The Girl with the Golden Gun

by Ann Major

  His father could go to hell. Most people probably saw his daddy as an easygoing, shiftless soul, who had a weakness for the bottle. But they didn’t know. His old man could get really drunk, and when he did, he always went after Shanghai.

  There was no talking to him then, no arguing with a drunk.

  The lights in his kitchen flickered twice. Shanghai wouldn’t have minded the thunderstorm if he’d been in a better frame of mind. Water was scarce in south Texas.

  He was stretching his long legs out when he heard a car door slam and quick, light footsteps followed by a timid knock at his door.

  Not wanting company, Shanghai hunkered lower and ignored the light taps.

  Thunder crashed outside and was quickly followed by brilliant lightning. Then the world went dark again as the rain continued to pour down.

  The door rattled as a girl’s hand pulled it open. “Can I come in?”

  Mia’s soft whisper cut through the noise of the storm and sliced bits out of his bruised heart. Shanghai sprang to his feet as if she’d pelted him with buckshot. Then pain licked through him from the beating he’d taken from her daddy.

  “Go away!” he growled. “You’re the last person I want to see.”

  “Not till we talk.”

  “Damn your hide, girl. Git.” His mouth hurt so badly he could barely speak. He rubbed it before he thought and orange stars flashed in front of his eyes. Damn.

  When she didn’t leave or say anything, he bit his lips in frustration. Then quick as a panther he flung his empty long-neck so savagely into the trash can, it burst. Broken glass tinkled to the bottom of the can. His boots made hollow sounds that rang on the oak flooring as he stalked heavily to the front door, which he slammed open wider with enough force to show her she wasn’t welcome.

  Shanghai flipped on the outside light and saw her through the screen. She sure as hell looked different with her long red hair flowing like fiery amber about her pretty face and slim shoulders. Despite his injuries, he tensed when he saw that she sucked in a quick breath after looking at his bronzed shoulders and torso. Then she blushed.

  She’d changed out of her jeans. Why the hell had she done that? She looked so soft and feminine and sweet. Her beauty caused a hard knot to lodge in the base of his throat. He’d never seen her in a damp, clingy white dress before; never guessed that a tomboy kid like her could have such a good figure. She was still wearing her bright red boots, though, and she was holding a mud-spattered rose.

  What happened to the kid with red pigtails he’d felt so easy around?

  He ran a hand through his black hair and inhaled a quick, raspy breath.

  “Where’d you get that damn-fool dress?”

  “Borrowed it from Lizzy.”

  “Figures. You should have borrowed some shoes, too.”

  “Her feet are longer than mine.”

  Since he was bare-chested and black and blue all over, she could probably see every mark her bullying father had inflicted.

  He stood up straighter, maybe to intimidate her. “I wasn’t expecting company. I’d better put on my shirt.”

  “No. It’s probably soaking or something. You look…good.” She blushed again and lowered her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t throw away the presents people give you,” she said, pulling the screen door open.

  When she twirled the rose under his nose, he grabbed it and threw it on the floor.

  “Girl, don’t you know better than to come looking for me—tonight…after…”

  Shanghai notched his chin higher as he remembered regaining consciousness and finding Caesar Kemble standing over him, his hand still clenched into a fist and that awful grin on his face.

  “I shouldn’t have gone to your house tonight,” Shanghai said. “And you shouldn’t be here now.”

  “Don’t you care that I hate what my daddy did to you?”

  “No, I don’t care.”

  “Why do you hate me?”

  “Well, maybe ’cause your bunch has been stealing from my bunch for umpteen generations. Maybe tonight I want to be alone to sulk and drink and nurse my hatred for all things Kemble—including you.”

  “I saw you ride that bull last weekend at the Kingsville Rodeo. You were great.”

  He inhaled a couple of long, embarrassing breaths while she stared at his chest, and he tried not to stare at hers.

  “You’re very young,” he muttered.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Plenty. Don’t you know nothin’? You’re not a kid anymore.”

