Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops) (16 page)

Ben caught Liz’s eye and satisfaction surged through her when he seemed not to notice Sheila. It was stupid and petty—and there was no way it meant anything. But she was glad the gravity of their situation took precedence over a flirtation. Is that all it was, a flirtation?

“Excuse me,” Liz said, and started toward him. “Everything all right?” she asked when she reached his side.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let's step outside.” He opened the door and she preceded him out of the room. He shut the door behind him, then grasped her elbow and urged her a few paces from the door. “That was Captain Medina. The two agents assigned to protect you will be in Las Cruces early afternoon the day after tomorrow. Once they give the okay, we'll head over.” 

“You were on the phone for ten minutes. That's a sixty-second instruction. What else?” 

“Nothing that concerns you, Liz.” 

“Until Mr. Sanchez is in jail, all of this concerns me. What did he say about your altercation with Agent Masters?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing happened—or rather, they're not reporting it as an altercation. Emotions are high, they were concerned about not having you in protective custody. They're talking like it was nothing more than a heated discussion.” 

“That's not true,” she said.

Ben shook his head. “It's better this way. We won't accomplish anything by forcing the matter.” 

“He pulled a gun on you,” she insisted.

“Technically, he didn't.” Ben said.

“You think I'm wrong? You think I didn't see him grab the gun?” 

Ben grasped her shoulders. “Relax. The fact the gun ended up on the floor means he had it out of his holster.” 

“Then we have to tell the truth.” 

“We've got bigger fish to fry. I have to keep you safe until we reach Las Cruces.” 

“Then you're going to Mexico?” 

“The plan hasn’t changed, Liz.”

Fear lanced through her. “I don't like this.” 

He grinned. “Yep, you like me.” 

Embarrassed warmth washed over her.

“I saw you looking at me.” 

“What—” 

“I know when a woman's looking at me, Ms. Monahan.” 

She suddenly became aware of his fingers grasping her shoulders, but narrowed her eyes. “You have a healthy ego, Mr. Hunter.” 

“Yep,” he replied.

The door handled turned. Ben released her and stepped back as the door opened. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the party.

Liz marveled at how at ease Ben appeared to be. Anyone who didn’t know what he was hiding would believe he was completely engrossed in the party. He sat on the edge of the couch, attention fixed on the game playing on the seventy-inch TV. A member of the opposing team fumbled the ball and Ben leapt to his feet alongside another of the guests and whooped. Both men dropped back onto the couch, and Ben grabbed a chip from the platter on the long table in front of them, scooped up ranch dip and ate the chip in one bite.

His gaze caught hers. He grinned, then stood and her pulse quickened when he headed toward her. Heat spread up her cheeks and she feared he would notice her embarrassment. He reached her chaise lounge near the sliding glass patio door and Liz tensed when she thought he intended to join her on the chaise. A corner of his mouth twitched as he grasped the straight back chair behind her, pulled it up alongside the couch, and sat down. She willed her heart to still when he leaned on the arm of the chaise.

His attention returned to the TV as he said, “Enjoying the party, Ms. Monahan?”

“I am,” she replied. “You seem to be having a good time.”

“As good a time as can be had,” he looked at her, “in a group.”

She rolled her eyes. “I should have fired you when I had the chance.”

He laughed and Liz found herself torn between desire and affection. What would it be like to grow old with this man? What would he be like ten years from now…twenty? Like his father. No. She liked Brandon Hunter. He was a no-nonsense man. But Ben was warmer, less aloof...at least with her. The thought brought another wave of heat across her cheeks.

“You’re thinking,” Ben said.

Liz gave a half-smile. “There’s a lot to think about. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His gaze turned speculative. “Yes, but the look on your face suggests your thoughts are personal in nature.”

She glanced at the guests whose attentions were glued to the TV—even Sheila seemed not to notice them—then murmured, “There’s that healthy ego.”

“I have eyes, Ms. Monahan,” he replied but, to her relief, returned his gaze to the TV and said, “You don’t seem interested in the game. Not your favorite teams?”

“I like football,” she said. “Though I don’t know as much about the game as the rest of you.”

“By ‘the rest of you,’ you mean Sheila Antonio.”

Liz started at the astute response, and lifted her shoulders in what she fervently prayed was a nonchalant shrug. “She knows the game.”

Their team intercepted a pass and Ben gave a shout of triumph in unison with several of the other men. Then he leaned toward her and said, “Knowledge of football isn’t a relationship requirement.” He looked at her, eyes stern. “I’m no boy, Liz. I know what I want.”

“Ben—”

“Is this the first time you’ve been to El Paso?” he asked.

Liz hesitated. He’d purposely ended the conversation. That, she admitted, was the mature thing to do. So why, then, did she want to throttle him?

“I make a trip here once a year for a small but significant fashion show.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.”

