Not Without Her Son

“Are you crazy?” Julia shook off his arm. “It was one man on a motorcycle and he’s underneath our car, probably bleeding to death. We’ve got to see if he’s okay!” Without waiting for Jorge’s reply, she pushed open the door again and tumbled to the road. She heard him curse again and call her back, but she ignored him.

Falling to her hands and knees, she looked beneath the chassis. Wedged against one wheel, the motorcycle was a tangled mess, the metal handlebars twisted against their front bumper, the leather seat ripped halfway off. She caught her breath, the smell of gasoline and rubber strong as her eyes searched the wreckage. She spotted the driver on the side of the road, his leather pants and jacket torn, blood oozing down his right temple.

Scrambling to her feet, Julia ran to where the man lay. By the time she got there, Jorge had opened his own door and was now standing over him.

Holding a gun.

“Put that away,” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?” She dropped to the man’s side as his eyes fluttered open.

“Are you all right?” Without waiting for his answer, she turned back to Guillermo. He still held the pistol. “Find me the first-aid kit,” she said. “It’s under the seat in the rear.”

Clearly displeased with the turn of events, Guillermo hesitated. “I don’t like the way this looks,” he said nervously. “Return to the truck and let me call for help. This isn’t good—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Go get me the damn kit.”

He backed up reluctantly and she focused once more on the injured man.

“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less aware. With no helmet to protect him, she would have expected much worse than the raw scrape on one temple. “Are you okay?”

His gaze flickered to the SUV behind her then fastened on her face. That’s when she realized his fingers had formed a handcuff around her wrist. He yanked her closer before she could react.

“Meredith sent me.” His voice was a rasp that grated down her spine. “Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest.”

CHAPTER THREE

JORGE ROUNDED the fender and the man dropped his hand from her wrist. Blinking in confusion, Julia didn’t have enough time to make sense of his words before Jorge was at her side.

“Here.” He thrust a small white box in her hands, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the stranger by her feet.

Julia took the first-aid kit numbly. Meredith had sent this man to help her? Who was he? What could he possibly do? Had he really come from Meredith or was this some new kind of cruel trick Miguel had dreamed up to test Julia?

She stared at the man and he stared back at her, pushing a strand of his long, brown hair out of his face as he did so. His hazel eyes held a toughness she couldn’t ignore, their severity a match to the muscular body his shredded clothing revealed. Because of his body, he looked to be in his twenties, but the resolution in those eyes told her he was much older. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his lower jaw and she guessed his last bath had occurred about the same time as his last shave. He seemed poised, as if waiting for her to make the first move, but his look told her she didn’t have long.

Afraid something even more dangerous would happen if she stayed quiet, Julia spoke recklessly, spewing out the first thing that came into her mind. “I don’t believe this! What on earth are you doing here? My gosh, is this crazy or what—”

The stranger shot her an approving look then he struggled to sit up, extending a hand to Jorge as he did so. “Stan MacDuff,” he supplied, looking at Jorge as he spoke. “How ya doing?”

His hands at his side and his gaze never leaving “Stan’s,” Jorge spoke to Julia. “You know this man?”

“I’m Portia Lauer’s nephew from Austin.” His drawl became more pronounced as he seemed to mock the bodyguard’s concern. “That’s in Texas, you know.”

“Julia?” Jorge’s voice deepened as he said her name, his voice wary.

A wave of unease rolled over her as she glanced at Jorge, who continued, “I asked you a question. Do you know this man?”

The biker looked at her, as well. She sealed her fate with three words. “Yes, I do.”

Jorge’s suspicious expression deepened but, after a heart-pausing moment, he tucked his weapon into his belt and put out his hand. The injured man winced and let out a sharp exhalation as Jorge pulled him to his feet. Julia stood, too.

Ignoring the man’s exclamation of surprise, Jorge patted him down with efficient thoroughness. He finished and stepped back, his wariness marginally less visible. Stan winked at Julia before straightening his shirt. “You guys get real friendly around here mighty fast.”

“This is a dangerous place.” Jorge’s reply sounded like a warning instead of an answer. “It is necessary to take precautions.”

“That may be true,” Stan drawled, “but where I come from, we at least know each other’s names when we get that close to someone’s cojones.”

Julia felt as if she should be able to see the tension it was so thick. Her pulse racing, she spoke quickly. “Of course. Where are my manners? Stan, this is an associate of my husband’s. Jorge Guillermo.”

The two exchanged a handshake as Stan glanced toward the SUV. “Damn, Julia Anne, I’m sorry about your vehicle there. You okay?”

The use of her middle name startled her. He was trying to prove he knew Meredith.

“We’re fine.” Her voice was a little strained, and she hoped Jorge thought it was caused by shock from the accident. “But I’m not so sure about you. Why don’t you let me look at that scrape? It’s bleeding pretty badly.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that serious. We can clean it up at Aunt Portia’s. That’s where you’re heading, right? She told me you were coming over later today. Didn’t know I’d run right into you on the way!”

What on earth was happening? How did this total stranger know she was going to Portia’s? Julia hadn’t told Meredith her plans, had she?

“Portia’s is exactly where we were going,” she acknowledged. “But are you sure? I think a trip to the clinic might be in order first—”

“No way,” he interrupted. “It’s nothing but a scratch. Don’t think I can say the same for the bike, though.”

The three of them looked at the crumpled motorcycle.

“I could probably pull the cycle out from underneath if you could back up the SUV.” He turned to Jorge. “What do you think?”

Jorge’s expression remained guarded. Miguel surrounded himself with smart people and Jorge was no exception, despite his frequent employment as Julia’s babysitter. He and Miguel were as close as brothers and had been ever since soon after they’d met at the University of Texas where they’d both been business majors.

The connection registered immediately. There was no such thing as a coincidence. What did it mean that this man was from Austin, too? Her earlier apprehension returned. What was going on?

Interrupting her thoughts, Jorge handed her the keys. “Back up the truck,” he ordered. “I’ll help him remove the motorcycle.”

He didn’t trust her to be alone with the man—not even for the short time it would take to reverse the SUV. Or was it vice versa? While considering, she hesitated for less than a second, but Jorge noticed regardless.

“Is there a problem?” he asked sharply.

“No,” she said. “Absolutely not. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. Is it safe to do this? We could call a wrecker—”

“We’ll be fine,” the biker said with a slow smile, his eyes locking on hers. “Just fine. Don’t you worry.”

Once, when she’d been six years old, Julia had left the back door of their Mississippi home open and a rattler had slithered inside. When she’d seen the snake in the kitchen a few minutes later, she’d screamed so loudly the yardman had run into the house without even knocking. He’d compensated for his lapse in protocol by dispatching the unwanted guest.

Since her marriage, she’d often thought she’d let another snake into her life.

Suddenly Julia had the feeling she’d done it again.

THE TWO MEN YANKED the remains of the cycle from beneath the SUV, the Harley’s fender screeching a shrill protest against the pavement. They proceeded to gather up the bits and pieces scattered around the road and put them in a pile to one side.

“There’s a decent mechanic in town,” Guillermo said when they finished. “But I don’t know if he’s good enough to handle this.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands with it. “He’ll need parts from Bogota. If I were you, I’d start looking for another mode of transportation.”