  “I didn’t think you’d ever notice.”

  “Go home.”

  “No.”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve already got a girl.”

  “Wendy! I know.”

  “So go chase boys your own age.”

  Some of the sparkle went out of her eyes. Still, she was a vision in that white dress. He couldn’t very well throw her off his porch into the rain. Not when he didn’t trust himself to touch her.

  Still, the last thing Shanghai needed tonight was a sassy virgin from the Kemble bunch to tempt him even further down the road that led to hell.

  “Can I come in or not?” she whispered again.

  “No!”

  She laughed as she pulled the screen door open and sashayed past him.

  “Are you out of your mind? How many times have I warned you to stay the hell away from me, girl?”

  She pretended to count her fingers and then stopped. “Way too many.” She went to his cooler, opened it and grabbed a beer. Then she popped the top off using the edge of his table. She would have taken a long swig of the stuff if he hadn’t grabbed it from her and taken a healthy pull himself.

  “You’re not exactly the obedient type, are you?” He watched her as he took another long pull.

  “Are you?”

  That stopped him cold.

  “I was worried sick about you,” she said. “I had to come.”

  Her big, golden, long-lashed eyes met his. Again he noted the raindrops glistening like diamonds in her red hair. Most of all he fixated on that single sparkle that clung to the tip of her cute, upturned nose. She was wearing lipstick and eyeliner for a change.

  “If you’re looking to get yourself seduced, little girl, follow cowboys like me home and then throw yourself at them.”

  “You’re not like that, and we both know it. You’re nice.”

  “Nice? You don’t have the gumption God gave a horsefly. Guys aren’t nice. They’re all out to get you.”

  “Where’s Spot?”

  “At the house.”

  Her teeth chattered, and she rubbed her arms to warm herself.

  “If your daddy catches us together here, he’ll get one of his bought-off judges to railroad me into some prison until I’m old and gray. Come back when you’re eighteen.”

  “What if some other girl…like Wendy Harper gets you before then?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m all wet and cold. You could offer me a blanket or your shirt or something.” She swallowed a quick breath, and he realized she was even more nervous than he was. Then she picked up the damp shirt that hung on the back of his chair and slipped her arms through the sleeves. When the long sleeves dangled many inches longer than her hands, she began to roll them up.

  “Why can’t you ever do what you’re told?”

  “Because then I don’t get what I want.” She paused, pulling his shirt close against her body. “Can I help it if I grew up spoiled instead of with a great big chip on my shoulder weighing me down?”

  “What if I grabbed you and snapped you against my chest? What if I gave you a kiss or two, would you leave me alone then and go chase somebody closer to your age?”

  She straightened up to face him. Beaming brightly, she puckered her lips. “Cross my heart and swear to die.”

  “You’re hopeless. Girls are supposed to let the guy do the chasin’,” he said
.

  “That’s stupid. You’d never chase me.”

  “You’re too young.”

  “When I’m all grown up, eighteen, would you really want…”

  “You’re a Kemble.”

  “Kiss me,” she whispered in a low, hypnotic tone. “If my daddy runs you off like he said he would, this might be my last chance. Then I’d have to live my whole life without knowing…what you’re like.”

  Hardly knowing what he did, he strolled closer, leaned down and pecked her cheek lightly with his lips. The kiss accomplished, he intended to jump free. “There. Now go!”

  “That’s not the kind of kiss I meant, and you know it!”

  Her gentle hands circled his wide shoulders, and she seemed to melt into him as she clung tightly. Even as he fought to loosen her grip, he heated where her warm breath brushed his cheek. He noticed that her damp body, although slim and petite, nestled against his huge frame, felt more like a woman’s body than a child’s. Damn her hide, she was a perfect fit.

  His heart thudded painfully. He should burn in hell for this alone.

  “On the lips,” she pleaded. “Kiss me like you kissed Wendy at the rodeo.”

  “You little spy!”

