The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  Yeah, he knew, all right.

  If only someone had noticed how she left or where she went after that. She seemed to have been swallowed up by the city immediately.

  She hadn’t taken the bus into downtown but had instead gotten off in Metairie. She was probably afraid of someone she knew seeing her in the downtown area where she would have spent a lot of time when she worked at Restoration Bank. He’d checked the taxis, but no one could remember her. He’d come up dry on locating her trail.

  He’d even made his call to his cousin Quinn, who’d promised to put out feelers, though Quinn acknowledged that his contacts were sorely out of date.

  And not once had his cousin made him feel like a jerk for calling out of the blue. He’d been practical and focused—and at the end of their conversation, he’d invited Case for a visit, with or without the woman he was probably curious as hell about.

  Case would have to think about that. He’d been without family for so long that the thought of having any would take some adjustment. No question that it was nice, though, not to be painted with his father’s sins. Quinn’s tone had conveyed honest welcome.

  But that was for later. Right now, unless Quinn could come up with a Hail Mary pass, Case could only see a couple of options. He could talk to Sammie’s family and see if they’d heard from her—or he could use Bullhorn’s network.

  He’d rather try Bullhorn first. Sammie’s family didn’t know him, and Case had a bad feeling about telling anyone who knew her that she was back. He couldn’t be sure how extensive was the network of her pursuers.

  Bullhorn, on the other hand, could probe his sources and still keep things quiet. He certainly didn’t run in the same circles as Sammie, and he had an amazing web of contacts. People swore that if the mayor sneezed, Bullhorn knew it within five minutes.

  Back in his office, Bullhorn sat quietly, his gaze never wavering. “A woman. It must be a woman. But not just any woman. I’ve never seen you like this, mon ami. I want to meet this one. Tell me what can I do.”

  Case looked earnestly into those dark brown eyes peering out from the huge bear of a man.

  “I need to find someone, Bullhorn. Someone who doesn’t want to be found. But I can’t let anyone know I’m looking for her.”

  “She married, Case? You avoiding a husband?” He kept his tone light, but the worry bled through.

  Case grinned. He hadn’t had anything to laugh about in days. Shaking his head, he wished that were all it was.

  “No, nothing like that. At least I don’t think so. She’s in danger, Bullhorn, and I’ve got to find her to help her. I’m worried about letting anyone else know where she is first.”

  “What kind of danger?”

  “Mob danger, I’m pretty sure.”

  Bullhorn whistled his surprise. “Bad business, Case. You don’t want to mess with dat bunch.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t have anybody else. This guy, this Gascoigne—I might get her killed just asking questions.”

  “Etienne Gascoigne? Son, you could get yourself killed asking questions.”

  “Bad guy?”

  “The worst. You can’t leave this one be? Take a pass and wait for another sweet thing?”

  “She’s alone, and she’s scared.”

  “And you got that white knight problem.” Bullhorn sighed. “So tell me about her. Let’s see what ole Bullhorn can do.”

  Case launched into his story, telling what he knew from Wiley and from his own experience. Bullhorn stopped him and made him describe the two thugs at the truck stop again. When Case did so, Bullhorn whistled again, louder this time.

  “Merde, Case, dat’s Gascoigne’s boys, all right, and bad ones. Raymond Boudreaux and Frenchy Pelletier, they both like to hurt people. You crazy, messin’ with dat bunch.”

  He peered closely at Case. “And what you doin’ with a high-society girl like her? Seems to me, I remember you callin’ them stuck-up bitches that’ll tear a man’s heart out and feed it to him for supper without breakin’ a nail.”

  Case had the grace to flush. He hadn’t had a very high opinion of the socialites who’d come into the club only wanting to play with a bartender, not fall for one.

  “She’s different.”

  “Yeah, I ’spect you right about dat. She’d have to be different to grab hold of a heart as black as yours.” His tone was light, but he peered at Case closely. “Oh, yeah, I really want to meet this one, me.”

  They talked for a few minutes more. Case told him about Roland and asked help to trace him, too. Maybe Roland could clean up this mess—or at least take the heat off Sammie—but first they had to find him. Case would have come to Bullhorn long before if he’d known Roland was from New Orleans.

  Bullhorn offered to let Case go to his apartment upstairs and take a nap, but Case couldn’t sleep yet. He needed an outlet for the tension in him. He needed to keep moving, keep trying to find her. He told Bullhorn he’d be back later after the club opened, to see what had turned up.

  Sammie hadn’t slept well in days, not since the night—

  She couldn’t afford to think about the night Case had made love to her at the ranch. If she spent any more time remembering his devilish grin, those thick-lashed green eyes and their golden lights, that hair that was always curling down on his forehead…

  No. Case was the past, and she had a future to figure out.

  She still wasn’t sure if she was a fool to have come back to New Orleans, or what she thought she could accomplish. She’d had miles and miles to come up with a plan, but every avenue smacked into a brick wall of what she didn’t know. What she feared.