She laughed. “This was your first modeling job, remember?”

”I’m not likely to forget. But we would have met one way or another.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate.”

“All the best moments are fate.” He groaned when the opposition made a touchdown, then asked, “Have you seen much of El Paso other than hotel rooms and fashion shows?”

“No time.”

“I need to take you to the National Border Patrol museum,” he said. “It’s small, but impressive. The memorial for the agents who lost their lives guarding our borders is something everyone should see.”

“I believe you’re right,” she murmured.

He looked at her, eyes intense.

“Guarding our borders is an important job,” she said.

Gratitude softened his features and Liz suddenly wondered how she was going to leave him behind when all this was over.

The clock hit ten past midnight and half the guests still remained at the party.

“Where do you two plan to stay this evening?” the senator asked.

Liz started to answer, but Ben said, “A hotel.” 

“Nonsense,” he said. “You'll stay here.” 

Liz glanced at Ben, then said, “You have a houseful as it is. We don't want to impose.” 

“Young lady, this house has six bedrooms, and a mother-in-law cottage a hundred feet from the main house. The cottage sleeps ten. I have Iron Horse and the offensive line in the cottage. My wife convinced Sheila to stay the night so they can go riding in the morning. That leaves four vacant bedrooms.” 

Before Ben could refuse, Liz said, “That’s very kind of you, Senator. We accept.” 

Half an hour later, the senator's maid showed Liz to a bedroom one door down from Ben’s guestroom. She stripped, turned on the shower, and stepped beneath the warm water. Ben hadn't said anything more about his plans to return to Mexico, but she had been unable to think of anything else. Try as she might, even the shower didn’t relax her. Liz dried, put on bra and panties, slipped between the sheets, turned off the bedside lamp, and listened for sounds of movement in Ben’s room. All was quiet. In the silence, she envisioned Ben emerging from a police car at the Juarez courthouse and being shot through the head before he reached the steps.

Her mind rolled back to last night, to rough hands restraining her arms as the Mexican forced her into the Mercedes in the darkness outside the Remmeys’ mansion. Her heart rate kicked up. She snapped open her eyes and blinked in the bedroom’s darkness. Had it only been a day since this nightmare started? It seemed years ago and only moments ago all at once.

Breathe
, she told herself. She turned over and tried to concentrate on the luxuriously cool sheets. Instead, her stomach dipped with the sway of the car as if she and Ben once again raced over a hundred miles an hour to escape bullets that thwanged as they penetrated the car’s metal. What was wrong with her? She was safe, the danger past. 

That knowledge didn’t stop the clenching of her stomach in remembered fear.

A tiny sound caused her to bolt upright and grab for the lamp. Liz fumbled the switch, but managed to twist it to the ON position and sat panting as if she’d just been pulled from the car after she and Ben crossed the border. Only, Ben wasn’t here to wrap her in protective warmth.

Liz threw back the covers and swung her legs off the bed. Then stopped. Her heart pounded. She closed her eyes. She wanted so badly to go to Ben’s room. Would he think her a coward for being afraid? Liz remembered Sheila. Maybe Ben had invited her into his bed. She strained her ears for sounds in the next room, but heard nothing. That didn’t mean anything.

He’d spent the day making sure she stayed safe. He didn’t need her keeping him awake. Liz laid back and pulled the covers to her neck. She left the light on and eventually drifted into troubled dreams full of exquisitely designed dresses stained with the blood of a faceless man.

Ben felt as if he’d only just dropped off to sleep when his phone pinged an incoming email. He turned on the lamp, grabbed the phone off the nightstand, and pressed the email button. A message from Larissa Remmey appeared on the screen.

Mr. Hunter, we received another message from Mr. Sanchez. As you know, the FBI is monitoring our calls in hopes of finding clues to Christina’s whereabouts, so I thought it best that I email you this information. The following is his message.

Francis, I am deeply disappointed that you have not found the information I need. Perhaps the video I attached will motivate you to find the answers now.

Ben’s heart jumped to a thunderous beat as he tapped the screen to view the attachment. The video loaded and he stared, chest tight, fingers gripping the phone so hard his knuckles blanched. Stucco walls, yellowed with time and filth, provided the only backdrop to the activity taking place on a dingy-sheeted bed. A man gripped a young woman’s wrists above her head while he rammed into her.

The girl’s eyes, scrunched closed, suggested an effort to distance herself from the ordeal. The sound was off—a blessing Ben was thankful for—but the picture was crystal clear. The girl’s hair, once a rich brown, was now matted with dirt. Tracks on her arms told of heroine injections used by brothel masters to subdue and control the girls. This girl wasn’t Christina, and Ben couldn’t deny the relief
and
guilt that rolled over him. No one had saved the young woman in this video.

A single sentence had been superimposed at the bottom of the screen.

