Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

by Jo Leigh, Kathleen O'Reilly, Kay David

  For the first time in a very long time, she felt a ray of hope. It was silly, really. Not a single thing had actually changed, but somehow she thought it might. Kelman’s offer was behind her, and despite Raul’s warning, she believed that problem was solved. She would just work harder…then work some more. The money she needed would come somehow.

  They visited the orphanage to deliver the presents they’d bought the afternoon before, and soon they were on the road back to Santa Cruz. The pavement, crumbling and old, was washed out in places, but generally passable, and the hours flew by.

  After a while, Raul glanced at Emma from across the truck. “Will you ever go back to New Orleans and live?”

  The passing jungle was a blur of green as she turned to meet his eyes. “Absolutely,” she answered. “My mom’s gone, but it’s home. I miss it a lot.”

  “And after that?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really given it any thought. Everything I think about stops at the point I get my kids back.”

  “What if you lose the appeal?”

  “Losing is not an option.”

  He shook his head. “Losing is always an option, Emma. You need to think about that, you know.”

  She refused even to consider the possibility. “Did you handle these kinds of cases when you were an attorney?”

  “I did it all.” His hands gripped the steering wheel as he slowed to go around a huge hole in the road.

  When he said nothing else, she realized belatedly that this was how he must have felt when she’d avoided all his questions. She forced away the queries flooding her mind. He was someone to be with for the moment, she told herself. Someone she could share her pain with, but not her life.

  Someone she could be with…but not love.

  He interrupted her thoughts with a question about Bolivia. She shook her head in exasperation.

  “It’s a very poor country,” she said. “They’ll never become a more powerful force until they get rid of their corruption.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “The worst,” she answered. “Everything is tainted, every government office, every business transaction, everything. What do you think of the country so far?”

  “I’ve lived a lot of places,” he answered, his voice noncommittal. “But I think I’ll stay here for a while. It’s not that bad a place, and there’s no good reason for me to go back to the States.”

  His answer struck her hard, primarily because it reinforced her earlier thoughts. There could never be anything permanent between the two of them—even if she wanted it; she wouldn’t be overseas and away from home for a moment longer than she had to, and he was one of those men she often saw at the bank. Men with money who were simply passing through. She thought of them as permanent expatriates. They had no anchors and there was nothing to hold them down—no families, no friends, no necessary jobs—and so they wandered, looking for something but not knowing what. It made her sad to think of Raul in those terms, because he wasn’t truly that type of man. Remembering his earlier actions at the orphanage, she knew he should have a wife and children; fatherhood would suit him well.

  It was late by the time they pulled up in front of Emma’s home, darkness edging into the yard and the house itself. Raul parked the truck, then walked to Emma’s side of the vehicle. Opening her door, he helped her out. As soon as they stepped into the entryway, she turned and began to say goodbye.

  He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said, his voice low and liquid. “I can’t leave just like that.”

  She looked up at him, desire twisting deep inside her. Let him in or keep him out? The question seemed a simple one, but there were too many layers surrounding it to count.

  He read her hesitation. “If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t. I’ll leave right now.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” she confessed.

  “You probably find that hard to believe after last night, but it’s the truth.”

  He lifted his hands and cradled her face, his thumb drawing a line around her mouth. Then he lowered his head to hers, his mouth suddenly pressing against her own, his tongue insistent. The kiss was like all his others—hot and demanding—and she was breathless when he finally pulled back. Todd had never left her reeling like this, nor had any other man, she thought with dazed amazement. But she could get used to it.

  “It’s your choice.” His voice was hoarse and the sound of it rasped over her, leaving her trembling, just like his touch. “I’ll leave. You decide.”

  Her heart screamed leave, but her body cried stay.

  She hesitated a moment longer, then she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He closed the door behind him with a kick.

  SHORTLY AFTER ONE in the morning, Emma walked Raul downstairs and let him out the front door. The street was silent and dark, a few clouds scudding across the moon, the hibiscus blooms rippling in the breeze. The only sound was her neighbor’s birds. In addition to his monkey, the man had an aviary in his garden filled with wild macaws and yellow-and-green parrots. The creatures’ cries, sharp and savage, lent a sense of unreality to the moment. Raul paused at the gate and kissed her, his lips so addictive she found it hard to let him go. He seemed to feel the same way, and only after a while could he finally tear himself away.

  “I have to take care of some business in the morning,” he said, his hand on her neck. “Can I call you at the office?”

  “I’d like that,” she answered. “I’ll be there.”

  He nodded, kissed her again, then climbed into the truck. She watched him drive down the street. She hadn’t really wanted him to leave, but she needed to be alone after all their time together. She had to sort out her feelings, and she couldn’t do that with him in her bed.

  Trudging back up the stairs a few minutes later, Emma went into her bathroom and began to draw water for a bath. The steam from the tub had just reached the mirror when she heard a noise downstairs. She twisted the taps off at once, and the sound repeated itself. It was louder this time, and more insistent. Finally she understood; someone was knocking on the front door. Pounding on it, in fact, as if he wanted to break it down.

