by Ann Major
Footsteps clicked on the dirty tile floor and came to a stop near Joanne’s chair. When Joanne lifted her chin, she found herself staring into the narrow, guarded eyes of the comandante’s assistant.
“Nombre? Name?” the man said.
“You know perfectly well who I am. I had an appointment this morning with Comandante Guillermo Gonzales. And now it’s…” Joanne glanced at her watch.
The chattering in the waiting room ceased. Even the babies stopped squirming when their mothers leaned forward in their chairs. Dozens of pairs of avid black eyes focused on her face. The men’s cigarettes hung suspended in their frozen brown fingers, thick smoke curling upward toward the window on the back wall.
Joanne drew a deep breath. She fought to contain her anger at this little man who savored his power with such relish.
Mia had looked terrified yesterday. She’d been filthy. Tavio Morales had a hit out on Mia’s life, and the comandante didn’t want to see her.
“It’s nearly 5:00 p.m.,” she said.
He shrugged. “The comandante ees muy importante and very busy, señora. Ciudad Juarez ees very dangerous city.”
Joanne had seen people enter and leave the comandante’s office all day. She’d heard a lot of jolly laughter.
There was another moment of awkward silence.
“When is he going to see me?”
“Mañana.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
“Lo siento.” Rather than looking apologetic, he grinned.
“My daughter is innocent.”
He smiled. “You will have to discuss that with the comandante.”
“How can I if he won’t see me?”
The man shrugged. “Mañana.”
Nine
Las Vegas, Nevada
Under a steel-beamed ceiling the rodeo crowd was roaring like ancient Romans screaming for their gladiators. Ignoring them, Shanghai methodically donned a left-handed, deerskin, riding glove, tied it on and then coiled his rope into a large loop.
Shanghai—
Mia’s soft voice seemed to call to him again.
Help me!
Shanghai gripped his sticky rope tighter and fought to pretend he didn’t hear her or feel her in his bones. But he did. Ice trickled down his spine, and his fingers started tingling again. He shook his hands hard. Setting his rope down, he scraped his glove over rosin to make it even stickier. Then he bound his arms.
He had to focus on the ride ahead of him. Bad Boy was a supremely rank bull. The scores were tight, but if he could stay on this beast, he’d win the rodeo.
If…
As he slipped into his black, protective vest and arm brace, he heard Bad Boy snorting and kicking inside the chute. Slowly Shanghai put on his helmet. Then he picked up his rope and re-coiled it before he headed toward Big Boy.
Cowboys parted for him, slapping him on the back or nodding as he passed. Then right before he climbed into the chute, he looked up at the stands and shot his fans a final grin.
When he saw Cole in the first row to the right of the chutes, the air went out of his chest.
“Damn.”
Cole’s blue gaze locked on his face. Seconds ticked by, and Shanghai couldn’t look away. When he finally did, his jaw was tight. Then he was all business as he strode toward the big black Brangus bull and swung himself up and over the railings into the coffin-shape chute. Next he slowly lowered a booted foot onto Bad Boy’s back so the bull would know he was there.
Then it was just Shanghai and Bad Boy and the yellow rope that Wolf was pulling tight over Shanghai’s gloved hand. The bull stood still in his cage, his hooves in the dirt as he stared at the gate. When Shanghai was ready, he nodded at the chute boss and the gate swung open.
Like an erupting volcano, Bad Boy blew out of the chute, bell clanging—bucking up and away from Shanghai’s hand. The bull jumped and began to spin even before he hit the ground again, centrifuging Shanghai into losing his seat. Writhing, twisting, shuddering, the bull rose and swooped, soaring into the air and then thudding violently to earth, his hooves causing dusty swirls to explode around them.
Somehow Shanghai hung on, but flailing.
The bull sensed the slip and spun in the opposite direction to finish him off. Shanghai flailed again, his free arm waving frantically to regain his balance.
“C’mon Shanghai,” the announcer taunted. “C’mon!”
