Pilar tried to check her panicked pace. Culver was right. She would look out of place and could draw attention to them if Ramirez’s men were watching. Her shoulder brushed Culver’s arm, and she jerked away, inhaling sharply. Touching him was like tapping into a secret compartment hidden in her heart, revealing a glowing coal from the past that refused to die, reminding Pilar of all she had forfeited.
“Is there a rear entrance to this place?” Culver asked in a low tone.
“Yes, this way.” She turned onto a narrower sidewalk lined with tall bushes that offered perfect cover. She led him to a door the janitor used.
Culver stepped ahead of her. “Give me your gun.”
She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him. The small pistol looked like a toy in Culver’s hand. He motioned for her to stand back, away from the door. So many of the ingrained habits of being an agent were flooding back to her. Never directly approach any door—approach from the side so you won’t be hit if someone begins firing through it from the other side. Her heart took up a staccato beat as Culver pressed himself against the wall next to the door. With his left hand, he pushed it open, then stepped inside. She was amazed by his agility, despite his size.
“Come on,” he said harshly, signaling for her to hurry inside.
Few lights illuminated the building’s basement, but Pilar could see enough to lead Culver to the freight elevator. “This will take us up to the tenth floor, where my apartment is.” She stepped in, Culver following closely.
He shoved the pistol into the waistband of his jeans and pressed the button. “Ten. Is that the top floor?”
“Yes.” Pilar wrung her hands in worry. Was Rane safe? What would they find? She pressed her hand against her eyes.
“She’s going to be okay.”
Culver’s thick, low voice was as comforting as a touch. Pilar dropped her hand and looked up at him. “How did you know?”
His smile was one-sided. “It may have been eight years, Pilar, but I haven’t forgotten much about you.”
In that moment, as the elevator slowly rose, Pilar realized how badly she’d needed to hear something kind from him. She let out a breath of air. “I’m so worried about Rane… .”
“My gut tells me she’s okay. Just relax.” Suddenly Culver ached to reach out, slide his arm around Pilar’s small, tense shoulders and pull her against him. He knew he could give her solace. Just as quickly, he wondered if he was crazy or if jet lag was affecting his senses. Much as he wanted to be angry as hell at Pilar, his heart had other notions.
As the elevator slid to a halt and the doors opened, Culver again went on guard. The hall, with walls of highly polished mahogany, was empty at this time of night. Everyone must be inside, eating. As he and Pilar moved soundlessly down the corridor, Culver could smell various meals being cooked, and his stomach growled. Despite the danger, he was hungry. But food would have to wait.
“The next door on the left,” Pilar whispered, coming alongside Culver. Unable to help herself, she hurried ahead, her key in hand.
“Wait,” he ordered, holding out his arm to stop her. He empathized with Pilar’s anxiety but wasn’t about to allow a lapse of security because of it. Ramirez’s henchmen could be waiting just inside that door, submachine guns ready. He saw no sign of forced entry or anything else to indicate a struggle. Slipping the key into the door, Culver turned the brass doorknob quickly and stepped into the apartment.
Pilar was on his heels. Everything looked fine. She could hear her housekeeper, Alexandra, moving about in the kitchen. Her heart dropped with relief, and she looked over at Culver, who was tense and alert, the pistol raised.
“It’s all right. I hear Alexandra. It’s fine… .” She shut the door, locked it and tried to pull herself together.
Her fifty-year-old housekeeper poked her head around the corner as Culver slipped the pistol back into Pilar’s purse. “Ah, there you are! Rane and I were wondering what had kept you so long at the rancho.” She halted and observed Culver. “And who is this?”
Pilar almost smiled at her housekeeper’s sudden imperious attitude—like a guard dog spotting a stranger on her territory. “This is Señor Culver Lachlan. He’s—”
“I’ve got a mare to breed to El Diablo,” Culver said, interrupting Pilar. Above all, he didn’t want their cover blown—not even to the housekeeper. The woman had steel gray hair piled atop her head, and her thin face was pinched, but her dark brown eyes looked kind.
