by Diana Palmer
“Don’t ask me,” Glory replied. “I spend most of my time helping them get into prison.”
“I have heard about your record,” the magistrate said with a smile. “You’re a trouper, Miss Barnes.” He hesitated. “I knew your father. He was a good man. It hurt us all to see him unjustly punished for something he didn’t do.”
“Thank you for that,” she said, fighting tears. “I did clear his name, even if it was years too late. His conviction was why I studied law.”
“I thought it might be. I’m glad to have had the opportunity to meet you. Now that Blake Kemp is our county D.A., you might consider coming back here to fight crime.” He looked at her over his glasses again. “I could look for some silver bullets and a mask…?”
She laughed. “I could never pass for The Lone Ranger,” she assured him. “I’m too short.”
“Still,” he said wistfully. “It’s a thought.”
“MOST MAGISTRATES ARE rather somber, I’ve found,” she told Cash on the way home.
“Not Lionel,” he replied. “He’s the town character. I think the modern term is ‘eccentric.’”
“Does he do eccentric things?”
“Depends on your point of view,” Cash replied. “I suppose some people would feel uncomfortable with a wolf in the house, but he’s a bachelor. I guess he can do what he pleases.”
“A wolf? A real wolf?” she exclaimed.
He nodded. “She’s a beauty, too. He found her on the highway and went through the usual maddening channels of bureaucracy trying to help her. Vets can’t treat wild animals, you know, you have to locate a certified rehabilitator. There aren’t a lot of them, and many hurt animals die while you’re looking for one who will answer the phone.” He glanced at her. “Most of them are so overworked that they cringe every time the phone rings. Well, anyway, Lionel took the wolf in and nursed her back to health, and then took the course that certifies you as a wildlife rehabilitator. He specializes in wolves. So he was allowed to keep the wolf, which lost a leg as the result of the accident. It could never go back into the wild, you see. He takes it around to the elementary school and gives lectures on wolves. It’s a very gentle wolf. The kids love it. It’s on a leash, of course. He may be eccentric but he’s not crazy. All it would take is one little boy who smells strongly of bologna…”
“Oh, stop!” she exclaimed, laughing. “That’s terrible!”
“It could be. But he’s a responsible pet owner. He even has a city ‘wolf license.’”
“Nobody gets a wolf license!” she scoffed.
“You can get one if you know the chief of police and he has ties to the city fathers.” He looked suitably modest.
“Yes, but that’s only because the city fathers are scared to death of you,” she pointed out. “You’re too dangerous for people to risk offending you.”
“Why, thank you,” he replied good-naturedly.
“Oh, you’re a local legend all over Texas,” she confided. “I understand that our state attorney general threatens people with you.”
“Only federal people,” he said. “And only if they make him very angry. I am, after all, his cousin.”
“Really!” She was impressed.
He smiled. “I have ties to strange places,” he mused. “Like one of our feds who works undercover. He’s got a price on his head in every country on earth except this one. He’s helped put away some of the bigger drug cartel members, not to mention running down a child killer in Central America on horseback through a jungle. Not an easy task on good days. It was pouring rain.”
“Who is this madman?” she asked, laughing.
He looked odd. He cleared his throat. “Well, I never knew his name,” he lied. “He was undercover, you know.”
She smiled. “He must be on everyone’s list of people to call in dire situations.”
“He is.”
“I wish you could have him come down here and take Fuentes into a jungle and do God-knows-what with him,” she muttered. “He’s still out there, and I’m still in his sights, figuratively speaking.” “We’re working on that. Be patient. And be careful,” he added quietly. “You’re in some dangerous company at that farm.”
Her heart jumped up into her throat. “What…do you mean?”
He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but it was better if she knew the truth. She might let her guard down and be killed. “One or two of your workers have rap sheets, mostly for physical assault. One took out a cop in Dallas and they could never prove it—he killed the one witness who saw it happen.” He pulled up into the yard of the farm, cut the engine and turned to look at her. She was pale. “That cane makes a good weapon, but people will hear about how you used it. It won’t work a second time. I’d like to take you out to our target range and teach you how to shoot properly.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “It’s not rocket science. It can be taught. I’ll send for you Saturday morning, about nine. Marquez will be home, and he’s got a nice little .32 revolver that you can use. It doesn’t kick as much as a .45, and it will fit your hand better.”
“He tried to teach me already,” she protested.
“Marquez tried to teach his mother,” Cash said, glowering. “He taught her how to shoot crows.”
“Excuse me?” She was shocked. Barbara, Marquez’s foster mother, adored crows!
“He was explaining to her how the gun kicked and said she had to compensate. He didn’t say how. She thought he meant she should hold the nose up higher when she fired, so she did, and she hit a crow. Fortunately she only singed his tail feathers. He kept going. But now they call her the Crow Crippler, and she won’t touch a gun anymore.”
She burst out laughing. It sounded like Rick, who wasn’t the world’s best instructor, even if he was enthusiastic.
“So I’ll teach you,” Cash replied.
