“I grew up in Texas. How could I not?”
“Good, good. Well, now, would you like to come over to the sheriff’s office for our meeting?” He glanced over at Quinn with a question in his eyes, but Josh was already regretting involving Quinn in this scheme. The only possible hope for his brother to escape publicity was to act as though he was an anonymous bodyguard, so he didn’t introduce him.
Fortunately, besides their builds, he and Quinn didn’t look much alike.
But the sheriff was watching Quinn suspiciously. Quinn had the whole Secret Service, dark sunglasses, scan-the-crowd thing going, though, and wouldn’t let the sheriff engage him.
“That sounds fine. I’ll just finish up here and be along in a minute.”
“Oh, no—we’ll escort you over, won’t we, Sheriff?”
“Happy to.” But the sheriff’s expression didn’t alter.
“Don’t want to be any bother, Sheriff,” Josh demurred.
“No bother at all.” But something flickered behind the sheriff’s eyes.
When he looked away, Josh caught Quinn’s attention, and his brother nodded faintly. He’d seen it, too.
Interesting. Certainly lent credence to the notion that the sheriff was in on Kruger’s scheme, and if something really was brewing, Josh’s presence could shine an unwelcome spotlight on the roaches who preferred to operate under the cover of darkness.
Which, of course, was the general idea.
“Thanks.” Josh turned to the room. “Well, folks, guess I’ll be getting along now. Sure enjoyed the meal and the fellowship.”
“Mr. Marshall just bought everyone’s lunch,” Dottie announced. “I’m thinking you all owe thanks to him instead.”
Stunned faces greeted him. Voices rose in a roar.
Then somebody started clapping.
Josh smiled and held up a hand. “Happy to do it.” But out of the corner of his eye he saw the sheriff’s face darken.
Yep, hit a nerve there.
Wonder what Kruger is thinking right now?
But even the mention of the man’s name brought Elena to mind and started Josh’s gut clenching. He wanted her out of here—now.
Damn it, Elena. Where the hell are you?
But he pasted on a smile and waved to the crowd, then shook hands and signed more autographs as he slowly made his way to the door.
“Am I right in thinking that your city hall has historical significance?” Josh asked as they neared the building only two blocks away. Amazing what a quick web search could turn up.
“Indeed it does,” the sheriff concurred.
“These parts were filled with outlaws of every stripe, back in the day. Bank robbers, army deserters, thieves—you name it. We’re not that far from Tombstone and the gunfight at the OK Corral. We haven’t been able to verify anything half so exciting, I’m sorry to say,” mourned the mayor. “It would sure be a help for tourism.”
“I guess jobs are an issue everywhere,” Josh responded mildly. “We would plan to hire local folks for the production whenever possible.”
“Now that would be a blessing, for sure.”
Just then the door was opened by a man with a badge, meeting the description Deputy Blackwell had given them—about six feet, medium brown hair, unremarkable brown eyes. The man looked fit, especially in comparison with his boss, but his lack of outstanding features would make him more suitable for undercover work.
They passed through the door that Blackwell held open, and Josh met his gaze but didn’t linger. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Blackwell’s voice clinched the identification, the same one he’d heard on the phone.
The sheriff spoke then. “Mr. Marshall, this is one of my deputies, Greg Blackwell.”
“Good to meet you,” Josh said.
“Town’s all aflutter about your visit, Mr. Marshall.” There was the trace of an accent—Josh would bet Blackwell was also from Texas.
“I’ve met some nice folks,” Josh said noncommittally. “Seems like a good place.” Once again he met the other man’s eyes.
Blackwell nodded. “Some fine people here,” he agreed. He glanced at Quinn.
“My bodyguard, Emilio,” Josh said. Quinn wanted to fly beneath the radar as much as possible. Though being the tallest man here—two inches over Josh’s six-three—made that a bit of a challenge.
“Pleased to meet you,” Blackwell said and shook Quinn’s hand.
