Texas…Now and Forever (9 page)

The anger he'd tried to bank came back, swift and fierce. “Funny. For a moment there, you sounded as though you almost regret abandoning our child.”

“I didn't abandon her!”

The fragile crystal sang out as Haley snapped it down onto the coffee table.

“I couldn't keep Lena with me while I was undercover.”

That caught Luke's attention. In the past hour he'd come up with a dozen different reasons in his mind for Haley to be posing as a waitress at the Lone Star Country Club. The possibility that she might be acting as a federal agent wasn't one of them.

“I've been working with the FBI for over a year now,” she revealed, “helping them build a case against Frank.”

Well, that explained the guys who'd jumped them in the parking lot. Frowning, Luke tried to sort through the details of her incredible story.

“I don't understand. You engineered your own death. You lived in London for years under an assumed identity. You'd just had a baby. Why did you suddenly decide to go to work for the feds?”

“The FBI said they had evidence my mother didn't die of natural causes. Someone injected potassium chloride into her IV.”

Luke shot upright, splashing cognac onto his hand. “The hell you say!”

“The FBI thinks she was killed because she wouldn't disclose the identity of the stranger who…who visited her in the hospital.”

The small, anguished quaver wasn't lost on Luke. He stored it away to think about later, when he had time to sort through his thoughts. Right now
it was all he could do to absorb the tale she went on to tell of tampered mail and phone hang-ups.

“I realized I'd never be safe as long as Del Brio was free,” she finished. “More to the point, I knew Lena would never be safe. That's why I decided to cooperate with the FBI. First, though, I had to make sure Lena was cared for while I was undercover.”

“So you left her on the golf course?” he asked incredulously. “That's your idea of ensuring she was cared for?”

“She was left where her father would find her. Only you were gone that particular Sunday.” Her tone took on an edge of sharp accusation. “You stayed gone for months. Dammit, where were you when your daughter needed you?”

Not particularly happy at being put on the defensive all of a sudden, Luke fired back. “One, I didn't know I had a daughter. Two, I didn't know she needed me. Three— Oh, hell. Three doesn't matter. All that matters now is Lena.”

Haley could have wept with relief. After all the hurt and anger and guilt, they agreed on the only point that mattered. Her hands clutched tight, she waited while Luke downed the rest of his cognac with a distinct lack of respect for its age.

“All right,” he said grimly. “The past is past. Let's cut to tonight. I want to know exactly how
Del Brio contacted you. Exactly what he said, word for word. Any background noises or sounds you might have picked up. Any significant nuances in his voice.”

 

An hour later Haley was limp with exhaustion. She hadn't slept more than a few hours since the shoot-out three nights ago. Frantic fear for Lena and worry over her father had wrung her inside out. Luke's relentless grilling sapped the small reserve she had left.

“That's it,” she said hoarsely after she'd repeated every detail for the fourth time. “That's how Frank left it. He'll let me know when and where to deliver the ransom.”

“We have to assume he'll know how to reach you. He tracked you to the FBI safe house. He'll track you here. I'll contact Sheriff Wainwright and…”

“No!”

Haley's sharp protest earned her a swift frown.

“Frank said not to let Justin or the FBI in on the ransom delivery,” she reiterated. “That's why I came to you, Luke. I can't…I won't risk Lena's life in another shoot-out.”

He conceded with a curt nod.

“All right. But we'll need help to pull this off. I'll get Spence and Tyler over to rig some elec
tronics on the phone lines. Flynt can go to the bank for me tomorrow and retrieve the two million. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime?”

“You'd better get some rest. You sound as if you're about to drop.”

“I'm okay.”

“You can't help your daughter if you're too exhausted to think straight,” he said with brutal candor. “Stretch out on the couch here if you don't want to go upstairs, but for God's sake get some sleep.”

She couldn't have climbed that wide, curving staircase if she'd wanted to.

“All right. I'll take the couch. Do you mind if I use the phone first to call the hospital? I want to check on my father.”

“Of course I don't mind,” he said, then added gruffly, “he was holding his own when I called ICU this afternoon.”

“You checked on my dad?”

“Your parents were good to me, Haley. After you died—disappeared—I couldn't bridge the gap that opened between us, but I still cared about them. Go ahead, make your call. I'll wait in the den and make mine when you're finished.”

