Home To Texas - Ransom My Heart Part 7

"I told you there are no pictures."

She was lying, and it made no sense under the circ.u.mstances.

The dynamics of this situation were getting stranger, and despite the old man's a.s.surance, Chase wasn't sure that he hadn't been fight about the husband.

But did it really matter? he thought. He had been hired to do a job. To take Sam's million to Melchor Mfizquiz on Sat.u.r.day and see what happened. If nothing did, then he might be able to convince them to reevaluate what was going on.

"Look," he said, trying to be patient, trying to remember that people in this situation sometimes said or did weird things. He was used to that. Samantha's baby had been taken, he had no doubt about that, and she was ent.i.tled to act a little peculiar.

"I have to have some way to identify the baby."

"Why?" she asked.

"So I'll know we're getting the fight one back," he said.

It was getting more bizarre by the minute. Apparently whatever had happened between Samantha and the baby's father had had some pretty far-reaching effects--a lack of trust, for one. Or maybe his own actions five years ago had had something to do with that, his conscience reminded him.

Samantha looked at her father, but the old man's face was unrevealing. Sam's reputation as a good poker player was apparently well-deserved. His lips pursed, but he didn't say anything, and finally she turned back to Chase.

"Why would they try to give you the wrong child?" she asked.

"You said that it was to their advantage--" "If they figure out that I can't identify your baby, Mrs.

Berkley, they can give me any child. They could keep Amanda and ask for another million. Maybe two. Or maybe we just won't hear from them again." He said that deliberately, trying to remind her that things could go wrong if he wasn't allowed to do his job.

"I don't know what they'll do if we do something stupid. I thought you wanted her back," he said.

"If not, then we're wasting our time."

"I'll go," she said.

"You're going to handle the exchange?" he said, allowing his sarcasm to show.

"No," she said softly.

"You are. That's what Sam's Or/ paying you for. I'm going along to make sure you bring back the right child. To make sure that the baby you get in exchange for Sam's million dollars is really my daughter."

Chapter Four.

"What's the point?" Sam had asked her later that night.

They were standing on the balcony of Samantha's bedroom, looking out on the darkness. It didn't seem that anything terrible should happen in a world that was heavened with such a sky, she had been thinking Sleeping somewhere under it, safe and warm, she prayed, was Amanda.

"As if she were my own daughter," the leader had promised her, and she had held on to his vow like a talisman.

To it and to the fact that he had crossed himself as he'd made it. Please, G.o.d, she prayed again, keep her safe.

"I don't know," she said.

"I honestly don't know. It just seemed that ... it was better to do it this way."

"Whatever Chase McCullar may be, he ain't no fool."

"I know, but I needed some time, Sam. Maybe if you hadn't just sprung him on me. Maybe if I'd known that your expert--" "It's dangerous, baby. Going down there with him.

There ain't any reason for it. There's nothing you can do."

"I thought there was nothing to it. To dealing with the kidnappers." Her mockery was obvious.

"That's what you both told me. Just hand over the money and get Mandy back. I thought it was in everyone's best interests that it should go smoothly."

She certainly wasn't gullible enough to believe that nothing could go wrong, and she knew Sam understood that, even if Chase might not. Of course, there were dangers involved, most of them revolving around carrying that much money in cash--ripe for the taking. But since even she didn't entirely understand what had prompted her to decide to go along with Chase, she certainly couldn't explain it to her father.

"You know better than that," Sam said.

"Nothing in this life is without risk. Nothing that's worth doing."

"Or worth having," she whispered.

"What?" Sam asked, turning to face her. He had been looking out over the land, hidden now by darkness, which had been in his family's keeping for five generations.

"Nothing's without risk," she said, smiling at him.

"I.

was just agreeing with you. Mandy's worth any risk. At least we agree on that."

"Is it because you think..." He paused, searching for the right word.

"Because you're hoping--" "I'm hoping to get my daughter back, Sam. That's all I'm hoping for. Don't let your imagination run away with you. Nothing's changed. Nothing's going to change."

She turned and went inside, closing the French doors behind her. Sam Kincaid put his big hands on top of the railing, the knotted fingers closing hard around the wood.

Stubborn as a mule, he thought again. But then so was he. Muleheaded, his daddy used to say. And once a mule made up his mind to something, right or wrong, it usually took a two-by-four between his eyes to change it. You might not like the two-by-four, or like using it, but results were what mattered. Especially with a mule.

