“What kind of problems?”
“They might not allow certain activities on the ranch if they find it to be a habitat.”
I yanked on my hair. “You mean like oil production?”
“That and potentially the use of the land for grazing or farming.”
“So basically everything.” I tossed the papers on the coffee table and propped my feet on it. “So if we find the damn things, we might get past eminent domain but lose everything else in the process.”
“That’s why I didn’t approach the USDA. Once we get that ball rolling, we won’t be able to stop it.”
I covered my face with my hand. “Let me talk to Granddaddy. See what he wants to do.”
“When you do, see if he’s got the napkin Hedley gave him spelling out the terms of the deal.”
“I’ll ask.” I felt in my pocket. No phone. I glanced to the dressing table in front of the mirror. No phone.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. I couldn’t recall having it with me all day.
“Are you going to call him?” He tapped the arm of the chair impatiently.
“I think I left my damn phone at home.”
“Have one of your minions go get it before you take off for the interview.”
I dropped my feet to the floor. “You interviewing to be my manager?”
“Sounds like you need one,” he shot back. “Get me that napkin. And charm the hell out of Drusilla. Do you have any idea what kind of favors I had to call in to get that interview arranged?”
“All you had to do was drop my name.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll send my bill to your accountant.”
“Don’t bother. She’s on her honeymoon in New Zealand.”
“Did you know last month she made me redo the whole bill because she said I overcharged a hundred bucks? Seriously.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled. “Vivian isn’t messing around.”
“I sent her a hundred dollar bill.”
“Guess I should let her keep it as a bonus.” Note to self to give her a hard time about that.
“I’m gonna need a fucking sabbatical after dealing with all your shit.” He gathered his briefcase and stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
I parked the truck in the underground garage, a heaviness weighing me down. We’d said our goodbyes this morning, but I still didn’t feel right leaving Muriella behind. Not with things like this. Not to deal with any more flashbacks on her own.
I checked my watch. She should be home from school by now. Maybe I could talk her into coming with me. But no. I had to give her this time. Let her figure out on her own she could lean on me. Because she would. I felt it down to my depths.
The elevator doors slid open onto Muriella’s floor. I hesitated as I unlocked the door. Damn it, I didn’t want to do this interview. Why hadn’t Zegas scheduled it here in the city?
The faint scent of something burning hit my nose.
“Muriella?”
Silence answered me.
I checked the kitchen. It looked as it had this morning when I left. Tidy, that damn dishtowel folded by the sink.
I forged on to my bedroom, found my phone on the dresser. A zillion missed calls from Zegas—cell phone, office, hell, even his wife’s phone—littered the screen. There was one at the bottom from the ranch. I’d call back once I got on my way.
No sign of Muriella. Probably stayed late at church.
As I moved back toward the front door, the smoky smell hit me again. I detoured back to the kitchen, made sure the stove and oven weren’t on.
All clear, I stopped in the foyer with my hand on the doorknob. I doubled back to the living room, where the scent was stronger.
When I saw the condition of the room, my blood ran cold.
Muriella’s purse lay limply on its side on the sofa. Its contents were scattered across the cushions. A gallon of milk still in the bag sat on the coffee table. Ashes littered the hardwoods around her chair.
With a shaky finger, I dialed her number. A phone buzzed face down on the floor.
I sank to my knees and picked up the device. A fear like I’d never known gripped me by the throat.
Where are you?
Chapter Forty
Muriella
I’d procrastinated after escaping to church.
The apartment would be empty, and that wasn’t so appealing. I’d lingered in the deserted chapel, lit a candle for Mama and Carlos, apologized to God for being so angry, and prayed Stone had a safe journey to Texas.
I wandered around admiring the Christmas decorations near the apartment until I’d grown cold. Even that didn’t lift my spirits. After one last detour to the market for some milk, I’d run out of ways to avoid going home.
“Hi, Paul.” I held out a bag of popcorn from the old fashioned machine they had at the market. “I thought you might want a snack.”
“Thank you, Miss Muriella. You’re kind to think of me.” The doorman graciously accepted my offering as he held open the door to the lobby with his usual smile.
“It’s your favorite, right?”
“You and Miss Vivian are,” he corrected with a wink.
“We’d better be,” I teased, shifting the milk from one arm to the other.
A neighbor I recognized but didn’t know exited the elevator. She crossed the lobby to where we stood, pulling her cardigan more tightly closed when a gust of wind blasted through the open door. We nodded and smiled politely at one another before she informed Paul she needed to make arrangements to have a piece of furniture she’d donated to charity moved the following day.
I propped the door open with my foot and waved him on, dropping my keys in the process on the large rectangular doormat that adorned the outside entrance. They fell with a thud and a jingle, and I bent down to pick them up.
“Camila.”
I froze in my stooped position. The fingers that grasped the keys began to shake. No one had called me by that name in over twenty years, and my stomach turned into a nauseating vat of acid. Slowly, I rose to my full height, keeping my back turned until I was prepared to face the person who’d spoken to me.
