by Ann Major
“I see.”
“The rancho had been in our family for six generations. Morales wants what I have. He wants to be me. My father made the mistake of educating him beyond his station. When my father wanted me to let him enter the family business, I said no. Tavio decided to destroy me. One of my executives was stabbed in what looked like a robbery last week.
“The more powerful he becomes, the worse it will be for me. The reason I publish your articles is because he’s phobic about making the papers, especially when there are photographs of him. A lot of peasants see him as a folk hero. He eats that up. But he knows that when the real truth about all his sordid atrocities is made known, there will be a public outcry to stop him.
“So, I have come to you with a big story that could get him the kind of international notoriety he most hates. This story has all the right elements. It’s a mystery…about a beautiful American woman who disappears into Mexico. It’s also a beauty and the beast tale.”
Fascinated, Terence stared at Valdez.
“Tavio’s prisoner is a celebrity. If he’d known who she really is, he would have let her go or shot her and dumped her body months ago.”
“And you know who she is?”
Valdez smiled. “I have a picture of her on a magnificent Arabian Tavio lets her ride. He’s holding the bridle. She’s a famous Texas heiress. If you were to print the picture—”
The hair on the back of Collins’s neck stood on end.
“Give this to somebody else. I don’t do disappeared people.”
“I remember what happened to your daughter…Rebecca. I’m sorry.” He hesitated. “But with your personal knowledge about such a situation coupled with your immense talent—why, you’re the only person who can write this story. You would tell it with compassion.”
Terence rubbed his eyes. Valdez had still been his brother-in-law when Rebecca had vanished into Mexico. He tried never to think about her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He still wondered…on a daily basis if she was alive.
“If I wrote such a story, he might kill her.”
“Or feel pressured to let her go. Remember, he wants the poor to see him as a folk hero. You could make people identify with the kidnap victim and sympathize with her family…instead of him. If her family brought the right kind of pressure, he would have to release her.”
“Sorry.”
“You owe me.”
When Collins looked up in surprise, Valdez’s smile was sly. “Who do you think has been feeding you information about him all these months?”
Suddenly Collins could barely contain himself. For months he’d wondered who the Sombra was.
“I sent you that videotape of Octavio and the federales.”
“But how did you penetrate his organization…?”
Valdez’s smile grew hard. His eyes were equally cold. “Like all shadows, the Sombra has secrets he must keep.”
“Okay, I’m curious. Who the hell is this ‘disappeared’ heiress?”
“Mia Kemble.”
Terence whistled. “Of the Golden Spurs Ranch?”
Valdez handed him a photograph of a redheaded woman on a magnificent, black Arabian stallion. She was pale, and her eyes looked haunted. Tavio was holding the bridle as he stared up at her. Everything was just as Valdez had described. The murdering son of a bitch was besotted.
Terence’s blood congealed even as his heart began to thump at a maniacal pace.
“How do I know the picture isn’t fake?”
“Has the Sombra ever lied to you before?”
Terence shook his head. He couldn’t help but think of Abby. For her sake, the Kembles of the Golden Spurs Ranch were the last people on earth he should mess with.
If he refused, the Sombra would simply tip off some other reporter.
Hell. Once a bastard, always a bastard. When had he ever let his personal life get in the way of a good story?
“Can I keep the picture?”
Valdez smiled.
Five
Buckaroo Ranch
20 miles south of Austin, Texas
“Tonight’s the night.”
Shanghai gritted his teeth. The jeering note in Wolf’s deep voice on the other end of the line set Shanghai on edge so much he wanted to punch him.
“You’re doing it, hombre. You’re asking her the question. Tonight! Before you leave for the big rodeo in Vegas.”
“Don’t remind me, brother.” Shanghai’s stomach tightened as he clutched the cell phone a little closer to his ear. To settle his nerves, he took another long pull from his Lone Star.
What was he waiting for?
“You still there, brother?”