  She grabbed her robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around her, her racing heart mimicking the noise downstairs. Had Raul forgotten something? If he had, how had he gotten past the gate? And she doubted he would make the kind of racket that was coming up from the foyer now, but she bounded down the stairs just the same, her bare feet slapping across the wooden floor as she ran. The knocking didn’t cease until she threw open the door.

  Six policemen stood on her front porch. Dressed in green fatigues, they each carried an automatic gun and wore belligerent frowns. Behind them, the iron gate swung crazily, the top hinge completely broken off.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “What in the world—”

  Interrupting her, the man in front spoke her name, his gaze insolent as it took in her robe. He wore extra gold braid across his shoulders and a cap with an insignia on it. He was blue-chinned and rough-looking. Threatening.

  “Señorita Toussaint? Emma Toussaint?”

  “Y-yes?” With a shaking hand, she pulled together the thick lapels of her housecoat. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  He pushed the door back with one hand and stepped inside, forcing her backward. “We’re here to search your home,” he announced. “We’ve been told you have drugs.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EMMA STARED at him in shock, unable to speak. When she finally found her voice, she wished she hadn’t. But it was too late; she couldn’t take back her astonished reply.

  “Drugs? Here? Are you insane?”

  His reaction wasn’t the one she expected. He smiled. “No, señorita, no estoy loco. But you may be by the time we finish.”

  The men behind him snickered at his wit, but Emma went silent with astonishment. He stalked arrogantly past her, then lifted his hand and waved it toward her livi
ng room, tilting his head to the man directly behind him. “You go in there.” Pointing in other directions, he told the rest of them to scatter, as well.

  “Stop!” Terrified and shaking, Emma made her voice a strident screech. She had to act angry; to show her fear to these men could be a fatal flaw.

  “You can’t do this! You can’t come in here and start searching like this.”

  Unbelievably, no one paid her any attention. She could have been speaking Farsi for all the notice her words garnered. As if she didn’t exist, the policeman did as he was instructed and stomped over Emma’s silk rug to disappear into the darkness of the front room. Immediately something shattered.

  Emma whirled and glowered at the man who’d stayed behind, the one in charge. “What do you think you’re doing? This is crazy! Who told you there were drugs here?”

  “Our informants are confidential. You don’t need to know.” He lifted his weapon toward the second floor. “What’s up there?”

  From the back of the house, the kitchen it seemed, came another crash. Ignoring the man beside her, Emma took two steps in that direction, then felt herself yanked back. She looked down, her jaw dropping open again, at the policeman’s hand on her arm.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, roughly shaking her. “What’s upstairs?”

  For a second she was stunned, then she recovered…and recoiled, jerking her arm. He held on tightly, his fingers digging sharply into her flesh. “Tell me!”

  “It’s my bedroom.” Her heart racing, she spoke furiously. “Now turn me loose or—”

  Without another word, he spun her around and shoved her toward the stairs. “Let’s go,” he said. “Right now.”

  From over her shoulder, Emma stared at him in a daze. His eyes were narrow and small, and his expression held only grim determination. “Go!”

  Emma took the stairs as slowly as possible, buying herself time. She had to think! She had to have a plan! Nothing came except panic, and by the time they reached the second floor, she could hardly breathe her chest was so tight.

  Another clatter from downstairs sounded as they entered her bedroom. Emma flinched at the noise, the smell of her perfume sickeningly sweet as it wafted into the bedroom from the bath she’d been filling when the police arrived. She turned to the man behind her, her stomach cramping in fear. “Look all you want. You’re not going to find a thing.”

  He hesitated just a second—long enough to make her mouth go even drier—then he walked to her dresser and pulled out the first drawer. Dumping the contents—her T-shirts and shorts—onto the floor, he kicked them around with one booted foot, then went to the next drawer. In a matter of minutes, all of her clothing lay in a jumble on the carpet beneath his feet.

  He bent down and ran his hand along the interior of the now-exposed piece of furniture. There was nothing there, and he straightened a moment later. In short order, he ripped through the rest of her bedroom, pulling the sheets from the mattress, turning it upside down, going through everything in her desk.

  She stood by helplessly and watched, her heart threatening to leap from between her ribs, her hands clamped at her sides. Starting toward her bathroom, he stopped abruptly when a shout from downstairs could be heard.

  “¡Jefe—baje! ¡Immediatamente!” Chief—come downstairs! Right now!

  He sent her a look of pure satisfaction, using his gun to gesture toward the stair, and smirked. “Let’s go, señorita. To see what my men have not found.”

  “There’s nothing down there.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear. Pase, por favor.”

  With a faint buzz in her ears, Emma headed for the stairs. The policeman was right behind her; she could smell him, onions and beer and unwashed clothing. Her agitation mingled with his odor, and her stomach threatened to erupt. At the very last minute, she managed to fight the nausea.