  She didn’t dare contact her family, that was certain. No telling if they were already being watched, but once Gascoigne realized she was gone from the ranch, he’d definitely have her family under surveillance.

  The ranch. Wiley and Linnie Mae. All those wonderful, kind people.

  Case.

  It was a sure road to madness if she didn’t stop letting him into her mind. She had a hard enough path ahead of her, eradicating him from her heart.

  How had it all happened? Out of all the people in the world, how had her path crossed his? What kind of a cosmic joke was it that a man she’d never have looked at in her former life had become so important to her now?

  That wasn’t completely true. She’d have looked at Case anywhere—he was far too handsome to ignore. But she’d have seen him only as a bad boy, a hell-raiser out to have a good time, a hot-tempered, sexy devil she’d avoid at all costs.

  Not her kind.

  But that was in another life.

  Though she’d never subscribed to her father’s staunch beliefs in the necessity of spending life with what he termed their kind of people, she realized now that she hadn’t really sought outside her circle for friends—or lovers. She’d never looked down her nose at anyone for his station in life, but she’d spent little time really paying attention to the people who were the salt of the earth. Like Wiley and Linnie Mae. Like Jolene.

  She’d let herself be coddled in the cocoon her father had placed around her, rebelling only in going back east to school, taking a job with her father’s competition. But even at Yale, where she’d been plunged into a different environment, it had still been a world of privilege, one more cocoon. She’d worked hard at her studies, not dating a lot, but when she had, they’d still been boys not all that different from those she’d chosen in New Orleans.

  But very different from Case.

  Not a one of them could hold a candle to him. Their lives of privilege and comfort had made them soft. Oh, yes, they might be ambitious, sharp-edged in their desire to get ahead. But for all his posturing as the devil incarnate, Case was a knight in shining armor. He might tell the world to go to hell, but when it counted, he was there.

  How unwelcome her troubles must have been when he’d had so many more of his own than he had told her, yet he’d still placed himself in danger to protect her. He’d spent his sorely-neede
d money on her. He’d shared his tenderness and his passion with her. Remembering him, the soul-deep, bone-melting flame that he was, how he could draw longings out of her that she didn’t even know she possessed… She shivered, feeling the desire once again sluicing through her veins.

  If only she hadn’t been so nervous about Roland. If only she hadn’t been afraid to confide in Case.

  If only she’d made love with him one more time.

  She couldn’t believe that she, Samantha St. Claire, was making such a statement. Passion had never been a part of her life. She’d appreciated beautiful music, great art, good conversation, fine food…all at a safe remove. Now she understood that she’d sleepwalked through most of her life.

  She’d been so determined not to let love make her a slave that she’d become a slave to that vow. She’d let the meaning of life pass her right by—until a rogue named Case Marshall had made restraint and reason impossible.

  She’d never experienced the intensity of feelings that she’d known since she met Case. Even through the terror, the strain, the anguish of running for her life, she’d never felt more alive. His courage, his strength, his compassion—all these had brought blessed water to an arid life. The bright flame of desire he’d sparked within her…she’d never known anything like it. She couldn’t imagine living without it again…but she’d have to learn.

  Because Case was gone. She’d never see him again. Never spot that mischief in his eyes, never hear his honeyed words tempting her, never feel those strong, clever fingers tease her, make her tingle, make her burn. Never feel that body she loved…

  Love. Plain and simple, there it was. Sammie loved Case. Dear God.

  But she couldn’t have him. Oh, she believed Wiley—Case would have cooled down. He would have listened.

  But would he ever have trusted her again?

  He’d been hurt too badly, too many times. She’d gladly give the rest of her life to making it up to him. She’d share all she knew of the business world to help him rebuild. She’d share her money. She’d certainly give her body. But would he want her heart?

  And would he give her his?

  She couldn’t think about him anymore. Couldn’t let herself remember all the people she’d come to care for at the ranch. Couldn’t allow herself to feel how she’d give up everything to be able to go back there, make a life there.

  Because she was poison. Unless she could find a solution to her problems here, she had no future. She’d only endanger anyone who was near her. So she had to harden her heart, hone her mind, figure a way out.

  Or she’d have to run forever.

  She couldn’t see her family. She couldn’t contact Case. But she’d thought of someone she could see, someone not really connected to her who might let her stay for a while as she puzzled this through.

  Jerry Benson was her mechanic. He’d worked on her Porsche, the rebellion-red dream car she’d fallen in love with and then had to leave behind.

  He’d become her friend. He was a redhead, medium build and kind blue eyes. He had come to New Orleans from St. Louis to visit a cousin and never left. His world and his background couldn’t have been more different from hers, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to either. When she had her car in the shop, she’d linger just to chat.

  They didn’t see one another often. For a while, after he’d worked up his nerve to ask her out and she’d demurred, their relationship had been strained. She’d even thought about finding another mechanic, but Jerry had gone back to laughing and teasing again, and everything had been all right.

  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t gone out with him. He was nice enough, and she liked his wit. He wasn’t gorgeous like Case, but he was nice-looking and anyway, looks had never meant much to Sammie. She wasn’t a snob; she didn’t care that he was her mechanic. He was good to her, he was kind and thoughtful, he was strong in his own way.

