To make themselves look virtuous? Impossible; it had to be genuinely fantastic stuff in order to impress Dan.
Not that the gift mattered. Ethan was a murderer; she’d get justice for that killing—someday, somehow.
She needed to forget about that and focus on something she could accomplish now. She’d start asking about those young women’s deaths right away. She had to find out if there was a good explanation or anybody else investigating them as homicides before she could relax.
And she’d shop for some new porn, too. Celibacy was not helpful when it left room for wet dreams of an SOB like Ethan.
CANCUN, THAT NIGHT
“Yoshi.” Georges cuffed the Japanese vampiro, splitting his lip and drawing blood. “Did you go shopping in Mexico City—against my orders?”
“Fuck you!” The smaller man’s tongue darted out to taste a single crimson drop. The dying moon barely lit the beach outside this small Cancun resort hotel.
“Clothes or women?” Georges demanded, lifting his hand for another blow.
Fangs flashed in defiance and Georges lifted his hand for another blow.
“Clothes,” Yoshi sneered an instant later, proving he wasn’t a complete fool.
“Oui?” Georges considered the other’s attire, testing his answer’s truth. Yoshi the Fair was as well dressed—and as pretty—as his name. Also an incredibly creative killer, a good lay—and unfortunately, all too easily bored.
“And I killed a couple of women, too—practicing for when we really start fucking Texas.”
Merde. Well, he had to admit the boy was blunt—and a true member of the bandolerismo. As lawless as they came and always out for himself. At least there truly was enough land in Texas to give each of them an esfera, just as Georges had promised.
“But I came back, didn’t I? Just like you ordered.” Yoshi flipped his knife end over end, steel briefly catching the light. He shot Georges a quick glance, not meeting his eyes. “How much longer am I supposed to stay here?”
His tongue tasted his lip again.
“You must convince me you can be completely trusted.” Georges said sternly, studying the slow glide of that telltale tongue. “At least tonight.”
“Of course! You know I’d do anything . . .” He stopped, biting his lip. Anger flashed across his face for a moment.
Georges concealed his smile. Ah, the many uses of vampiro blood! Especially when one vampiro was decades older than the other. Yoshi was probably remembering the last time he’d crawled for a taste of Georges’s blood, his eyes hot with lust.
Georges pinched the younger man’s earlobe, twisting and squeezing it.
Yoshi flushed but leaned into the rough caress.
Georges rewarded him by running his thumb over the younger man’s mouth, teasing him with vampiro sweat’s mild aphrodisiac.
Yoshi hissed softly.
“And tomorrow there will be more than enough excitement when you begin scouting the Texas commanderies,” Georges crooned, his teeth scraping the little killer’s ear. A couple of quick flicks with his fingers opened the young dandy’s new trousers.
Madame Celeste needed to know where the Texas warriors were, their fortresses, their supplies, their strengths, and their weaknesses. She’d grown a great deal since he’d met her, from the girl who always moved in a man’s shadow to the strong woman who took her own counsel. Mon dieu, the fools who’d thought money would turn him against her!
“Spy? That’s impossible! Not in Texas.” The other’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically, probably once for every nasty rumor he’d heard of Templeton.
“But you’ll enjoy doing it for me, won’t you? Because I’ll certainly enjoy killing you, if you won’t,” Georges purred—and brutally twisted his fingers around Yoshi’s cock.
Yoshi’s hips jolted forward. “You bastard!” he yelped.
Georges laughed and squeezed the hardening shaft. Tonight’s meal would be delicious, flavored with both terror and sexual excitement.
NINE
ALONG THE RIO GRANDE RIVER BETWEEN MEXICO AND TEXAS NEAR THE RIO OSO, JUNE 30
The night was velvety black, as if even the moon didn’t want to watch. A few stars glimmered above the mountains’ crests but failed to gild the saguaros’ spines. Water lapped against the sandy shores, muffled by a few plants and occasional small rocks.
