The Heart of a Stranger

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Juan winked at Lourdes and disappeared with her kids. She smiled to herself and set out to keep busy.

  She found those cute little air fresheners that hung from rearview mirrors on aisle six. Picking through them, she browsed like a female shopper with nothing to do.

  “Lourdes? Is that you?”

  She turned to find Tyler Murdoch, an old acquaintance, standing behind her, with a stunning, dark-haired woman at his side.

  “Yes, it’s me. My goodness, Tyler. It’s been ages.” He’d dated a friend of hers in high school, but the relationship hadn’t lasted very long. He’d always been a loner, a bit fierce, she supposed. A guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Not exactly steady boyfriend material.

  Yet the beauty beside him wore a wedding ring.

  And so did he.

  He introduced his wife as Marisa, and the women shook hands.

  Lourdes had lost track of Tyler after high school, but she’d gone off to college and then ended up getting burned by Gunther. Keeping up on old acquaintances, particularly hard-edged men, hadn’t been high on her list of priorities.

  “How’s life treating you?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’m running my grandfather’s ranch.” And struggling to keep it, she thought.

  His gaze turned gentle. “I heard about that jerk you married. I’m sorry, Lourdes.”

  So he’d caught wind of her disastrous marriage, of the mistake she’d made. “Thank you, but things are good now. I have someone new in my life. And he’s…” Her words trailed. What was she doing? Telling Tyler about Juan? Admitting that she was in love?

  “He’s what?”

  “Wonderful. He’s here, with my children.” She motioned to the back of the store, but Juan wasn’t visible from where they stood.

  “That’s great. I’m really happy for you.” He reached for his wife’s hand and took a moment to gaze at the woman he’d married, letting Lourdes see how happy he was, too. “I guess we better get back to what we came in for. It was nice seeing you.”

  “You, too.”

  Lourdes watched them walk away, her heart picking up speed. She’d done it. She’d actually admitted out loud that Juan belonged to her.

  And it had felt darn good.

  With a fluttery little smile, she went off to find Juan and her children, pleased with the way the day was turning out so far.

  A short while later, Tyler Murdoch looked up and saw Lourdes and her children heading out the door.

  Curious, he glanced at the man she’d spoken about, then did a double take.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Marisa started. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Did you see him?”

  “See who?”

  “The guy with Lourdes. This is going to sound strange, but he looked a hell of a lot like Mercado.”

  “Mercado?” His wife tilted her head. “Ricky Mercado?”

  “The very one.” The mobster that the sheriff, the FBI and the ATF were looking for. A manhunt the general public didn’t know about.

  “What would he be doing with your old friend and her children? Strolling around Mission Creek as if he didn’t have a care in the world?”

  “He wouldn’t be. Not with everything that’s going on. The last I heard, he skipped town.”

  “Exactly. That couldn’t have been him.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Tyler had only gotten a glimpse of Lourdes’s boyfriend, a flash of his profile in a timeworn Stetson. At this distance, he couldn’t make out details.

  But still, Lourdes’s new beau looked liked Mercado. And Tyler knew Mercado well. After all, they’d attended Virginia Military Institute together, served in the same unit, been taken hostage in the Gulf. At times he’d loved the other man like a brother. And other times, he hadn’t trusted Mercado as far as he could throw him.

  “That guy was built just like him. He even had that same badass vibe.”

  Marisa laughed. “You’re the one with the badass vibe, Tyler.”

  He rolled his eyes, then frowned. He’d been out of town for the past few weeks, so he wasn’t sure what was going on with Mercado’s investigation.

  “I think I better give the sheriff a call. Maybe set up a meeting with the FBI.” Just to ask a few questions, he thought. Just to see if there was any relevant news about Ricky Mercado.

  Juan, Lourdes and the kids returned to the ranch just in time to help Cáco with lunch.

  Juan liked the idea of pitching in, of gathering in the kitchen as a family.

  The twins helped their mother arrange a green bean casserole, and Amy grated cheese for chicken quesadillas, made with meat leftover from the night before. Cáco had a knack for stretching groceries, for planning low-budget meals that filled the belly and satisfied the palate.

