Fearless (13 page)

“Oh, stop!” she exclaimed, laughing. “That’s terrible!”

“It could be. But he’s a responsible pet owner. He even has a city ‘wolf license.’”

“Nobody gets a wolf license!” she scoffed.

“You can get one if you know the chief of police and he has ties to the city fathers.” He looked suitably modest.

“Yes, but that’s only because the city fathers are scared to death of you,” she pointed out. “You’re too dangerous for people to risk offending you.”

“Why, thank you,” he replied good-naturedly.

“Oh, you’re a local legend all over Texas,” she confided. “I understand that our state attorney general threatens people with you.”

“Only federal people,” he said. “And only if they make him very angry. I am, after all, his cousin.”

“Really!” She was impressed.

He smiled. “I have ties to strange places,” he mused. “Like one of our feds who works undercover. He’s got a price on his head in every country on earth except this one. He’s helped put away some of the bigger drug cartel members, not to mention running down a child killer in Central America on horseback through a jungle. Not an easy task on good days. It was pouring rain.”

“Who is this madman?” she asked, laughing.

He looked odd. He cleared his throat. “Well, I never knew his name,” he lied. “He was undercover, you know.”

She smiled. “He must be on everyone’s list of people to call in dire situations.”

“He is.”

“I wish you could have him come down here and take Fuentes into a jungle and do God-knows-what with him,” she muttered. “He’s still out there, and I’m still in his sights, figuratively speaking.” “We’re working on that. Be patient. And be careful,” he added quietly. “You’re in some dangerous company at that farm.”

Her heart jumped up into her throat. “What…do you mean?”

He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but it was better if she knew the truth. She might let her guard down and be killed. “One or two of your workers have rap sheets, mostly for physical assault. One took out a cop in Dallas and they could never prove it—he killed the one witness who saw it happen.” He pulled up into the yard of the farm, cut the engine and turned to look at her. She was pale. “That cane makes a good weapon, but people will hear about how you used it. It won’t work a second time. I’d like to take you out to our target range and teach you how to shoot properly.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “It’s not rocket science. It can be taught. I’ll send for you Saturday morning, about nine. Marquez will be home, and he’s got a nice little .32 revolver that you can use. It doesn’t kick as much as a .45, and it will fit your hand better.”

“He tried to teach me already,” she protested.

“Marquez tried to teach his mother,” Cash said, glowering. “He taught her how to shoot crows.”

“Excuse me?” She was shocked. Barbara, Marquez’s foster mother, adored crows!

“He was explaining to her how the gun kicked and said she had to compensate. He didn’t say how. She thought he meant she should hold the nose up higher when she fired, so she did, and she hit a crow. Fortunately she only singed his tail feathers. He kept going. But now they call her the Crow Crippler, and she won’t touch a gun anymore.”

She burst out laughing. It sounded like Rick, who wasn’t the world’s best instructor, even if he was enthusiastic.

“So I’ll teach you,” Cash replied.

“Okay. My liability insurance is paid up,” she agreed. “But do make sure no squad cars park within range of the gun.”

He grinned. “I’ll do that. You take care of yourself. Stay close to the house, keep your cell phone in your pocket and don’t go anywhere alone. Not even outside, especially at night.”

She bit her lower lip. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten her predicament. “You know things that you aren’t sharing.”

He nodded. “I can’t share them. Just watch your back. I’ll have Marquez pick you up about nine Saturday morning. And don’t tell him I said anything about why I’m doing the teaching, instead of him. He has a real attitude problem with authority.”

She laughed. “I know. I’ll keep quiet. Thanks, Chief.”

“We’re all in the same racket,” he told her. “We have to look out for each other.”

“Yes, we do.”

S
HE WALKED INTO THE HOUSE
and closed the door, nervous and uneasy. Cash Grier knew something about someone on the property, someone with a police record who had killed a cop and was still on the run. She only knew one man who looked tough enough to do that; her husband. It was curious that he hadn’t done a background check on Consuelo, or had Jason Pendleton do it. What if Rodrigo was working for Fuentes, and he was asked to kill Glory since Consuelo had flubbed it?

