The Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  And suddenly there was hope.

  Shoz was barely able to believe his good fortune. All he had to do was continue what he had been doing, with the little hitch of actually transporting the weapons to Cuba himself, making contact with the rebels, and involving himself more deeply in their affairs. In exchange for this, he would receive a presidential pardon for all of his crimes.

  His record would be wiped clean. It would cease to exist.

  There was a kink or two. There was no time limit on his services. He would spy for the United States government until there was no need to do so anymore. Without the intervention of a country like America, the Cuban war for independence could drag on indefinitely. Also, the criteria for the presidential pardon were vague—he must spy and do it well. Still, there was no choice. Shoz was being delivered from the very gates of hell. He was not going to go back to prison, something he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never do. And just as important, he had a chance to put his past behind him, and once this affair was finished, he could start over as a new man.

  Would Lucy wait for him?

  She was his wife—she would have to.

  He was desperate now to see her again, because this time he could reassure her, this time he could promise her a future. Suddenly, where there had been only pain, there was excitement; where there had been blackness, there was light.

  It was only a few hours after his “talk” with Lloyd that some of his peace was shattered. He had been dozing despite the steady pain of his neck. He heard the door to the jail slamming open, then he heard Rathe Bragg’s furious voice. “Wake up!”

  Shoz opened an eye.

  “If you think you’re going to get away with this, you’re dreaming!”

  Shoz sat up.

  “I don’t know how the hell you married my daughter, you son of a bitch, but you’re going to pay for it, do you understand? You’re going to spend the rest of your life paying for what you did!”

  “I didn’t force your daughter to marry me.”

  “You seduced her!”

  Shoz laughed. He decided not to let Bragg in on the truth—she had, in fact, seduced him.

  “You think this is funny? You won’t think it’s so funny when you’re back on a chain gang.”

  Shoz went very still. “There won’t be any chain gang.”

  “No?” Bragg grinned. It was taunting. “You think you can get away with kidnapping my daughter—and using her?”

  Bragg didn’t know about his deal with the government, and warning bells began to go off. Rathe Bragg was very powerful, and with his family behind him, more so. If they chose to oppose the government, then what? “I didn’t use your daughter, Bragg.”

  “You bastard! When I think of you touching her, I could kill you!”

  “Nobody’s going to kill anyone,” Lloyd said, entering with Derek. “I don’t want you in here.”

  Rathe drew a roll of papers from his jacket. “Let him out, or let me in,” he said. “I have something for him to sign.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here, son,” Derek said. He was grim. “Rathe, we have to talk.”

  “I have something for him to sign,” Rathe repeated stubbornly. “And I sure as hell am not leaving until he does.”

  Shoz wanted to know just where the Braggs stood—where Derek Bragg, the family patriarch, stood. He sensed that Derek would hold the family together in the position he chose. He stared at him. “Has he told you? Has Lloyd told you about our deal?”

  Derek winced. “Yes, he told me.”

  “What deal?” Rathe cried, looking from Shoz to his father. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  No one answered. Rathe looked at Lloyd. “This had better not be what it sounds like!”

  “Rathe, Shoz is not going to be tried for kidnapping your daughter. He is going on a mission for the United States government.”

  Rathe stared for a split second. “You lousy double-crossing bastard!” Derek put a hand on his shoulder; he shook it off.

  “Use your head and think,” Lloyd said. “America has interests to protect in Cuba. Shoz is in with the rebels. Who better to spy for us and protect our interests? Protect your interests? Protect Maravilla—and you and your family’s other investments? Who—”

  “I don’t believe this!”

  Derek grabbed Rathe. “Unfortunately, son, this is out of our hands.”

  Rathe threw him off. “You’re siding with him!”

  “I’m not siding with him. We’re not being given a choice here, Rathe, and I’ve given it some serious thought. Lucy is all right. We’ll fix this marriage and take care of her so that no one will ever know anything. I will never permit the scandal that would come from a trial for Lucy’s abduction, never. If the government wants to send him to Cuba, it doesn’t change how we’re going to take care of Lucy so that she isn’t hurt any more than she is already.”

