скачать книгу бесплатно
“She’s pregnant,” Del cut in harshly. “It’s Garcia’s baby. An American baby.”
“Not until it’s born, it’s not,” Gene said gently. “And not without Garcia around to acknowledge it as his. There’s no way to prove—”
Del shoved to his feet, rocking his chair. “Are you saying she’s lying?”
He surprised himself with his fervor. Who was he to leap to her defense? He was not exactly her knight in shining armor.
Gene warned him off with narrowed eyes. “I’m saying that the INS will not document this baby as an American citizen without proof. Proof we don’t appear to have.”
“We’ll do a DNA test.”
“Four or five months from now, when the baby is born, maybe. But Ms. Reyes will have been deported by then, most likely. Even if you find facilities in San Ynez to run their end of the procedure, you’re going to need Garcia’s DNA to match to. The exhumation order alone could take months. Then after the matching, there’s INS applications, interviews—”
“Are you telling me it’s hopeless?” Stalking across the room he rubbed the knotted muscles in the back of his neck. “There’s got to be a way to keep her here.”
“I didn’t say it was hopeless,” Gene said. “Just that it wouldn’t be easy.”
He raised his head. “So where do we start?”
Gene focused on Elisa. “With a soft bed and a hot meal.”
Elisa’s eyes widened.
Gene turned to Del and said, “Ms. Reyes looks like she could use some rest. Why don’t you show her upstairs to one of the guest rooms while I go see what I can wrangle up in the kitchen? Tomorrow I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out.”
One look at Elisa and Del realized Gene was right. She sat with her back straight and her shoulders square, but her almond complexion had paled to chalk and her neck was corded with strain. Blue circles dragged her eyelids down. She looked like a woman holding on to her dignity by her last fingernail.
She didn’t want her fate in the hands of politician; she’d made that clear before they’d arrived. But there was nothing more to do tonight. Del doubted she’d be happy about staying with Gene, but she couldn’t stay with him. There was a line between honor and insanity, and taking a beautiful, vulnerable, untouchable woman to his tiny apartment definitely fell on the crazy side.
Gene’s offer was generous. This was the best place for her. The only place for her, he told himself as he led her into a room decorated in peonies and lace and smelling like water lilies. At least every time she looked at Gene through those fathomless dark-chocolate eyes of hers, she wouldn’t be looking at the man who ruined her life.
So why, as he said his goodbyes and closed the door on the fear she tried—unsuccessfully—to hide from him, did he feel as if he was abandoning her?
The room belonged on the pages of a storybook. Elisa stood in the center and turned a slow circle, taking it all in. Ruffles exploded from every seam of the comforter covering the huge four-poster bed. The gauzy canopy over it matched the drapes filtering the sunset through the window. The water pitcher on the cherry wood dresser looked antique, and the carpet underfoot was as thick and soft as the moss floor of a rainforest.
She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the cover. As a child she’d dreamed of having a room like this. She’d played make-believe and pretended her cot was a mattress as soft as a lamb, like this one, and that sheets full of fresh-smelling flowers like these surrounded her while she slept. But she wasn’t a child anymore. In a few months she would have a baby of her own to care for.
Randolph had said she would be deported. She couldn’t let that happen. Her baby didn’t have a chance in San Ynez.
She had to leave tonight. La Migra couldn’t deport her if they couldn’t find her. She didn’t know what kind of life she and her child would have here, but it had to be better than the certain death that awaited in her country.
She lay down on her side, her knees drawn up and her palm spread on her belly. Downstairs she heard voices still. The ranger and the politician. She would have to wait until the house was quiet to make her escape. Until then she would rest. She was tired. So tired…
She closed her eyes. With the sound of his voice drifting up to her, his image formed in her mind. They both stood on clouds of lace and ruffles in a soft, beautiful place. But a great wind kicked up, buffeted them, and then she was falling, falling and beneath her the ranger waited, his strong arms open, ready to catch her.
“Everyone’s looking for a fall guy, Coop. And you’re the most likely candidate. Getting mixed up with her isn’t going to help your case.”
Leaning his hips against Gene’s kitchen counter, Del folded his arms over his chest and scowled. “What am I supposed to do, let her be sent back to that hell hole she came from?”
“I’m not sure you’re going to have much choice.” Del’s scowl deepened. “Hold on, now,” Gene said, raising his hand. “I didn’t say we couldn’t work on it. But face it, in the end, you may have to let her go.”
The possibility left a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in Del’s chest. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. Wasn’t sure what he would do if it came down to it. He wasn’t just trying to save Elisa Reyes, he realized. He was trying to save himself. From a long, slow death by guilt. “What do you know about the investigation?” he asked to change the subject.
