Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  Delaney had Zach folded up in her arms, and suddenly Vic didn’t want to move. He wanted to commit to memory the way his woman hugged his son, the true affection Delaney had for Zach. Behaving just as a mother would.

  Vic flagged down the sheriff’s cruiser as it pulled up, and pointed Braido in Locke’s direction.

  Vic finally felt his body uncoil. It was over. He jogged over to Zach and Delaney, and wrapped them both up in his own grateful hug.

  “It ith over,” Esperanza said with a nod.

  Flanked by Delaney on one side and Zach on the other, Vic looked at the curandera. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted toward the clearing sky. The rain had stopped.

  The storm had passed.

  “Si,” he said. It was finished. Completely over. “Gracias, Doña Esperanza.”

  “Por nada,” she said, directing her face toward him, her sightless eyes glinting mysteriously. “Ay, eres un milagro, Vicente Vargas.”

  Hell, no. He was the furthest thing from a miracle. He was just a man who had realized what was most important in life. A son he loved. A woman he adored. And a future filled with them both.

  And he couldn’t forget the curandera. She’d made her peace with her part in Delaney’s trauma, and in the process, had helped give Delaney a chance to be free of her past. He’d always be grateful to her for that.

  “Oh, my God! Sheila…” Zach’s scared voice snapped him back to the present. His son ran to the side of the Chain Tree, crouching next to the little black piglet. “Is she…”

  Vic bent down next to them. The pig was in bad shape. Its leg was twisted in the wrong direction, but the resilient animal stirred.

  Delaney came up behind them. “I’ll call Doc Clinton,” she said. He handed her his cell phone.

  “Please,” Zach said, wiping away a tear. “Help her, Dad.”

  Vic stared at his son for a beat.

  Dad.

  The word sounded like heaven coming from Zach’s mouth. Vic unclipped his phone from his waistband and handed it to Delaney, thanking her with his eyes. She smiled at him as he pulled Zach into another hug.

  “We’ll do everything we can, son,” he said, hoping Sheila would live. That he’d have the opportunity to show Zach how much he loved him. That they could all start healing, together.

  “Vic,” Delaney said, her voice tight, but a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Look.” She pointed to her cell phone screen.

  He followed her gaze to the cell phone screen. Three forty-five. Three forty-five p.m., not a.m. but still… Warmth spread through him, taking hold. Twelve years ago, he’d let Delaney down, but this time he’d been there for her.

  Tears shone in her eyes. “You made it.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and beamed her a smile. “I did.”

  Epilogue

  “You really need a pillow with flowers for this couch,” Laney said. She felt Vic watching her as she sat curled up across the room from him, not five days since their ordeal.

  His lips quirked into a grin. “You act like you own the place.”

  “Let’s just say I’m tight with the owner.”

  “You might have to do some convincing to get floral prints in here. He’s a little inflexible. Stubborn even, from what I hear.”

  Her stomach fluttered. “I seem to recall that he’s quite flexible. Dexterous, too.”

  His eyes darkened. “You remember that, do you?”

  “Five nights and no sleepwalking. I can remember everything with startling clarity,” she said, smiling wide. Like the way Vic smelled after a shower, the feel of his skin against hers when they lay together in bed, the way he read the newspaper from cover to cover. The way he smiled at his son.

  A rustling sound came from the kitchen, followed by Zach coming into the room, potbelly pig at his side. “I figured out a name for the foal,” Zach said. “I want to name her Milagro. Just like what Esperanza called you, Dad.”

  Vic looked satisfied as he nodded his head. “I’d say this whole little family of ours is a miracle.”

  A horn honked outside. “That’s Eva,” Vic said. “Ready to spend the night with your cousin and Tío Ray?”

  Zach smiled and waved before darting out of the room. A moment later, they heard the slam of a car door.

  “He seems to be doing better,” Delaney said.

  “A little obsessed with that pig.” Vic’s face softened into a grin. “But, yeah, he’s doing great. Thanks to Jasper.”

