another swallow of water. “The firefighters and cops have been combing the