by Rebecca York
Her heart was throbbing like a drum as she set the timer for sixty seconds. Long enough for her to get out, but not long enough for them to figure out where she was. She hoped.
With the device ready to go, she dashed toward the exit and stepped out.
She had just breathed out a small sigh when she saw a man like the ones from the night before. He was holding a gun in one hand and the canvas bag in the other.
“Got ya. Drop your weapon,” he ordered in Spanish.
She let the gun fall to the ground.
“And I see you have the money your father stole from San Marcos, too.”
“That’s a lie. He didn’t steal anything. It belonged to our family.”
The man snorted, and she wondered what other lies he’d been told about her father.
She kept her eyes on him as she moved to the side so that her back was no longer in the doorway.
“Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, bracing herself against the rock by the door as she silently counted in her head.
Each second seemed to stretch for an eternity. The man spoke into a microphone clipped to his shirt collar. “I’ve got her. . . . Out back.”
Just as he finished speaking, she felt an enormous explosion shake the ground.
A blast of air, rock and dust came roaring down the tunnel, knocking the man off his feet and throwing him backward.
Isabella stood with her legs locked against the ground and her back braced against the rock, waiting for the world to stop shaking as she reached for the gun she’d stuffed into her purse.
The thug had been blown about eight feet away, but a rock stopped him. He was scrambling to recover, scrambling to get his weapon into firing position when a blast of wind picked him up and sailed him into a boulder. Not from the explosion. From Matthew.
The hombre screamed as he hit. Then he went silent as he fell to the rocks, his body lying in a broken heap, his neck at an odd angle.
She stood there, feeling shell-shocked.
“Isabella, are you all right?” Matthew asked, his voice urgent.
“Yes. Thanks to you.”
“Thank God.”
He flicked into view, more solid than she had ever seen him. The man she remembered from years ago, the man who had kept his word and protected her.
“Oh, Matthew.”
She felt him then, pulling her close and wrapping her in his arms. She closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body, even when she knew that was an illusion.
She said his name again.
“You were very brave,” he murmured.
“I guess I had to be.”
“I blew the others toward the house, and they went in to get away from the wind. They were inside when the building exploded, but they must have sent this one to cover the tunnel entrance.”
She nodded and looked back toward the house. In its place she saw a huge dust cloud and flames leaping into the air.
“It’s gone,” she whispered. As that reality struck her, she sucked in a sharp breath. “You were staying here. What’s going to happen now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Clasping him more tightly, she raised her face as he lowered his. Their lips met in a kiss that quickly turned frantic. She hung on to him, her mouth moving over his with gladness—until a sound penetrated the haze around her. The blades of a helicopter.
He looked up.
“Now what?” she whispered.
“Hide in the rocks.”
He was gone again, leaving her alone.
She scooped up the bag of money and thrust it back into her knapsack, then slung one strap over her shoulder. If she ran for the car, they’d see her. But maybe whoever that was would think she had died in the explosion.
She worked her way farther into the rock formation and ducked under a ledge, hoping it would hide her.
The chopper landed, and she held her breath until she felt Matthew’s shoulder against hers. When she turned her head, she saw he was looking more real than he had looked since she’d arrived.
“Matthew. Gracias a Dios.”
“It’s okay. They’re Decorah Security agents. One of them is Frank Decorah, the head of the outfit. I heard him talking to the other men. He was saying that the general was making a last ditch effort to get your father because he knew his regime was crumbling. But rebels have assassinated him. You’re safe now.”
She struggled to take that in. “Then why did those men come after me?”
“They didn’t get the latest news from San Marcos. You’re safe,” he repeated. “Frank Decorah is looking for you. Go tell him you’re alive.”
If anybody else had said that General Lopez was dead, she might not have believed them. But she believed Matthew.
“Come with me,” she murmured.
“You don’t need me now.”
“I do!”
“I can’t leave this place.”
Desperation rolled through her. “Then I’ll stay.”
“You can’t. The house is a ruin. You have to go on with your life. If you need anything, ask Frank. Remind him of Powder Keg.”
“I . . . never met him.”
“Look for a guy in his fifties. Trim. Dark hair, going gray at the temples. ”
“Mention Powder Keg,” he said again. “He’ll remember.”
“Matthew, stay with me.”
“You have to go back to your real life. I knew that all along.”
He turned and hugged her to him. Just for a moment. Then he was gone.
“Senorita Flores,” a man’s voice called. “Senorita Flores, can you hear me?”
“What in the hell happened here?” another man asked.
Still cautious, she kept the gun in her hand as she walked through the grove and into the yard where the house was a black ruin in front of her. She stared at it, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. It was her work. But even though she’d set the timer that detonated the explosives planted in the foundations of the house, it was still difficult to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction.