  Rathe was silent.

  “Would you permit the scandal of a trial, Rathe? Would you? Dammit, son, use your head!”

  Rathe cried out in frustration. He turned on Lloyd. “All along you knew about this, didn’t you? You lied to me, used me and my family and our resources—to capture your ready-made spy!”

  “That’s right,” Lloyd said easily. “I’m sorry.”

  In the cell, Shoz relaxed. The Braggs were not going to go up against the government and use their considerable power to thwart the deal of his lifetime. He was going to Cuba.

  Rathe whirled. “You may think you’re getting off, but you’re not. You are going to pay for what you’ve done, and I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure they keep you in Cuba so long, you’ll forget what America looks like. Cuba will be your prison, you son of a bitch—you wait and see.”

  “After doing real time in New York, Mr. Bragg, Cuba will be paradise.”

  Suddenly Rathe smirked. “Is that so? I was just there. Once upon a time it was paradise—now it’s sheer hell!”

  “Enough!” Derek said. “This isn’t getting anybody anywhere. Do you have the papers?”

  Rathe nodded, unrolling documents. “I don’t care if I have to put a loaded gun to your head, but you’re signing.”

  Lloyd unlocked the cell door, and Derek and Rathe entered. Shoz sat up straighter. Derek pulled a pen out of his vest. Rathe smiled coldly and held the papers down on the cot. “Sign on the X.”

  “What is this?” Shoz asked.

  “You’d better sign,” Derek warned.

  “I’ve promised them you’d sign, Cooper,” Lloyd said. “Or no deal.”

  “They’re divorce papers,” Rathe gritted. “Sign. Sign or I blow the whistle on this goddam deal.”

  Shoz froze. Even his heart had stilled. He said, “I’m not signing.” He didn’t think it through, he refused to think it through, refused to consider the consequences—prison. He knew himself well enough to know he meant what he said with every fiber of his being.

  Rathe Bragg went crazy, lunging for him, with murder his obvious intention. He was dragged away by both Lloyd and Derek, the two men reassuring him that Shoz would come around. Shoz smiled, a hard sneer. But he was sweating.

  Later Lloyd returned to convince him that his freedom was more important than his marriage, and that if he did not sign, he was going to prison for the rest of his life. Shoz knew he was right, he should sign—but he never lifted that pen. Derek Bragg also returned, grimly reiterating what Lloyd had stated, then adding even more arguments, but Shoz did not budge. He had made up his mind.

  Very late that night, Lloyd entered the jail, carrying the papers. Shoz had been unable to steep, his mind wrestling finitely with some means of escape from this impossible predicament. He hadn’t found one, but now, at the sight of Lloyd, he sat up and began to sweat.

  “I thought I made it clear,” he said, never taking his eyes from Lloyd, “I’m not signing.”

  Lloyd unlocked the door to his cell as if he hadn’t heard him. “I think you’re going to change your mind, Cooper.”


  Shoz smiled. “Think again.”

  Lloyd unrolled the papers, holding them in front of him. “She doesn’t want you, Cooper.”

  Shoz blinked, the typed words of the document coming into focus, a signature at the bottom of the page, near where he was supposed to sign, becoming distinct. Ugly, black comprehension started to set in.

  “She didn’t need any convincing; it was just a lark after all.”

  Lucy Bragg. Her dainty signature danced across the page, blurring. He whitened, shocked. Full understanding hit him, hard. She had signed.

  She doesn’t want you anymore. Lloyd’s word’s echoed, or was he repeating them? His heart began to pound, his blood surged. She had signed. She had signed away her half of their marriage.

  Damn her. Damn her!

  “I’ll leave this with you,” Lloyd said, throwing the documents on the cot with a pen. “No point in holding out now.” He left.

  Shoz didn’t move. Not for a long time. But when he did, it was to sign his name with a flourish.

