A Little Texas

“Because of this.” Justus’s eyes shifted to the tray on the motorized wheelchair. The debilitating stroke had caused him to lose mobility in his right arm. His left arm was weak, but he could use it.

Rick picked up the folded paper. The heaviness of the paper spoke much about the sender of the letter. This woman meant business.

He unfolded it and read silently while the old man watched him. The note was brief and to the point. The woman wanted money to keep quiet.

“Well?” Rick said, refolding the paper. “You want me to kill her?”

Justus laughed at his jest. It was a running joke between them. Justus didn’t need a Hispanic jack-of-all-trades to take out his competition. The old man could crush whomever got in his way. Money was his weapon, always had been, and Rick knew the power of that particular sword.

“No, I want you to bring her to me.”

Rick stiffened. He didn’t have time to play nursemaid to some upstart claim to the Mitchell fortune. He had a center to open. The rehabilitation center was the promise Justus had made him the year after Ryan died, and starting next week, Rick would be attempting the near impossible—bringing gang members from the streets of Dallas to the countryside of East Texas for a chance to change their live’s direction. It was a bold undertaking, but Rick wanted to give others what had been given to him. A second chance.

“I can’t. I’m no longer employed by you. My focus is on the center.”

“I can’t trust anyone else.” The old man rolled even closer. So close Rick could smell his Aramis cologne, see the deep grooves around his shocking blue eyes. “Please.”

“I have to focus on Phoenix.”

“You must do this for me, Enrique. This is all I shall ask. One last favor and I will sign the land over to the foundation. Think about it. The center would be secure.”

Rick felt his heart pound. Mitchell did not part with much in life. The center was funded through Ryan’s foundation. They’d received some federal money, but much of it came through the foundation. Justus was now offering something more. “All for finding this woman and bringing her to you?”

The old man smiled. White veneers flashed, a gold crown winked. “Finding the girl won’t be hard. She used a post office box. Probably thought I hadn’t kept tabs on her, but, of course, I always have.”

Rick glanced at the folded note in his hand. It had not been signed. Just a post office box number given. The girl lived in Las Vegas. “Of course you would. You always know your enemies.”

Something flashed again in Justus’s eyes. It was an emotion Rick had seen before in those blue depths, and he knew it well. Regret stared at him in his mirror each and every morning.

“She’s not an enemy. There is much of me in this girl. She’s determined.”

“And underhanded,” Rick said. “How can you admire a girl who would threaten to ruin you unless you give her money?”

“It’s not so different than what I would have done once. She’s got her back against a wall. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have heard from her. Besides, there’s not much left to ruin, is there? Other than the money, of course.” The smile Justus gave reminded Rick of a clown in a fun house. He supposed the atrophy on the man’s right side was to blame, but still, he couldn’t help the prickles that crept along his skin.

The only sound in the room was the hum of the restored soda machine in the corner. Rick wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with this woman, but the allure of owning the hilly land surrounding the center won over the doubt embedded in his gut.

He’d started trusting Justus Mitchell long ago and hadn’t regretted it yet. The man had been ruthless, conniving and dangerous, but the day Ryan died had changed everything about Justus.

Nothing defeated a man like the death of his son. And nothing gave a man purpose like finishing the job his dead son had started. Justus had lost Ryan but found Jesus, and he’d declared himself transformed. From that day on, he had tried to perpetuate Ryan’s legacy of seeing value in helping others.

“Fine. I’ll go to Vegas, but it has to be tomorrow. The center opens next week and I’ve got five guys coming. That’s more important than this girl.”

Justus frowned but didn’t disagree. “Good. I’ll arrange for the flight. She’s expecting me to send the money with no questions, but she’ll have to give me more than some contrived claim. When you show up, we’ll see how serious she is about this venture. The girl will dance to my tune if she wants something from me.”

“Don’t we all?” Rick said.

A laugh blasted past Justus’s lips. “You learned long ago, didn’t you? I’m a hard man, there’s little doubt of that, Enrique, but I have a heart somewhere in here. I think.” The old man moved his left hand jerkily toward his shrunken chest.

Rick nodded. “What’s her name?”

“Kate Newman.”

“She’s gonna be trouble,” Rick said, slipping off the pool table.

“All women are.”

KATE BALANCED ON HER TOES in order to check the box at the post office. Why they’d given her one in the highest row she couldn’t guess. At barely five feet, it was obvious she’d have a hard time obtaining the mail. Must have been retaliation from the clerk, whose invitation to the movies she’d turned down. Some guys couldn’t handle even the gentlest of brush-offs. Jeez. She’d been nice about it. Or as nice as she could be.

She tottered on her toes, her hand barely brushing the inside of the empty box. Damn. Nothing.

“Can I help you, chavala?” The low-accented question came from over her shoulder.

She dropped back onto her three-inch heels. “Nope.”

She turned around and met eyes as dark as sin.

The man stood with one arm against the tiled wall. His posture affected ease, but she could tell there was nothing easy about him. Energy radiated from him like a wave of heat off the Vegas desert. “You sure?”

Kate bristled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

His gaze slid down her body, but she was used to men looking her over. She waited while he took in her high-heeled boots, textured black tights, ruffled blue taffeta skirt, skin-tight lycra turtleneck, hoop earrings and short raven hair. “Get your fill?”

A quick smile crossed his lips. “Not quite.”

A strange heat gathered inside her at his words. They were spoken quietly, with a hint of a Spanish accent. “Well, too bad.”

She spun and stalked toward the glass doors at the front of the post office. She could feel him following her. Alarm curled around her gut.

She faced him. “Listen, buddy. That wasn’t an invitation. Back off.”

The man stopped, crossed his arms and grinned. “Oh, man. You’re a live one.”

Kate swallowed. He acted as though he knew her. “Whatever.”

She turned around. He followed her. Alarm shrieked in her head. This dude, though seriously sexy, was off his rocker. What kind of lowlife stalked women in a post office? She tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He seemed right on her heels. In fact, she could smell his spicy warmth. It was dark and delicious. Forbidden.

She pushed through the doors and emerged into the blinding Nevada sunlight. Her car was parked under a withered palm tree, right beside an economy rental car. The man still trailed her. She didn’t know what to do. It was broad daylight—surely he wouldn’t try to abduct her. There were people crawling over the whole complex. It would be lunacy. Stupid. And the man didn’t look stupid.

She slowed and watched as he passed her. He pressed a button on his key ring and the rental honked a greeting. Relief washed over her.

She unlocked her own car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.

“Kate.”

She froze, one leg in the car, one still on the pavement. The guy knew her name. Her heart pounded and the first thing that popped into her mind was that the IRS had found her.

Which was ridiculous. Wendell had said she and Jeremy would have a month before any action should take place. And the IRS didn’t have field agents, did they?