“Not much.”
Del snorted. “When you ask questions, people answer. And I know you’ve been asking questions. You’ve got to know something.”
“Nothing I should be telling you.”
“Come on, Gene. You’re not going to stonewall me, too, are you? I just want to know what’s going on.”
The creases in Gene’s face deepened. He aged a decade in the span of seconds. “They’ve got one dead gun dealer and one dead security guard. Nothing to suggest it’s not exactly what it looks like. An innocent man caught in the crossfire.”
“They verified his employment, that he was supposed to be working that day?”
“Ten minutes after the shooting.”
“And he’s not in any our of the databases, NCIC, Interpol? No ties to smuggling, gangs, drugs, any of the usual suspects?” If it could be proven that Eduardo Garcia had somehow been part of the gun deal gone bad, it would mean that he’d willingly put himself in harm’s way for the purpose of criminal activity. In the eyes of the law, he, then, not Del, was liable for his death. The investigators would declare it a good shoot.
Del would be vindicated. Not that it would make him feel any better.
Gene shook his head, deflating Del’s hope. “He’s so clean he squeaks.”
Desperation left Del’s throat raw. “What about the two that got away? Maybe they know something.”
“No sign of them. What about the woman? What did you get out of her? She know anything?”
Del’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “Is that why you think I brought her here? To find out what she knows?”
“She didn’t tell the DPS guys much. It occurred to me you could help your case if you got her to talk.”
Del cursed, loudly and violently, before yanking the back door open and stepping out. Gene caught it just before it slammed shut behind him. He chuckled. “Calm down, boy. I didn’t mean anything.”
When Del turned, Gene stood on the stoop with his hands in his pockets like a recalcitrant teen. “The hell you didn’t,” Del accused.
“All right, so maybe I just wanted to hear you deny it myself.” He took a step into the grass. “And if I question your motivations, you know others are going to. You’re taking a big risk hooking up with her.”
“What was I supposed to do, leave her lying on the side of the highway?”
“No, don’t suppose you could have done that.” Hands still in his pockets, Gene rocked heel to toe, waiting.
Del turned his head up to the sky. The stars were coming out on another perfectly clear Texas night. “It’s my fault, Gene.”
“And now you gotta fix it.”
“Yeah, if I can.”
“You can’t save them all, Del.”
Del didn’t want to think about that, not here, not now. No, but I can damn sure try to save this one.
But that thought pealed through his mind like church bells all the way back to the carriage house. In his apartment he couldn’t concentrate on the book he’d been reading for the maelstrom in his head. He couldn’t unwind, so he made himself a cup of decaf coffee and went out to sit on the back stairs to the apartment. Usually he found the view calming. He could see all the way to downtown Dallas. Watch the big lighted ball on top of Reunion Tower turn.
He could see that all was right with his corner of the world.
Only, tonight nothing felt right.
What if he couldn’t save her?
No. He refused to think that way. He couldn’t bring Garcia back to life. Maybe he couldn’t even repair the damage to his career or fill this great, yawning emptiness inside him. But he could damn well keep Elisa Reyes in the United States where she and her child would be safe.
He stopped, the surety of that one thought gusting through him like a gale-force wind. Whatever it took, he could not let Elisa Reyes be sent back to San Ynez. Whether she wanted his help or not, she would have it. He owed her that much.
And Del Cooper damn well paid his debts.
Elisa hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she’d been so tired. The men’s voices—the politician and the policeman—had droned on. She’d listened, but her eyelids had grown heavy.
Now the night, and her chance to escape, was almost over. According to the clock by the bed, dawn would break in another hour, and she panicked as she remembered last night’s conversations.
She couldn’t go back to San Ynez. She wouldn’t let them send her.
Anger and fear razed her nerves, making her hands shake. She’d come to America to start a new life for her child. Eduardo was gone, but he would want her to stay, to give their child that life even without him. How could a parent not want that?
Silently Elisa rose and found her boots, her bag. She’d seen two cars in the garage the ranger called the carriage house last night. It didn’t take long for her to find the keys hung neatly in a cabinet by the door. Apparently the politician counted on the iron gate around his property and the ranger who lived above his precious cars to protect them. The lock on that cabinet wouldn’t stop anyone.
Inside the convertible with the leaping jaguar on the hood, she fumbled with the keyring. Quietly. She had to be quiet, or the ranger would hear.
