Читать книгу The Last Honorable Man - Vickie Taylor - Страница 10

“You got something against politicians?” Del asked. The words sounded casual, but the look that accompanied them made Elisa’s stomach churn. This time the illness had little to do with her pregnancy.

She was defenseless against that sharp, gray gaze of his. It pierced the armor of aloofness in which she’d cloaked herself, like a knife through an overripe mango. The ranger’s eyes cut to the core of her. Bared her very essence. Given enough time, all her secrets would be exposed to him. All her doubts.

She couldn’t let that happen. She’d lived in the jungle long enough to know better than to show weakness to a predator.

“Politicians are all corrupt.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded venomous. Lifting her chin, she turned away. The wrought-iron gate before them clanked and swung open with a mechanical buzz. Past it, park-like grounds rolled over a series of low hills. A red-brick mansion lorded over the estate from the highest knoll. Three stories high and Georgian in style, with thick white pillars supporting wide, shady porches hung with green ferns on all three levels, the house looked big enough to sleep an army. A wing swept back from each side of the stacked porches. Elisa counted seven windows she assumed to be bedrooms on each floor of each wing.

Make that two armies.

Her chest burned with the fire of the oppressed. How many slept in gutters so that one man could sleep in opulence?

“All those who live like this are criminals, or they take kickbacks to let the criminals operate. Like cannibals, they feed off of their own people,” she added.

Despite the danger to her privacy, Elisa turned back to him, ready to meet the sharp point of his gaze. To her surprise, she found him staring out the windshield as if trying to see the landscape through her eyes.

“Not Gene Randolph,” he finally said, shaking his head. Whatever he’d been looking for, he hadn’t found it.

Elisa hadn’t expected him to. He couldn’t possibly see what she saw. He hadn’t lived her hell. Had never been dragged through a place like the house on the hill, as she had. Marched through the dining hall where guests ate off bone china, to the cellar where she ate with the rats.

The memory brought a cold sweat to the back of her neck. She smelled fear and the stink of human excrement, heard the cries of the dying, as if she were back in that hole. Instinctively her hand covered her abdomen protectively.

“He’s a good man,” the ranger said. Behind them the gate clanked shut, sounding to Elisa’s ears like a cell door. “You can trust him.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up within her. “You want me to trust a politician?” She rolled her gaze toward him. “Ranger, I do not even trust you.”

He didn’t say anything, but his lips seemed thinner as he put the car in gear and eased it forward. The silver glow in his eyes dimmed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was…hurt?

Because she didn’t trust him?

He had made a good show so far of playing the repentant warrior, bound by honor to help the woman left behind by the man he had killed in error. But surely he did not expect her to put her faith, her fate and that of her baby, in his hands so easily. He couldn’t possibly. And still her lack of trust bothered him.

His reaction confused her. Where she came from, men like him—policía—didn’t care what people like her thought. She was no one to him. Yet he had not treated her like no one. Another day, another time, she would have liked to ask why. Today, here, she just wanted to get away, to grieve for Eduardo and raise her child alone.

She had found a way to escape a place like this once before. She would find a way again. Soon.

“This Randolph, he is in charge of the Texas Rangers?” she asked, fingering the door handle nervously.

“No, we have a new governor now.” He didn’t look at her.

“Then why have we come here?”

“Because Gene knows how the system works. And he still has a lot of influence.”

Influence. A fancy word for power. Control. The ability to crush lives. People. Elisa’s pulse fluttered in the base of her throat like a fledgling’s wings.

“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—”

“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.”

Del didn’t want to think about that, not here, not now. No, but I can damn sure try to save this one.

But that thought pealed through his mind like church bells all the way back to the carriage house. In his apartment he couldn’t concentrate on the book he’d been reading for the maelstrom in his head. He couldn’t unwind, so he made himself a cup of decaf coffee and went out to sit on the back stairs to the apartment. Usually he found the view calming. He could see all the way to downtown Dallas. Watch the big lighted ball on top of Reunion Tower turn.

He could see that all was right with his corner of the world.

Only, tonight nothing felt right.

What if he couldn’t save her?

No. He refused to think that way. He couldn’t bring Garcia back to life. Maybe he couldn’t even repair the damage to his career or fill this great, yawning emptiness inside him. But he could damn well keep Elisa Reyes in the United States where she and her child would be safe.

He stopped, the surety of that one thought gusting through him like a gale-force wind. Whatever it took, he could not let Elisa Reyes be sent back to San Ynez. Whether she wanted his help or not, she would have it. He owed her that much.

And Del Cooper damn well paid his debts.

Elisa hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she’d been so tired. The men’s voices—the politician and the policeman—had droned on. She’d listened, but her eyelids had grown heavy.

Now the night, and her chance to escape, was almost over. According to the clock by the bed, dawn would break in another hour, and she panicked as she remembered last night’s conversations.

She couldn’t go back to San Ynez. She wouldn’t let them send her.

Anger and fear razed her nerves, making her hands shake. She’d come to America to start a new life for her child. Eduardo was gone, but he would want her to stay, to give their child that life even without him. How could a parent not want that?