A half dozen Toyota Land Cruisers stood poised on the Mexican side, surrounded by narrow-eyed men, their guns flagrantly on display. A single dirt road stretched before them, running clean and clear deep into Texas through the ancient notch between the mountains.
A scanner spewed out a continuous string of polite chatter, often causing involuntary flinches among its listeners but never catching their full attention.
Their master paced back and forth, continuously scanning the mountains, river, and sky. The guards watched him, never their vehicles.
Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed, pointing at the sky. A single small light was flying very low away from them and a chorus of relieved laughter echoed his sentiments.
He twirled his hand and pointed down the road. Seconds later, only plumes of dust and engine exhaust marked where they’d been.
Silvery apparitions shimmered into being along the mountain’s flank—an Apache, a pair of Comanches, and a white man with a star in a wheel on his chest. They turned to watch the invaders pass, narrowing their eyes in disgust at the stench.
Blood will be spilled to erase this invasion, the Apache said flatly.
Someone must be warned, muttered one of the Comanches. But how?
The white man grunted. There may be somebody we can talk to.
AUSTIN, THAT NIGHT
Ethan slammed his pickup into park and swung its door open. An instant later, he was watching Steve’s darkened apartment, her door barely visible beyond the parked cars in the complex’s central courtyard.
Just checking it out to make sure everything was safe, of course. Yeah, right—and how many times had he told himself that before?
No robberies in the middle-class neighborhood she’d chosen and not much excitement, either. Was she hoping to find another Fred to settle down with?
Crap.
He had to make her understand what drove him or at least stop fighting it. But how could he get her to talk? He’d lost count of how many times she’d hung up on him.
Instead, he was stuck trying to meet her face-to-face. The goddamn war made finding time for that a near impossibility—especially since she worked days and the slightest touch of sunlight could kill him.
He scanned the house one more time, hoping for a single lamp to be lit and remembering how she’d demanded his driver’s license the first time they’d met, silhouetted against her patrol car’s headlights. Lithe and still very much a woman, especially with the Colt hanging from her belt.
No sign of her tonight. He was still tied to her in the darkness, whether she knew it or not.
He kicked the pavement, slamming pebbles against the curb, and spat a vicious string of curses into the air.
His phone vibrated against his hip, demanding his attention. “Templeton.”
“Doctor O’Malley must attend a meeting in Austin today and Don Rafael is unhappy with the proposed security,” Rough Bear announced.
Ethan blew out a breath before answering. “On my way.”
He cast a last glance at her bedroom window and turned away, his lips compressed.
He never saw the ghost watching him, slouch hat pulled down and a star in a wheel on his breast.
AUSTIN, THE NEXT EVENING
The door’s latch scraped against the lock, bringing Ethan to full alert. Emilio Alvarez, Luis’s godson, slipped all too smoothly out of the grimy conference room into the narrow hall. The ceiling lamp’s harsh glare passed over him, unfiltered by any screen.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed and he reassessed the young SEAL more carefully.
Emilio shared his godfather’s dark eyes, olive skin, and strong, lithe
body. But his eyes sparkled with life now, surprising in a man who’d guarded his master’s beloved for the past fourteen hours. He moved gracefully, as though he’d slept the clock around and only just woken up.
And he smelled faintly of Don Rafael, as if he’d drunk El Patrón’s blood and gained some of their master’s greater strength and speed.
Ethan knew damn well Emilio was one of Don Rafael’s compañeros. But he’d always been very lightly bound, just enough to help him heal from injuries during his naval career. He’d never been given enough blood to strongly affect his scent, since that would mean a stronger emotional tie, although it would have given him a compañero’s full strength and speed.
To have that change now whispered that Emilio had gained the stability to hold such a link. Or that Texas’s situation was so dire Don Rafael would take the risk of hurting someone he deeply cared about.
Ethan glanced down at the younger man. “Are they finally done talking?”