You will never find her.

Despite the hour, Ben didn’t hesitate. He dialed Medina’s number. The captain, wide awake, answered on the second ring, and Ben told him about the email.

Ben ended with, “How soon before the female cops are ready to enter Remmey’s associate’s trucks?”

“I’ve got six female officers assigned to the sting operation. We should be good to go tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe you should call Remmey tonight,” Ben said. “Let them give Sanchez the good news.”

“Slow down, Hunter. They aren’t supposed to call him until tomorrow morning.”

“Captain, they won’t be sleeping tonight. They need to know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“There’s no guarantee this will help locate their granddaughter,” Medina said in a quiet voice.

“They need hope,” Ben said.

A moment of silence passed, then Medina said, “All right. I’ll give them a call. “

“Thanks,” Ben said, and hung up.

* * *

Liz jerked awake, aware she’d heard a sound. Her heart pounded as she blinked the room into focus. The sound, she realized, came from Ben’s room. He was talking on the phone. She glanced at the clock. The red LED lights read 3:34. She couldn’t discern his words, but a call at this hour couldn’t be good. The call lasted another four minutes, then Ben went quiet.

Liz rolled over, but didn’t bother closing her eyes. After twenty minutes, she got dressed, crossed to the door, opened it, and peered down the empty hallway. She slipped from the room and hurried to Ben’s door. She gave three soft taps. The door opened two seconds later. Ben stood in the doorway and Liz took a startled step backward at coming face-to-face with the broad expanse of his tanned chest.

“Liz, what’s wrong?” 

His deep voice jarred her from the trance, but before her head cleared, Ben grasped her arm and pulled her into his room. She caught sight of the revolver he gripped, hidden behind the door. He stepped into the doorway and Liz’s gaze snagged on the firm curves of his jean-covered butt. She shifted her gaze to the chiseled flesh of his back and her heart skipped a beat. Ben glanced both ways down the hall, then backed into the room. She stepped out of the way as he closed the door. He turned and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

Liz shook her head, unable to find her voice.

His brow furrowed. “You all right?” 

She nodded. “I—What are you doing with that?” She pointed at the gun.

“Just a precaution.” He went to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer.

“I don’t remember you having a gun,” Liz said as he placed the weapon in the drawer and slid it shut.

“I put it on before the meeting with the FBI.” 

“Put it on?” 

He faced her. “Ankle holster.” 

“Oh.” 

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Why aren’t
you
sleeping?” she asked.

“I asked first.” 

“I heard you talking on the phone.” 

He frowned. “I would think a fancy place like this would have thicker walls.” 

“Blame the building code. Who are you talking to at three-thirty in the morning?” 

“Business.” 

“Mr. Sanchez business?” 

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosey?” 

Liz wanted to laugh, but sadness tinged the impulse. When a man told a woman she was nosy, the romance was definitely over. Better this way, she told herself. Ben had romanticized a relationship with her.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said. “A call at three-thirty in the morning isn’t good.” 

“Sometimes that’s when the best news comes in.” 

“Ben, what’s going on?” 

He walked around the bed, leaned his butt against the footboard and crossed his arms over his chest. Liz couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight. She recalled again those arms around her when he’d pulled her from the car, the insistent passion when he’d kissed her--

“I think you like me.” 

“What?” she said.

A speculative light glinted in his eyes. “You’ve come for a little comforting.”  

Another minute and I'll have to touch you,
he’d said. An urge to cry rushed to the surface. What was wrong with her?

“Liz.” Ben straightened from the bed and started toward her. She took a startled step back. He caught her arm. “Don’t cry, honey.” 

Cry? Liz drew a stuttered breath and realized that tears were trickling down her cheeks. He tugged her against him and her cheek met the warm flesh of his chest. Her head whirled with the sensation of muscle flexing as his arms tightened around her.

“I shouldn’t tease you so much,” he said.

His voice washed over her like a smooth whisky down her throat.

“It’ll be all right,” he soothed.

Memory of the bloody dream returned. It wasn’t going to be all right. “Mr. Sanchez won’t hesitate to shoot you in broad daylight.” 

Ben drew a deep breath and she sniffled as he released the breath.

“I can’t risk him coming back for you, and I can’t leave that girl in his hands.” 

Her heart constricted. “It’s just such a mess. I’m so sorry.” 

He leaned back and looked down at her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This became a mess the day Sanchez kidnapped the first woman. Remember, I was chasing him before you came along.” 

“Before I came along and messed things up, you mean.” 

Ben stared down at her for a long moment and she became aware of her legs pressing his thighs.

He offered a gentle smile. “This is what I do, Liz. That’s never going to change.” 

The urge to cry resurfaced. His hands slid from her waist to her arms as he took a step back, and Liz had the impression that he, too, was close to the edge.

