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And yet, there was something about her. She was different from Alazandro’s other conquests, her sexuality provocative but clumsy as though there were two separate women inhabiting the same body. One, a flirt, a seductress. The other, nervous, fidgety, full of questions, anxiety behind her eyes.
His brow furrowed as a thought raced through his mind, retraced its steps, and sat down to stay. Maybe he could capitalize on this woman’s willingness to be used by a man to further his own goals.
He paused for a second, absently running a hand down the palomino’s nose.
He wouldn’t put Elle in danger, of course. Well, not overtly. And if danger arose, he’d be close by to protect her. He wouldn’t let her be hurt which was a lot more than Alazandro could or would say.
Okay, okay, it wasn’t very nice of him to think of using her this way. But the world Elle had just thrust herself into didn’t allow for such old-fashioned concepts as fair play and decency. She thought she was flirting with a wealthy entrepreneur, a playboy, a man who could shower her with all the best money could buy. She didn’t know about his drug connections or about the evil rumors that had followed this man for years.
No matter. The hungry way Alazandro’s dark eyes had devoured Elle Medina was too big a gift to ignore. And the wave of disgust that interest engendered in Pete just didn’t matter.
Pete took a cell phone from his pocket and turning his back to the others, punched in a few numbers. It rang only once before it was answered. Using the palomino’s golden head for cover, he lowered his voice. “It’s me. I have someone I need checked out right away. Name, Elle Medina. Age, early twenties. Currently working at Tahoe Stables on Lake Tahoe. I’ll call back in an hour.”
Pocketing the phone, he caught up with Alazandro and Stiles. The former, expounding his plans, talked about tearing down the old stable and replacing it with “something decent.” Something with a heated, bigger indoor arena in which to exercise the horses and amuse the patrons as winters were cold and snowy at this elevation. Perhaps an attached arcade with viewing rooms looking down over the arena. Better footing in the arena. Quality work. Something family friendly.
Peg Stiles looked mad enough to string up a rope and hang Alazandro from an overhead rafter.
Pete took his place, hanging back, appearing watchful while his mind raced along twisted paths.
If Elle Medina checked out okay, she might prove to be the key he’d been looking for. Alazandro was going to Puerta Del Sol for a reason that surpassed his stated goal of looking around to see how things were progressing. He had minions to do that for him, though it was true he’d just fired his latest in a string of resort managers. Rumors were flying that a meeting of some kind was in the offing. But Pete couldn’t get close enough to pin down any dates or names.
He needed a way to get closer to the man. To find out—
“Did you call my security people?” Alazandro demanded. “Did you start a background search on the girl?”
Pete blinked away his thoughts and answered, “Not yet. Sir.”
A flash of irritation ignited the man’s eyes for just a moment. Alazandro was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He said, “Make sure she has a passport. I want her to fly south with us tomorrow on my private jet. That Meacham fellow is proving to be a pain in the neck. I should never have hired him.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.” Pete all but fawned. He hated this job.
Peg Stiles said, “Isn’t this all happening kind of fast? Your fancy resort doesn’t open for a while yet. What’s the rush? Elle will be hard for me to replace. The season is almost over—”
“Elle Medina is just what I need down there. Bright, pretty, trilingual. She’s perfect.”
Stiles, going on sixty, had the wiry look of a woman who rarely sat unless it was on the back of a horse. Pete knew she was recently widowed. From the look of her, he’d guess she’d put as much heart and soul and elbow grease into this place as her late husband had. He’d glanced around the inside of her house when they first arrived and found old furniture, worn-out carpets and antiquated appliances. The barn they stood in was swanky by her standards.
The woman was invested in this property. And she was losing it, and she knew it.
Measuring her words, Peg said, “I wouldn’t want to hear you took advantage of that girl. Her father is some big judge down in Arizona. If he found out she was being used—”
Alazandro laughed. “You’re the one who pointed her out to me. You’re the one who extolled her virtues.”
Peg bit the inside of her cheek before grudgingly admitting, “Yeah. Well, she kept bugging me.”
“Come, compañera,” Alazandro said in what Pete privately termed his schmoozing voice. “She’ll make three times the money. She strikes me as a woman who knows what she wants. Her father is no concern of mine.”
With that, Alazandro strode down the walkway toward the rectangle of daylight at the other end. Peg Stiles stared after him for several seconds before visibly forcing herself to follow.
