A Love Beyond

by Leslie P. García

  No wonder La Llorona still haunted the riverbanks, wailing her agony. How could you lose your own—destroy your own—and bear the anguish?

  An abrupt knock at the door startled her, and she snatched up a robe, wrapping it tightly around her. “¿Quien es?” she asked, hoping that it was merely one of the maids, checking to see if she needed something. It was much too early to deal with anything major like Mike Towers. Or Chance.

  But it was Chance’s voice on the other side of the door.

  “AJ, it’s me.” He paused before adding, “Chance.”

  She cracked the door open and peeked out. For a man who couldn’t have slept much, he looked amazingly alert. He hadn’t shaved, but the dark growth shadowing his chin just added to his appeal. His hair was tousled, and she wondered momentarily whose hands had mussed those dark locks, but pushed the insane thought from her mind. It was none of her business, and she didn’t care anyway.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, not opening the door any wider even though he stepped closer.

  “Just checking to see if everything’s okay,” he said. “I thought you might be up already.”

  “Why did you think that?” she asked, curiously. “I hadn’t planned on being awake this early, as a matter of fact.”

  He shrugged. “You said you used to be around horses. From what I know of the business, it involves long hours.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re right about that,” she agreed. “I’m not up, really. And I’m not dressed, either. But I’m fine. So you can go away now.”

  He nodded. “Remember you sent me away, though,” he warned. “You might miss me at lunch, when you have to face that crowd from last night again.”

  “I can’t expect you to spare me from them forever,” she chided. “Don’t worry about me. I—”

  “Can fend for yourself,” he finished, nodding. “I remember. See you later, then.” He turned to go, just as a rotund little form scooted toward him.

  “Mi Gordito!” he exclaimed, scooping the baby up. “There you are! I thought I had lost you!” The baby burst into laughter and wound his tiny hands into Chance’s hair, pulling with abandon.

  “No wonder your hair’s a mess,” AJ said wryly, and Chance sent a wounded look her way.

  “My hair is never a mess,” he informed her.

  “Chance—” Rosa’s voice on the stairs held a quiet note of concern and Chance turned immediately and walked toward her, holding the baby out. “Good morning, Miss AJ,” Rosa called, before whispering something to Chance. He bent his head close and they conversed briefly, then he shook his head and watched as the mother and baby disappeared into their room.

  Strange, AJ, thought. For just a moment she wondered if Chance and Rosa were involved, but tossed the thought aside. The baby didn’t appear to be theirs, with all that blond hair and those laser blue eyes, and if Towers wanted him hidden away—

  Again she wondered what her sister had lived through. Time to get on with her work. Time to quit thinking so much about Chance and his relationships. With Towers, with Rosa, with the baby—none of that could matter.

  Somewhere on this property was a horse worth millions of dollars—a horse that had been stolen from her. Resolutely, she pushed the door shut and locked it, then headed for the bathroom. She wouldn’t wait to strike out on her own. Because she might only have days before Mike demanded payment for his hospitality. Or before he remembered that once, several years ago, he had met Gina’s sister, Joanie. No one called her anything else at home, and he probably hadn’t heard her married name, so there wasn’t a lot of danger that ‘AJ’ would jog his memory in the few days she planned to be here.

  Names aside, she shared some of Gina’s mannerisms, as well as a faint resemblance. Saving Rebel would be hard enough with an unsuspecting Mike Towers pursuing her. With an aware Mike Towers—a man with money, weapons, bodyguards, and trained attack dogs—there would be no way out.

  She thought of Chance Landin, warning her away from the pool last night. As kind as he had been, he would stop her if his suspicions were raised. He would keep her from taking the horse and fleeing; he’d told her he was good at his job, and she believed him.

  She needed to go downstairs and start figuring out how to move on her plans. Before that, though, she needed to make a quick call. She dug for her cell phone; she hadn’t hidden it, exactly, but given Mike’s invitation to stay and her vague memory of how lengthy visits here on the border worked, she didn’t want to generate a lot of curiosity about whom she knew or didn’t.

