Venom by Nikki Tate

to me and bending a leg.
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œOf course I’m serious. Hurry up.”
    I grab her lower leg and knee and whisper, “One, two, three.” I lift and she jumps. She gets a good grip on the top of the wall and pulls herself up and over. I hear her drop down into the office on the other side.
    I scramble up by climbing on the hay rack and then reaching over to grab the top of the wall. A moment later, I drop down into the dark office beside Em.
    â€œI could have opened the door for you,” she whispers.
    I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see me blush. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun,” I whisper back. The truth is, I didn’t want her to think I was a wimp. Em had climbed over the wall like it was something she did every day.
    â€œFun? I’m glad you’re having fun,” she says. “Now what? Should we put the light on?” she asks.
    â€œToo dangerous. Someone might see.”
    On the other side of the wall, the horse in the box stall snorts. We both jump.
    â€œDid you bring a flashlight?” I ask.
    â€œThere’s a good idea. Why didn’t you think of that before?”
    â€œMe? I didn’t know we were going to—”
    â€œShh. They might have a little fridge in here.”
    â€œWhy would we care if they have—”
    â€œShh.” Em touches her finger to my lips. “Listen.”
    Sure enough, we can hear a low hum.
    The room is small, and it doesn’t take long to find the squat bar fridge. It’s against the wall we just climbed over. We’re lucky we didn’t land on it when we jumped.
    Em opens the fridge door and a wedge of light cuts across the floor. It’s not much, but it makes it easier to see the desk, a small bookshelf, a TV and a filing cabinet. There’s also the usual jumble of buckets and spare bits of tack, a couple of brushes and stacks of papers everywhere. One wall of the officeis plastered with photos of naked women Big Joe has cut out of magazines.
    â€œQuit staring. We have work to do,” Em says. She starts looking through the papers on the desk.
    I look down, into the fridge. Beer. Half a sub sandwich. Something slimy in a plastic container. “I wonder what this—” I reach in for the sandwich container, ready to make a joke about Big Joe’s eating habits when I see something behind it. A container with a strange label. I pull it out and read it again to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.
    â€œVenom,” I say.
    â€œWhat? I don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Em says.
    â€œI do.” I hold the container out to her. “Venom?” she says.
    I open the lid; inside is an unlabeled vial.
    â€œVenom? Does Big Joe have a horse called Venom?” Em asks.
    â€œNot that I know of,” I answer. “But I don’t think the label has anything to dowith a horse’s name. I think that’s what’s in the vial.”
    â€œLike poison? He’s poisoning horses? But that wouldn’t make a horse run faster.”
    â€œDon’t you remember that trainer in the southern US somewhere? The guy who injected cobra venom into a horse’s knee?”
    â€œOh my god! Do you think that’s what they’re up to?”
    My head spins. I have no idea what they’re up to. I have to check on the Internet to see exactly what that other trainer did. If I remember right, the nerve block allowed injured horses to run because they couldn’t feel any pain.
    I’m not exactly sure why Tony would want to do that to someone else’s horse. Messing with a horse like that would also mess with the odds, though. If an unlikely horse ran better, it could pay off if someone knew to bet on the horse. But if this is the game they are playing, and we have found the evidence we are looking for, what do we do next? If we take the vial away, they’ll know someone has