Bound by Honor (10 page)

“I had to have a foreign language series as part of my degree,” she said. “I chose Spanish, because that's pretty necessary around here, with such a large Hispanic population. I hated it at first, and then I learned how to read in it.” Her eyes brightened. “It's the most exciting thing
in the world to read something in the language the author created it in. I never dreamed how delightful it would be to read
Don Quixote
as Cervantes actually wrote it!”

“I know what you mean. But the older the novel, the more difficult the translation. Words change meaning. And a good number of the more modern novels are written in the various dialects of Spanish provinces.”

She grinned. “Like Blasco-Ibañez, who used a regional dialect for his matador hero, Juan Gallardo, in dialogue.”

“Yes.”

She finished her cone and wiped her hands. “I became really fascinated with bullfighting after I read the book, so I found a Web site that had biographies of all the matadors. I found the ones mentioned in the book, who fought in the corridas of Spain around the turn of the century.”

“Until you read Blasco-Ibañez, you have no idea how dangerous bullfighting really is,” Eb agreed. “He must have seen some of the corridas.”

“A number of Spanish authors did. Lorca, for example, wrote a famous poem about the death of his friend Sanchez Mejias in the bullring.”

He brushed back a strand of gold-streaked brown hair and smiled. “I've missed conversations like this, although a good many of the men I train are well-educated. In fact, Micah Steele, who does consulting work for me, was a resident doctor at one of the bigger Eastern hospitals when he joined my unit.”

“Why did he give up a profession that he must have studied very hard for?”

“Nobody knows, and he won't talk. Mostly what we know about him we found out from his father, who used to be a bank president until his heart attack. Micah's stepsister, Callie, looks after old man Steele these days. He and Micah haven't spoken for years, not since he and Callie's mother divorced.”

“Do you know why they did?”

He shrugged. “Local gossip had it that Micah's father caught Micah and his stepmother in a compromising position and threw them both out of the house.”

“Poor man.”

“Poor Callie. She worshiped the ground Micah walked on, but he won't even speak to her these days.”

“That name sounds familiar,” she commented.

“It should. Callie's a paralegal. She works for Barnes and Kemp, the trial lawyers here in town.”

“It's so nice to have a lazy day like this,” she murmured, watching Stevie browse among the party decorations on a shelf. “It makes me forget the danger.”

“I'm surprised that Lopez hasn't made any more moves lately,” he said. “And a little disturbed. It isn't like him to back off.”

“Maybe he was afraid those two men who attacked me would be arrested and they'd tell on him,” she said.

He laughed mirthlessly. “Dream on. Lopez would have them disposed of before they had time to rat on him.” He pursed his lips. “That could be what happened to them. You don't make a mistake when you belong to that particular cartel. No second chances. Ever.”

She shivered. “We do keep all the doors locked,” she
said. “And we're very careful about what we say. Well, Jessica is,” she amended sheepishly. “Until you taught me about surveillance equipment, I didn't know that a whisper could be heard half a mile away.”

“Never forget it,” he told her. “Never drop your guard, either. I'll always have someone close enough to run interference if you get into trouble, but you have to do your part to keep the house secure.”

“And let you know when and where I'm going,” she agreed. “I won't forget again.”

He reached across the table and folded his fingers into hers, liking the way they clung. His thumb smoothed over the soft, moist palm while he searched her eyes.

“You haven't had an easy time of it, have you?” he asked conversationally. “In some ways, your whole life has been in turmoil since you were seventeen.”

“In transition, at least,” she corrected, smiling gently. “If there's one thing I've learned, it's that everything changes.”

“I suppose so.” His fingers tightened on hers and the look in his eyes was suddenly dark and mysterious and a little threatening. “I've learned a few things myself,” he said quietly.

“Such as?” she whispered daringly.

He glanced down at their entwined fingers. “Such as never taking things for granted.”

She frowned, puzzled.

He laughed and let go of her fingers. “I told you that I was engaged once, didn't I?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I never told her what I did for a living. She never questioned where my money came from. In fact, when I tried to tell her, she stopped me, saying it wouldn't matter, that she loved me and she'd go wherever my job took me.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression reflective and solemn. “Her parents were dead. She and an older boy were fostered at the same time to a wealthy woman. They spent years together, but he and Maggie weren't close, so I made all the wedding arrangements and paid for her gown and the rings, everything.” His eyes darkened with remembered pain. “I still felt uncomfortable about having secrets between us, though, so the night before the wedding, I told her what I did for a living. She put the rings on the coffee table, got her stuff, and left town that same night. She married two months later…a man twice her age.”

She knew about his ex-fiancée, but not how much he'd cared about the woman. The expression in his eyes told her that the pain hadn't gone away. “Didn't she send you a letter, or phone you after she'd had time to think it over?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Until I ran into her in Houston a week ago, I had no idea where she was. Her adoptive mother died just after we broke up. Tough break.”

Her heart stopped in her chest. “You…saw her…in Houston?”

He nodded, oblivious to the shock in her eyes. “As luck would have it, she's a new junior partner in an investment firm I use, and widowed.”

He stared at her until she looked up, and he wasn't smiling. “You're in a precarious situation, and we've been thrown together in a rather unconventional way. We're friends, but you don't have to live with what I do.”

All her hopes and dreams and wild expectations crumbled to dust in her mind. Friends. Good friends. Of course they were! He was teaching her martial arts, he was helping her to survive a potential attack by a ruthless drug lord. That didn't mean he wanted her to share his life. Quite the opposite, it seemed now.

