Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  He laid her on his bed and then went to pull the twin bed out of the convertible loveseat that sat in a small alcove. A sleepy moan escaped her lips—sounding too much like a pleasurable lovemaking sound—and he stopped. What the hell was wrong with him? She was on his bed, exactly where he wanted her and where she belonged. She needed sleep. He could give her that. He had to give her that…and anything else she needed. But he wasn’t going to give her a chance to question what they had together.

  Her hair fanned out around her head. “Sleep with the angels,” he murmured as he bent over, lightly brushed her forehead with a kiss, and covered her with a quilt.

  “Sleep with the angels,” she whispered, smiling softly.

  …

  Ray had taken Zach to school while Vic had still been at the hospital. Once Laney fell asleep, Vic kept busy working the ranch. Manual labor cleared his head. He worked through the morning in El Rei’s stall, moving to Bluebell’s just before lunch. He spent the afternoon repairing a section of fence until finally it was time to collect Zach at the bus stop. Back at home, he checked on Delaney, who was still asleep, got Zach set up with his homework, and then he went back outside to take care of Mojo and Sheila and his horses.

  El Rei nickered as Vic lifted his hoof, but Bluebell, she was a calm one. He cleaned their hooves. It was mindless, and through it all, he couldn’t get Laney off his mind. How disheveled she’d been last night, how vulnerable she’d looked sound asleep on his bed, and how much he wanted to kill whoever it was who had broken into the cabin and assaulted her.

  He had to take care of her, make things right. No matter what.

  He finished with his horse and began mucking the stalls, his thoughts scrambling and surfacing in dark places, twisting and turning as if trying to find a path to follow. Animals dead. Jasper dead. Delaney nearly raped. What could possibly be next?

  A deputy’s cruiser pulled onto his property.

  “Shit,” he muttered. This couldn’t be good. He hurried to meet Braido, guiding him around to the back of the house, away from the bedroom window.

  Vic’s feelings were mixed. He wanted whatever information the deputy might have on Jasper’s death, but he hoped Derek would get to the point quickly, preferably before Delaney decided to wake up and pop her head out. Residual worry that everything that had been happening could be pinned on her had put him in full protection mode.

  It didn’t matter what he wanted. Braido was taking his sweet time. He pulled out a sheet of paper and held it while Vic closed Sheila into her new pen. As Vic pulled off his gloves, the potbelly rummaged through the scraps he’d thrown her earlier.

  Vick took the paper and scanned the surface. “What’s this?”

  “Some verbiage from the Old Testament.”

  Sacrifice. The word shot into Vic’s mind like lightning. “Why?”

  “We can’t find rhyme or reason for Jasper’s murder.” Braido made a face as if he were embarrassed by his next words. “But old Esperanza once said something about sacrifices. It struck a chord. I did some research and found that animal sacrifices were common in the Old Testament.”

  James McDuff and Chris Locke had mentioned the same thing. “But where’s the connection?”

  Braido shrugged. “Isn’t one. Just throwing it out there. It’s far more likely that this is a personal matter. Maybe a disgruntled neighbor.”

  Vic stared as his friend. They went back a long way, but he wanted to strangle Derek right now.

  “As we have no reasonable motive at the moment, everyone’s a suspect,” Braido continued.

  Including Delaney, Vic thought, hoping the deputy didn’t have a pulse on her. Vic’s fantasy about a family…a wife to go with the son he already had…suddenly wasn’t plausible without Delaney. He believed in her. He had no choice. She was his family.

  “Kind of odd how the killings began just after Delaney arrived in town, don’t you agree?”

  “Coincidence,” Vic ground out, even knowing it was anything but.

  Braido’s face was impassive. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “You knew her when she lived here before. You talked to her last night after someone attacked her, for chrissake. Has she ever seemed like a killer to you?”

  Braido afforded him one shake of his head, followed by a grimace. “Nope. But unfortunately, the fact that Delaney is a bona fide Texas beauty and an old friend doesn’t have squat to do with investigating this case.”

  “You going to investigate her case this diligently?” he asked heatedly.

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “And because you’re an old friend, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

  Vic slashed a hand through his hair. “Sorry.” He sorely wanted to tell Derek about the rape twelve years ago, the one Vic believed started all this, but stopped at the last second. That was Delaney’s story to tell, and much as he wanted to help her, he wouldn’t betray her secret.

  Vic ran his hand over his face, wiping away his agitation. He didn’t want Braido to interrogate Laney again. Hell, he didn’t want the deputy within spitting distance of her—not after she’d already endured endless questioning about the assault last night.

  Braido turned and looked over his shoulder at the house. “Is she here?”

  Vic ripped his cowboy hat from his head. Damn. He wouldn’t lie, much as he wished he could. “She’s inside. Asleep.”

  Another heavy silence settled between them. “I guess I’ll come back later to talk to her, then. When she’s awake.”

  Vic worked to keep his face as impassive as the deputy’s. What the hell else could he possibly want to ask her? He pulled his gloves back on. “Thanks.”

  Braido snapped his little notebook closed, moving in slow, Texas time.

