Thank God. I won’t have to wait for doors to be unlocked in the morning when I take him out.
Soft lights glowed warmly on the sawdust-sand mixture that matted the barn floor. Immediately she heard the sounds of restless horses—hooves rustling bedding, nervous snorts, the occasional thud of a hoof striking a wooden panel. AJ paused, listening. Surprisingly, barn sounds were more evident than the continued onslaught of the storm, testifying to the building’s careful construction. Relieved at the thought that Rebel probably wasn’t unduly alarmed, AJ made her way down the corridor, more cautious now of calling attention to herself. Midway down the stall, she paused, hearing a slight sound from the office set off in the corner.
A light flickered and moved, darting around like a flashlight. Silently, she watched, skin tingling with awareness that something was wrong. When no one came out, she padded toward the door, careful not to move suddenly. The office door had a single functional window. Scarcely breathing, she stooped beneath the glass and crept across to the other side, pressed against the wall, and peered inside.
The pale light from a lantern lay on the desk, focused on the filing cabinet. Chance hunched over an open drawer, ruffling papers, pulling files out, perusing them briefly with a second, smaller flashlight, and then returning the documents with care. Her heart hammered in her chest. Head of security or not, Chance’s actions made no sense. What in the name of heaven was this man—the man who said he had no interest in horses—doing examining files? Surely nothing in those documents had anything to do with Mike Towers’s safety.
Chilled by the combination of suspicion and the air-conditioned cool against her wet skin, AJ ducked across the door and hurried back to the main corridor. Chance had not yet come out of the office, so she continued on to Rebel’s stall. He snorted softly and came to the door, and she gave him a quick pat and murmur of encouragement. Then, unwilling to confront Chance—in this place where neither one of them should be—she slipped out the door, closed it, and bolted for the house.
• • •
Chance walked noiselessly up the stairs, wet and dispirited. He had waited so long for Towers to be gone; his boss had called earlier to say that he’d decided to fly to Acapulco with a business acquaintance. Chance was to secure the homestead. Mike considered Jaime and his small cadre of bodyguards qualified enough to take care of him.
“Try not to let my little filly escape,” Towers had said, and Chance could almost see the man’s face twisted in his usual leer. “I told her there’s nothing for her on the other side and plenty at the ranch. Don’t want to worry about losing her if I don’t hurry back. She’ll keep. Business down here can be fun, if you hit the right places.” Towers had laughed and given a few routine instructions until he returned. Soon, he’d assured, but he didn’t know when.
Opportunity had filled Chance with hope, but those hopes hadn’t come to anything. Why had he expected proof, some shred of evidence of insurance fraud, to be filed neatly away waiting for him? Clearly the photos he’d been assured existed weren’t in the filing cabinet. Going into Towers’s suite of rooms at the house would be risky if María happened on him. She cleaned his room personally. But if the pictures weren’t there, his only real chance was to track down the mysterious man named Hueso—Bone. And Bone would have no reason to be around, unless Mike decided to use his services again. If Towers had known the man since Arizona, maybe the two had an ongoing relationship. Someone as intimidating as Bone might be a valuable tool for a criminal who wanted to keep his hands clean, like Mike.
How long would he have to wait just to see if Towers moved against the stallions he now offered at stud, and called Bone in to kill one or more of them? The thought sickened him, and he wasn’t sure he could afford to stop Towers if he made an attempt. If another incident occurred here, he could show that other stallions belonging to Towers died while his uncle was in prison, hundreds of miles away. That in itself wouldn’t prove anything, but it would raise suspicions. If authorities looked at Towers in Texas—or even here in Nuevo Laredo—that might help a good attorney or a good cop look at the case in Arizona again. Eli might be ready to talk, if he thought Mike Towers and Bone couldn’t hurt him from across such a distance.
Letting a horse die would make him as bad as Towers. But what would letting his uncle die do to him? His uncle wouldn’t be up for parole for almost ten years. What if he didn’t survive his ordeal? What if parole were denied? There’d been an enormous outcry from animal lovers over the story, and they accepted what the legal system said—Robert Newsome had butchered three trusting, much loved horses in their stalls. For money.