  The dissonance of the men’s voices led them to Emma’s kitchen. As she stepped through the doorway, she gasped, her gaze taking in the havoc they’d created in their search. One man, standing in the middle of it all, caught her attention. His voice was gleeful.

  “¡Mire, Jefe! See what I found!”

  Shock stole Emma’s breath. She told herself to breathe, told herself to stay calm. But any chance she had at composure was hijacked by cold, stark horror as, with a triumphant grin, the policeman held up a plastic bag.

  It was full of something white and powdery.

  THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the house; it probably didn’t have electricity, Raul surmised. Sitting outside the hovel belonging to the man who’d planted the bug in Emma’s bag, Raul took a chance and lit his small cigar, cupping his hand around the flame to hide it from sight. He had planned on stopping by the barrio one way or the other, but this had worked out just fine. It made no sense to go home; he had too much on his mind to sleep.

  With Emma’s scent still on his hands and her voice lingering in his mind, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. The smoke from the cigar drifted up in a wisp before his face, as he thought about what that signified.

  It’d been a long time since a woman had meant anything to him, such a long time he wasn’t sure that was what he was experiencing. The weekend had been a revelation to him, though. Emma Toussaint was a special person, and she had all the qualities he would have looked for in a woman in his other life. Intelligence. Honesty. Passion. He could actually love her, he realized with a start, if that was what he was looking for.

  The first time they’d made love it’d been purely physical. This time something else had happened, something he hadn’t wanted. He’d felt himself drawn to Emma in an emotional way. He cared what happened to her, cared if she got her children back, cared if she got tangled up in Kelman’s web.

  His eyes on the house before him, Raul pulled deeply on the cigar, the smoke filling his lungs with a sharp bite. He’d give it another five minutes, then he’d go inside.

  Maybe by then, he’d have Emma out of his mind and back in the place where she belonged. He wasn’t sure where that was—but it could not be his heart.

  THE HANDCUFFS cut into her wrists with a cold metallic bite. Emma squirmed against their clasp and told herself it didn’t matter, but she failed. Their pinch did hurt, and she was terrified. Sitting in the back of a Bolivian police car was the last place she had ever imagined being, and the drug search they’d conducted to get her there was too stunning even to consider. The enormity of it all had barely begun to sink in, and she knew why: denial was her only hope, at this point. Otherwise, she’d collapse.

  There was only one problem. Her refusal to accept the situation wasn’t working.

  The car swerved to miss a speeding taxi, then they took the next corner on two wheels, heading off the nearest ring and straight for downtown. She’d never seen the police station in Santa Cruz and had no idea what to expect. On the other hand, she’d never been arrested in the United States, either. All bets were off, that much she knew. A phone call, a plea for help, any chance she’d get some assistance depended purely on the whims of the men in the front seat. Bolivia was a republic, but that didn’t mean democracy ruled.

  Before they’d left her house, she’d tried to call Raul. Sneaking the portable phone into the closet with her, she’d dialed his number as she’d grabbed a pair of jeans and shirt. The effort had produced only near heart failure when the officer in charge had come in unexpectedly. Yelling at her to hurry up, he’d failed to notice the phone she’d thrown into a pile of clothing already on the floor. She had no idea where Raul might have gone after he’d left her house, but he hadn’t been home.

  Now they were slowing down and she still had no plan.

  The car stopped in front of what she assumed was the cuartelillo de policia. It looked like the rest of the official buildings she’d seen in town; a grim two-story stuccoed block with a severe brick front and a few dirty windows facing the street. The two officers in the front seat climbed out of the vehicle, their coarse laughter echoing in th
e humid night air. They moved slowly; only when they got behind the wheel were South Americans in a hurry. Finally one of the men opened the rear door of the police car, grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the back seat. Emma’s shoulder screamed in protest, but fear—absolute, blood-thinning, heart-stopping fear—kept her from speaking.

  They dragged her up the sidewalk and into the building, passing through a lobby even bleaker than the exterior, an empty, echoing chamber with nothing but a desk and a single chair behind it. She heard the distant sound of phones ringing and laughter, but no one else was in sight as the two men herded her toward the rear of the building. Reaching the last door, they pushed it open.

  Blinking, she saw what appeared to be a sort of reception area, dirty and crowded with other men in uniforms. They were all talking, their voices as loud and rough as the two men beside her. A numbing disbelief swelled inside her as she swung her head from one side to the other and looked at the room and the men who filled it. Terror, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, rose inside her, as well. One or two of them turned and briefly stared at her, then they went back to what they were doing, her presence so insignificant it didn’t even warrant a second glance.

  Later, she realized she should have known at that point. But she was too numb and too frightened to understand. Only afterward did she figure it out.

  By then, it was too late.

  RAUL EASED THE TRUCK door open and climbed out, shutting it behind him with a soft click. The moon had disappeared completely. Crossing the yard in front of the hut, he thanked God for the darkness and the poverty. The people who lived here didn’t look outside when their dogs barked. They didn’t dare.