Blue Jeans and a Badge (17 page)

“No!” Philip mouthed, gesturing frantically for her to stay put. He watched as she disappeared around the corner, and swore under his breath. That woman would be the death of him yet.

Ted grinned and tried the front doorknob. It turned easily, and the heavy wooden door swung open on silent hinges. Ted gave him a well-if-you-insist shrug and cautiously slunk inside, weapon first.

Damn it, Ted!

Again Philip cursed, torn between charging after Luce and covering his friend's backside. His friend won, but only because he knew the inside of a structure was far more dangerous to clear than the perimeter. If anyone was hiding here, chances were it was inside the house.

Gripping his Beretta with two hands, he ducked in after Ted. Moving carefully in tandem, it took them under five minutes to thoroughly check the whole cabin. They found no one.

They did, however, find an office. It was in total disarray, things scattered everywhere, like someone had been searching for something.

“Let's see if they left anything interesting,” Ted suggested.

“What about the warrant?”

“It'll be here any minute. Let's get this bastard,” Ted said in deceptively soft tones. “I don't like being made a fool of for twenty-eight years.”

“If he's the one who tried to hurt Luce…” Philip didn't complete the thought, he was too angry. He didn't have to.

“I know, buddy. Let's nail him. For good.”

 

Luce slid along the cabin wall to the back of the house, ducking at the windows and scanning the yard for movement. Everything seemed deserted.

But her inner radar was raising hairs on the back of her neck. There was something… She just had to pin down what was triggering her instincts.

There! A dull thud. Barely discernible above the sounds of the birds and insects and the creaking and crackling of pine bark and needles in the afternoon sun. She stood still and listened for several minutes before she heard it again. But there it was. Another soft thud.

She scanned the edge of the forest behind the cabin, searching for a possible source.

The noises seemed to be coming from behind the detached garage.

Okay, she'd try there first.

She had the fleeting thought to wait for Philip, but dismissed it. She was used to working without backup, and she wasn't afraid. Hell, she'd faced down giant hulks with tattoos and gold teeth. This guy, if it was Donald Hidalgo, was a prissy old man.

Besides, the weight of the Walther was balanced perfectly in her hand. Nobody with a brain went up against a gun.

She flicked up the snap on the boot knife she'd worn for the occasion, checked the handcuffs tucked in her waistband, then noiselessly padded down the back porch steps and sprinted for the garage. Without giving herself a moment to stop and think, she rounded the corner and peeked behind the building for the source of the noise.

And saw him. Donald Hidalgo. Pulling stones off a low, tumbledown garden wall.

Anger surged through her and she had to take several deep breaths before she could even see straight. As she stood there grabbing for control, he picked up another large stone and set it carefully into a pile off to the side. What the hell was he doing?

Her question was answered when he took a pistol from his coat pocket, wiped it down and stuck it into a crevice in the wall.

The gun that killed Clyde…and her father.

Pain razored through her as he picked up a stone from the pile and placed it on top of the pistol's hiding place. She battled with herself, torn between blasting the bastard where he stood, and letting him pile a few more rocks on top of the weapon before she jumped him, beat him to a pulp and
then
blasted him with the Walther.

Too bad she was shaking so badly she'd probably miss.

She took one last cleansing breath while he piled on two more stones. Then stepped from her hiding place and aimed the Walther at his black heart.

“Give me a reason, you bastard,” she growled.

He looked up, shock twisting on his face, which turned to horror when he saw who she was.

“You! It can't be! Clyde killed you twenty-eight years ago!”

“What?” Did he think she was Maria?
Clyde
had killed her mother? Stunned, she faltered, the gun dipping precariously.

He took off.

She shook herself mentally and hauled off after him. He darted around the garage and she followed, only to stop dead when she ran smack into the barrel of a small pistol.

“Put down your gun,” he snapped, his highbrow accent making the words sound deceptively elegant.

“Go to hell,” she barked back, dropped and did a body tackle at his knees.

They rolled onto the dirt. She struggled to get to his pistol while hanging on to hers.

“You bastard! You killed my father!” she hissed, whacking his wrist as hard as she could with the butt of the Walther.

He shouted in pain, along with a string of Spanish invective she didn't need translated. The gun flew from his hand.

“Father? Tafota should have killed you like I paid him to!
Like he did your whore of a mother!” He flailed out, hitting her shoulder hard as they tumbled over again.

She grunted. “She was your sister!”

“She was no sister of mine after she married that upstart
chingada
bookkeeper! He ruined everything!” Hidalgo smashed her in the jaw with his fist and tried to thrash away from her.

Pain bloomed in her head like a psychedelic light show. She backhanded his face as hard as she could, then pushed the barrel of the Walther into his forehead. He lifted a hand. She narrowed her eyes and pushed harder. “Move and I'll take your head off.”