She felt as if her world had come crashing down on her head. Two attempts on her life, two escapes. She’d been lucky that Marco had fired into the door and not the wall. She’d been lucky that she could use her cane to deflect Consuelo’s pistol. But if there was another attempt, by her own husband, what was she going to do?

She noticed that Cash hadn’t mentioned that her husband could help protect her. Was there a reason for that? Did he know that Rodrigo had been involved in that drug deal in Comanche Wells; had Marquez told him?

She felt so tired. Her life had become impossibly complicated. On top of everything else, she’d forgotten to take her blood pressure pill and her blood thinner. She ground her teeth together. She was carrying a child and taking dangerous drugs that she had to have if she didn’t want to end up in the hospital. If only she could go to San Antonio and see her own doctor!

Then she remembered her appointment with the cardiologist tomorrow. She was going to need an excuse to go to town. She’d manage something, if Carla Martinez worked out as the cook.

She took her medicine, hoping it wouldn’t harm the tiny life inside her, and then she went back into the kitchen to work.

An hour later, Carla Martinez came to the back door with three children, two girls and a boy. The boy, Hernando, was the oldest at seven.

“¿Podemos entrar?”
she asked hesitantly.

Obviously she spoke no English. Glory was glad that she’d studied her languages.
“Sí, entre,”
she invited with a grin.
“¡Bienvenidos! Me gusta mucho que puede ayudarme.
”

“De nada, señora,”
she replied respectfully.

Glory showed her what needed doing, then she seated the children at the table and gave them peanut butter and cookies to eat and cups of milk to go with it, all except for the youngest girl, who was only three. She laughed up at Glory with beautiful black eyes in a perfect little face surrounded by thick, long, black hair. Glory couldn’t resist. She picked the child up and carried her along to the sink where she managed to rinse dishes with one hand while she cooed to the little girl.

Rodrigo came in unexpectedly, to translate for Glory. He stopped in the doorway and watched, fascinated, the easy way she handled the child and the work. She was laughing, happy, delighted with the cuddly little girl. He thought how nice it would be to have a child. Then, abruptly, he remembered Bernadette in his arms, hugging him and asking what would she do without him? He loved the child so much. It had hurt terribly when she and her mother went to live with Colby Lane. His expression reflected his misery.

Glory sensed a presence, and turned, meeting Rodrigo’s taut face and wounded eyes across the room. She didn’t even need to speak. She knew what he was feeling, and why. In that moment, she knew that she’d never be able to tell him about their child. And now, she wondered if he was going to complete Consuelo’s assignment and take Glory out of Fuentes’s path.

He saw the odd look on her face and frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked.

She composed herself. “Nothing. We’re just getting started.”

“I thought you might need a translator,” he began.

She laughed. “No, but thank you. I’m quite fluent in Spanish. I have to be, in my work.” She could have bitten her tongue for that unwise comment.

“Your work?”

“I’m with a temporary agency,” she said at once. “I have lots of clients who need someone bilingual.”

“I see.” He glanced at Carla and asked her, in Spanish, how things were going.

She was ecstatic about Señora Ramirez and the job. She was going to love working here.

At least someone was happy, he thought as he glanced toward Glory. She seemed different all of a sudden. Had Cash spilled the beans? He studied her intently, and then he realized that she’d be more forthcoming if she knew his secret. But something was bothering her. Perhaps she was afraid that Consuelo would make bond; or that Fuentes really would send someone else.

He didn’t think the drug lord would have time. He, Castillo, and another man were going to move a shipment across the border on a makeshift pontoon bridge made of oil drums on Saturday. It was the biggest shipment Fuentes had handled, pure cocaine, and lots of it. Little did Fuentes know that his newest distributor was going to have a lot of help. Fuentes was going down. The man was scum. The young gang member who’d been feeding him information said that Fuentes had killed boys for little more than protesting his rough treatment. He had no respect for anyone around him. He’d beaten his own mother, in front of the gang member, because she’d burned his eggs. The boy said nobody wanted to work for a monster like that, regardless of how much they got paid.

He wondered how Glory was going to react when she found out the truth about his role in this operation. She was a sweet woman, but she was uneducated and unsophisticated and plain. She’d never fit into his world. He’d made a terrible mistake when he’d married her. It had been a spur of the moment thing, to spite Sarina for throwing him over. But all it had done was make him aware of how miserable he was. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life tied to this prehistoric woman. He was going to have to approach the subject of a divorce.

