Unattainable
Page 1
Unattainable
Leslie P. García
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Leslie P. Garcia
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6553-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6553-3
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6554-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6554-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com; istockphoto.com/Yenwen Lu
Many people support us through our lives, and garner our love, devotion, and gratitude. My life has been touched by so many of you along the way, and I thank you all.
Cruzito, Jamie, Greg, and Lee — thank you for what I know were sacrifices along this road, and I dedicate Unattainable to each of you. You’ve provided love, support, inspiration, and the occasional headache — in other words, the substance of any worthwhile life. No mother could be prouder of her children than I am of you. No one can love you more.
And Stephanie and Vicky — you’ve shared a lifetime getting here with me, and are part of everything I’ve done. It seems to me that sisters share a very special love, and for that and all the rest — I’m grateful beyond words. If anyone knows how much it means to me dedicate this book to you, the two of you do. Love always.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
One Writer’s Story …
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Also Available
Acknowledgments
To my brother-in-law Daniel Ortiz — thanks for sharing your criminal justice background and years of dealing with troubled teens to help me understand issues, risks, and how committed individuals like you can provide solutions and hope.
To friend and U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent, Vessel Commander Lázaro Pérez, Jr., thanks for real insight into the day to day details of your job. First responders are the backbone of any community, but those who protect the nation’s borders assume responsibility for the safety of an entire country.
Finally, I want to thank my editors Jennifer Lawler, Katriena Knights and Jess Verdi for their enthusiasm and professionalism in welcoming me to Crimson Romance. And for finally giving me reason to leave work on time shouting, “I have to go check my e-mail! Have to go do revisions!” I probably still should have signed out, but …
Chapter One
Jovani Treviño slipped from the pickup, his boots thudding dully on the dry soil as he looked around carefully but not with particular unease. A crescent moon climbed up over the far side of the interstate, but here darkness allowed considerable isolation. Cars speeding by on the freeway wouldn’t notice him, and if they did, hopefully they’d avert their eyes, assuming someone needed to take a leak.
Only moments passed before a second, dark vehicle pulled in behind him. The driver switched off the headlights but left the parking lights on. Jovi reached into the cab and pulled the lever to open the hood then moved to the front of the truck. Seconds later the newcomer joined him, extending his hand briefly.
“Jovi.”
“Hey, Rick.” Almost immediately, both turned their attention to the engine.
“So — you gonna apply for the job at Nueva Brisa?” the newcomer asked.
“Tomorrow,” Jovi agreed, turning at a slight rustle in the weeds that framed the roadside clearing, then relaxing when he realized the noise couldn’t have come from anything large.
“Still jumping at shadows?” Rick shook his head. “We leave the job, but the edge never leaves.”
“You don’t let anyone leave,” Jovi retorted, slapping a mosquito seconds too late, and rubbing his arm. “Tell me why I said yes again.”
“Cause you’re one of the good guys, we pay well, and you get to be close to your mom while she gets back on her feet. It’s win-win, Jovi.”
“Cut the bull, friend. I left DEA because no one wins — the work’s important, but the war’s unwinnable, Rick.”
Rick Ortega shrugged his thin shoulders. “Maybe.”
“And this one smells.”
“Why?” He nudged Jovi with an elbow. “Cause we’re looking at some honey the locals call untouchable?”
“Unattainable.” Jovi motioned Ortega back and slammed the hood. “Your reasons for looking at this woman are shaky at best, and if I’m investigating her, I damn sure won’t be thinking about her looks.”
“Touchier than ever,” the DEA agent muttered.
“And in a week or two, when my plane lands in Florida — I’m done, Rick. No more arm-twisting, no favors. I’m serious.”
“Look, I know you mostly came until your mom beats her pneumonia — not so much to help us. But you’re perfect, Jovi — the border’s home to you, but you’ve been gone long enough you’re an outsider now.”
“Hell, I was always an outsider. Everywhere.”
“Whining isn’t your style, amigo,” Ortega chided. “You know how things are. No trust left — our side or theirs. The cartels are winning. For Christ’s sake, they’re slaughtering innocents on the streets a mile from here.” He jerked his head toward the tree-framed skyline. Behind those trees, the Rio Grande whispered its newly violent song to the night. “Check her out, that’s all. She worked for a major importer, but quit suddenly. Her father left her some money, but — ” He shook his head. “Something’s not right, buddy.”
Jovi glanced at him. “Because her father left money?”
“No. Because insurance aside, her father shouldn’t have had money to leave. The ranch is a joke — big property value, but no livestock except horses. On paper, he sold horses — horses we’re not real sure existed. Horses! No market for horses right now, going on back even before his death. The man went through a bitter divorce from the wife, yet got big bucks from the ex father-in-law, Lionel De Cordova.”
