by D'Ann Lindun
He was something.
She reached for another washrag. There wasn't any time to waste on ogling the guy. Carefully placing the rag on his forehead, her thoughts turned back to Briar Rose. Martin had always been so traditional. Castaña had a hard time picturing him having a baby out of wedlock, especially with a Caucasian girl. Blue eyed blondes weren't his normal taste. He must've changed a lot in six years. “Do you know where Martin is?”
“No.”
Castaña waited for the girl to offer more information. “So, did you fight?”
“Um.”
Again, one word. Castaña began to wonder if Briar Rose was on some kind of illegal drug. She looked like a flower child from the sixties with her long braids, flowing spaghetti-strap top and ragged jeans. It wasn't difficult to imagine her smoking pot or gobbling shrooms.
“And you called me because he's been missing since you argued?” Castaña shot a glance over her shoulder at Briar Rose. She sat cross-legged on the floor, staring into space. Slowly, her gaze rose to Castaña's face. Castaña fought her rising frustration. Why was Briar Rose stonewalling?
“Yes.” She twirled the orange string tied around one bony wrist.
“How long has it been since you saw Martin, exactly?”
Briar Rose dropped her gaze to her dirty bare feet, which she seemed to find fascinating. “A while.”
Not shaking her took all of Castaña's considerable willpower. “Could you be a little more specific? A day? A week?”
After a long silence, she mumbled, “At least a week.”
Castaña's heart sank. She opened a bottle of aloe lotion and smoothed it over Jake's seared skin. The minute he woke up, she had to get rid of him so she could find her brother.
~*~
Jake Breton woke up alone, his heart pounding.
For a minute, he couldn't breathe. He was afraid he'd been left for dead. His heartbeat slowed as he looked around. Not a dark, stench-filled alley. He wasn't lying in a pool of his own blood, just undressed and in a warm, soft bed. A quilt lay under him, and he absently stroked the worn material. Not St. Francis Hospital. No strong antiseptic smells, no beeps from machines. And no hovering nuns.
His breathing eased back to normal.
He turned his head. The fried skin on his neck cried in protest.
Just a lone dresser and plain log walls. The floors were hardwood, polished until they gleamed. A long runner lay by the bed. Nice place. Bare, though. Nothing like his apartment back in Phoenix with its leather couches and modern art.
He shifted a fraction of an inch, and when his blistered arm slid across the quilted fabric, a moan slipped from his throat. How far had he walked? Miles. Why the hell had somebody trashed his camp? Nobody up here had any way to know he was FBI.
After setting camp early this morning, he'd hiked out to the place where Bureau of Land Management agents Stevenson and Wright had been shot in cold blood. When he came back late in the afternoon, he'd found his tent torn down and his supplies strewn about. At first, he thought a bear might've done the damage. But when he saw his slashed tires, he knew it had been a human attack. Worst of all, the culprits poured all his water on the ground. With no cell service in the forest, he'd had no choice but to walk for help.
Damn it, anyway.
He rubbed the puckered scar on his shoulder.
If Jake called his boss in Phoenix and told him he'd been taken by surprise, he might as well hang up his badge now. He'd screwed up a simple arrest. The first job he'd been trusted with since the shooting.
He thought about the woman who picked him up from the middle of the road when he was almost unconscious. Her long brown hair looked like a burning fire as she bent over him silhouetted in the dying sun. He remembered the way her breasts pressed into his back when she helped him into her truck.
Too bad he hadn't been awake when she undressed him.
He closed his eyes at the wave of regret that flooded him. He couldn't get close to her. Making a mistake like that before had nearly cost him his career, his life.
A light tap sounded on the door, and his rescuer stuck her head in. “Are you awake? Hungry?”
Jake shook his head, wincing. “Not much.”
“I have Jell-O salad and a slice of watermelon. It might cool you down a bit.” She stepped inside, and now that he felt a little more human, he studied her as she placed the food on the dresser. All leg in worn Levi’s, long walnut-brown hair, honey-colored eyes. A knockout in a plain white T-shirt and figure hugging jeans.
