by Linda Warren
“Yes, I’m glad you came.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
His fatigued brown eyes stared at her. “Don’t look so scared, Abigail. I’m not dead yet.”
“I…I…” She wasn’t scared, but words wouldn’t come. The room, the machines and the hospital reminded her of her father’s last days. He’d been in excruciating pain and his heart had been filled with sorrow—mostly caused by this man.
“I have a favor to ask of you.” His voice penetrated her troubled thoughts.
She found her voice. “If it’s about the memoirs—”
He stopped her. “No, it isn’t.”
Abby swallowed. “What is it, then?”
He took a ragged breath. “Many years ago I had an affair with a Mexican girl who worked in my house.”
Abby was taken aback by the statement. She had expected to hear a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. She forced herself to listen.
“She had a child, a girl, whom I refused to acknowledge as my daughter. She left and returned to Mexico with the baby. I don’t deserve anything from them, but I have to see my daughter’s face before I die.”
Abby shook her head. “I’m not sure how this concerns me.”
“I want you to find my daughter,” was his shocking reply.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Mr. Brewster, I’m not a detective. You need a private investigator.”
“No.” He shook his head. “They would drag this out for money and leak tidbits to the papers. I won’t have that. You’re a reporter. You can do this. The mother’s name is Delores Alvarez. Jonas has all the information on her in his files. He’ll go with you.”
A man moved from the shadows, and until that moment, Abby hadn’t even realized Jonas was in the room.
“I’m not going,” Jonas said tersely. “I already told you that.”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Mr. Brewster roared, his face turning red in anger.
“Calm down, Mr. Brewster,” the nurse ordered.
Mr. Brewster took a couple of deep breaths. “I own you, Jonas,” he murmured. “Remember that.”
Abby wondered what the old man meant, but didn’t have time to ponder it. She could see that Jonas wasn’t backing down. A full-fledged argument was about to erupt.
“Mr. Brewster, I’m not searching for your daughter,” she told him before the situation got out of control. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. There are reputable people who can help you. Besides, you should concentrate on getting better and—”
“You have to do it,” he breathed heavily. “You’re a woman close to her age. She’ll listen to you. Tell her I’m sorry. I just want to see her. That’s all.”
Abby inhaled deeply, trying to understand this strange request. “Mr. Brewster, I can’t, but—”
“No,” he cut in, took a breath, then asked, “Why did you agree to write my memoirs?”
Thrown by the question, Abby chewed on the inside of her lip, searching for the right words. Her motive was not altruistic, and she had difficulty telling him that. She didn’t understand why. Mr. Brewster had hurt her father, so she shouldn’t worry about his feelings.
“What’s the matter, Abigail?” he taunted. “You think the truth will hurt me?”
“I…”
“Nothing touches me anymore. My heart is like a rock. I’m not sure what’s keeping me alive.”
“I keep wondering the same thing,” Jonas slipped in.
“You see, Abigail, Jonas knows me, and he keeps waiting for me to draw my last breath. Not because he’s after my money but because he wants his freedom. But he will never be free of me…not even when I die.”
Abby threw up her hands. “Okay, I’ve had enough. This is getting weird, and I’m not getting involved.” She turned toward the door.
“You agreed to write my memoirs to get information about your father.”
She swung around, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“What?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t know?”
Abby swallowed hard. She felt as if she were a puppet and he were pulling her strings, manipulating her. She didn’t like that feeling…not one little bit.
“Here’s the deal, Abigail Duncan,” he went on. “You want something, and I want something. Let’s hammer out the details.”
“You think you can manipulate me?”
His eyes stared into hers. “Yes,” he answered. “And I’ll tell you why. You’re a reporter and you need to clear Abe Duncan’s name. I’m the only one who can do that.” He paused, then added with a touch of cynicism, “Or the town can go on believing the rumors.”
Blood began to pound through her numb body with exhilarating speed. “You’re a cruel old man,” she said angrily. “How can you be so—”
“Enough,” he ordered briskly. “What’s it going to be?”
Thoughts ran riot in her head. This was what she’d been waiting for—to hear the reason her father had been fired. She thought of all the years her father had worked for Simon Brewster, all the hard work and service he had given, only to be tossed aside like an old shoe. And the rumors. Abby would do anything to put an end to the rumors.
She raised her eyes to his. “Let’s hammer out the details,” she said quietly.
“Have you lost your mind?” Jonas shouted.
She ignored him.
“Good,” Mr. Brewster said, as if Jonas hadn’t spoken. “I knew I could count on you.”
Abby wrestled with her conscience. Could she do this? She didn’t know a thing about finding people, and she didn’t understand why he wanted her to find his daughter. There were so many other avenues. But he’d given her no choice. Not if she wanted the truth.
“All you have to do is go into Mexico and find Delores,” Mr. Brewster was talking. “Her family doesn’t live far from the border. They’ll be able to tell you where she is.”
