Cover art © 123RF/Julia Shepeleva
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
In memory of my nephew, Marine Corps Major Luke Gaines Parker. Luke died in his small plane on his way to Michigan to honor a fallen fellow Marine with a flyover during services.
Because of distance—his mother, my sister Stephanie Parker McKean, never lived near to my growing family—my children and I came to know Luke best as a young adult, then a loving father and husband who inspired us all.
Almost two years after his death, Luke’s mother and wife still receive words of tribute, encouragement, and love from all over the world, including correspondence from Luke’s friends in Afghanistan and Iraq. A young woman in the army drove up from Georgia to Alabama to meet Stephanie—she said she owed Luke a great deal for helping her when she had difficult times in her work. He accomplished so much and made such an impact on so many that I am truly touched—and more than a little overwhelmed.
Rest in peace, Luke. And because your faith and love of family defined you even throughout your career—God bless you, and all those you loved.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is easy. Whipping it into what you want it to be isn’t. I’m extremely grateful for the dedicated professionals who help me along the way.
Erica P. Salinas—who will shortly become Dr. Salinas!—you know that I’m grateful. I go to you for teaching advice, to whine—I mean vent—and when my Spanish fails me, as it still does—being able to touch base with you at any hour of the night or day provide means more than I can say.
My siblings are all amazing, but Victoria Morgan Potter happens to be a professional editor. Sorry Vicky—terrible job choice when two of your sisters share your love of writing. On A Love Beyond, Vicky actually had me trying to slip her questions about plot issues as she came out of anesthesia. (I’m kidding. Sort of.) Seriously, Vicky gets requests from me to take on emergency edits, computer crashes, incompetent use of Word tracking, and issues of paranoia, fear, and anxiety—and she never lets me down! Thanks for going over every manuscript for me with such thoroughness and insight, Vicky!
Finally, I take great pride in being a Crimson Romance author. My short career with Crimson has given me solid footing in what it means to have my work accepted, then polished, by an amazing group of editors. Tara Gelsomino, Julie Sturgeon, Jess Verdi, Lauren Spielberg, and Jen Safrey—thanks so much!
Chapter One
On the banks of the Rio Grande, Laredo, Texas
The river, black and barely visible, slid silently past. Trees pressed close to the bank, leaving only a narrow strip along the water’s edge, and AJ Owens set one foot in front of the other cautiously. She was unafraid of the water, but not eager to be found out, whether by one of the law enforcement agencies screening the river for illegal activity, or by any of the criminal agents plying their trade alongside the fabled Rio Grande. Unconsciously she tightened her hold on the worn leather reins in her hands. Slight rustling in the brush startled her, making her stiffen and stifle a gasp. Alongside her, the chestnut Thoroughbred balked, throwing his head up in alarm. His snort echoed through the still night, sending some unseen smaller animal scurrying off into deeper cover.
“Sssh,” she breathed, laying a hand against the horse’s face. “Steady, Goof.” The gelding’s nostrils flared and his head swiveled, dark eyes searching for cause to flee. After a moment, though, the big horse sighed heavily and dropped his head, allowing AJ to ease him forward along the riverbank.
His hooves thudded softly on the damp ground, echoing the dull pounding of her heart. Quietly they walked, shapes moving in the darkness, screened against tall reeds and stunted brush. Where the river curved slightly, its bank jutting out into the placid waters, AJ stopped, again laying a comforting hand against the horse’s head and stroking him gently.
The river was narrow here, although squinting, she could hardly make out the opposite shore, cloaked in darkness. Due to the severe south Texas drought gripping the area, it was shallow, too. Not a scenic spot along the river, by any means. But she knew what lay on the other side—whose land rose up from the river into the dry, cactus-studded Tamaulipas countryside.
Again the horse’s head came up nervously and its huge body tensed as he, too, peered across the water. Far off, a coyote yipped, and dogs, closer by, barked.
A breeze stirred the undergrowth behind her, carrying with it a sound, low and plaintive, like the moan of someone in distress. Someone stricken by grief, or overcome by an agony beyond imagination. Unbidden, the legends of childhood rushed back: La Llorona. The spirit of a humble woman, whose husband had abandoned her. A distraught young mother had drowned her three children in these dark waters, only to realize at daybreak what she had done. Now the ghostly figure of this woman strolled the riverbanks, wailing, calling endlessly into the night wind for her children.
AJ shivered. It was lunacy, being here, and she knew it. The legend of La Llorona, the wailing woman, was fantasy. Real threats, concealed in the shadows just yards away, might surround her now. Drug and alien smugglers, rabid coyotes—these were the real dangers. But there was no other alternative, no way out. She tightened her grip on the reins, keeping the horse still as he struck a hoof impatiently against the ground. If worse came to worst, she’d jump on him and ride out of harm’s way. But hopefully that particular race would wait. Racing a horse headlong over rough footing in the dark could wait. Giving him a final, calming stroke, she turned to lead him away from the riverbank.
