“That’s exactly my point,” Eslin replied, her voice breathy. “My head is so full of you I can’t concentrate on anything else.”
“What about Monterrey?” Gage challenged. “How did you come up with that if you can’t concentrate?”
“I dreamed it, but I have to be able to think as well as dream. I have to keep a clear enough head so I can figure out what the dreams mean. Last night”—a cold, shadowy remembrance of the dark arm made her falter, but she pushed it firmly out of her mind—”last night I knew someone was following me. I picked up on him on my way home from work, figured out that he’d been there a day or two at least. A day or two, Gage,” Eslin repeated for emphasis. “If my mind had been where it was supposed to be—”
“That’s enough, I catch your drift.” He frowned, raised his right hand from her shoulder, cupped it around the side of her face, and touched his thumb to her lips. “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said, his fingertips straying lightly to the bandage on her forehead. “I wanted to protect you—”
“Gage!” It was Doc’s voice, bellowing just outside the barn.
Eslin started, and Gage lowered his hand from her face as the door creaked open and they turned toward it.
“Gage! Have you seen—”
Backlit by the brilliant afternoon sun pouring into the barn, Doc was only a silver-edged shadow standing in the opened right-hand door. A woefully big shape, Gage thought, watching Fitzsimmons clench his two beefy hands when he saw how close he and Eslin were standing.
“So here you are,” he said, sounding relieved as he shut the door and unclenched his fists. His hair was tousled and his lightweight tan top coat thrown open. “You scared Ethan half to death, Eslin, when he couldn’t find you in your room—”
“What are you doing here, Doc?” she interrupted testily.
“I was halfway back to Santa Barbara when Ethan called me on the mobile phone,” he said. “A letter from Marco Byrne’s just come—postmarked Monterrey, Mexico.”
Gage glanced sideways at Eslin. Her face looked about a half-shade paler, but she didn’t look surprised.
“Get a move on, you two,” Doc urged, as he shoved the door open. “Ethan and Rachel are waiting in the study.”
For a second or two Fitzsimmons lingered half in and half out of the barn, a wedge of golden sunlight slicing down the corridor, then he pushed through the door and let it fall shut behind him with a hollow bang. The light went out and dusty shadows hung in the corridor.
Gage turned to Eslin and held his right hand out to her, palm up. Her eyes looked huge and almost navy blue again as she glanced back at the stall where Meringue stood and slipped her fingers through his. They were cold and shaky, but he wrapped his hand tightly around hers and, almost running, drew her out of the barn behind Fitzsimmons.
CHAPTER 17
Gage drove Eslin to the house; Doc went ahead of them in the BMW, which was already parked at the hitching post when Gage killed the Jeep engine and Eslin bailed out of the passenger door. They met at the front bumper, and he took her hand again as they raced across the grass, through the garden and the sun-room.
The smell of horses and leather swept into the study with them as they paused on the threshold to catch their breaths. Eslin stole a glance at Gage. His hair was tousled, fell mostly over his forehead, and the collar of his shirt had blown up around his ruddy, wind-burned face.
Their hands were still clasped, but neither Rachel, who fidgeted nervously in one of the two red leather wing chairs that had been drawn up to the desk, nor Ethan, who sat on a corner of the massive mahogany desk, seemed to notice or care. However, Doc did. Seated one chair away from Rachel, he smiled gamely when Eslin looked at him, but she could sense his turmoil, could almost hear him reciting the lines of Shakespeare he’d quoted to her on Monday morning, “The sins of the fathers shall be laid upon the children.”
“Care to do the honors?” Ethan rose from the corner of the desk and held a business-size air-mail envelope out to Gage.
“No. You read it.” He squeezed Eslin’s fingers, then let go of her hand. “You sit, love, I’ll stand.”
His endearment gave Eslin a little thrill of surprise, and drew a sharp frown from Doc that she challenged with a raised eyebrow as she claimed the wing chair between him and Rachel.
“Hello, Eslin,” Rachel murmured.
“Hello.” Eslin smiled, noting how frail and sallow Rachel looked in a saffron silk tunic and pants that really didn’t suit her.