He sighed. Towers had played his cards so well. The one objection anyone raised about his uncle’s guilt was that he only held partial interest in the horses. In truth, Towers hadn’t paid his uncle what he was worth in salary, convincing him that ownership over the years would be a far bigger asset. Thirty percent of the insurance money would have been motive enough, the courts decided, to do the dastardly deed. Especially when Towers claimed that he’d planned to fire Newsome over mistreatment of the animals.
He hated to think so, but he sometimes thought Towers’s money had helped as much in Arizona as it did here in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. He wouldn’t go as far as to say justice had been bought, but the system found it easier to listen to Mike Towers than his uncle. Other men had profited from killing horses for insurance money. Could greed tempt Mike Towers to act again, or would he simply pursue other means of increasing his wealth?
Sighing and massaging the back of his neck, he paused briefly on the landing. Most of the lights were out, and no one moved up or down the hall. Fortunately, Rosa must have turned in for the night—he didn’t want to fend off her determined overtures. The idea of fending off advances of any kind brought AJ clearly, electrically, to mind. Her body against his, the surprise in her eyes as, for the briefest of moments, their physical awareness sparked and flared—
Memory brought another sigh and he narrowed his eyes a little.
AJ. What was it with her? Women constantly pursued Towers, had done so even during his marriage. His uncle claimed that the women had been there all along, even when Towers first began accumulating wealth and power. But something about AJ’s interest in the man disturbed him. She clearly wasn’t experienced at pursuit, yet she seemed hell bent on hooking Mike for some reason. Why? She seemed ill at ease—perhaps even repulsed—by the man’s obvious interest. And still she was here, taking advantage of an invitation that implied that at some point, she would be expected to go to bed with Towers.
The image of her greeting Rebel—with love and excitement—stormed back, along with sudden awareness. Mike Towers had nothing to do with AJ’s visit here. Her interest was the multimillion-dollar stud out in the stallion barn. But why?
With a soft oath over the senselessness of his revelation, he stalked toward his room. No unusual sounds from behind any doors, lights off. Gordito’s door was ajar, and the room was dark. Frowning, he pushed the door open, knowing the baby didn’t like the darkness.
The guardian angel nightlight on the side table was dark; a quick check showed the problem was a disconnected cord. But the crib was empty. Chance rubbed his neck again, not really alarmed. Since the little guy was adept at crawling out of his crib he was missing in action more often than not. The important thing was to find him and be sure he was safe, even if that meant venturing into Rosa’s boudoir next door. But if Gordito wasn’t there—just the possibility of the child tumbling downstairs made his skin crawl. With a renewed sense of urgency he moved toward Rosa’s room.
The muted sound of laughter behind AJ’s door down the hall stopped him.
“You, sir, are too much!” AJ scolded, her tone gentle and full of amusement. Momentary anger needled him, assuaged immediately by a different burst of laughter—Gordito’s gleeful chortle of mischief. He pushed the door open without knocking.
AJ held the baby, who sported a pair of print shorts on his round littl
e head. He had a diaper on—sort of—and somehow had dragged his teddy bear into the room with him. The teddy bear wore another pair of printed shorts on its head, obscuring all but its floppy brown legs. Completely unaware of Chance, she grinned at the baby, who tugged off the shorts and tried futilely to put them on her head.
He smiled, torn between announcing his presence and retreating, finding Gordito in such capable hands. But just then the two turned toward the door. Gordito laughed and clapped, and AJ drew in a quick, audible breath of surprise—almost the little “iiig” she’d mouthed as she shot at the rattlesnake. And abruptly he knew where he’d heard that same unusual gasp of surprise. Suspicion and alarm knifed through him. Why the hell hadn’t he seen the resemblance before? The tall, slender woman watching him with those liquid eyes could only be Gina Towers’s sister.