The crowd howled. All Shanghai could see was the bull’s thick bobbing neck and the occasional flash of silver conchos on his buckskin chaps. All he felt was the powerful surge of the beast beneath his legs.
Bad Boy was good and mad now. He bucked higher and harder, kicking up and out with his back hooves. In a rage, he threw his neck up so fast he hit Shanghai’s helmet, causing metal to graze his chin.
Shanghai responded to the bull’s every trick, trying harder than he’d ever tried. Incredibly he lurched two seconds past the horn even, hanging on for longer, partly because he was stubborn but mostly because all of a sudden he was having such a helluva good time. The fans were on their feet, stomping and screaming.
Then it all went wrong.
Nostrils flaring and steaming, Bad Boy jerked to the left, and suddenly Shanghai was thrown—all of him except his hand, which had twisted and jammed in the rope’s handle. Maddened that the man still hung on him, Bad Boy raced toward a bullfighter, spitting and snorting, dragging Shanghai in the dust along with him.
Bad Boy jumped and spun, trying to rid himself of Shanghai so he could stomp him to death, no doubt, but Shanghai’s hand remained hung up even as he fought to untangle himself. It was all he could do to keep jogging alongside Bad Boy. As a maddened Bad Boy raced around the arena, Shanghai was tiring fast. He gasped for every breath. His leg muscles felt as limp as spaghetti noodles.
A dozen off-duty bullfighters jumped out of the stands to help. Even Wolf ran up and struck Bad Boy in the nose with a fist and a riding crop, only to be rammed in the arm with a horn and sent ricocheting like a bowling pin against the rails.
Then Cole was there, running alongside Shanghai, calling to him to hang on, lunging at the rope, trying to pull Shanghai loose. The crowd was on their feet, stomping and screaming like madmen gone wild, hating the dance with death, but loving it, too.
Bullfighters yelled and ran at the bull. A full minute passed before Cole could get a hand in and free Shanghai. Then they fell to their knees in a tangled heap. Crawling, scrambling to his feet, Cole dragged Shanghai to the right just as Bad Boy charged past them, snorting like a runaway locomotive on thundering hooves.
When Shanghai got to his feet, he was so weak he stumbled and collapsed headfirst onto the ground again. His shoulder muscles were cramping. He was so damn tired he didn’t think he could get up until Cole lifted him to his feet and dragged him toward a gate. Finally Shanghai managed to stand straighter, but he was still panting so hard, he wasn’t sure he could have walked without Cole’s help. When the announcer told everybody that Shanghai’s brother had freed his hand and was walking him out of the arena, the crowd got to its feet again, clapping and cheering.
Shanghai stopped and threw his hands up and smiled at the adoring fans. Wolf raced up to them with the onsite doctor, who offered to check Shanghai out as they strode out of the arena.
“I’m fine,” Shanghai said.
“Don’t be so damned bullheaded,” Cole said.
“Don’t be so damned bossy.” Turning his back on Cole, Shanghai ripped off his helmet and coiled his rope. Putting on his Stetson, he turned to stare at the scoreboard.
He was fine—thanks in large part to Cole. Except for his tingling hands and the cut on his chin and some bruises—he was fine.
His score flashed on the scoreboard, and the announcer began to babble excitedly.
“Looks like you won,” Cole said. “Let’s just hope your luck hasn’t run out. You’ll need it for Mexico.”
“No way in hell am I going to Mexico.”
Cole’s quick grin and easy confidence made Shanghai slightly uneasy. His brother had the sly look of a man who had an ace or two up his sleeve. Just as he was about to thank Cole for saving his ass in the arena, a shy-looking kid in a cowboy hat two sizes too big for him walked up and smiled up at Shanghai with huge, awestruck eyes.
“Can I have your autograph, please?” the kid asked.
Shanghai felt his frown melting into a smile as he gazed at the boy. Slowly he knelt and placed the kid’s program on his knee.
“What’s your name, big guy?” He lifted the kid’s pen.
“Robert Black.”
“Well, sir, Mr. Black, I hope you’re not going to ride bulls when you grow up.”