  “I’ll get your car done right after we eat,” Juan told the older woman.

  “Thank you.” She handed him a head of lettuce and put him to work on the salad. “I appreciate that. I worry about driving on these isolated roads, of getting stuck somewhere.”

  He rinsed romaine lettuce leaves. “I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”

  “Good.” She opened a package of tortillas. “By the way, there were some men nosing around here today while you and Lourdes were gone.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean? Nosing around?”

  She stopped to lean against the counter. “They came to the door and claimed they were interested in our yearlings, but I wasn’t convinced. I think they were after the ranch.”

  Lourdes piped up. “That’s been happening since my grandfather died. People think I’ll sell, that I’ll let the place go for less than it’s worth.”

  Because Painted Spirit was in trouble, Juan thought. Because Lourdes struggled to keep it afloat.

  “These men weren’t very subtle.” Cáco made a disgusted sound. “They even asked how many employees we had.”

  Juan added tomatoes to the salad. “What’d you tell them?”

  “Nothing pertinent.” The old woman took the casserole from the twins and popped it in the oven. “I wanted to tell them to mind their own business, but I kept quiet. The taller one had cold eyes. I didn’t trust him.”

  “He probably worked for some mogul in the area.” Lourdes sigh. “They’re always looking to steal someone’s ranch.”

  Juan couldn’t imagine Cáco being intimidated by anyone, which told him the man with the cold eyes had an icy soul, too. “Let me know if they show up again.”

  “I will.”

  The older woman left the kitchen to set the table, and Juan glanced at Lourdes.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Strangers showing up, asking questions.”

  “It’s happened before. I’ve even had offers on the ranch.”

  “It still bothers me.” Gave him a wary feeling. “Don’t talk to anyone when I’m not around. Don’t show any horses unless I’m nearby.”

  Lourdes began filling tortillas, showing her daughters how much cheese to sprinkle on top of the chicken. “Are you going to protect me from real estate moguls, Juan?”

  “Damn straight.” He flashed a teasing smile, but the wariness wouldn’t go away. “I’m going to protect all of you.”

  Lourdes, Cáco, Amy and the twins, he thought.

  His newfound family.

  The women and children who’d touched his heart.

  “I’ll be careful,” Lourdes said. “I won’t let anyone swindle me.”

  Did men with cold eyes just swindle young widows? Or did they do far more damaging things?

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.” She handed him a tortilla, prodding him to get back to preparing their meal.

  But Juan couldn’t shake the uneasiness, and the feeling that the man with the cold eyes would be back.

  A few hours later, Tyler Murdoch sat in the sheriff’s office in the meeting he’d requested. Everyone in attendance—Sheriff Justin Wainwright, Lt. Col. Ph
illip Westin, ATF operative Cole Yardley and FBI agent Elise Campbell—had a history with Ricky Mercado.

  The sheriff’s wife had been a close friend of Mercado’s since her teenage years, something Wainwright had finally learned to accept.

  Westin had been Mercado’s commanding officer, and Yardley and Campbell had been investigating Mercado’s activities in a gun-smuggling ring.

  Westin spoke first. “Tell us what’s on your mind, Murdoch.”

  Reacting to a voice he knew well, Tyler squared his shoulders. The colonel had been his CO, too. A man he admired and respected. A man he and Mercado had rescued from a hostage situation not all that long ago.

  But they owed Westin their lives. He’d freed them from being captives in the Gulf. He’d saved their young, sorry asses when they’d gotten caught behind enemy lines.

  “This morning I saw a man who looked like Ricky Mercado. He was with an old acquaintance of mine.”

  Cole Yardley sprang to the edge of his chair. Clearly, the tall, leanly muscled ATF agent had a strong and steady stake in this. If Tyler had his guess, the Mercado investigation had been keeping Yardley up at night.

  “Where’d you see him?” the agent asked.

  “At the auto parts store in town.”

  Yardley blinked. “And what was he doing?”