  The fewer conversations anyone overheard, the better. Especially, she thought with a slight grin as she poked numbers, this one.

  Randy answered on the third ring. “You? Talk about unexpected calls—”

  “Are you busy, Randy?” she interrupted, knowing if her ex-husband had a chance to go on forever, he would.

  “If you mean do I have my naked fiancée lying here beside me, no, Joanie. How are you, girl?”

  “Good. Look, Randy, I can’t talk long. Remember that paper you wrote?”

  “The one you grilled me over when you thought I was lying? You were an English tutor. You should have just corrected my grammar—”

  “Seriously, Randy. Please. Just listen. You said you used two horses—the one you ferried the stolen horse—”

  “We called them commissioned, but yeah. We would lead one horse across from another. Why?”

  “I brought Goof with me from Ocala.”

  Dead silence before Randy drawled, “Should that mean something?”

  “Yes. Goof is my second horse—you said I needed a horse to get my horse back, remember? You would ride one and lead one when you crossed.”

  “I remember. Vaguely.”

  Randy didn’t mention that he’d been more or less stoned when he coached her on how he and a buddy made a living stealing and crossing livestock from one country to another when they lived in Laredo.

  “Hey, Randy—could you come? I don’t have much time. You’ve done this—”

  “Sorry, babe. No way. Can’t get away, and things are too dicey now on the border. Look, let the horse go. Nothing’s worth your life, Joanie.”

  “Rebel—”

  “Is a nice horse, but let it go. See you, Babe.” The phone went dead as Randy hung up.

  “Like hell I’ll let Rebel go,” AJ muttered. Throwing off her clothing, she stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. Chance Landin wouldn’t be able to stop her any more than Mike Towers could. There was too much at stake. She closed her eyes and let the water pound her. Vengeance would come to Mike Towers. Nothing would stop her.

  Chapter Four

  Gold-plated utensils gleamed under the chandelier light and the polished wood table stretched out forever under its assortment of fine china and gleaming tableware. Crystal bowls sparkled with bright colored jellies, and a huge tray of Mexican sweetbread, traditionally served cold, competed with floral arrangements for attention. There were, however, no other diners.

  AJ looked at the table indecisively. Had other partygoers eaten and gone about their activities already, or was she the first one down? Could she wander about on her own without being attacked by guard dogs, or interrogated by Chance?

  “AJ, my dear! How wonderful to see you!” Mike Towers walked into the room, surprisingly silent for someone of his stature—with a hangover to boot, she suspected. The man looked a bit rumpled, a bit weary—but just a bit. Clearly his all-nighters were routine enough that they no longer fazed him.

  AJ accepted a peck-on-the-cheek kiss without flinching, although she drew away when he laid a hand on her arm. If he minded, he was as adroit at hiding his real feelings as she was. He just gave her a wide smile and waved at the table.

  “Guess the others are still out of it,” he said. “So join me for a bite to eat, okay?” He gave her a wink. “Since your company is all I’m getting.”

  She flushed, and frowned. “Mike—”

  He held up one so
ft hand and shook his head. “My fault. I know. The fiancé.” Contempt colored his tone briefly, but he continued to grin at her affably. “Sorry, girl. Old habits and all that. Have a seat, and I’ll be a good boy.”

  AJ pulled out the chair next to his, but didn’t immediately sit down. “Mike, this probably isn’t a good idea,” she murmured. Gauging how much wiggle room he’d allow the situation would be crucial to getting out of this with her self-respect and dignity intact. “You’ve been more than kind, but …” She purred, deliberately, and he lapped it up.

  “Now, now!” He placed one of his meaty hands over hers, still on the chair back, and patted her comfortingly. The words and gesture were patently false; she sensed that he was considering every word, every gesture that he offered.