He stared at her, pure hatred in his eyes. “You don't have the guts, little orphan girl.”

She gasped, momentarily paralyzed. She knew that was the reaction he'd counted on, to escape, but she couldn't stop the emotions from flooding through her.

“
She
might not,” a deep, masculine voice said from above, “but
I
do.”

Philip!

She looked up and felt a shiver go down the length of her spine. Philip had his gun trained on Hidalgo's head, a deadly expression on his face. One that said he'd do whatever it took to protect her.

Faced with death from two directions, Hidalgo wilted. In seconds he was in handcuffs and Ted was dragging him to his feet and off to a waiting cruiser.

Luce's strength evaporated with the end of her adrenaline rush, and she rolled onto her back, unable to rise. She gazed up at Philip.

“I just want to point out,” she said shakily, relief swirling in the pit of her stomach, along with unremitting joy at seeing him standing there like a giant redwood towering above her, “that I could have handled it.”

“I know,” he said, and she could see a spark of amusement behind the grim determination in his eyes as he sat down beside her in the dirt. “Just thought I'd lend a hand.”

“Okay.” She watched his handsome, worry-etched face as he stretched out on the ground next to her. “Thanks. I…guess I did let him get to me, a little. At the end.”

Philip laid his temple close to hers and took her hand. “For a second, maybe. But you'd have been okay.”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes and felt his nearness sweep over her like a warm quilt. His strong, warm body, his reassuring scent. Her chest squeezed. “But it was nice of you to come to my rescue, anyway,” she whispered. “My hero.”

“Anytime,” he said, and she knew he meant it. She was safe now.

Unbidden tears crested her lashes. “He knew who I was.”

“Yeah.”

“He killed my father.”

Philip's hand tightened around hers. “Yeah.”

She shuddered out a sigh. “He paid Clyde to kill my mother and me.”

“I heard. That's when I came around the corner.” She gave him a look of surprise that he'd been there the whole time. He explained, “I wanted to hear what he'd confess to.” Her mouth dropped and he lifted a shoulder. “I knew you could handle it.”

“Wow.”

“But I have to admit, I lost it when he punched you. Good thing you were all tangled up, or he'd be a dead man right now.”

He gathered her in his arms, and she gave herself up to his kiss. It felt so good, so right. She clung to him, almost desperately. She didn't want to think about the past or the future. Only now. Here with him.

A cough sounded behind them. “Do you two never quit?” Ted muttered. “Do us all a favor and drive to Vegas.” He shook his head and walked over to the ruined stone wall. “This where Hidalgo hid the gun?” he asked.

Philip gave her one last quick kiss, then helped her up.

“Yeah. It's right under there.” She pointed to the exact
spot, and Ted lifted the few stones concealing the weapon, calling the forensics team over to finish the job.

“That should put him away for the rest of his life,” Philip said with satisfaction as the gun was carefully bagged, tagged and taken away.

“I'll need a statement from both of you,” Ted said. “Can you come down to the sheriff's office?”

Ted accompanied the prisoner in another car, so they drove Ted's cruiser down to Taos. It had been a long day, but it wasn't over yet.

She and Philip gave detailed statements, after which she begged to watch Donald Hidalgo's interrogation through the one-way mirror. Her stomach turned over and over at the unfeeling, matter-of-fact way Hidalgo described his crimes against his country, his company, his employees and even his own flesh and blood. The only exemption was his daughter, Anna, whom he truly seemed to love.

It all boiled down to greed. When his father had taken the company public, young Donald resented the cut in profits and lifestyle, and had slowly started pilfering from shipments and selling on the black market. When Peter Santander noticed the discrepancies, he'd told Jerome Gardner, who reported it to Donald, who'd then turned the tables and accused him of embezzling. The man's brakes had failed a few days after his lawsuit was filed, killing him and forcing Peter to confront his brother-in-law. Donald shot him in a rage, then hired the company's young, hotheaded airplane mechanic to finish off his sister, whom Peter had confided in, and their child. But Clyde hadn't been able to kill the little girl, and had instead driven her to St. Louis where a friend lived, and they'd dumped her in a church.

All through Donald Hidalgo's confession, Philip stood with his arms around Luce, supporting her when she was certain her legs and her heart couldn't take another word. He cut a swath through the herd of reporters in the parking lot, who loudly demanded her side of the bizarre breaking story. He
poured her into a hot bath with a glass of warm milk and, finally, tucked her into his bed.

“Aren't you coming?” she asked when he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead.

“You sleep. I'll be in after a while,” he said. “I have to take care of a few things first.”

She nodded and let her eyes drift shut. Pretending to sleep. So he'd close the door and leave her alone. Because she badly needed to think.

A million different thoughts assailed her as he quietly slipped out of the room. She felt pummeled and exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Now was not the time to be making life-altering decisions.

But she had no choice.

