Unattainable

by Garcia, Leslie P.

  “I told you — this place is an invitation to all the wrong people.” He rattled the door again, leaned for a moment against the wall then jerked upright and swatted at something crawling up his arm.

  “Dell, I won’t be a party to drug smuggling, and you know what the situation is right now. I also think you better be real careful about who Maribel can see and where she can go.”

  Dell’s mouth pursed. “Just what are you saying, Jovani? That something illegal’s going on here? That I know about it if it is?” Her voice echoed the anger in her eyes. Jovi turned toward the river, and Dell reached out, catching his arm. Her fingers dug into his forearm. “Don’t you dare walk away without answering me, Jovani Treviño! How could you possibly think — ”

  Jovi didn’t answer her immediately. Gently freeing his arm, he walked over to the edge of the porch, looking off toward the river. The mare snorted nervously and threw her head up, watching them alertly.

  Dell, her concentration broken by the mare’s sudden edginess, drew in her breath. “You spooked Josie, didn’t you?” she demanded, and that question, at least, he seemed able to handle.

  “Not intentionally.” He turned back to her, and concern replaced some of the grimness. “How do you feel? I saw you get up and get back on, so I assumed you weren’t too seriously injured.”

  “My pride was dented,” she admitted, smiling a little in spite of herself. “I used to boast that I couldn’t be thrown.”

  “Older and wiser,” he said, nodding. Then something of the grimness returned as he added, “But aren’t we all.” She didn’t think he was still talking about being thrown. “Look, Dell,” he said finally, “I don’t know that anything’s going on, or that you know anything. If Maribel sneaked down here somehow — well, that’s pretty serious. She’s no less at risk than anyone else is, if smugglers should come by. You probably better call whoever’s in charge of her case, because there’s a chance she wasn’t alone. But you’re blinding yourself if you don’t realize how inviting this place could be to traffickers. You know what Ortega said. It would be a miracle if this place wasn’t targeted, at least before we started coming down fairly often to look it over.”

  “I suppose,” Dell said, massaging the back of her neck. Jovi hadn’t answered her questions, she realized, but why was he dodging them? Frowning a little, she admitted to herself she wasn’t eager to press the issue. She didn’t want the vague, nagging uneasiness she felt about Jovi’s interest in the cabaña to color her feelings about him. There was something fascinating, something very intriguing about the man. She had admitted that to herself, too, some time ago. She didn’t want to give up — to have to give up — the tiny flickers of awareness that darted through her when she walked into a room and found him there. “So what do we do?” she asked eventually.

  He looked around again. “Not much more than I have, I guess. Keep the brush down so anything has to happen in the open. Keep the locks on. I’d prefer you not come down here alone — for your safety” He shrugged and shook his head. “Of course, I haven’t gotten through to you yet.” Then he rubbed a hand across his face, hesitating, as if debating whether to continue. “And you should fire Danny.”

  Dell gaped at him. Danny Brewer had been on the ranch for years — not as long as Pete, but her father had hired him shortly after his divorce. The man fed horses and cleaned stalls and never said a cross word, as far as she knew. True, she had seen some recent signs of complacency, like unfinished work and those tools left around carelessly. But he could be given another chance. Finding qualified help was hard. Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head in consternation.

  “Fire Danny?” she repeated. “Why?”

  Jovi’s jaw set. “Because,” he said.

  “Because?” She plucked at the front of her blouse in agitation. “You need more than ‘because.’ What has he done?”

  “Who had keys to the cabaña?” Jovi asked. “Have you ever asked Pete about Danny? If he does his job, if he’s around when he should be? If he’s the kind of man you want on a ranch with girls who have troubled pasts already?”

  “Pete’s never complained,” Dell said stubbornly.

  “But you never asked, did you?” Jovi persisted. “Look, I’ll be honest, Dell. I was going to fire him without asking.” A tiny flicker of amusement came and went in the depths of his eyes. “Then I remembered your control-freak alter ego and changed my mind.”