“Where the hell do you think I am?” Shanghai shot back in the space of a heart beat.
“So, what’s the big deal? You know she’ll say yes.”
“Hell, maybe that’s the big deal. You ever been married?”
“Twice. When I was still in the military.”
Wolf had flown helicopters in the Middle East. Recently he’d been honorably discharged from the National Guard.
There was a short silence. “Divorced twice, too,” Wolf admitted.
“Then you’re a two-time loser.”
“I was gone a lot. Top-secret shit. They couldn’t take the stress.”
“Why the hell am I asking you for advice?”
Ever since Shanghai’s daddy had run his mother off, he’d been afraid he’d do the same.
“Just ask her, okay. Just get it over with, you wuss.”
“I ain’t no wuss.”
“Not when we train. You can take any kind of pain then. But you’re a wuss.”
Wolf was his physical trainer. Modify that—his psycho trainer. Wolf was six foot six and built like a lethal African-American god. He had a black belt in karate and had been in Special Forces. He’d even done a bit of bull riding. The man worked him until every muscle in his body ached.
At thirty-nine Shanghai was hardly the newest kid on the block. Not that he ever liked thinking about his age.
Bull riding was an extreme sport. He put up with Wolf’s abuse to stay in shape to ride bulls.
Why the hell did he still want to ride bulls?—that was the million-dollar question. He’d proved himself—hadn’t he?
Unlike most in his profession, he’d made a lot of money and had invested it well. His land, which was just south of the Austin airport, was worth more every year. Why did he keep putting off moving here and ranching full-time? He couldn’t tell himself he rode just for the money anymore.
“When it comes to women, you’re a wuss. You see a pretty little filly you’ve bedded a few times and you like a lot in your rearview mirror, and you stomp on the accelerator. When things start getting serious, you do it every time, brother. Every time.” Wolf laughed. “Zoom.”
“If you were here, I’d punch your lights out.”
Wolf roared. “No, you wouldn’t. Even you’ve got enough sense not to start something you can’t finish.”
He was so right. Although some of his bull riding friends might disagree, Shanghai didn’t have a total death wish.
“Gotta go,” Wolf said. “A mama just walked in with her fat kiddo, who probably wants to take karate lessons. No can do. The kid’s gotta lose some major weight first. Do some jogging. Eat broccoli instead of fries.”
“Go easy on ’em, huh? Eating broccoli may be a radical thought.”
Eager for their blood no doubt, Wolf roared with laughter again as he hung up.
The fat kid and his mama would be in tears long before Wolf got through talking to them. Wolf either toughened you up or he made mincemeat out of you.
Shanghai inhaled the aroma of pine and smoke. There was nothing better than the smell of two fat grass-fed sirloins sizzling on a grill out in the country, unless it was knowing you were going to sit across the table and eat them with a loving woman, who just happened to be a gorgeous blonde and a rancher, and then share her bed. Or rather his bed.
&nbs
p; He would ask her. He wasn’t a wuss.
He lifted his beer to his mouth again. Abigail Collins was better than a bar full of adoring buckle bunnies, and he’d had his share in his years on the road. Despite the ace bandage on his right arm, and maybe because of the Bufferin he’d been gulping like malted milk balls along with the beers, he was feeling pretty good.
It was time he settled down. Way past time. For fifteen years his family had mainly been his rodeo pals. A lot of his friends his age were already retired and married with kids. What the hell had been stopping him?
He knew what—Mia Kemble. For years he’d told himself she didn’t matter. Then two years ago she’d seduced him in Vegas and run off before he’d figured out how much he’d wanted her to stick around. He’d thought he hated her for what she’d pulled—coming on to him all hot and heavy when he’d been injured and then confusing the hell out of him the next day after they’d had sex. She’d picked a stupid fight, demanding to know how he felt and what he’d thought about her and what had happened. As if he’d known or could have put it into words.