What was she going to do now? About the Hidalgos and Santanders? About her adopted parents? About her job and her life?

About Philip?

And about their baby…?

P
hilip stared at the phone on his desk for a long time before picking up the receiver. It wasn't his place to make this call. But he was afraid, so afraid, of what would happen if he didn't. And yet he was more afraid of what would happen if he did.

Either way he lost.

So he had to think about what would be best for Luce. And whether or not she realized it, making the call would be the best thing for her.

Secrets ruined lives. That had already been proven. But ignoring the consequences when those secrets were revealed was nearly as bad.

Ted said the Santanders had called four times, wanting to get in touch with their lost baby, Constanza. Constanza Jean Luz Hidalgo Santander, to be exact. The little girl who'd been the light of their lives.

He spoke briefly with the overjoyed old woman who answered the phone, arranging for a meeting tomorrow at the Santander family home.

He hung up, feeling slightly guilty but much better. Now he could sleep. He hoped.

Luce was out like a light already, so he slid quietly into bed and spooned up against her back, tucked her under his arm and closed his eyes.

But sleep eluded him as he thought about all that could happen tomorrow. The bad guy was behind bars, all the crimes were solved. However, things between him and Luce were anything but settled.

What would she do when he told her he'd taken the decision out of her hands about whether to meet her birth father's family?

What would she do if he got down on his knees and begged her to stay with him in Piñon Lake?

What if she was pregnant?

What if she wasn't?

Eventually exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a fitful sleep, no closer to any of the answers.

Deep in the night he reached for her and they made love. Sleepy and intense, neither totally awake, but both hungry for the touch of each other. Both needing to be joined as one. Neither voicing the worst fear stumbling through Philip's head the whole time, that this might be the last time they'd ever make love together.

He tried to ignore that thought, did his best to ignore it, but it clung to him tenaciously, like the last dredges of a terrible nightmare. Or the first tingling warning of a bad one on the way.

He started awake the next morning, sitting straight up in bed in the bright sunshine pouring through the window.

“Something wrong?” Luce asked, all soft-eyed and rumpled and looking like everything he'd ever wanted in life.

“What time is it?” He checked the clock. “Damn. We're late.”

“For what?” She sat up and yawned.

“You'll see. We have less than three hours to get there. We better get a move on.”

“Three hours? Where?”

He needed her dressed, fed and in the Jeep. They could argue about his decision later. “Santa Fe,” he said, and mumbled something about legal formalities on his way to the bathroom.

She wandered in just as the shower water was getting hot. He got in and she joined him a minute later.

“Hi,” she said, and leaned against him under the warm spray, putting her arms around his waist.

“Hi, yourself.” He laid his cheek against her temple. “I wish we had more time this morning.”

“Better to conserve water,” she said, and smiled up at him. But her smile wasn't all there. The part around her eyes was missing.

His heart died a small death.
Damn,
was all he could think.

“Philip.”

He wasn't going to listen to this. There was no way he'd listen to this. Not now. Not here.

He put a finger to her lips. “Don't say anything,” he told her. “Not yet.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Not that waiting would do him any favors. Who knew what she'd think of him after her coming ordeal. But that was the whole point of waiting, wasn't it?

Reluctantly she agreed. They showered and he made breakfast, then they got in the Jeep and headed for Santa Fe.

“So where are we going?” she asked once more as they drove.

“Like I said, just clearing up some formalities.”

“What kind of formalities?”

“You should call your mom again,” he said, deliberately changing the subject. He handed her his cell phone. She'd talked to her mom last night but had been too upset and exhausted to go into details. “I'm sure she's worried about you.”

Anything to get her mind off where they were headed. Besides, it would be good for her to go into the coming meet
ing with the solid security of her mom's love surrounding her. Luckily Luce didn't catch on, or else for once decided not to challenge him.

She made no attempt to hide her conversation, even when, after going through everything that had happened yesterday twice, her mom obviously asked about him.

“Yeah. Handsome as ever,” she said, and turned to look at him. “My hero. He saved my life.” He frowned and shook a finger at her. “Yeah, Mom. I know… I will.” She tilted her head consideringly, then said, “He may also have gotten me pregnant.” Philip almost drove off the road as Luce held the phone away from her ear for a few seconds, then returned it. “Not sure…. I don't know…. Not yet…. I don't know,” she responded to her mother's rapid-fire questions. Then, “Listen Mom, I've got to go. I'll call you later, okay? I love you,” she said, then hung up.

He took the phone when she handed it to him. “Was that completely necessary?” he asked, feeling equal parts proud, virile man and embarrassed, guilty teenager. “We don't even know for sure yet.”

“I always tell my mom everything.”

“Everything?”

She gave him a sardonic smile. “Worried about your reputation?”

“No, more like my hide. How many shotguns did you say your dad owned?”

She grinned. “Almost as many as I do.”