  “Control freak.” She snorted. “Still, you don’t really think … ” She just couldn’t see Danny as a villain. And while the man never spoke of supporting family or having any place in particular to go, she hated the idea of taking his paycheck away on Jovani’s suspicions. She slanted a glance at him. Or was there more?

  “He had a key to the old lock,” Jovi pointed out quietly. “He smokes — that brand.” He waved at the cabin behind him. “And I suspect he knows you’re Erika De Cordova’s daughter.”

  “I suppose he could,” Dell confirmed. “Has to, really, because he worked for my father. But — ”

  “Someone told Maribel,” Jovi pointed out. “And it wasn’t me.”

  Dell’s startled eyes met his. “You really think — but then he was here? With Maribel?” She swayed, sickened by the unwelcome thought. “No. I couldn’t have put Maribel in a position like that.” She covered her face, pressing her hands tightly over her throbbing temples.

  “You didn’t put Maribel in any position,” Jovi said shortly. He reached out, pulling her hands away. His strong fingers cradled her face, surprisingly comforting. “Maribel may only be sixteen, but she’s been making her own decisions for a long time. You had no idea. And I’m not even sure about it. But I still think Danny should go.” He tilted her chin up, peering into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She shivered, though, still unnerved by Jovi’s accusations. Then she took a step back, breathing deeply. “All right. You’re the foreman. You fire him.”

  He smiled without mirth. “Delegating, Ms. Rosales?”

  She nodded in agreement. “You’ll have to be the hatchet man. After all, they’re your suspicions.” Silently, she stepped off the porch and untied the mare’s reins.

  Jovi could feel her pain and confusion as she swung up into the saddle. But he couldn’t reach out to her, not when he, too, had questions.

  Danny Brewer, he had discovered through old tax and bank records, had been employed about the time Sam Rosales received the first of several large sums of money from one of De Cordova’s businesses. The first transaction was supposedly payment for a shipment of three Appaloosa broodmares to the man’s Nuevo Leon ranch. But he had checked the Appaloosa registry, as well as the ranch books, and he’d gone through the scores of photo albums Rosales had kept of his prized horses. None of the horses Rosales sold ever existed.

  Did Dell know? How could she not? During his brief stint as a cop, Jovi realized that where drug smuggling was involved, there were seldom innocent parties. If nothing else, Dell had to know her father’s sizable inheritance was suspect — didn’t she? Watching her ride away, he realized with sudden, shocking intensity that he didn’t want her to know. Because if she did, he’d have to bring her down. And he didn’t know if he could.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dell stepped out of the armored, chauffeured limousine and smiled her thanks at the driver. Hal McDade certainly hadn’t spared any expense in arranging her visit to Monterrey. She smoothed the crisp, aqua skirt she was wearing, and looked around Gran Plaza with a slight frown. The plaza was sleek, attractive and modern, but she no longer felt as comfortable here as she once had. Too long away, probably. She glanced over at the high-rise Hotel Emperador and forced herself to relax. The speech to the governor and a group of businessmen earlier this afternoon had been a complete success. Hal beamed at her when she finished and flashed her a silly thumbs up, unconcerned with all t
he conservative men in their dark suits and starched shirts.

  Smiling a little at the memory, she headed over to the towering fountain of water in the center of the plaza. Hal might not be a social prize, but he was genuine and generous. She hoped Carmela would reconsider before too long and marry the man. There was a marriage that had a chance.

  Her smile faded though, as she thought about marriage. She had seen Lionel De Cordova in one of the front seats, staring at her with his contemptuous gray eyes. When she first saw him, a tiny spear of fear stabbed through her, and she deliberately addressed herself to the other occupants of the room. McDade’s ideas for a closer union of Monterrey and Texas businesses were sound ones, and she concentrated on explaining his ideas, eventually forgetting her grandfather’s presence altogether.

  After the speech, the governor, accompanied by Lionel De Cordova, insisted they come to his home for dinner. She wasn’t surprised when the politician began introducing members of his inner circle to Hal McDade and herself. Nor was she surprised that the first of the wealthy men to step forward was her grandfather. When the governor presented him, her grandfather had taken her hand and smiled coldly.