Chapter Seven
AJ glanced in her rearview mirror, shaking her head. Of course there were cars behind her—duh. Laredo’s traffic problems grew on a daily basis. Did she really expect an empty street behind her?
She didn’t know why she’d been so on edge all day; this excursion back to the U.S. side of the bridge was a lark, since Mike Towers was still away. She snorted softly to herself. He’d called her in the morning, apologizing for being detained and asking her to stay. Pointing out she didn’t need to spend a penny and no one would bother her. With him gone. He’d laughed when he said that. She flexed her hands slightly on the wheel, relieved when the traffic finally thinned as she headed toward the little piece of property west of Laredo that she’d managed to lease. She braked the sedan as she turned onto the bumpy drive and headed toward the farthest of three ramshackle trailers and the squat barn that sat beyond that.
The neighbors’ dogs barked briefly then went back to their own unmarked yards. AJ pulled up close to the trailer, cut the engine, and slipped out of the car. She waved at one of the children, and headed for the barn at a trot.
“Hi, Miss Joanie.” Her neighbor Ed appeared from somewhere behind the small building, nodding. “Goof is fine. Fed and watered, just like you asked.”
“Thanks, Ed. You got your money okay?”
“Yes ma’am. No problem at all. You still need me to keep an eye out for the horse?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Just for a few more days. I’ll be back for good then.” He nodded and shuffled off, a kind old man eager to have a job. She waited until he was gone, then walked into the barn.
There was only one stall. Inside, the occupant lifted a regal head and regarded her approach with interest. The bronzed chestnut coat, the majestic head, the deep chest, and perfect conformation were identical to those of a horse standing in a luxurious barn across the river.
AJ smiled at the soft nicker and walked into the stall, rubbing the big head affectionately. “Hi, Goof,” she murmured. He whooshed another welcome and rubbed his forehead against her chest, also reminiscent of Rebel. Only a keen horseperson would notice the small differences—the strip of white, slightly broader, sliding off to one side just slightly higher up than Rebel’s. The very slight difference in height; Rebel stood an inch taller at the withers. And, of course, Goof was a gelding.
AJ sighed and pressed an absent kiss against the horse’s broad forehead, knowing that any astute handler would remark immediately on the most damning difference—Rebel’s eyes burned. With spirit, animation—a will to win. Trainers pursued horses like Rebel for a lifetime. The gentle beast standing next to her was Rebel’s half-brother but looked every bit a full sibling. But the fire, the determination—the speed—were absent. And that was why he was here. She blinked hard. The idea of risking Goof for Rebel hurt. But by God, she’d find a way to reclaim Rebel. Gina had never intended Towers to have him. She leaned against the door frame, biting her lip. She’d brought Goof while she still wasn’t sure where Rebel was or what a rescue would entail. When she’d read Randy’s essay about his horse-rustling experiences, she’d been captivated. Not good, she supposed, because she’d wound up married and divorced in record time. But the details in his paper provided her the inkling of a plan. Maybe she could swim Goof across from this side, and leave him near the river. Rebel would follow his half-brother the way he had all those lead ponies—and if nobody knew, she could take the river carefully. Her lips twisted in a smile. Truth be told, she’d considered switching the horses, so no one would look for Rebel until she got him out of Laredo. That seemed a little difficult now. She needed to think it out more clearly. Anyone seeing Goof’s head through a stall window might be fooled into thinking Rebel was there. And even if someone noticed the switch, surely no one would hurt the gelding.
“Ready to be a hero, my friend?” she asked, and Goof’s head came up sharply, his ears pricking.
“Hey, what’s the deal, guy?” AJ chided, patting him. “You haven’t been this spooked since we heard the old wailing lady.” When Goof’s attention stayed fixed on the door behind her, she turned, expecting to see Ed. Or the children from next door.
What she saw instead was Chance Landin. Arms crossed. Not smiling. And blocking any avenue of escape.
Briefly, words wouldn’t come. From the expression on his face, though, it didn’t matter; she didn’t think words would soothe him. Ease his suspicions. Help her. So when she did speak, she attacked.