He was almost out of the room before Haley worked up the courage to call to him.

“Luke.”

He half turned, angling his head in that careful, listening way. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening. For putting the past behind you. Most of all, for helping me with Lena.”

His face hardened. “She's my daughter. Whatever I can do for her, I will. We'll work out the arrangements for her future when we get her back.”

As he made his careful way down the hall, Haley felt the blood drain from her face. Good Lord! Did Luke intend to battle her for custody? Could he use the fact that she'd had to place her baby in safekeeping against her? Would she wrest Lena away from Frank only to lose her to her father? The prospect tightened the band of fear around her heart.

She couldn't handle another crisis right now, Haley decided bleakly. She'd just check on her father, then curl into a tight ball here on the sofa, close her eyes and picture her baby's happy face.

L
uke stood in the den he'd converted to a clean, utilitarian office and tried to rein in his chaotic thoughts. He still couldn't quite believe the woman down the hall was Haley Mercado. Sweet, curvaceous Haley Mercado.

He'd known her since grade school, for crissake! He'd watched her transition from coltish girl to precocious teen. By the time he and Ricky and the others returned from the Gulf War, Haley had blossomed into full, sensual womanhood. Luke might have seriously reconsidered his self-imposed hands-off policy at that point, but muscle-bound Frank Del Brio had beat him to the punch. He'd claimed Haley as his and, assuming any of the incredible story she'd just strung out was true, had driven her to incredibly desperate measures to escape him.

Was the story she'd just fed him true?

Despite his anger, his instincts said yes. He'd spent enough time with Ricky to sense how closely Johnny Mercado flirted with danger. Luke could
well believe he'd gotten himself in so deep that Del Brio had plenty to coerce Haley with. Looking back, he could almost—almost!—understand her crazy reasoning for deciding to disappear.

Damn! For more than a decade she'd pretended to be dead, only to then risk everything by going undercover for the FBI. His first call would be to the Bureau, he decided grimly. He'd sure as hell get verification before he—

A small sound cut into his whirling thoughts. Every one of his senses went on instant alert. He stood still, listening intently.

The muffled noise came from the living room. Trailing his fingers along the wall, Luke moved silently down the hall.

She was crying. Quietly. Agonizingly. From the sound of it, she'd buried her face in cushions, but nothing could completely drown the wrenching sobs.

Luke stood just beyond the arch, his jaw working. This woman had played him for a world-class fool. Repeatedly. First by letting him and his friends take the fall for her death. Then by pretending she was a stranger that night at the Saddlebag. Not to mention failing to inform him about the small matter of their child. Luke sure as hell wasn't going to let her twist him inside out again.

Gritting his teeth, he started back for the office. He took two steps. Three. Stopped.

The utter desolation in those muffled sobs ripped at him. Swearing viciously, he swung around again. A moment later he gathered her into his arms.

Startled, she tried to jerk away. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Damned if I know.”

Holding her loosely, he eased them onto the sofa. The leather whooshed under his weight, the cushions tilting so that Haley rolled against him. Gulping, she tried to halt the wrenching sobs.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— I don't—”

“Shhh.” Cupping the back of her head, he cradled her face in the hollow of his shoulder. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not.” Blinking furiously, Haley dragged in a hiccuping breath. “I feel like an idiot. I never cry.”

Not since her mother's death, anyway. She'd shed all the tears she had in her then. Tonight, though, her emotions were stripped to the bone.

“We'll get her back,” Luke said gruffly, zeroing in on the cause of her distress with pinpoint accuracy.

She wanted desperately to believe him, but the brutal reality of the situation made a mockery of
hope. “You don't know Del Brio like I do. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Nothing!”

“Del Brio doesn't know me, either. Whatever it takes, we'll get Lena back.”

The flat certainty in his voice tilted her head back. Blinking away the teary residue clinging to her lashes, she studied the face so close to hers. Luke stared straight ahead, his blue eyes unblinking but fierce. Stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin and made the white scars on his temple stand out in stark relief.

The evidence of his pain distracted her momentarily from her all-consuming fear for her baby. Oh, God, what had really happened in that jungle in Central America? How much had Luke suffered? Her fingers trembling, she lifted a hand to trace the spidery scars.