  But he felt like a brother.

  “You seem upset. What’s the matter, my friend?” Jerry asked as they stood next to the cash register in the office of his garage.

  “Jerry, I—” She glanced away. “The thing is…I need a place to stay.”

  His eyebrows rose. “No problem. I’ve got room. You know I live over the garage, but you’re always welcome.”

  No questions asked. He was a good friend, not even questioning why she didn’t go to her own apartment.

  “But—” She heaved a big sigh. “You should know I’m in trouble and there might be danger.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  She rubbed her arms, chilled despite the July heat. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Come on up and have a glass of iced tea. I can hear the bell up there, and anyway, I don’t think anyone’s going to do much this afternoon. It’s too hot to move.”

  That was the truth. Until she’d gone to Yale, she’d never fully realized how incredibly hot and humid New Orleans could be. Tourists always complained about it, but she’d been there all her life and hadn’t given it a second thought until she’d lived somewhere else.

  “Need to get anything from your car?”

  How could she tell the man who’d found it for her and cared for it like it was his baby that had been left behind in Houston? “It’s…not here.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  She squirmed a little before meeting his gaze. “It’s gone, Jerry—I had to sell it.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  She filled him in on Gascoigne, stressing that he, too, could be in danger if he gave her a haven. She skimmed over her time at the ranch, not realizing that the longing in her tone gave her away when she talked about Case, though she mentioned him only briefly.

  “So where are your clothes?”

  “What I have here is it.” She found herself amused by his horror as he took in her Wranglers and her pink Keds, the outfit she’d donned as a memento of her time at the ranch.

  “What about all those designer suits and stuff?”

  “They’re still in my apartment, I guess.”

  “Okay, let’s head on over there—” He subsided. “Oh. You can’t really go over there, can you? It might be watched.”

  That he caught the implications of her situation so quickly was a relief.

  “Well, that’s okay. Make me a list of what you want and I’ll go get it.”

  “No! You can’t be seen going over there, either. You could get hurt.”

  “Nonsense. You don’t even know that they’re watching your apartment.”

  “You have no idea what they’re capable of.” She couldn’t help a shudder. “Please don’t take any chances.” She clasped his arm.

  “You’re all I have left.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was too early for Bullhorn’s joint to be jumping, so Case hoped they would have time to talk. He’d been wandering New Orleans all afternoon, trying to imagine where Sammie might hide out. He’d looked through crowds in the Quarter, stared in streetcar windows, walked the streets of the business district. A hundred times he’d thought it might be her he was seeing, only to have his heart plummet at the realization that the woman moved wrong, or her hair wasn’t right, or the voice didn’t have that chocolaty tone that drove him wild.

  He had her parents’ address on Prytania Street. He’d driven by there, dismayed to see just exactly how wealthy her background was. The house was Greek Revival, with columns and broad galleries and manicured grounds. How could he ever hope to take her back to the ranch, knowing she’d grown up in this kind of luxury? What did he have to offer her? A broken-down ranch? An old pickup? A black heart and a hot temper?

  He wasn’t husband material.

  After seeing the house, he’d walked around for an hour, struggling with the urge to chuck it all and head back.

  But no way could he leave her alone. Even though he now knew just how unsuitable he was, he still had to help her. No leaving until she was safe.

  Whatever that m
eant. There was still too much he didn’t know.

  He had found out her apartment address, and he’d driven by to see where she lived now, almost hoping she’d gone back there, despite his fear of the danger to her. He’d been surprised; it wasn’t opulent like her family home, a garden apartment near the lakeshore, pretty but not ostentatious.

  But she wasn’t there, either. The place had an abandoned air about it.

  Tired and discouraged, Case hoped Bullhorn had good news. He walked into the club where music played over the intercom as patrons converged, waiting for tonight’s act to show. It was already noisy, and the pool tables near the bar were occupied. Seeing no sign of Bullhorn, he walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He was leaning against the bar, deep in thought, when a pair of arms slid around his waist.

  He whirled and saw Dolly Wadsworth grinning from ear to ear. He grinned back. “Hey, girl—what are you doing here?”

  “We’re playing here tonight. Didn’t Bullhorn tell you?”

  “Not a word. How are you doing?” Case was a little uneasy, remembering how much she’d riled Sammie, but Dolly and he went way back, and it was nice to see a familiar face.

  “I’m fine, but why are you in town? Where’s your little darlin’, lover man?”

  Case stiffened. “She’s not here.”

  “Well, gorgeous, I can see that for myself. Left her back on the ranch?”

  His voice tight, he responded, “Drop it, Dolly.”

  She stroked one finger up his shirtfront, circling around his nipple and looking at him through fluttering lashes. “You’re wound tighter than a spring. Want to get together after the show and…relax? We’ve always been good together, Case.”

  He recoiled at her touch. Dolly was a skilled lover, and he’d had his share of good times in her bed, but her caress was not the one he wanted.