But first, he had to help bring down Fuentes. That might save Glory’s life. When all this was over, he wanted to know how she’d gotten into this mess. Fuentes didn’t send hired killers after temporary workers without good reason. She said she’d seen something illegal, but he wanted to know what. Sadly he had no time for interrogation right now. He had a job to do.

G
LORY WENT TO SEE THE
cardiologist the next day, leaving Carla in charge. She’d asked Angel to keep the children so that she could work without diversions, and Rodrigo had given him a half day. Glory had told her husband that she was due for a dental appointment in town.

Her coolness toward him had resulted in his moving into his old bedroom. He hadn’t even blinked when she suggested it, because her hip was hurting and she’d keep him awake. It was a thin excuse and he saw through it at once. He noticed that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something was wrong. He was sure it had something to do with her having seen him at the site of a drug deal. Probably Marquez, damn him, had told her that Rodrigo was a criminal. She’d denied that Marquez had told her anything, but he doubted that was true. He wished he had time to sort out his feelings for his temporary wife. He didn’t. The job was his top priority at the moment. Later, he and Glory could have a long talk about their relationship. But he was certain that he wanted their marriage to end.

Glory felt guilty for deceiving Rodrigo, but deeper in her mind was the fear that her husband might be Consuelo’s replacement. He was involved in drug dealing, she knew that already. It wasn’t far to consider him capable of murder. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just put Rodrigo out of her mind and let Cash Grier deal with his illegal activities. It sounded easy. It wasn’t. Part of her still hungered for Rodrigo, wanted him, ached to hold him. Every time she thought of the little thing in her belly, she felt sorrow like a rock inside. She didn’t know what to do. Her whole life had changed since Cash Grier had made that remark about the rap sheets on people working at the farm. She knew he meant Rodrigo, and she had a horrible feeling that he was mixed up in something much more sinister than just drug dealing.

T
HE CARDIOLOGIST, A WOMAN
, was small and energetic and brilliant. She examined Glory, had her technician perform an EKG, and then, a few minutes later, an echocardiogram. The tests allowed her to look closely at Glory’s heart and make sure there weren’t any blockages around her heart. When Glory related her eating habits and her determination to keep her weight down, the physician was impressed.

The only thing was the blood thinners and the medicine for hypertension that Glory had been taking, of necessity. If there were any problem with the fetus, the inability of her body to stop the bleeding could cost her the child. In fact, her medical condition could lead to early detachment of the placenta or to spontaneous abortion even without medical intervention.

“If it had been a planned pregnancy,” the cardiologist said gently, “we could have prescribed alternative drugs that would present less danger to the child. However, considering the severity of your hypertension,” she added sadly, “the risk to you and your child is greatly enlarged. Most physicians would recommend an immediate abortion. You could die trying to carry this child.”

Glory felt sick all over as the reality of her condition hit her. She put her head down, fighting dizziness and nausea. “No,” she moaned. “No, I can’t. I won’t.” She lifted her wet eyes to the cardiologist. “You don’t understand. I’m a person of faith. It goes against everything I believe….”

The other woman put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I won’t force you to make such a decision. But you’ll have to be very closely monitored. I’ll want to see you at least twice a month. I’ll modify your drug therapy.”

“I could stop taking the blood thinners,” she said at once.

The cardiologist winced. “Considering your medical records, I can’t advise that. I don’t see any obvious blockages, that’s true. But if your own physician was concerned about plaque or a possible clot after what he diagnosed as a mild heart attack…” She stopped. “If you’d had the heart catheterization…”

“I had too much stress on me at the time, and too busy a schedule, to agree to it,” Glory said heavily. “Isn’t hindsight wonderful?”

“The blood thinners would prevent a small blockage from producing a heart attack or stroke,” she told Glory. “Those, as well as the blood pressure medicine with the diuretic, you must continue. As I said, I’ll prescribe drugs that will be the least harmful to the child. I would prefer to send you to Houston and let them do a heart catheterization, just to make sure there are no blockages that don’t show up in these tests. But this is not the time. You have too much stress already.” She paused. “You want the child very much, yes?”