Luke sensed the movement and abruptly brought his head around to meet it. In the process, his lips grazed her palm.

They both went still, each waiting for the other to pull away. His mouth was hot and damp under her palm. Her skin burned where he touched it. Seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness, each one seeming to take months and then years with it, until Haley was at the Saddlebag again, aching for this man with all the passion she'd kept bottled up inside her for so long.

No, not this man. She hadn't really known the Luke Callaghan she'd given herself to that night, any more than he'd known her. With all their secrets, they were strangers then. They were strangers now.

It took everything Luke had to pull away. He didn't trust this woman, and sure as hell couldn't trust the desire that knotted his belly and almost made him forget who she was. Still, he couldn't bring himself to release her. Not yet. Not while her tears still dampened his neck and tension held her in a tight coil.

“You've got to let it go and get some rest, Haley.”

“I wish I could,” she murmured, her breath a ragged sigh against his neck.

“Blank your mind for a few moments. Just wipe away every thought.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can,” he countered, recalling the technique that had saved his sanity during his weeks as a POW. “Don't think. Don't feel. Don't paint any pictures in your mind. Just imagine a blank canvas. A big, white, empty space.”

She tried too hard. Her lashes feathering his neck, she scrunched her eyes shut. He felt her tension and frustration as she searched for the emptiness.

“Relax, Haley.” He lowered his voice to a slow, hypnotic murmur and began to stroke her hair. “Just relax. Wrap yourself in a haze. A soft, gray haze.”

“Like a London fog.”

“Like a London fog, only warmer. It covers everything. Smooths all the jagged edges. Dulls the sharpest fears. Feel how soft it is? How warm it is?”

She gave a little grunt, wanting to be convinced but not quite there yet. Luke continued the unhurried stroke, smoothing her hair, calming her with his touch the way he'd calm a skittish colt.

“Let the haze surround you. Drift through you. There's nothing there. Nothing but a cloud of cotton.”

Silence dropped over them. Moments went by. Slowly, so slowly, she slipped into that half state between worry and mindlessness. Luke felt her muscles slacken, then a little jerk as she resisted dropping into sleep.

“It's okay, Haley. Let yourself go. You're warm and safe and secure.”

He murmured the words without thinking. Not until she gave a little moan and curled against him did he realize how desperately she must have craved both security and safety all these years.

With a silent curse, Luke set out to lull her back
to sleep. Planting his boots on the polished marble coffee table, he eased down until his head hit the sofa back and did his damndest to ignore the press of full, rounded breasts against his chest.

 

Haley drifted awake to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. She let the aroma tease her groggy senses for long moments before prying her eyes open. They felt dry and scratchy, the way eyes always did after a bout of tears.

After all the years and months of hiding her every thought and emotion, she couldn't believe she'd dissolved into such a pitiful bundle of incoherence last night. Or that she'd fallen asleep in Luke's arms.

At a loss to explain either his actions or her own, she tossed back the blanket and swung her stockinged feet to the floor. A quick glance at the cheap watch she'd worn in her Daisy Parker persona showed it was just past 5:00 a.m.

Panic darted through her at the thought that she might have slept through another call from Del Brio, but logic quickly squelched the thought. Either the buzz of the phone or Luke himself would have awakened her.

Pushing off the couch, she listened intently. She didn't hear any sounds. She assumed Luke was in the kitchen brewing the coffee. Before she faced
him again, she needed to splash some cold water on her face.

Her stockinged feet made no sound as she mounted the curving oak staircase to the second floor. Open doors gave her glimpses into the rooms on both sides of the hall. Like the downstairs rooms, they were decorated with an eclectic mix of priceless antiques, comfortable furnishings and the best of Texas. One guest bedroom sported a canopy bed. Another, a huge four-poster that had to have come across Texas in a covered wagon.

Avoiding the master bedroom suite at the end of the hall, she made liberal use of the amenities in the well-stocked guest bathroom. Fifteen minutes later she headed back downstairs, face scrubbed, teeth clean and her bottle-blond hair tangle-free.