“If a woman cared enough, surely she could give it a chance?” she asked, terrified that her anguish might show.

Apparently it didn't. He leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, reflective and moody. “No. She said she wanted a career, anyway,” he replied. “It suited her to have her own money and be independent.”

“My parents never shared their paychecks, or anything else,” she said carelessly. She glanced at Stevie. “Stevie, we'd better go, sweetheart.”

He came running, smiling as he leaned against her and looked across at Eb, who was still brooding. “Can we take Mama a cone?”

“Of course we can,” Sally said gently. She dug out two dollars. “Here. Get her a cup of that fat-free Dutch chocolate, okay? And make sure it has a lid.”

“Okay!”

He ran off with his grubstake, feeling very adult. Sally watched him, smiling.

“I could have done that,” Eb commented.

“Yes, you could, but it wouldn't help teach him re
sponsibility. Six isn't too young to start learning independence. He's going to be a fine man,” she added, her voice softer as she watched him.

He didn't comment. He was feeling claustrophobic and he didn't know why. He got up and dealt with the used napkins. By the time he was finished, Stevie came back carrying a small white sack with Jessica's treat inside.

There wasn't much conversation on the way back to the Johnson house, and even then it was completely impersonal. Sally realized that it must have hurt Eb to recall how abruptly his fiancée had rejected him. She might have loved him, but the constant danger of his profession must have been more than she could handle. Now that he was retired from the danger, it might not be such an obstacle.

That was a depressing thought. His ex-fiancée was a widow and he was in a secure profession, and they'd recently seen each other. It was enough to get Sally out of the truck with Stevie and off into the house with only a quick thank-you and a forced smile.

Eb, driving away down the road, felt a vague regret for the loss of the rapport he and Sally had seemed to share. He couldn't understand what had made her so distant this afternoon.

Eb had already contacted a man he knew in the Drug Enforcement Administration on a secure channel and told him what he knew about Lopez and his plans for Jacobsville. He'd also asked about the possibility of having a man go undercover to infiltrate the operation and was told only that the DEA was aware of Lopez's
construction project. He wouldn't tell Eb anything more than that.

Understanding government work very well, Eb had assumed that the undercover operation was already underway. He wasn't about to mention that to anyone he knew. Not even Cy.

He had Dallas monitoring some sensitive equipment that gave them direct audio and visual information from Sally's house. Nobody would sneak up on it without being noticed. He'd also had Dallas bug the telephone. That night, he was glad he had.

In the early hours of the morning, Sally was brought wide-awake by the insistent ringing of the telephone. The number was unlisted, but that didn't stop telemarketers. Ordinarily, though, they didn't call at this hour. It wasn't a good marketing strategy, especially in Sally's case. She'd hardly slept after the discussion with Eb in the yogurt shop. She wasn't in the mood to talk to strangers.

“Hello?” she asked belligerently.

“You'll never see us coming,” a slow, ice-cold voice said in her ear. “But unless Jessica gives up the name by midnight Saturday, there will be serious repercussions.”

Sally was so shocked that she fumbled with the phone and cut off the caller. She stood holding the receiver, blinking in astonishment. That softly accented tone had chilled her to the bone, despite the flannel gown she was wearing.

No sooner had she righted the telephone than it rang again. This time, she hesitated. Her heart was pounding like mad. She was almost shaking with the force of it.
Her mouth was dry. Her palms began to sweat. There was an uncomfortable knot in the pit of her stomach.

She wanted to ignore it. She didn't dare. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she lifted it.

“She has one last chance,” the voice continued, as if the connection hadn't been cut. “She must phone this number Saturday night at midnight exactly and give a name. One minute after midnight, you will all suffer the consequences.” He gave the number and hung up. This time the connection was cut even more rapidly. Sally dropped the receiver back into the cradle with icy fingers. She stared down at it with growing horror. Surely Eb and Dallas and the others would be watching. But were they listening as well?

The phone rang a third time, but now she was angry and she didn't hesitate. She jerked it up. “Hello…?”

“We couldn't get a trace,” Eb said angrily. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and swallowed again. “Yes,” she said calmly. “I'm all right. You heard what he said?”

“I heard. Don't worry.”

“Don't worry?” she parroted. “When a man's just threatened to kill everyone in my house?”

“He won't kill anybody,” he assured her. “And he's through making threats for tonight. I'm going to find out where that phone is. Go to sleep. It's all right.”

The receiver went dead. “I am sick and tired of men throwing out orders and hanging up on me!” she told the telephone earpiece.

It did no good, of course, except that voicing her irritation made her feel a little better. She climbed back into bed and lay awake, wide-eyed and nervous, until dawn. Just before she and Stevie left for school, out of the child's hearing range, she told Jessica what had happened.

“Eb and the others are watching us,” Sally assured her quickly. “But be careful about answering the door.”

“No need,” Jessica said. “Lopez may be certifiable, but he's predictable. He never takes action until his demands haven't been met. We have until midnight Saturday to think of something.”

“Wonderful,” Sally said on a sigh. “We have today and tomorrow. I'm sure we'll have Lopez and all his cohorts in jail by then.”

“Sarcasm doesn't suit you, dear,” Jessica said with a smile. “Go to work. I'll be fine.”

“I wish I could guarantee that all of us would be fine,” Sally murmured to herself as she went out the door behind Stevie.