“Yes,” Glory said at once, although she hadn’t been that sure when she walked into the office. A child of her own. She could be a mother. She could have someone of her very own blood to live with and love and care for. The temptation was worth any risk. The fact that the child’s father had criminal tendencies was something she forced to the back of her mind.

“Then we will do what we can,” Dr. Warner assured her. “Dr. Coltrain should send you to an obstetrician.”

Glory hesitated. “She wants to. But it would be too risky to see one in San Antonio, where I live,” she began. “There’s something very dangerous going on where I’m working. That would be another stress to add to what I’m already carrying. You see, I’m an attorney. A man I’m prosecuting for conspiracy to commit murder is trying to have me killed. I’m the only witness who heard him confess to the crime. I am hopeful that the case will resolve itself soon. In the meantime, I must avoid more worry.”

“I understand. It is fortunate that you are in the very early stages of pregnancy. You can have Lou Coltrain get in touch with me if you start having more problems with the heart. I don’t see any obvious problem,” she added quickly. “But if your physician in San Antonio diagnosed a heart attack, we must be cautious. If you start having pain or pressure in your chest, and down your left arm or up into your jaw, especially if you also have nausea and a cold sweat, call for an ambulance at once. Don’t brave it out and think you can overcome it.”

Glory smiled. “I won’t. I promise. I’ve been doing better since I came here, except for someone trying to kill me twice in one week,” she added, tongue-in-cheek.

Dr. Warner’s eyebrows arched. “Perhaps you might consider a less stressful profession,” she said. “Your job and your physical condition are a bad mix.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied. “But right now, I can’t do much about it. It’s the only job I have.”

“If you need me, all you have to do is call. I can have my husband fly me down here on ten minutes’ notice. He is retired now, but he flew for a major airline for many years. Now he teaches flying in Houston,” she added with a chuckle.

“I’ll take you up on that, if I have to. Thank you.”

“I’ll write the prescriptions and have them brought to the clerk’s desk while you’re checking out,” she added. “If you have problems adjusting to the drugs, or any reactions to them, all you have to do is call. We’ll find the least dangerous ones we can. In the meantime, please try to avoid any further stress.”

“I will.”

A
FEW MINUTES LATER
, Glory climbed into her old car and started it, feeling emotional. Apparently she wasn’t going to drop dead immediately, but she was under far too much stress. Living in the house with a man she no longer trusted, but whom she still loved, was her biggest problem.

The old clunker protested as she put it into gear. She missed her new car, garaged at the Pendletons’s for safekeeping. She wouldn’t drive it to work because it might become a target for disgruntled gang members she prosecuted. She loved it too much, and she hadn’t dared bring it down here, where she was playing at being a day laborer. It would raise serious questions about her economic status.

At least, she thought as she pulled out of the parking lot, the baby was safe for the time being. She just had to be very careful that she didn’t hurt herself. She smiled as she saw years of joy ahead with her baby.

I
T WAS JUST LUNCHTIME
when Glory walked into the kitchen. Carla grinned at her. Angel was sitting at the table with the three children, all of them munching cookies. The littlest girl laughed and launched herself at Glory, who picked her up and hugged her close.

“Is there enough for me, too?” she teased when she saw the huge salad on the table.

“¡Como no!”
Carla chuckled.
“Siéntese.”

She sat, and Carla spooned salad into a bowl for her and put the bottle of salad dressing on the table, along with a fork and napkin.

“Rodrigo?” she asked, because there was no place set for him.

Carla looked worried. She and her husband exchanged a quick look.

“Has something happened to him?” Glory asked at once, horrified.

“No!” Angel lowered his voice. “No, of course not, señora,” he assured her. “It is just…well, he and that Castillo and Castillo’s friend climbed into the truck and drove out of town,” he added. “Señor Ramirez said he and the others had an important job to do, and that they wouldn’t be back until Sunday. He said to be sure and tell you to stay close to the house.”

She stirred her salad without paying it much attention. Rodrigo was gone, then. She guessed that Fuentes had sent a message and her husband and his cronies went to a meeting of some sort. She had until the end of the weekend to decide what to do. Not long to arrange to protect herself from a third assassination attempt.