Silently Elisa rose and found her boots, her bag. She’d seen two cars in the garage the ranger called the carriage house last night. It didn’t take long for her to find the keys hung neatly in a cabinet by the door. Apparently the politician counted on the iron gate around his property and the ranger who lived above his precious cars to protect them. The lock on that cabinet wouldn’t stop anyone.

Inside the convertible with the leaping jaguar on the hood, she fumbled with the keyring. Quietly. She had to be quiet, or the ranger would hear.

Pushing the only key she hadn’t yet tried into the ignition, she dropped the whole ring. Ay, Diós. Then she crossed herself for her transgression. When she bent her head to retrieve the keys, the seat creaked beneath her. The rich smell of leather filled her senses as she groped around the floorboard.

When she finally got a grip on the keys and raised her head, she found the ranger standing just beyond the front bumper. His thick forearms were folded over his broad chest, and the starlight behind him gave his gray eyes a silvery glow, pinning her in place.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

Breaking the eye contact, she shoved the key home and twisted. The engine purred to life. Before she could put it in gear, though, the car dipped and jounced. She jerked her head up. Her eyes widened at the sight of the ranger’s boots clomping across the polished hood. He easily hopped over the windshield and landed in the seat next to her. “Don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” he asked. “Just to make sure Gene gets his car back.”

She flinched at the implication that she was stealing the car. Of course, she was stealing the car. But it was necessary. Her child’s life was at stake. “Let me go,” she said, angling her chin.

Casually he reached over and switched off the ignition. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Except to help you.”

“So that you can clear your conscience?”

His eyes turned cold. “Lady, it’s going to take a lot more than you to clear my conscience.”

“Then let me go.”

“Go where? San Ynez?”

Her anger flared to match his. Her hands clenched around the steering wheel. “No. I can’t go back there.” Going home meant certain death. She couldn’t escape the soldiers with a baby.

“Where, then?”

“I will find a place.” She could take care of herself. She’d been taking care of herself—and a lot of other people—for eight years now.

“On the street? What kind of life is that?”

“Is it worse than starving in San Ynez? Being hunted by military police who protect the coca fields and massacre their own people?” She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I will survive.”

“And your baby?”

Elisa’s cramped stomach muscles fluttered, reminding her of the child within. She could take care of herself, she was sure of that. But a baby? She could stitch an open wound with a sewing needle, defuse an antipersonnel land mine with a screwdriver and a stick. But she knew nothing about babies. Delivering them or caring for them.

He had a way of striking at the core of her fears, this ranger.

“At least he will have a chance,” she said, laying her hand protectively over her middle. Del followed the movement with his eyes, his lips tightening.

“There is another way. For both of you.”

She didn’t want to ask how. Wouldn’t trust him even when he answered, despite that dependable-looking face and the sincerity in his expression. But how could she keep silent with all she had at stake? “What way?”

“There are immigration lawyers. They can appeal your case to the INS.”

“So that La Migra knows right where to find me when they’re ready to throw me out? No.”

“Gene Randolph has contacts in the State Department. He might be able to push something through. A hardship application or political asylum.”

Elisa laughed in disbelief. “Put my fate in the hands of Immigration and a politician?”

“Give the system a chance. No one wants you to suffer because of what happened to Eduardo.”

To her horror, her eyes suddenly warmed, watered. Despising the weakness, and blaming it on hormones, she blinked back the tears. “I trusted the system once, in my country,” she said, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t shake. “I went to the university and studied economics and English. I worked within our government to build industry and commerce. I spoke to student groups about making our country stronger, improving trade relations with America and Europe. I was giving this speech when a colonel in the army of San Ynez, Colonel Sanchez, decided he should run the country, not the elected president. With the troops behind him, he overran the presidential palace. Presidente Herrerra was taken to sea and killed, and Sanchez became our new leader. I was thrown in jail, chained and interrogated as a dissident for three days before I escaped with my brothers. So forgive me if I do not easily trust the system.”

She expected the ranger to be shocked, then to argue that that was San Ynez. This was America. The great, infallible America.

He surprised her. His expression warmed, not with anger, but with understanding. His mouth almost smiled, as if a weight had been lifted from the corners with the making of some great decision. He covered her hand on the steering wheel with his, lifted it, held her fingers lightly. His hands weren’t smooth; she knew that from other times he’d touched her. But for the first time, she realized she liked their coarseness. Roughened hands were a sign of strength. A symbol of a man’s dedication to a cause, be it chopping wood or plowing fields. She wondered how Ranger Cooper had earned his calluses.

“Okay then, don’t trust the system,” he said, his voice a smooth contrast to his rough hands. “Just trust me.”

She stared at him, unsure what to say next. She couldn’t trust him. He was policía—the worst of the worst in her country. But something about him tugged at her, made her want to believe. Perhaps just her emotions, run away again.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few hours, and there is one sure way to guarantee you can stay in America.”

“Eduardo was the only way.” Her voice sounded faraway, small.

“No,” he said. He paused. When she brought her eyes back to his, his chest rose and fell with a single deep breath before he spoke. “You can marry me instead.”