Beautiful Sacrifice: A Novel

by Elizabeth Lowell

For an instant Hunter’s fingertips slid down her cheek, bringing warmth to the cool flesh. “You did good. Right now I don’t trust anyone. Narcos have ears in every police department that is important to them. Houston is real important.” He put his hand on the wheel again. “You need to disappear.”

  “Narcos? Is this about drugs, not the artifacts?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that anything we give the police will end up in places that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Corruption?” she asked unhappily.

  “Even if ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the Houston PD is on heaven’s short list, that still leaves plenty of people to pass information on down to hell.”

  “God, we’re turning into Mexico.”

  Hunter’s attention never left the traffic around them. “We’re as human as Mexicans are. Corruption happens. In some cultures it’s accepted, even admired, and certainly exploited just like any other business opportunity. Mexico…” He shook his head.

  Lina watched Hunter’s stark profile while he told her what she didn’t want to hear.

  “Mexico is circling the toilet,” he said bluntly. “Everybody knows it and nobody talks about it. The narcos are in open warfare with the federales. Silver or lead, take your pick. Bribery or blood. I don’t judge the civilians who only want to survive. The cops and politicians, well, I wouldn’t mind flushing those corrupt bastards before the rot goes any farther.”

  “I know. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yeah. When that greasy corruption takes a slice out of your honest life, it’s a shock.”

  More silence, night and time flowing by.

  “Anyone following?” Lina asked, her voice catching.

  “Not that I’ve caught,” Hunter said. “Ease down, sweetheart. It’s going to be a long night as it is. No need to waste energy worrying about things you can’t control. Deep breaths. Slow. Long.”

  Silently Lina practiced breathing while Hunter wove through traffic, making unexpected turns, sometimes going around whole blocks and ending up in the same place. She let herself drift, sliding down and down, back to where her heart wasn’t beating double time and screams weren’t clawing at her throat.

  “Is your passport at your apartment?” he asked.

  She looked at his face, dark planes and angles slashed by city lights. He looked as forbidding as any stone statue carved in reverence to forgotten gods.

  “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I always carry it with me. Same for Mexican travel documents.”

  Hunter almost smiled. “Same here. Need anything from work?”

  “My computer.”

  “Can you access it through an outside portal?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. I have all the passwords.”

  “You know how to use a handgun?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Handgun, shotgun, and rifle. Sometimes I worked alone at remote sites.”

  “Ever shoot anything but a target?”

  “No. I don’t particularly like guns.”

  “Neither do I,” Hunter said. “But at least you understand which end bites and how to keep it from biting you. That’s more than most know.”

  More time slid by with the night, fragmented into darkness and light, seething with unknowns.

  “Why would someone called El Maya want me enough to kill for me?” she asked finally.

  “I don’t know. When I find out, I’ll know who gave the orders that ended up with blood all over Jase.”

  Hunter didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to. Lina understood that someone now had the kind of enemy that made nightmares look cozy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LINA WOKE UP WITH A START WHEN THE JEEP SLOWED AND took an off-ramp leading to a street. Houston’s flash and glitter was nowhere in sight. Nothing but an overcast night and car lights whizzing by on I-10. Her neck hurt from sleeping against the window and her skin was chapped from scrubbing blood off in a gas-station restroom on the outskirts of Houston.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “South Padre Island.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “The beach. That explains the salt smell.” She must have slept for hours. “Any word on Jase?”

  “He’s out of surgery.”

  The tightness around Hunter’s mouth made her stomach sink.

  “And?” she asked unhappily.

  “Still critical. Ali’s parents are with her, taking care of the kids.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Not your fault, any of it.” He stopped for a light. “You warm enough?”

  She shifted the jacket he had put over her. “Yes. What about you?”

  His eyes checked the mirrors as regularly as breathing. “I run hot.”

  The sound of air rushing and rippling over the canvas top was white noise, something she had stopped hearing after the first half hour on the road.

  “Are we being followed?” she asked.

  “I lost them after the gas station.”

  Scattered lights told of houses and strip malls hacked out of scrubland and stilted above storm tides.

  “If no one is following, why are we here?” she asked.

  “Because we have to assume that whoever wants you has my Houston address by now. Ditto for Brownsville and my uncles’ homes. My cousins have kids. I don’t want them in the line of fire.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. There was really nothing to say. He was right. She should have thought of it herself.

  “My uncles are working their contacts,” Hunter continued. “They hear something good, we’ll hear it.”

  “You’re obviously more used to this kind of thing than I am,” she said. “What do you do when you disappear for days or weeks at a time?”

  “I work for the family security company.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Securing whatever needs it,” he said.

  She didn’t give up. “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. My uncles’ company specializes in cross-border security issues for corporations and individuals.” Hunter’s glance flicked to the mirrors again. Still nothing that ruffled his instincts. It was late enough that traffic was light, which made checking for tails much easier.

  “Where were you the past two weeks?” she asked bluntly.

  “I missed you, too,” he said, smiling.

  “Hunter—” she began impatiently.