She tried to catch her breath and from the corner of her eye she saw Gage lean against the stone fireplace wall, then watched Ethan sit down on the corner of the desk again, turn the envelope over, and pick up a silver letter-opener from the blotter.
“This was sent overnight express mail,” Ethan announced, looking at Eslin as he carefully slit the flap, “from Monterrey, Mexico.”
Beside her Rachel gasped and touched Eslin’s right arm. She acknowledged it with a weak smile and pretended she didn’t see Ramón peeking around the doorway from the sun-room.
“This one’s handwritten too,” Ethan said, as he withdrew a trifolded sheet of white onionskin paper from the envelope, opened it, and began to read. “ ‘I hope the demonstration given at the home of Miss Eslin Hillary has convinced you that I mean what I say. Because you failed to follow my initial instructions, I did wonder if I shouldn’t send you proof that I have Ganymede’ “—Ethan faltered in midsentence and shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the desk—”I think I’ll skip that part.”
“No,” Gage insisted quietly. “Read it all, every word.”
“It’s pretty gruesome.” Ethan lilted only his eyes from the page.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Gage returned. “Read it anyway.”
“ ‘I did wonder if I shouldn’t send you proof that I have Ganymede,’ “ Ethan reread, sighing heavily, “ ‘perhaps one of his testicles…’ “
Oh, God, how sick. Eslin swallowed hard, shifted toward Doc in her chair, and glanced at Gage. His face was nearly the same color and his expression as hard as the gray rock wall he leaned against.
“Go on,” he said, his voice taut.
“ ‘… but I decided,’ “ Ethan continued, “ ‘that such proof might weaken my bargaining position. Ganymede is still a stallion and will remain one as long as you follow my instructions, which are as follows:
“ ‘First, deposit six million dollars—I suggest by wire—in the National Bank of Mexico, Mexico City, account number…’ I’ll skip that”—Ethan glanced up at Gage, then back at the letter—” ‘in the name of Jesus Olivera. If the money is not there by noon Friday or if Olivera is arrested you will never see Ganymede again.
“ ‘Second, you must be in Mexico City no later than Sunday evening to receive further instructions for reclaiming your stallion. You may fly as far as Monterrey if you wish—’ “
“You see,” Rachel interrupted shrilly, her fingers biting painfully into Eslin’s arm and her eyes suddenly overbright. “You see, the cards predicted a journey!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mother, please,” Gage snapped irritably, as Ethan shot her a frown over the top of the letter.
Hurt, indignant tears filled her eyes, and Doc leaned closer to Eslin as she patted Rachel’s hand and her grip on Eslin’s arm relaxed. Gage looked at the floor, dragged one hand through his hair, and Ethan continued reading.
“ ‘… but from there you must complete the journey by car so that I can make certain you are not being followed. This means that you will be watched the entire time. Do not forget this. I have made reservations at…’ “ Ethan faltered again, his forehead wrinkling, then went on impatiently, “It’s the name of some motel or something, which he says ‘is near the Paseo de la Reforma. You must pick up your reservations by six p.m. If you do not, I will know, and you will never see Ganymede again. Do not contact the authorities either in the United States or Mexico. If you do I will know and you will never see Ganymede again.’ “ Etha
n sighed wearily and raised his head. “Doesn’t give us much time.”
“We’ll make it,” Gage said tightly. “Keep going.”
“ ‘Though your failure to comply with my first letter with regard to Eslin Hillary irritated me at the time, it now pleases me. The desperation you have exhibited by contacting a clairvoyant honors the memory of my father. Miss Hillary has an impressive record of successes, I am told. I intend to test this, and so I have made reservations for—’ “
“No way,” Gage cut in, as a jolt of alarm jerked Eslin upright in the wing chair and Rachel’s grip on her arm tightened. “There’s no way in hell we’re taking her with us.”
“You’re damn right you’re not,” Doc put in gruffly, as Eslin leaned past the wing of the chair and shot him a look that clearly told him to mind his own business.