Pushing the only key she hadn’t yet tried into the ignition, she dropped the whole ring. Ay, Diós. Then she crossed herself for her transgression. When she bent her head to retrieve the keys, the seat creaked beneath her. The rich smell of leather filled her senses as she groped around the floorboard.
When she finally got a grip on the keys and raised her head, she found the ranger standing just beyond the front bumper. His thick forearms were folded over his broad chest, and the starlight behind him gave his gray eyes a silvery glow, pinning her in place.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
Breaking the eye contact, she shoved the key home and twisted. The engine purred to life. Before she could put it in gear, though, the car dipped and jounced. She jerked her head up. Her eyes widened at the sight of the ranger’s boots clomping across the polished hood. He easily hopped over the windshield and landed in the seat next to her. “Don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” he asked. “Just to make sure Gene gets his car back.”
She flinched at the implication that she was stealing the car. Of course, she was stealing the car. But it was necessary. Her child’s life was at stake. “Let me go,” she said, angling her chin.
Casually he reached over and switched off the ignition. “I can’t do that.”
“Why? What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Except to help you.”
“So that you can clear your conscience?”
His eyes turned cold. “Lady, it’s going to take a lot more than you to clear my conscience.”
“Then let me go.”
“Go where? San Ynez?”
Her anger flared to match his. Her hands clenched around the steering wheel. “No. I can’t go back there.” Going home meant certain death. She couldn’t escape the soldiers with a baby.
“Where, then?”
“I will find a place.” She could take care of herself. She’d been taking care of herself—and a lot of other people—for eight years now.
“On the street? What kind of life is that?”
“Is it worse than starving in San Ynez? Being hunted by military police who protect the coca fields and massacre their own people?” She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I will survive.”
“And your baby?”
Elisa’s cramped stomach muscles fluttered, reminding her of the child within. She could take care of herself, she was sure of that. But a baby? She could stitch an open wound with a sewing needle, defuse an antipersonnel land mine with a screwdriver and a stick. But she knew nothing about babies. Delivering them or caring for them.
He had a way of striking at the core of her fears, this ranger.
“At least he will have a chance,” she said, laying her hand protectively over her middle. Del followed the movement with his eyes, his lips tightening.
“There is another way. For both of you.”
She didn’t want to ask how. Wouldn’t trust him even when he answered, despite that dependable-looking face and the sincerity in his expression. But how could she keep silent with all she had at stake? “What way?”
“There are immigration lawyers. They can appeal your case to the INS.”
“So that La Migra knows right where to find me when they’re ready to throw me out? No.”
“Gene Randolph has contacts in the State Department. He might be able to push something through. A hardship application or political asylum.”
Elisa laughed in disbelief. “Put my fate in the hands of Immigration and a politician?”
“Give the system a chance. No one wants you to suffer because of what happened to Eduardo.”
To her horror, her eyes suddenly warmed, watered. Despising the weakness, and blaming it on hormones, she blinked back the tears. “I trusted the system once, in my country,” she said, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t shake. “I went to the university and studied economics and English. I worked within our government to build industry and commerce. I spoke to student groups about making our country stronger, improving trade relations with America and Europe. I was giving this speech when a colonel in the army of San Ynez, Colonel Sanchez, decided he should run the country, not the elected president. With the troops behind him, he overran the presidential palace. Presidente Herrerra was taken to sea and killed, and Sanchez became our new leader. I was thrown in jail, chained and interrogated as a dissident for three days before I escaped with my brothers. So forgive me if I do not easily trust the system.”
She expected the ranger to be shocked, then to argue that that was San Ynez. This was America. The great, infallible America.
He surprised her. His expression warmed, not with anger, but with understanding. His mouth almost smiled, as if a weight had been lifted from the corners with the making of some great decision. He covered her hand on the steering wheel with his, lifted it, held her fingers lightly. His hands weren’t smooth; she knew that from other times he’d touched her. But for the first time, she realized she liked their coarseness. Roughened hands were a sign of strength. A symbol of a man’s dedication to a cause, be it chopping wood or plowing fields. She wondered how Ranger Cooper had earned his calluses.
“Okay then, don’t trust the system,” he said, his voice a smooth contrast to his rough hands. “Just trust me.”
She stared at him, unsure what to say next. She couldn’t trust him. He was policía—the worst of the worst in her country. But something about him tugged at her, made her want to believe. Perhaps just her emotions, run away again.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few hours, and there is one sure way to guarantee you can stay in America.”
“Eduardo was the only way.” Her voice sounded faraway, small.
“No,” he said. He paused. When she brought her eyes back to his, his chest rose and fell with a single deep breath before he spoke. “You can marry me instead.”