  She could see him struggling with his emotions. “I don’t blame Jasper,” she said. Derek had pieced together the events, both past and present. They’d been kids. Jasper had trusted his uncle. Had gone to Esperanza with good intentions. The rest was history.

  Vic sat lost in thought. Finally, he said, “No. I don’t either. He didn’t know what his uncle had planned that night. He just obeyed the authority in his life, the way his upbringing had taught him. Locke will go to trial. And Zach and you are both okay.” He smiled at her, and she melted inside. He gave her a kiss. “That’s all I care about.”

  That’s all she cared about, too. Whether or not Locke found redemption for his sins was between him and God. Delaney knew he’d have plenty of time in prison to contemplate his actions and what he’d truly sacrificed along the way. That knowledge allowed her to let go of her pain.

  “I owe you, you know,” she said finally, broaching the subject that had been on her mind for the last few days. She’d been so lost in her relief and Vic had scarcely been without Zach, that they hadn’t had the opportunity. But now…

  “For what?”

  “I was telling you where to meet me, but the phone dropped.” And he’d known exactly where to go. Seeing him coming hell-bent for leather to rescue her and Zach had been like a beacon of light to her. Her knight in shining armor. “You went to the Chain Tree. How did you know?”

  His eyes blazed, looking straight into her soul. “I learn from my mistakes, Laney.”

  Vic was so sure. So confidant. Did she learn from her mistakes, too, she wondered?

  She saw his love for her written all over his face, and blinked away her doubt. Yes, she’d learned. She was here with Vic Vargas. She was done running. Her therapist had been right—she’d had to face the past to stop the sleepwalking. Truly face the past. Coming back to San Julio had only been the first step. She’d had to face the rape. She’d finally told Carmen, and her friend had stood by her.

  But mostly, she’d finally had to face the fact that she’d lost Vic all those years ago. Had to face that she’d never stopped loving him. Only then could she heal. But now the past had been pieced together, and she was only looking forward.

  “You said you owe me,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So how do I get to collect?” Propping his hands on the armrests of the couch, he leaned down, his lips brushing her cheek. “Like this?”

  Her body reacted instantaneously, heat spiraling into all every vital nerve ending. However—and whenever—Vic wanted to collect, she was game. Her eyes eased closed as he trailed his kisses along her jaw, finding her ear and nibbling. Could she be this lucky? Could love be this easy?

  “Come to think of it,” she murmured, raking her fingers through his hair, breathing him in, “you owe me, too.”

  His feathery kiss led the way to her other ear. “Yeah, how’s that?”

  Her body tingled from his touch. “Because I came to you that first night,” she breathed. Her pulse flared as she remembered the tail end of that moment. The shrinks had been right—she never had done anything during her sleepwalking events that she wouldn’t have done in real life. Her sleepwalking hadn’t made her do something out of character or against her will—it had allowed her to do something she truly wanted. Needed. She’d wanted to be there, in Vic’s bed that night. Ironically enou
gh, her sleepwalking had started her on a path to a deeper healing.

  She wrapped her arms around Vic, pulling him closer, determined to make some new memories that she could remember in their entirety.

  He pulled away, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Welcome home, Laney.”

  She grinned up at him, emblazoning this moment as the first of her new memories. As long as she was with Vic, she was home. It was as simple as that.

  Acknowledgments

  A huge jumbo-sized thank you to the a-mazing Rochelle French. The time and effort you put into this book was above and beyond, and I can’t thank you enough. I love your “tingle” notes and your smiley faces. Also, big shout outs to Nina Bruhns for her wicked eleventh hour editing, again to Rochelle for her eleventh and three quarters hour reading, and to Vicki Wilkerson and the Dead Sexy team for loving the Deadly Legends trilogy.

  A giant thank you to Kim Weber for reading such an early version of this book and making me stick with Esperanza and her lisp, to Kym Roberts for helping come up with the titles, to Wendy Lyn Watson for her continual guidance as we walk around the lake, and to the Lit Girls, just because they’re the Lit Girls. As always, hugs and love to my family, for everything.

