Ransom My Heart

by Gayle Wilson

  “Something just went a little wrong with the arrangements,” Chase comforted softly, squeezing her elbow. He could probably hear the unraveling of control in her strained voice. “They’ll still want to deal,” he reassured her. “We just have to find them.”

  She nodded, not believing a word he was saying. She was to blame for what had happened. She had known that since the day she’d let them take her baby.

  “We’ll get her back,” Chase said. “I swear to you, sweetheart, I’ll find her. You just have to trust me.”

  A soft sob of reaction to his kindness caught at her throat, and embarrassed to cry in front of him, knowing that crying wouldn’t change anything, she tried to turn it into a laugh. It wasn’t a very effective laugh, a little strangled, and at the same time she had to wipe at the welling tears. She hadn’t even been aware that she was crying until she had looked up to explain and realized Chase’s face was only a blur.

  “I guess I don’t have a good enough track record to make you believe you can trust me,” he said. His hand lifted to touch a spot beside her mouth where an escaping tear had begun to streak through the dirt, and then his thumb moved slowly across her cheekbone, brushing away another.

  So gentle, she thought. She had never forgotten how he had touched her that night, those big, strong hands moving with slow, sensuous intent over her body. The thought must have been reflected in her eyes because, despite the situation, despite the fact that she knew he hadn’t been trying to seduce her when he had touched her, his hand hesitated.

  His eyes changed, probably reacting to what was clearly in hers. And then his palms were framing her face, lifting it to his. His mouth began to lower and she felt her own open. Inviting. Welcoming. This was right. It didn’t feel wrong in any way. Not even out of place. Even with Mandy in danger, it was right that Chase was holding her. That they were holding one another.

  He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, could almost taste the sweetness of his mouth. Never forgotten. The memories had never been lost in spite of the years, the bitterness, the regret. Once more she was in Chase McCullar’s arms, exactly where she wanted to be, watching his mouth lower to fasten over hers.

  “Forgive me, Miss Kincaid. I seem to be interrupting something very…private, but I had thought you came here to see me.”

  At the first syllable of Spanish, even while her own mind was lost in the seductive gentleness of his touch, Chase had shoved her behind him, his right hand automatically finding the grip of the gun. Almost before she realized what was happening, he had placed his body between hers and the mustached man who stood at the end of the narrow street.

  Instead of staying where he’d put her, Samantha leaned far enough to the side that she could look around Chase’s shoulder. She had thought she recognized the voice, and the hope that recognition engendered overrode any consideration for her own safety.

  “It’s him,” she said to Chase. Even in the fading light she could see well enough to make the identification. “It’s the man who took Mandy.”

  “Are you sure?” Chase asked. Together they watched him walk toward them, unintimidated by the weapon Chase held trained on his midsection.

  “It’s him,” she said again. “I’m sure.”

  There was no one else. Only this one man, still moving down the street toward them. It was so quiet that they could hear the sound of his boot heels striking against the hardpacked earth of the street.

  “Why don’t you stop right there, and we’ll talk,” Chase suggested.

  The man smiled. The dark mustache that drooped around the corners of his mouth moved with the motion.

  “Amanda’s father,” he said. It hadn’t been phrased as a question, and Samantha felt sickness churn in her stomach at the sudden realization of what was about to happen.

  “Mr. Kincaid hired me to bring the ransom down here,” Chase said. “And to escort Amanda’s mother. To deal with the details for her. To deal with you.”

  The dark eyes studied Chase’s features, and then they moved to Samantha. She had no idea what her expression might reveal, but she tried to keep her emotions from being reflected in her face. She met his eyes with a silent entreaty. Sam had warned her this would happen.

  Not like this, she found herself praying, Not in this way. Please don’t let Chase learn the truth from this man.

