Fires of Paradise (28 page)

The week went too fast, a blur of her silks and his linens, of star-filled nights and sunstruck awakenings. One night they even stole into Brownsville, just across the border, for a change of venue. It was crazy and they knew it, but the thick right-off-the-hoof steaks were worth it, and when they snuck back, they were drunk and satisfied and laughing at their foolishness.

At the end of the week, Lucy saw the abrupt change in

Shoz. Where he had been carefree and open, he became dark and closed. She saw him start to pull away from her, and was helpless to stop him. No amount of teasing and no amount of kissing would bring back his quick grin and chase away whatever demons had possessed him. Once when he thought he was alone, she caught him with such a dark, bleak expression that she was frightened. Too frightened to ask what was wrong. It was the sixth day.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" she finally asked, pretending to be more interested in adjusting the sleeves of her white dress than in his answer. They were preparing to go out for some lunch and she stood in front of the mirror.

He sat on the bed clad only in his jeans, very male and very dark, watching her from behind. He had already gone out that morning, and Lucy had glimpsed him entering the post office across the street. "Tomorrow will be fine," he said tightly. "Tomorrow I will conclude my business."

In the mirror she raised her gaze to look at him, both wanting and not wanting to know what his "business" was. She was certain that she was better off in ignorance.

"And tomorrow," he said, staring at her back and her reflection, "I'm going to return to Death Valley—and leave you here."

She whirled. "What!"

"I'm not a liar, Lucy," he said, standing. "I promised you your freedom, and tomorrow you'll have it."

She was white. She momentarily couldn't speak.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've arranged everything. You can stay here at the hotel; the room and your meals are paid for. There's a post office right across the street; you can wire your family. They should make it here in about a week. That will give me enough time to disappear," he added mockingly.

"You—you've planned this?"

"I'm not a liar," he said harshly.

Tears came to her eyes. She knew she did not want to leave him, not now, and it was the only thing she cared about. "Is it so easy for you," she asked brokenly, "to keep your promise?"

"No!" he exploded. "It's the hardest damn thing I've ever done!"

Hope soared within her. "Then break it!" "What?" he gasped.

Her chin lifted, her heart thundered. "Break your promise."

"What in hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying . .." She faltered. "I love you."

Shoz stared.

Lucy's mouth trembled.

He grabbed her arms, immobilizing her. "Then marry me," he said. "Marry me."

Chapter 35

The Catholic priest in the old church mission just outside of Matamoros refused to marry them. When he asked Shoz if he was an observant Catholic, Shoz answered unblinkingly in the affirmative. The priest took his word, utter lie that it was, but when he asked Lucy, she grew quite red, and proceeded to give him an account of her family history, despite Shoz's sharp jab to her ribs. Her grandmother was observant, and her mother's parents had been equally devout and Irish to boot. The priest prodded her for more relevant information and Lucy grew redder. "Well, I will try, I promise, it's in my blood ..."

The justice of the peace in Brownsville performed the rites with no hesitation; that is, once Shoz handed him a few greenbacks on the side. When they rode back into Matamoros, the sun was just setting, and they were legally wed.

Lucy was having a case of nerves. She had squelched every warning bell that had sounded, once again stubbornly doing what she wanted to without daring to think about the consequences. Now that it was done, now that she was his wife, she felt somewhat faint. And very nervous.

He hadn't said a word to her since they had left the justice of the peace in Brownsville. Dismounting at the livery behind the hotel, Lucy stole another glance at his rigid profile. He didn't look particularly happy; in fact, he looked grim and angry.

His gaze seared her. "Having regrets?"

His tone was mean and she was taken aback. "I'm just worried," she admitted, tears coming to her eyes. He was obviously the one with regrets.

He scowled as the livery boy took their horses away, hands jammed in his jeans. Lucy felt her mouth tremble and vowed she would not cry. With a sigh, he pulled her to him. The feel of his body was familiar and reassuring on the one hand, yet she felt utterly insecure on the other. Why had a barrier suddenly come between them?

She looked up at him out of blurry eyes.

She saw the moment he let his mask slip, she saw the softness enter his eyes, concern and worry cross his features. "Don't worry," he said hoarsely. "We'll figure it out." She closed her eyes in relief and he kissed her.

Lucy most definitely wanted to talk, but once back in their hotel room, he guided her to the bed. He forced her chin up so she would have to look into his eyes. "Do you really love me?"

She melted. "Yes."

It was the answer he apparently wanted, needed, because he kissed her hard, intensely, and then made love to her with the same passion. Any thoughts Lucy had of protesting were swept away. This was the Shoz she knew and loved, and when they were together like this, she had no doubts at all.

That night they stayed up until dawn making plans. They would not live at Death Valley. "It's no place for my wife," Shoz said seriously.' 'We'll head south, deeper into Mexico. With the money from this sale, I should be able to buy us some land. A few more deals and we'll be sitting pretty."