"SING IT AGAIN," MANDY begged, blue eyes pleading.

"But then you must go to sleep," the man said.

"It's very late and past the time when all good little girls should be asleep."

She watched his mustache move as he talked. She had never known anyone who had a mustache. She liked the way he sang, too. The way the words all sounded different, even the Spanish ones. Different from how Rosita had taught her. Thinking of Rosita made her miss her Mama again, but he had said that she could go home soon. Very soon, he'd promised.

So she had settled down on the bed he had carried her to and listened again to the song about the cat. She was trying to remember all the words so she could sing it to Mama when she got home.

"I have a cat," she said when he had finished.

"You told me. I'm sure that he misses you. Soon you'll be home to take care of him."

He pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and tucked it in as he talked. He wasn't as good at putting her to bed as her mama was, but still, he was nice.

"I miss my mama, too," she whispered. She didn't know she was going to cry when she said that. She didn't mean to, but he didn't seem to mind. He smiled at her and wiped the tears away and that made her feel better.

"Very soon," he promised. He had already turned to leave when she remembered.

"You forgot to listen to my prayers," she called to him.

He turned back, the silver chains on his boot heels making a noise as he crossed the room.

"Say your prayers, little one. G.o.d and I are listening."

She folded her hands right in front of her face and closed her eyes fight as she said them, very fast, the familiar words coming out almost in one breath: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. G.o.d bless Mama and Granddaddy Sam. And G.o.d bless my new friend. Amen."

"Amen," her friend said softly, and moved his hand up to his face and then across his body.

"Now go to sleep, and soon, sooner than you can believe, you'll be back with your mama, I promise you."

"Good night," she called softly as he was leaving.

After she was sure he was gone, she slipped her thumb into her mouth. She knew she was too big for that, but she was just a little lonely lying here in the dark. And in spite of what he had promised about going home, she still missed her mama.

CHASE HAD BEEN surprised by his reaction to Samantha's announcement that she was going with him across the border.

If any of his other clients had made such a suggestion, he knew what his response would have been. He would have walked out without looking back, no matter how much they needed his help. There was enough to watch out for in his profession without having to baby-sit a member of the family.

He hadn't walked out, of course, maybe because the very thought of traveling with Samantha had taken away his breath. Maybe because his imagination had begun working overtime. Or maybe because he had suddenly been remembering a h.e.l.l of a lot of the things he'd spent the last five years trying to forget.

Like how Samantha Kincaid's body felt under his. How soft her skin was, how smooth. How her perfume clung to the dampness on her neck and in the small, scented hollow of her throat. How it had clung to him.

And so for the first few minutes he hadn't been able to formulate an argument, and the idea had become set, hardened like concrete. Suddenly it had been decided and was not open to discussion. Nothing he said later had made any difference. Once Samantha had made that decision, she hadn't even listened to him. Maybe she'd listened, he amended, polite and distant, but she sure as h.e.l.l hadn't heard. Stubborn as a mule, her father had called her. Apparently Sam was right.

Chase hadn't said the one thing that he knew might have made a difference. He hadn't threatened to leave. He lost sleep during the next two nights trying to decide exactly why he hadn't.

It had taken Sam only one day to arrange for the money.

The kidnappers hadn't specified any denominations. Apparently the amateurs knew that even the larger U.S. bills could be pa.s.sed without question almost anywhere below the border and certainly along it. As a result, they were able to keep the bulk of the ransom as small as possible.

Small enough to be carried in two suitcases. Small enough to be un.o.btrusive, Chase hoped. They still had far more empty and lawless territory to cross than he was comfortable with.

He had guessed that somewhere on the ranch Sam would have a car they could use, but he couldn't have picked a better one than the Land Rover he was offered, It looked unremarkable, painted desert tan, was several years old, and as dependable an all-terrain vehicle as it was possible to own. In Mexico, with its miles of unpaved roads and spa.r.s.ely scattered service stations, that was very important.

Best of all, the paperwork for taking it into the interior was complete and up-to-date.

He had called his office and explained that he'd be away for a few days. His secretary was used to dealing with unexpected absences, and the few finns for whom he handled security--former clients for the other services he offered--understood the nature of them.

