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“His name is John Fairfax,” Colin managed to say in a strangled voice. “And if you know anything about his whereabouts, you had better speak up.”
She looked thoughtful. “That could be it, I guess. The man’s name was John. But the last name was Sheridan.” She paused. “What’s your full name?”
Suddenly furious with her for answering questions with more questions, he growled, “Sir Colin Fairfax, Baron Derwent. Also referred to recently as Major Colin Fairfax of the Third Royal Tank Regiment, Her Majesty’s British Army, retired. Look, skip over any other questions that may pop into that lovely head of yours and get to the point. What do you know of John?”
Suddenly weary, Colin turned his back on her and began pacing again. She had used the past tense. He knew what that implied. His younger brother, the one he had lost track of several years ago due to his own misplaced arrogance and indifference, was very likely dead.
Maggie heard the hoarse but heartfelt words and began to experience Colin’s growing misery herself, by way of empathic sympathy. “I have to start with the story of the baby.”
Looking up into his bleak eyes as he strode by, she wished she wasn’t so sure about the facts. “That’s how I got involved in the first place. I live near the border, and about six months ago a couple and their two-month-old daughter were involved in a terrible car crash on our side of the river. The couple died on impact, but the baby in the backseat survived.”
Sighing, she continued. “The sheriff asked me to take the child into my home, as our isolated county doesn’t have any local child welfare services. My neighbor, who runs a day-care center, helps me out when needed.” Maggie swallowed hard, wishing she could be wrong but knowing full well she wasn’t, and went on. “I’m a trained private investigator, so I’ve been looking into the deceased’s backgrounds ever since I took in the child, trying to trace any relatives of the little girl.”
A perplexed expression crossed Colin’s face as he quit pacing and slowly shook his head. “I don’t understand. Are you saying my brother married? Fathered a child? Impossible. I would’ve known.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Maggie asked, going on instinct. “Why are you searching for information about your own brother?”
Even in the dim lighting of the sordid room, Maggie could clearly see the pain streak through Colin’s eyes. She hurt for him. If it had been one of her brothers…
Nevertheless, she was still wary. When Colin accepted the facts, would he be willing to leave Emma in her care? Or would he do the unthinkable and demand she hand over his niece? Maggie’s life would stop if that happened. She needed this child. Emma had become her heart—her only chance. With cold fear trickling through her at the possibilities, Maggie reminded herself to take things slow and not jump ahead.
“I…uh…” Colin looked around, staring absently at his surroundings as if he’d only just arrived. “Our family was divided when John and I were children, ages ten and twelve, respectively. As the eldest, I stayed in my father’s care, went to his old school and joined his regiment in due course. John went with our mother to her family’s ancestral home in Ireland.” The words, sounding as if they were spoken by rote, seemed to grow small in Colin’s throat. “As long as my father was alive, we continued to receive word of my brother’s welfare.”
Maggie’s icy, worried feelings began to melt, as warm tears welled in her eyes. “Your father died recently?”
“It’s been several years since he passed away,” Colin answered with a bleak expression. “But I only returned to civilian life four months ago, after a long tour of duty, and then began looking for my brother.”
Maggie waited. There was a lot more to tell, she was sure. But she wasn’t sure how much of it Colin would be willing to give up to a complete stranger.
Funny, though, sometime in the last few minutes she’d stopped thinking of him as a stranger who could take away her whole world. Something about him called to her. Disturbed her, yes, yet made him appear much more like a friend in stranger’s clothing.
Still, she hoped he wouldn’t touch her again. The last two times had completely thrown her out of balance with shots of sexual energy the likes of which she hadn’t known existed.
A few moments of silence had apparently given Colin a chance to regain some self-control. He stopped pacing and turned to her. “Why are you asking questions? Weren’t you sent to talk to me by El Cuervo?”
“The Raven?” Maggie let the English translation roll off her tongue, but a chill ran down her spine. “No one sent me. I sought you out because—”
She sensed the danger an instant before catching sight of a flash of color outside the window.
