“He weighs a ton,” Castaña muttered.
A faint shadow crossed the blonde’s face. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Heatstroke, I think. My cell phone doesn’t have any service right now. Can you dial
911 from the house phone?”
The girl shook her head. “There’s no landline here. And my cell doesn’t work either.”
“Damn.” Castaña moved toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. She found a washrag and ran it under the cold water. The blonde followed her and located another rag under the sink.
“Thank you.” Castaña rang out both cloths. “And you are?”
The girl hesitated for a moment. “Briar Rose.”
Castaña wasn’t up on her Disney movies, but she was pretty sure Briar Rose was a character’s name from one of the animated films. She smiled, but the girl didn’t return the gesture. Her big blue eyes were shadowed, haunted. Castaña let her gaze rest on the girl’s belly for a minute. “Are you married to my brother?”
Another pause. The girl looked down and fiddled with her orange wrist string. “No.”
Castaña didn’t have time for twenty questions right now. Getting the stranger out of her hair was her first priority. She hurried back to her patient, the girl trailing her, and sat on the bed. “Can you help me undress him?”
The blonde’s eyes widened. “Uh, okay.”
Together, they managed to pull off his T-shirt, jeans and hiking boots that appeared to be new. He wore tight undershorts, and she averted her eyes from the enticing bulge there to the puckered red scar on his right shoulder. How had he gotten a mark like that?
Whatever this guy did, he was in excellent shape. Castaña swallowed as she ran the damp rag over his cut pecs and abs. Then, lower, over his flat belly and strong, muscled thighs. A trail of dark hair led from his chest to under his shorts and she looked away again.
He was something.
She reached for another washrag. There wasn’t any time to waste on ogling the guy. Carefully placing the rag on his forehead, her thoughts turned back to Briar Rose. Martin had always been so traditional. Castaña had a hard time picturing him having a baby out of wedlock, especially with a Caucasian girl. Blue eyed blondes weren’t his normal taste. He must’ve changed a lot in six years. “Do you know where Martin is?”
“No.”
Castaña waited for the girl to offer more information. “So, did you fight?”
“Um.”
Again, one word. Castaña began to wonder if Briar Rose was on some kind of illegal drug. She looked like a flower child from the sixties with her long braids, flowing spaghetti strap top and ragged jeans. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her smoking pot or gobbling shrooms.
“And you called me because he’s been missing since you argued?” Castaña shot a glance over her shoulder at Briar Rose. She sat cross-legged on the floor, staring into space. Slowly, her gaze rose to Castaña’s face. Castaña fought her rising frustration. Why was Briar Rose stonewalling?
“Yes.” She twirled the orange string tied around one bony wrist.
“How long has it been since you saw Martin, exactly?”
Briar Rose dropped her gaze to her dirty bare feet, which she seemed to find fascinating. “A while.”
Not shaking her took all of Castaña’s considerable willpower. “Could you be a little more specific? A day? A week?”
After a long silence she mumbled, “At least a week.”
Castaña’s heart sank. She opened a bottle of aloe lotion and smoothed it over Jake’s seared skin. The minute he woke up, she had to get rid of him so she could find her brother.
• • •
Jake Breton woke up alone, his heart pounding.
For a minute, he couldn’t breathe. He was afraid he’d been left for dead. His heartbeat slowed as he looked around. Not a dark, stench-filled alley. He wasn’t lying in a pool of his own blood, just undressed and in a warm, soft bed. A quilt lay under him, and he absently stroked the worn material. Not St. Francis Hospital. No strong antiseptic smells, no beeps from machines. And no hovering nuns.
His breathing eased back to normal.
He turned his head. The skin on his neck cried in protest.
Just a lone dresser and plain, log walls. The floors were hardwood, polished until they gleamed. A long runner that matched the quilt lay by the bed. Nice place. Bare, though. Nothing like his apartment back in Phoenix with its leather couches and modern art.
He shifted a fraction of an inch, and when his blistered arm slid across the quilted fabric, a moan slipped from his throat. How far had he walked? Miles. Why the hell had somebody trashed his camp? Nobody up here had any way to know he was FBI.
