The Last Honorable Man

“She’s pregnant,” Del cut in harshly. “It’s Garcia’s baby. An American baby.”

“Not until it’s born, it’s not,” Gene said gently. “And not without Garcia around to acknowledge it as his. There’s no way to prove—”

Del shoved to his feet, rocking his chair. “Are you saying she’s lying?”

He surprised himself with his fervor. Who was he to leap to her defense? He was not exactly her knight in shining armor.

Gene warned him off with narrowed eyes. “I’m saying that the INS will not document this baby as an American citizen without proof. Proof we don’t appear to have.”

“We’ll do a DNA test.”

“Four or five months from now, when the baby is born, maybe. But Ms. Reyes will have been deported by then, most likely. Even if you find facilities in San Ynez to run their end of the procedure, you’re going to need Garcia’s DNA to match to. The exhumation order alone could take months. Then after the matching, there’s INS applications, interviews—”

“Are you telling me it’s hopeless?” Stalking across the room he rubbed the knotted muscles in the back of his neck. “There’s got to be a way to keep her here.”

“I didn’t say it was hopeless,” Gene said. “Just that it wouldn’t be easy.”

He raised his head. “So where do we start?”

Gene focused on Elisa. “With a soft bed and a hot meal.”

Elisa’s eyes widened.

Gene turned to Del and said, “Ms. Reyes looks like she could use some rest. Why don’t you show her upstairs to one of the guest rooms while I go see what I can wrangle up in the kitchen? Tomorrow I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out.”

One look at Elisa and Del realized Gene was right. She sat with her back straight and her shoulders square, but her almond complexion had paled to chalk and her neck was corded with strain. Blue circles dragged her eyelids down. She looked like a woman holding on to her dignity by her last fingernail.

She didn’t want her fate in the hands of politician; she’d made that clear before they’d arrived. But there was nothing more to do tonight. Del doubted she’d be happy about staying with Gene, but she couldn’t stay with him. There was a line between honor and insanity, and taking a beautiful, vulnerable, untouchable woman to his tiny apartment definitely fell on the crazy side.

Gene’s offer was generous. This was the best place for her. The only place for her, he told himself as he led her into a room decorated in peonies and lace and smelling like water lilies. At least every time she looked at Gene through those fathomless dark-chocolate eyes of hers, she wouldn’t be looking at the man who ruined her life.

So why, as he said his goodbyes and closed the door on the fear she tried—unsuccessfully—to hide from him, did he feel as if he was abandoning her?

The room belonged on the pages of a storybook. Elisa stood in the center and turned a slow circle, taking it all in. Ruffles exploded from every seam of the comforter covering the huge four-poster bed. The gauzy canopy over it matched the drapes filtering the sunset through the window. The water pitcher on the cherry wood dresser looked antique, and the carpet underfoot was as thick and soft as the moss floor of a rainforest.

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the cover. As a child she’d dreamed of having a room like this. She’d played make-believe and pretended her cot was a mattress as soft as a lamb, like this one, and that sheets full of fresh-smelling flowers like these surrounded her while she slept. But she wasn’t a child anymore. In a few months she would have a baby of her own to care for.

Randolph had said she would be deported. She couldn’t let that happen. Her baby didn’t have a chance in San Ynez.

She had to leave tonight. La Migra couldn’t deport her if they couldn’t find her. She didn’t know what kind of life she and her child would have here, but it had to be better than the certain death that awaited in her country.

She lay down on her side, her knees drawn up and her palm spread on her belly. Downstairs she heard voices still. The ranger and the politician. She would have to wait until the house was quiet to make her escape. Until then she would rest. She was tired. So tired…

She closed her eyes. With the sound of his voice drifting up to her, his image formed in her mind. They both stood on clouds of lace and ruffles in a soft, beautiful place. But a great wind kicked up, buffeted them, and then she was falling, falling and beneath her the ranger waited, his strong arms open, ready to catch her.

“Everyone’s looking for a fall guy, Coop. And you’re the most likely candidate. Getting mixed up with her isn’t going to help your case.”

Leaning his hips against Gene’s kitchen counter, Del folded his arms over his chest and scowled. “What am I supposed to do, let her be sent back to that hell hole she came from?”

“I’m not sure you’re going to have much choice.” Del’s scowl deepened. “Hold on, now,” Gene said, raising his hand. “I didn’t say we couldn’t work on it. But face it, in the end, you may have to let her go.”

The possibility left a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in Del’s chest. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. Wasn’t sure what he would do if it came down to it. He wasn’t just trying to save Elisa Reyes, he realized. He was trying to save himself. From a long, slow death by guilt. “What do you know about the investigation?” he asked to change the subject.

“Not much.”

Del snorted. “When you ask questions, people answer. And I know you’ve been asking questions. You’ve got to know something.”

“Nothing I should be telling you.”

“Come on, Gene. You’re not going to stonewall me, too, are you? I just want to know what’s going on.”

The creases in Gene’s face deepened. He aged a decade in the span of seconds. “They’ve got one dead gun dealer and one dead security guard. Nothing to suggest it’s not exactly what it looks like. An innocent man caught in the crossfire.”

“They verified his employment, that he was supposed to be working that day?”

“Ten minutes after the shooting.”

“And he’s not in any our of the databases, NCIC, Interpol? No ties to smuggling, gangs, drugs, any of the usual suspects?” If it could be proven that Eduardo Garcia had somehow been part of the gun deal gone bad, it would mean that he’d willingly put himself in harm’s way for the purpose of criminal activity. In the eyes of the law, he, then, not Del, was liable for his death. The investigators would declare it a good shoot.

Del would be vindicated. Not that it would make him feel any better.

Gene shook his head, deflating Del’s hope. “He’s so clean he squeaks.”

Desperation left Del’s throat raw. “What about the two that got away? Maybe they know something.”

“No sign of them. What about the woman? What did you get out of her? She know anything?”

Del’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “Is that why you think I brought her here? To find out what she knows?”

“She didn’t tell the DPS guys much. It occurred to me you could help your case if you got her to talk.”

Del cursed, loudly and violently, before yanking the back door open and stepping out. Gene caught it just before it slammed shut behind him. He chuckled. “Calm down, boy. I didn’t mean anything.”

When Del turned, Gene stood on the stoop with his hands in his pockets like a recalcitrant teen. “The hell you didn’t,” Del accused.

“All right, so maybe I just wanted to hear you deny it myself.” He took a step into the grass. “And if I question your motivations, you know others are going to. You’re taking a big risk hooking up with her.”

“What was I supposed to do, leave her lying on the side of the highway?”

“No, don’t suppose you could have done that.” Hands still in his pockets, Gene rocked heel to toe, waiting.

Del turned his head up to the sky. The stars were coming out on another perfectly clear Texas night. “It’s my fault, Gene.”

“And now you gotta fix it.”

“Yeah, if I can.”

“You can’t save them all, Del.”