  Finally his gaze came back to Chase. “I think mine was a natural mistake, considering the…circumstances. But I’m confused as to why Miss Kincaid thinks she needs someone to deal with me.” He looked at Samantha again and said calmly, “You have the money. I have the child. I fail to see what we need to talk about.”

  “The baby’s here?” Chase asked.

  Samantha held her breath, waiting.

  “Nearby,” the man with the mustache said simply. His eyes were still on hers, and she thought she could read the natural question in them. Or maybe that was just her guilt.

  “You did bring the ransom, Miss Kincaid?” he asked.

  That was the vital question, of course. One she wasn’t supposed to answer. That was Chase’s job, and even as she thought it, he spoke. “We brought half a million dollars. It’s all Mr. Kincaid could manage in the time you gave him.”

  The dark eyes moved back to focus on Chase’s face, assessing him as the old man’s had done. “That’s why you were late?” he asked. “Because there was some trouble getting the money together?” There was silence for a heartbeat, and through it the man’s gaze remained steady on Chase’s face.

  “We’re late because somebody ambushed us,” Chase admitted. “Somebody tried to kill us.”

  “An attempt to relieve you of what you were carrying,” the kidnapper said, seeming to dismiss the attack as unimportant. “Is that the money?” he asked, pointing to the single suitcase on the ground beside their feet.

  “Half a million dollars. A hell of a lot of money,” Chase reminded him, “which will buy a lot of things. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

  “But still, it’s only half of what I told you to bring, Miss Kincaid. I’m very disappointed. I thought you understood the requirements for getting your daughter back.”

  Samantha was biting the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to speak, the urge to promise him anything. This was Chase’s job, his area of expertise. This was what they had hired him to do, and she couldn’t afford to screw the negotiations up by saying something stupid, not with Mandy’s life at stake. Chase had said all along that they could probably cut a deal, and with only half the ransom, she knew they didn’t have any choice but to try.

  “She understood,” Chase answered for her. “The problem was, as I’ve explained, it was impossible for Mr. Kincaid to raise that kind of money on such short notice. His assets are primarily in land, and that’s not very liquid. Not in today’s economy.”

  There was a short silence as the dark eyes again seemed to consider the accuracy of that. “And in some very prime livestock,” the kidnapper suggested, “which could easily have been sold. As could the stocks and bonds. Or some of those extremely expensive horses. Mr. Kincaid also owns a bank in San Antonio and another in Austin, I believe. Could not one of his own banks have arranged a loan for Mr. Kincaid?”

  So he had done his homework, Chase thought, reevaluating the situation. He had been wrong about that as well as about a lot of other things. Amateurs? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Perhaps,” Chase acknowledged. “If he had been given more time perhaps he could, but what we have with us now is $500,000 in U.S. currency. Unmarked. No effort will be made to trace it or you. A simple exchange is all that’s needed. The quicker, the better. You know that as well as I do, especially considering that someone else down here is also aware that I’m carrying Mr. Kincaid’s money.”

  “But that’s not my fault, my friend,” the man said calmly. “Or my problem.”

  “If whoever ambushed us followed us here, it might be.”

  “You weren’t followed,
” he said with conviction. “You may be at rest on that account.”

  “The old man who brought us here? He works for you?”

  The mustache moved slightly, again indicating amusement. “Your guide works for no one except his own people. We are simply…acquaintances.”

  “But that is how you knew we were here?”

  “We’ve been waiting for you, watching the camp. After all, this is where we told you to come.”

  Chase didn’t believe him, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but doing the deal. Doing his job.

  “Half a million dollars in exchange for the baby,” he offered again. This was the important part. “Take the money, and it’s all over and done. That’s a big payoff for a few minutes’ work.”

  The kidnapper’s eyes focused again on Samantha. “Your father has a reputation for being a man of his word, a man of honor. It seems a shame that you haven’t inherited that quality.”

  Chase laughed, the sound of it short, harsh, and deliberately mocking, but it prevented Samantha from having to formulate an answer. “That’s a pretty ludicrous accusation from someone who steals babies for a living. A man of honor? I suppose you believe that’s what you are?”