“Well! So do you follow all your boss’s guests, Chance? I don’t believe I invited you to come home with me.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, then glanced briefly around the small, poorly kept barn, and the weathered trailers outside. “Home?”
AJ shrugged, pushing past the horse and coming out of the stall. Chance didn’t move and his physical nearness intimidated her. She turned and locked the outside of the stall before turning back to face Chance, his arms crossed and features drawn into something like a frown. Or a snarl.
“A girl’s gotta live somewhere,” she cooed. Maybe she could go back to Plan A and make him believe she wanted Mike Towers’s money. She’d find a way to explain Goof somehow. She just needed a minute or two to think.
Chance’s jaws clenched. Clearly, he found her breathy falsetto annoying. Good, good, she thought. Just give me a minute—
“Not quite as comfortable as Mike’s digs across, I’ll admit.” He looked at the horse in the stall. Then back at her. “Family’s funny,” he said slowly, after another long silence.
AJ shifted slightly, unsure where he was going. He waved a hand at Goof. “Brother, I’m guessing. At least half.”
She didn’t answer.
He stepped even closer and she frowned, reflexively taking a step back. The rough wood of the stall prevented further retreat.
He reached out again, this time tapping her shoulder once, pointedly, with his index finger. “There’s nowhere to go, AJ. You’re sure as hell not going back to Mike’s place. So tell me—why is Gina Towers’s sister here with a horse that looks just like the one Gina gave her husband as a wedding gift?”
For a brief second, the unpainted walls wavered and swirled, and tiny specks of light exploded around her. No hope, she knew, that he hadn’t seen her reaction to his accusation. She supposed she could be glad that Towers hadn’t found her out sooner. And he didn’t know what she planned to do—how she planned to rescue Rebel.
“Don’t ever poke me again,” she said coldly, pushing away the offending hand and sidestepping him. He stood watching her until she reached the barn door, and she stopped and looked back at him.
“If you want an explanation, you can come with me,” she added, making it more a demand than a request.
He looked at Goof again, shook his head as if still in disbelief, and followed her.
She walked over to the nearest trailer, opening the door and letting him into the small, sparsely furnished interior. Again, his bigness and nearness were inescapable, as were his anger and suspicion. She couldn’t blame him for that; she had only herself to blame for not thinking more broadly and recognizing possible threats. For not devising a simpler, m
ore effective plan. “Have a seat.” She nodded at the clutter of sofas and chairs left by the previous owners. “I’ll get tea.”
He stood, glowering, not accepting her invitation. “Don’t jerk me around with some tea party crap,” he said between gritted teeth. “I want answers, AJ.”
She ignored his demands until she broke ice out of a brittle tray and filled two glasses, then poured tea from a pitcher, looking at the brown liquid a little dubiously.
“Does tea spoil?” She carried the glasses over, handed him one, and settled herself on the couch, immediately putting her drink down on the low end table. She folded her arms across her chest and smiled slightly, determined to keep him off balance. He frowned at the glass, then at her again, but finally walked over to sit on the far end of the sofa, putting his own drink down and turning to face her.
“So?”
She dragged in a deep breath, lifted a hand and idly turned her birthstone ring around her finger. The ring had been a present to her from Gina shortly before she married Mike. The last gift, in fact, her sister had given her.
“What do you want to know?”
“Who you are. Why you lied. What the deal is with Towers.”
His questions rapped out with machine-gun staccato. She didn’t look at him, just considered the ring. “Well, as you said in the barn, I am Gina’s sister.” She looked up at him then, unwilling to deny the bonds of blood and love. “Her older sister.”
“So why doesn’t Mike know?”
She stood up and walked over to the window, then to the counter that separated the small kitchen area from the living area. “He never bothered much with us … my mother and me. He met me once, briefly, but everyone at home calls me Joanie.” She shrugged. “I don’t look a lot like Gina. At the time I had dark hair, and I was just this tall, gawky, not particularly pretty stranger. He didn’t pay attention to me.”
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