  “We know each other,” he had said, matter-of-factly. “Como estas, hijita?” Calling a young woman “hijita,” or “daughter,” wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Dell didn’t know how many of the men around her knew who she was. She nodded, formally and with detachment, then turned her back on the man. Hal McDade immediately stepped between them, easing her away to introduce her to a friend’s wife who had just joined the group. Dell knew she hadn’t fooled McDade at all — he must have sensed the overwhelming anger and bitterness she struggled to conceal.

  Hal McDade helped extricate her from the group lingering with the governor, reassuring her he’d be close by at the dinner later on. He leaned close to her as they waited for his car. “Don’t mind me stayin’ a bit? My driver can take you back to the hotel.”

  She shot him a quick smile. “Am I being dismissed? Most of the women I know wouldn’t stand for that.”

  He chuckled. “Tell me. I’m always settin’ off one of my gir — umm, employees. But — ” He shrugged. “Times are changin’ here, but not too fast.”

  “I know.” She saw his car approaching and stepped away. “Think I’ll go shopping, though. The bargains are huge right now.”

  Hal looked alarmed. “Monterrey’s not safe like it was — not even here.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll let myself be excused from your dealing, but I’m not sitting around in a hotel room. I’m not afraid, Mr. McDade.”

  He looked chagrined but bit back his concern. “See you later then,” he muttered. “But be careful, girl, won’t you?”

  Dell ducked into the car as the driver held the door open. “I will,” she promised, with conviction.

  She revisited some of the old sites, many of them much-changed, and marveled again at the occasional glimpses of the old Monterrey — the vendors with their raspas, or snow cones, and the lone horse and wagon trotting down a side street. Not too long ago, she’d even seen similar horses pulling their carts on Monterrey’s fastest highways. This one was apparently a solitary relic, heading back out toward the hills on the lower reaches of the mountain that jutted up above the city. Eventually, though, she headed back to the hotel. Enough of the old memories. Now, just one more night here — one last ordeal to get through. Then she could go back to the ranch. Back to Becky. And, a sneaky little voice whispered, back to Jovani.

  She frowned at the insistent clamor of the tiny voice. She hardly knew the man. She didn’t trust him — or at the very least, didn’t think she should. How could his presence have intruded upon her solitary life? Because in spite of Rosa’s loyal companionship, in spite of the friends who called with invitations to movies, the theater, trips to San Antonio — in spite even of the teenage girls, whom she genuinely cared about, she was alone. Becky she held fast, clutched to her very heart and soul, but the others were always farther away, not an intimate part of who she was. Yet, increasingly, Jovi’s flashing white smile or daring, dancing eyes would tease her memory. His voice, low and husky, would whisper in the still darkness of her room when she hovered between wakefulness and dream. When her engagement to Jeremy ended in betrayal and then his suicide, she had sworn never to care again. She sighed and smoothed her hair absently. Only she knew the hurt, knew why she’d given up on love. That word, loud though unspoken, brought her to an abrupt stop just outside the hotel’s polished glass doors. Love? Where had that come from? She’d come close to saying it to Jovi, and here it was, intruding on even her private thoughts. Shaking her head in disgust, she fled into the cool, dark lobby and retired to the empty safety of her suite.

  • • •

  Hal McDade looked genuinely dismayed as he stood in the sitting room of the suite hours later. He turned his white Stetson in small, anxious circles while he waited for her to absorb what he had just said.

  “It’s a difficult position the governor put us in,” he said, after a moment. “I understand that. If you want, we just won’t go. I can’t lose anything much by not goin’ over to old Lionel’s place.”

  Dell put a hand up to massage her throbbing temples. The silver lamé halter gown she wore sparkled with every movement, every breath. She had gone all out tonight, aware of the importance social gatherings could play among McDade’s Monterrey associates. She had been prepared for her grandfather’s presence in the governor’s luxurious home. She hadn’t been prepared for another violent incident to call the governor away to deal with the fallout. The governor sent word that his old friend, Don Lionel De Cordova, had graciously stepped in and that both Hal McDade and his lovely escort must attend the event at the De Cordova estate.

