by Sable Hunter
***
Tebow Ranch
He couldn’t handle it. He just couldn’t handle it. Here he was running out of the house again, facing a storm far more devastating than the first one which had driven him from his home. The other time it had been a dream, a nightmare of Aron’s funeral. This time it was a reality. What Noah had found changed everything. He wasn’t who he thought he was. His whole life had been a lie. The woman who’d held him when he was sick, who had taught him how to walk, the woman he had called ‘mama’ hadn’t given birth to him. He didn’t know who the hell he was!
Climbing in his truck, he started the engine, gunning it as he spun out of the driveway. Would this ever feel like home again? Blindly he drove on instinct, following the same path he’d traveled the other night. To Skye. He needed her. Right now, he couldn’t face his brothers. “Hell!” He laughed sharply. Were they even his brothers? Did they know? Was that why he couldn’t do anything right in their eyes?
He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Taking a hand, he ran his fingers through his unruly long mane so unlike Jacob and Joseph’s and the rest. All of his life he had wondered why he looked different. Neither of his parents was blond. He remembered Sue—he couldn’t use the word ‘mother’ right now—telling him he was special. That she’d asked for a boy with sun-kissed hair. “Why?” He choked out the word.
What he’d found in Sue McCoy’s diary had knocked the very foundation out from under his feet. What was he going to do? Whirling into the driveway at the hunting cabin, he saw Lance and Skye standing by her truck. His foreman lifted a hand in greeting, then walked away toward his own vehicle. Skye, his beautiful Princess, stood watching for him, waiting. She was about to leave on a trip to ‘find herself’ and he was going to ask to go with her. For he’d surely lost himself more than any man ever could. Maybe together, they could make sense of it all. Maybe together they could find something to hold on to, even if it was just one another.
***
La Dura Headquarters – Cananea, Sonora, Mexico
On the way home, Martina went to the hacienda to check on the operations. A shipment of cash was coming in today. People would be amazed if they knew how much money she had control over. During the last month, she’d taken in a hundred and ninety-two million dollars or six million four hundred thousand dollars a day. Actually, they didn’t count their money, they weighed it. Twenty pounds of hundred dollar bills was a million dollars. There were business expenses of course, primarily the bribing of Mexico’s law enforcement officers and a few random assassinations here and there.
Today, she drove the Bently. Aron hadn’t seen the luxury car. She’d tried to introduce him to their lifestyle slowly. He’d seen the yacht, or part of it, but he’d been too out of it to appreciate the one-hundred-twenty foot, ninety million dollar Nauta. Her father, Tomas, refused to upgrade Los Banos with drug money. The ranch was a shack compared to the hacienda in town. Esteban lived in style. There were gold faucets in the restrooms, marble floors in the garage, a multilevel swimming pool, a full size discothèque and even a private zoo for his enjoyment. One day, she and Aron would live in the same luxury. Martina was making sure she put back money for their future. Perhaps she wouldn’t always be in the business. Lately, she had considered giving it up, maybe to have a family. So, she was putting money in U.S. banks, Swiss banks, even Canadian banks.
Martina had also purchased legitimate businesses—apartment complexes which covered entire hillsides, diamond mines, shopping malls, even two professional soccer teams. She had as many legitimate employees as she had drug runners. So, keeping herself and her trusted associates organized was imperative. But this part of her job was enjoyable. She had a good head for business. The only distasteful thing she had to do was inform Esteban that Joaquin Rios would not be acquiring one of the Delgado sisters as a bride.
