Fatal Charm

If there really was a hell, he was sure the Almighty had reserved a special spot for him. He should never have taken that first drink tonight, much less the fourth. Or was it fifth? He knew better. But it was too late to think about that now. He had to concentrate on damage control.

Maybe there was still a way for him to get out of this mess without losing everything. One thing was clear, there was no way he could report the accident. The police would smell the whiskey on his breath three miles away. They’d jail him, and he’d be ruined.

As a sliver of moonlight edged out from behind the clouds, he saw the car clearly for the first time. Dear God, nobody could have survived that! It was right side up, but the top was caved in like a soda can that had been stomped by a heavy boot.

He turned around, ready to climb back out, when he heard a soft mewling cry. A cat? He glanced around, trying to clear his thinking, but his thoughts seemed strangled by the thick cobwebs the liquor had left behind. He stood motionless and listened, still not wanting to approach the car. If the driver, by some miracle, was still alive, he’d phone in and report the accident anonymously.

Hearing the soft cry again, he forced himself to go closer to the wreck. The body of the driver was slumped to the right of the steering wheel at an odd angle. One look told him she was dead.

His attention shifted as he heard the cry again. It was coming from the back seat. Aiming the flashlight beam, he saw an infant in a car seat. An embroidered blanket lay on the floor beside her. The child’s pink-and-white sleeper was covered with tiny cubes of glass, but she appeared unharmed, except for a few slight scratches on her face.

His gut tightened. This was the last thing he needed. Unless he got the kid out of there, she wouldn’t have a chance. The cold would finish what the accident had started. He went to the rear door, grabbed the handle with both gloved hands, and pulled hard. His feet slipped on the frozen ground, sending him sprawling backward. He fell hard into the snow.

All he wanted to do was get out of this place, but he couldn’t leave the baby. He staggered back to the door and stared at the child inside. The baby’s gaze seemed focused on the beam of his flashlight, and strangely enough, she’d stopped crying.

He glanced around. No help was in sight; it was up to him. The driver was dead, and the snow was intensifying. It would be hours before help could arrive. What the hell was he going to do?

Almost as if guessing his thoughts, the baby reached out with one tiny hand, her fingers opening and closing, seeking contact. He watched her, avoiding her touch, trying to decide on a course of action. As if suddenly impatient, the baby let out a long wail.

“Shut up, kid.” He held his hands over his ears. His head felt as if it were exploding, and the high-pitched crying was torture. Why did this have to happen to him?

Then abruptly the child stopped crying and stared at him, expressionless. That scared him into action. He pulled at the broken window and managed to break away most of the remaining glass. As he brushed the baby’s face with one finger, he realized the child was ice-cold. Leaning through the opening, he quickly freed her from the car seat.

The infant made a soft, gurgling sound and then smiled.

“You’re a smart little cookie, aren’t you?” he muttered, picking her up and maneuvering her through the window.

The child’s eyes closed, but he knew she’d be okay. All she needed right now was to get warm. The heater in his car would take care of the problem. His gaze drifted to the body of the woman behind the wheel. He couldn’t help her, but he’d take care of her baby. He owed her that much.

He reached into the car one last time for the baby’s blanket and wrapped it around her. Then he placed the child inside the folds of his jacket and began to plow back up the hill, ignoring the torrent of snow stinging his eyes. There was only one way for him to protect himself and still keep the kid safe. He knew exactly what to do, and he would do it.

Chapter One

May—Three years later

Amanda Vila stood by her window, watching the children playing outside in the shade of the large cottonwood. The bells of St. Francis Cathedral, in the heart of Santa Fe, mingled with the happy squeals and laughter of the preschoolers outside.

Starting this day-care center had taken all Amanda’s savings, and then some. But it had been worth it. She was finally back home, her business was thriving, and for the first time in over a year, she felt on top of the world.

She watched her own daughter outside, playing with the other children under the watchful eyes of her staff. She was proud of Los Tesoros Day School. When she assured parents that her day-care center was the best around, she knew it was no idle boast. She’d worked hard to make it a place she felt safe entrusting with her own treasured child.

Hearing her door open, Amanda turned around just as her assistant and friend, Bernice Goldman, came into the room.

Bernice was fifty-five. Her salt-and-pepper hair made her look slightly older, but she refused to color it, stubbornly maintaining she’d earned each and every one of her gray hairs. Life hadn’t always been kind to Bernice, Amanda knew. A lifetime of struggles had imprinted a certain harshness on her features, but that always disappeared in a burst of warmth the second she smiled.