“Finally.” Emilio gave an exaggerated shudder, then grinned. “But only because the chairman’s daughter called to remind him it was his wedding anniversary.”
Wedding. Not that he’d ever even experience an anniversary! Ethan ground his teeth into a smile and telepathically ordered the armored Mercedes’s driver to bring the car around.
As if to answer his prayer, Grania O’Malley emerged from the meeting, followed by her other bodyguard. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Ethan, one eyebrow lifting to challenge him before she came forward. Her voice held a queen’s chill perfection when she spoke. His sister Aurelia couldn’t have put him in his place any better after a bit of mischief. “I thought Caleb was going to drive us back.”
“He’s hunting with Gray Wolf, Doctor O’Malley.” Ethan bowed slightly, an homage his aristocratic Creole mother would have strongly approved of. “Don Rafael asked me to personally escort you.”
“Of course.” She relaxed subtly and he gave a twisted smile. It had been decades since he’d needed Don Rafael’s bona fides to gain a woman’s acceptance.
He indicated the way with another bow and a wave of his hand. Her cell phone rang an instant later. “Rafael! Yes, of course, I’m fine. Ethan has come to fetch me home to you,” she cooed, evoking a rumbling purr from the man at the other end.
Ethan shot a disbelieving glance sideways. He’d never heard such an adoring tone coming from his master’s throat before, even distorted by a telephone.
Thankfully, O’Malley was aware enough of her surroundings to walk safely outside and down the stairs, and get into the back of the car. A mesnadero drove, shielded by bulletproof glass.
It was the first time in his life Ethan had been alone with a woman he wasn’t sleeping with, or didn’t hope to sleep with, other than a family member. Shit, he didn’t know what to do, lest he offend her, and Don Rafael, by extension. Sit close or far? Watch her or stare straight ahead? Keep his hands folded or at his sides?
Oh hell, he’d better pretend it was a buggy ride with his mother watching.
Ethan watched their surroundings pass by, listened to the other guards’ chatter from the chase car, and tried not to think about Steve. Supposedly, there was a big birthday party for one of the academy’s instructors that night.
If she took one of those prosaico assholes home . . .
They were well along the road for home before Doctor O’Malley hung up. Time passed, measured in the road’s sweeping curves, high vistas of deep valleys, and far ranches. Other cars faded and disappeared.
“Are you entirely happy, Ethan?”
He whipped around to stare at her. “Doctor O’Malley?”
“You heard me—and you didn’t say I’m wrong.” She looked straight back at him.
He swallowed a curse. “It’s not important.”
“It is, if it affects Rafael.”
Ethan stiffened.
“I haven’t mentioned anything to him—and I won’t, unless I have to.”
She waited, the silence as compelling as any leash. Aurelia had always said the same thing whenever he got into trouble and needed help.
“There’s a girl.” He provided the briefest possible explanation.
“Oh.”
Now she sounded unsettled. Good. Maybe she’d drop the subject.
“Can I help? Perhaps talking things over with another woman might suggest some answers?” She was tentative, a little optimistic perhaps.
On the other hand, his heart felt like it was slowly being torn out of his chest without Steve. Maybe somebody else might have some better ideas for how he could win her back.
And the doctor was the one person who might get away with keeping a secret.
“Ethan?”
He closed his eyes. How could he resist a woman who sounded and looked like Aurelia?
“We had a fight. I’d like to talk to her but she won’t return calls. All I’m asking is a little time to talk, but—” He spread his hands and abruptly put them down, remembering where he was.
“Hmm. Have you tried a gift? Flowers perhaps?”
“Flowers? She’s not a very frilly kind of girl,” Ethan objected.
“Every woman likes flowers,” Doctor O’Malley pronounced with complete certainty. “Even if she says she doesn’t, it’s just a matter of finding the right ones. Or maybe another kind of gift.”
Ethan half turned to study her, caught by her humming joy in the idea. She was a woman, after all, so she should know.