  “My most recent job was outside of Cozumel,” he said before she could rip a strip off him with her sharp tongue, “ransoming a rich debutante who thought that bad things only happened on TV, and that getting knee-walking drunk was safe in a Mexican dive.”

  “Was it dangerous for you?”

  “It had its moments. They decided to up the ransom and threw a bullet tantrum when I refused. I grabbed the young mistress of the universe and beat the bad guys to the airport.”

  “No wonder you weren’t shocked by what happened in the garage,” she said.

  “Don’t bet on it. A friend’s blood is always shocking. I’ve just had more experience on the adrenaline ride than most. It doesn’t hit me as hard on the up or the down.”

  She let out a long rush of air. “Remembering to breathe is the hardest part for me.”

  “Harder than holding a bloody rag against a wound?”

  “Philip wouldn’t let me go on a dig with him until I could handle weapons and had a basic understanding of field medicine,” she said neutrally.

  “How old were you?”

  “Nine. I had to prove myself every summer I spent with him. The tests got harder every year.”

  “Sounds harsh,” Hunter said.

  She shrugged. “It was useful. I stitched and bandaged more than one deep machete cut. It was years before I understood that Philip upped the difficulty every summer because he wanted me to fail. When I figured it out, I confronted him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t answer. He usually doesn�
�t.”

  Hunter’s mouth tightened but he kept it shut. She wasn’t the first child to have a dickhead for a father and she wouldn’t be the last.

  Even at this time of night, Gulf Boulevard’s party houses were flashing like beacons. With the ocean just across the boulevard, it was always vacation time for high-school and college kids, and the older men who preyed on them. The fact that it was the holiday season just put a more colorful gloss on the hunting grounds.

  Hunter took it all in without really seeing it. He was looking for the unusual, not the routine.

  He turned the Jeep off the boulevard and entered a long, sandy, cracked asphalt driveway leading away from the ocean. The beach house he headed toward was small, one-story, on stilts, and old enough to have lived through too many of the Dirty Coast’s hair-raising hurricanes. A latticework fence shielded the space between the floor of the house and the ground.

  When Hunter turned off the Jeep, Lina heard the muted breathing of the surf beyond the boulevard, flat waves lapping against the sand. The salt air was sticky on her skin, cooler than Houston had been, but still warm enough to make the thought of walking on the beach alluring.

  “You need help getting out?” Hunter asked as he came around the Jeep.

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “No argument there,” he said, standing next to her, close, breathing in her presence. “But I’m betting you’re stiff from playing on concrete and then taking a long drive.”

  Lina took off her seat belt, grabbed the purse she had hung on to through all the chaos, and started to slide out. It was a good thing she used the roll bar to steady herself, because Hunter was right. Her knees were crying. He braced her until she worked some of the stiffness out.

  “Bad?” he asked.

  “Not enough to matter.”

  But she didn’t pull away from the arm encircling her waist. She liked it there. She liked having Hunter close. He smelled of cheap restroom soap with an underlay of darkness, salt, and man.

  Breathe, she reminded herself.

  She did, and felt his scent race into her lungs, her blood. The sudden uptick in her heartbeat owed nothing to fear and everything to being a woman close to a man she wanted.

  This is crazy, she told herself.

  No. Crazy is what I’ll be if he doesn’t step away.

  Nothing that had happened during the day had made Hunter less appealing to her. Everything he’d done had simply increased what had already been a compelling sensual lure. She tried not to lean on his strength, but he was there and her legs were stiff, he was warm and she was cold.

  She hoped he didn’t know how much she needed him close, then closer. This afternoon she had learned the difference between almost-blackmailers and murderers. In her new world, Hunter was an angel. A dark one, yes, but they were the most intriguing kind.

  “Doesn’t look like much, but it has what we need,” Hunter said.

  Still holding her, he leaned back into the Jeep. One-handed, he snagged his computer from under the passenger seat. When he straightened, his breath was against her ear, his arm around her waist comforting…and more, much more.

  She forced herself to look away from him, to tear through the sensual web weaving around them, binding them closer.

  The coastal scrub was kept away from the house by the concrete walkway that was covered with a fine coat of sand and a fringe of dirt that was blue in the moonlight. Toad calls and insect noises ebbed and flowed with the sound of the waves. The front steps were weathered gray wood.

  “Looks real good to me,” she said.

  “I haven’t been out here to clean up for a while,” Hunter admitted. “I’ve been too busy with work to come to Uncle Danny’s summer place.”

  “You’re sure he won’t mind us using it?”

  “I talked to him on the phone while you were asleep. He told me the usual.”

  “Which is?”

  “To leave it better than I found it. He probably wants me to fix the gutters or something.” Hunter sounded more amused than irritated.

  Motion sensors kicked on. Spotlights pointed the way to the weather-beaten porch. There was a scurry of critters racing for the shadows.

  “Just like being on a dig,” Lina said, laughing.

  “So long as they stay outside and don’t bite, my uncle don’t pay them no never mind,” Hunter said.

  His drawl sounded just right, like he’d grown up with it. One accent for the city, one for the country.