“Mail came,” Bernice said. “All of it is routine, except this,” she added, placing a padded envelope on Amanda’s desk. “It was marked Personal.”

Amanda glanced at the hand-lettered envelope, noting there was no return address. “Strange,” she said and started removing the staples that sealed the edge. “I hate things like this that come out of nowhere. I’m always certain it’s going to be bad news.”

“I’ve known you all your life. I even baby-sat you when you were your daughter’s age. You’re pretty tough. You’ll handle whatever life throws at you.”

Amanda extracted a small white sheet of paper and a cardboard box, the kind inexpensive jewelry comes in. Scanning the typed note quickly, she glanced up. “We’ve got trouble, all right,” she said, brushing back a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair. “You know Tony Ramos?”

“The guy who got fired from the FBI after his daughter was kidnapped a few years back?” Seeing Amanda nod, Bernice shrugged. “Of course. Everyone does. He’s some sort of self-appointed vigilante nowadays. Wasn’t he thrown in jail recently?”

“He’s been released. He must have come by here last week,” Amanda said. “I saw the updated computer-generated image of his daughter on our bulletin board, which means he found a way to get in again. You’d think he’d understand why I left word for him to simply mail the flyers and not drop them by in person. We can’t have someone like him coming around when children are here. Parents would get worried. Let’s face it, he was fired from the Bureau for excessive force, and now with that arrest for brawling in a bar, it’s obvious he’s living on the edge. His reputation is gone.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of his wanting to pin it up there himself to make sure it’s done,” Bernice suggested. “He goes to all the area day-care centers personally, I’m told.”

“I only wish I knew how he’s getting in here. Our staff categorically denies helping him, and I believe them. On the other hand, there are never any signs of a break-in, so that’s not the answer.” Amanda sighed. “Now I’ve got to contact him. Fate’s having a laugh at my expense. Can you bring me his latest flyer?”

Bernice left the office and came back a moment later. “Here it is. What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you yet, but I will as soon as I can. Count on it.”

Amanda waited until Bernice had left her office, then dialed Tony Ramos’s number. Ramos’s voice was gruff. From the sound of it, she was willing to bet she’d awakened him even though it was almost noon.

Amanda quickly told him about the packet she’d just received. “The note says they have news of your child, and I was to contact you but say nothing to the police. That’s exactly what I’ve done so far. I figured you’d want to handle things yourself.”

“Correct assumption.” His voice had changed and was now completely alert. “I’ll handle it my own way. Anything else?”

“There’s a small box that came in the envelope. Shall I open it?”

“No, I’ll take care of that. I’m on my way over now,” he said.

“No. Let me meet you elsewhere.” Amanda’s thoughts were racing. Trouble seemed to follow Tony Ramos, and her business didn’t need his kind of publicity. “I’ll meet you in the little park north of the cathedral. How much time do you need?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

Amanda leaned back in the chair, trying to collect her thoughts. Why was she being used to contact Ramos? The only connection between them that she could think of was the flyer that he left here every few months. But he left an identical one at every other day-care center in the city, as well as many other places. Perhaps none of the other day-care centers could match the reputation for excellence hers had acquired. Or maybe it was just that hers was the largest ad in the Yellow Pages. At this point, it was just too hard to venture any reliable guesses.

Ten minutes later, Amanda picked up the envelope on her desk. As she started toward the door, the buzzer on her desk sounded. Ignoring it, she continued out to the reception area. “Whoever it is will have to wait, Bernice. I’ve got to leave right now.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve come to you,” a deep, masculine voice said.

Amanda saw the tall, dark-haired man stride around Bernice and come toward her. Nothing could have prepared her for the raw, muscled masculinity and vitality this man exuded when seen up close. For a moment, all she could do was stare.

“I was about to tell you,” Bernice said, “that Mr. Ramos had arrived.”

“We should talk privately,” Ramos said, then, maneuvering past Amanda, led the way into her office.

As Amanda watched, Tony stalked across the room and sat in the chair across from her desk. Anger and disbelief mingled disturbingly inside her. With great deliberation, Amanda walked around to face him but didn’t sit down. Trying to look as intimidating and commanding as he did, she leaned against her desk and regarded him boldly.

Instinct told her that he was a man who was used to getting his way. He lived in a world of violence where his wits and his fists were his two best allies. Amanda couldn’t afford to let him get the upper hand. She fixed him with an unblinking glare, and he gave her an arrogant half smile, as if he knew precisely what she was doing. Every inch of her body began to tingle. She felt as if lightning were about to strike.

“Mr. Ramos.” She forced herself to use that special tone she’d found particularly effective against people who challenged her authority.