“I am! I want to grow up and be just like you!”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Cole said. “I could tell you a story or two that would change your mind in a heartbeat.”
But the kid gazed past Cole at Shanghai adoringly.
“Save your breath, little brother,” Shanghai muttered as he scribbled his name.
When he stood up, the kid raced back to his friends.
“Fame and glory,” Cole said. “Is this why—”
Shanghai stared at his brother for a long, awkward moment. “Hell, why does anybody do the crazy things they do?”
When Cole didn’t say anything, Shanghai felt the need to add more. Even so he hesitated for a few seconds. “Thanks—for pulling me loose.”
“My pleasure. You kept Daddy off me.”
“The only reason I ever felt bad about leavin’ was ’cause of you…’cause of leavin’ you with him, I mean.”
“He never had it in for me like he did for you.”
Shanghai felt his muscles tighten.
“So—since I saved your life—you ready to talk about Mia?”
“Shut up about her. Just shut up.”
“Okay. For now.”
Rock music pulsed in the bar. Sheila, a beautiful, young stripper with long blond hair, was rubbing her body wantonly against a pole right above Shanghai while her cowboy audience threw their Stetsons in the air, yelling and stomping for more. Smiling down at Shanghai, she wrapped her legs around her pole and then did a very talented back bend as she slid down the pole and began to move up and down.
Not that Shanghai was paying much attention to her heavy breasts or the waves of blond hair spilling over his shoulders as he took a long pull from his beer bottle and stared at Cole. He was too damned tired and too damned sore. He couldn’t even feel his right hand.
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not risking my hide for Mia Kemble.”
“If you gave a damn about your hide, you wouldn’t ride bulls.” Cole lifted his own bottle to his lips.
“Why don’t you hire a professional, somebody with connections down there?”
“Leo’s talked to lots of people. He hasn’t found anybody he thinks we should trust. Terence Collins says he knows somebody who might help us, though…if we did our own thing.”
Even though Collins was Abby’s father, Shanghai didn’t trust his motives. According to Abby she’d never seen much of the glory-seeking bastard.
Wolf, who was the nearest thing Shanghai had had to a brother since he’d left home, smiled fiendishly at the two brothers as he listened to them.
It galled Shanghai that he appeared to love every minute of this little brotherly reunion. Shanghai scowled at him for good measure.
What the hell was he smiling about?
The wolf didn’t smile much usually. Maybe because smiling projected the wrong kind of attitude for a tough guy in his business. And he was tough.
Wolf was made of solid muscle. His neck was a hunk that ran from his ears to his wide shoulders. His chest was as big as a barrel. He didn’t slim down any at the waist, either. If ever a human being was built to be a battering ram, Wolf was such a man.
Shanghai decided not to let Wolf’s amusement get to him. Turning his back on Wolf, Shanghai shot his brother a dark look.
“Like I said, she’s your wife, Cole. So she’s your problem. I got my ass kicked out of south Texas by the Kembles a long time ago partly ’cause of her.”
“Maybe. But that wasn’t the end of you and Mia.”
Shanghai took a long pull. “It should have been.”
“But she tracked you down at a rodeo. And you weren’t exactly…unfriendly.”
Shanghai’s frown deepened. Had the two of them gossiped about him in their marriage bed?
“Vegas in the spring time?” Cole pressed. “Am I right?”
“What difference does it make? I’ve got a fiancée now.”
Wolf lifted his eyebrows and shot him an ironic smile. “Congratulations, wuss.” Before Shanghai could snap out a retort, Wolf turned his back on them and yelled through the stripper’s legs at the bartender for another round of beers.
“The only reason Mia asked me to marry her was to give your baby your last name.”
Shanghai choked on his mouthful of beer. The loud music seemed to fade even though his ears kept ringing. Cole’s dark face spun in a smoky haze as he spit beer and fought to swallow.
“Vanilla’s your daughter! Not mine!”
The strangling got so bad, Wolf pounded him on his back with a meaty fist.