“De Cordova? Man!” The name surprised him. “But for all his sins, I never heard he trafficked.”
“We know some of the younger cousins do. Nobody’s tagged him, true. But the foreman you’re replacing? Arrested in Sinaloa several weeks ago. Arranging to drive a load to El Paso.”
“So she has to know?”
Ortega shrugged. “Hard to say. The man’s a Mexican national, and the story wasn’t broadcast here. We only found out through our sources. But if he worked out of her barn … ”
“She either knows or she’s stupid?” he suggested.
Again, Ortega made
a slight gesture of denial. “She’d been in New York and Houston more than home until recently. She worked for an import firm with headquarters in Houston and branches all over Mexico, as well as in several border towns. The horses were more or less at the mercy of the foreman and the two grooms.”
“Sketchy at best,” Jovi pointed out again. “This is my last call, though,” he repeated, walking to the driver’s side and pulling the door open. “This job’s too hard on the soul, Rick. Too much lying and too many half-truths — and to save what?”
Ortega paused by the open door as his friend climbed back in. “Did I tell you that little four-year old girl — Lisa, remember her? She turned seven yesterday. They put her photo on one of those news lead-ins.”
“Damn you,” Jovi snarled, thinking of the child he, Ortega, and others had found cowering in the corner of a crack house after a deal turned particularly violent. And her brothers, 5 and 8, lying broken on the floor in their own blood. His last official case — the last case he’d tried to stomach.
“Sometimes we win,” Rick insisted, and slapped his arm. “Suerte,” he ended, walking away.
Luck. Jovi shook his head, turned on the truck, and poked the radio button. He wouldn’t need luck if he kept his mind on work and on the stable full of thoroughbreds waiting for him in Florida. As he eased back onto the access road, blessed darkness and George Strait’s melodious voice surrounded him.
Chapter Two
Dell Rosales tossed the sheaf of bank statements aside and stood up, agitated. Numbers should make sense, but the disorganized financial records her father left behind meant nothing. Once again she kicked herself for staying away from the ranch for so long. She had loved her father, loved him still, even after his unexpected death. But the pain of this place had been too great; her mother’s absence — and worse, memories of her mother’s presence — overwhelmed. She sucked in her breath, a sharp sound not unlike the snorts and soft snuffles from some of the horses in the aisle outside. To hell with it. Her father’s records were disorganized, not wrong. She wouldn’t believe anything else. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes momentarily, wishing she hadn’t touched any of his money before she’d unscrambled the paper mess he’d left; that would have been smarter. She should have gone back to the import business immediately, instead of deciding to help a friend out while she licked her wounds — that would have been smarter, too.
Like smart was ever your thing. Angrily, she cast the self-accusation away. She’d been stupid hurting over her mother’s abandonment. She’d been stupid in love. But she damn well had learned not to be stupid when it counted.
A flash of movement outside, unexpected at this mid-afternoon hour, snared her attention. Her stomach knotted momentarily as she wondered what emergency dragged her housekeeper down to the stable in the heat. Tempted to cross her fingers, or cross herself, she hurried out to meet the older woman.
“Rosa, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Major or minor?”
Rosa drew in a breath that shook her ample frame and wiped a hand across her forehead, then glowered at Dell. “You’re not sweating?”
Dell shrugged, glanced briefly at the cloudless sky. The South Texas sun was a nuclear blast of heat and light, so intense that nothing moved around them. The oleander and bougainvillea bordering the drive were motionless, testimony to the complete absence of circulating air.
“The heat doesn’t bother me. You know that, Rosa.” She ran a hand over her crisp, white blouse. “Besides, I just came from the office.”
“Did you ride at all?” Rosa asked, and Dell shook her head, her ponytail flopping heavily against her neck.
Dell started toward the house, Rosa huffing alongside. “No. I spend most of my time just keeping up with the girls and their paperwork, then when I get to the barn — with no foreman, I’m ordering feed and paying vet bills. I did pet a couple of them, though.” She glanced at the older woman. “Think I’d even recognize a saddle anymore?”
They reached the back porch, and Rosa pulled a key from her pocket. “Karla was upstairs with la princesa,” she explained, “but — ”
“Better safe than sorry,” the two finished in unison.
“So what happened, anyway?” Dell asked, motioning Rosa into the kitchen first.
“Nada.”
Dell cast a sideways glance. “Nothing? Rosa, you practically ran down to the barn.”
“Well, you know I don’t like using that fancy phone you put in. The intercom thing.”
Dell waited as Rosa offered her usual, detailed explanation. “Don’t understand it. Had to get you.”