She placed a gentle hand on his forehead. He closed his eyes, liking the way her palm soothed his feverish skin. Her unique scent mixed leather and something flowery. A nice combination.
“I think your temperature is going down, but I'll get a thermometer just to make sure. Be back in a jiffy.” She shut the door behind her.
When she returned, she held a tray with a glass of iced tea and a bottle of aspirin. She brushed his forehead with her soft palm again. “I couldn't find the thermometer, but I think you're better. A lukewarm shower would do you a lot of good.”
His temperature shot straight back up when she touched him.
“I still think you need a doctor,” she said.
“It's not as bad as it looks.”
She handed him a washcloth and turned to the food on the dresser.
He took the cloth from her, glancing to see if she wore a wedding ring. She didn't. A bare ring finger didn't mean anything, though. “Thanks again. For everything. You didn't mention your last name.”
She hesitated. “Does it matter?”
“Just curious.” He hoped he sounded casual. “You saved my life after all. I'd like to know to whom I'm in debt.”
She turned toward him and lifted her chin defiantly. “My name is Castaña Castillo.”
Martin's sister?
Jake hoped his amazement didn't show. Was she as radical as her brother? If so, she most likely would've run him over on the road instead of picking him up and taking him home like a stray animal. If she knew he was here to find and arrest Martin for the murder of two BLM agents, she'd probably throw him out on his sunburned ear.
“You haven't told me your last name either,” she reminded him.
He spit out the first name that came to mind. “Brown.”
Did disbelief flicker in her eyes? “Nice to meet you, Jake Brown. So, you were camping?”
“Yeah, for a few days. I went fishing, and when I came back, my camp had been trashed, and my truck tires slashed.”
“That's terrible.” Something unreadable flashed across her face and he studied her, trying to figure her out. She had helped him. How close was she to her brother's activities? Close enough to cover up a double homicide?
“Yeah, who would've thought I'd get mugged in the forest,” he said. “I need to get hold of Triple A and have them get my truck.” How the hell was he going to accomplish his arrest? Call his boss in Phoenix and tell him he'd screwed up again? Send a posse. Jake Breton was incapable of accomplishing the easiest task. This was his only chance to redeem himself, and he'd already messed up.
“You're in no condition to travel tonight. I'll take you into town in the morning because I need to see the sheriff myself.” She studied him for a minute. “I don't think you're going to try anything. But, just so you know, there's no silver to steal. And I'm not alone. Mar—my brother's girlfriend is here.”
Jake put a big spoonful of cold watermelon into his mouth to hide his surprise. Martin's girlfriend? Why hadn't he realized there might be a woman in Castillo’s life? Had the sun addled his brain? In all the reports he'd read there was very little mention of the Castillo women. Apparently, the women hadn’t joined in the family crimes. Was the sister a good enough actress she didn't know her brother was wanted for shooting two BLM men? Or that when the local sheriff came to take Martin in for questioning, he went missing? “So, where's your brother?”
“Not a clue.” Her full lips trembled and she pinched them toge
ther. Jake’s cynical heart softened a fraction as he watched her obvious distress. “Someone—his girlfriend, I think—called and said Martin's horses were going hungry. There's no way he'd neglect his animals. He loves them more than anything. So, I came running.”
“What does this girlfriend say?”
She frowned. “I don't know. I can't get anything out of her.”
Jake set down his spoon, appetite gone. His free hand went to his shoulder like a ship to a beacon. She sounded so sincere Jake wanted to believe her. But he'd been fooled before. A pretty face and big, soft eyes could go a long ways toward tricking a man.
He'd not make the mistake of trusting too easily ever again.
CHAPTER TWO
Jake came awake with a jolt. His mouth felt like he'd brushed his teeth with a branch from a palo verde tree, and his skin stretched too tight over his aching bones. There was no clock, but by the moonlight shining through the window, he gauged the time to be around midnight. He swung his feet to the floor, wincing when they hit the hardwood. Although sore and blistered, he felt a hell of a lot better than he had out in the forest.