  “Buying something for a car, I guess.” Tyler reached for the coffee the sheriff had offered him when he’d first arrived. “I’m not saying this man was Mercado. I’m just saying he looked like him.”

  Yardley blew a rough breath. “Mercado’s in serious trouble.”

  Tyler couldn’t stop the bite of cynicism lacing his words. “That’s the game he plays.”

  “Yes, but this time he’s innocent,” Yardley admitted. “This time we read him wrong.”

  Tyler glanced at Westin. The retired colonel had believed Mercado was innocent from the start. That he hadn’t been responsible for smuggling arms out of Texas and into Mezcaya, the small, terrorist-ravaged country from which Tyler’s wife hailed.

  Well, hell, Tyler thought.

  He’d assumed Mercado was guilty. But it was a known fact that Mercado danced on both sides of the law. That he’d been born into one of the fastest growing crime families in the nation. That he’d served as a Mafia underboss for years.

  “Mercado was framed,” Yardley said.

  “By who?”

  “John Valente.”

  “The new mob boss? The guy who took over after Frank Del Brio was killed?” Tyler knew Mercado had helped take Del Brio down. Of course, Tyler had been in on that mission, too. Del Brio had kidnapped Mercado’s niece, the little girl who belonged to Mercado’s sister, Haley, and Luke Callaghan, another former marine and Mercado’s childhood friend. Mercado had appeared at the last minute, at the crucial end, right before Del Brio had been gunned down. “Mercado used to butt heads with Del Brio. They disliked each other from the start. But he never had any friction with Valente.”

  “That’s not necessarily true.” This came from Agent Campbell, Yardley’s bride, a classy-looking redhead who boasted brains as well as beauty. She sat with her legs crossed, wearing a suit as green as her eyes. “Valente orchestrated the smuggling ring and set Mercado up to take the fall.”

  “Why?”

  Yardley answered. “From what we can gather, it’s personal, something Valente didn’t advertise. He was jealous of Mercado.”

  “Why?” Tyler asked again.

  “Because Valente’s mistress told him that if he didn’t start treating her right, she was going to run off with Mercado.”

  “Was Mercado messing with her?”

  “No, not at all. He befriended her, but he was only trying to protect her. Valente used to knock her around, and Mercado was ballsy enough to confront him about it.”

  “Apparently Valente decided to punish Mercado and the mistress,” Sheriff Wainwright added. “But he kept quiet, plotting and planning his revenge. He planted evidence to frame both of them for crimes they didn’t commit.”

  “So the mistress was implicated for running guns, too?” Tyler asked.

  Yardley shook his head. “No. Valente tried to nail her on another rap. But it doesn’t matter. We’ve already arrested Valente and some of his top men for their participation in the smuggling operation.”

  “When?”

  The ATF agent remained cooperative, answering all of Tyler’s questions. “Just this morning, at the break of dawn. It hasn’t made the papers yet.”

  “What about the mistress?”

  “She’s safe, but Mercado’s another story.”

  Tyler leaned forward. “Because he’s still missing?”

  “Exactly. And because we’re not sure if he’s dead or alive.”

  “Dead? Why would he be dead?”

  Yardley started to respond, but he received a call, putting a temporary halt on the meeting.

  Tyler sat back in his chair and waited, anxious to know more.

  Juan completed the repairs on Cáco’s utility vehicle and went to work, separating bales of hay and feeding the horses in the barn.

  He stopped to rub his temples, to massage the headache forming.

  Sinus pressure, he thought.

  Or stress.

  The kind of tension that refused to go away.

  He couldn’t get the man with the cold eyes off his mind.

  Sharp, razor-edged brows, a slightly hawkish nose, ash-brown hair combed away from his forehead.

  And those eyes.

  Those washed-out blue eyes.

  He fed the next horse.

  How in the hell did he know what color the man’s eyes were? Or how he wore his hair?

  Because Juan had seen him. He’d come face-to-face with him.

  But when? And where?

  He rubbed his temples again. The night he’d been beaten. The night he’d fought off his attackers. The night he’d escaped…from the hit men.

