She didn’t spot him at first. Then a few of the passersby shifted, moved, and there he was. Killer-faced, thin, and as solid as a steel rod. Bent over, talking into the open window of a late-model sedan. Talking to a man who looked very much like Chance Landin.
• • •
The evening’s festivities were in slightly better taste than at the soiree at Mike Towers’s, AJ thought wearily, leaning against a cool marble column in the back of a huge room. Don Antonio De Los Santos, a prominent Mexican banker and industrialist, owned an estate that covered a huge portion of an exclusive Monterrey neighborhood.
A live orchestra played and a brightly dressed crowed eddied and swirled around the room in dizzying waves. Exotic perfumes and colognes, some far too sweet and cloying, overwhelmed even the aroma of gourmet dishes lining an elegant buffet along one entire wall of the room.
At least Mike seemed to have closeted himself with other wheeler-dealers, she thought with intermingled relief and contempt. She wouldn’t have to fend him off again for awhile. She’d come way too close to losing her temper and smacking him when he’d insisted on dancing with her, using their very public setting to hold her obscenely close and purr compliments in her ear. Tonight could be a problem.
AJ chewed her lip and breathed deeply, then swung her shoulders, trying to loosen the tension. If things worked out tonight, tomorrow might be the end—one way or the other. She simply couldn’t wait much longer. Mike wasn’t base enough, luckily, to actually force himself on a woman—at least, she didn’t think he was. But innuendo was fast becoming demand, and sooner or later he’d tell her to give in or go home.
A couple strolled into the quiet, shadowed area behind the columns, intent on a few moments of privacy. They locked arms and lips, and with a small, grim smile, AJ realized she probably should move on. She glanced out at the crowded dance floor, wishing she could count on Chance’s protection one final time.
The thought made her shiver a little. The man she’d followed spoke to someone who looked so much like Chance. But Chance was 150 miles away—wasn’t he? And if not, what business did he have with the evil-faced man he’d denied knowing anything about?
“AJ, my dear!” Towers’s voice halted her as she inched towards the far side of the room, intent on escaping into the bathroom down the hall.
Blue eyes bored into her. They glittered coldly, whether because of the bright light from the overhead chandeliers or her imagination. What had Gina ever seen in this man?
“You’re not leaving, I hope?” he asked jovially, but she sensed anger beneath the suspicion. “Laredo’s a long walk!”
“Yes, I know.” She kept her tone light, strived not to sound too distant. Or too coquettish. “But you know.” She shrugged. “Nature calls.”
“Mikey, you can’t argue with nature!” A Monterrey socialite, whose name AJ couldn’t remember, latched onto Towers’s arm possessively.
She tossed her head, dark hair swirling around her slender throat and bare shoulders. “I’ll watch your man for you, querida, no?”
“Sure,” AJ returned lightly, not worried over the venomous offer. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
The woman urged Mike toward the bar. “Take your time,” she called over her shoulder. “No putting off Mother Nature.” She whispered something, and AJ heard Towers chuckle and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
Good, she thought again, but almost immediately felt a tiny surge of indignation puncture the relief as memories of Gina returned to haunt her. Did Gina face Mike’s obvious interest in other women everywhere she went? Had she even gone out? Maybe he had left her at home more often than not, in spite of claiming not wanting to come here alone. She wished the few letters Gina had written had told more of her life. She would know better what she might face from Mike if she understood what Gina had endured. Mike hadn’t bothered pretending to be faithful, or he wouldn’t have his son with another woman hidden away in Gina’s house. Women had been all over him at that first party, too—clearly he considered himself a player. Leaving his wife at home would have opened the field.
She shook off her dark thoughts and walked down the marble hall, her heels clicking on the hard surface. A man in a dark suit watched her and a cluster of women brushed past, jewels sparkling on ears, throats, and hands. She put a hand on the doorknob leading into the bathroom, then paused, feeling another chill. This didn’t seem like the physical cold from the ballroom, though. It felt like death brushing past. Like the remnants of a tortured soul dissolving into the air around her.
