The Spy Wore Spurs. Dana Marton
that had been incredibly stupid. They could have avoided all of this.
“I don’t play those kinds of games.”
No, he probably didn’t. He looked as serious as a longhorn stampede.
“Don’t you have a heart?” The words burst from her in a fit of frustration.
“I’m going to take her into custody,” Ryder said in a tone that bore no argument. “We’ll consider it a voluntary surrender. I might be able to arrange for her record not to be marked, so she’ll be able to get an actual visa and come back legally as soon as that’s processed.”
“And who’s going to look for her husband and children?” she challenged.
He measured Esperanza up, then turned his attention to Grace. “I will. I’m interested in criminal activity in the area. Her family’s disappearance could be connected to the case I’m investigating.”
“Which is?”
“A matter of national security.”
She could have cheerfully strangled the man. “Whatever happens on my land concerns me.”
“The concerns of private citizens are secondary in this case.”
Words easily said. And easily abused.
And what if he didn’t follow through? If he found that there was no connection, after all, he’d probably drop the search in a second. She could all too easily see the kids and the husband becoming yet other victims the system failed.
She leaned forward in her seat. “I can help you. I’ve been living in Bryan for the past few years, but I know this area. I know the people around here.”
He pinned her with a hard look, suddenly appearing stronger than he had a minute ago. “Not only won’t you involve yourself in this, you won’t talk about it, either. To anyone. You never saw me. I was never here. Is that clear?”
The strength of his voice surprised her, gave her a glimpse of what he might be like when he wasn’t waylaid by massive blood loss. Tough and stubborn. She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to upend the egg plate over his head.
But he distracted her with, “I don’t suppose you have a spare pair of men’s pants.”
She was tempted to leave him in the pink-purple afghan her grandmother had crocheted, just to spite him. But she didn’t want to risk the afghan slipping as he got up. So she shot him a glare and stomped up to Tommy’s bedroom, grabbed the rattiest, most ridiculous-looking farmer’s overalls out of the closet and brought them down. The man needed something loose. Tommy’s jeans would have never fit over his bandages.
He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, just took the denim and shuffled into the laundry room that opened off the kitchen. She tried not to stare when he came out. The overalls ended above his ankles, since Tommy had been shorter. His dirty-blond hair stuck up in every direction, his face pale.
And the bastard still managed to look sexy. It was the lips, she decided, and turned from him as the sound of arriving vehicles filtered in from the outside. She strode to the door and yanked it open to glare at the men, presumably Ryder’s buddies who’d come to take him and Esperanza away.
She lost her breath for a second.
Oh, sweet heaven. For real?
The men who strategically exited the dark SUVs—all combat ready—wore the same black commando gear Ryder had had on when she’d found him. They were all built, moving with grace, radiating strength. They were so hot, all five of them, that they could have had their own pinup calendar.
If it weren’t for the all too real we-mean-business look in their eyes and their authentic arsenal of weapons, she would have thought that they were hot stuff actors hired to play a commando team in some top budget movie.
They looked her over, some with suspicion, some with appreciation, and honest to goodness made her feel flustered. No small feat, considering that during her military career she’d been surrounded by thousands of horny men.
“Ma’am,” said the tall, Viking-looking one with the reddish-blond hair. “We’re here for a friend of ours.”
He didn’t introduce himself, nor did he refer to Ryder by name. She itched to know just what kind of an op they were running.
“In there.” She jerked her head, hating the way the morning was turning out. She might have been able to stand up against Ryder in regards to Esperanza, but no way could she stand up against the six of them.
Game over.
She watched as they tried hard not to laugh at Ryder’s appearance in the overalls. But there was a lot of smirking going on as they helped him to the door.
He stopped in the threshold. “I appreciate the help, Grace.”
She didn’t say you’re welcome, just stood there with her arms crossed.
“I had a gun,” he said then.
Fine. She stepped to the hall table and pulled open the top drawer, then handed him his gun belt.
He left with a nod, followed by one of his buddies—built like a tank—who was escorting Esperanza. Half of the man’s left eyebrow was missing, giving him a fierce appearance. Esperanza looked about ready to faint.
The rest of the men inspected Grace’s living room as if they were undecided whether to leave or pull out a search warrant.
Twinky padded in from the direction of the kitchen; the Viking gave her a careful look.
Grace rolled her eyes. “What? You want to frisk the cat?”
The man’s startling blue eyes cut to her and he coughed. His face remained impassive, but he might have been trying to cover up a laugh. The others strode out and he walked after them.
She followed after Esperanza and gave the crying woman a hug. “Lo siento,” she whispered into her ear. I’m sorry. “I will do whatever I can to help. I’m going to look for your family, okay?”
And maybe Esperanza understood, because she slipped a folded-up piece of paper into Grace’s hands, careful so nobody would see the furtive maneuver, her red-rimmed eyes hanging on Grace’s face, begging. She looked as miserable as a person could be, but followed the men without resisting. Then she disappeared in the back of one of the vehicles, no longer visible behind the tinted window.
“I do appreciate what you did for me,” Ryder said again as he got into the passenger seat of the same vehicle.
Grace turned her back on him, marched inside the house, then slammed the door behind her.
Only then did she open the piece of paper.
Two little kids smiled at her from the photograph, a boy and a girl, their eyes laughing into the camera. Their parents stood behind them, a world of love in their eyes as they looked at their children. She turned the photo over. Paco, Esperanza, Miguel y Rosita.
Miguel was maybe two inches taller than his twin, his arms protectively around his little sister.
She had a picture in that same pose with Tommy, although the age difference had been bigger between them.
She glanced at the brass urn on the mantel and her heart constricted.
What if Ryder didn’t fulfill his promise?
Children, even American children, fell through the cracks every single day. What if nobody went to look for Rosita and Miguel?
She squared her shoulders. Somebody would, she decided.
Chapter Three
Ryder took notes at the SDDU’s new satellite site as Esperanza Molinero repeated her story. Raymund, better known as Ray, Armstrong, sat with them. The two of them were