by Rebecca York
And she was right. Yet the brooding look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t happy about being manipulated. She moved toward him and laid a hand on his arm. “We’ll talk,” she said in a voice meant only for him.
He answered with a curt nod. Then he reached for her and pulled her to him. Again, because there were people watching, she didn’t protest. In fact, she used the excuse to hold him tightly for several heartbeats, closing her eyes and molding herself to him. He could alter her whole life now, she thought almost frantically—willing him to change his mind. But he didn’t receive the silent message. Sadly, she was forced to ease away.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Keep yourself well—and safe,” he said, his voice thick.
“I will,” she answered, her throat tight with pain, moisture swimming in her eyes as she eased away from him.
Jessie managed to keep from crying until she was safely inside Erin’s car. Then the tears began to fill her eyes and run down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Erin said, finding a tissue in her purse and handing it to Jessie. “What can I do to help?”
“Just drive away before Miguel or Bernardo comes outside and sees me doing this, waterfall act.”
As Erin started the car and eased away from the curb, Jessie sat beside her, sobbing. It was several minutes before she could make the tears stop.
“Are you and the baby okay?” Erin asked gently. “Do you want me to take you to the emergency room or anything?”
“Miguel checked me. I’m fine,” she managed, then had to stop talking because she was afraid she’d start to weep again. “I love him,” she finally said in a voice that broke before she got through the short sentence.
“And he loves you.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s pretty obvious.”
“Because?” she prompted.
“The way his voice goes soft when he talks about you. The way he looks at you. The way he held you when you said goodbye.” Erin took her eyes from the road for a moment. “Not to mention the way he dashed off to find you when you were in trouble.”
Erin’s assessment made her heart swell.
“Besides,” her friend continued, “he told me.”
“He did?”
“We had a pretty intense five-minute conversation when he came to the office. I know that he’s being chased by some kind of killer. I know he’s afraid that you’ll go down with him.”
Jessie nodded. Miguel had been surprisingly frank with Erin. “I don’t suppose he gave you any details about the man who’s after him?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t know much more than you do. Miguel won’t let me help him, and that’s not...acceptable.”
“He’s trying to protect you.”
“I know,” Jessie practically shouted in frustration. “That’s what he keeps saying. But I can’t marry him under his conditions.”
“He proposed to you?”
“Well, it was more like an order,” she said with a little snort. “He didn’t tell me what was supposed to happen after the ceremony.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“He won’t discuss his plans. He comes from a country where the guys make the decisions, and the women live with them.”
Erin covered her hand for a minute. “I know you’re seeing this in black-and-white terms. But cut him some slack. He just found out about the baby today. And I gather he got you away from Georgie. Then he organized a citizens’ patrol to get the guy off the streets. He’s been busy. Maybe he hasn’t thought any further ahead.”
Jessie nodded, feeling a tiny stirring of hope.
They turned into Jessie’s driveway, and Erin went around to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk—from which she pulled Jessie’s pocketbook.
“You found it!”
“It was right where you dropped it.”
Jessie took out her keys and unlocked the door. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of herb tea,” her friend said.
“Well...”
“Sit down and relax, and I’ll get us each a cup.”
“I don’t need to be pampered,” Jessie protested.
“Of course you do. You’ve had a hell of an afternoon. You want cranberry, right?”
“Yes,” she answered as she dropped onto the sofa, leaned her head against the cushions, and closed her eyes. She could hear Erin in the kitchen, and for just a moment she let herself indulge in the fantasy that it was Miguel out there. The weak, scared part of her wished she could simply have accepted his terms. But that wasn’t the kind of relationship she could live with—not after the disaster of her first marriage.
Her friend came into the living room with two mugs of tea. Jessie cradled the warm cup in her hand, absorbing the heat into her fingers. Erin took several sips, then proposed, “Why don’t you take it easy for a couple of days? Take some sick leave,” she suggested.
“No. I’ll go crazy. Maybe I can sleep late tomorrow and come to work in the afternoon.”
“How are you going to get to the office?” Erin asked.
Jessie stared at her friend, then pressed her fingers against her mouth as she remembered that her car had plowed into a cement wall. She made an unladylike exclamation. “You’re right, I don’t know if my car is in working condition. Or if the police have it. I guess I need a rental. And I need to contact my insurance company.”
“So take tomorrow off,” Erin suggested again, “and get things straightened out.”
“We’ll see.”
“Just remember that your friends are here for you any way you need us,” Erin told her.
Too overwhelmed to speak, Jessie nodded her thanks.
THE CAR HAD BEEN TOWED to the police lot, and the insurance company declared it totaled. Jessie used some of her trust-fund money to replace it with a Volvo, figuring a nice sturdy car would be safest for the baby.