  Another light went on inside the house. At the end of the driveway Lina saw a tiny garage. Its door was closed.

  “Is your uncle here now?” she asked.

  “No. He only likes Padre in the summer. Then he complains about all the damn people. Think that’s why he likes it,” Hunter said. “Under all the gruff, he’s a people person.”

  “What about you?”

  “What do you think?” Hunter asked with a sideways look.

  She smiled slightly. “I don’t think you’re a people person.”

  “Gold star on your forehead, sweetheart. I’m real choosy about who shares my time. An hour wasted on social chitchat is an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”

  “And here I am, invading more than an hour,” she said unhappily.

  His arm tightened, pulling her even closer, until she could feel the flex and play of his thigh along her hip. The easy power of him pleased her in ways that kept surprising her. She’d never been much for the macho type, having seen way too many of them in Mexico. But Hunter…Hunter simply was what he was, no fuss, no bother, no strutting.

  “You can invade my life anytime you like,” he said, “for however long you want. Besides, I’m a blackmailer, remember?”

  “Better than kidnappers and murderers.”

  “I’m relieved.” And he was. He didn’t want Lina angry to be in his company. He simply wanted her.

  Hunter stepped up onto the narrow porch that ran along the front of the house. Computer in one hand, he pulled a key from his jeans pocket with the other. Despite the weathered appearance of the door, the lock was bright and well oiled. The door opened without a creak or grind.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  He put his computer on a dusty table and headed straight to a surprisingly complex security system across the room. Quickly he punched in a long code. Lights on the panel flickered from red or orange to green.

  “I bet your uncle installs security systems along with rescuing debutantes,” Lina said, setting her purse next to his computer.

  “It was the original business. Then things started going to hell south of the border and he expanded the menu options for customers. Personal security training, threat evaluation, kidnap negotiations, bodyguards, whatever the customer wants—as long as it’s legal.”

  “So you’re a bodyguard, too?” she asked.

  His mouth flattened. “Only when I don’t say no fast enough, and only for very short periods—corporate meetings across the border and such. I don’t have the social skills to be a high-level bodyguard. And I don’t want them.”

  You could guard my body anytime, Lina thought immediately.

  She had just enough self-control left not to say it aloud. For the first time in her life, she wanted to have the kind of affair that women wrote memoirs about. With Hunter.

  “So your uncle comes to a crowded place and complains a lot,” she said, struggling for a neutral topic. “Does he complain about other things?”

  “Only on the days that end in y.”

  She laughed softly. “Sounds like Abuelita. ‘Why don’t you dress better, Lina?’ ‘Why don’t you have a man, Lina?’ ‘I can’t wait forever for my great-great-grandchildren.’”

  “Children are a gift,” he said without thinking as he locked the door behind them and reset the security system.

  “You sound like you have personal knowledge,” Lina said.

  And then she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “I do. Did. She and her mot
her died.”

  Lina’s hand went to Hunter’s arm. She wanted to say she was sorry, but the words were so useless. She put her arms around him and held him, just held him, wishing she could take away the kind of pain that no one should have to know.

  “It was years ago,” he said, holding her in turn.

  “Not for you,” she said huskily. “It’s there every day you wake up, fresh as dawn.”

  His arms tightened. For long minutes they just stood, sharing warmth and life. Slowly Hunter released her. It was that or take her to the nearest flat surface and eat her alive. But she was too vulnerable right now and he had just enough self-control left not to take advantage of her.

  “Maybe I should sic my uncle on your abuelita,” he said.

  Lina took a shaky breath. “Abuelita would shred him. In Mexico, any woman who has even the smallest measure of power has to be tough and smart enough to know where and when to use it. Manipulate, manage, and never get caught with your hand on the power switch.”

  Hunter laughed softly. “Every culture has its version of a dragon lady.”

  “There’s a reason. Patriarchy creates them every time.” Lina took another long breath. “What’s that smell?”

  “Dust.”

  “No, not that. The flowery one.”

  “Plumeria. My uncle won’t pay to have the house dusted, but there’s a gardener to pamper the greenery.”

  Lina thought about the army of workers who attended the Reyes Balam estate. It was something she had taken for granted as a child. As an adult on her own, she appreciated the luxury of the estate and understood that it went two ways. The men and women of the nearby villages had steady, lifelong work on the estate, money to feed their children and to celebrate their religion. Celia sponsored the brightest kids through high school. The ones who had ambition she sent to college or technical school, whichever the child chose. Reyes Balam depended on the villagers and they depended on Reyes Balam.

  “Uncle Danny claims he hates all the flowers that my aunt planted and loved,” Hunter said. “But after she died a few years back, he hired someone to keep the flowers alive.”

  “He loved her,” Lina murmured, wondering what it would be like.

  “Still does.” Hunter pulled the sheet off the low, Danish Modern couch. The smell of dust rose, then settled beneath the perfume from outside. “But you’d have to shove glass splinters under his fingernails to get him to admit it. I used to think that was funny. Now I understand.”