Quinn nodded and still didn’t speak.
“Well, I have rounds to make. Good to meet you, gentlemen. Hope it’s a productive visit.”
Once again Josh looked at him, but he and Quinn seemed to be having a silent conversation.
“Right this way, gentlemen,” gestured the mayor. “My office is just down the hall.”
A cellphone rang. The sheriff’s. He glanced at the display, then stepped to the side. “Sorry. Have to take this.” His expression held a flicker of fear.
Josh couldn’t see the number, but Quinn had shifted just behind him to try.
“He’ll catch up,” said the mayor. “But we can get started.”
Being undercover was very different from acting, Josh realized. Especially when your mind was crowded with worry for someone you loved.
Her absence had dispelled all doubts about what he was feeling. He was in love with Elena.
And he didn’t have a clue what to do about that.
Don’t blow this, for starters. He dragged his focus back to the mayor as the man nattered on about the history of Mesa Roja, about his wife and grandchildren…
Josh wanted action. To find Elena. Now.
Quinn caught his eye, his eyebrows snapping together in a frown.
Chill. And pay attention, was the clear command.
Normally Josh could immerse himself in a role with a fair amount of ease. He did his preparation, he understood the character inside out, he was dressed for the part and everyone around him was intent on the same goal, the same vision.
Here, he had to act like himself—or a caricature of himself, actually. He wasn’t in the habit of behaving like a star when he was with Quinn. He relished his trips back home precisely because he didn’t have to think about his career or marketing, about fans or how to position himself for the next film, the next role.
He’d worked hard to get to the place where he got first shot at the plum roles, and the spectacular scripts. It had meant a lot of jockeying around, appealing to the egos of others with more power—there was so much more to a career as a leading man than simply doing his best work.
So what made him think he deserved the life he had more than, say, Mooney Walker, who had a granddaughter with a special needs child or this mayor, who was trying his damnedest to save his dying town?
“You think you’d have time to do that?” the mayor said just then.
Josh shifted a quick glance to Quinn, who cast him a withering glare because he could tell Josh had no clue what the mayor was asking.
But Josh had always been luckier than any ten people. Before he was forced to answer, the door opened, and the sheriff entered. “Well, now.” He hitched up his sagging gun belt. “Got a call that ought to be a nice surprise for you, Mr. Marshall.” Yet still his face bore the traces of fear.
“Oh?”
“The largest landowner around these parts heard about your project, and turns out, Mr. Kruger is a film buff, in addition to being a big supporter of the town and owner of several businesses. Upshot is, he’d like to invite you to dinner at his ranch this evening.”
“Really.” Josh was careful to be the jaded film star, even though his heart had jumped into high gear.
Kruger. This quick, he would get a chance to lay his eyes on the bastard who’d terrorized Elena. He proffered a smile he’d seen on his agent’s face when Alan was negotiating a big deal, one that said convince me why I should even entertain such a foolish idea. “Our time here is pretty tight.”
“Oh, but the Kruger place is amazing. He’s got him
self a mansion out there—of course to you, it might be no big deal, but Mr. Kruger doesn’t make an offer like that but once in a blue moon,” the mayor rushed to explain.
“The man sets a damn fine table,” the sheriff added. “And his liquor cabinet is second to none.”
Uh-huh. And is your girth proof of that, Sheriff?
Josh aimed his most blasé expression toward the ceiling as if considering, even though all he wanted to consider was if he could get Quinn to stay behind and not keeping him from bringing the bastard some of the pain he’d rained down on Elena.
Blackwell, you’d better find her quick.
Josh shrugged. “Why not? I’m always up for meeting new people.”
The sheriff’s smile held relief, and the mayor’s smile was pure delight.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, Greg, where are you? Carmen wondered. Do you even know I’m missing yet, or are you still so mad you haven’t called? Trying not to lose her resolve, she closed her arms around herself, leaning her head against the wall of her makeshift prison cell.