A light knock on the door caused Liz to jump. Ben tensed, but to Liz’s surprise, he didn’t seem worried.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, then crossed to the door. He opened it and Liz glimpsed Sheila Antonio in the hall.

Sheila’s eyes lowered to Ben’s chest, then slid up to his face. “I thought you might like some company.” 

“Sheila,” he began, but her gaze cut past him to Liz.

She looked back at Ben. “Business, huh?” 

“That’s right,” he said, and closed the door in her face.

He whirled and reached Liz in three paces.

“What did she mean by that?” Liz demanded.

A cloud passed over his face. “It means you and I are in this together and have to work together. Let her think that.” He passed her and flipped back the bedcovers. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. You need a good night’s sleep.” 

She realized with startling hurt, that he wanted to get rid of her before she cramped his style. Liz nodded. “Yes.” She started toward the door, but his grasp on her arm stopped her. She gave him an inquiring look.

“A good night’s sleep means in that bed.” He stabbed a finger toward his bed.

* * *

Liz stared out the window of the truck. Morning sun burned off gray clouds as Ben pulled into the driveway of his father’s ranch.

“I know you don’t want to stay at the ranch, but it’s only for the day,” he said. “I can’t leave you alone, and headquarters—or any other law enforcement agency’s office—is out of the question. We have to assume that Sanchez has men watching all law enforcement offices, and we can’t know who his contacts are. When I get back this evening, we’ll move to a hotel for the night.” 

A tremor rippled through her stomach at the thought of being alone with Ben in a hotel room. Last night—after he’d turned away Sheila Antonio—he’d herded her into his bed, then pulled the covers up over her breasts and tucked them around her. When he pressed warm lips to her forehead, she grasped his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. Liz had felt the shudder in his body and she’d come close to begging him to crawl into bed with her. But he turned out the light and his warm hand had covered hers before she passed into sleep.

He’d woken her with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and tucked her under his arm in their walk back to her room. She couldn’t see his face in the early morning shadows, but he lingered long enough to brush his lips against hers and she knew it had been as hard for him to leave as it was for her to let him go. Letting him go today was even harder.

She was sure that his sudden decision to leave her at the ranch had something to do with the phone call last night. If Mr. Sanchez had discovered Ben’s identity, Ben wouldn’t return to his father’s ranch. Liz envisioned her two abductors running into R.W. and Hal. She’d like to see that. Those boys would catch them and—a thought struck.

“Ben, what would happen if Mr. Sanchez’s men thought I was here at the ranch?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing. They would discover you’re not here and leave.”  

Excitement streaked through her. “That’s the answer. If he finds out who you are and sends someone to look for me, you can follow the man back to Mr. Sanchez.”

Ben glanced at her. “Liz, crossing the border is the hard part for Sanchez’s men. It’s more likely the hit man would simply call and tell him we’re not at the ranch.”

Liz started to reply, then slumped.

He offered a gentle smile. “I’m delivering you to Las Cruces tomorrow, then I’m going to Mexico. End of story.” 

She wanted to argue so bad it hurt, but he wasn’t about to abandon the Remmeys’ granddaughter and she wasn’t going to ask him to. But that didn’t stop the terror that he might not return. She barely knew the man, yet couldn’t imagine him disappearing from the world—and her life—so soon. How did the women who married these men live with this fear every day?

* * *

Ben knew Liz was worried, but he sensed her hurt too. He was torn between taking her in his arms and assuring her he would return this afternoon, and wondering if she would forgive him for abandoning her at the ranch. Hal and R.W. entered the family room, quashing the idea of kissing her.

“It’s only for the day, Liz. You understand?” Dammit, he felt like a fifteen-year-old schoolboy hoping his first love wouldn’t think him a complete idiot.

R.W. reached the sofa and stopped. “You make it sound like you might not come back.” 

Liz’s eyes widened in fear.

“It’s only a meeting, Liz,” Ben quickly said, then scowled at R.W. “R.W., you make any trouble while I’m gone and I’ll arrest you and leave you in lockup for the week.”  

“I’ll keep him in line,” Hal said. “And you can count on us to watch over Liz.” 

“If you have a computer where I can get online, I’ll stay out of your way.” 

“You’re not in our way, darlin’,” R.W. said.

She gave him a dry look. “Then let’s just say that’ll keep
you
out of my way.” 

Hal laughed. “She’s too smart for you, R.W.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s why I never got married. They’re all too smart for me.” 

“There’s no arguing with that,” Ben said. He squeezed Liz’s shoulder. “You have my cell phone number. If you need anything, call.” 

She nodded and he forced himself to walk from the room and straight to his truck. Leaving Liz was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. Hal and R.W. would protect her with their lives, but Ben wasn’t going to forget the fear in her eyes. Only it wasn’t fear for herself, but for him. The woman was tying him up in all kinds of knots.