  Suddenly he knew who he was. His name. His history. The danger he’d brought to Lourdes and her family.

  Juan ignored a row of hungry horses and tore off running, looking for Lourdes.

  His boots pounded, his heart jarring with each frantic step. The wind chaffed his skin, his breath coming in strong, urgent pants.

  They wouldn’t kill an innocent woman, but if she accidentally got in the way. If she—

  Finally he spotted her. She came out of a paddock, dusting her hands on her jeans.

  “Lourdes!”

  She turned, her hair whipping across her face.

  “Juan?” she called back.

  He told himself to stay calm, but he couldn’t. His mind spun in a thousand different directions, memories sparking like fire, igniting brain cells.

  What had he done? Heaven help them, what had he done?

  When he reached Lourdes, when she was close enough to touch, he grabbed her hands and held them. His own were shaking, quaking with fear.

  With shame.

  With panic.

  With the horror of his true identity.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” She squeezed his fingers. “Juan. Tell me.”

  He didn’t know where to begin. Memories kept flooding his brain, making his eyes swim. He wanted to scream. To cry. To fall to his knees and beg God to forgive him.

  “We have to go.” He started dragging her toward her truck.

  “Where?”

  “To the house.”

  “Juan, you’re scaring me.”

  “They’re hit men, Lourdes. Those men who were here today. They’re killers.”

  Her voice cracked. “You’re not making any sense.”

  But it did. It made horrible sense. He patted her down and found her keys. “There’s a contract out on me. A mob hit.”

  She looked as if she might faint. Her skin turned pale, chalky in the afternoon light.

  He opened her truck and nudged her inside. “I have to call the sheriff.” He started the engine and took the wheel. “I should have gone
to the police right away.”

  But he hadn’t. He’d avoided his identity, hid from it, convinced himself that he was an honorable man, that he’d never been a criminal.

  He gunned the vehicle. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Her eyes watered. “Who are you? Damn it. Who are you?”

  A bastard, he thought. The son of a bitch who’d brought hired killers to her door. “Ricky Mercado.”

  “That name doesn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t mean a thing!”

  She was almost shouting now, rubbing her tear-filled eyes. He could see how much he’d frightened her, how he’d sent her adrenaline into a tailspin.

  “It’s going to be okay.” He tried to calm them both. “The sheriff will contact the FBI. And he’ll send a deputy to the house.” He drew a breath, felt it burn his lungs. “We’ll get through this.”

  “Why is the mob after you?”

  He reached their destination and slammed the truck into Park. “It’s complicated.” So very complicated. “We’ll talk about it after I call the sheriff.” After he was certain she and her family remained safe.

  They entered the house through the back door, and Lourdes ran in front of him. He tried to stop her, but she was frantic to find her children.

  The scream she let out stilled his heart.

  The twins were huddled on the kitchen floor with Amy and Cáco, a short, stocky man holding them at gunpoint.

  The taller one, the man with the icy blue eyes, trained his gun on Ricky. “Stay there, Mercado. And you.” He jerked his chin at Lourdes. “On the floor with the rest of them.”

  She dropped down and reached for her family, taking the twins in her arms, cradling them.

  Ricky heard them whimper, just once, before Cold Eyes pulled the trigger.

  And shot him.

  Ten

  The meeting resumed, with Tyler repeating his question. “Why would Mercado be dead?”

  Yardley pocketed his cell phone. “Because Valente put a hit on him.”

  “Dear God.” All the military missions Tyler had spent with Mercado came crashing down around his ears, all the years of brotherhood.

  “We know Valente brought in freelance hit men, rather than use the mob’s primary enforcers. So either Mercado is already dead or he faked his own death to escape Valente’s wrath. We found blood evidence in a warehouse on the outskirts of town, and it matched Mercado’s.” The ATF agent shifted in his chair as he explained further. “The way we figure it, Mercado was conducting his own investigation, searching for evidence that would clear his name. And when he got too close to the truth, Valente arranged the hit.”