  Vic waited, hanging on to his temper. Derek was a good guy. One of the best, and he was just doing his job.

  Instead of leaving, Braido leaned against the low fence at the pig pen. “The whole thing could be satanic. Some wacko could just be trying to scare the shit out of people. Or maybe someone actually thinks he is that chupacabra thing. Or,” he paused again, “as Pastor Locke informed me earlier, the slaughters and draining of blood could be some sort of cult thing, or part of a ritualized sacrifice.”

  “Murder,” Vic muttered, “has got to qualify as satanic, if you ask me.” He remembered what Chris Locke had said about sacrifices and atonement. Maybe he hadn’t been so far off the mark.

  Braido directed his intense gaze at Vic, and then shifted it to the house for a moment. “I agree with you there.”

  Finally, the deputy walked away. He threw a final glance at the house before cruising away in his patrol car and leaving Vic alone with his thoughts, each one of them revolving around how deep Delaney was in the thick of this. Had she been there when the steer was killed—or worse, when Jasper had been murdered? Had she been sleepwalking and not aware of what she’d seen? The biggest question, however, was about her attacker. There was little doubt in his mind her recent attack was not random or coincidental. The one twelve years ago may have been, but not last night’s. Derek was right about one thing—that had been personal. As personal as it got. Vic was convinced both attacks had been carried out by the same man.

  …

  Delaney watched from Vic’s bedroom window as Braido drove away. A movement in the brush at the side of the road caught her eye, but then the low rumble of Vic’s voice as he talked to himself drew her attention. Seeing him made her knees weak and her heart flutter. Animal magnetism. There was no other way to describe it. The senses he ignited in her, the way he looked at her, his gentle touch when he’d helped her dress the night before… It seeped into her until she could hardly catch her breath. He’d been there for her in a way no one else ever had. So what if he’d gotten cold feet when he was twenty years old. He was a thirty-two-year-old
man now, and she was beginning to feel he’d been worth the wait. She wasn’t alone, after all.

  She’d fallen for Vic again, but she wasn’t at all sure that he’d fallen for her in the same way. How could he? She might be dangerous—certainly dangerous to be around. She was unstable, unpredictable, with her sleepwalking affliction. What if she really had something to do with the animals being killed? Her stomach turned over at the very idea.

  Logically, she didn’t think she could be involved. But either way, she shouldn’t be here, putting Vic and Zach at risk, and intruding as they tried to form a little family of two.

  “Hi,” she said, entering the kitchen. Zach sat at the kitchen table doing his homework, and Vic leaned against the counter. He looked at her, the smoky blue of his eyes darkening, his gaze penetrating. A lump formed in her throat. She felt as if he could read her mind. As if he could plainly see how her body ached for him.

  Was he really just finishing up old business between them? His kindness to her now simply a way to assuage his guilt at standing her up, now that he knew the awful truth about that night? Neither thought eased her mind.

  “How’s the foal?” Zach blurted, oblivious to the tension, his schoolbook forgotten. “Is she growing?”

  He suddenly seemed lit up from the inside out and she couldn’t help but laugh. She eased down on a chair across from him, favoring her painful ribs. “I heard from Chris. He’s Jasper’s brother. He quit his job at the hardware store and is looking after the Locke ranch now. He says the foal is doing great.”

  “A name’s really important.” Zach’s brows came together seriously. “Did Jasper name her before he…you know…?”

  She felt her eyes well up. Zach had named his piglet Sheila, after his mother. “You’re so right. A name is super important.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I bet if Jasper were here, he’d ask you to name the foal.”

  Zach blinked quickly and looked down at his book. “Oh…”

  Vic shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “She’s right. That’s exactly what Jasper would want.”

  His voice had broken slightly, the barest hint of emotion slipping through his words. Delaney could see the pain on his face. He’d lost a good friend.

  And the loss of Jasper was somehow connected to her. “You should name her, Zach,” she said, pushing away the depressing thought.

  The boy glanced shyly at her, a hint of adoration in his gray-blue eyes. Eyes that looked so much like his father’s. She swallowed. She wished his father would look at her with that same kind of honesty.

  But then, she hadn’t exactly been honest with him, had she? Not until she’d had no choice. Who could blame him for being guarded?

  Vic clapped his hands together. “You think about it, Zach. You’ll come up with a great name. Now, how about a snack?”

  Zach sat there, still staring at his book, not acknowledging that his father had even spoken.

  She stretched her hand across the table toward Zach’s, wincing at the pain that racked her body with even such a small movement. “I bet your dad makes a mean PB&J. I could go for one.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “How about you?”

  Zach nodded, not quite smiling. His frown, at least, was not so pronounced. “I bet yours is better.”

  She waved away the comment. “No way. Not as good as your dad’s.”

  Zach shifted in his chair until his back was turned to Vic. A silent commentary about Vic being his father, she thought. Her heart ached for them both.

  Vic pushed away from the counter. He gathered up the schoolwork that was spread across the table and picked up Zach’s backpack. Delaney watched him walk out of the kitchen, the strength of his body evident as he moved down the hall. It was his insides that were being ripped apart, she thought sadly. She knew the feeling.