Drawing a deep breath, she whirled around. The hall was empty.
“Damn!” she muttered, hugging herself. “I’m plain loony tonight!”
“Talking to yourself, Miss Owens?” A tall, gray-haired man smiled at her in bemusement. She recognized him from the luncheon as a member of the Monterrey city government, and flashed him an embarrassed smile.
“I guess I haven’t gotten away from the legends as much as I thought. I must have been feeling La Llorona pass me by or something.”
He laughed. “Ah, yes! The famous wailing woman of our people, no? And her endless search for the children she killed—in her futile attempt to trap a man.”
She shook her head in protest. “I’m not sure I’d retell our legend quite that way.”
“You can’t excuse her actions,” he argued in consternation.
She wanted to laugh at the irony of standing here, arguing ethics over a nonexistent wraith with a man who might easily be a billionaire. Still, she felt a strange urge to defend the imaginary woman.
“She was betrayed, as many women are.”
“So you would excuse her drowning those precious little ones?”
“No. In modern times, no. But in her day … if she really thought they would perish from starvation and abandonment … I don’t know.”
He nodded. “We shall disagree politely, then.” He turned to go, but paused. “You are all right, now?”
“Yes, of course,” she assured him, smiling again. “Maybe I had a bit too much to drink—”
He snorted gently. “That, my dear, seems unlikely. I notice beautiful women, even when I shouldn’t—and you seemed quite content to … how do you say it? Lurk in the shadows?”
“We’re both getting a little too fanciful,” AJ retorted, nodding at him. “Con permiso.” This time, she reached resolutely for the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped into the bathroom, locking it behind her. Almost unwilling to touch any of the lavish trimmings, she opted to sink down for a moment on a brocade stool, kick off her silver heels, and flex her toes. The cool air felt good on the plants of her feet. A knock on the door reminded her that she had little respite, though, and she shoved her feet back into the shoes and stood, glancing at the mirror, then freezing in horror.
Her own face stared back at her—and behind her, the shadowy lines of a woman who looked much like Gina smiled a bloodless smile.
Choking back a tiny exclamation of shock and fear, she jerked the bolt back and rushed toward the ballroom, preferring the known menace of Mike Towers to the helpless feeling that she might be losing her mind.
• • •
Chance drew a deep breath and sagged wearily against the rough wall behind him. The granite-textured cement still held the day’s heat, although midnight had come and gone. Around him, the huge city had gone silent. Monterrey, cosmopolitan and modern, boasted its shares of night spots—clubs, bars, and all-night restaurants—but those held little interest. In fact, the city itself held little interest. He had only come to track Bone. El Hueso. Once AJ told him of Bone’s appearance in the stable, he knew that he could find him. Money bought information, and Bone’s reputation proved well known among a certain group of lowlifes.
Contempt twisted Chance’s lips. The man might look like the diseased, discarded remains of some predator’s dinner, but he was lower than the lowest scavenger. Undoubtedly his had been the hands that had destroyed those horses on Towers’s orders. But
he needed proof.
The fact that Bone showed interest in Chance’s hints at a little “personal business” meant only that he was greedy. Until he could tie Bone to Towers, and to the deaths of those horses in Arizona, there was nothing to show officials. No way to prove his uncle’s innocence. Towers had contacted Bone—Chance doubted he turned up in Nuevo Laredo for some other reason. How much danger were the new stallions in? Catching Bone in the act of attacking Towers’s Thoroughbreds would only provide the proof he sought so desperately if he let the man get close enough to the horses to show clear intent to injure them.
He moved his shoulders against the wall, the pebbled surface acting as a soothing massage, although his shirt would undoubtedly be savaged—and more than a little grimy. Sighing, he pushed himself upright and glanced at the hotel with narrowed eyes.