“Er…yes,” Pilar said, hurrying across the simply furnished living room. “Where is Rane?” She had to see for herself that her daughter was really alive and well.
Pointing toward the kitchen, Alexandra said, “In there refusing to eat her vegetables, but eating the noodles as if she’s famished.”
Culver began to relax a little. He watched Pilar hurry across the room and disappear through the swinging kitchen door.
Alexandra smiled primly. “Señor, would you like a meal? You are Norte Americano, no?”
“I am,” he said, easing away from the door. “And yes, I’d like to eat, but—Señora Martinez and I are in a hurry.”
“Oh?” Alexandra raised her thin, almost-nonexistent eyebrows.
“Business,” Culver said. “But I will take you up on a cup of good Peruvian coffee, if you have some.”
“Black?”
Culver grinned a little. No one drank good coffee with cream or sugar down here, he knew. “Yes, black.”
“Bueno.” Alexandra swept a rangy arm toward the couch. “Please be seated, Señor Lachlan. I will serve you in here.”
Culver nodded. As the housekeeper disappeared into the kitchen, he took a better look around the condo. Either Pilar was making very good money or, more likely, she had married into money via Fernando. A photo of the man graced the mantel of the alabaster fireplace, along with a photo of Rane. Culver forced himself to look at this important part of Pilar’s life, then quickly turned away.
Fresh flowers of all varieties filled an antique pitcher on a Queen Anne table in the center of the living room. The furniture was all Victorian and very feminine, without a trace of a man’s presence anywhere. Sheer ivory-colored drapes covered the windows, flanked by thicker curtains in a print featuring pink rosebuds and greenery. Culver noticed some toys strewn about near the couch and a red rubber ball against the wall. A doll, very old and obviously very loved, sat on the couch itself.
Everything about Pilar’s apartment spoke to him of serenity. He wasn’t surprised. Wasn’t that one of the many gifts she’d given him? Pilar had always been a calming influence on him simply by her presence, he acknowledged as he slowly sank onto the couch. Absently, he picked up the doll. It had a brown Indian face and long, black yarn hair twisted into two braids. Its clothes were straight out of an Indian village—colorful, simple and utilitarian. Culver handled the doll with reverence, noting it had weathered many years of active loving. The little girl had probably had it for her entire seven years of life.
Culver heard the sound of a child’s delighted laughter. Then, for the first time since his return to Peru, he heard Pilar laugh. His chest constricted and his hands tightened around the doll momentarily. How he missed that breathy, earthy laughter. He could close his eyes and see her laughing, joy glistening in her eyes, her luscious mouth curved upward to show even white teeth. When Pilar laughed, it was without reserve—the laugh of a woman in touch with Mother Earth.
As the recurring ache squeezed at his heart, Alexandra marched back in, a silver tray in hand, arranged with coffee and several small sandwiches and cookies. “Señor, you must eat something before you go. Señora Martinez insisted. She has taken Rane to her bedroom to pack some clothes. She said she would be out very shortly.” The housekeeper set the tray down and poured him the coffee with a flourish. “Now, you must eat.”
Culver smiled. “Gracias, señora.” Alexandra flushed a little at the genuine enthusiasm in his voice, then turned and headed back to the kitchen. Culver wasted no
time eating all four of the sandwiches, surprised at his appetite. The coffee was hot, rich and fragrant, and it warmed his inner chill. The pleasant refreshment reminded him of another thing he’d loved about Pilar—her thoughtfulness toward others. She was such a dichotomy. How could she be so kind, yet leave him near death in a hospital and disappear from his life without so much as a word? With a shake of his head, Culver picked up one of the cookies.
He had just finished his second cup of coffee and the last of the cookies when he heard a child’s giggling. Twisting around on the couch, he saw Pilar, now dressed in a white cotton blouse, jeans and flat, brown leather shoes, appear with her arm around her daughter. Worry marred Pilar’s expression, although she was smiling—no doubt for the child’s sake. Rane was a tall, slim little girl. Culver was surprised at how tall she was for her age. She had her mother’s huge eyes, but in a much lighter shade of brown. Her hair was rich and black, pulled smoothly into braids that hung down her narrow chest. Rane’s eyes danced with laughter, and Culver thought for an instant how much the daughter resembled her beautiful mother.