As she'd guessed, Luke was in the kitchen. It was a warm, welcoming place, one she remembered well. A beautiful old wrought-iron gate was suspended from chains above the center island, displaying an assortment of antique cast-iron frying pans, speckled tin cookware and a dented, ten-gallon coffeepot that had to have seen duty on the cattle trails. The cabinets were distressed cypress, reminding Haley of the trees that lined the creeks in this part of the country. Their glass fronts displayed an assortment of brightly colored crockery. A rectangular table of the same weathered cypress
was set in an alcove surrounded on three sides by shuttered windows.

Luke sat at the table, with a cell phone close at hand and a laptop computer in front of him. Haley couldn't tell whether he'd slept at all or not, but he'd obviously showered. His cheeks and chin were smooth, and his black hair glistened. He'd changed into a crisp white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up and a freshly laundered pair of jeans.

She made a futile attempt to smooth the wrinkles from her slept-in tank top before she remembered Luke couldn't see it. As soft as it was, the swish of her hands brushing down her front alerted him to her presence.

“Haley?” he asked sharply.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I'm in my socks.”

“I heard the water running upstairs and figured you'd be down soon.”

Neither one of them mentioned the fact that she'd fallen asleep in Luke's arms last night. He seemed as willing to dance around the topic as Haley was.

“The coffee's fresh, if you want some,” he told her. “Mrs. Chavez won't be over to fix breakfast for another couple of hours, but she always leaves
the fridge full if you need something to tide you over until then.”

At the mention of breakfast Haley's stomach sat up and took notice. She'd been so sick with worry over Lena and her father these past few days, the mere thought of food had made her nauseated. Her few hours sleep seemed to have restored her appetite, however. Taking advantage of Luke's invitation, she helped herself to coffee and downed several gulps while she surveyed the contents of the stainless-steel, commercial-grade fridge.

“Good grief! There are enough covered dishes in here to feed everyone in Mission Creek.”

“Yeah, I know,” he drawled. “Teresa is firmly convinced that all I need to regain twenty-twenty vision is rest and plenty of good, healthy food.”

Haley shot him a quick look. “Any chance she's right?”

“Who knows?” He rolled his shoulders under the white cotton shirt. “The docs don't have any other advice to offer at this point.”

“Has there been any improvement at all since you came home?”

He hesitated, obviously unwilling to offer false hope to anyone, himself included.

“I'm seeing some shadows, mostly in contrast, They seem to be getting a little less dark and dense.
Probably just wishful thinking on my part. See anything that looks good in the fridge?”

Following his deliberate change of subject, she dragged her glance back to the neatly stacked containers. Each lid was labeled, she saw, marked with a thick plastic strip with raised letters so Luke could run his fingers over it and identify the contents.

“How does cinnamon toast and Mexican lasagna sound?”

“Pretty good.”

While the spicy tortilla, cheese and beef casserole heated in the microwave, Haley slathered thick slices of Texas toast with butter, sprinkled on cinnamon and popped them in the toaster oven. Her stomach rumbling in earnest now, she took the coffee carafe to the table to refresh Luke's cup as well as her own.

She felt awkward, as though they were strangers. Two people whose pasts had crossed and now shared only a single link to the future. Firmly suppressing the panic that fluttered just under her skin each time she though of Lena, she eyed the computer and its array of peripherals spread out in front of Luke.

“What's all this?”

“I've been making lists of what we need to do to get ready for Del Brio's call.”

It was Haley's turn to hesitate. She had little experience with physical disabilities and didn't want to harp on Luke's, but curiosity compelled her to ask how he could read what was on the computer screen.

“Obviously, I don't. The computer is specially rigged with raised-letter keys and voice recognition software for data input. It also produces both visual and audio output.”

He tapped a key. A digitized voice filled the kitchen.

“Spence to retrieve ransom from bank. Two million. Unmarked, nonsequential bills. Flynt to attach microdots and scan bills into computer. Tyler to rig explosive in briefcase handle. Obtain spectrascope for—”

“Wait a minute!” Haley exclaimed. “What explosives?”

“—the SIG Sauer. Load high-velocity bullets. Test scope with—”

“Luke, turn that thing off!”

A quick click of a key cut off the electronic recitation. Shaken, Haley gripped her coffee cup with both hands. “What the heck is all this? Why are you making lists that include explosives and high-velocity bullets?”

“You don't think I intend to just hand the ransom to Del Brio and let him walk away, do you?”