• • •
Laredo, Texas
Chance Landin stood in a corner of the large, crowded room, aware that the shadows partially concealed him. As long as he remained still, he doubted anyone would notice him. That provided the perfect opportunity to scan the revelers: dancing, drinking too much, swirling in a tide of evening clothes and jewels around the party’s host, clamoring for his attention. He frowned and drained the drink he held in one quick gulp. Affairs like this were evidence of just how ugly his job could be.
A woman in a transparent gown was laughing up at Mike Towers, all willingness and no reluctance. The oil man could take her into any room in this too-big house and do whatever he wanted to her. Chance breathed in deeply, let the air out slowly. The easiness of women wanting money amazed him. And disgusted him. He supposed his boss was as much to blame as anyone; the widower took what he wanted. According to his sources, the man always had. Chance stopped his head mid-shake and stretched it back instead, trying to relax his cramped neck muscles. Being a glorified bodyguard was hardly the career he’d expected, but since he’d accepted it, he’d better quit worrying about the morals—or lack of them—among this international crowd of movers and shakers.
Apparently the middle-aged woman hadn’t caught Mike’s fancy; he nodded dismissively at her and turned away. Lights glinted in his silver hair, and Chance watched the bright blue eyes, not yet faded by age or excess, sweep the crowd for more enjoyable pursuits. A couple hurried over to claim Mike’s attention. Chance recognized them from numerous other gatherings. The man was in oil, his wife from one of the legendary South Texas ranching families. The Cantus owned sizable portions of Webb and LaSalle counties, and rumor was that the oldest Cantu son was being groomed for a gubernatorial campaign
—backed by Mike Towers and his millions.
He didn’t watch their conversation, instead looking around the room for problems. There were no apparent threats to his boss from these well-dressed, well-known invitees. Urbane men in tailored suits and polished boots and women in body-skimming evening gowns. No reason to expect an attack from any of them.
Still, he continued to watch the room, aware that the most recent threat on his boss’s life had been received just days ago. The unsigned letter had been mailed from San Antonio, little more than two hours away. So Chance watched, in spite of the scarce chance of an attack occurring, and straightened abruptly when he saw another woman approach Mike Towers.
He hadn’t seen her before. She was tall and slender, her body barely covered in a dark green sheath that displayed long, well-turned legs to perfection. Silver heels glinted as she walked. Everything she wore—or didn’t—called attention to her well-tended body. She approached Mike with a slight half-smile, her hand brushing long, loose strands of hair away from her face. Her hair was an entrancing color, somewhere between the darkest shades of blonde and lightest shades of brunette. He doubted the color was natural; in fact, he suspected little about her or anyone else here was particularly natural.
Mike grinned at the newcomer and leaned close as they talked, and Chance could see right away where this was headed. The lady in the transparent black dress hadn’t caught his boss’s fancy, but this tall, elegant woman had him drooling. Setting his drink down on the glass-topped table in the corner, Chance headed toward the two. Danger didn’t always come from disgruntled employees or from male business rivals who had suffered a loss at his boss’s hands. Women could do plenty of damage. Mike should have learned that from his last wife, for God’s sake. Hell, even without him having money, Chance’s own ex had drummed that lesson home.
Mike nodded briefly as he approached, placing a hand on the woman’s arm as he turned to Chance. Was it Chance’s imagination or did the intimate gesture make the woman flinch?
“Chance, I lost track of you.” The older man dropped his hand from the woman’s arm and Chance knew he didn’t imagine the relief in the dark green eyes she cast in his direction.
“This is AJ,” he went on. “AJ, Chance Landin, my assistant.”
She held out a slender hand. “AJ Owens,” she announced.
He smiled politely and took her hand briefly. “I’m also Mr. Towers’s head of security.” He wasn’t sure why he tossed that in. The green eyes assessed him before she turned a bright smile on his boss.
“Head of security, Mr. Towers? In Laredo, for heaven’s sake?” The question indicated a knowledge of Laredo, but the accent wasn’t local. She shrugged, moving smooth, bare shoulders, her breasts all but exposed under her clingy dress, making him forget her quick, clipped speech altogether.
Mike chuckled, reaching out to clasp her hand. Again, the quick, almost imperceptible distaste.
“You obviously haven’t kept up with your hometown, my dear,” he chided. He turned to Chance. “She hasn’t been here in years, you know. Doesn’t know how it’s changed. AJ’s been in—” He stopped, clearly not remembering.
“Philadelphia,” AJ supplied easily. “The City of Brotherly Love.” The words came out in a sultry breath and she smiled at Mike. “But I’m from here, originally.” The fool looked smitten. She wasn’t the buxom, petite type he usually went for. Truth be told, he supposed Mike didn’t have a “type.” Anything with skirts and a smile seemed to work since he’d lost his wife. Even before that, according to rumor.
Pain stabbed through Chance’s head, indicating the onset of one of his cursed headaches. He’d taken this job because it provided him the best chance he had to prove Mike, not his uncle, butchered horses for insurance money, but there was little pleasure in it. Some nights were worse than others, and this one looked bad. He’d seen a lot, but when these parties descended into cat fights and orgies and self-important men trying to impress each other—nothing he’d seen struck him as so base and degrading to the people involved. And with Mike’s attention clearly centered on AJ—he wondered if she knew and really wanted to be part of it all.