“Buen dia, Señorita,” one of her people greeted her. She struggled for a name, but couldn’t think of it, so she just smiled. Taking a few minutes, she visited her accountants and the dock where the crates of money were unloaded. Bales of cash came in to the hacienda by eighteen wheeler trucks, most boring legitimate U.S. company labels. Corrupt custom agents on the border waved the trucks through without inspection. The money would be packed in crates with padlocks on them. For a few minutes, she stood and watched a few of the boxes be opened. Seeing that much money in one place still gave her a little thrill. Now the cash would be laundered back through the legitimate businesses and make its way back into banks in Texas and Arizona. If she had her way, they would soon cut a step out. Martina’s thinking was that the drug money was made in the U.S., it might as well stay there, so she was fostering relationships with several men and businesses to handle a substantial amount of her money on the north side of the border. Ah, it was a game, but an exciting game.
“Martina, do you want to go with me to the church?” Esteban’s request sounded strange, but she knew what he was referring to.
“Today’s the day?” No, she didn’t want to go to church.
“Yes, I’m expected.” Once a month, he would go hold court in church and hundreds of peasants and dirt farmers would come from miles around to ask favors, to get disputes settled, to ask for loans for businesses or grants for education. Martina knew Esteban got off on this whole medieval, lord of the land, kick.
“No, I need to get back to Los Banos. I wanted to check the deliveries and to give you an answer on Rios’ proposal.” She put her hand on her hip and looked at her uncle. She was about two inches taller than him, about five in her heels and she enjoyed looking down on him. “You can tell him the answer is no, the Delgado women will marry for love.”
Esteban sneered. “If you think you are headed for a happy-ever-after with Aron McCoy, you are mistaken. A price was put on his head, I understand.”
“What?” She was shocked. “What do you mean? No one will harm him, I will see to it.”
Her uncle laughed. “Not that kind of price. His brother is offering five million dollars for information on him. For that price, someone will tear up your playhouse, niña.”
Anger made her face flush pink. If there wasn’t one thing to worry about, there was another. His returning memories seemed like the biggest hurdle. She’d been so hopeful that she could somehow stem Aron’s recollections of the McCoys and his wife, whatever else he remembered would just be part of the tapestry of his life, something she could live with. Replacing the memories of his past with new events centering around herself and Los Banos was the goal. Despite her manipulation, Martina only wanted to be good to him, to give him his every heart’s desire, as long as that didn’t include reuniting with Libby Fontaine or Tebow Ranch. Yes, she knew about his wife. Martina had watched the news. She knew they were searching for him, she had read the articles and seen the reports. Thankfully, the news coverage had died down. The possibility Aron would stumble on a report about his disappearance was getting less and less likely. Soon, it would have dropped off the radar completely. But, if they were now offering a reward, a substantial reward? Joder!
He walked off with a smug smile on his face. Martina stared after her uncle, if her eyes could have shot lasers, he’d be dead. The buzzing of her cell phone broke her antagonistic glaring. It was Emily. “¡Habla!”
Back over in her lab, Emily jumped at the harsh greeting. “Diosa? I have good news.”
She heard the drug lord sigh, “Bueno.”
“I have an idea. I think I can help you. There is a new drug called zip.” She had worked out a deal with her friend, they would trade their projects and share credit on both. That is, if Emily lived through this dangerous deception. Her plan was to prepare a low-dose form of Zip which would disrupt specific memories for several months, but not permanently, like a full dose would. Now, all of this was highly speculative and she was risking her life and Mr. McCoy’s well-being, but if she didn’t do this, the Diosa might find someone else who would and the outcome for all concerned might be worse. Especially fo
r her, and Emily wasn’t ready to fail. What she had found out from Royce was that the Zip peptide was a PKMzeta inhibitor and chemically blocked specific, identified long-term memories, but not personality or learned behavior. In other words, with her Zip-mini, she could help Aron recall memories, then chemically put them on a shelf in his brain, where hopefully they would reemerge at a later time. Or at least that was what she was hoping.
In layman’s terms, Emily explained to Martina the effects of full-strength Zip and that she, Emily, should be the one to treat him. “Now, it will be up to you to convince him I’m a physician. I do have a doctorate, so Dr. Gadwah is not a lie.”
“I can do that.” Martina sounded gleeful.