  The click of his cowboy boots slowly faded.

  She busied herself making a sandwich, then handed it over to Zach. He took a big bite, then a swig from the glass of milk she placed in front of him.

  She sat down across from him again, absently pulling the crust off her own sandwich. “How do you like your new school?”

  He took another drink of milk, answering her with peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Ish okay.”

  “I just moved back here, you know. From Austin.”

  “You used to live here?”

  “Yep. I grew up here. I’ve known your dad for a long time.” Not that she knew what any of that history meant to him, if anything. He’d suggested that deal as a way to purge her from his life. But after they’d made love, he’d started to seem…different. Probably wishful thinking on her part. All she knew was that their relationship, uncertain as it was, had come to mean the world to her.

  Zach finished off his sandwich, washing it down with the last of his milk. “Did you know my mom, too? Before she died in the car crash?”

  She kept her face neutral. Sheila had been bossy and sexy and full of life. But they were treading in dangerous waters now, and she was afraid one false move could take Zach under and away from her. “Yes. I knew her.”

  His lips tightened into a thin, trembling line but he stayed quiet, just watching her.

  “Zach,” she said, forcing any residual anger she had toward Sheila out of her mind. “Your mom loved you. You know that, right?”

  He shook his head, his face contorting as his eyes brimmed and a fat tear slid down one cheek. “Do you want to know what she said?” He studied his hands.

  When he looked up, she nodded encouragingly. He was talking to her. Opening up. If she could find a way to help him connect with Vic…

  “My dad,” he blurted. “She said he left us both. Before I was born.” His tears flowed freely now. “How could he do that? And now he acts like he wants me. I hate him!”

  She reached across the table and gently laid her hand on top of his. She’d left Vic and he seemed to have forgiven her. Zach would grow to forgive his father, too. “Zach, I’ve seen in your dad’s eyes exactly how he feels about you. He loves you very much.”

  He hung his head, pulled his hand out from under hers. His shoulders lifted, slowly at first, then in a full-on heave. “She left me, too.”

  “It was an accident. She didn’t want to go away.”

  “My dad never wanted me. I shouldn’t be here.”

  She drew in a quiet breath. “Yes, you should. He does want you.” She believed that with all her heart. No matter why Vic hadn’t been there for Zach at the beginning, she knew he was here for his son now. “No matter what, never doubt that.”

  Zach looked up at her, his icy blue eyes rimmed red. “Does he love you?”

  She tucked her hands under her thighs, her breath suddenly constricting. To be loved by Vic Vargas—the mere idea of it sent a thrill of longing through her body. She yearned for it, wished it would happen, wanted to fill his heart as much as he’d filled hers.

  “I think he used to.”

  Zach’s tears dried up, his trembling lip gaining control again. “But not anymore?” That had earned his instant sympathy. Comrades in rejection.

  “It’s complicated.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m eleven.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “So why doesn’t he love you anymore?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, desperately wishing she could change the direction of this conversation. “People can fall out of love,” she said finally.

  But she’d never fallen out of love with Vic, she realized with pure clarity. She’d fought it. Had been distracted by life. By nightmares. But deep down, she’d always loved him. A thrilling combination of heat and longing surged through her, taking her breath away. She loved Vic Vargas. Always had, always would.

  Through hazy eyes, she saw the puzzled expect
ation on Zach’s face. He was waiting for an answer that he could understand.

  “People can find love, too, Zach. Even when they aren’t looking, or don’t think they wanted to find it, they can discover that love fills a hole in them”—she put her fingers to her chest—“right here, in their heart. A hole they didn’t even know they had.” Her voice broke. She took Zach’s hand again. “Like how your dad feels about you now. You’re a part of him, Zach. You’re his son.”

  “She’s right, you know.” Vic’s deep voice came from behind her.

  Delaney’s heart lodged in her throat. She and Zach both spun around. How long had he been standing there?

  He walked to the table, slow and purposeful. He took his cowboy hat off and hung it on the back of a chair, sitting on the one next to it. “Sometimes the truth is hard to hear.”

  “Mom says…said…lies are bad.”

  “I agree. I won’t ever lie to you, son. Which is why you can believe me when I tell you, I didn’t leave you.” He hesitated before continuing. “I’ve never told anyone but your Uncle Ray about this, but maybe it’s time.” He leaned forward, looking pointedly in the boy’s eyes. “Zach, I didn’t know about you.”

  Delaney froze. Vic hadn’t known about Zach?

  Zach’s eyes brimmed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Delaney focused on the boy. Obviously he was shocked at hearing something about his mother that painted her in a different light. She willed Vic to have the strength and compassion not to say too much. Zach was just a kid.

  “Your mom thought she could give you a great life on her own. And she did, just as long as she was able.” Vic’s smoky eyes grew shiny, his carefully controlled emotions shimmering in them. “Now it’s my turn. If you’ll give me a chance.”

  “She kept me a secret from you?” Zach asked uncertainly, wavering between disbelief…and a grain of hope.