Think, Carmen. How do you get out of here? How do you let someone know where you are?
She shuddered, remembering Richard Kruger’s rage when he’d returned this afternoon. He’d cursed Elena vividly, and her heart had leaped. His obvious frustration must mean that Elena was still free.
Good for you, my friend.
As she gently touched her swollen cheek, she tried to find a small victory in Elena’s courage. She’d lived with this animal for years and survived. Carmen would, too.
And if she ever got to see Greg again, she’d tell him that she loved him and end the merry chase.
Please, Greg, hurry.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What she wouldn’t give for her old boots. For a canteen instead of the two puny water bottles she’d stuck in a convenience store bag and tied to her belt loop.
What she wouldn’t give to rewind her life. To never have met Richard, never have made such terrible mistakes.
But then you would never have met Josh.
The thought of him speared so deep into her she could barely breathe.
I am so sorry, Josh. Sorry for stealing your car, for taking your money—though I will pay back every cent, I swear it.
Sorry for falling love with you—except she wasn’t. She wouldn’t trade all the days of her life for these few she’d spent with him.
One foot slipped on a stone as she climbed the ridge at the edge of her father’s property—her property. Her ranch, anyway, if not her home.
Where was home for her? All her memories of a basically good childhood, despite her father’s coldness, had been overshadowed by the pain and misery of every day since she’d met Richard. Once she found and freed Carmen, she would never, ever come back. She’d move to…Rhode Island. Minnesota. Alaska, even. Anywhere that didn’t remind her of Richard.
But Josh…she’d have to flee to Antarctica to stop seeing him everywhere she looked.
At last she neared the top of the rise and peered across the land where she’d grown up. There was an old cabin once used by ranch hands who got caught in bad weather. Before that, she and Carmen had fancied, it had been home to smugglers and outlaws and thieves. Mesa Roja wasn’t that far from Tombstone, haven to any number of outlaws until Wyatt Earp and his brothers had cleaned it up. And it lay only a handful of miles from the border.
She prayed it would be deserted. She was desperately tired. Frightened to her toes.
But Carmen was in trouble, and Carmen was her best friend. Maybe she couldn’t actually free her friend, but she could at least see if Carmen was where she suspected Richard might be keeping her. In his phone call, the one she’d overheard, he’d mentioned the old barn as a temporary location to keep his human cargo, so it made sense that he might use it to hold Carmen now. Quinn’s vision made the prospect even more credible.
A vision credible. How her life had changed.
Anyhow, once she knew for sure that Carmen was there, she would hike back out and contact Carmen’s deputy.
She knew this land better than anyone, and the deputy couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself by wandering over land he’d never seen. He would never be able to get past Richard’s men in time to thwart Richard’s depraved plans.
The clock was ticking.
She’d told him everything she had heard, and he had his hands full. If she could help him by finding Carmen and getting her out of harm’s way, she had to do it.
She carefully traversed behind the old cabin and listened hard, then peered in one window.
It was deserted, thank heavens. She edged around and opened the door that had never possessed a lock. Once inside, she spared a shudder for the skittering sounds she heard, but she couldn’t play the frightened maiden—even if she mostly was. She was desperate for some rest so she wouldn’t make any mistakes.
She dragged an old bench over and blocked the doorway, then settled into the opposite corner. She still had the gun Josh had never taken from her—maybe he, like she, had forgotten about it in the wake of all that had happened between them. She was as afraid of it as before, but if she encountered unwelcome company, they wouldn’t know that. She just hoped she would remember the little she’d learned about it that first crazy night.
With the weapon beside her, Elena leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
An hour, she told her inner alarm clock. I can only sleep one hour.
“Come in, Mr. Marshall,” said a dour woman clad in a conservative pantsuit, her iron-gray hair short and severe. “Mr. Kruger is in the library. I’ll escort you.”