“Stop it! I’m fine!” Shanghai leaned across the table. “What the hell did you say?”
“You heard me.” Cole slapped a few bills on the bar and handed Shanghai a business card. “I was nothing but your stand-in. We didn’t have what you’d call a real marriage.” He stood up to go.
“Hey? You married her—without bothering to tell me she was pregnant. What kind of brother would do a damn-fool thing—?”
“She told you. Said you called her a liar. You and I weren’t exactly close back then, remember?”
“Maybe you just saw a way to get a piece of the Spurs.”
“What if I did? That’s what a lot of people think. Since the plane crash, my memory’s been fuzzy. It’s coming back in fits and starts, but it’s not perfect. I got hit on the head pretty hard. I think there’s some damage. Bottom line, Mia and you have a humdinger of a daughter. I can’t ever look at her without thinking about you. It’d be a shame if you never got to know her.” Cole wiped the table off with his napkin. Then he yanked a stack of photographs out of his shirt pocket and slapped them in front of Shanghai.
Another blond stripper stepped onto the bar. Not that Shanghai looked up even when the two women began undulating to the wild, frenzied rock tempo as other cowboys moved closer to the bar to watch them.
The top picture was of a dark-haired little girl on a big red slide. One glance at it made scenes from Shanghai’s past reshuffle themselves, and take on a disturbing new significance.
He saw Mia galloping behind his truck in his rearview mirror. He saw her at the Christmas Fling when she’d been a pretty thirteen. He saw her radiant face on his pillow, her red hair fanned out after they’d made love the first time in Vegas. He’d still been inside her when he realized that the course of his life had shifted because she’d made love to him. He hadn’t forgotten how she’d felt or how she’d tasted, no matter how hard he’d tried, and he knew he never would.
Above him the women’s graceful young bodies twirled close enough so that Wolf could slip wads of bills into their G-strings and grin his appreciation.
“I can’t believe you want your kid to grow up motherless—the way we did,” Cole said.
“Go to hell.”
“Do you want your blood kin to grow up all Kemble? Is that what you want?”
“Damn it, Cole.” Shanghai rubbed forehead and shut his eyes. “You just sprung this on me. A kid?”
Against his will Shanghai thumbed through the pictures. In another one the little girl was climbing a plastic mountain with handholds. In the third one she was a plump toddler splashing in a pool. In another she was naked playing in a muddy hole.
Damn it if the kid’s eyes weren’t the exact same shade as his and Cole’s
. And she had the cutest smile—Mia’s smile. But his, too. Her hair curled just like Mia’s used to. The rest of her was all Knight.
A wellspring of longing swept Shanghai.
Feelings that he didn’t want to have for Mia rose up to swamp him.
They had a kid. The cutest kid in the whole damn world.
His throat caught as he slowly and very carefully set the pictures down.
He remembered his daddy beating and berating him. He wanted to be a very different kind of father.
He glanced through the pictures again. Then slowly he looked up at Cole.
“It’s my fault she’s down there. I was flying the plane. If you don’t go I still have to. ’Cause I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”
“Did I ever tell you how much I hate Mexico?” Shanghai’s voice was deadly soft. “I hate it more than most anything.”
“Then I take it you won’t object if we make it a fast trip?” Cole said.
Wolf snorted as he raced down the long hotel hall after Cole and Shanghai.
“Are you two crazy? You hate Mexico and you’re going down there to break a woman you’ve been running from out of prison? She married your brother!”
“Who’s the wuss now?” Shanghai jammed the piece of plastic that served as his room key into a slot in the door.
When the door opened, Shanghai kicked it wider. He went to the bathroom and scooped up his toilet articles. Then he stomped back into the bedroom and threw them into an oversize backpack.
“There, I’m done,” he said, yanking the zipper closed. Slinging the backpack over his broad shoulder and grabbing his rigging bag, he headed for the door.
Cole chased after him.
The two brothers looked a lot alike except Shanghai was a bit broader, especially through the shoulders. He was bigger-boned, too, and a little swarthier.