Hell on the Heart

by Nancy Brophy

  “Don’t you run a website on finding your soul mate?”

  He grimaced. “Six of them. Different methods appeal to different personalities. Some use astrology or tarot cards or fortune telling. Dear Ruthie is only an advice blog, but it pulls in good advertising dollars.” He waved toward the wall, gesturing toward his computer and the array of CDs on the shelf above. His other hand clenched in a tight fist.

  “Can’t you give him something to deaden the pain?” John asked.

  Dare shook his head. “Not until the doctor comes online. It should be soon. Hang on a little longer.”

  “No problem.” Rolf spoke through gritted teeth.

  “So you have all these websites which serves what purpose?”

  Rolf paced his breathing, inhaling deeply before exhaling through puffed cheeks and clenched teeth. “Everyone wants to find the perfect relationship, the one that happens magically, the one that won’t require any effort. But that’s bogus.” He winced with pain. Took another breath. “You can’t leave things you value to fend for themselves. True love requires work. Not after your career or your kids. The relationship’s got to be number one. Look through my CD’s if you’re interested. I think I’ve got one or two on the claiming dance.”

  John lifted Rolf’s head and adjusted the pillow. Rolf’s scrunched face indicated his conversation had reached an end. Dare typed a few sentences into the computer and the monitor flickered to life.

  “Hang in there a little longer.”

  “Do you have x-rays?” The voice on the computer quizzed Dare.

  John stretched, sidestepping away from the bed. The window blinds were shut. Dare and Rolf were both occupied. Casually, John inched his way to the shelf of CDs. He’d just take a quick look. But as he read the hand scribbled titles, Rolf’s words ran through his mind.

  True love requires work.

  John didn’t have the first clue where to start.

  Two hours later, Luca stepped back into the room now empty except for his son. Pleased to see his color was better and his face didn’t contort in pain. “Feeling better?”

  “I may live.” He grinned.

  “If Vadoma drops by, what are we going to do about the IV?” He gestured toward the bag dripping into the tube.

  “The Indian said they’d be back in the morning. Can’t we keep her away until then?”

  “Probably, but warn your brothers not to say anything.” Luca’s heart warmed to see his son on the road to recovery. The Elders needed to reconsider their stand on outside medical help. He wasn’t sure he was a good enough gypsy to lose a child when others who could help were available. People feared change, but it happened whether they wanted it or not.

  Rolf’s eyes fluttered shut. Luca edged toward the door prepared to let him sleep, but couldn’t go without asking one last question. “What’s your read on him?”

  The corners of Rolf’s lips ticked upward. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “He’s a goner. Cezi’s got him wound so tight he’s about to explode. I told him how to win her, but did he hear me? We’ll have to see.”

  “He’s a smart man.”

  “They’re going to be good together, but their children will be absolute terrors.” His voice drifted off. “We probably needed to breed more fire into the line.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Santa Fe

  Cain fought to shake the soupy muddle of his mind. The importance of being alert and ready outweighed his need to sink into the numbing security of darkness. Adam and Herod planned to kill him, but not until they’d found his money.

  The house was quiet, not necessarily a sign everyone was in bed. Hoping it was safe, he cracked open an eyelid.

  Judging by the soft light filtering in through the partially closed blinds he surmised the sun was setting. His shoulder throbbed with a dull pain.

  As he rose to a sitting position, his head spun. For several minutes he sat not moving, listening for telltale signs someone was near enough to hear him. The pressing need to relieve himself forced him to shift to the edge of the bed.

  Smooth, cool terracotta tiles welcomed his feet. Gingerly, he pried himself off the bed and rose to teetering position. The bathroom door was only a few feet away but getting there required using the wall for support as he half-stumbled to the toilet.

  The colorful vanity mirror reflected his appearance – scruffy and unkempt. A shower and a shave were required, but they’d have to wait. Until he knew who was in the house, he didn’t flush, didn’t want anyone hearing the water run through the pipes.

  As quietly as possible, he opened the door and crept into the hall, pausing to listen every few several steps. This place boasted bright blue walls and tiled Spanish furniture decorating each room. The ubiquitous housekeepers were absent.

  The unmade beds and clothes dumped in piles on the floor surprised Cain. Adam was obsessive about tidiness to the point of anal. He refused to have anything but traditional decor. Should any of the women make their way home, he didn’t want to have his location identified by an educated guess. Once the girls were out of his control, anything could happen.

  A locked door on the first floor presented a challenge, but after Cain had listened to silence for several minutes, he boldly knocked. When no one responded he was convinced the house was empty and equally sure Adam had been MIA for a while.

  Dishes piled in the sink and a smattering of unopened groceries in plastic bags scattered on counters and table told him the men were camping out, ready to move at a moment’s notice. The spotless refrigerator was stocked with only a few items. Cain grabbed a jug of orange juice and chugged some into his empty stomach before he continued his search.

  Two phone books, Santa Fe County and a smaller Taos County, told him the location. The limo keys were sprawled on the tile counter only a few feet from a door to the garage.