“Something is wrong?” Angel asked, concerned, when she didn’t start eating.

She noted that several pair of eyes were watching her. She forced a laugh. “No, of course not,” she lied. She tasted the salad. “Very good,” she told Carla.
“Muy sabroso.”
Carla smiled and turned to help her youngest daughter with a taco.

M
ARQUEZ DROVE HER TO
the city police department’s firing range on Saturday morning. He was quiet and distracted.

“You’re hiding something,” she accused.

He glanced at her, grinned and shrugged. “Work problems.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Drug-related?” she fished.

He grimaced.

She nodded and sighed. “My husband,” she muttered.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled. “Prosecuting attorneys aren’t supposed to be able to read minds.”

“I don’t. It was a logical conclusion.”

“You sound very calm about it.”

She turned her house key in her hands. “I would scream and pound my fists on the dash, but people might get the wrong idea if they noticed.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “So they might.”

She glanced at him. “Rodrigo, Castillo and the other man have gone away for the weekend,” she told him.

“I know.”

Her eyebrows arched. “You’re tailing them.”

“I am not.” He turned onto the dirt road that led to the firing range. “But some friends of mine are.”

She felt very old all of a sudden. “He’s involved in Fuentes’s operation, isn’t he?”

He didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to protect me,” she said heavily. “I recognized him when we watched the ware house over at Comanche Wells. In fact, he even admitted to me that he was there—but not why.”

“You’re smart.”

“Not really,” she replied in a subdued tone. “I’m pregnant.”

The truck almost went into the ditch, and she cried out, stunned.

“Sorry,” he gritted, righting it. He stopped it in the middle of the road and looked at her, seeing the tragic expression she was no longer able to hide. “Do you love him?”

She didn’t want to admit that. Her gaze fell to her lap. “Yes,” she said after a minute. “I thought age brought wisdom. Not in my case.”

He was frowning. “Glory, your heart…?”

“I’ve seen a cardiologist, and Dr. Lou Coltrain,” she said quickly. “She’s referring me to an obstetrician as soon as my life is out of danger from the assassin.”

“But is it safe?” he persisted, frowning.

She felt the question like a knife. “I have to take blood thinners, so that I don’t have another heart attack. The cardiologist said that if I have any problems with the pregnancy, that could be dangerous. She changed my drugs. I’m just starting the new ones.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and meant it.

Her hands clenched on the key. “He can’t know,” she said stiffly.

“Things may change for the better soon,” he began.

She looked at him. “He can’t know,” she emphasized.

“Okay. It’s your business. But if you ever need help,” he added gently.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

C
ASH
G
RIER WAS IN CIVILIAN
clothes, his ponytail tied neatly with a string as he waited for them on the firing line.

He glanced at Marquez, who was also sporting a ponytail, then at Glory who had her hair in a neat braid. “There’s always one oddball in a crowd,” he noted, indicating her hairstyle.

“I am not odd,” she told him. “I simply have better taste in hairstyles.”

Cash scoffed. He aimed at the target and sent six rounds straight into the smallest circle.

“Showoff,” Marquez muttered.

Cash grinned. “I’m the chief of police,” he reminded the detective. “I have to provide a good example for my men.”

“It may take a blackjack to provide a good example for Kilraven,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Or didn’t you know that he was at the FBI office in San Antonio yesterday pumping Jon Blackhawk for information on Fuentes’s distribution network?”

“He what?” Cash growled.

“Who’s Kilraven?” Glory wanted to know.

“The officer who saved you from Marco the other day,” Cash reminded her.

“Oh. The one who almost crashed the drug deal in Comanche Wells,” she recalled.

“Exactly,” Marquez added. He glanced at Cash, who looked furious. “You might as well cheer up. You hired him as your gang specialist. Gangs distribute drugs. It isn’t that far a leap to investigating Fuentes.”

Cash expelled the clip from his automatic violently and refilled it. “I like individual initiative, until it becomes anarchy.”

“Kilraven isn’t an anarchist,” Marquez chuckled. “He’s just used to giving orders, not taking them.”

“He’s in the wrong business,” Cash said. “He’s not a team player.”