After setting camp early this morning, he’d hiked out to the place where Bureau of Land Management agents Stevenson and Wright had been shot in cold blood. When he came back late in the afternoon, he’d found his tent torn down and his supplies strewn about. At first, he thought a bear might’ve done the damage. But when he saw his slashed tires, he knew it had been a human attack. Worst of all, the culprits poured all his water on the ground. With no cell service in the forest, he’d had no choice but to walk for help.
Damn it, anyway.
He rubbed the puckered scar on his shoulder.
If Jake called his boss in Phoenix and told him he’d been taken by surprise, he might as well hang up his badge now. He’d screwed up a simple arrest. The first job he’d been trusted with since the shooting.
He thought about the woman who picked him up from the middle of the road when he was almost unconscious. Her long brown hair looked like a burning fire as she bent over him silhouetted in the dying sun. He remembered the way her breasts pressed into his back when she helped him into her truck.
Too bad he hadn’t been awake when she undressed him.
He closed his eyes at the wave of regret that flooded him. He couldn’t get close to her. Making a mistake like that before had nearly cost him his career, his life.
A light tap sounded on the door and his rescuer stuck her head in. “Are you awake? Hungry?”
Jake shook his head, wincing. “Not much.”
“I have Jell-O salad and a slice of watermelon. It might cool you down a bit.” She stepped inside, and now that he felt a little more human, he studied her as she placed the food on the dresser. All leg in worn Levi’s, long walnut-brown hair, hazel eyes. A knockout in a plain white T-shirt and figure hugging jeans.
She placed a gentle hand on his forehead. He closed his eyes, liking the way her palm soothed his feverish skin. Her unique scent mixed leather and something flowery. A nice combination.
“I think your temperature is going down, but I’ll get a thermometer just to make sure. Be back in a jiffy.” She shut the door behind her.
When she returned, she held a tray with a glass of iced tea and a bottle of aspirin. She brushed his forehead with her soft palm again. “I couldn’t find the thermometer, but I think you’re better. A lukewarm shower would do you a lot of good.”
His temperature shot straight back up when she touched him.
“I still think you need a doctor,” she said.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She handed him a washcloth and turned to the food on the dresser.
He took the cloth from her, glancing to see if she wore a wedding ring. She didn’t. A bare ring finger didn’t mean anything though. “Thanks again. For everything. You didn’t mention your last name.”
She hesitated. “Does it matter?”
“Just curious.” He hoped he sounded casual. “You saved my life after all. I’d like to know whom I’m in debt to.”
She turned toward him and lifted her chin defiantly. “My name is Castaña Castillo.”
Martin’s sister?
Jake hoped his amazement didn’t show. Was she as radical as her brother? If so, she most likely would’ve run him over in the road instead of picking him up and taking him home like a stray animal. If she knew he was here to find and arrest Martin for the murder of two BLM agents, she’d probably throw him out on his sunburned ear.
“You haven’t told me your last name either,” she reminded him.
He spit out the first name that came to mind. “Brown.”
Did disbelief flicker in her eyes? “Nice to meet you, Jake Brown. So, you were camping?”
“Yeah, for a few days. I went fishing, and when I came back, my camp had been trashed
and my truck tires slashed.”
“That’s terrible.” Something unreadable flashed across her face and he studied her, trying to figure her out. She had helped him. How close was she to her brother’s activities? Close enough to cover up a double homicide?
“Yeah, who would’ve thought I’d get mugged in the forest,” he said. “I need to get hold of Triple A and have them get my truck.” How the hell was he going to accomplish his arrest? Call his boss in Phoenix and tell him he’d screwed up again? Send a posse. Jake Breton was incapable of accomplishing the easiest task. This was his only chance to redeem himself, and he’d already messed up.
“You’re in no condition to travel tonight. I’ll take you into town in the morning because I need to see the sheriff myself.” She studied him for a minute. “I don’t think you’re going to try anything. But, just so you know, there’s no silver to steal. And I’m not alone. Mar — my brother’s girlfriend is here.”