She didn’t speak—because she felt utterly alone, even with a rescue team on the property.
And she knew what the feeling of abandonment must mean. Matthew was gone. “Dios no,” she whispered, even when she knew she had been expecting this terrible moment.
In reality, he’d been gone for a long time. And it was a cruel irony that she’d been given a little taste of what she might have had with him, if he had lived.
Her chest tightened, as she fought the tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She wanted Matthew to stay with her. So much. But she knew she was asking for the impossible. He was a ghost. He’d been chained to this place—and she’d destroyed that link.
Wanting to be alone, she started to step back into the sycamore grove, but it was already too late.
“Over there!” a man called out, pointing toward her.
An older man fitting the description Matthew had given her came hurrying forward, moving with a slight limp.
“Senorita Flores, I’m . . .”
“Frank Decorah,” she said before he could finish the sentence.
He looked perplexed. “I don’t think we’ve met before. How do you know?”
“Somebody told me.”
“Who?”
She turned her palm up. “Somebody.”
He gave her an odd look, like he thought she might have had a couple of screws shaken loose by the explosion. Maybe she had.
“Thank God you’re safe. We were afraid the assassins from San Marcos might have gotten you,” another man said. He was taller than Decorah and looked to be in his early thirties.
“This is one of my agents, Jordan Stone,” Decorah said.
She nodded, not sure what to say.
“Are you all right?” Decorah asked.
“Yes,” she said in a shaky voice.
Stone gestured toward the smoldering heap th
at had been her house. “What happened? Did they blow the place up?”
“No. When we lived here, my father told me about the explosive charges under the house—if I needed them. The detonator was in the escape tunnel under the house.”
“It took guts to go through with that,” Stone said.
She turned pleading eyes toward Decorah. “What about Papa? Did the general’s men get him?”
“No. He saw them coming and got out the back way. But he couldn’t contact us for a couple of days. As soon as he did, we went to your house. You were missing, but we knew there had been some shooting.”
“I had an escape plan. I got away.”
“Your father figured you’d come here. It looks like you did a great job of protecting yourself.”
Stone turned to inspect the rubble, leaving her and Decorah alone.
She raised her chin. “You asked how I knew your name. Would you believe me if I told you I got it from Matthew Houseman’s ghost?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Matthew Houseman isn’t dead.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isabella struggled to take in what Frank Decorah had said. “I don’t understand. Matthew was here. Like a ghost. Guarding the ranch. If he’s not dead, then where is he?” she gasped out.
“He was badly injured. He wasn’t expected to live. Somehow, he survived, but he’s been in a coma ever since.”
She stared at the man, still grappling with his words. “Where is he?” she repeated.
“In a facility called Garrison Care. In Los Angeles.”
“I have to go there.”
He kept his blue eyes fixed on her. “Don’t you want to see your father? He’s worried about you.”
“Ay, Dios. Of course.”
“He flew to Phoenix. He’s waiting for you.”
“Yes. Gracias.”
Frank Decorah stared at her, and she wondered if he thought she’d come unglued because of her recent experiences.
He cleared his throat and said, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Even though you think I’m . . . a little off.”
“You’ve been through an ordeal that would knock anyone for a loop.”
“Not exactly a vote of confidence.”
He cleared his throat. “I know Matthew Houseman guarded you here eight years ago. I know you were close.”
“How?”
“He talked about you.”
She struggled to hold back tears.
“It makes sense that you’d be thinking about him here.”
Not just thinking. But she didn’t say that aloud.
Isabella went back to Phoenix in the helicopter. At the Decorah Security satellite office, Jordan Stone did a full interview with her.
She gave an account of what had happened since she’d walked in the kitchen door of her rented house. But this time, she left out the parts about Matthew. Really, she was regretting that she’d mentioned him at all, because it was clear from Frank Decorah’s reaction that nobody was going to believe her.
Two hours later, Stone drove her to the Arizona Biltmore, a hotel complex designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, where she put the money from the ranch into the hotel safe, then went to one of the luxury suites scattered about the landscaped grounds where her father was waiting for her. She hadn’t seen him in two years, because they’d both known it wasn’t safe. Now everything had changed, but she needed time to think about where she was going from here.
Her heart squeezed as she looked at her father. Hiding out from the San Marcos thugs had aged him. His once dark hair was silver and much thinner. The lines in his face had deepened, and his skin was pale, probably because he hadn’t gotten much sun while he’d been in hiding. And his leg was in a cast.
When she saw that, she gasped. “What happened to you?”
“I was hiding in an old warehouse. I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my leg. It took me a while to crawl to the exit.”
“Dios.”
“I’m fine. And more important, so are you.”