  37

  New York City, December 1897

  Tomorrow she was going to be married. Lucy did not know whether to laugh or cry. She sat at her dressing table and stared grimly at her reflection. She did not look like a happy bride. She looked more like a widow.

  Abruptly Lucy got up to pace around the room that had been hers since she was a child. It was very large, with one area dominated by the canopied bed, the other given over to a plush sofa and several armchairs. The room was decorated in shades of ivory and white. The four double windows on the far wall looked out on Central Park. Lucy pushed one open. It was a cold winter day, and the park, carpeted thickly with snow, sparkled in the sun. The chilling air seemed to invigorate her. At least, it eased some of the awful apathy that possessed her.

  Today was her birthday, her twenty-first birthday. She should be happy, considering how lucky she was. Already over the hill, she was about to wed one of the finest catches in New York. She should be thanking her father. She should be grateful.

  The problem was, she wasn’t any of those things.

  His image loomed, dark, mocking.

  Aghast, Lucy tried to shove it away. He no longer invaded her thoughts so frequently; indeed, there were times when she did not think of him at all for an entire day—and then she would remember, and in the remembering, know she had not forgotten him at all.

  And probably never would.

  The hurt was long since gone. There was only anger in its stead.

  Her parents had been right. He was not the man for her. He was a burn and a bastard. There was only one person he cared about, and that was his mercenary self. She was better off without him, and she knew it. If he had cared at all for her, he would have never signed those papers.

  It had been a shock.

  Lucy barely remembered the ride back to Brownsville. She had been in a state of hysteria, thinking Shoz was dying from the gunshot wound. There was so much blood. Once in town, she was hustled to a hotel room with her aunt Storm. Lucy had begged her aunt to let her find Shoz. Storm had grabbed her roughly. “What is going on, Lucy? What is it?”

  Lucy didn’t give a thought to the consequences of revealing the truth. “I don’t want him to die!” she sobbed. “Please let me go to him!”

  “I don’t understand.” But Storm was pale with comprehension.

  “I love him! He’s my husband!”

  Storm held her and rocked her while she wept, assuring her that he would not die, and that she would bring word of his condition—but under no circumstances could Lucy see him. She left after Lucy promised to wait for her return. Lucy had done no such thing. The instant her aunt had disappeared, Lucy had fled to find Shoz.

  Now she knew part of the truth. While she had been at the jail, her aunt had gone to her father with the news of their marriage. Setting off her father’s determination to keep them apart and see them divorced. And as always, Rathe Bragg succeeded in whatever he decided to do.

  Lucy had been weak with relief to find Shoz bandaged and awake, if pale, but so clearly alive and recovering. She had been so afraid he would die!

  Her father’s sudden furious entrance mined her chance to speak with him and comfort him, which she so badly wanted to do. Rathe dragged her from the jail, across the street, and back to her hotel room.

  “How dare you!” Lucy was furious. “I’m going back there, damm it; I have every right—”

  “You have no rights!” her father shouted, raising his hand.

  Lucy shrank against the wall. Never had she seen her father so enraged—and so close to violence. She did not move, understanding that he was fighting for control—and that the violence he so barely restrained was directed at her.

  He recovered. There was no sound in the small room except for their harsh, uneven breathing. “Daddy?”

  Rathe turned away, covering his face with his hands. “My God! I almost hit you!”

  Lucy went to him and touched his broad back. “It’s all right. I understand. You’re afraid for me. You love me.”

  Rathe turned to her and embraced her hard. Lucy closed her eyes and clung. This was the father she knew and loved—her god since she had been a tiny girl, someone who could make anything right.

  But this time, her illusions were rudely shattered. He didn’t fix her world. He destroyed it.