Towers was there. With AJ. Bile threatened to choke him. He didn’t understand the woman at all. She wasn’t a tramp; he could tell. She wasn’t a gold digger, either—yet she was in that damn hotel with a man who made his intentions more obvious by the minute. Her story about needing closure over her sister’s death rang true—partially. Not completely, though. And her story about Rebel and the look-alike horse on the Texas side seemed absurd. For some reason, she’d brought a Thoroughbred with her from back East to the border. Her trip would have been easier if she’d come alone; horses demanded food and care. This horse looked just like Rebel. He didn’t seem to fit into any plan that made sense, though. Could AJ actually be out for some kind of revenge? Was she a physical danger to her sister’s widower?
A police car crawled past, and he could see the officer on the passenger’s side scrutinize him. Probably thought he was un boracho—an inebriated turista out too late. He dragged a hand through his hair and walked slowly toward his own hotel. Hoping that AJ was safe. Knowing he had no way to help her, even if she wasn’t. A couple passed close by, arms around each other, giggling and whispering.
Damn. Everything turned his mind in AJ’s direction—a futile path if he ever saw one. He could never have her, of course. Even if he weren’t focused on Towers—even if he could help her with whatever problems tormented her. Because sooner or later, she would wonder about Gina. And she wouldn’t be too happy to hear what so many would be quick to tell her. What he himself would have to say. And worse, what he had done that fateful night. The night he told Gina to leave if she was sure she wouldn’t want to go back. The night he’d arranged for a car Gina could leave in.
The shriek of a fire engine racing by startled him so much that he stumbled a half-step. The huge red machine pulled up under the portico and fear for AJ raced through him.
No smoke billowed into the night air, but men in their protective gear were racing in, and some guests were coming out, alarmed and chattering. Frowning, he worked his way through some of them, moving toward the door, unsure why finding AJ mattered so much.
Another group of guests came out and Mike Towers, his white shirt half unbuttoned, swore at one of the hotel staffers, who apologized profusely for the inconvenience.
“Idiots!” he snapped. “A little smoke—you don’t even know where it came from and you start knocking doors down—”
“The smoke seemed worst near your room,” the man explained diffidently. “There must have been some kind of electrical short on your floor, and of course we could not risk your safety, Mr. Towers.”
Chance gritted his teeth as he broke for the door, afraid that Mike would turn and see him. Behind him, though, Towers’s voice went on lashing out at everyone around him. Mingling with the guests and staff milling around, Chance slipped through the lobby, scanning the crowd for AJ. She wasn’t among the guests, though, and he definitely hadn’t seen her escape from inside.
He rushed up the glossy steps, his shoes drumming as loudly as his heart. He knew the room numbers—Mike had left word where to reach him. He went by 216, paused at 218, and rapped softly on the door.
Smoke burned his nose and his eyes watered as he rapped again, more loudly. Could the fire have started here, in AJ’s room? He glanced around, worried that Towers would find him outside her door. He doubted the man would believe he’d gotten the wrong room.
He lifted his hand to bang on the wood just as it cracked open.
“Chance?” Surprise colored AJ’s hushed whisper, but she swung the door open, caught his arm, and jerked him inside, pushing the door closed behind her. “You’re here?”
Then the green eyes so unlike Gina’s darkened. “Why?”
He waved her question aside, catching her arms and holding her away to appraise any damage. She didn’t look damaged. She looked suspicious, but also—maybe—relieved to see him.
“You didn’t get out—”
She smiled a slow, smug smile. “No. Of course not.”
He breathed in and coughed. “The smoke—”
“Worked pretty darned well, if I do say so myself!”
He gaped. “You … set the fire?”
“Well, not exactly.” She shook out of his grip and motioned towards a towel. A travel iron lay on top of charred fabric.