He staggered to his feet, swaying when he came upright.
A skinny blonde girl with a big belly opened the door. “Do you need something?”
His skin prickled. Martin's girlfriend. Had she been standing guard on him? He searched his foggy brain for her name. Rosemary. No, Roseanne. That wasn't it. Some oddball name. Briar Rose. Yeah, that was it. “A john. Water. Tylenol.”
She slipped under his arm, and he leaned on her pretending to be unsteadier than he actually was. Maybe she'd open up to him if she thought him weak and sick. “The bathroom's down here.” A faint flush colored her cheeks. “I'll wait, then help you back to bed.”
“I need a shower.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me.” She darted away.
As Jake downed what seemed like half of the Colorado River from the tap, then stripped out of his shorts and stepped into a shower, his thoughts turned to Briar Rose. Very young and fragile looking. Skinny to the point of anorexic, with long, pale hair hanging around her face she looked like a ghost. Had this angelic-looking young woman helped Martin Castillo murder the two BLM agents sent to check on the Apache-Sitgreave mustangs? Was she hiding Martin now? Jake hoped not, but he wouldn't be surprised either. He rubbed his shoulder. Women sometimes did the strangest things for love—steal, lie, kill.
He toweled off, found a bottle of Tylenol under the sink and swallowed a couple.
Jake finished and opened the door. Briar Rose was gone.
Unable to sleep, he stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts kept drifting to Castaña. To take his mind off her long legs, he thought about the case. In the files he'd read about the Castillos, the men were known for working to save the mustangs that ran wild on the Apache-Sitgreave.
Before his death a few years ago, Ramon Castillo had been arrested at least a dozen times for interfering with the BLM guys when they tried to round up the horses for auction. Several times he turned the horses loose after they were captured, jimmied government vehicles and booby-trapped campsites. Martin was listed as an accomplice until after Ramon's death, when Martin's own illegal activities increased.
Although the wild horses had been protected for years, a recent change in the law made it legal for some of the animals to be sold at open auction. Ramon died before the law took effect, but the change had apparently caused Martin to snap. According to the report, Martin allegedly turned to murder to protect his beloved horses. At least that was the theory. When the local guys couldn't find him, the FBI sent Jake to find Martin and bring him in for questioning.
Where did Castaña fit in? Where did Briar Rose come into the picture? Briar Rose seemed helpless and soft, while Castaña appeared very much able to take care of herself. Jake knew very little of Castaña's existence before she nearly mowed him down like a weed. Was that an oversight, or was she an innocent bystander?
He needed to know.
~*~
Jake waited until he was sure the house was quiet and he figured both girls were in bed, and then he slipped out to the living room. His cell phone still didn’t work, but as he'd hoped, Castaña's was charging on the desk. Luckily, it had a few bars. He took it into the kitchen and dialed his partner.
“Kelso here.” He answered, grumpy as a bear.
“It's Jake,” he said softly.
“Jake?” Kelso didn't sound sleepy now. “Where the hell have you been? The boss is steamed. He thought you'd have Castillo in custody by now. He sent Staton up to Payson to keep an eye on you from the sheriff's office. What's going on?”
“Staton's here?” Shit, that meant the boss had already lost faith in him. “Castillo's disappeared.” Jake opened the fridge and found a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he took a long drink. “I need detailed information on his sister. Her name is Castaña. Around twenty-four—five.”
“Also, is there any record of Martin marrying? A woman calling herself Briar Rose is at the house. I don't know what, if any, relation she is to the Castillos.” He described her.
“Going to be kinda tough, not knowing her last name or date of birth,” Kelso grumbled.
“That's why I came to the best.”
“Yeah, yeah. Flattery'll get you everywhere. I'll even call you in the morning.” Kelso hung up without a goodbye.