Punching the number for Alazandro’s security firm into his cell phone, Pete sauntered along a moment later. He didn’t want to keep the boss waiting.
BEFORE TAKING A SHOWER and changing her clothes, Elle made her way to the smaller stable to check on Silver Bells. The gray gelding, coat brushed to a silver shine, had been restabled and was drinking out of his trough. She let herself into the stall and, perching on her heels, ran a hand down each beautiful leg, just to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself.
Of course, he wasn’t the one who had actually hit the ground. He regarded her with big brown eyes as water dripped from his chin whiskers.
“What are you looking at?” she said as he nibbled at her hair. She reached up and stroked his soft muzzle. He really was a big sweetie.
“Hey, what happened out there?”
Elle looked up to find Mike standing in the doorway, his thick red hair going every which way as usual. Two sets of dimples and a ready smile didn’t hurt his popularity with the female clients. In fact, Elle suspected Tabitha had a big crush on Mike who, at nineteen, seemed embarrassed by her adulation.
“Silver Bells took out his annoyance with Tabitha on me,” she said, wondering for a moment if her own distracted state hadn’t contributed to the horse’s refusal to jump. “Where is Tabitha, anyway?”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Her father finally showed up and took her home. She asked me to tell you she’d see you next week. Oh, and you got a phone call earlier.”
Elle’s imagination immediately provided a worst-case scenario. Rising, she whispered, “Was it Scott?”
“Who’s Scott?”
“My grandfather’s nurse.
“Oh. Well, no, it was your dad who called.”
“Did he mention Grandpa?”
“No. He wants you to meet him down at the Lakeside Inn at eight o’clock tonight.”
“He’s here? In town?”
“I guess.”
Elle felt like stamping a foot. “What lousy timing.”
“He sounded like a nice guy,” Mike said.
Elle shrugged. “The judge and I don’t see eye to eye about certain…things. That’s all.”
“Yeah. My dad wants me to be a lawyer. He can’t understand why I want to waste my time with horses.”
“I know. Mine was livid when I delayed grad school to take care of my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather is back in Arizona, right? If you’re taking care of him, what are you doing here?”
“We hired a live-in nurse, a big strapping guy.”
“Scott.”
“Right. They didn’t need me so I’m taking a break.” Elle didn’t add that this go-getter had happened into her grandfather’s life at a precarious point in more ways than one. As her grandfather’s health had declined, his past regrets had escalated. He’d started rethinking his acceptance of his daughter and her family’s unsolved murders, gotten Elle involved, and when Scott mentioned he had a brother working as a detective in the Seattle police department, Grandpa had roped him in.
She realized Mike was talking and tried to get her mind back on track. When he paused, she took the opportunity to get away. “I’m going to hit the shower. I have one more appointment at six o’clock. Let’s give Silver Bells the rest of the day off. Would you mind saddling Corky for the student and Majordomo for me?”
“Sure thing, they’ll be ready when you are.”
Elle emerged back into the sunshine. Her muddy clothes had begun to dry, which made walking a stiff-legged affair. As she started up the slope to her cabin, she thought about how great a shower would feel.
And then—well, she had to figure out a way to get rid of her adopted father, a man she’d nicknamed the judge when he took a seat on the Butter Gulch County bench a few years earlier. What did he want? Hadn’t they hurt each other enough the last time they quarreled?
She heard a door bang shut and turned to find Peg striding up the gentle rise toward her, cigarette smoke circling her head. She wore an expression Elle had never seen before.
“Need to talk to you,” Peg said, taking the cigarette from her mouth, flicking it to the ground and thoroughly grinding it out with her boot.
“What’s wrong?”
“You,” Peg said, expelling the last of the smoke. “You’re what’s wrong.”
“I don’t understand—”
“What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”
Somewhat startled, Elle blinked a couple of times and said, “You mean asking Alazandro for a job?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess I’m moving on. I told you I wouldn’t stay for long when I took this job.”
“Moving on, is that what you call it?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll stay here long enough to help you hire someone else.”
“You might not be here long enough to find me a replacement,” Peg said. Looking at the ground, she shook her head in an almost defeated way.
“Mike is really good with people as well as horses,” Elle said gently. “Let him take over.”
Peg’s gaze flew back to her face. “You think it’s the damn job I’m worried about? The job is just part of it. The way you acted with that man—the way you came on to him. I never in my life thought you were that kind of girl.”
Elle murmured, “It’s not how it looks, Peg.”