“Actually, I only meant to make myself cough a little. Sound sick. Mike kept hammering on the door,” she explained. “I never meant to cause a panic. There was more smoke than I expected, though, and the smoke alarm started going off. Then I guess someone in the hall rang the alarm out there. Technically, I didn’t even cause all the excitement. But I was lucky … when the hotel staff came racing up, I convinced them Mike would be furious if he knew I’d been careless.” She shrugged.
“They probably don’t like Mike much, either. They told him there was a short in the next room. Promised not to tell him where the smoke started.” She smiled again, still smugly. “A perfect plan. I told you, I can take care of myself.”
He frowned, not at all sure he would draw the same conclusion. But just as quickly as she’d decided she didn’t need him, she remembered he’d evaded her question.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, and he sighed and ran a hand over his jaw.
“Watching Mike. And you.”
She shook her head decisively and stared at him. “No,” she said. “You’re not here for that. I saw you earlier … talking to that man.”
Play dumb, he told himself, cursing his stupidity. Why had he suggested Bone contact him in a public place? “Man?”
She dashed away his pretense of ignorance. “Yeah. The man from the barn you don’t know. The one you spoke to in your car this afternoon.”
He frowned. The woman was too damn smart for her own good. Persistent. And sexy as all get out. Some of the guests he’d seen outside wore their nightclothes; a few seemed to have dressed hastily. AJ, apparently confident enough in her ruse not to worry about either subterfuge or Towers, wore a slinky, curve-hugging nightgown in a dark emerald color that covered well enough—well enough to cause a whole lot of chaos to a man’s systems. One system in particular. She had pulled on a gauzy robe, too, but had forgotten to tie the sash hanging loosely at her sides.
Annoyed at the immediate tightening in his groin and the urge to snatch her back into his arms, he took a deliberate step back. Didn’t help, though—she still stood there, tousled and glowing with satisfaction.
“Damn!” he muttered, out loud this time, and her smugness turned into slight surprise.
She arched an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“You.” The word slapped out like another oath, and he closed the distance between them with one half-lunging step.
“Dammit, AJ, come clean before I have to tell Mike you’re his dead wife’s sister!”
Shock and fear flitted across her face before anger sparked in her eyes and pulled her lips tight. “You wouldn’t!” she cried, trying to jerk free from his grasp. He tightened his grip and kept her close.
“I’ll do anything I have to,” he snapped. “Anything.”
She sagged slightly, her body going limp as if in defeat, and tears glinted b
riefly in her eyes. She blinked several times, hard, and drew in a long breath. He loosened his hold and stepped back.
“For God’s sake, talk to me,” he prodded.
“Mike’s going to be banging on my door any minute,” she pointed out, her voice calm again. “I gave a few bills to one of the bellboys hoping he could find a way to stall him, but there’s no guarantee.” She shrugged her shoulders, and the robe slipped halfway down her arms. She didn’t seem to notice, though, just reached up, jerking a hand through her hair, and shoving at the constraining sleeve when it hampered her.
He drew in a shaky breath of his own that had nothing to do with anger or fear, and everything to do with the need to drag her the few steps back to the bed behind them. Mike, he snarled silently to himself. Mike. Remember Mike.
“That’ll be a treat,” he muttered. He waved a hand at her. “Any ideas? I’m not losing my job over—”
“Over what?” AJ demanded, with traces of her earlier anger. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here, Chance. You’re the one in my room—”
“And you’re the one standing here with your clothes falling off! Damn it, AJ—you’re killing me!”
She looked startled for a moment. Something like smug satisfaction touched her lips, turned them up in the slightest of smiles. The reaction wasn’t what he expected. Not what he needed, when Mike might interrupt them, and any chance to save his uncle would be gone. Then she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. Her touch warmed him. Trembled against his overheated skin, jolting him.
“We shouldn’t have met in this lifetime, should we?” she murmured, and the smile faded. “I guess I’m not as good as I thought,” she acknowledged. “I have no idea how to get out of this mess.”
Texas Temptation Page 87