“Okay. My liability insurance is paid up,” she agreed. “But do make sure no squad cars park within range of the gun.”
He grinned. “I’ll do that. You take care of yourself. Stay close to the house, keep your cell phone in your pocket and don’t go anywhere alone. Not even outside, especially at night.”
She bit her lower lip. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten her predicament. “You know things that you aren’t sharing.”
He nodded. “I can’t share them. Just watch your back. I’ll have Marquez pick you up about nine Saturday morning. And don’t tell him I said anything about why I’m doing the teaching, instead of him. He has a real attitude problem with authority.”
She laughed. “I know. I’ll keep quiet. Thanks, Chief.”
“We’re all in the same racket,” he told her. “We have to look out for each other.”
“Yes, we do.”
SHE WALKED INTO THE HOUSE and closed the door, nervous and uneasy. Cash Grier knew something about someone on the property, someone with a police record who had killed a cop and was still on the run. She only knew one man who looked tough enough to do that; her husband. It was curious that he hadn’t done a background check on Consuelo, or had Jason Pendleton do it. What if Rodrigo was working for Fuentes, and he was asked to kill Glory since Consuelo had flubbed it?
She felt as if her world had come crashing down on her head. Two attempts on her life, two escapes. She’d been lucky that Marco had fired into the door and not the wall. She’d been lucky that she could use her cane to deflect Consuelo’s pistol. But if there was another attempt, by her own husband, what was she going to do?
She noticed that Cash hadn’t mentioned that her husband could help protect her. Was there a reason for that? Did he know that Rodrigo had been involved in that drug deal in Comanche Wells; had Marquez told him?
She felt so tired. Her life had become impossibly complicated. On top of everything else, she’d forgotten to take her blood pressure pill and her blood thinner. She ground her teeth together. She was carrying a child and taking dangerous drugs that she had to have if she didn’t want to end up i
n the hospital. If only she could go to San Antonio and see her own doctor!
Then she remembered her appointment with the cardiologist tomorrow. She was going to need an excuse to go to town. She’d manage something, if Carla Martinez worked out as the cook.
She took her medicine, hoping it wouldn’t harm the tiny life inside her, and then she went back into the kitchen to work.
An hour later, Carla Martinez came to the back door with three children, two girls and a boy. The boy, Hernando, was the oldest at seven.
“¿Podemos entrar?” she asked hesitantly.
Obviously she spoke no English. Glory was glad that she’d studied her languages. “Sí, entre,” she invited with a grin. “¡Bienvenidos! Me gusta mucho que puede ayudarme.”
“De nada, señora,” she replied respectfully.
Glory showed her what needed doing, then she seated the children at the table and gave them peanut butter and cookies to eat and cups of milk to go with it, all except for the youngest girl, who was only three. She laughed up at Glory with beautiful black eyes in a perfect little face surrounded by thick, long, black hair. Glory couldn’t resist. She picked the child up and carried her along to the sink where she managed to rinse dishes with one hand while she cooed to the little girl.
Rodrigo came in unexpectedly, to translate for Glory. He stopped in the doorway and watched, fascinated, the easy way she handled the child and the work. She was laughing, happy, delighted with the cuddly little girl. He thought how nice it would be to have a child. Then, abruptly, he remembered Bernadette in his arms, hugging him and asking what would she do without him? He loved the child so much. It had hurt terribly when she and her mother went to live with Colby Lane. His expression reflected his misery.
Glory sensed a presence, and turned, meeting Rodrigo’s taut face and wounded eyes across the room. She didn’t even need to speak. She knew what he was feeling, and why. In that moment, she knew that she’d never be able to tell him about their child. And now, she wondered if he was going to complete Consuelo’s assignment and take Glory out of Fuentes’s path.
He saw the odd look on her face and frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked.
She composed herself. “Nothing. We’re just getting started.”
“I thought you might need a translator,” he began.
She laughed. “No, but thank you. I’m quite fluent in Spanish. I have to be, in my work.” She could have bitten her tongue for that unwise comment.
“Your work?”
“I’m with a temporary agency,” she said at once. “I have lots of clients who need someone bilingual.”
“I see.” He glanced at Carla and asked her, in Spanish, how things were going.
She was ecstatic about Señora Ramirez and the job. She was going to love working here.
At least someone was happy, he thought as he glanced toward Glory. She seemed different all of a sudden. Had Cash spilled the beans? He studied her intently, and then he realized that she’d be more forthcoming if she knew his secret. But something was bothering her. Perhaps she was afraid that Consuelo would make bond; or that Fuentes really would send someone else.
He didn’t think the drug lord would have time. He, Castillo, and another man were going to move a shipment across the border on a makeshift pontoon bridge made of oil drums on Saturday. It was the biggest shipment Fuentes had handled, pure cocaine, and lots of it. Little did Fuentes know that his newest distributor was going to have a lot of help. Fuentes was going down. The man was scum. The young gang member who’d been feeding him information said that Fuentes had killed boys for little more than protesting his rough treatment. He had no respect for anyone around him. He’d beaten his own mother, in front of the gang member, because she’d burned his eggs. The boy said nobody wanted to work for a monster like that, regardless of how much they got paid.