He and Sam had made all the arrangements for the trip into Mexico. He hadn't talked to Samantha since the day they had received the ransom note. Although he'd protested vehemently to the old man about the sheer stupidity of allowing Samantha to accompany him, he was unnerved to find that on some level he was still antic.i.p.ating their journey.

Divorced kept repeating with regularity in his brain, and he dreamed about her again--about making love to her.

Nothing would go wrong, he kept telling himself. There was no reason not to take her with him, If Sam was right and the ex-husband had nothing to do with all this, they'd simply hand over the money to the kidnappers and get the baby. He'd clone it more times than he cared to remember.

Or, if what he still suspected was true, they'd probably not be contacted at all when they reached the small Coa-huilan town the ransom note had directed them to, and all this would turn out to be a wild-goose chase. They'd wait a day or so to be sure--waiting together, he realized with another fris son of antic.i.p.ation--and then head back.

Sam would then have to start legal action in the States against the baby's father. The authorities wouldn't like the delay in being notified or Chase's part in what had gone on, but there really wasn't much they could do about what he did for a living below the border. Either way, he rea.s.sured himself, there was no reason to think things wouldn't go as smoothly as they had on the other missions he'd undertaken.

He had decided to make the crossing at Eagle Pa.s.s. Entering Mexico at Piedras Negras would give him a straight shot down Mexican Highway 57, a well-maintained, smooth-surfaced road that would lead straight to the turnoff for Melchor Mfizquiz.

He had asked Sam to tell Samantha to be ready to leave the ranch at six on Sat.u.r.day morning, but unable to sleep, he himself been awake long before his alarm went off. He wondered if he were as big a fool as he was beginning to think he was. He wondered also just what he was expecting to happen on this trip. Nothing had changed. Sam Kincaid still found him inferior, even if the reasons seemed to have s.h.i.+fted. Samantha had made it clear she had agreed to his staying for only one reason. He was the best man for the job.

His lips curved into a small, bitter smile at that, a self-mocking grimace. That was all he was to both of them. The hired help. He might wear a suit now and work out of an office in California, but nothing had changed as far as the Kincaids were concerned. Except now it seemed that Samantha agreed with what her father had always thought about him.

When he was dressed--jeans, a cotton s.h.i.+rt, and a battered leather vest long enough to hide the gun and holster he wore in the small of his back--Chase walked out onto the balcony of his bedroom. The sun was beginning to line the rim of the horizon with gold. The air still held the cool, nighttime breath of the desert, touched by the almost-forgotten savor of salt cedar and creosote bush.

It had been too long since he'd been back home. Too long since he'd had a home, he amended. A real home.

Something besides an apartment and microwave dinners.

Despite the vast wealth of his hosts, he had recognized from the time he'd walked in the front door that this house was a home and always had been. The Kincaids were still a family. Still living on family land.

Chase pushed the memories away. And the regrets.

Maybe that was why he was good at dealing with the families of the victims. He knew a lot about loss and guilt. He took one last breath of the morning, and then he turned away from the sweep of low, gra.s.s-covered hills that stretched away into the dawn-shrouded distance.

CHASE HAD OFV-D no advice on how she should dress, but he was pleased to see that Samantha had been sensible enough to also wear jeans, a long sleeved s.h.i.+rt with the cuffs turned up a couple of times, and hiking boots. The boots were probably the fas.h.i.+onable kind, he thought, but at least she wasn't wearing silk and high heels.

"Ready?" he asked. He couldn't stop himself from watching her walk across the stone patio that backed the big house. The Land Rover was waiting in the driveway that circled it, serviced and holding a full tank of gas.

She nodded, opening the back pa.s.senger-side door to throw a small canvas carryall she'd brought out of the house into the back seat. The bags that contained the ransom were in the trunk, the cash hidden in their false bottoms and covered by a couple of layers of clothing. Just for insurance. He hadn't asked where Sam had found the suitcases, but they had been just what he'd requested--inexpensive and well-worn. Only someone who knew what he was looking for--someone who knew there was something to find--might Uncover the money's simple hiding place. Chase knew they wouldn't be searched at the border, not going in the direction they were headed and not at that particular crossing.

"Goodbye, Sam," Samantha said. She had closed the back door, and was looking over the top of the Land Rover at her father who was standing by Chase on the driver's side.

"You call me," Sam ordered.

"Soon as you know something.

You hear?"