  Cain peered into the three-car garage and debated whether turning on a light was a mistake. Even in the windowless garage he could see the limo fit with the door closed. No other cars.

  With keys in hand, he headed out. Now was his time to escape. Then he hesitated. Could he get by wearing only his pajamas? How far could he get without money? The limo was a gas sucker if there ever was one.

  No, he needed a better plan. Clothes and his wallet, plus his watch were essential before he snuck out later. For now he’d survey his surroundings.

  Another doorway opened onto a flight of stairs that led to the basement. He decided on a quick tour to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. The basement was essentially empty except for three boxes that sat on a counter. Cain opened the first box, hoping his possessions were there.

  Holy Mother of God. Dynamite filled two of the cartons. The third contained six bricks of C4, blasting caps and detonator cord. Where the hell had Adam acquired this? And why?

  A plan began to take shape in his mind. He worked quickly, hauling the boxes to the garage angry at the amount of time he’d wasted. A quick glance out the window gave him the lay of the land. The house sat near the top of a hill. He could see the long winding driveway. What worried him the most was the setting sun. It would only be light for a few more minutes. The others could return at any time and Cain needed to be ready.

  # # #

  Armadillo Creek

  The entire team was assembled via a conference call. D’Sean and Ciggy were still at El Paso’s FBI office. Dare was with him in the motel room in Armadillo Creek. Skeet and Twylla flew to New Hampshire.

  “Santa Fe is only a five-hour drive from here.” D’Sean said, his voice fading in and out of the speaker. John knew he thought best when he paced. “I think we need to meet there. The back of my neck is itching over this.”

  As much as John trusted any external gauge, he believed in D’Sean’s itch. “Have we found anything to indicate, other than a bank account, where in Santa Fe they might be?”

  “No. The last known address for Henry J. Latham was Boston in 1998. We sent his DMV photo to Montana to see
if any of the girls can ID him. Haven’t heard back yet, but I’m not holding out much hope for that. The photo’s fifteen years old.”

  Twylla quietly added her opinion from the third arm of the call. “The only thing we know for sure, his photo doesn’t match Cain, Eli or even the guy loading luggage in Biloxi photo. So, we may have found our Adam.”

  John could visualize Ciggy shaking his head in disagreement as he spoke. “Adam or Herod. Both were older.”

  John and Dare studied the photo on the computer. “One of the girls described a man with bushy eyebrows. Let me look back at my notes. I doubt that even fifteen years would have changed the eyebrows that much. What have you been able to find out about Henry?”

  “College graduate, degree in Theology, from Princeton in 1982. Became the minister for a small congregation, then transferred to another church after five years and left there under some controversy over church funds.”

  “Preacher, huh? Sounds like he had a falling out with God if he turned to selling girls,” John said, “not to mention giving all the men biblical names. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, married in ’85, divorced in ’97. In ’98 he opened a bank account in Santa Fe with one-point-two million dollars and purchased the place in Mexico, interestingly enough the same year his passport expired. Since then he has fallen off the grid. Hasn’t even filed income taxes.” Ciggy rattled off stats from the computer screen.

  Dare asked, “have we talked to the ex-wife or his congregants?”

  “Skeet and Twylla are on their way there now,” D’Sean said. “We’ve tracked the ex-wife through her maiden name. Amelia Sanchez. The reason nothing came of the embezzlement charges is the church burned, but we’re checking out the college and the first church.”

  John’s mind raced, looking for any direction they might have missed.

  “I’m not liking this at all,” Dare mumbled.

  “What does the gypsy say?” D’Sean asked.

  John pressed his lips together to keep from lashing out. Sucking in his breath, he waited, hoping someone else would fill in the void in the conversation. No one spoke. “I haven’t asked her.”

  “And we’re not likely to get a straight answer either,” Dare added.

  John gritted his teeth. Great. Like the team couldn’t wait to hear this little nugget.

  D’Sean sensing something in the wind, immediately jumped in. “Why?”

  Absolutely everybody waited. “I pissed her off. Okay?”

  “Sure. No problem. It’s not like we need her on this case or anything.” D’Sean’s voice rung with sarcasm none of the others would have dared use. “Suck it up, buddy. Go make nice-nice with her. Tell her you’re sorry. Take her flowers. Grovel, if you have to, but get a read on what she thinks. The only breaks we’ve had in this case have been from her.”

  “Hey, that’s not true.” Ciggy sounded offended. “I found the bank account.”

  “Shut up,” D’Sean said. “Call us back after you talk to her.”

  “Like hell. D’Sean, charter a private flight to Santa Fe. Twylla, I doubt Henry and Amelia have been in touch, but try to get a personality profile on the guy. Ciggy, call everybody who’s had contact with him, past employers, schools, whomever you can find. See if we can dig up anything. As soon as possible I need everyone to head to Armadillo Creek.

  # # #

  Armadillo Creek

  Concentration eluded her. Cezi stared at the screen, seeing images, but not processing the information. Multiple pages of colleges with forensic science degrees were jammed across the monitor - first Texas, then DC.

  The room darkened as night fell. The monitor provided plenty of light, but the creepiness of her situation got to her. With every nerve on edge, she stared at the computer - too awake to sleep, too exhausted to work.