  The dark eyes jerked back to Chase, and there was anger reflected in them for the first time. “Money’s a tool. Something that can be used for many purposes, both good and bad. Perhaps I believe my purposes are more noble than Mr. Kincaid’s. Or,” he added, “that my needs are greater.”

  “Maybe so, but let’s remember that Sam Kincaid earned this money. You’re just stealing it. It’s that simple. And it’s not really a matter of honor at all.”

  “Nothing is ever simple, Mr. McCullar. Not in my country. Not now.”

  “Political,” Chase said, letting his disgust show. “That’s what this is all about. Antigovernment crap.”

  The dark man smiled again. “Pro-Mexico, perhaps.”

  “Whatever your needs, this is all we have to give you,” Chase said. “Take it or leave it.” He didn’t bother to hide his contempt as he shoved the suitcase forward with his foot. He pushed too hard, and the case fell onto its side, a small fan of dust billowing out around the edges. “Do we have a deal?”

  The dark eyes held Chase’s for a moment, not reacting to the insults, and then they moved back to Samantha’s face.

  “When I have the money—the full ransom—you may have your daughter.”

  Still she held her tongue, waiting for Chase to respond. His job, she told herself. He knew what he was doing. Then, in disbelief at what was happening, she watched the Mexican turn and begin to walk toward the buildings on his right. He had just appeared out of the shadowed twilight, out of nowhere, and if he moved out of “her sight, she was afraid he might disappear as easily.

  “No!” she called and was infinitely grateful when he hesitated.

  “Samantha,” Chase warned, his voice very quiet. She couldn’t tell what was in his tone. Probably fury. But she couldn’t let the kidnapper walk away. She couldn’t be this close and then—

  “No what, Miss Kincaid?” the man said, turning back to face them.

  “Just…no. Please, don’t go. I’ll get you the money. I’ll bring the rest of it back down here. You have my word, but I need to have Mandy now. I need to take her home. She’s just a little girl. She’s bound to be frightened. She’s never been away from home for this long before, and…with strangers, people she doesn’t know and trust around her, she’ll be afraid. You said you have a daughter.” The last was a plea, a reminder, perhaps, of how he would feel. “You have to give me Mandy. I can’t go back without her.”

  “You’re suggesting that I should give you Amanda, and you will return with the rest of the ransom.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I swear to you.”

  “I’ll bring it,” Chase interrupted, perhaps recognizing defeat now that Samantha had made the offer.

  She knew he would be angry with her, but she couldn’t help it. He was just going to let the man walk away, and she couldn’t have allowed that to happen.

  “You give us the baby now,” Chase continued. “You tell me when and where, somewhere close to the border this time, no more of this wilderness run-around—and I’ll personally deliver the rest of the money to you.”

  “And you, too, will give your word? On your honor, Mr. McCullar?”

  There was a subtle challenge in the question, and she prayed Chase would agree. Anything to get Mandy back. Promise him anything he wanted. She would see to it when they got home that the money was delivered. She just needed to get Mandy and get out of here before something else happened. Chase had warned her. If they didn’t do it right the first time, they might not get a second chance.

  “My word of honor,” Chase agreed quietly, and she closed her eyes in relief.

  “Perhaps it’s lucky for us all that you, too, have a certain reputation, Mr. McCullar,” the kidnapper said. “Another man of honor.” Then he turned to his right, to the direction in which he had been heading when Samantha stopped him, and he nodded.

  Chapter Nine

  It took a few seconds for Chase to figure it out. Maybe because what happened next had been so far from what he’d been expecting. Maybe because they had lied to him from the beginning. And now, of course, he understood why.

  He hadn’t ever had that much to do with kids—not enough to know how to judge their ages, but the little girl who stepped uncertainly into the narrow, dusty street and then began running toward them, her face full of joy, wasn’t a baby. That much was certain. When he did the math in his head, he figured she must be four years old. At least close to that.