“I can’t guarantee this will solve all your problems, but it’s the best I have.” Telling a drug lord that all you can offer is your best was dangerous, but she had no other way to put it.
Martina twirled in a triumphant little dance, all smile. She trusted the eccentric chemist. “All right. You get me the peptide and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Emily could live with that. She just hoped Aron McCoy didn’t suffer from the results of her manipulation.
Chapter Seven
Los Banos Ranch – Two Days Later
Tomas and Austin rode side by side. “The basic source of our water are the thirty-five natural springs scattered throughout the ranch. In addition, there are four medium deep wells run by wind and solar power. There are also five large water ponds or tanks which store run-off water from the rain.”
“Solar power. Good. That’s smart. Do you have it hooked up for irrigation and to control the gates between the grazing pastures?” This seemed to be a topic he knew.
“No, this is relatively new technology for us.”
Austin got excited. “I may have some ideas on how to implement some changes, if you don’t mind.”
Tomas looked pleased. “If you are to be my foreman, my son-in-law, I welcome your input.”
Austin had nothing to say to that—foreman was one thing, son-in-law was another. What he planned on doing was fitting in until he could figure a way out. Part of him wanted to just walk off, put as much distance between him and this web of deceit as he could. But that wouldn’t be smart. He needed to gather evidence on the cartel while he worked to find his real identity.
They rode over a creek and down a small canyon to a herd of Corriente grazing on buffalo grass. “There’s an American coming in today to look at Rey Moteada.” He pointed at a dappled bull that had stopped to watch the men on horseback. “I want you to be there. I’m having him brought to the front viewing corral as soon as we return.”
“No problem,” Austin agreed, but he wasn’t really into the conversation. He’d just had another memory, a woman rising from the waters of a stock tank, holding her arms out to welcome him to her embrace. God, she was beautiful.
“Austin…” Tomas started to speak, but then he stopped, seeming to weigh his words. “You are a good man. My daughter is lucky to have you. I want you to be happy.”
A wave of regret assailed Austin. Why couldn’t things be either black or white? He didn’t know what to do with all of these shades of grey. “Thank you, Tomas. I want to be happy, too. I want my memories back.” Tomas didn’t comment, he only sighed.
When they returned to the ranch house, Brock was waiting for them, a strange look on his face. “Three bodies were just discovered hanging from the gate up on the main road. They were decapitated.”
Tomas cursed and Austin felt a chill run down his back. The reality of what he was embroiled in was becoming more and more evident.
“Were they removed? Given a proper burial?” The elder Hispanic gentleman wiped his brow. “Why can’t I live a normal life?” He shook his head.
“Your daughter took care of it,” Brock answered as he put fencing supplies in the back of his truck. “Tomas, Sir, I need to talk to you.”
Austin felt this was the time to leave. He didn’t know what Brock was about to say to Tomas, if it was about Alessandra or the dead bodies, but either way, he had an agenda of his own. In a couple of days he’d speak to Brock at their designated meeting place. If he was going to take over as foreman, even for a little while, he needed to get the whole picture. Martina’s father had given him a key to the office in the barn and he intended to dive right in and get an idea of the operation. He knew he had to maintain the illusion, to fit into this life for now. His survival depended on his ability to blend in and not give away his true goal. Even the most clever prey knew the value of playing dumb.
To acquaint himself with their system, he glanced through the files. Everything looked to be in order. Opening the top drawer, he saw the normal things—pens, staples, paperclips and a couple of thumb drives. Remembering Martina’s laptop and the information he’d seen, he slipped one of the small devices into his pocket for later. Then he went to work. As he sat there, immersed in the ledgers and receipts, he familiarized himself with the sales numbers, the feed bills and the listings of buyers for cattle and semen straws. As he looked over the records for the last few years a name jumped out at him. Aron McCoy of Tebow Ranch. It was like a bolt from the blue. His hand shook. Why was this so familiar? Did he know this McCoy?