  “Just once—please.”

  He yanked himself loose. Still, he admired the way she went after what she wanted. Nothing had ever been handed to him, either.

  She put her hand to her cheek. “My skin burns where you…”

  It was the damnedest, most unaccountable thing, but his lips burned from the chaste kiss he’d given her.

  One taste of her sweet, velvet skin had rocked him. She was innocent but willing and utterly, utterly adorable.

  He wished he was ten years younger so he could crush her close and not feel like he was Satan’s spawn.

  He couldn’t stand another second of this, so he stomped out of the house and stood on his porch and watched it rain.

  She raced after him.

  “Now you really have to go,” he said roughly. “You promised.”

  She shook her head. “That was only if you kissed me on the mouth.” Her voice fell so softly, he had to strain to hear it over the downpour.

  Being protective of a Kemble was not a role he felt comfortable with. Not when she was so all-fired beautiful.

  “Mia—”

  When he turned and saw her backlighted by the porch lamp, he had to remind himself again she was jailbait. Standing there in her wet dress with her big eyes fastened on his mouth, she personified fresh, young sensuality and femininity.

  “Go,” he said.

  “How come you still wear that turkey feather I gave you in the brim of your hat?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything, girl.”

  His heart thudded. Inside his jeans, he was hard and swollen.

  He wanted her. Even though it was wrong.

  Before she could answer him, headlights flashed, and he heard a car down the road.

  “Go to the kitchen. Don’t make a sound. If anybody finds you here, I could end up in jail. Do you understand how serious this is?”

  For once she obeyed, and he shut the door behind her. Scarcely had she hidden herself, than his own father stormed up to the porch.

  As usual he was drunk. His thick florid face was set in a mask of hatred as he stumbled up the steps. “I—I lost the ranch tonight…or what’s left of it…to Caesar Kemble. Because of you.”

  Shanghai sank to his knees and fisted his hands. If someone had slammed a shovel against his spine, he couldn’t have felt more broken.

  “It’s your fault.”

  “Right,” Shanghai whispered. “Blame somebody else like you always do.”

  His father weaved drunkenly. “You had to go over there and stir him up. He came looking for me just like you knew he would. And you just sat here and let him lure me into a game of cards. Entice me with the finest liquor. When it was over and he’d won Black Oaks, he told me you went to his house and strutted around like a bantam cock, like you thought you were somebody, like you thought you were as good as him.”

  “I am as good as him.”

  “You’re a loser, born to a loser, who’s sprung from a long line of losers.”

  “I’ll drive you home and put you to bed, Daddy.”

  “Don’t act so damned superior.”

  “It would’ve happened anyway!”

  “The hell it would! You’ve got high-and-mighty airs, but you’re no better than me. Caesar said it was time all of us Knights got what we deserved—nothing! But that’s not the only reason I came over. Kinky called him and said Mia’s run off again. Caesar said she was upset because he hit you, and they think she might’ve come over here. I don’t reckon you know where—”

  Shanghai shook his head just as a pot crashed in the kitchen inside the cabin.

  “Who the hell’s in there with you then?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You lyin’ son-of-a skunk! Caesar’s on his way over here, you fool!”

  His father rushed past him, whipped the screen door open and stormed through the house.

  Mia screamed from his bedroom. When Shanghai ran inside, his father was dragging her out from under the bed by the hair.

  “Let go of her,” Shanghai yelled, shoving him in the back.

  “It’s not what you think, Mr. Knight,” Mia began. “He didn’t do anything. It was me. All my fault. He told me to go, but I—”

  “I got eyes in my head. He’s bare-chested and you’re wearing his shirt. You were in his bed.”

  “Under his bed. I told you. I came over here on my own,” she said.

  “How long has this been going on?” his father yelled.

  “Nothing’s going on,” Shanghai said.

  “She’s here, in your bedroom. It’s the middle of the night. She’s underage. You’ve got a wild reputation and you’re madder than hell at her father. And you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t touch—”

  “What do you care? You’re the one who gambled the ranch away!”