“If it’s that simple, anyone can do it,” she reasoned.
“We’ve been through this. I want someone I can trust. Someone Delores can trust.”
“Are you sure you can trust me?” she fired at him. “After all, I am Abe Duncan’s daughter.”
“Touché, Abigail.” He sighed with admiration. “To answer your question, yes, I trust you implicitly.”
“Aren’t you the man who told me in his memoirs never to trust anyone?”
“Are you gonna pick at every little thing I’ve said or are you going to help me?”
She didn’t want to help him or have any part in this bizarre mess. But she had to push aside her feelings and remember why she was doing this.
“Why hasn’t Delores come back before now?” she asked. “Wouldn’t she want the best for her child?”
“I told her that if she ever came back, she’d regret it, and she knew I meant what I said. I’m not proud of the way I acted years ago, but…now that I’m near death, I have this need to see my daughter. She’ll be close to thirty, probably with a family of her own.”
This was crazy, and when she heard herself say the words, she knew they were the craziest thing she’d ever said. “Okay…I’ll try to find her.”
“I have your word.”
“Yes, you have my word.”
“Good,” he said, and seemed to relax.
“Why did you fire my father?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.
That sinister smile she was beginning to associate with him curved his blue lips. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you, Abigail?”
“No, of course not.”
“You find Delores, then we’ll talk.”
Frustration ran through Abby. She was close—so close—but she should have known better. Simon Brewster wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
“What if I don’t find her?”
“You will.”
“You seem certain of that.”
“I know you, Abigail. You won�
�t give up until you find her.”
You don’t know me, old man, she had the urge to say, but she didn’t. She had to keep her emotions clear. “How can I be sure you’ll tell me the truth when I find her?”
“You have my word.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Mr. Brewster started to laugh, but it turned into a cough. The nurse immediately adjusted the oxygen. In a moment he was better.
“You got fire, girl. Your father never had that.”
“Don’t criticize my father,” she snapped.
He ignored her words and asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“No, not until I have some proof that you won’t renege on your promise.”
Mr. Brewster watched her closely. “I’ll leave a sealed letter concerning the information you’re after with my attorney. When you return with my daughter, you can read the contents. Will that satisfy you?”
“Maybe,” she answered. “But I insist on seeing the letter and talking to your attorney.”
“No problem. Do we have a deal?”
He wouldn’t tell her a thing until he got what he wanted. It crossed her mind that he’d been planning this all along—but why her? Why had he chosen her to do this? It really didn’t matter. She was going to do it…for her father.
“Yes, we have a deal.”
“Good,” he said, and started to cough again.
Jonas took her elbow and pushed her out the door. He’d obviously decided that was enough for her, for him, for everybody.
“You…promised.” Brewster’s voice followed them.
“Are you serious?” Jonas asked roughly, once they were in the hall. “A daughter? My God, no one but you would believe that cock-and-bull story.”
“I have to find out about my father,” she said stubbornly.
“Your father was a good man. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”
Her eyes caught his in the dimness of the hallway. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors concerning my father.”
“What?” He shrugged. “That he embezzled money from Brewster?”
The words spoken so cavalierly filled her with anger. “My father never took from anybody. He always gave.”
“You brought it up, I didn’t,” he was quick to tell her. “Besides no one believes that trash, anyway.”
“But they’ve heard it, and it’s in their minds. I can’t stand the thought of my father having that kind of epitaph.” With that she headed for the elevator.
Jonas soon caught up with her. “Ms. Duncan, just let it be.”
“I can’t,” she said, and poked the Down button.
“Ms. Duncan, Simon Brewster lives by his own rules. It would be wise for you to go back to Dallas…far away from Brewster.”
“I can’t,” she said again, softly.
That ache in her voice threw Jonas. He was trying to remain detached from the situation, but the hurt in her eyes and the pain in her voice were making mincemeat out of that resolve.
They stepped onto the elevator in silence. Inside, Jonas tried again, “Ms. Duncan—”
“Please stop calling me Ms. Duncan,” she snapped. “My name is Abigail. Everyone calls me Abby. I would prefer it if you did the same.”
Jonas had a hard time hearing anything she was saying. All he could see were her full lips moving, her eyes sparkling and her breasts pressing firmly against her blouse. Mick was right. Jonas wanted her…right here, right now, in this elevator.
He was in big trouble.
The doors swished opened, and still Jonas didn’t move or speak. She watched him with a perplexed expression, probably wondering what was wrong with him.
Jonas reached out to catch the doors as they started to close. The action brought him to his senses. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he was anything but that. He’d had his share of women. He accepted them as they came into his life, enjoying the time he spent with them and then moving on to someone else. From the start of every relationship, he made it clear that there was no future with him. He had screwed up his life when he was fifteen years old, and he wouldn’t destroy anyone else’s.