“Watch out!” Maggie jumped up, knocking hard into Colin’s side at the exact moment the window exploded. Shattered glass and bits of broken wood frame sprayed everywhere as the two of them hit the floor.
Surprised but unhurt, and by no means out of commission, Colin rolled Maggie under him for protection and reached for the SIG Sauer at his back. A loud bang was quickly followed by a hail of bullets through the window. He ducked his head, and when he looked around, fire had ignited in a corner of the room. Bugger it.
From beneath his body, he heard Maggie mumbling what sounded like a chant, but the words weren’t in English. They weren’t in Gaelic, either, which could’ve been expected from her name. They sounded for all the world like a unique kind of Spanish.
The idea of her speaking Spanish made him wonder if she might be part of the Mexican drug lord’s conspiracy. It could be that she was lying about everything just to set him up. Did she know more than she’d said? Especially concerning the international drug sting that had sent John into hiding in the first place?
Ignoring his suspicions for the moment, Colin tensed further at the sudden, deadly quiet and got to his feet. He stayed hunched over as he palmed his weapon and flattened his body against the wall between the door and the window. He took aim out the window, trying to get a fix on the shadowy fire escape of the opposite building—without making himself too great a target.
He gave Maggie a swift glance. If she was guilty, then her own cohorts had turned against her. But Maggie Ryan could not be left to die in a burning room. It was unthinkable, despite the fact she could have betrayed him. It would be up to him to fight their way out.
“Colin, move farther away from the door. Hurry!”
Maggie crawled closer and jerked at his hand, trying to pull him down. He twisted from her grip and concentrated on targeting anything that moved outside the window. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maggie grab again at his pant’s leg, finally giving it one gigantic tug.
Off balance now, he heard another blast just as the wall at his side burst apart. By then it was far too late to move out of the way.
Everything faded to black.
Chapter 2
Maggie dragged a woozy Colin and his duffel down the shadowed sidewalk. Good thing darkness still reigned in the wee small hours here in the valley between skyscraper mountains. Not many people were out in the crisp night air, though quite a lot of cars still filled the streets. A big red bus stopped at the corner of the block, belching smelly exhaust. The few people who’d been waiting began to board.
She’d considered taking the subway back to her hotel, but had dismissed the idea when she thought about Colin negotiating all those station steps. He seemed delirious, and she wasn’t positive he knew what was going on. He could barely walk. His wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, but if he was in shock, there was nothing she could do for him until they returned to her room. A taxi would be simple, of course, but they were scarce here and she didn’t want to deal with a curious driver.
Hailing the bus driver to wait, she climbed the bus steps, pulled Colin along with her and found two empty seats. During the fifteen-minute ride neither of them spoke a word. Colin closed his eyes and rested.
She felt his body heat without even touching him. Colin’s nearness did crazy things to her, in both body and mind, but she couldn’t get past the dangerous position he’d put them in. Who on earth was this guy really, and who wanted to kill him?
At long last she spotted the side street that led to her hotel’s entrance and hurried them off the bus. The hotel that she’d checked into earlier couldn’t be called a palace, but it was sure a heck of a lot better than Colin’s flophouse room.
Small by Texas standards, the room was at least clean and warm. And temporarily safe. She snuck Colin past the reception desk and into the elevator. When Maggie finally keyed open her door and tumbled Colin and herself inside, she was so danged relieved that she nearly cried.
Her witchcraft would help heal Colin. The sooner he was pain free, the sooner they could talk, and then she’d be that much closer to leaving New York City and Colin’s trouble far behind her.
Plopping him down on the single bed, she shoved pillows behind his back and helped him kick off his shoes. “You rest while I check your leg.”
She turned, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “You’re not leaving.”
“No, of course not. That’s not what I said.” Swinging back to reassure him, she caught the look he’d been giving her behind her back. Wary. Stark. Lonely. The stricken look on his face struck a deep note of sympathy in her heart.