  His father lunged at him. “That was your fault and you know it! You set me up tonight! Laid a trap. I should’ve seen it coming. You’ve been a wild ’un since the day you was born.”

  “Wonder where I get it?”

  “Not from me! ’Cause you’re not mine, boy! The only reason your scheming mother married me was to get a daddy for her no-good bastard.”

  “You’re lying!”

  His father lunged. Together they crashed onto the floor. When Mia leaned down to try to pull them apart, his father slugged her.

  Unconscious, she slumped like a limp rag doll to the floor.

  Instantly Shanghai forgot his father and dropped to his knees beside her. Smoothing her hair from her face, he touched her throat.

  “I didn’t mean to hit her,” his father gasped, all the meanness going out of him at the realization he’d hit Caesar’s daughter. “I meant to knock some sense into you. Not that that’s possible.”

  “I think she’s okay.”

  Shanghai picked her up in his arms and laid her on his bed. As he held her wrist and found her pulse, which was strong and steady, he saw headlights on the road outside.

  Shanghai glanced up at his father and felt an utter coldness. “Somebody’s coming. Go see who it is. I’ll stay with her.”

  Her eyes flickered open, and she smiled at Shanghai. “This is where I’ve always wanted to be—in your arms.”

  “You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, stroking her brow.

  “It’s Caesar Kemble.” Through the doorway Shanghai could see his father was cowering drunkenly behind the front door. “He swore I could stay at Black Oaks till I died, but if he finds you and her here, he won’t honor that. He’ll have us both locked up for the rest of our natural born years—if he doesn’t shoot us on the spot.”

  His father had gone so pale and looked so terrified Shanghai felt sorry for him.

  “You never saw me tonight,” Shanghai said. “I wasn’t here. You d
on’t know where or why I went—understand? You’ll ask questions and act worried. You’ll pretend that you’re concerned about your missing son.”

  His father nodded, as if trying to understand, but his eyes were too glazed with booze.

  Shanghai turned back to Mia.

  “Your daddy’s outside,” he told her, reluctant to leave the brat until he was sure she was okay.

  “Run,” she whispered. “I’ll catch up to you when I’m all grown-up.”

  In spite of himself he smiled. “When you’re datin’ age, you’ll have every eligible bachelor in Texas chasin’ you. You’ll forget all about the likes of Shanghai Knight.”

  “No…I’ll find you when I’m all grown-up. I swear. And I’ll make you love me!”

  He laughed.

  “I will. Somehow I will.”

  “You do that then, little darlin’. But if I don’t git—now—there won’t be much left of me to find or love!”

  Funny thing. His last act on the way out the door was to lean down and grab that dang-fool rose she’d pitched at him.

  Then he hightailed it out the back door.

  BOOK ONE

  Smart Cowboy Saying:

  You get used to hanging, if you hang long enough.

  —L.D. Burke, Santa Fe

  One

  Fifteen years later

  Big Bend National Park, Texas

  Where was the damn plane?

  “Where are you, you little shit? Why don’t you be a good boy for a change and just come to Daddy?”

  DEA Division Director John Hart squinted as he lowered his binoculars and shoved on his sunglasses. His pale blue eyes burned from eye strain from searching the skies so long for one tiny airplane.

  So far the seizure was going off as planned. Except for one skinny, dark kid in ragged jeans, who’d run like lightning, eluding his best agents and their bullets, his men had rounded up Octavo Morales’s ground crew. At this very moment the bastards were cuffed and cursing him as they sweated like pigs in a sweltering van parked out of sight in a sharply cut canyon beside the trickle of water that was the Rio Grande.

  No way was Hart driving the traffickers to El Paso. Not when the pilot was rumored to be Morales’s half brother. It was hard to be patient and wait, but Hart wanted this plane, its cargo, the pilot and the woman. He wanted them badly.