  Dell shivered, remembering her grandfather’s mansion. The imported pink marble floors. Gold-plated bathroom fixtures. Expensive furniture arranged impeccably beneath expensive prints. And yet, though she didn’t really want to attend, she wanted even less to seem afraid of attending. A part of her demanded she confront her grandfather in that lifeless palace which had never welcomed her father, and which had never really been a home to her.

  “You should go,” she said finally. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Atta girl.” He beamed. “You’re a fighter, pure and simple. Whenever you wanna leave, just say the word. We won’t stay late. I want to get back to Houston.”

  “And Carmela?” Dell grinned, and he laughed.

  “Yeah, and Carmela, too. No secret there.” He watched as Dell draped a lacy, embroidered black shawl around her shoulders and picked up the tiny, silver clutch that matched the gown. “Too bad she didn’t come,” he said. “She’d love seeing you like this. She likes all this fancy, glitzy stuff. But she hardly ever gets to go anywhere this spiffy.”

  “Marry her,” Dell prodded again, moving toward the door. “She could go everywhere as your wife.”

  “You think?” McDade asked, pulling the door behind them.

  Dell smiled. “Yes, I do think. I also think she deserves the chance to be seen in places like this.” She stepped into the elevator ahead of Hal and fell silent. The small, mirrored chamber reflected their images, the silver shimmering and shooting sparkles of light back and forth through the cage, cloning her impression, fragmenting it. She stared silently into the gold-veined, silver elevator panels and tried not to think of herself that way — thousands of shattering, silvered shards of pain and apprehension.

  • • •

  The black-coated orchestra members were playing the traditional Mexican love song Solamente una vez softly in the elegant ballroom of the De Cordova house when Dell pushed open the door of her grandfather’s study. It was empty, but a small, crystal lamp cast a golden glow across his massive, antique desk.

  A few moments ago, she’d whispered an apology to Hal and explained she needed to get away f
rom the crowded room for a few minutes. He’d suggested leaving, but she hadn’t missed the cluster of Monterrey’s power brokers pulling him aside for conversation, waving others over to join them. He was wheeling and dealing, undoubtedly, and she didn’t have the heart to ask him to go. It was early, not ten yet, and parties in Monterrey started late. She’d been able to endure the dinner, seated among elegant, jeweled women and their well-dressed husbands. She’d even been poised and polite when Lionel De Cordova asked her to dance after dinner. They’d hardly spoken, but she sensed he was assessing her, judging her potential, possibly, and deciding if she was a Rosales or a De Cordova.

  Luckily, Hal McDade cut in after a few minutes, and though she suspected there were whispers about what their relationship was, she didn’t care. Now she slipped into the room with its dark wall paneling and soft lighting and sank into the well-padded chair behind the desk. She doubted her grandfather would approve; she’d never been encouraged to come here as a youngster. Now, hopefully, no one would look for her here.

  She sighed and leaned her head back for a few precious seconds. The distant music was barely audible, and the shallow, self-centered clamor of voices couldn’t be heard at all. Smiling contentedly, she closed her eyes and drummed her fingers quietly on the polished wood desk. Unexpectedly, some stale smell — old smoke, an unidentifiable mustiness — made her sneeze. She opened her eyes and searched for a Kleenex. Her grandfather never would have a box of tissues on his desk, though, and she pulled open the top desk drawer, not really expecting to find anything there, but hoping. Her fingers moved aside an envelope and touched something soft and cottony. Thinking it might be a clean handkerchief, she peered inside. There was a folded hankie, but she didn’t pick it up, staring instead at the small, glossy photo she had uncovered.

  Silent, dark, and unsmiling, Jovani Treviño stared back at her.

  Her heart pounding, Dell pushed the desk shut. She propped her elbows on the desk and cupped her head, her lips trembling. Jovani Treviño wasn’t a rich man. He wasn’t powerful or political. There was not one reason in the world Lionel De Cordova should have his picture in that desk drawer. Unless …