He’d said a bunch of idiotic stuff and had driven off furious, and so had she. Hell, he couldn’t remember what he’d said.
Then a month later she’d called and wanted to toy with him some more. Since he’d been thinking about her for a solid month and longing for her, he’d felt off balance and tongue-tied. They’d immediately gotten off to a bad start again. His feelings had put him under some weird pressure. Maybe hers had affected her the same way.
How come you didn’t call me, cowboy?
How come you ran off, darlin’?
I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.
You didn’t think period. Neither the hell did I. So we wound up in bed when we shouldn’t have.
Is that what you think? What if I’d gotten pregnant that night, huh? Would you even care?
Anybody who’d known him as long as she had had to know he thought the world had too many stray kids. Hell, he might be one himself for all he knew. Maybe he was the reason his sorry old man had gone so wrong.
What kind of lowdown cheap shot was that from a girl? How many times had he turned her question over and over in his mind when he thought about her and Cole and their kid?
His rational mind did hate her.
He’d left his home and kin to get clear of the Kembles, stayed away, too. Only she’d tracked him down just like she’d promised.
As if going to bed with him was nothing, she’d married his brother and had a baby. When she’d gone and gotten herself killed, conflicting feelings he hadn’t known he’d stored a mere one layer under his thick skin had burst inside him. The pain had been like claws shredding his heart. He’d thought he’d bounce back, but apparently without her on this earth, his world had permanently darkened.
He would have retired from bull riding but for her accident. Hell, he’d needed to do something to forget.
Ever since her plane had gone down, he’d ridden bulls with a death-defying vengeance. He was looking forward to riding in Vegas way more than he was to proposing to Abigail.
Damn her hide. Mia was a Kemble through and through. She’d hopped in his bed and stolen his heart—without him even knowing it until it was too late. Before he’d figured out what was eating him she’d had the bad taste to call him and taunt him that she could have gotten pregnant.
Just about the time he’d faced his feelings and had decided to go lookin’ for her, she’d up and gotten herself hitched to his brother.
Hell. Somehow she’d made him care.
He wasn’t supposed to love her. They’d never really dated. For most of their lives, she’d been too damned young for him. Then there was the not insignificant fact she was a Kemble.
She’d been a fixture in his young life. He wasn’t sure when annoyance and affection had changed to love.
She was dead.
Love or not, he had to move on.
“Then why doesn’t she feel dead?” he whispered, clenching his longneck a little tighter and hoping she wouldn’t choose to haunt him tonight while Abby was here.
Sometimes he woke up at night with the strangest feeling that she was screaming his name and begging for him to come. He’d pace for hours whenever that happened.
The fact that she didn’t feel dead was another thing that didn’t bear dwelling on because it made him worry he was crazy for real.
When Shanghai heard what he thought was Abigail’s gentle footfall behind him, he deftly moved the steaks to one side and shut the lid. Then he turned around, hoping to take Abigail into his arms and steal a kiss. Not that her kisses needed stealing any more than Mia’s had.
Abigail had a big job in Austin. She sold creativity, whatever that was. People came to her with ideas and she would invent concepts for them and name things so they could market their ideas. She was so successful that she had an apartment in Austin as well as the small ranch next to his.
Lucky for him she had a weakness for cowboys.
Abby had ridden over on her golden palomino, Coco, and had thrown herself at him right after he’d bought this place. She’d brought him a chicken casserole. Hell, hadn’t he been running from females for just about as long as he could remember?
Shanghai… Mia’s voice seemed to whisper from the trees.
When he turned, no one was there. Unless you counted the flying squirrel that leapt from his deck to the ground, he was the only mammal within shooting range.
He picked up his beer and took another long swig as the wind sighed in the pine trees. Then he grabbed a handful of the peanuts Abigail had set out and munched a few.
Mia was dead. Abigail and he were alive.