  Rathe insisted she never see Shoz again. He insisted they divorce. Lucy refused. She demanded to see Shoz; Rathe forbade it. Beneath their battle of wills existed intense, anguished emotions, and soon they were embroiled in a frightening screaming match. Neither her aunt Storm nor her grandfather could reconcile the two. And to make matters worse, everyone was on her father’s side, everyone was trying to convince her that she must divorce Shoz and begin her life anew. Lucy stopped telling them that she loved him. Apparently no one was listening to her, apparently no one cared.

  That evening her grandfather brought her the papers. Despite the trauma of the day, Lucy was exhausted and dozing. At her grandfather’s knock, she sat up. He came in carrying cocoa, but she saw only the documents in his hand.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  “Brought you some hot chocolate.” He smiled.

  Lucy couldn’t smile back. She was still too close to tears. She watched Derek sit by her feet and hand her the mug. “How is he?”

  Derek grimaced. “He’s sleeping. No fever, strong as ever.”

  Lucy could at least relax on that score. “Please help me, Grandpa. Please don’t let him go to prison.”

  Derek could not lie. “He’s not going to prison, Lucy.”

  Lucy gasped. “What has happened!” For one inane moment, she thought that Derek had somehow managed to save the man she loved.

  “The government is sending him to Cuba, Lucy.”

  “Cuba!”

  “We support the rebels—and Shoz has been supplying them with guns.”

  Lucy turned her face away. So that was what he had been doing, smuggling guns to revolutionaries. When she looked up, she was smiling. “So he’s actually a hero?”

  “Lucy,” her grandfather said tightly, “he’s no hero. He’s an escaped felon and a gunrunner—and those guns were stolen army carbines. He is not the man for you under any circumstances.”

  Her spirits crashed. “You liked him in Paradise.”

  “I did—and I do. Man to man. But not for my grandaughter.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes clouded. “It’s too late. Everyone seems to be forgetting that I’m his wife, Grandpa, and nothing can change that. What will happen after Cuba?”

  Derek hesitated. “It’s not my place to say.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Lucy.”

  She stared.

  “He’s already signed divorce papers, it didn’t take very long to convince him.”

  “I don’t believe you.” But somehow she did.

  “It’s your turn now,” her grandfather said so
ftly.

  Lucy looked at the paper he was holding out through blurry eyes. But she saw his scrawled name. “You forced him.” Inside herself, she was starting to die, just a little.

  “No, honey. We didn’t have to force him and we didn’t have to pay him off, although Rathe would have done both.”

  Lucy was in shock. This couldn’t be happening. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. And the worst part of it was that she could not deny that deep inside, she did believe it. Had he ever said he loved her? Miserably Lucy had to admit that all along, she hadn’t really understood why he’d married her. Their marriage had been an impulsive act. She had never even tried to fool herself and think that he loved her. Apparently their marriage had meant little or nothing to him.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy,” Derek said, standing. “I’ll leave the papers here. You sign them when you feel up to it. Tomorrow we’ll go back to Paradise.”

  Lucy wished she were at Paradise right now. How she needed her mother.

  “Honey,” her grandfather said gently, “you’re young, smart, and strong—not to mention beautiful. In no time at all, this will be behind you. You’ll forget it. Time does that. There’ll be another man for you, Lucy, trust me.”

  Lucy didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  “And you don’t have to worry about scandal. We’ll keep this hushed up—no one will know. No one will know anything. Trust me.”

  Her grandfather had been wrong about the scandal. They arrived back in New York City the first week in August, Lucy, her parents and brothers, and Joanna. The coincidence was bizarre. In Texas there had been no word of her abduction in the papers, but Texas was Derek Bragg’s domain. And Paradise protected its own. The kidnapping was no secret there, although all the details were, yet as always in Paradise, Lucy was treated with friendliness and respect, as if the sore episode had never occurred.

  The day after they returned to New York, the headlines were screaming with the news that had been so successfully contained in Texas. “Heiress Returns to Society After Abduction!” “Bragg Heiress Survives Kidnapping!” The sensational Hearst paper, the New York Journal, led the attack with the headline. “Bragg Heiress Spends Month with Kidnapper in Mexico!”