The first book in the Elena Estes series

As always, I have several people to thank for sharing with me their professional expertise as I wrote this story. Lieutenant Ed Serafin, Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office, Robbery/Homicide division. Robert Crais. Eileen Dreyer. Jessie Steiner. Mary Phelps. And most of all, Betsy Steiner, true friend and partner in international intrigue.

This book was inspired by the adventures of Tess and Mati.

May there be many more, and may they live to tell the tales.

Welcome to my other world.

In my life away from my desk, I am a competitive equestrian. In fact, I've been a rider longer than I've been a writer. Over the years horses have been my joy, refuge, therapy, salvation, and comfort. I've ridden in nearly every equestrian discipline, from barrel racing to jumping. When I was thirteen and my girlfriends were baby-sitting to earn spending money, my father was bringing home young horses for me to break to saddle.

Several years ago I settled on the equestrian sport of dressage as my out-of-office passion. Dressage is all about control and precision and the mastery of imperceptible cues between rider and horse. The ultimate result is something like equine ballet, which appears elegant and effortless but requires the same physical and mental fitness as power yoga.

I began competing in dressage in 1999. Being me, I didn't ease into the sport. I have one gear in everything I do: full-on. I bought a wonderful-if difficult-horse named D'Artagnon from Olympic rider Guenter Seidel, and within a year's time went from my first dressage competition to being a nationally ranked amateur rider in the U.S. Dressage Federation. At the end of my first season, my coach, trainer, mentor, and great friend, Betsy Steiner (a world-class rider herself), encouraged me to bring D'Artagnon along with several other horses from her stable to Florida for the winter season.

Every year top equestrians from the East Coast, Midwest, Canada, and Europe migrate to Welllington in Palm Beach County to spend three months in constant training and competition in some of the most prestigious dressage and jumper shows in the country. Thousands of horses and hundreds of riders converge to create a fascinating world, a world driven by the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, and lots of money. A world populated by the ultrarich and the very poor; celebrities, royalty, and ordinary people who scrimp and save year-round in order to "do the season"; philanthropists, dilettantes, professionals, amateurs, con men, and criminals. People who love horses, and people who love to exploit people who love horses. A world with a glamorous surface and a tough underbelly. Yin and yang. Positive and negative.

By the end of that first season in Florida, my imagination was running wild with story ideas that would blend my two worlds. The result is Dark Horse, a classic private-eye novel set against the backdrop of international show jumping. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the dark side of my other world.

If you come away from this book thinking the horse business is all bad, I'll tell you that's not so. Some of the finest, kindest, most generous people I have ever known have been in the horse business. But on the flip side of that coin, some of the most vile, vicious, loathsome people I have ever known have been in the horse business. The horse world can be a world of extremes and amazing adventures. I've had horses drugged, horses stolen. I've been stranded in a foreign country with a sociopathic horse dealer who canceled my transportation home. I've masqueraded as a groom and flown in the belly of a cargo plane with a horse bent on killing me. But these adventures don't happen every day. Every day I go to the stables and find friendship and partnership and calm within my soul.

My own horses appear in this book, in Sean Avadon's stable. But, in answer to the inevitable question, Elena is not me (if my life were so exciting, when would I write a book?). However, I do agree with her when she says, "On the back of a horse I felt whole, complete, connected to that vital place in the center of me… and the chaos within me found balance."

FADE IN:

EXTERIOR: PALM BEACH EQUESTRIAN CENTER-SUNSET

Flat, open fields of scrub stretching to the west. A dirt road running north onto equestrian center property and south toward small horse farms some distance away. No one around. The fields are empty. No people, no horses. Sunday night: everyone has gone home.

Erin stands at the back gate. She's waiting for someone. She's nervous. She thinks she's here for a secret purpose. She thinks her life will change tonight.

It will.

She looks at her watch. Impatient. Afraid he won't show. She's not aware of the camera filming her. She thinks she's alone.

She's thinking: maybe he won't come, maybe she's wrong about him.

A rusted white van approaches from the south. She watches it come toward her. She looks annoyed. No one uses this back road this time of day. The gate to the show grounds has already been chained shut for the night.

The van stops. A masked assailant leaps out.

ERIN

No!

She starts to run toward the gate. He catches her arm from behind and spins her around. She kicks him. He backhands her across the face, knocking her sideways. She wrenches free of his grasp as she stumbles, and she tries to run again but can't get her feet under her. The assailant knocks her down from behind, coming down on top of her, his knee in her back. He pulls a hypodermic needle from the pocket of his jacket and rams the needle into her arm. She makes a sound of pain and starts to cry.

He pulls her to her feet and shoves her into the van. He slams the door shut, gets in the van, the van turns around and drives away.

Life changes in a heartbeat.

FADE OUT

FADE IN:

INTERIOR: OLD TRAILER HOUSE

Night. A single lightbulb in a lamp with no shade. No curtains at the filthy window. A rusty old iron bed frame. Stained mattress with no sheets.

Erin sits on the bed, huddled against the headboard, frightened, naked. She is chained to the bed by one wrist. Her hair is a mess. Mascara rings her eyes. Her lower lip is split and bloody.

She is very aware of the camera and the director of the scene. She tries to cover as much of herself as she can. She is crying softly, trying to hide her face.

DIRECTOR

Look at the camera, bitch. Say your line.

She shakes her head, still hiding.

DIRECTOR

Say it! You want me to make you?

She shakes her head and looks at the camera.

ERIN

Help me.

FADE OUT