“Rane,” Pilar said, resting her hand gently on her shoulder, “I want you to meet Señor Lachlan. Culver, this is my daughter, Rane.” Nervously, Pilar searched Culver’s face, watching a gentle smile break the hard line of his mouth as Rane, with her typically bold and friendly ways, walked up to him.
“You have my dolly,” she said, pointing to it.
“So I do,” Culver answered, smiling. He leaned over and handed Rane her doll. “I think you take her everywhere with you.”
Rane tilted her head. “How could you know that?”
“She looks much loved.”
Rane giggled, turned and ran back to her mother, throwing an arm around her and hiding her face.
Pilar smiled and placed her hands on her daughter’s head and shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Culver won’t hurt you. He’s a Norte Americano. Remember, I showed you on the map where he lives?”
Rane peeked at Culver. “He’s a giant, Mama! He’s so big!”
Culver smiled a little more broadly. “I guess I am.”
Pilar colored fiercely and knelt down, smoothing her daughter’s fine hair away from her brow. “Now, listen to me, Rane. We are going on a trip, the three of us. Señor Lachlan is going to take us home to see Grandmother Aurelia and Grandfather Alvaro. Won’t that be fun? You’ll get to see Grandma’s chickens and pigs again.”
Rane eased back and became suddenly serious. She wrinkled her nose. “Mama, can I ride the donkey? Last time you said I was too little.” She stood back and pointed to her legs. “See how I’ve grown? My legs are longer now. Can’t I ride the donkey?”
Culver watched the joy in Pilar’s eyes as she conversed with her daughter, vivid proof of her love. The child was friendly, open and enthusiastic, but looked as if she was going to be much taller than her mother when she grew up.
“Perhaps,” Pilar cautioned as she straightened. “I will leave it up to Grandma to decide whether or not you can ride that old, bossy donkey. You wouldn’t want to fall off, would you?”
Rane pouted and walked over to the couch, not far from Culver. “You always say I’m too small, Mama.”
“Wait,” Pilar said with a sigh, “and someday soon you will grow up big and tall.”
Rane turned her head toward Culver. “Like Señor Lachlan?”
Wincing inwardly, Pilar whispered, “Exactly like Señor Lachlan.”
“I’m ready if you are,” Culver said, rising.
“I’ve got our bags packed.”
“Thanks for the food. I was hungry.”
Pilar felt herself melting in response to the genuine warmth glowing in his eyes. “I grabbed a sandwich myself as we packed.” She held out her hand. “Come, Rane.”
Rane galloped like a frisky filly around the coffee table and grasped her fingers. “Let’s go, Mama! Hurry! I want to see Grandma and Grandpa!”
Culver asked in a lowered voice, “Have you told the housekeeper anything?”
“Only that we’ll be visiting another an Argentinian horse farm to look at a mare, and we’ll be gone for two weeks.”
“She knows Rane will be at the village?”
Pilar grimaced. “No, I told her she would be with us. When we use one.”
Culver nodded his approval. If Ramirez realized Pilar was part of this mission, his goons could come in here and scare information out of the old housekeeper, putting the girl in jeopardy. He saw the pleading look in Pilar’s eyes to say nothing more in front of her daughter. “Okay, let’s get going. I’ll bring the luggage.”
Pilar sighed softly. Rane was sound asleep in her arms. They had taken Pilar’s second car, an older Volvo, and had made it two hours out of Lima, on their way to Tarapoto, without further mishap. Overhead, the night sky sparkled with stars. This stretch of road was devoid of other cars, and she relaxed almost to the point of dropping off to sleep herself. Culver had taken advantage of the thermos of coffee she’d brought, drinking it steadily to stay awake.
“It won’t be long,” she promised him softly as she rested her hand across Rane. Her daughter was so lanky that her small, sock feet rested against Culver’s massive thigh, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Rane had gravitated to him. Pilar wasn’t surprised. She had gravitated to Culver, too.