"What are you doing, Shoz?"

He refused to meet her apprehensive gaze. "It's better if you don't know, Lucy." Her heart sank.

Once they were safely in the heart of Mexico, they would inform Lucy's family of the circumstances. Lucy's stomach twisted when she thought of her parents. She loved them dearly, and hated hurting them. She knew they would be devastated about her marriage to a man like Shoz. But if they only knew him... which was impossible. The one thing she wanted most in this world was to bring Shoz home to New York to meet her family and become a part of it, and this could never be. Although he hadn't stolen Derek's stud, he was doing something illegal now, and there was his criminal record and escape from New York prison to account for. She was afraid to ask him what crime he had committed in New York.

They decided to return first to Death Valley for Roberto. Shoz would not leave the little boy behind. He intended to adopt the boy, and was sure he could pay Carmen off to gain her assent. Lucy was less certain, but was filled with hope that maybe the boy would become their son. She urged Shoz to keep their marriage a secret, certain that Carmen would never let Roberto go if she knew the truth.

At dawn Lucy finally fell asleep, reassured and dreaming of a ranch in central Mexico and an idyllic family life. Shoz restlessly watched her. He was just starting to believe that they had really done it.

That he had really done it. Lucy was impulsive and used to doing what she wanted, but he knew much better. Was there any hope for them?

He couldn't give her any of the things she dreamed of, or the life she was bred to. Once her infatuation with him faded, would she become bitter and angry? He could not imagine her homesteading in Mexico, but then again, he had never thought she would adapt to Death Valley so well, either.

It didn't really matter. She was his wife now. He felt a powerful surge of nameless emotion at the thought. He had married her because he hadn't been ready to let her go, and once she was his wife, he'd never have to let her go. He'd never been possessive about any woman before. It was frightening.

At sunrise he shrugged on his blue shirt and jeans, giving up any hope of sleeping, and left the room quietly. He had donned a thin suede jacket to hide the gun he was packing low on his thigh. Sometime today Lopez would dock, and he intended to meet him. The gun was merely a precaution, because he did not expect any trouble.

As he walked down the wide stairs, the hairs began to rise on the nape of his neck. He had a terrible sense of warning. His steps slowed, for he trusted his instincts too much not to heed them. He did not enter the lobby. He flattened himself against the wall and peered around the corner. It was empty except for the clerk.

At this hour, the clerk finishing up the last of his midnight shift should be red-eyed and dozing at the desk. Not only was the clerk keenly alert—he was no damn hotel employee. Although Shoz had never seen him before, he could smell the law a mile away. And this man was an agent, no doubt about it.

Outwardly Shoz remained impassive, but adrenaline pumped through his body, and under his jacket he was beginning to sweat profusely.

Somehow, the law had been tipped off.

He silently hurried back upstairs, his mind racing. Feds or Braggs? It had to be the former, because the latter could not have possibly found his whereabouts here in Matamoros. Entering their room quietly, he locked the door. He went to the window, left open for the breeze, careful to stay near the wall to avoid being seen—or shot by some trigger-happy lawman.

The town was just coming awake. He could hear the gulls cawing and the fishermen calling to each other on the wharf. Across the street there was a small eatery, and the fragrant smells of sizzling bacon and strong coffee came wafting out. Someone in the alley between the post office and bank ducked out of sight.

It had been Lucy's father, Rathe Bragg.

He was sure of it.

His mind worked like lightning. If it was the Braggs and not the Feds, they wanted Lucy. If they had a hired detective in place in the lobby, then they knew where Lucy was, for they would have ascertained this information from any of the hotel staff. He was certain they had only just arrived in town that morning, or in the blackness of the night, for he was too astute not to have noticed them if they had come any time earlier.

If the Braggs were here, they wanted Lucy first and him second. He could leave her here and make a run for it on his own. Or he could use her as a hostage, as a bargaining chip for his freedom. That had been the original plan, he thought wryly. Only now, he knew it was too late for that.

Because he wasn't going to leave her behind.

His mind was churning. How had the Braggs found him here in Matamoros? How had they shown up precisely on the last day of his stay here? Had he been betrayed? By Lopez? By one of his own men? He ruled them all out instantly. Then who? What if the Braggs were working with the Feds? The thought was chilling.

He went to the bureau. "Get up!"

Lucy awoke when he threw his extra pair of jeans at her, with a shirt following. "Put those on!"

"What?" She was wide-awake instantly and turning deathly white. "What's happening?"

"Get dressed now." He didn't look at her. "We're moving. Wear my clothes and hat and make sure all your hair is out of sight."

"Oh God," Lucy cried, leaping from the bed and stumbling into his jeans. "It's the law, isn't it? They've found you!"

Near the window, he saw her father again, in the alley, rifle in hand. The man was looking right up at him. Shoz could have sworn that their gazes met for a bare moment. But that was impossible. He turned and watched as Lucy fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. "Want to stay behind?"