He sensed in his gut that Abigail Duncan wasn’t a one-night stand or a casual affair. He avoided women like her—women who wanted commitment, family and babies. He had to admit he was attracted to her, but he could handle that without—
He suddenly realized she was waiting for an answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “We won’t be acquainted long enough for me to call you by your given name.”
Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “I don’t care. You’re not calling me Ms. Duncan in that tone of voice. You make it sound like I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”
Jonas walked out of the elevator, and Abby followed him. God, she was relentless. She was a woman who never gave up or gave in. He was beginning to see that.
As they walked out into the coolness of the September night, he turned swiftly—and she almost collided with him.
“All right, Abby,” he said harshly. “Are you satisfied?”
No, not quite, Abby thought. “Ms. Duncan” was better than that angry tone. What was wrong with her? Why should she care what he called her? She had more important things to worry about.
As if reading her mind, he added, “You’d better concentrate on Brewster, instead of worrying about what I call you.”
She tucked hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I think I’m getting a little crazy.”
“I’ll second that,” he quipped.
“Do you always have to be so insulting,” she snapped, tired of his rude remarks and insinuations.
There was a pause. Then he said, “Listen, Abby…”
Oh God, her name sounded just the way she had known it would—low, sensual and spine-tingling good. All she wanted to do was taste that sound on his lips. She pulled herself together, trying desperately to steady her roller-coaster emotions. One minute she was low and the next high. What was happening to her? Why did Jonas Parker have this effect on her? She shook the question away.
“I’ve worked for Brewster for twenty years, and this is the first I’ve heard of a daughter. My guess is, there isn’t one.”
“Why would he lie? Why would he concoct this elaborate hoax?”
“Like I tried to tell you earlier, Brewster does things for his own weird reasons, and nine times out of ten someone gets hurt. Go back to Dallas, make up with your husband and forget Brewster’s deal.”
“Stop saying that,” she said heatedly. “I’m not going back to Dallas, and I’m certainly not going back to my ex-husband.”
Jonas took a long, patient breath.
“I have to find out the truth,” she added more calmly. “Can’t you understand that?”
“What if you find out that your father did embezzle money from Brewster?”
“What!” she cried, feeling as if he’d slapped her.
“You heard me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You knew my father. He wouldn’t do that. How can you even say it?”
He took a step closer. “Because when you start digging into the past, you’d better be able to handle the consequences.”
She frowned, hearing a hint of a warning in his voice. A warning that indicated he might know more than he was saying. “If you know something, tell me.”
“I don’t.” He sighed. “Brewster didn’t like your father, and your father wasn’t all that crazy about Brewster. It was something personal between them, so just let it be.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, and felt chills run up her spine in apprehension of what lay ahead.
“Don’t go into Mexico to find this fictional daughter.”
The breeze picked up and blew her hair across her face. She quickly tucked it behind her ear again, wishing she had the option of refusing and wishing even more that he’d at least try to see this from her point of view. A siren wailed close by and a couple hurried past them, but neither Abby nor Jonas were in the mood to watch the activity aro
und the hospital. They were too engrossed in each other.
“I have to,” she finally said.
A low grumble left his throat.
“What does that mean? You don’t think I can do it?”
“Ms. Duncan, I’ve no doubt you can do anything you set your mind to.” The words came out in that insulting way again, and it angered her.
“I will, Mr. Parker, and I don’t want your help,” she told him. “I’ve been to Mexico many times. I don’t need some rude, arrogant, insulting man to watch over me.”
As the words left her mouth she wanted to take them back, but she couldn’t. She was so infuriated at his attitude.
She couldn’t see his face clearly in the moonlight, but she could feel his anger. She instinctively braced herself. She wasn’t afraid of him because somehow she knew he wouldn’t hit her. She wasn’t certain how she knew that, but she did. Maybe it was her experience with Kyle. She was afraid of Kyle because he couldn’t control his temper. Jonas had extreme control over everything in his life. She’d only met him a month ago, but intuitively she sensed certain traits about him—like that when he touched a woman it would be with affection and the utmost care. Right now he was angry with her and she’d received the full brunt of that anger with several lashes from his tongue. But that was fine. She could give it right back to him.
“I might be all those things, Ms. Duncan,” he said in that infuriating tone. “But I have enough sense to know a scam when I hear it. If you want to play games with Brewster, that’s your business. I’ve made my feelings clear on the whole situation and that’s all I have to say.” He turned into the September breeze and muttered, “’Night, ma’am,” as he walked away.
Abby wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Even though Jonas was angry with her, he still remembered his manners. She’d never met anyone like him before and she didn’t think she ever would again. She inhaled the cool night air. She was very curious about Jonas Parker. Why did he put up with Brewster’s ridicule and abuse? Why did he work for a man he seemed to hate? Mr. Brewster had said something about owning Jonas. What did that mean? Her reporter’s instinct was on full alert.
“Oh, Jonas, you haven’t seen the last of me,” she whispered under her breath as she made her way to her car.
