by Diana Palmer
“You’re...very tall,” she blurted out, for something to say.
“Runs in my family,” he murmured. Both hands were on her cheeks now, tilting her face up to his. She had a pretty mouth, shaped like a bow, naturally pale pink, parted, her white teeth just barely visible.
Her nails contracted against the hard muscle and he groaned, but it wasn’t from pain.
“Sorry,” she whispered, and started to lift her hands.
“Do it again,” he said through his teeth, holding her eyes.
“W-what?”
“I said, do it again,” he whispered, and bent his head.
She pressed her hands against his broad chest and lightly grazed the muscles while his hard mouth poised just above her soft one. She could taste his breath, feel the growing heat of his powerful body as they stood so close together in the hall. The only sounds were their breathing and, distantly, the steady rhythm of the grandfather clock against the wall in the bedroom Hayes was occupying.
“Your hands are cold,” he whispered against her lips.
“Yes,” she managed. Her eyes were on his mouth. She could almost feel it, taste it, touch it. For years, she’d dreamed of being in his arms, of having him want her, need her, love her. So unexpectedly, she was right where she’d wanted to be ever since she knew what she felt for Hayes was more than infatuation.
His nose rubbed against hers. She smelled of roses. His eyes closed. His mouth brushed lightly, so lightly, over her parted lips. She hung there, her breath suspended, her half-closed eyes riveted on his sensual mouth while she waited, waited, waited...
His big hands contracted as they framed her face. “What the hell,” he groaned softly, and his mouth suddenly crushed down over hers.
She shivered with pure delight. Without thinking of consequences, her arms went under his and around him. She held on for dear life while his mouth slowly, hungrily devoured her parted lips.
She pressed closer, vaguely aware that he was becoming very aroused and that she didn’t mind at all.
But he didn’t move closer. If anything, he put space between them, so that he didn’t make her feel threatened by his masculinity. His hands contracted on her oval face, his mouth hard on hers, his arms gathering her up so that her breasts flattened against his chest.
The pleasure almost countered the pain, but not quite enough. He groaned, and this time it wasn’t from pleasure. He lifted his head. He looked anguished.
“Damned...shoulder,” he gritted.
“Oh, dear,” she stammered.
But she didn’t move, and neither did he. She looked up into his eyes, hanging there like a drop of water suspended on the very tip of a green leaf.
“It’s like eating popcorn.”
She blinked. “Hmm?”
He smiled slowly. “Never mind. Come here.”
He bent and kissed her again, this time with less restraint and more hunger. His mouth crushed down over hers until she moaned softly. She felt his hands in her thick hair, tangling in it, savoring its length, its smooth richness, while he fed on her mouth.
Her hands slid up and down his long, muscular back, delighting in the warmth and strength of him, so lost that she didn’t even protest when his hands found her hips and pushed them hard into the changed contours of his body. He groaned, and so did she.
Hunger like tongues of flame bit into her untried body, made her feel swollen all over, hot and hungry and desperately in need of something she didn’t even understand.
“Hayes,” she groaned into his mouth.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Don’t fight it. Just relax....”
His ardor drugged her into absolute submission. She’d never felt such pleasure in her life. She wanted to keep on kissing him until the world ended, never stopping. She clung, shivering, as the need overcame all her scruples and she hoped against hope that he’d drag her into the bedroom and lock the door, and take off every piece of clothing on her aching body!
“Minette!”
They broke apart suddenly at the sound of her name echoing from downstairs. They stared at each other in utter shock.
“Minette?” Aunt Sarah called again from downstairs. “Honey, can you come help me change out the light on the hood fan on the stove? I can’t get this...stupid...bulb out!” she raged.
“Of course!” Minette called back in a voice that didn’t even sound like her own. “Be right there!”
She stared up at Hayes. He didn’t know whether to be sad or happy about the interruption. Things had started to get complicated. He was aching from head to toe, and not just in his wounded shoulder.
He eased her away from him, hoping she wouldn’t look down. His body was proclaiming its secrets to any eyes willing to look. He could have groaned at his inability to conceal his hunger.
“Your poor shoulder,” she said huskily and grimaced when she recognized the discomfort lining his face.
He wanted to say that it wasn’t his poor shoulder, it was his poor... He stopped the thought and laughed huskily.
“It’s okay,” he said. He pursed his lips, which were slightly swollen from the long, sweet contact with hers. “And it was worth it,” he whispered with twinkling dark eyes.
She flushed. “Yes. It was.”
“Minette?”
“Coming!” she called. She turned, hesitated, turned back. “You were going to tell me something,” she began.
“Later,” he said. And he wasn’t sure if it was a reprieve or not. “Don’t worry about it. Go help Sarah.”
“Okay.”
She left, with a last, secret smile.
Chapter 7
Hayes was wearing the T-shirt with his pajamas and he was under the covers when Minette brought him a tray for supper.
“I should be coming downstairs for meals,” he said apologetically.
“Next week,” she said. “Right now, you concentrate on getting better. I know it’s slow, but Dr. Coltrain told you it wouldn’t be an overnight process.”