  About the Author

  Melissa Bourbon, who sometimes answers to her Latina-by-marriage name Misa Ramirez, gave up teaching middle and high school kids in Northern California to write full-time amidst horses and Longhorns in North Texas. She fantasizes about spending summers writing in quaint, cozy locales, has a love/hate relationship with yoga and chocolate, is devoted to her family, and can’t believe she’s lucky enough to be living the life of her dreams.

  She is the author of the Lola Cruz Mystery series with St. Martin’s Minotaur and Entangled Publishing, and A Magical Dressmaking Mystery series with NAL, and is the co-author of The Tricked-out Toolbox, a nonfiction marketing book for writers.

  Visit Melissa’s website at http://melissabourbon.com

  LIKE her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMelissaBourbon.MisaRamirez

  Follow her on Twitter: @MisaRamirez and @MelissaBourbon

  If you loved SACRIFICE OF PASSION, be sure to check out Melissa Bourbon Ramirez’s BARE-NAKED LOLA. Going undercover has never been hotter!

  Going undercover is second nature for Private Investigator Lola Cruz, but she’s out of her league when the case of a murdered Royals Courtside Dancer leads her to a local nudist resort. Parading around the sidelines of Sacramento’s professional basketball scene in a barely-there cheerleading outfit is one thing—but parading around in nothing but a smile? If she has any chance of hiding this from her traditional family and on-again/off-again boyfriend Jack, she’s going to have a lot more than her duct tape bra and killer dance moves to keep under wraps…

  Read on for a sneak peek at Melissa Bourbon Ramirez’s BARE-NAKED LOLA…

  Chapter One

  Abundantly flowing locks, perfectly tanned bodies, and perky breasts with enticingly rounded cleavage—these were not the things I’d expected to see walking into the Camacho & Associates private investigation office on a Wednesday morning. Pero, Dios mío, that’s exactly what I did see. Two women lounging at the conference table, each exhibiting their own take on “aloof,” stopped me dead with their blinding beauty. I was afraid I’d be scarred for life.

  I could hate them on the spot, except, super-detective that I am, I knew they had to be clients. And clients meant that I remained employed as a detective. Hating them for their otherworldly beauty? Not allowed.

  Manny Camacho, owner of the small investigative firm in Sacramento, ex-cop, and super-P.I., stood in the doorway of his office quietly talking with yet another attractive woman. It might as well have been the Miss America pageant—there was no escaping them. This one was older than the others by a good fifteen years or so, but she had the body of a twenty-year-old. She had a long neck, nary a wrinkle in sight, and a tall, gazellelike body. Her hair shone like black velvet and was pulled back into a severe bun. Her angular face and chiseled cheekbones intensified her exotic appearance.

  Dancer. Had to be.

  Reilly Fuller, part-time clerk for the agency, scowled from her desk.

  “¿Qué pasó?” I asked, stopping to get the 4-1-1.

  Her Spanish was limited—and often amounted to adding a strategic O to the end of a word—but she understood me and liked to use what she knew.

  “No se,” she said, sounding very disgruntled that she didn’t know anything.

  Reilly made a strangled noise that left me wondering if all the colorful dye she used on her hair had finally done some deeper damage, perhaps affecting her vocal cords. Reilly lived for gossip, though at the moment she was oddly silent.

  I heard the zip-zip of the surveillance camera bracketed to the wall in the top corner of the room. Ah, so that was the source of Reilly’s grief. Neil, a caveman detective who could scarcely string words together in a sentence, but who was a master of technology—and Reilly’s bed buddy—was in his lair watching the Barbie show.

  “Remember our motto,” I said, patting my thigh and speaking softly so only she could hear. “More to love.”

  She blinked heavily and patted down her green color-washed hair. “Right. More to love, and Neil does love this,” she said, doing a subtle chair shimmy. I swallowed my laugh. Reilly was a JLO wannabe—only not Latina, pero more full-figured, and monolingual.

  But otherwise, hey, they were like twins.

  I noticed Sadie, fellow detective and my own personal nemesis, fidgeting uncomfortably at the table, client intake form clasped in a brown folder in front of her. Her spiky, red-tipped blond hair seemed to inch up every time one of the two women at the table moved the slightest muscle.