Jake put a big spoonful of cold watermelon into his mouth to hide his surprise. Martin’s girlfriend? Why hadn’t he realized there might be a woman in Castillo’s life? Had the sun addled his brain? In all the reports he’d read there was very little mention of the Castillo women. Apparently, the women hadn’t joined in the family crimes. Was the sister a good enough actress she didn’t know her brother was wanted for shooting two BLM men? Or that when the local sheriff came to take Martin in for questioning, he went missing? “So, where’s your brother?”
“Not a clue.” Her full lips trembled and she pinched them together. Jake’s cynical heart softened a fraction as he watched her obvious distress. “Someone — his girlfriend, I think — called and said Martin’s horses were going hungry. There’s no way he’d neglect his animals. He loves them more than anything. So I came running.”
“What does this girlfriend say?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t get anything out of her.”
Jake set down his spoon, appetite gone. His free hand went to his shoulder like a ship to a beacon. She sounded so sincere Jake wanted to believe her. But he’d been fooled before. A pretty face and big, soft eyes could go a long ways toward tricking a man.
He’d not make the mistake of trusting too easily ever again.
Chapter Two
Jake came awake with a jolt. His mouth felt like he’d brushed his teeth with a branch from a palo verde tree, and his skin stretched too tight over his aching bones. There was no clock, but by the moonlight shini
ng through the window, he gauged the time to be around midnight. He swung his feet to the floor, wincing when they hit the hardwood. Although sore and blistered, he felt a hell of a lot better than he had out in the forest.
He staggered to his feet, swaying when he came upright.
A skinny blonde girl with a big belly opened the door. “Do you need something?”
His skin prickled. Martin’s girlfriend. Had she been standing guard on him? He searched his foggy brain for her name. Rosemary. No, Roseanne. That wasn’t it. Some oddball name. Briar Rose. Yeah, that was it. “A john. Water. Tylenol.”
She slipped under his arm, and he leaned on her pretending to be unsteadier than he actually was. Maybe she’d open up to him if she thought him weak and sick. “The bathroom’s down here.” A faint flush colored her cheeks. “I’ll wait, then help you back to bed.”
“I need a shower.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me.” She darted away.
As Jake downed what seemed like half of the Colorado River from the tap, then stripped out of his shorts and stepped into a shower, his thoughts turned to Briar Rose. Very young and fragile looking. Skinny to the point of anorexic, with long, pale hair hanging around her face she looked like a ghost. Had this angelic-looking young woman helped Martin Castillo murder the two BLM agents sent to check on the Apache-Sitgreave mustangs? Was she hiding Martin now? Jake hoped not, but he wouldn’t be surprised either. He rubbed his shoulder. Women sometimes did the strangest things for love — steal, lie, kill, for instance.
He toweled off, found a bottle of Tylenol under the sink and swallowed a couple.
Jake finished and opened the door. Briar Rose was gone.
Unable to sleep, he stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts kept drifting to Castaña. To take his mind off her long legs, he thought about the case. In the files he’d read about the Castillos, the men were known for working to save the mustangs that ran wild on the Apache-Sitgreave.
Before his death a few years ago, Ramon Castillo had been arrested at least a dozen times for interfering with the BLM guys when they tried to round up the horses for auction. Several times he turned the horses loose after they were captured, jimmied government vehicles and booby-trapped campsites. Martin was listed as an accomplice until after Ramon’s death, when Martin’s own illegal activities increased.
Although the wild horses had been protected for years, a recent change in the law made it legal for some of the animals to be sold at open auction. Ramon died before the law took effect, but the change had apparently caused Martin to snap. According to the report, Martin allegedly turned to murder to protect his beloved horses. At least that was the theory. When the local guys couldn’t find him, the FBI sent Jake to find Martin and bring him in for questioning.
Where did Castaña fit in? Where did Briar Rose come into the picture? Briar Rose seemed helpless and soft, while Castaña appeared very much able to take care of herself. Jake knew very little of Castaña’s existence before she nearly mowed him down like a weed. Was that an oversight, or was she an innocent bystander?
He needed to know.
• • •
Jake waited until he was sure the house was quiet and he figured both girls were in bed, and then he slipped out to the living room. His cell phone still didn’t work, but as he’d hoped, Castaña’s was charging on the desk. Luckily, it had a few bars. He took it into the kitchen and dialed his partner.