He grimaced. “I’m not working. That’s a first. I haven’t had a vacation in five years.”
“I know. You’re overdue.” She smiled at him in a different way. There was an intimacy between them now that was new and exciting. She felt possessive about him.
He saw that. It made him tingle. He grinned up at her.
She flushed, and then laughed.
“What were you going to tell me, earlier?” she began.
“Hayes!” Julie ran into the room, with Shane right behind her.
“Not on the bed!” Minette said urgently. “Hayes is trying to eat, babies!”
“Oh, sorry,” Julie said, coming to a sudden stop at the bedside. “We wanted to know if we could watch the dragon movie with you after supper. Please? We’ll be ever so good!”
“You’ve seen the dragon movie ten times,” Minette groaned.
“Six,” Julie pouted. “Only six, Minette!”
Minette rolled her eyes.
Hayes just laughed. “I’ve only seen it twice, so I have to catch up. Sure it’s okay, if Minette doesn’t mind,” he told the children indulgently.
“Minette doesn’t mind,” Minette said heavily. “It wouldn’t do any good if I did,” she laughed. “I’m outnumbered!”
“You can watch it with us,” Julie offered, big-eyed.
“Sure,” Hayes mused with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He patted the bed beside him. “Plenty of room.”
“Uh, I need to make a few phone calls,” she said, smiling a little self-consciously. “Maybe another time.”
“Another time then,” he agreed gently.
“I’ll be back for the tray. Apple pie for dessert,” she added as she went out the door, shooing the kids ahead of her.
* * *
She was in the middle of a call with one of the daily newspaper reporters she knew about a rumor going the rounds.
“This man, El Jefe,” she told Ginny Ryan, a colleague, “the word is that he’s moving to a horse ranch here
in Jacobsville. I can’t find anybody who knows anything definite.”
“Neither can I,” Ginny agreed. “It’s odd, isn’t it? I mean, he was relatively safe across the border, but in the United States, he’s under investigation by the DEA, or so we hear. Doesn’t Cy Parks know some of the DEA agents personally? Maybe you could pump him for information.”
“I don’t know him well enough to presume,” Minette said sadly. “I wish I did.”
“Sheriff Carson is living with you, and he knows Cy,” Ginny prodded. “Couldn’t you ask him?”
Minette hesitated. “I suppose I could.”
“And then please share with me?” Ginny wheedled. “You weekly reporters know so much more than we daily ones do.”
“A likely story.”
“No kidding, you do,” Ginny protested. “You live in the small communities where people know everything. I only get gossip up here in San Antonio.”
“I’ll tell you what I find out,” Minette laughed.
“You’re a pal. I’ll share with you, if I turn up anything.”
“Deal! I’ll call you when... Oh, I’ve got another call. Sorry.”
“No problem. Have a good night.” Ginny hung up.
Minette answered the second call. “Minette Raynor,” she said into the receiver.
“Minette.” It was a man’s voice, deep and slow, speaking clipped English with only a trace of a Spanish accent. “She always said it was her favorite name, if the child was a girl.”
Minette’s heart stopped. “Who are you?”
“I am your father,” came the reply.
She didn’t know what to say. Her mother had only spoken vaguely of her father, and she’d died before Minette had a chance to ask for more information.
“Are you still there?” the voice asked.
She swallowed. “I’m here.”
“I know this must be a shock for you,” he said. “And under normal circumstances, I would never have presumed to force myself into your life. But there are complications which may involve you in great danger.”
“Complications.” She felt like a parrot. She couldn’t even think.
“Yes. I have an enemy. He had your sheriff stalked by a professional assassin, because he dared to arrest one of his enforcers. He believes that if he kills enough people, he will be beyond the reach even of law enforcement. This is a stupid thing, but, then, he is a particularly stupid man.” He laughed softly at his own joke.
“Who are you?” Minette asked, and she was certain she wasn’t going to like the answer.
“My name, my real name, is Diego Baroja Sanchez,” he said. “But most people just call me ‘El Jefe.’”
She caught her breath and sat up very straight in her chair. “You’re the drug lord....”
“Ah, mi hija, please, no stereotypes,” he groaned, using the Spanish for my daughter.
“Don’t call me that,” she pleaded.
He laughed. “Too much, too soon, huh?” he chuckled. “All right, then, Minette.”
She swallowed again, hard. Her hand, holding the receiver, was shaking. “You bought property next door to Cy Parks....”
“Yes, the infamous mercenary,” he laughed. “Where I will feel particularly safe, because most of his men are also veterans of many foreign conflicts.”
“He doesn’t like drug lords,” she bit off.
“Ah-ah,” he said, his voice making the equivalent of a shaken finger. “Stereotypes again. I am a dealer in illegal substances, not a potentate. But Cy Parks will like me,” he promised. “Because I am the worst enemy El Ladrón ever made.” His voice hardened as he said his competitor’s name. “He is just Pedro Mendez, and he calls himself the king of drugs, but everyone who hates him—and there are legions of these—call him the Thief. He steals men’s lives in pursuit of wealth. He carries with him a gold-and-diamond-plated pistol, in a holster also layered with gold. Can you imagine such a sight?” he laughed.