“Good,” he rumbled, rolling his shoulders to release the tension accumulating in them. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“I know you are,” she said, giving him a worried look. The sudden intensity of his gaze at her words caught her by surprise. Just as abruptly, he turned his attention back to the road ahead. They were now climbing into the hills, far from the Pacific. “I don’t know how you do it. I never did… .”
“What?” Culver saw such peace in Pilar’s face now that her daughter was safely in her arms.
She sighed softly. “I was always amazed at your untiring spirit. You never seemed to give out or give up.” Pilar laughed a little and looked at him with tenderness. “Remember? I was always the one who had to rest. You were always ready to push on.”
“Yes, I remember.” Culver felt his heart beat hard in his chest at her intimate look. Pilar had a way of making him feel he was the center of her universe when she talked with him. He felt that way now. Bitterly, he reminded himself it was a facade—just part of the pretty packaging of Pilar Martinez.
“I’m scared this time, Culver.”
He wrenched himself out of his self-pity. “What?” He glanced at her once more, and saw that her face was drawn with worry.
“I’m scared as never before.” Pilar gazed lovingly down at her sleeping daughter and gently caressed her hair. “I have an awful feeling about this mission. I have from the start. Ramirez is evil. He has no heart in his chest. He kills as naturally as we breathe.”
Culver checked the urge to reach out and touch her sagging shoulder. “Maybe,” he said huskily, “you have more to lose this time around.”
“Rane is my life,” Pilar admitted in a broken whisper, as she studied her daughter’s sleeping face. “She’s taught me so much about giving and taking love. She has helped me heal in so many ways. I’m sure she’ll never realize all she’s done for me, and it doesn’t matter.” Her hand stilled on Rane’s small shoulder. She saw the expression on Culver’s face. His eyes had softened, as had the set of his mouth. When he realized she was watching him, his features hardened again. Pilar wanted so badly to tell him how sorry she was, but it would do no good.
Instead, she said, “Tell me about your home in Scotland, Culver.”
“You didn’t know much about me eight years ago. Why is it important now?”
She felt the cutting edge in his low tone. He refused to look at her, and she was glad for the cloak of darkness that hid her reaction to his biting words. “You talked of wanting a home,” she persisted. “Are you going to return to Scotland?”
“My grandparents live there—I have relatives in Scotland and England. B
ut my folks live in Colorado.” His mouth twisted. “I guess the Rockies were as close as they could get in the U.S. to the Scottish moors and mountains. I like isolated places with lots of trees, and I like people who work with the earth and respect it.”
Tentatively, she asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. A part of him was wary of Pilar’s attempt to weave more intimacy into their relationship. She was so personable, but where did the right to know and the right to privacy begin and end? With Pilar, the boundary was all too blurred. “I have four brothers and one sister, Mary.”
“And does she live in Scotland?”
“No. In Durango, a small town in southern Colorado, near my folks.”
“Is she married?”
“Yes. She’s got two kids.”
Pilar smiled a little. “Then you’re an uncle.”
He nodded. “They’re good kids. Mary’s divorced, but she has custody of them, and Bob, her ex-husband, sees them on weekends.” He wanted to ask about Pilar’s marriage to Fernando, but decided he’d rather not know. Why stab his heart with another ice pick? Was he a masochist or something?
Pilar stroked Rane’s arm gently and watched her sleep. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Culver was married. Had he found someone, as he so richly deserved to do? Someone who could care for him the way he was capable of caring? Pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she released an unsteady breath. Just being this close to Culver made her ache with desire. Despite the harshness of the intervening years and circumstances, she wanted him now as she had the first time their eyes had met. Pilar didn’t fool herself this time, however. She would never allow Culver to know she still wanted him. They lived in very different worlds. The two could never truly meet and bond. Her world wouldn’t allow it.
“We’ll be in Tarapoto in about forty minutes,” she said into the silence. Looking at her watch, she saw it was three in the morning. Darkened jungle hugged the two-lane highway now, silhouetted against a starry sky.
Morgan's Rescue Page 7