  I’d recently surmised that Sadie and Manny had an on-again/off-again thing that defied explanation. Sadie wasn’t the lovable type. Neither was Manny, for that matter. He was tall and dark; she was petite and fair. He was bitter coffee and clipped sentences; she was Spicy Hot V8 with attitude and too much lime. He was un poquito intense and brooding, and she was, well, a shrew. What kept bringing them back together was a mystery to me, but some things were just better left unsolved.

  From my vantage point at Reilly’s desk, I took a closer gander at the two women at the table. They seemed familiar somehow. I searched the recesses of my brain for answers. Were they in a breast-enhancement ad? Poster girls for plastic surgery? As much as I wanted to pull the information out of my mind, I couldn’t quite manage it.

  Manny walked to the table, his barely perceptible limp altering his gait just enough to make a girl curious about what had caused it. I was plenty curious, but I had no idea. War wound from his time on the police force was my guess. His gaze caught mine. “Dolores.”

  He flicked his cleft chin toward the table and I threw up my hand in an all-encompassing greeting. “Hello.”

  It was my afternoon to man the agency so the other detectives—Manny, Sadie, and Neil—could be in the field. We rotated, though with my junior detective status, the ink on my California private investigator’s license barely dry, I usually pulled bonus shifts for more pay. My docket wasn’t as full as any of the three senior associates, though after my recent successes in solving several local crimes I was hoping that would change. I’d worked my behind off. Time to reap the benefits.

  The exotic gazelle girl whispered into Manny’s ear. His arms were crossed over his chest and his biceps bulged under his black T-shirt. There was something peculiar about the way he was acting. He was almost, er, pleasantly attentive. Very unlike him. He subscribed to the same school of communication Neil Lashby did: cut to the chase. Punto.

  “Dolores,” he barked.

  I jumped. Busted for staring. Damn, not a good P.I. move. “Yes?”

  He crooked a finger. “Ven aquí.”

  Apparently his
pleasant attentiveness didn’t extend to me. His words hadn’t sounded like a friendly “come here.” I ran through all the things Manny could have a beef with me about. My outfit topped the list. October usually had decent weather, but Sacramento was in the midst of an Indian summer and the air was heavy with uncommon humidity. I’d caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass as I’d entered the agency: my salmon-colored blouse clung to me like plastic wrap. In the right situation—say in the privacy of Jack Callaghan’s bedroom—this could be a good thing. At work? Not so much.

  But I held my chin high and walked over to Manny and the gazelle. “Yes?”

  “Turn around.”

  “¿Cómo?” My astonishment at the order pinballed through my mind and I slipped out of my dominant English and into my native Spanish.

  “Por favor,” he added as an afterthought. Speaking Spanish and being detectives were probably the only two things Manny and I had in common. He was my mentor and damn good at his job. I worked hard to impress him and still stay true to myself—not always easy, since I was Dolores Cruz to him (and to mi familia), but Lola Cruz to my friends. In my mind, I was a combination, but I didn’t think anyone really knew both sides of me.

  Except maybe Jack Callaghan. He’d gotten a few glimpses of both Dolores and Lola. And he seemed to like them both.

  “It’s about our new case,” he said. “Turn around.”

  I heard the faint zip of the surveillance camera and I knew my Neanderthal coworker wasn’t missing a single beat from the lair, his personal high-tech office, just waiting to see what I’d do. A solid but basic roundhouse kick, perhaps? Or maybe I’d go airborne kicking both legs, one at a time, with a double whammy. Not a bad idea. I weighed my options, in case it came to that. Which it just might.

  In the end, I did neither. If it was for a case, I could only assume Manny had a reason for wanting to check out my backside. I just wasn’t convinced it was a good reason. My black capris were probably just as clingy as my blouse, but I couldn’t help that and I was not going to let sticky skin stop me from doing my job. Sucking in a bolstering breath and straightening my spine, I turned around in a slow circle, hands on hips. I turned to Manny and the gazelle again and waited. She was so familiar, but where did I know her from?