“Laredo used to be safe,” Mike went on, his tone self-important. “Still is, I guess, for folks with no money. But in my position …” He shrugged. “I have to be careful now. It’s worse across, of course, even though things have calmed down a little.”
“Oh, do you have business across, too?” Ah, a local. To Laredoans, Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, was just “across.”
“Much of what I do is there,” Mike explained, never hesitant to brag. “My place—my real place—is there. Actually, I have quite a bit of real estate there. My house in Colonia Longoria, the ranch, and of course, my forwarding agency and warehouse.”
“Colonia Longoria?” Again, a hint of huskiness in her voice. “I remember seeing those houses when I was little. Mansions, really.”
Mike basked in the admiration, as if he were responsible for the wealth accumulated from his profitable first wife. He had inherited the holdings years ago, although the titles were all in his stepson’s name, circumventing Mexican red tape over border properties. Chance fought off a frown and felt the tightness return to the base of his neck. He reached up to massage the bunched muscles, and saw AJ Owens cast him a quick glance.
“Nice to meet you, AJ,” he lied, giving her a quick nod. “So, now that you’re here in Laredo, where are you working?”
She sighed and looked away for a moment before giving him a tight smile. “I’m not working. Yet.” Although he had asked, she directed her answer at Mike. Not surprisingly. “I’m looking for a job. I’m staying in this horrendous little room in a motel with weekly rates, but I may not be able to stay in Laredo and get reconnected the way I had hoped.”
“Well, gosh darn,” Mike drawled. “We can’t have that, can we? Look, AJ, most of these nice folks are taking the party across tomorrow. I’m gonna show ’em my place, the ones who haven’t seen it, have ’em stay overnight and enjoy themselves with a little Mexican hospitality. Now if you don’t have any plans, and you’re livin’ in a rat’s nest—come on over.”
AJ blinked and drew in a breath. “Well—if you’re sure.” She shrugged and placed a hand on Mike’s arm. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Hmmph. Woman who looks like you is never in the way. It’s all settled, AJ. Come stay long as you need to, meet some folks—who knows? Might be useful to us both. I have a reputation of helping out my friends, right, Chance?”
Chance nodded curtly and addressed himself to Mike. “I’m going to take a stroll around now, check on where the dogs are and that the stables are secure.”
AJ looked back up at him, her expression one of clear interest. “Stables?” she repeated, and Chance nodded but waited for Mike to answer.
“Sure don’t know much about me, do you, girl?” The businessman seemed to find her lack of information amusing, as he chuckled again, too loudly. “Why, I’m breeding Thoroughbreds and quarter horses that can beat the best bloodstock in the country—or will in a year or two. Like horses, do you, AJ?” he asked, looking her over with undisguised interest.
“Yes,” she answered, without the breathy tease she’d used moments ago. “I’ve been around Thoroughbreds all my life. Had to give them up in Philly, though.” She gave both men a small smile. Chance wondered how such a slight twitch of her skillfully painted lips could be so attractive. Women he met on the job rarely attracted him, partly because they were usually after Mike. More than one had expressed interest in him after being turned down by his boss, but he’d had little interest in accepting their invitations. So why had his whole body responded to a tiny half smile?
“Could I go?” AJ asked, and Mike and Chance exchanged startled glances.
“Uh—go where?” Mike rubbed a hand over his chin. “You mean, go to the stables?”
The smile she shot Mike this time was sexy, an open appeal to the man to do her bidding. “I’d really like
to see your horses, Mike. Memories of what I haven’t had lately, I guess.”
Not “Mr. Towers” anymore, Chance noticed grimly.
“You’re not really dressed for stable duty,” he told her, and Mike nodded.
“Chance is right, my dear. Perhaps another day—”
“I just want to look, not muck stalls,” she protested, a frown touching her lips. Then she shrugged again. “But of course, if it’s not possible—”
“Hellfire, girl, I didn’t say it wasn’t possible!” Mike waved a hand at Chance. “Look, get Chance here to show you the horses. I can’t leave my guests, but you go ahead.”
AJ smiled at Mike, then cast a glance at Chance. “I’m not sure Mr. Landin wants me to go,” she murmured. Mike laughed.
“Mr. Landin wants to do anything he’s told to,” he assured her, then winked at Chance. “Right?”
Chance lifted a shoulder. “You’re the boss,” he said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.” He gestured toward the door. “This way, AJ.”
• • •
Walking beside Chance Landin—or a few steps behind, since her heels made keeping up with his long strides difficult on the uneven flagstone walk—AJ could feel his unspoken resentment at being forced to show her around the Towers stable. She glanced speculatively at the broad expanse of his back as he hurried. No matter what Chance thought of her, and she had noticed his gaze sweep over her scantily clad body more than once, he was the head of security for Mike Towers. By definition, then, he was the enemy. She should never have noticed the tiny sparks of flame in his dark brown eyes when they’d been introduced, or the way his light brown hair glinted in the lights from the chandelier. Her lips quirked slightly. Well, so she’d noticed him noticing her. He should have known better, when she’d clearly been coming on to his boss.
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