Jake grinned and replaced the phone in its charge station. Kelso was the best at his job. If there were any dirt to dig up on Castaña or Briar Rose, he would find it
~*~
Castaña wandered around the old house, exhausted but unable to relax. Daylight couldn't come soon enough for her to go talk to the sheriff. Her fingertips trailed over Mama's quilts hanging over the back of the sofa. She took the quilt and wrapped it around her shoulders. Was it her imagination, or could she still smell Mama’s herbs in the folds?
Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them away. Crying hadn't helped her mother when she was alive. It wouldn't bring her back now. Neither Magdalena nor Castaña had been able to make Ramon love them, though they had tried. When Martin joined his father's cause, turning hard and bitter just like him, Mama died a little inside. Castaña believed Martin's criminal turn broke her mother's heart.
Where was her brother?
Was Briar Rose in charge around here? Castaña doubted it. The girl didn't seem to be able to take care of herself, much less a house and a herd of horses. Where was she? Had she gone to bed? If she were still up, maybe she could be convinced to talk.
Castaña wandered out to the porch. A soft, snuffling sound alerted her to the girl curled up in the porch swing. Castaña hesitated, unsure whether to bother her or not. Overriding concern about Martin propelled her forward. She sank into the seat next to Briar Rose who had her face buried in her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”
More muffled sobs her only answer.
“How old are you?” Castaña kept her voice low, like she did when she worked with a nervous colt. She hated pressing the girl, but she had to get some answers.
“Twenty-one.”
Castaña doubted that, but she didn't argue. “Where are you from?”
“Phoenix.”
At least she answered. “Can you tell me about you and Martin?”
Briar kept her face turned away. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How you met.” Castaña eyed Briar Rose's big belly. “Your baby.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” Her hand stroked her stomach.
“Do you know where he is? Or what happened to him?” Castaña pressed, her nerves stretched tight from the long drive, almost running over a man and now this stonewalling. Why was this girl making it so difficult?
“Not sure where he is.” Briar Rose wouldn't look up and she sniffed again.
“When did he leave?”
Another snuffle. “I don't know for sure. A few days ago.”
“I'm afraid I don't underst
and what you mean by 'you don't know.'” Castaña fought to keep her voice even. “Were you here or not?”
Without warning, Briar Rose jumped up and fled into the dark.
Castaña started to follow, then fell back in the chair with a thud. What was she so afraid of? Pressuring Briar Rose wasn't getting Castaña anywhere. She tipped her head back and stared at the Arizona sky. Why did the stars here look so much bigger and sharper than back in Dallas? She inhaled the scent of the ancient pines surrounding the ranch. Nothing smelled so good back in the city either. She had a good life in the Big D. A career she'd worked hard for, friends she loved. There was no reason for her chest to ache for something she'd left behind a long time ago.
She jumped when a male form silhouetted the shadows.
“Martin?” Hope flared and died when the guy she'd rescued from the road limped into the light. Her heart picked up speed, but she ignored her reaction. “Oh, it's you.”
His lips curled in a wry grin. “Just me.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I thought you were in bed . . . you should still be in bed . . .” The image of his mostly nude body came to mind and she swallowed hard. “Oh, forget it. How are you feeling?” He looked worse for wear, if anything. His exposed skin was brighter than a red neon sign, and his lips were chapped and raw.
He ignored her question as he eased down beside her. “I needed to get up and move around before I got stiff.” The image of him stiff created a wave of damp awareness in her. His hip brushed hers, and she fought the urge to press closer. “Who did you think I was?”
She shifted away, trying not to be obvious. The pressure of his leg against hers was too distracting. “I thought you might've been my brother.”
He stayed silent, but questions swam in his eyes.
The tiny thought nagged, maybe Jake was dangerous. He could be the reason Martin was missing. She shivered and inched away.
But her gut told her it was the opposite; that he was someone she could trust.
She didn’t sense her life was in danger. She felt safe around him. Besides, he would leave in the morning. What harm was there in confiding in him? He would leave in the morning. Maybe he'd even be useful as someone to bounce ideas off. God knew she didn't have an exact plan. There were thousands of acres to search. Maybe Jake had bumped into him out there, or at least had an idea where to look.