Taking a deep breath, I turned, fear streaking down my spine.
“Camila, it’s me. Carlos.”
My brother was the exact image of our father. He reached for me, and I backed away. Carlos had put me on the boat all those years ago, and all the doubts about his motivation came back with a vengeance.
The longer I stared at him, the more obvious it became to me he had become a product of our father’s environment. Money provided an air of refinement, but the family business was ugly. It was evident in the deep lines in his face, the seemingly permanent downturn of his lips, and the hard edge of his eyes. I imagined they’d seen more than their fair share of horror, yet there was softness in them as he looked at me.
“Camila. You look just like Mama, only more beautiful,” he said in fluid Spanish. There was reverence in his voice, and I knew that was for our lost mother.
“Stop calling me that,” I said harshly in English, angry at the sound of my old name and at how easily I processed my native language, despite not having used it in years.
Carlos reached for my hand again, and I jerked away. Hurt flashed in his eyes. “Listen to me. You have to come with me now. Papa knows you’re alive. See?” He easily switched to English, hastily digging in the front pocket of his shirt and producing a folded newspaper clipping.
Warily, I accepted it and opened the paper to find a photo of Stone and me taken in front of Paths the last time he’d visited me there. Our bodies were close, and we stared adoringly at one another. The caption identified me by name. As crazy as it seemed, I’d forgotten everyone wanted a piece of Stone, that pictures like this made the paparazzi lots of money. I’d let my guard down.
“I’ve tried to make sure he never found you, but I couldn’t stop him from seeing this. I overheard him discussing with the General that he’d found you. I made up a st
ory about needing to meet with the Colombians so I could reach you first. Please. You have to come with me.”
I snorted. “You think I would just come with you? Trust you? How do I know you won’t take me to him?”
“I’m your brother,” he said.
“He was my father!” I shouted, not caring all the people walking past could hear.
Carlos started, taking a step backwards at my outburst. “I couldn’t stop him,” he whispered, his dark brown eyes haunted. “I did what I could.”
I tried to steady my temper. “I don’t blame you.”
That seemed to ease some of the pressure in him, though he was still rigid, hands balled into fists at his sides. “You should. I have no right to ask you to trust me, but I will do whatever I can to keep you away from him.”
Seeing Carlos after all these years twisted me up, confused me. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I wasn’t sure I couldn’t either. “Let’s go upstairs. We can talk there.”
We crossed the lobby, past Paul and my neighbor still engrossed at the desk. My brother stepped into the elevator behind me when it opened. I’d thought a million times about what it would be like to see Carlos or Papa again. Fear usually seized me at the thought of being discovered and having to face the man who haunted me. Strangely, now that it could really happen, there was only an eerie calm. I sent a quick prayer of thanks for that small peace and also asked God to protect Stone, Vivian, and Daniel. While I didn’t want to ever see my father again, I wasn’t scared of the possibility any longer. I wouldn’t run. If he knew of my whereabouts, then he knew of the people I loved, and he would use that against me to get whatever he wanted. I’d already survived hell. I’d do it again if it meant keeping my family safe.
I shot off a quick text to Stone, warning him Carlos was here and my father might not be far away. When the elevator arrived on my floor, I stepped out into the private lobby and unlocked my front door. Carlos trailed me inside and closed the door behind us. The click of the lock echoed in the foyer.
I moved farther into the apartment and had almost reached the living room when I stopped in my tracks. The scent of cigars hit my nose, and in that instant, I knew my freedom was gone.
Chapter Forty-One
Muriella
I followed the despicable scent to the living room, a thousand memories evoked by that smell. To think I’d once loved it, though I could barely remember that. None of the memories were good anymore. I looked back accusingly at my brother. Had he known what awaited us in my apartment?
Carlos swore under his breath and darted a protective arm out. He tried to jockey in front of me, but I refused to let him. I wasn’t going to hide. I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction of seeing me cower in fear. I wanted him to believe I’d forgotten him and everything he’d done to me.
He casually smoked in my favorite chair. It infuriated me to see him making himself comfortable in my home. He had aged, though he still appeared young for a man in his sixties. His hair was salt and pepper rather than the jet black it used to be. He was finely dressed in a black button-down shirt and charcoal gray slacks, and he still had the gold chain he’d worn in my childhood around his neck.
When he looked at me, I saw an anger that no doubt rivaled mine, but I also sensed he felt I’d betrayed him by staying away. That only stoked my fury. I was the one who was betrayed. I was the one who had the right to be angry. Not him.
“You look just like her, yet you surpass her beauty,” he murmured almost to himself in our native language. When I didn’t respond, he addressed me directly.
“A miracle has happened. My daughter has been raised from the dead.” He puffed on his cigar, and I showed great restraint by not ripping it from his lips and stubbing it out in his eye. “You have nothing to say to your papa after all these years?”
I bristled as it occurred to me he was actually happy about this reunion. In his eyes, he’d probably done nothing wrong. Had he blocked it from his mind? Forgotten the things he’d done to me?