A gift might please Steve but it would have to be something useful, not frivolous. Not something very expensive, either, lest her damn morals about taking any sort of bribe kick in. It was worth trying, anyway.
After all, what the hell did he have to lose?
Steve parked her Expedition nose out, automatically ensuring she could make a fast departure, despite the billowing mounds of roses spilling onto the gravel and encroaching on parking places. Long stone walkways led across an old-fashioned lawn to a pioneer’s bronze statue, forever looking to the horizon. The old bank building’s solid bulk rose comfortingly behind him, offering protection from the sun. Its narrow windows, heavy iron shutters, and chipped limestone blocks told of harsher trials it had successfully surmounted, including Indians, outlaws, and supposedly even bootleggers.
Machinery purred quietly in its rear. A lesser establishment’s air-conditioning might hesitate or whine. But not here, not at one of the finest private collections of early Texas business and legal history, where not all of its oldest books were online. It also held a children’s museum, famous for the working replicas which brought to life its extensive collection of antique children’s books and toys.
She stepped out of her truck and edged down the path onto the lawn, trying not to collect too many thorns from the rosebushes.
Two small children raced past her from behind the oak trees, skirts fluttering in the breeze.
Steve’s heart stopped in sheer surprise. She froze in her tracks, her fingers reflexively stretching for her gun.
One little girl squealed happily and ran faster.
Steve closed her eyes, her blood pounding in her ears. Her hand dropped onto her belt, hopefully casually, and gripped it until her fingers burned.
“Maryam! Kate! Time to go home now,” called a woman, gathering her packages from the bench by the library’s front door, her soft skirts rippling in the breeze.
“Daddy won’t be there yet, Mom,” one little girl paused to argue. Her counterpart promptly pounced on her and they tumbled across the lawn, in a giggling mass.
Steve tilted her hat forward, concealing her eyes and her lack of similar memories. Her mother had walked out on her father’s career as a cop long before Steve had learned to walk, denying Steve any memories of playtime together. After that, her father and grandfather, a former patrol officer turned desk sergeant, had raised her.
She squared her shoulders, brought her hips into alignment, and marched indoors to find the reference desk. If her boots sounded a little loud on
the wood floors, well, that only added to the place’s historically accurate atmosphere. Right?
An immense arched entry led to what must have been the main meeting room, back when this had been a great bank, and was now the children’s museum. Inside the room, a little boy was peering over a crouching man’s shoulder, both of them intent on a very large rubber knife. Probably a precursor to a bowie knife.
Steve’s mouth twisted. Grandpa had taught her how to use one of those as soon as she could safely hold it. The lady out front, in her silky dress, was more likely to understand the fancy décor here than the knife replicas.
An intricately carved molding surrounded the entry, so complicated it required a block containing an ornate S at each corner to transition between horizontal and vertical.
Steve broke stride and started to spin around. Could it be the Santiago Trust’s brand, that very old Mexican brand she’d first seen on Ethan’s business card? But linked to a children’s museum? Surely not.
She might believe they’d donate to a police charity to draw attention away from their own nefarious deeds. Or the hospital wing—good Lord, that operating room must have been expensive! It could have been a hiding place for their own men.
But there was no conceivable reason for murderous vampiros like Ethan to be kind to children. None whatsoever. Ergo, this couldn’t be their logo and had to be the carver’s solution to a tricky design problem.
She shook off the fancy and moved faster for the sturdy desk and its reassuringly stolid guardian.
“Excuse me, ma’am, can you help me? I’m looking for information on the First Bank of L.”
The older woman pulled over her mouse, her eyes alight with curiosity. “What else can you tell me?”
“It was around immediately after the War Between the States and apparently one of the more reputable establishments connected with the veterans’ land grants.”
Come on, talk to me, lady. Somebody’s got to do so, sooner or later. It was harder to investigate these folks than a Columbian drug Mafia pulling off a black market peso exchange—and she hadn’t even found any evidence of illegal activities. Let alone any idea of how many people were involved, other than Ethan.
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