She froze and stared at him, panting.

He cursed and finished buttoning up the shirt for her, jamming it into her pants roughly. She did not look like a boy. He gave her his jacket to hide her bosom and her figure. In his clothes, with her hair hastily pinned up under his hat, she now appeared sexless. Except for her small bare feet. But that couldn't be helped, because he had only one pair of boots and she had only her own shoes.

He grabbed her arm, causing her to cry out. If he wasn't so intent on escape, he would be brooding over the fact that she had failed to answer his succinct question—Did she want to be left behind? Why hadn't she just denied it?

He propelled her to the door and listened, unlocked it, cracked it. The hallway was silent and empty.

But he knew for a fact that Rathe Bragg was in the alley watching the hotel. One of their men was in the lobby, posing as a clerk. How many more men were in the rooms of this hotel, on this floor? How many others were downstairs? He had to get to the small livery out back where their horses were. The most direct route to the stable was via the room opposite theirs, which faced the back garden, which adjoined the hotel-affiliated stable. Was someone in that room? It would be infinitely easier to leave Lucy behind before he ventured forth to find out. But if he was taking her with him, he didn't dare; he didn't trust her. It was her family out there.

They stepped into the hall. Lucy whimpered in fear. Shoz held her tightly with one hand, drawing his knife with the other. They pressed against the wall by the door of the opposite room. "I'm going in; don't move."

She nodded, white and speechless, her pupils unnaturally dilated.

He released her, half expecting her to scream for help, but if she hadn't already screamed, then maybe she wouldn't. He tested the knob slightly—it was unlocked. Slowly he swung the door open, stepping back to Lucy and out of the way of any gun that might be pointed at the doorway from within. "Tell him not to shoot when I say so," he whispered.

She stared at him.

"Now," Shoz said.

"Don't shoot," Lucy cried.

Shoz stepped partly into the doorway, saw the man hesitating with his gun cocked, and threw his knife, before his opponent could even fire. He took him in the heart and the man fell with a gasp, the gun dropping to the floor. Shoz grabbed Lucy, wheeled her in, shut and locked the door, and propelled her to the glass doors on the far wall. Lucy was shaking. On the way to the balcony, he pulled the knife from the dead man's chest, wiped it front and back on the man's pants, and stuck it back in his belt. Except for Lucy's cry, they hadn't made a sound.

"I'm going to throw up," Lucy gasped.

"No you're not," Shoz said, pushing her against the wall. He stared outside while beside him, she wretched dryly.

Were there men out back? Shoz peered through the win¬dow carefully at the back gardens and didn't see anyone. It was too fortunate to be possible. He searched the area again, and was certain this time that no one was within it. They could use the balcony to drop to the ground. The livery, was only a short distance away, and once they were across the lawn, the trees would provide cover. There was only one other open stretch, the path between the hotel and livery, which was directly across from the alley where Rathe Bragg was hidden.

"Now what?" Lucy whispered.

"We're jumping," he said grimly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pushing them both out of glass doors before she could protest. Instantly they froze against the glass, directly under the overhanging edge of the roof. Shoz thought he had heard something—from the roof above.

Shoz listened. He heard nothing. He kept listening. Lucy was breathing harshly, distracting him, and in his hold, she shook. After more intent concentration, he was rewarded with the sound of a broken piece of tile skittering over the edge of the roof and falling to the ground below—from almost directly above them.

There was someone on the roof.

Lucy had heard it, too, and she was frozen in his embrace, her gaze cast up at the dark overhang above their heads.

Abruptly Shoz reached inside the doors to lock them from within, then pulled them closed. Now they were locked outside on the balcony—and just in case Lucy had second thoughts, she was temporarily contained. "Don't move," he whispered in her ear. He lifted her chin. "Are you going to scream?"

Her eyes went wide with surprise and outrage.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that it was her family out there, stalking him, stalking them, to test her. He didn't.

Shoz went to the left edge of the balcony, climbed over the railing, then leapt for the adjacent terrace. Five feet were between the two and he made it easily. Staying away from the glass doors, just in case someone was inside, he climbed onto the railing, pressed against the building, clawing it for grip. He had to hunch down so he would fit beneath the overhang of the roof. He listened and heard the guard above him walking away. Which meant that his back was turned.

Quick as a cat, Shoz gripped the roof's edge and hurled himself up. Tiles broke and slid. He was on his hands and knees when the agent turned and saw him. Shoz reached for his knife; the agent lifted his rifle. Shoz threw his blade while the man cocked his gun. Shoz was faster. His target dropped.

On his hands and knees, keeping purposefully low, Shoz scrambled for the man, because he had not a doubt that he would need his knife again. The man was still alive. Shoz retrieved the knife, waiting for shouts to erupt from the street below. If someone had been watching their partner and seen him fall...