When he pushed himself up and held out his arms, she came into them. As they clung together, emotions welled inside her. Deep in her heart she’d wondered if they would ever be safe. Ever be together. Now they were free for the first time in years, and it was finally sinking in.
“Nina, I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” she said, her voice cracking. “And now we don’t have to hide anymore.” As she said it, the reality finally hit her. They were safe from General Lopez.
“Are you all right?” her father asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You went to El Cayado.”
“Si.”
“I thought it was safe, but they must have found out about it. They came after you there.”
“Someone helped me get away.”
He moved back so that his eyes could meet hers. “Who?”
“I can’t tell you yet. But I have to go see him.”
Her father looked confused. “If he helped you, haven’t you already seen him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“And you’re not going to talk about it.” His face took on a regretful look. “We used to be close. But that’s changed. And being apart for so long hasn’t helped.”
“We don’t have to be apart now.”
“I put my whole family in danger with my wild idea of telling the truth about the general. My son was shot. My wife left me.”
She dragged in a breath and let it out. “We paid a price, but what you did was the right thing. The people of San Marcos needed to know there was hope for them. I’m sure your articles had something to do with what’s happened now.”
“They were long ago.”
“But the people don’t forget.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Don’t blame yourself for anything.”
He answered with a little nod, but she wasn’t sure she had convinced him. Maybe she could do that later. Now she had another task.
“I have to go to Los Angeles. I’ll be gone for a while,” she said. “Then I’ll come back here.”
“But you’re not telling me exactly where you’re going.”
“It’s better if I don’t. Not yet.”
He kept his gaze on her.
She wanted to look away, but his eyes compelled her. “You’re being very mysterious.”
“It would sound . . . strange to you,” she temporized, remembering the way Frank Decorah had stared at her.
He waited several seconds before asking, “Does this have something to do with a ghost?”
She stared at him in shock. “Why do you ask?”
His hands clenched and unclenched. “Because of Nana Maria.”
“What about her?” she asked cautiously.
“After the funeral, I carried you to your room. Then I wondered if it was a bad idea to leave you alone. I wasn’t sure so I came back, and I heard you talking to her,” he said in a rush, as though the words had been bottled up inside him for a long time. He paused before adding, “And I heard her answer you.”
She felt her throat constrict. All these years, they’d each been keeping a secret from the other. “You never said anything to me about it.”
“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I’d made it up because I missed her so much. And I didn’t want to talk about it with a child if it wasn’t true.”
Isabella was amazed that they were having this conversation almost twenty years later.
“You didn’t make it up. And now I know I’m not the only one who heard her.”
Her father gave her a long look. “I think you’re tuned to . . . the invisible world in ways most people aren’t.”
Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “Why do you think so?”
“Because I saw how you read everything you could about the vortexes. And I knew you asked Matthew to take you out int
o the desert so you could be close to them.”
“I didn’t even know you were paying attention to that.”
“I paid attention to a lot of things that I didn’t talk about. I’m sorry, I should have—” He stopped and started again. “I think now you’d say I was depressed. And withdrawn. Forgive me.”
“Oh, Papa.” She hugged him tightly.
When she eased away, his gaze met hers. “So tell me, did a spirit help you at the ranch?”
“I’m not sure, but I need to find out.”
“Then vaya con Dios,” he answered, before giving her a critical look. “But you can’t just rush off. You should shower, get some sleep, change your clothes.”
She didn’t want to take the time for any of that, but she didn’t want to arrive at Garrison Care looking like a refugee from a war zone. So she allowed herself the luxury of showering and washing her hair. While she was getting cleaned up, her father had a messenger service bring over some clothing from her house. He also checked the airline schedule from Phoenix to Los Angeles.
“I got you on a flight tomorrow morning,” he told her when she was dressed and relaxing on the patio of their suite.
Having to wait made her chest tighten, but she understood the sense of her father’s arrangements.
They had a room service dinner together on the patio, and she felt she was getting to know him all over again as they talked of old times. Many of the memories were good like the Navidad pageant at school where she’d had the honor of playing the Blessed Virgin. Some memories were painful. Like when they talked about her brother, whom they would never see again. But maybe now they’d be able to go back to San Marcos to locate old friends.
“Did Frank Decorah tell you I had to blow up the ranch house to get away?”
“Si.”
“I’m sorry about your books . . . and everything else that was there.” She made a small sound. “Well, I did grab the money hidden in the tunnel. It’s in the hotel safe. I thought I’d need it if I had to be on the run. Now you should take it with you. Well, except for some I might need for expenses.”
“Take as much as you want. I always intended it to be yours. And about those things in the ranch house, they are nothing compared to your life.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it, happy she had her father back.