She was listening, but her life was crashing down around her. She was the daughter of one of the most notorious criminals in the world. Hayes was going to hate her. And just when things had been going so well between them!
“Ah, you don’t want to talk about guns, I can tell. You know, I only recently found out about you. My wife—excuse me, my ex-wife—was told never to try and communicate with me. I also never sent investigators to attempt to find her. It was the only protection I could give her. Even then, El Ladrón was dangerous to anyone close to me, while we were both climbing the ladder, so to speak, of our mutual trade. I loved her more than my life,” he added quietly. “There has never been another woman. I grieved for her. I never knew that she was pregnant when she left for the States.”
She was really listening now. “You loved my mother?”
“Of course, just as she loved me. I heard of her death, but I dared not send flowers or condolences. I had also heard that she remarried and had a child with her husband. I never knew the child was mine, not until my enemy started paying curious attention to a woman across the border who ran a newspaper. Even then, I thought his interest was because you are known for your fearless publication of drug-related crimes.”
“Why did you hire a private detective to find me?” she asked.
“Because my enforcer gathered information that your mother’s child was not the child of her husband, but my child. El Ladrón discovered the truth, just before I did,” he said curtly. “He wants to kill you, to get to me. But first he would kidnap you and do, shall we say, unthinkable things to you and record them for my benefit.” He groaned. “It grieves me that I only now know about you. I would have done so many things differently, if I had known before. You are in grave danger, all because of me.”
She swallowed. “You know that I run a newspaper?” she pointed out. “Nothing safe and quiet about my business.”
“I found that out, along with your identity, and the information that your business had been firebombed when you attempted to report drug activity in your county by El Ladrón,” he said. “Very dangerous. The man is completely insane, and this is not just my opinion. I deal in an illegal substance, yes. But he is obsessed with the thought of becoming the sole trafficker in Mexico, and to that end, he has decided to eliminate the others. His primary target is me, because I am second only to him.”
“He wants you dead,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Of course. As I want him dead,” he said, and cleared his throat. “But my motives are, shall we say, slightly more noble than his, because I do not kill people.”
“There was a border agent shot just recently,” she began.
“Yes. He stumbled onto two of El Ladrón’s mules with an SUV full of cocaine. The outcome was predictable. El Ladrón does not hesitate to shoot anyone in his way, and if you do not believe this, look again at your houseguest.”
She gasped. “Do you know everything?”
“Of course. One of my men is an expert at intelligence gathering. His former employer in the Middle East met an untimely demise at the hands of some of your countrymen,” he added. “His loss, my gain.”
“Then why hire a private detective?” she wondered.
“The method of intelligence gathering done by my colleague lacks finesse,” he said.
“He can’t use a phone?”
He laughed. “He practices his craft more usually with a knife.”
“You don’t kill people, you said,” she shot back.
“Yes, but I never said I didn’t injure them,” he pointed out. “You must not trouble yourself over this.... I do not disfigure them or leave them with desperate injuries. Most will give the information I wish with very little coaxing, which they later describe as the most horrible torture to save face.”
“I see.”
“Niña,” he continued gently, “I go to mass every Sunday, I contribute to the various welfare agencies, I adopt families at Christmas and flood them with presents, I even maintain a chapel on my property for my worker
s. I may be a bad man, but I am not without decency.”
“You still break the law,” she replied solemnly.
“Well, of course. I have to make a living so that I can afford to be charitable,” he laughed.
She sighed.
“I know, this is very hard for you,” he said. “Losing your mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me. You are my only child, the only really good thing I have ever done. I...” He hesitated. “I wish to know you, just a little, and to protect you to the very best of my ability while I find a way to remove El Ladrón permanently from our lives.”
“Murder him, you mean,” she said coldly.
“Not necessarily,” he replied. “I can provide enough evidence to have him put away for life, if I can get someone with one of the letter agencies to help me.”
“Letter agencies?”
He laughed again. “CIA, FBI, DEA, NSA, DHS,” he explained. “We call them ‘letter’ agencies because their names are most often abbreviated.”
“You can get evidence against El Ladrón, but he isn’t in this country,” she said. “He lives in Mexico, from what I hear...just across the border in Cotillo.”
“Yes, he does, but now that I am here, he will also be here,” he said, and his voice became thick with concern. “I cannot let him kill you. So there will be people watching you, always. They will be discreet,” he interrupted when she started to protest. “I know that your houseguest will do what he can, along with his friends, but it might not be enough. The assassin El Ladrón sent after him was dealt with quite harshly for missing. And it was only the unexpected movement of the sheriff that saved his life. Otherwise, he would be very dead. The assassin was one of the best of his kind.”
“Oh, dear.” The worry she felt was much more for Hayes than for herself. “He said he was going to send another one.”
El Ladrón laughed. “Yes, he is. In fact, he has already deposited the requested amount in the assassin’s Swiss bank account.”
“It’s not funny,” she said with bitter anger.