He rose to his feet, and though he wasn’t as tall as he’d seemed when I was a child, he towered over me when he approached. I looked up at him defiantly, blatantly disrespecting him, but inside, every step he took toward me made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. He didn’t acknowledge my reaction to him, simply bent to kiss my cheek. His touch burned my skin. Bile rose in my throat, but I didn’t back away from him. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him believe I was afraid of him.
The plan. You must execute the plan.
I fashioned my features into something I prayed resembled a soft smile. “Papa.” It pained me to speak the word in such a way, as if I’d missed him when I did nothing but hate him.
When he reached to caress my face, I caught his wrist and held it away from me. My instincts overrode what I was supposed to do. I could never have fully prepared for this part of Daniel’s contingency plan. I heard Carlos’s soft gasp behind me. My father didn’t even flinch. He hadn’t forgotten a thing.
He was still too strong for me, and he ran his knuckles down my cheek as I struggled to keep his hands off of me. “My sweet girl. Papa has missed you so. I prayed every day for your return. When they told me you’d drowned, even showed me proof, I never believed it. I knew in my heart you were alive. Now you will return to your rightful place in our home.” He was almost cheery as he spoke, though there was steel in his voice.
Still I said nothing, keeping my eyes fixed on his, fighting to stifle my hatred. You have to do this so he doesn’t take you away. The reminder did little to help. Lord, give me strength.
He seemed to sense and enjoy the discomfort I struggled to hide. “Always such spirit, my Camila.” He patted my shoulder and smiled, and though it seemed innocent enough, I saw the danger in it. “Have a seat,” he offered graciously, as if it were his home instead of mine. I didn’t move as he sank back in my chair and propped his shoes on the ottoman.
He continued as if I had done as he asked. “Carlos, you are not with the Colombians. I don’t tolerate liars.”
“I saw this.” He handed the newspaper clipping to my father. “It looked like her, but it had been so long, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up, Papa. I came to find out if it was Camila, and if it was, to bring her home.”
My jaw clenched at my brother’s words, then he tapped me twice on my lower back. That was the signal we’d had when we were younger and needed to cover for some mischief we’d been in. It meant to go along with the story. A trickle of relief went through me until I realized it could all be part of a plan.
The fact was I didn’t know Carlos anymore.
My father’s eyes flicked from him and back to me, assessing. “Of course,” he finally said. “My dutiful son has always looked out for my best interests. You’ll come home with us.” Carlos gave a sharp nod, and I bristled at how easily he complied. “Well, since you’re too surprised to talk, Camila, we should be on our way.” He slapped both hands on the arms of the chair and began to rise.
“I made a mistake,” I said quietly. If I could stall, maybe my chances of getting away would increase.
He hesitated before slowly lowering back to his seat. I nearly exhaled audibly in relief. Suspicion clouded his gaze as he stared at me.
“Stop speaking in that filthy language,” he demanded. While they’d conversed in Spanish, I refused to. My father had made certain Carlos learned English perfectly for the business, yet I hadn’t been allowed. By speaking with no accent whatsoever, it was another insult to him and the culture he revered.
I swallowed hard, the words thick in my throat as I forced myself to comply. “I—” I dropped my eyes to the floor before I lifted them again. “It was hard when—” I couldn’t complete the sentence, and for a brief moment, understanding flitted across my father’s face at the unspoken sentence.
I cleared my throat. “I shouldn’t have run away. It was an adolescent mistake.” I clutched the hem of my sweater and quickly relea
sed it. Standing in front of him, pretending I regretted ever leaving was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.
“Why didn’t you return?”
“I was afraid,” I said hastily before taking a breath to slow down. “I saw what you did to people who upset you.”
His jaw went rigid. “You are my daughter.”
Then how could you do what you did to me? I screamed at him in my head, biting down on my lip to keep the words from escaping.
“Papa, I thought you’d see me as a traitor.” I shifted on my feet, pretending to be nervous that I’d made him angry as a child. “And then I found a good life in New York. I never tried to go back, even though I wanted to.”
Silence weighed heavily as he stared at me. It was impossible to read his hardened features, to see if he believed my lies.
“I gave you everything, Camila,” he grated. My father was a powerful man. It would be nothing for him to put me in my place, even in front of Carlos—especially in front of him—to show who was in control.
“I can’t argue with that.” I clamped my lips together, as he glowered at my short outburst in English.
He rose and walked purposefully toward me. “I am willing to overlook that you escaped me, my most precious girl. You should be grateful for my mercy.”
He clasped my wrist, and I shoved the memories away as best I could. In this moment, I was grateful for my breakdown with Stone. It had somehow prepared me for this, made me stronger.
“Papa is thrilled to have you back.”
It took everything I had not to flinch when he bent to kiss my cheek. “I’m happy to be reunited with my family.” My voice broke on the sentence, but he mistook my sorrow and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
“We’re going home now.” His gentle demeanor vanished in an instant. “Carlos. Take her phone. Leave it here.”
Three Dates (Paths To Love Book 2) Page 21