Dell still wasn’t sure what the problem was. “And?” she prompted, shifting the vase of silk flowers on the kitchen table.
Rosa’s jaw dropped. “Oh — forgot the important part, huh? Gettin’ old, I guess. There’s a man here.”
“A man?” Dell looked down at Rosa blankly.
“Tu sabes,” Rosa replied, “a man. About the job.”
“Already?” Dell arched an eyebrow. “That was fast.” Then she frowned. “You do mean the foreman’s job? Not just someone looking for work?”
“The foreman’s job,” Rosa confirmed. “He’s in the den.” She drew in a breath, sagging a little as the cool air surrounded her, then looked up at Dell, her eyes concerned. “I didn’t like him.”
Rosa’s blunt statement triggered an immediate reaction. There were few people whose judgment Dell relied on; she trusted her own opinions about people — and Rosa’s. “What’s wrong with him?”
Rosa shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly. He’s local — how many young Laredoans have experience with horses?”
“Well, the Asmussens — ”
Rosa’s plump hand brushed aside the renowned family, whose sons made racing headlines internationally. “Besides them. This man — I don’t know. He’s arrogant. Chocante. He’s — he’s — ” Her hand traced a circle in the air as she searched for the words to finish her description.
Dell laughed. “He’s a man. Reason enough to be suspicious, ¿verdad? But I’ll be careful.” Her good humor faded. “I have reason to be careful, don’t I? But we need someone so badly, Rosa. I don’t want to give up the horses. They’re all I have left from before.”
“I know.” Rosa reached a hand up to touch her cheek. “You’ll manage, chiquita. You always do.”
Dell looked around the house — comfortable, affluent, so tidy — and so empty.
“Where are the girls?” she asked.
“You worry too much. Pete took Michelle, Selina, and Amy into Laredo with him for groceries. They’ll be okay. And la princesa is upstairs, asleep.”
“All right.” Dell drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do I look like a brisk, efficient, professional employer should?”
“No.” Rosa grinned, her eyes sweeping over Dell. “You look like some spoiled and sexy Cosmo cover girl. But like you tell those mule-headed girls — looks aren’t everything!”
“Thanks!” Dell retorted, pulling her blouse down lower over her hips. “Make me feel vulnerable, why don’t you?”
“You?” Rosa snorted disdainfully. “Not any danger of that. They don’t call you ‘la inalcanzable’ for nothing, you know!”
“Don’t bring that up again,” Dell protested, frowning a little at the nickname she had earned among some of her acquaintances. Literally, the word meant unreachable. Someone distant and untouchable.
She supposed being a little distant wasn’t a bad idea if she were going to interview some macho-man jerk for the position she had in mind. Resolutely she walked through the house, her boots clicking on tile, then muffled on carpet as she stepped into the den. The man staring out the window at the green expanse of lawn turned as she came into the room.
“Buenas tardes,” she greeted him, as he nodded at her.
&n
bsp; “Buenas,” he replied, his voice deep and throaty as he drawled the abbreviated greeting.
He was an immensely tall man, square-shouldered and bronzed. His dark eyes appraised her, and she was not surprised that a mustache framed sensual lips or that he held a Stetson against his leg. She was looking for someone to manage her horses, after all.
“A. Rosales?”
“Dell Rosales,” she answered, walking over to shake his hand. “And you are —
“J. Treviño.” He clasped her hand briefly. His hands were well groomed, Dell noted. She wondered just how much experience this man really had with horses. He looked more like an office worker. Or would, except that the creamy knit shirt he wore did nothing to hide well-sculpted muscles. Moving hay bales could do that.
“Please, sit down.” She waved at a chair near her desk.
He sat down, placed the Stetson on the corner of her desk, and pulled a newspaper clipping out of his pocket. There was a splash of yellow highlighter on the crumpled ad she recognized as her own. “You’re the person I’m supposed to see?”
“I’m Adela Rosales, Mr. Treviño, but I prefer Dell. So, is ‘J’ really your first name?”
“No,” he admitted, smiling for the first time, and his eyes danced a little. She could see instantly that Rosa was right to dislike him — men with killer good looks generally knew exactly how to use them on susceptible women. Not that she was at all susceptible. Not anymore. La inalcanzable, she reminded herself sternly. Unreachable. Untouchable. Unattainable.
“It’s Jovani.”
“Jovani,” she repeated thoughtfully, her forehead wrinkling a little. “Like the musical group?”
His grin widened. “You must not be into rock. That’s Bon Jovi, not Jovani.”
“Oh, that’s right. So what do you go by, Mr. Treviño?”
He laughed. “Jovi. Mom says she named me Giovani — just couldn’t spell it.”
“I see. How did you become interested in horses, Mr. Treviño? You do have experience?”