As Erin had predicted, she had a lot to keep her occupied. But a kind of compulsion was forming in her mind and wouldn’t let go. Miguel didn’t want to burden her with his problems. What if she could learn something on her own? If she came to him with what she knew, he’d have no reason for secrecy. He’d have to let her help him get out of trouble.
The thought rattled around in her mind, filling her with hope and a kind of sick dread. Suppose it turned out that Miguel had been lying to her all along? Suppose he was a criminal, and he was afraid that she’d get him arrested?
It couldn’t be true, she told herself. She knew him too well. He was honest and honorable, and he was caught in a terrible situation that wasn’t his fault. She wanted that to be true—so much. Yet, at the same time, she was angry with him for deserting her.
If things had been different, she would have turned to her friends at Randolph Security—Jed Prentiss, in particular. He’d been to San Marcos, and he had contacts down there. Yet she didn’t want to share her doubts with him, and she found she was too proud to let anyone know how much she was suffering over Miguel’s rejection.
So she needed another source of information. She wasn’t sure what it might be until she remembered Donna Russell. Donna had been a Spanish major with her at university and had taken a job at the Organization of American Nations in Washington, D.C. Perhaps she’d know how to get some information.
“Jessie!” her friend said when she got her on the phone. “This is a nice surprise. I haven’t heard from you in months. Are you in town?”
“No. I’m in Baltimore.”
“Still with the Light Street Foundation?”
“Yes.”
“Everything going okay?”
“Fine,” she managed, knowing she wasn’t emotionally strong enough to bare her problems at the moment. Instead she paused and took a steadying breath. Making up stories went against her principles, but she knew she had to be circumspect. If she asked for information about Miguel, it could direct attention t
oward him. She could try another approach, however. “I was wondering if you can do me a favor. And keep it confidential.”
“What kind of favor?” Donna asked cautiously.
“I need some information on a man in San Marcos. Carlos Jurado.”
“In what context?”
“One of my clients mentioned him. I think she, uh, had some trouble with him before she came to the States. And I’d like to find out about the man.”
There were a few moments of silence at the other end of the line. “His name doesn’t ring a bell right offhand. But I can do some research.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll send you what I dig up. Or you could come to D.C. and have lunch with me,” Donna suggested.
The offer was tempting. She liked Donna, and it would be good to get away. But then her friend would see that she was pregnant, and it would be impossible to avoid questions. So she begged off, and they chatted for a few minutes before she hung up.
Donna faxed her some material later in the day at work—newspaper articles and a listing in the San Marcos equivalent of Who’s Who.
Jessie’s hands were shaking as she sifted through the stack of papers. Jurado must be important or there wouldn’t have been so much information on him that Donna could put her hands on so quickly.
Apparently he was a businessman, now in his early fifties, who had cultivated a wide range of interests in San Marcos and in other Latin American countries over the years. He was from a wealthy family, and, at first, he had let his father run the show. But in his thirties Carlos had fought the older man for control of the Jurado interests. He had won, and the elder Jurado had died of a heart attack a few months later.
After that, Carlos had gone about systematically taking over other companies. Sometimes he dismantled them. Sometimes he ran them into the ground. Sometimes he sold them at a profit.
There was no editorial comment in the newspaper stories, but Jessie gathered that the man was ruthless. Several articles from a magazine published in Florida speculated that Carlos might have invested some of his fortune in the drug trade. From San Marcos sources she learned that he had dropped out of sight almost a year ago. There was speculation that he might have been murdered.
Jessie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stir. Had Miguel killed him, and now Jurado’s friends were after him? But in her heart she knew Miguel wasn’t capable of murder.
Sighing, she told herself that she was letting her imagination run wild. She had been hoping for some startling revelation about Jurado, but she knew little more than she had at the very beginning. Jurado must have a secret that Miguel had found out. But what could it be?
Feeling defeated and alone, Jessie sat staring into space. She’d just wasted a bunch of time on speculation that could lead nowhere. And she was no closer to knowing what had happened to Miguel.
The next morning she made a concerted effort to focus on her job. But right after lunch she was distracted again by a list of requests for data on students who had applied for Light Street Foundation fellowships.
The information was in the files at the recreation center. Knowing she was too restless to sit at her desk, she decided to go over and pull the folders herself. But as she drove toward the neighborhood, her stomach began to do a nervous little dance as she pictured herself running into Jim Alvarez.
When she parked and walked to the door, she saw a car pass on the street and recognized Bernardo. She had noticed him behind her several times since the kidnapping—him and several other men. Either Miguel had asked them to keep an eye on her, or they had taken it upon themselves. But she didn’t know for sure, because nobody had told her. Certainly not Miguel. She hadn’t heard from him since the day he’d found out about the baby, and the silence was driving her crazy. She’d thought he’d make another argument for marriage. Instead, he’d let her stew—which was turning out to be an all-too-effective tactic.