“Austin.” He jumped at the voice at the door. It was Brock. “Tomas said the American buyer is here. He’d like for you to come meet him.”
He rose from the desk and followed his friend. “Our meeting still on for tomorrow?”
“Yea, I have news for you,” Brock whispered.
They found Tomas and a big dark-haired cowboy standing next to a corral. They were checking out the bull from earlier. “Ah, there you are, Austin.” They both turned to greet him.
“Austin Wade, this is Jaxson McCoy from the Highlands Ranch in Texas. Jaxson, this is my foreman.” McCoy. There was that name again. Was this just a coincidence? Austin held his breath, staring at the face in front of him. There was a vague resemblance to the image he looked at in the mirror every morning, but not enough to get excited about. He carefully studied the eyes of the other man, but if McCoy recognized him, he couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d get a chance to ask him.
The three men discussed price, bloodline, transportation. Jaxson wanted to arrange for delivery of the bull to his central Texas ranch. As they talked, flashes of familiarity about towns—hell, even zip codes came to mind. Austin, Wimberly, San Antonio, Houston, Kerrville, Fredericksburg. There was no doubt, he lived in Texas on a ranch and he had a family—and dammit, he had a wife! The certainty of his memory almost bowled Austin over. He felt excited, dizzy, anxious to learn more.
“Jaxson, come into the office and we’ll fill out the paperwork.” He motioned toward the door, rehearsing in his mind what he’d say to the stranger.
“Oh, there you are!” Martina and Alessandra came walking up. Before he could react, Martina kissed him and he saw a confused look pass over the Texan’s face. “We’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.” She rubbed a smudge of lipstick off his cheek. Brock embraced Alessandra which would give anyone the impression they were one big happy family. “Dr. Carlos is here to see you. Can I steal him, Padre?”
“Of course, I’ll be glad for Austin to see the physician. Brock and I can finish up with—” He paused as if thinking twice about what he was about to say. “...our guest.”
“Can’t this wait?” Austin asked Martina. This was critical. He had to talk to McCoy!
“No, he has another appointment to get to.” She wanted this over and done with. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. Your health is more important.”
Austin clenched his fists, frustrated, wondering if his one chance to find out his true identity was slipping through his fingers.
“Nice to meet you.” Jaxson McCoy held out his hand. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again one day.” The man lifted one eyebrow and Austin almost said something right then and there.
But Martina’s “Darling,” in that insistent tone she had, remind
ed him he couldn’t risk the life of this guy. He wasn’t dealing with ordinary people here. He was immersed in a situation so volatile, his whole world could blow up at any moment and the fall-out could be permanent. And deadly.
Back at the ranch, he sat in a chair in one of the downstairs rooms surrounded by the doctor’s equipment. “So tell me how you’re feeling?”
“Is all of this necessary?” He pointed to the heart monitor, an x-ray machine, and other equipment filling the room.
“Yes, it is.” His answer was short. “Now, tell me, are you still having headaches?”
“Monster ones.”
“Pressure changes in the skull can trigger pain.” The physician explained as he put cathodes on Austin’s skin. “The brain is covered by layers of membrane which contain fluid to cushion the brain. During surgery, this system is disrupted and the pressure can drop in the skull which causes debilitating headaches. Also, the trauma of surgery itself can cause swelling in the brain. We need to see which possibility is causing your problems. Have you been nauseated?”
“Yes,” Austin answered truthfully.
“Pressure changes can also contribute to nausea. We’ll check this out. There are any number of medications we can give you.”
Martina had come in with them, but the doctor had asked her to leave. Austin was relieved. “Thanks, doc. I’ve had a lot of aches and pains in my life, but you can ignore it if it’s your foot or hand. But when it’s your head, that’s where you live. You know?”
“I understand.” He led him to the portable x-ray machine. “So, you are remembering things?”
Austin hesitated. He’d said more than he should. “A few.”