“Would you two mind letting me finish?” Ethan glared up at them. “Unfortunately, Eslin isn’t the only innocent bystander Byrne has sucked into this. He says”—Ethan glanced back at the letter and reread—” ‘so I have made reservations for Ethan and Gage Roundtree, Miss Hillary, and Ramón Díaz. When this is done, we will see if my young compañero still wishes to wear the green-and-gold silks of Roundtree Stables. Bring both of them with you or you will never see Ganymede again.’ “
Though Eslin couldn’t see Ramón in the doorway she could feel him, shoulder blades pressed against the sun-room wall, his heart pounding in his narrow chest.
“Why the boy?” Doc asked.
“God knows.” Ethan sighed and frowned. “Ramón’s always hanging around the barns talking to the grooms. Maybe he and Paul—er, Marco, were friends.”
“I don’t care what he says,” Ramón denied fiercely, as he entered the room. “I’m not his friend.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to eavesdrop?” Gage caught the boy by the sleeve, drew him into the study, and nodded at Ethan. “Finish it.”
“ ‘Don’t think me rash or stupid. I’ve had ten years to plot the revenge my father’s memory cries out for, and there isn’t the tiniest of flaw in my plan. Remember the warning left at Miss Hillary’s home and do exactly as I say. Do not contact the police. If you do, of course—must I repeat it?’ It’s signed Marco Byrne.” Ethan laid the letter aside and sighed heavily. “Jesus Christ Almighty.”
“No one is going to Mexico,” Rachel declared. “If you two think for one second—”
“We’re going, Mother,” Gage cut in curtly. “You can’t stop us.”
“I can and I will!” Rachel shot to her feet and whirled toward him. “I forbid it!”
“We have to go, Mother, you know we do,” Ethan said tiredly. “Please sit down—you’re only making this more difficult than it already is.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m senile or simpleminded!” Uneven patches of color splotched Rachel’s cheeks as she turned on Ethan, and Eslin recoiled from the fear and grief flashing in her aura. “That’s not a ransom letter, Ethan! It’s ‘come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly’—he’s laying a trap for you and Gage, and I will not allow you to walk into it!”
“Neither will I,” Eslin put in quietly. “Not without me.”
“You aren’t going,” Gage told her, “and neither is Ramón.”
“I agree with Gage—and Rachel,” Doc said sternly. “I forbid it.”
“You can forbid till you’re blue in the face,” Eslin retorted angrily as she glared at him, “but I’m going whether you like it or not.”
“You are not going,” Gage said flatly. “I refuse—”
“I am,” she insisted.
“No one,” Rachel maintained, “is going anywhere.”
“Absolutely not,” Doc agreed. “It’s far too risky.”
“Butt out of this, Fitzsimmons,” Gage warned.
“Stop it!” Eslin and Ethan shouted.
They both got to their feet so quickly that Rachel started and fell back in her chair. Gage glowered and Doc’s cheeks flushed above his beard.
“I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “We’re bickering like children when we should be thinking. Shocking as this letter is, following the burning of the barn and last night’s attack on Eslin, it’s not altogether unexpected. Further—and Rachel’s absolutely correct—it’s not a ransom letter. Byrne has something else up his sleeve.”
“An eye for an eye.” Rachel all but whispered, as she looked at Ethan, then at Gage, and her eyes filled with tears. “A life for a life—oh, God …”
Her voice broke on a sob, and as she buried her face in her hands, both Ethan and Gage moved toward her; but Doc beat them to her side. He gathered her gently in his arms and drew her to her feet.
“Ramón, get your mother and my bag. It’s in the backseat of my car.” He looked at the boy, who dashed out the door, and then at Ethan. “I’ll take her upstairs.”
Nodding, Ethan retreated to the desk, and Gage leaned back against the wall, as Doc, shushing and soothing her, led Rachel out of the study. “Oh, Fitzie, I’m so g-glad you’re here.” She sobbed, and Eslin, despite Rachel’s tears and near hysterics, smiled a little.
“Now, before you two start bombarding me with reasons why I shouldn’t go,” she said, as Doc and Rachel disappeared into the sun-room, “let me tell you why I should.”
“There aren’t enough reasons in the world,” Gage responded stubbornly.