She tried to drive him from her mind as she pushed open the door of the recreation center. Inside, a girl named Maria was just stepping out of the gym.
“Senorita Douglas. Where have you been?”
“Working at the Light Street office.”
“We miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
Maria’s gaze dropped to Jessie’s belly, which was now the most prominent part of her anatomy. “Are you going to have a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.” In fact, she’d had a sonogram appointment this week. For the first time, she’d asked the baby’s sex. So now she knew, and she longed to tell Miguel about his son. But she wasn’t going to use that as an excuse to get in touch with him. She’d gone that route once. And once was enough.
She didn’t realize her face had twisted into a grimace until Maria’s expression filled with alarm.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked anxiously.
“Yes.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks,” she answered, thinking that the girl didn’t seem particularly disturbed by her marital status. Maybe Jim had had a chance to get used to the idea.
Still, she was unable to shake the feeling of being an intruder as she opened a file drawer and began to search for names on the list of candidates. She had been working for about twenty minutes when she sensed that someone was standing behind her. Turning, she saw Jim filling the doorway, his gaze far from friendly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She took a step back, resisting the urge to fold her arms protectively across her middle. “I’m getting some materials I need, so Erin and the committee can make scholarship recommendations.”
“You could have called over and had the folders sent”
“Since I know the filing system, I thought it would be more efficient to do it myself.”
He shifted his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other. “I assumed you wouldn’t be back.”
“I’ve been busy since you contacted Erin. But I’ve been thinking that we do need to talk,” she answered.
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “About what?”
“About your trying to get me fired.”
He straightened his shoulders. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.”
“That was how Erin related your conversation to me,” she replied in a sharper voice than she’d intended.
The color in his cheeks heightened, and she realized that she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t wanted to be so confrontational, but the words had slipped out.
“Jim, I—”
He cut her off before she could say anything more. “Well, since you insist on putting it in those terms, I’d like to clarify my position. I know you think I’m the bad guy here, but I was hired by the Light Street Foundation to serve this community, and I’ve done that to the best of my ability. That includes making staff recommendations. Everybody here is a role model first and foremost. Each of us has to set an example for the community, and unfortunately, your unmarried pregnancy sends a message to our young, impressionable girls that having a baby out of wedlock is a perfectly acceptable alternative to the traditional family.”
“There’s a big difference between a responsible adult and a teenage girl,” she told him.
He dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand. “I happen to think that children raised by a single mother lack the stable environment provided by a two-parent family. And that isn’t even taking economic hardship into consideration.”
“My child won’t suffer any economic hardship,” Jessie retorted.
“That’s only part of the problem,” Jim countered. “The moral example is far more relevant.”
Her face stung—from the tone of his voice as much as from his words. Looking away, she focused on the folders in her hand.
Before she could come up with a response, he added a piece of unsolicited advice: “If you know who the father is, you should ask him to marry you.”
“What do you mean—if I know?” she managed, so
stunned that she could hardly think.
“Of course she knows,” a voice came from behind her—a voice edged with outrage.
“Miguel!”
She hadn’t seen him in days, and the reality of his presence made her knees weak. He had told her he didn’t go out during the day. But he had done it again—for her. He was here, at the rec center—a place he had avoided for months.
He stepped into the room, his eyes glittering as he moved to Jessie’s side and put his arm protectively around her, declaring without words that this was his woman.
Jim stared at him, his face taking on a speculative look. “Dr. Diego. I haven’t seen you recently.”
“I have been around.”
The two men regarded each other across several feet of charged space.
Miguel’s free hand tightened into a fist, and Jessie remembered yesterday that she’d been wondering if he’d done something to Carlos Jurado.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her fingers closing on his arm, tugging gently.
She held her breath, feeling his anger radiate through the room. Then he turned dismissively away from the other man, his expression softening considerably as he looked at her. “You don’t have to stay here and listen to him insult you.”
“I guess not.”
“Come on.”
She let him lead her toward the door, .then out of the building where the sunlight made her blink. Without hesitation he steered her toward her new car. Either he’d seen it before, or Bernardo had described it to him.
“Give me your keys.”
“I can drive.”
“I know. You are very independent. But it is easier for me right now if I don’t have to give you directions,” he said in a tight voice.
Fumbling in her purse, she found the keys and handed them over. “Where are we going?”
“Where we can be alone.”
She wanted him to explain, but he was absolutely silent, his face grim as he drove out of the parking lot. All she could tell was that he was holding his emotions under tight control.
She had assumed he would be heading to the house where he’d brought her the week before. Instead, he drove several miles in the other direction and turned into an alley behind a row of well-kept brick houses. After pulling into a garage and locking the car, he led her across a large patio bordered by flowers and through a back door.