The Last Honorable Man

“He doesn’t even know me. Why would he use his…influence to help me?”

“Because he does know me. And Gene stands by his friends.”

The ranger still did not look at her. She thought he was still insulted that she doubted his motivations, and now she had questioned his friend’s honor, too. It occurred to her that provoking him further might not be wise. Antagonizing him would only make escape more difficult.

Carefully she blunted the edge of her uneasiness until she could speak in what she hoped would sound like a conversational tone. “You and this politician are close?”

He nodded, a measure of the tension slipping from his expression. “I guess you could say that. I’ve known Gene since my highway patrol days. I, ah, helped him out of a jam once.”

He rubbed his thigh absently as if it ached. Elisa recognized the gesture. She saw it too often in her country, the soothing of phantom pain from an old wound.

“Gene kind of took me under his wing after that. Helped me get into the Rangers. Even put me up here in town. My family has a farm about ninety miles north of here. It was getting to be a hell of a commute.” He nodded down a lane that cut off the main driveway toward a two-story structure that replicated the architecture, if not the size, of the main house. “Guess I just never got around to moving out. I stay in the apartment above the carriage house there.”

“So he owes you.”

“No,” the ranger said quickly. Too quickly. Then he shrugged. “Maybe he feels like he does. But he shouldn’t. I was just doing my job.”

“Your job required you to take a bullet for him?”

His jaw slanted sideways. “How did you know?”

“Now he provides you a place to live.”

His forehead creased. “It’s not some kind of kickback, if that’s what you mean. I pay rent.”

“Even better.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She’d vowed not to antagonize him, but she couldn’t help herself. Politicians were the same worldwide, it seemed. “He is a rich man. Rich men have enemies, no? People who would hurt them for their money.”

“I suppose.”

“So for nothing more than the use of his garage, your friend takes your money every month, and gets a Texas Ranger guarding his front door.” A smug smile slipped over her lips as she shook her head. “Políticos.”

“Gene isn’t using me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She studied the flowering crepe myrtle lining the driveway. The ranger sighed noisily.

“Maybe having a cop close by makes him more comfortable,” he said. “If so, I’m glad to give him the peace of mind.”

She turned toward him. “Because he was your governor?”

“Because he is my friend.” He enunciated each word quietly, but with vehemence. She looked away. Did he really think she would so easily accept that he was exactly what he seemed, an honorable man, helping her in an effort to right the wrong he had done, and his friend, a politician, would help without a hidden agenda or profit motive?

No, he could not. She could not. Yet as the car came to a stop in the paved circle outside the mansion and the ranger lead her to the front door, she wanted to believe it.

But she had survived eight years of civil war in her country by being cautious, by relying on herself and trusting precious few. The cloak of vigilance she had sheathed herself in was hard to shed. Especially after what had happened to Eduardo.

Coming to America was to have been her chance to escape violence. She had not planned the baby she and Eduardo had created, but once she’d learned of it and accepted his offer of marriage in the United States, she had dreamed of a better life. She had dreamed of a quiet little apartment and nights filled with the sounds of city life—traffic and music and laughing voices on the street—instead of mortar fire and the cries of the dying.

She had dreamed of peace.

When she arrived in America and saw the father of her child gunned down, she had realized the idyllic life she sought did not exist.

Like all dreams, peace was only an illusion.

A trick of the mind.

Del cruised up the winding drive toward the Randolph mansion slower than was necessary to buy time to think. Gene would expect an explanation when Del showed up at his door with Elisa in tow. The problem was, there weren’t any explanations. None that made sense. Del was under investigation for the death of this woman’s fiancé. Every moment he spent in her company further compromised his position. Helping her could cast doubt on his motivations. Raise questions about his character. The cautious thing to do would be to keep as far away from her as possible.

But then, caution had never been high on his list of priorities. He wouldn’t have become a Texas Ranger if it had been. In his world, a person had two choices in every situation: he could do the right thing or the wrong thing. An honorable man always did the right thing, even if it wasn’t the safe choice or the obvious one. Helping Elisa Reyes definitely wasn’t safe. The press would come down on him like a bobcat on a wounded bird if they found out, but leaving her, pregnant and alone, to make her own way wasn’t a decision he could live with. Not when he was responsible for putting her in this situation.

None of that would make explaining her presence to Gene Randolph any easier. With his silvering hair and perpetually paternal expression, Gene might look like everybody’s grandfather, but he was sharp as a straight razor. One look at the edge in his pale-blue eyes when the door opened told Del that introductions wouldn’t be necessary. Gene knew exactly who Elisa was. What he didn’t know was what the hell she was doing on his doorstep with Del.

They made small talk as they crossed the black-and-white marble-tiled foyer, and two minutes later were settled into Gene’s library/office. Bookcases rose from the floor to the ceiling behind Gene’s massive mahogany desk. Law books, mostly, lined the shelves, but the spines of those on the lower racks sported popular fiction titles, mysteries and novelized true war stories. The fact that these were within easiest reach of Gene’s oversize leather chair reflected his friend’s retired status, Del figured.

For a moment he regretted dragging his friend back into the bureaucratic world he’d escaped. If anyone deserved his peace, it was Gene. But twenty years in politics had given the former governor a way with sticky situations, and Del’s predicament was about as sticky as a fresh roll of flypaper.

“What do you know about alien residency requirements?” Del asked, ending the small talk. Propping his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward in his wing chair. In the matching seat next to him, Elisa sat back, her ankles and knees pressed together and her hands in her lap.

“You don’t sit in the governor’s chair in Texas without going around the block a few times with the INS.” Raising his sterling eyebrows gently, Gene studied them both across the desk. “I take it Ms. Reyes is the alien in question?”

Del didn’t consider it was his place to talk about Elisa’s situation, so he waited for her to explain. A heartbeat passed, then another, before she inclined her head stiffly. Silently.

Damn the woman’s pride. It would be her undoing.

“I understand you were engaged to Eduardo Garcia,” Gene said softly.

Again she simply nodded, ending with her chin high. She looked noble, genteel, bearing her fate with the serenity of a Madonna. And beneath it all, despite her best attempts to cover it up, she looked sad.

“I’m sorry,” Gene said, meeting her gaze head-on and holding it. If Del wasn’t mistaken, his simple sincerity earned him a notch of respect from Elisa.

“You are not at fault,” she said.

Del felt the disclaimer like a kick in the gut. They all knew who shouldered the blame for this situation.

“We need to know how to get her green card even now that Eduardo is… Even without Eduardo,” he said, forcing his jaw to release its clench.

Gene’s eyelids drooped sadly as he broke eye contact with Elisa and looked at Del. “If the marriage never took place—”

“There’s got to be some way,” Del said.

Gene thought. “Do you have a marriage license? Any documentation?”

Elisa hesitated only a second before shaking her head.

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing—”