“You’ll not be calling your friends, love?”
“What friends?” She pulled her arm from his grasp then placed her palm against his forehead, checking for fever.
“The ones who must have come with you. The chaps with the fire bombs and guns.”
He thought she was the one who’d brought that disaster down upon them? “I might ask you the same question,” she said, realizing he had a small fever but nothing her medicine couldn’t cure. “All I did was come to bring you news of your brother and niece, and I got shot at and nearly burned to death for my trouble. I was hoping you would have the answers as to why.”
Colin groaned and grabbed his thigh. “Don’t leave, Maggie.” He closed his eyes, slumped back against the pillows and was fast asleep in an instant.
Swell. Now she was faced with checking his wounds without his assistance. Determined to do the best she could for the man who had caused her even more inner turmoil than whoever’d been doing the shooting, she went to the closet to retrieve her medicine pack.
Maggie Ryan was tough. She could do anything. Isn’t that what everybody always said?
Being tough was one of the traits that had turned her only boyfriend—her college fiancе—against her. In a fit of anger over losing what he’d thought would be his meal ticket for life, he pushed it even further, accusing her of being frigid and asking for his ring back.
That was the last time she’d let a man get close to her. But she was feeling things for Colin that she’d never felt for her ex-fiancе.
Too close. She was too close to caring for this complete stranger. She needed to remind herself why she’d sought him out on this dark and icy night in the first place.
When Colin opened his eyes, it took him a moment to orient himself. He felt beneath his body and discovered he was lying on some sort of bed or mattress. But with the jumbled thoughts in his head, nothing else seemed clear.
The pain in his thigh was most definite, though, and sharp enough to make him more alert. The memory of the wall exploding behind him kept repeating, and the sound of Maggie Ryan’s voice begging him to get down echoed clear and true in his ears.
Was he still in danger? Probably not. Because wherever he was, everything seemed absurdly quiet after all the commotion. Colin’s survival instincts lay still. Nothing screamed in his gut to either run or fight.
Turning his head, he pried open his eyes and glanced around. He found himself in some sort of bland and inexpensive hotel room. He’d seen many of these same small rooms around the world.
“You’re awake again. Good. Do you think you can sit up?”
It was her voice. Maggie’s. That same smoky pitch he remembered from when she’d appeared at his doorway.
Colin tried to rise, but he had little strength in his arms and one hell of a pain in his leg. “Where am I?”
Her soft, feminine arms slid under his back, and with a surprising show of strength, Maggie lifted him to a sitting position. “There you go. You’re in my hotel room. Does it hurt very much?”
Clearing the fog from his head, Colin stared once again at the most striking-looking woman he had ever beheld. The fantastic mass of curls he remembered from before as being dark auburn looked the color of burnt cinnamon in this light. The ugly, pea-colored coat was gone. She wore a long-sleeved, western-cut shirt with blue and red stripes, tucked into dark-blue jeans.
He focused on her face, his gaze skimming across clear golden skin and a soft, full mouth. But it was the eyes that drew him in. Still startling. Still the vivid green of an Irish mist. Just looking at them produced a surprising and unwelcome reaction in his groin.
“I have a few questions for you.”
She had questions? Since Colin’s brain had begun working past the pain, a million blasted questions sat unasked on his tongue.
“But I need to finish working on your leg first,” she added.
“How did I get here?” He couldn’t let her get ahead of him. His control was shaky, but he didn’t trust her enough to close his eyes again.
“You and I sort of limped over here on the bus, after we got out of that room one step ahead of the fire-fighter first responders. You were a little shocked and dizzy, but we made it.”
He gave her a disbelieving look, but she seemed undeterred.
“The shot that hit you only nicked the fleshy part of your thigh. No bullet fragments were left behind, I checked. You’ve got a couple of cuts on your forehead, but none of them are deep.” She paused. “I was afraid to stick around and wait for the cops or the paramedics. Someone must want you dead pretty badly.”