  “Sit down, girl,” he insisted, pulling out his own chair and sitting, then smiling again broadly when she did. “Look, I know—no strings. You’re welcome here, AJ. I told you that. You don’t have a place to stay, and I’ve got enough room for an army. Most of my guests will be gone later today. You’ll be doing me a favor, staying. Keep an eye on my staff, though María’s been with me a long time. You can keep an old man company when I’m here—but I’m always getting called off on some deal or another.” He waved a hand in the air, and a maid hurried in with a basket of steaming tortillas, while another carried in plates of food—huevos rancheros, hash browns, eggs and bacon, a spicy bowl of menudo—more food than any two people could possibly eat.

  “As long as you’re sure …” She spooned eggs onto her plate, deliberately keeping her eyes down, hoping he’d think her demure and unsure of herself. Hate bubbled through her, threatening to spill out. She wanted to fling the steaming bowl of menudo at him, cover him in cow tripe and burning broth—to snatch the paring knife lying on the fruit platter and sink it into his chest.

  The violence of her emotion startled her. Retrieving Rebel was one thing. Entertaining thoughts of murder was another.

  Mike had heaped his own plate with most of the offerings, and waved a spoon of spicy food in front of her. “Damn, girl, eat a little!” he ordered, looking at the scant portions on her plate.

  “I’m fine,” she protested, shaking her head at him. “Really.”

  He shrugged and lifted some eggs to his mouth. “Suit yourself,” he said. He ate for a few minutes without further comment.

  “So tell me, AJ … what did you do? You know, job wise?”

  She finished chewing. “Before I left Philadelphia, I worked for a tour company. Historic Hour. Do you know it?”

  “Nope. Not a history buff, myself. The here and now.” He grinned boorishly. “Dead guys don’t make you rich, AJ. Not unless you kill ’em yourself!”

  He hooted at his own wit and slammed a fist into the polished wood. “Just playin’ around there, girl! Don’t you worry about me,” he said, when he quit laughing and noticed her expression. He swallowed some coffee and waved his fork around again.

  “So did they pay you enough so you could afford not to work now?”

  AJ smiled. This question she’d prepared for. It was a logical one. “Nope. They paid minimum, but I like dead guys. You’d be surprised how many tourists tipped.”

  She picked up her glass of juice and sipped it, then finished her carefully programmed answer. “I saved a little—some college monies I didn’t use. My grandmother left me a small amount when she passed away. But I’ll have to get back to work pretty quickly.”

  “Shouldn’t be hard to do,” Towers offered. “Smart girl, pretty like you … you’ll find a job in no time.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find something,” she agreed.

  Silence fell around them again briefly, broken when a tall, hefty man came into the room, his dark eyes glancing around, his manner one of nervous impatience. His gaze flicked over AJ with contempt, but he merely nodded at her, coming over and whispering something to Mike.

  “Ah, si?” Whatever the man told him obviously pleased Towers. He wiped his mouth with a flourish and stood up. “AJ, my darling, I hate to leave, but business calls.” He tossed the napkin onto the uneaten food and reached out to pat her arm. “Do me a favor, would you, honey? Find Chance and tell him I had to leave. Tell him just to keep his eyes on things here—Jaime’ll take care of me elsewhere. Oh, and if I don’t catch María on my way out, look for her—she’ll want to meet you anyway. Tell her I had to go and to be sure none of my friends help themselves to more than breakfast.” He gave her another grin. “I’m a generous man, but I don’t like to be played for a fool, AJ.”

  AJ nodded without comment, glad that Jaime had come to lure his boss away. It was much, much easier to snoop without him around.

  Mike and Jaime headed for the door, when the older man stopped, and tossed her a glance over his shoulder. “María already knows you’re staying. Don’t forget to check in with her, though. She takes her job real serious. Get Chance to show you the grounds while you’re at it,” he suggested and gave her his leering grin again. “Just don’t go forgettin’ that fine fiancé of yours. I’d hate you to be the one mistake a good man like Landin makes!”

  Mike offered the advice lightly, but the warning spoke for itself.

  Before she could answer, the two men were out the door. Idly, she wondered what kind of business could be that demanding. From what she’d heard all her life, negotiations on this side of the river were conducted in a leisurely manner. And later than nine in the morning, for that matter. She pushed her plate away with sudden impatience and stood up.