He wondered how Glory was going to react when she found out the truth about his role in this operation. She was a sweet woman, but she was uneducated and unsophisticated and plain. She’d never fit into his world. He’d made a terrible mistake when he’d married her. It had been a spur of the moment thing, to spite Sarina for throwing him over. But all it had done was make him aware of how miserable he was. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life tied to this prehistoric woman. He was going to have to approach the subject of a divorce.
But first, he had to help bring down Fuentes. That might save Glory’s life. When all this was over, he wanted to know how she’d gotten into this mess. Fuentes didn’t send hired killers after temporary workers without good reason. She said she’d seen something illegal, but he wanted to know what. Sadly he had no time for interrogation right now. He had a job to do.
12
GLORY WENT TO SEE THE cardiologist the next day, leaving Carla in charge. She’d asked Angel to keep the children so that she could work without diversions, and Rodrigo had given him a half day. Glory had told her husband that she was due for a dental appointment in town.
Her coolness toward him had resulted in his moving into his old bedroom. He hadn’t even blinked when she suggested it, because her hip was hurting and she’d keep him awake. It was a thin excuse and he saw through it at once. He noticed that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something was wrong. He was sure it had something to do with her having seen him at the site of a drug deal. Probably Marquez, damn him, had told her that Rodrigo was a criminal. She’d denied that Marquez had told her anything, but he doubted that was true. He wished he had time to sort out his feelings for his temporary wife. He didn’t. The job was his top priority at the moment. Later, he and Glory could have a long talk about their relationship. But he was certain that he wanted their marriage to end.
Glory felt guilty for deceiving Rodrigo, but deeper in her mind was the fear that her husband might be Consuelo’s replacement. He was involved in drug dealing, she knew that already. It wasn’t far to consider him capable of murder. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just put Rodrigo out of her mind and let Cash Grier deal with his illegal activities. It sounded easy. It wasn’t. Part of her still hungered for Rodrigo, wanted him, ached to hold him. Every time she thought of the little thing in her belly, she felt sorrow like a rock inside. She didn’t know what to do. Her whole life had changed since Cash Grier had made that remark about the rap sheets on people working at the farm. She knew he meant Rodrigo, and she had a horrible feeling that he was mixed up in something much more sinister than just drug dealing.
THE CARDIOLOGIST, A WOMAN, was small and energetic and brilliant. She examined Glory, had her technician perform an EKG, and then, a few minutes later, an echocardiogram. The tests allowed her to look closely at Glory’s heart and make sure there weren’t any blockages around her heart. When Glory related her eating habits and her determination to keep her weight down, the physician was impressed.
The only thing was the blood thinners and the medicine for hypertension that Glory had been taking, of necessity. If there were any problem with the fetus, the inability of her body to stop the bleeding could cost her the child. In fact, her medical condition could lead to early detachment of the placenta or to spontaneous abortion even without medical intervention.
“If it had been a planned pregnancy,” the cardiologist said gently, “we could have prescribed alternative drugs that would present less danger to the child. However, considering the severity of your hypertension,” she added sadly, “the risk to you and your child is greatly enlarged. Most physicians would recommend an immediate abortion. You could die trying to carry this child.”
Glory felt sick all over as the reality of her condition hit her. She put her head down, fighting dizziness and nausea. “No,” she moaned. “No, I can’t. I won’t.” She lifted her wet eyes to the cardiologist. “You don’t understand. I’m a person of faith. It goes against everything I believe….”
The other woman put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I won’t force you to make such a decision. But you’ll have to be very closely monitor
ed. I’ll want to see you at least twice a month. I’ll modify your drug therapy.”
“I could stop taking the blood thinners,” she said at once.
The cardiologist winced. “Considering your medical records, I can’t advise that. I don’t see any obvious blockages, that’s true. But if your own physician was concerned about plaque or a possible clot after what he diagnosed as a mild heart attack…” She stopped. “If you’d had the heart catheterization…”
“I had too much stress on me at the time, and too busy a schedule, to agree to it,” Glory said heavily. “Isn’t hindsight wonderful?”
“The blood thinners would prevent a small blockage from producing a heart attack or stroke,” she told Glory. “Those, as well as the blood pressure medicine with the diuretic, you must continue. As I said, I’ll prescribe drugs that will be the least harmful to the child. I would prefer to send you to Houston and let them do a heart catheterization, just to make sure there are no blockages that don’t show up in these tests. But this is not the time. You have too much stress already.” She paused. “You want the child very much, yes?”
“Yes,” Glory said at once, although she hadn’t been that sure when she walked into the office. A child of her own. She could be a mother. She could have someone of her very own blood to live with and love and care for. The temptation was worth any risk. The fact that the child’s father had criminal tendencies was something she forced to the back of her mind.