  That calculation had come later. Even in the shadowed street where she appeared, there wasn’t much doubt in his mind who Amanda was. Her eyes, wide with delight now at the sight of her mother, were blue—that clear, pale farseeing blue of her Scots heritage. Her hair was fairer than Chase’s, but his had been that color when he was little, that same towheaded blondness that would darken to wheat with age.

  He could see a lot of Samantha there, too, of course. The delicate shaping of her nose, even the same dusting of freckles across it. The elegance of the bone structure that would become more pronounced, and more beautiful, as she grew up. And the translucent clarity of her skin.

  But the strong McCullar genes marked this child as surely as they had always marked him and Mac. No one could ever doubt they were brothers or doubt they were their father’s sons. That same heritage marked this little girl as surely as it had shown up so surprisingly in Rio’s dark features, despite the strength and purity of his mother’s criollo bloodlines.

  The little girl running toward them was his. A McCullar. His blood. His daughter. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind, but suddenly there was a hole in his gut. At least it felt that way. Like somebody had cut out the center of his body and left it empty, standing open to the cold, howling winds of shock and loss.

  He couldn’t even make himself watch as Samantha knelt to catch the small body that hurtled into her arms. He didn’t listen to the sounds of their soft crying or to anything they said to each other. It wasn’t that the vacuum that had surrounded him when he first saw Samantha again had reformed. It wasn’t just shock. What he was feeling was anger. Sick fury. He had a daughter, a little girl who looked like Samantha, and he hadn’t even known. They hadn’t told him. The damn arrogant Kincaids hadn’t intended that he should ever know.

  Not good enough echoed over and over in his head as all the pieces that had been so puzzling about this kidnapping began to fall into place. Samantha’s claim that there were no pictures of the baby. Their certainty that this wasn’t about her husband trying to get custody. “Believe me,” Samantha had said, “Amanda’s father isn’t interested.”

  She was wrong about that. He would have been interested, Chase thought He damn sure would have been interested in his own child. If he had only known…If he had been told. Five long years. All of them lost. Wasted. S
o damn much time out of her life was just…gone. Time out of his life. Time they should have known each other, have. spent together. Time that couldn’t ever be made up, a loss that couldn’t ever be fixed.

  “Would you bring me the money, Mr. McCullar?” the kidnapper asked, the words breaking into Chase’s anger and desolation, into his sense of loss, and the realization that something infinitely precious had been stolen from him.

  That was his job—just delivering the money. That was all Samantha Kincaid had wanted him for, he thought. Not to be a father to the little girl they’d created together. That realization also howled through the cold, empty place where his heart used to be.

  He reached down for the handle of the suitcase and found that his hand was shaking. He couldn’t seem to see the bag because his vision was blurred. He knew the case was there, somewhere just in front of him, lying in the dust of the street where he’d kicked it.

  He closed his eyes, willing his brain to start functioning. He would have time for emotion later. Now he had to get them both out of here, he told himself. He had to get them both home safely. This was still dangerous territory, and he still had a job to do for Sam Kincaid. The job he’d been hired to do. The hired help.

  He finally found the handle, groping for it almost like a blind man. He picked up the bag and began to walk toward the man with the mustache, trying not to think about Samantha and the little girl kneeling together behind him. Still excluding him.

  “You tell me when and where you want the rest. Somewhere where nothing can interfere,” he said to the kidnapper as he handed over the suitcase. The man’s dark eyes were full of what looked like sympathy. Compassion maybe, Chase thought. Like Samantha’s had been. Only he didn’t need or want their damn compassion. He never had. Not from any of them.

  “Acuña,” the kidnapper suggested. “Saturday. Have a late dinner at Crosby’s.”

  “Somebody’s going to show up this time?” Chase asked.