  Mike wanted her to “check in” with the housekeeper. She frowned. She knew from older family members and friends that when you stayed with someone, you were expected to pretty much stay. At least, those had been the rules years ago. Apparently Mike didn’t want her roaming around, if she had to report to a staff member. Too bad. Once she knew a few essential details about Rebel’s location and how closely he was watched, she’d be gone and Mike wouldn’t see her again.

  She walked through the dining room to the kitchen, where a number of women were preparing dishes and cutting more fruit.

  One of them, a heavyset woman with suspicious features, looked at her as she hesitated in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m—”

  “I know who you are. You are the gringa that Mr. Towers told me would stay over.” She shook her head. “He never learns, Don Mike. I will do what he ordered, and you can ask me for anything you need. But I won’t pretend you should be here. Debes a ir—you should leave—with the others.” The woman paused and stirred a sauce simmering on the stove, then wiped her hands on an apron and squinted at AJ. “You look like the dead señora,” she added.

  AJ’s heart thudded hard and her breath caught in her throat.

  María lifted a spoon full of the sauce, sniffed it, and returned it to the pot, but pointed at her. “Si, otra gringa rubia—another blond gringa. All of you look alike.” She sniffed. “And all money-hungry perras.”

  A couple of the other women sent AJ sympathetic—or maybe just curious—glances, but no one spoke. Clearly, María ruled the house with an unpleasant iron hand.

  Relief replaced the momentary panic AJ experienced when she thought María recognized her as Gina’s sister. The woman had called her a bitch? She’d been called that before. Often. No reply really seemed appropriate, so AJ just turned and walked out, considering her next step.

  She’d been ordered to find Chance—and not to fall for him. Mike couldn’t possibly have known that Chance sent tiny prickles of awareness skittering through her body with his dark, brooding glances.

  A slight, grim smile tugged at her lips. Well, so much for Towers’s orders. And his warnings. Because Chance was a hell of a lot more attractive than Mike was. And whether or not she’d ever let anyone know—the man sparked something inside her she hardly needed sparked at the moment. Too bad he was on her worst-enemy list, along with his boss. She glanced at her watch and headed for the door. She didn’t care where Chance wa
s. But she was sure the stables wouldn’t be hard to find.

  • • •

  Chance cursed under his breath, low and with feeling. He moved slightly, pushing the itchy branches of the carefully nurtured bushes aside. The hedge framed the path to the stable, and in spite of the nature of his job, he didn’t usually skulk here in hiding, one hand holding a dog’s collar to keep the nerviest of the Dobermans quiet and controlled. He didn’t curse the awkward position, though, just the damnable tightening in his groin when AJ Owens walked blithely past, unaware of his presence.

  Last night’s shorts were replaced by jeans that clung to her slender hips and long legs, and the sleeveless top was a concession to the sun, already blazing down. She walked with considerable purpose toward the barn, apparently unconcerned about the possible presence of guard dogs. Or guards. The idea that she didn’t remember his existence, let alone worry about his position as head of security, annoyed the hell out of him.

  He watched her implacable march toward the stable for several moments before hissing “stay!” at the Doberman and following her. The young woman had a keen interest in Mike Towers’s horses. Too keen, even if she had been raised around Thoroughbreds. There were other, more accessible stables other places for her to visit. Stables she didn’t have to barter her body to visit. His lips twisted with disgust. The idea was impossible to understand, let alone accept.

  The stable doors were wide open, but most of the activity was over for the moment. Horses had been exercised, fed, and watered. Grooms had mucked the stalls and brushed those glossy coats worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Some heads appeared instantly in stall doors as AJ drifted down the row, stopping occasionally to croon or pet one of the inhabitants. She was oblivious to him; if she turned, she’d see him trailing after her, but she had eyes only for the horses.

  He studied her expert progress down the corridor. She upset none of the flighty animals, spoke in calming murmurs and avoided the ones displaying open distrust. Obviously she was comfortable around horses. Yet just as clearly, none of the horses here were of any special interest to her. Interesting. She reached the far end of the corridor, still without a backward glance, and went out.