“I agree, Eslin,” Ethan said. “It’s very brave of you to offer, but it’s far too risky.”
“I’m not being brave, I’m being sensible!” she all but shouted at them. “When you didn’t follow the directions in his first letter he sent somebody to my house to burn the album and the dossier. What do you think he’ll do when you show up in Monterrey without Ramón and me?”
“We’ll worry about that when we get there,” Gage said grimly.
“If you ever want to see Ganymede or Roundtree again, you’d better think about it now,” Eslin replied bluntly. “I’ve worked on one or two kidnapping cases, and the number-one rule is don’t provoke the kidnappers. If you make them angry or nervous, people start getting hurt.”
“That’s already happened,” Gage retorted angrily, as he pushed himself off the wall again. “It happened last night.”
“I got knocked on the head,” Eslin told him sharply, “only because I woke up and caught him at it.”
“Which, besides the risk factor,” Ethan argued, “is another excellent reason you shouldn’t go—you’re in no kind of shape to make a trip like this.”
“I have a mild concussion and four stitches. I’m going to have a headache, Ethan, no matter where I am.”
“That’s not what Gerald said,” he countered. “He said two inches lower—”
“Doc isn’t thinking clearly on this one,” Eslin cut him off sharply. “He’s too emotionally involved. He’d say anything, do anything, to keep me here.”
“So will I.”
Turning her chin over her right shoulder, Eslin looked at Gage. He was glaring at her, but he wasn’t angry. Worry and concern rolled off him in almost visible waves.
“I picked up on Monterrey a good sixteen hours before the letter arrived,” she told him quietly. “The closer I get to Byrne the more accurate I’ll be.”
“I don’t doubt that, Eslin,” Ethan said, “but his reference to you in the letter, his intention to test you, bothers me. I don’t like it, especially after what happened to you last night.”
“He’s playing games,” she replied confidently. “He isn’t the first person who’s thought he could throw me a curve or lead me on a wild goose chase. Let him try.”
As Ethan raised his eyes from her face and looked at his brother, Eslin felt it again, a brief, cold brush of the hollow blackness swelling between them. In spite of it she thought she had them convinced, until a half second later she sensed rather than saw the firm negative shake of Gage’s head.
“I’m the only edge you’ve got,” she told them, an angry tremor
in her voice, “but if you’re too stubborn or too stupid to see that, then don’t take me with you. I’ll follow you, I’ll kidnap Ramón if I have to, but I’m going.”
“You are not,” Gage countermanded.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Eslin challenged, raising her chin defiantly.
“I suppose I could,” Doc said, as he stepped through the doorway and glanced at Gage. “No, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I heard your voices as I came through the sun-room.”
“How’s my mother?” Ethan asked.
“Resting. I gave her a sedative.”
“I’m going, Doc,” Eslin repeated, “whether you like it or not.”
“I said I could, I didn’t say I would,” he reminded her, as Ramón sidled through the door beside him. “Unfortunately, Eslin’s right about two things.” He frowned soberly at Ethan.
“She is the only edge you’ve got, and yes, you can bet every thoroughbred Roundtree owns that if you don’t take her she’ll find a way to follow you.”
Thank-you-oh-thank-you, said the brilliant smile Eslin gave Doc. He tried, but just couldn’t muster one in return.
“This is blackmail,” Gage said tightly. “Very eloquent, but blackmail nonetheless.”
He looked at Eslin, so small, so heartbreakingly lovely in the big wing chair, her eyes shiny, her face flushed with triumph. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to choke her or hug her.
“My mother,” Ramón said haltingly, “will never let me go.”
“She’ll let you.” Ethan rose off the desk, caught Ramón’s arm, and towed the boy with him out of the study.
Gage didn’t move. He still stood staring at Eslin.
“I—uh”—Doc cleared his throat and backed toward the door—”think I’d better go sit with Rachel awhile.”
Even when he disappeared into the sun-room Gage didn’t move.
“I know how you feel,” Eslin told him softly. “You want to protect me as much as I want to protect you and Ethan and Ramón. Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” he said flatly. “I’m just—”
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