For a month, hell, ever since he’d bought the ring, he’d been trying to work up his nerve to ask Abby this one little question. His bull riding buddies thought this was as big a hoot as Wolf did.
“Damnation, Shanghai, you ain’t scared of gettin’ in a coffinlike chute with the rankest bulls professional rodeo can throw at you, but you’re scared to ask a shy, blue-eyed, little girl to marry you,” Matt had taunted him last night at the Stampede Bar while all their bull rider buddies had laughed.
“Consider her asked,” Shanghai had said. “And her eyes are hazel. Not blue.”
“Consider yourself hitched then. Your skinny ass is hers.”
He’d thought of Mia, and his chest had tightened with aching regret.
The last light of the evening flared above the fringe of cedar, pine and oak along the fence line of Shanghai’s Buckaroo Ranch, painting the sky until it was as bright as the flared match he’d used to light the gas grill. The air smelled sweetly of pine, which was a change for Shanghai.
Born and bred on the vast, hot, humid, mesquite-covered plains of south Texas near the Golden Spurs Ranch, it had taken a spell for this place he’d bought acre by acre with his rodeo winnings to feel like home, set as it was twenty miles south of Austin among Bastrop’s lost pines. Not that he ever wanted to go back to south Texas. He’d given up his foolish plans for revenge a long time ago.
Other than his ranch, his rodeo buddies, Wolf and Abigail, he had no family. None at all. Family could cut you like nobody else in the whole damned world. When a boy was raised by a drunk who didn’t even claim him, and he had a mother who’d run off, should it come as a surprise if the grown man didn’t feel connected to his blood kin?
Not even to his brother? He hadn’t kept up with Cole. He hadn’t kept up with anybody.
Sometimes he felt a little guilty about Cole—mainly because he blamed himself more than he should have for the loss of Black Oaks. Still, Shanghai had decided long ago, he wanted nothing to do with his past and that included Mia.
He set his beer down. Where the hell was Abigail? Usually she was all over him by now.
Just like Mia used to be.
Don’t think about her.
Impatient suddenly, maybe because he was so damn nervous at the thought of marriage—not that Abigail wasn’t perfec
t—he stomped into his ranch house to find her. Finding the kitchen empty, he strode through his high-ceilinged den, past the glitter of twelve championship gold buckles. When he shouted her name, he was a little surprised that she didn’t come running.
Curious now, but determined, because there’s nothing like a chase to whet a man’s appetite, he headed for the back of the house, thinking maybe she’d gone to the bathroom.
He frowned when he found the bathroom empty but saw a strip of gold glowing along the oak floor beneath his closed bedroom door. Curious, he pushed the door open. With a startled cry, she jumped from where she’d been kneeling beside his bedside table. The little velvet box with the engagement ring he’d bought for her spilled to the floor and glittered.
“Abigail?”
Her butterscotch-colored hair glistened in the lamplight. Her large, hazel eyes flashed with guilt. Flushing, she hurriedly crawled away from him on her knees toward his bed. Her shrink-wrapped white halter top and tight white jeans were way sexier than her usual clothes.
Not that he was in the mood to notice the way her breasts bulged so enticingly. He was focused on his ring that had rolled to a stop right in front of the pointed black toe of his alligator cowboy boot.
Slowly he leaned down and picked up the ring and velvet box. With a gasp, her frightened eyes lifted to his.
“Shanghai—I—I didn’t mean…I—I was looking for a fingernail file.” Her cheeks flamed.
“Sure.” Even though he hated liars more than he hated snakes, he kept his voice soft. He slid the ring inside and snapped the lid shut.
“In the bathroom,” he said tightly. “Second drawer to your left.”
“What?”
“The fingernail file you were looking for.”
“Oh…right.”
Tossing the box into the drawer, he slammed it shut. “The steaks are going to burn if I don’t go see about them.” Feeling the need for air, he turned to go.
“You can’t just walk out,” she cried when he was nearly to the den.