“I’ll tell you how it looks,” Peg said. “It looks like you’re either a scheming gold digger or a stupid little tart. Either which way, that man will eat you for breakfast and spit you out. I bet he’s older than your own father!”
Elle’s hands bunched at her sides. She had to fight to control her temper as she said, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? All that bastard wants is to get into your pants, you do know that, don’t you? And you all but gave him an engraved invitation.”
“You are not my mother,” Elle said, voice trembling.
“No, and right now, I’m glad I’m not.”
Elle turned on her heels and stalked up the hillside, leaving Peg in her wake.
She’d been so caught up in herself she hadn’t stopped to fully consider what her behavior would look like to those on the sidelines. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the screen door slam behind Peg.
Drat. Was everyone she knew going to end up angry with her?
It’s not too late, her subconscious whispered. You can walk away right now.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t live anymore with her nightmares, couldn’t bear the thought that Alazandro remained free to roam the earth while her family lay long dead in their graves. Besides, she’d promised her grandfather she’d find the truth and, if need be, exact revenge.
The sun seemed to dart behind the high clouds as Alazandro’s image loomed in her mind. The dark, empty eyes. The crooked nose. The cruel lips. Arrogance dripping out of every pore as he toyed with Peg, toyed with her.
And then there was Alazandro’s bodyguard, Pete, a man who looked as dangerous as Alazandro, perhaps more so for it didn’t appear he had Alazandro’s ego to fog his vision. Pete might not admit he’d die for Alazandro but there wasn’t a doubt in Elle’s mind he would kill for him.
Desperate to get into the hot shower and stop her bone-rattling shakes, she unlocked the door and stripped on the way to the bathroom. She stood under the hot water for a long time, eyes closed, hands propped on the tile walls, head hung, caught in the aftershock of her audaciousness.
ELLE MEDINA didn’t lock her door.
Stupid.
Pete frowned for a second because if there was one thing Elle didn’t strike him as it was stupid. Reckless, absolutely, but not stupid.
He could hear the shower running—made a nice way to keep track of Elle while he had a quick look around. All he had to do was keep his mind on his job and off visions of her all wet and soapy.
The few pieces of furniture in the place looked like castoffs from Peg Stiles’ house down the slope. A line of clothes and boots strung across the floor from the doorway to the closed bathroom door sounded the only note of discord in the otherwise orderly space.
He tossed her place quickly and thoroughly, searching drawers, closets, behind mirrors, under the bed. As the cabin was little more than a studio apartment, it didn’t take long.
The first conclusion he reached was that the woman had fewer clothes and shoes than any other woman he’d ever known. Heavy on jeans and T-shirts, boots and knee-high socks. Even her nightgown was white cotton. Nothing sexy about it except if you stopped to think what it might look like flowing around Elle’s curves.
Enough of that. But still, he’d been married once in his dim youth to a strawberry blonde whose closet rod sagged in the middle.
The last woman he’d cared about was another type altogether. She’d maintained a working wardrobe toward the end. Big on thigh-high boots and halter tops and tiny shorts that showed more than she ever understood. Showed malnutrition. Showed neglect. Showed the absence of rounded flesh and ripe possibility.
Drugs will do that to a woman. Whisper in her ear, tell her she’s gorgeous while robbing her blind.
He hung Elle’s gown back on the hook beside the one holding up a blue terry cloth robe. He found her purse on a shelf in the closet. Identity matched, checkbook in her name, nice photo on her driver’s license, made her look sixteen years old. According to the data, she was actually twenty-five and wore contact lenses. He hadn’t noticed them when he peered into her big brown eyes.
Still holding her purse, he gazed through the window and got his first troubling sensation about Elle. Okay, that wasn’t true, she’d been troubling him ever since he laid eyes on her.
His contact had verified her father was a judge in some hole-in-the-wall town in Arizona. Raised on a small ranch. Mother dead. Only other living relatives a smattering of cousins, two aging aunts in New Jersey and a grandfather with terminal cancer. She’d graduated with a degree in public relations, applied for and been accepted to graduate school, dropped out to live with her ailing grandfather. Then she’d suddenly left his bedside to come to Nevada and take a low-paying job giving riding lessons to little girls.
Odd. But not criminal.
He suddenly realized the shower had stopped.
Elle’s voice came next, low and serious. “Drop my purse, put your hands in the air and turn around slowly.”
He did as she asked.