“Thank you.” Josh took quick stock of his surroundings. The place was a surprise, here in the desert Southwest. It looked like an English manor house, all warm woods, expensive rugs and priceless paintings. The overall effect was both urbane and bizarre.
He and Quinn exchanged glances. Quinn lifted one eyebrow. Despite the seriousness of their quest, mischief and mockery shone from his brother’s gaze.
Josh rolled his eyes in agreement. Serious overkill here. Delusions of grandeur. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of impression he got from the man himself.
The woman opened a heavily paneled door, revealing more wood, more heavy furniture. A boatload of books.
“Ah, there you are.” A man arose from behind an imposing desk approximately half the size of a football field. “A pleasure, Mr. Marshall.”
He approached, hand extended, his grip firm. Josh didn’t know what he’d expected, really, just not this handsome, dignified older man.
“Thank you for having me. My bodyguard Emilio.” He nodded toward Quinn.
Kruger barely skimmed a glance over Quinn, dismissing him as so much hired meat.
Josh could not figure out quite how Quinn was doing it, making himself seem more invisible than he was. Josh knew from experience that Quinn presented a striking, unforgettable first impression, yet none of that was happening here in Mesa Roja.
I might not be the best actor in the family, he realized.
“Please—” Kruger gestured to deep leather armchairs flanking the fireplace. “Have a seat. What would you like to drink?”
Josh knew Quinn was cataloging every detail, and he’d assumed a stance right next to a window, his gaze traveling over their surroundings. He performed his own survey, as well.
“Nice library.” Josh strolled over to the bookcase nearest him. “Military history, I see. I’ll take Scotch if you have it.”
“I have several,” Kruger smiled. “We’ll have the Cardhu, I think.” He held up the bottle, and Josh nodded. “I read many things, but the art of war is a particularly intriguing arena, do you agree?”
“Absolutely.” He named a couple of obscure volumes his SEAL contacts had introduced him to.
“I’m impressed. I’ve read the one but not the second.” Kruger strolled over, drink in hand. “Would your…?” With a nod he indicated Quinn.
“Not
while I’m on duty.” Quinn kept his face noncommittal.
“Of course. Well, then—” He gave Josh his drink, then held up his own glass. “Here’s to an exciting new chapter in Mesa Roja’s saga.”
Josh nodded. “I hope we can work something out.”
“I’d love to hear what you have in mind.”
So Josh launched into the storyline of a real project he’d like to make someday, and Kruger listened attentively. Occasionally Josh would glance at the room, searching for any trace of Elena.
But there was none. It was as if she had never existed.
What the hell?
Chapter Thirty
Helen looked down in horror at her gown, ripped in half by Sir Richard’s meaty fists. Even as she wanted to cover herself and run, the look on his face warned her that he was on a very short fuse.
She stood her ground, knees shaking, the coppery scent of blood filling the air. Tears poured down her cheeks.
Oh, Jesu, it was happening, just as she’d dreamed. Iain’s back scored with endless lashes, the flesh torn and bleeding.
He wouldn’t cry out, though he’d near bitten through his lip to avoid it.
She heard the sounds of his struggle even as her gaze was mesmerized by the rough hand moving down from her chin, hovering over her naked breast. Her breath caught in utter horror and despair.
She had to find a way to save Iain.
Just as she winced from the painful squeeze, she heard Iain’s roar of outrage. From an almost frozen tableau, the room exploded into action.
Iain wrenched himself from his captors’ hands with superhuman strength. He reeled for one second, probably faint from loss of blood, but in his eyes there was murder. He launched himself at Sir Richard, who quickly turned to face this madman going for his throat.
Sir Richard stumbled backward from the impact, but as he righted himself, Helen saw the flash of a blade between them as Richard unsheathed his dagger.
She stepped forward to place herself between them, knowing that Iain was half-dead from the vicious whipping. Iain saw her movement and turned to stop her.
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