stopped breathing. “Tell him what?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t come with us tomorrow. Stay here. Go back where you came from. Just don’t come to Puerta Del Sol.”
“Don’t you start this, too,” she said with a sigh.
“I know you want to get close to Alazandro.”
“What?”
“He’s a rich, important guy. You’ve had a hard life and your adopted father is bugging you. Flying off to Mexico must sound exciting—”
She started to laugh again, but stopped. “You’re not joking, are you?”
He lowered his head until his breath felt warm against her face, intoxicating and frightening at the same time. Whispering, he said, “No, I’m not joking. He’s a dangerous man.”
“Like you?”
He swore under his breath as he released her hand. “You are the singular most irritating woman I’ve ever known and that’s saying something.”
“But I thought the danger came from outside.”
“What do you mean?”
“From whoever issued the death threat against him.”
Pete nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“But now you’re telling me it’s Alazandro himself I need protecting from?”
He glared at her.
“You need to get your story straight,” she said brightly.
“The last time we were down there, a young woman died of a drug overdose.”
“That’s terrible, but how does that—”
“She was alone with Alazandro at the time. Alazandro was questioned. He claimed no knowledge of what happened.”
“Are you implying Mr. Alazandro killed her?”
Pete looked away, then back. “No.”
“That he gave her illegal drugs?”
“No.”
“Okay, then listen to me. I have to go to Puerta Del Sol. I want to go.” And with that she took off, anxious to get away from him before he could lure her back. She knew what kind of man Alazandro was, so why did Pete’s warning, if it was a warning and not some bizarre test, send the granddaddy of shivers racing down her spine?
AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT spent wrestling the blankets, Elle was up and dressed early.
She’d had the nightmare again last night. Her father, facedown on the floor. Her standing at the top of the stairs. Her crying out, him turning, his face dissolving into a pulpy, bloody mess as he got to his feet, his flesh slipping from his rotting corpse as he started up the stairs toward her.
Always the same dream, not as often now as before, but always the same. She’d finally told her grandfather about it and he’d shaken his white head. “Janey, it’s clear to me your father wants justice for himself, for your mother and for your baby brother,” he’d said. He’d continued calling her Janey despite the judge’s protests. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I was diagnosed with this blasted cancer. I shouldn’t have allowed their deaths to go unavenged and now it’s too late. Unless—”
That conversation had set everything else in motion and had strangely almost ended the dream, as though her father knew she was committed to avenge them all.
And now she was finally on the brink of making good on that promise.
The conversation with the judge the night before had been horrific. He’d demanded she return with him, she’d refused. He’d called her spoiled, she’d called him controlling. They’d finally agreed to meet for lunch, a promise she’d known she couldn’t keep. She’d be long gone by then. She felt wretched lying to him. Justified, but wretched.
She didn’t know what game Pete was playing or even if he was playing a game, but she knew she couldn’t afford to take the papers about her family’s deaths with her to Mexico. Pete seemed to have a penchant for spontaneous searches and every document she carried was way too incriminating.
Leaving the pink slip and the car keys on the table for Mike, she left her cabin at the first sign of daylight. She carried her purse strapped across her chest along with her duffel bag, packed with her clothes and the gun as well as a box of ammunition. It wasn’t chilly enough to wear both jackets, but she did so anyway as they wouldn’t fit in the duffel and she needed to have her hands empty.
The burn pile was located beside the hay barn and she made her way to it over uneven, dew-soaked grass. The papers went up in a cheery little blaze that did nothing to cheer her. The enormity of what she’d set in motion the day before had begun to sink in, creating a dandy case of performance anxiety.
She would have to flirt her way south today. She’d have to keep up the sexy, provocative persona whenever Alazandro was around. Playful, but not too easy because the goal was to avoid sleeping with him.
She heard approaching footsteps and turned to find Peg wearing a loose Windbreaker over jeans, a jacket Elle had never seen before. Peg’s face looked drawn as though she, too, hadn’t slept much.
“I saw the open flame,” she said, pulling the collar up around her throat with one hand as she raised a cigarette to her lips with the other.
“I had some old love letters to get rid of,” Elle lied.
Peg nodded as she flipped the cigarette into the last of the blaze. She exhaled a breath of smoke that mingled with the campfire’s. The two women stood there for a few seconds as the blaze flickered and died. Then they both started to speak at once. Elle said, “Go ahead, please.”
Peg glanced at Elle’s face, then away. “I was out of line yesterday,” she finally said as though each word took effort.
“Peg—”
“No, listen. I made a mistake getting involved with Alazandro. It was before I hired you, right after my husband died. I was broke. The mortgage we’d taken to see Bill through his illness—well, anyway, Alazandro somehow heard about my problems and swept in here like a conquering hero. He promised me I could keep everything as it was. He promised me the moon. My lawyer warned me but I couldn’t see any other way out. I signed papers and now—well, now it’s too late.”
Peg’s voice had softened to a whisper as she tucked both hands in her pockets and stared at the smoldering ashes. One side of her jacket hung lower than the other and obviously held a heavy cylindrical object like a flashlight. The thought of Peg wandering around her beloved property in the dark dressed in what looked like her late husband’s old coat made Elle’s throat swell.
Peg added, “But that has nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything, Peg. You just expressed your opinions and—”
“I called your father.”