  The All Seeing Eye had been closed since Cain attacked Shallowtail Hollow, making it the ideal place to hide out. Leaning over to turn on the desk lamp, her sense of unease grew to the point of breaking. She forced her fingers to continue moving, while her eyes searched the doorways and darkened corners of the room.

  The desk lamp illuminated the man sitting on her couch. Agent John Stillwater.

  She worked for composure. Only her stillness would give her away to anyone who knew her well.

  “How’d you get in?” Deliberately she lowered the pitch to appear calm, but she didn’t believe for a moment he was fooled. He’d purposely chosen to put her at a disadvantage.

  John shrugged in answer to her question, not moving from his relaxed position on the couch. No, as usual, he held his secrets close. And as usual he paid no attention to her kicking him out only hours before.

  She pushed the escape button and exited the screen. He didn’t need to know what she’d been researching. “How long have you been here?”

  Instead of answering he stretched his long legs as though his time spent in the dark meant nothing. He could have waited all night if that was how long it took her to notice his presence.

  “Do you know what scares me?” His strong jaw and firm mouth gave no sign of warmth. Those ancient black eyes held secrets not even a gypsy could detect.

  She doubted he cared about her answer. “Nothing?” She hazarded a guess. Was the man truly human? Probably not. How else could he get into a securely locked building without setting off the alarm? Her party tricks were good. His were better.

  “You.” Well, it was only a question of time before he pinned the problems on the gypsy. “You scare the living hell out of me.”

  Reaching for her patience, she answered, “Why?”

  “Because cleverness has gotten you through every tough situation, but it won’t this time. They’re bringing guns to a fight and you’re counting on a quick-silver tongue to fend off bullets. To win, you’ve got to plan for failure.”

  Okay, that wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but he was wrong. How could one succeed if they didn’t believe in success? “Planning for failure increases its likelihood by projecting that possibility out into the Universe.”

  He didn’t roll his eyes, which was what she expected. “Refusing to accept defeat is different from planning for contingencies,” John said. “I guarantee you, your enemy will surprise you.”

  “You’re wrong. Everybody at Shallowtail Hollow is on alert. We have weapons stashed for easy access. Cain will not take us by surprise. He didn’t the last time.”

  “If you have to use those weapons, you’ve already lost.”

  Well, the truth of that statement was self-evident; look at what happened to Rolf. “What would you do?”

  Gracefully he rose to his feet. “You and I are going to make some changes. First, you’re going to stop treating me like I’m some muscle-bound, overpaid bodyguard. This is what I do. And newsflash, I’m good at it.”

  He moved around to the front of her desk and rested his butt on the edge. “I’m well aware that we have some issues between us, but we’re going to put those on hold until after this is all over. Then, you and I are going to go someplace together and resolve our problems.” He leaned across his knee and clasped the arms of her chair. “Just nod,” he said softly, “if you’re in agreement.”

  Her head bobbed up and down.

  “Finally, I am not leaving your side. No more solo trips to work, no more spending the night at your father’s house for appearance’s sake. You can take pictures of me sleeping on your couch to post on your Facebook page if you want. But this is about to blow up in our faces. And when it does I’m not trusting your wit to protect you or the rest of your family.”

  His scent surrounded her, made her blood pulse, made her mouth dry. “You think everything’s coming to a head?” A quiver she couldn’t control rolled through her.

  “I do. This could play out two ways. You’re the trigger that set him off so we know he plans to come back for you. His delusions of a relationship with you are driving him to that end. If he’s operating independent of his group, he will watch and wait unti
l he’s able to get you alone. Then he’ll drag you away, not caring if you’re conscious.”

  “Assuming I am, should I encourage his fantasy?”

  “Absolutely. Otherwise he’ll turn violent.”

  Cezi’s blood drained from her face. “And the second way?”

  “If he’s convinced his partners that the gypsies are the cause of their problems, all of Shallowtail Hollow could be in danger.”

  Cezi swallowed hard. “Is that possible?”

  “Very much so.” He offered a hand to help her up. “Let’s head home.”

  She rose, but refused to step forward. “Tell me how you got in.”

  He headed toward the door unconcerned she might not follow. “You know way too much now.”

  “I’m still mad at you,” she said, gathering her purse and keys.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Shuffle the deck three times.” Cezi slid the cards she’d already thoroughly shuffled across the wooden kitchen table toward him.

  John hesitated. Cezi’s eyebrow arched with a questioning look. Why she’d decided reading his tarot cards was a good idea, he couldn’t fathom. Having nothing to offer as a diversion, he did as she instructed.

  When he’d completed his task to her satisfaction, she folded her hands over his, holding the cards. “Close your eyes. Think of nothing.” Her voice deepened, making him imagine a middle-of-the-night conversation with a warm, sleepy women lying in his arms.

  On a shelf on the wall behind her, a row of homemade candles burned, giving off pungent odors from the crushed leaves packed into the wax. His eyes stung. In the background, the hypnotic sound of drums played softly, floating from the CD player’s hidden speakers