“Yes, it does seem that way.” But was she in on it? He’d been waiting in that room all day, and the shooting had started only after she’d arrived. “Never mind. Where are my pants, love?”
“I had to cut them off you to get to the wound. But you packed another pair. I brought your duffel with us as I dragged you out of the fire. Thankfully, your leather jacket was only singed in a few spots, but it should be—”
“You dragged me out of the room? By yourself?”
She gave him a sharp smirk before turning her back to dig into his duffel. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Yeah, he would bet she was quite a lot of things underneath those exotic looks. Grace, strength and a sort of magical beauty must have been bestowed upon her at birth by the fairies. But something sinister seemed to lurk about her as well.
He’d already made up his mind to find out everything. She would tell him first whether she had been sent to do him harm, and then she would complete her tale about his brother. The truth. Every bit of it.
It mattered little that her appearance affected him like no other woman’s. With everything they’d been through, he couldn’t imagine why his body kept betraying him with primal, sexual reactions. But he swore to set all that aside.
“What are you up to, Maggie Ryan? How did you know where to find me?”
Maggie winced inwardly, not sure how to explain. “I’ll tell you everything as best I can. But let me work on your leg at the same time.”
He didn’t bat an eyelash, just continued staring her down.
“Please. I swear I can help you. Let me.”
Something must have gotten to him, either her words or the way she stood up to him, because he relented at last. “What are you planning then? Shall we cut off the blasted leg entirely?”
The words had been said without so much as a smile, but they made her chuckle. “Heavens no. I have some…um…lotions that I’ll make into a poultice. It’ll relieve the pain, I promise. And I can put a couple of sutures in, too, if need be.”
Maggie bent to paw through the denim backpack containing her medicines. “Can you lie back again, please?”
She took her bag into the bathroom and mixed up her healing concoctions. Back at his side, Maggie went straight to work, splashing blanquillo, a clear liquid, over his leg.
Ready now to apply the poultice she’d made, Maggie gazed into his eyes. “This shouldn’t hurt. Try not to move.”
He stopped her by holding up his hand. “Tell me what’s in the poultice first.”
Impatiently, Maggie shook her head. “Look, I have training as a curandera—a healer—in Texas and Mexico. I can take away your suffering.”
When he continued to stare at her, she sighed and went on, “The poultice contains herbs and dried plants, nothing harmful. Let me—”
“Which herbs and plants?”
Gritting her teeth, she told him. “It’s a basic mixture of basil, rosemary and rue, the holy trinity for Mexican witchcraft.” When he didn’t flinch at the word witchcraft, she went on. “To those I’ve added three specially dried plants. Mexican arnica—”
“Camphor weed. Yes, I can smell the astringent. What else?”
Surprised, she went on. “Spikenard for open sores and silk tassel for the pain reliever.”
“I recognize the name silk tassel, it’s called quinine bush in some places. But the other…”
“It’s rare. Also called elk clover, and found only in a few mountain areas in the Southwestern United States and Mexico.”
He nodded his head and lay back against the pillows. “Okay, go ahead. But I want your story at the same time. I’d wager you’re the kind of witch that can do at least two things at one time.”
“How do you know so much about the healing properties of some pretty obscure plants?”
With his eyes closed, he answered in a weak voice, “I’ve spent time in some pretty obscure places in the world. The uses for medicinal plants and herbs are not just the province of Mexican witches, you know.”
His eyes flickered open again for a brief moment. “But quit hedging, woman. Begin your story.”
She began applying the poultice. “I’m from a little town in south Texas near the Mexican border. A place called Zavala Springs. It’s a ranching town, surrounded by the multithousand-acre Delgado Ranch. You may have heard of the ranch, it’s pretty famous. The Delgado Ranch is my family’s heritage, but the whole area is a really nice place to live and grow up in.”
Was that a good enough recommendation to entice him to leave Emma there? Probably not.
Colin sat back, watching her work with icy-blue eyes that were becoming evermore sharp and clear.