It was good to see her laugh. And he wasn't remotely worried about her dad and his shotguns. Perhaps the two of them could even talk some sense into his stubborn daughter.

He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Don't forget,” he said with a wink. “I have a shotgun or two, myself.”

The bravado visibly whooshed out of her. She bit her lip. “Philip—”

But luckily they'd arrived at their destination. “Hold that thought,” he cut her off. “We're here.”

“Here” was a sprawling adobe home on the outskirts of Santa Fe. Charmingly old-fashioned, it was surrounded by a high, brown adobe wall covered in rambling yellow roses and punctuated by a black wrought-iron gate that had been left open. Philip drove through and parked the Jeep in front of the Spanish-style home.

Immediately the ornately carved, wooden front door began to open. Slowly, a few inches at a time, as though the door were very heavy, or the opener not very strong, it swung wide. And revealed a tiny, white-haired old lady.

“I thought we were going to the police station,” Luce said with a frown. “Where are we? And who is that woman?”

“That,” Philip said, bracing himself, “is Alice Santander, your grandmother.”

 

Philip's words went through Luce like a landmine exploding under her. Instantly her eyes swam and her hand flew to her mouth. A panicked cry escaped her. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want you going through hell on the way down,” he said, and got out to open her door. To help her out, if necessary. “You would have overthought the situation if I'd told you. Yell at me later. Right now I want you to meet a sweet old lady, whose twenty-eight years worth of prayers were answered yesterday.”

“I can't,” she croaked, terrified to the bone, dashing at a tear that leaked out. “I need time to—”

“Bull,” he said. “You need a hug from your grandma.”

Oh, God.
“I'll kill you for this,” she whispered.

“Later.”

She managed to find her feet. In front of the house the old woman spread her arms, beckoning.

A painful, wrenching sob found its way to Luce's throat. She couldn't stop it from bursting out. A stinging wetness filled her eyes, blinding her, but suddenly she was running. Somehow she found the open arms and sank to her knees, hugging her grandmother close. She didn't recognize the
face, but instantly she recognized the dear, sweet smell of her—roses and flour tortillas.

“Luz, my baby girl,” the old woman sighed in a joyful, thready voice. “
La
Luz
de mis días.
Light of my life.”

Luce swallowed over and over, all her fears evaporating like mist in the shining rays of the sun, enfolded in her grandmother's quavering embrace. Silly fears. Fears of not being believed. Not being accepted. Not being wanted.

“I love you, Gramma,” she said between swallows, the unfamiliar word breaking loose from somewhere deep within her heart.

“I love you, too, my dearest,” the old woman answered. “Come. Come inside. Meet your family.” Her grandmother took her hands and motioned her to her feet. “You, too, young man,” she said to Philip, who had hung back. She put one arm around Luce and one around Philip when he hesitantly joined them in the entryway.

“I'm not sure—” he began.

“Nonsense,” Gramma Santander said firmly and led them both inside the house. “You gave me back my granddaughter. You are one of the family now.”

They walked into a grand entry hall, dim and cool, its dark, carved furnishings echoing a long-ago era. Several large family portraits hung on the walls between the doors, the subjects looking proud, serious and formal, as if they carried the weight of generations to come.

Except for one.

He looked like—

Luce gasped, and ran to the portrait.

“Santa!” she cried, the world tilting around her. With his white hair, bushy white beard, jolly eyes and kind smile, the man looked exactly like— “Santa! My God, it's— Oh!” Realization crashed down on her and she spun to her grandmother. “Is he…?”

Eyes glowing wetly, the old woman nodded. “He was my
husband, your grandfather. You used to call him ‘Grandfather Santa' because you had another grandfather, on your mother's side.”

Luce put her fist to her mouth and gave up trying to stem the tide of tears.

Finally, she'd found her real Santa.

Her gramma came to her and they stood together for a long moment, hugging and crying and gazing up at the portrait.

“Hey, what's going on? Where's that cousin of mine?” came an indignant feminine voice from just inside one of the doors off the hall. It was followed by a curvy young redhead with sparks flying from every pore. “There you are! Well, I never. Gramma, have you made her cry already? Come here, darling!”

The redhead grinned, spread her arms and launched herself at Luce. “I'm your cousin Lettie. Well, second cousin, really—”

But Luce didn't catch the rest because suddenly the hall was filled with people of all sizes and descriptions, all descending on her. Hugging her and pumping her hand and saying how wonderful it was that she was finally home.

Home.

She laughed and cried and met everyone and tried to answer their thousands of questions as best she could, but the whole time all she could think was…

At long last, she was home. Really, really home.

Over all the heads of her new family, Philip towered, shaking hands and introducing himself, retelling the story over and over of how he had brought her back to them. Of course, she was sure he didn't phrase it that way or take any of the credit. Even though she knew the truth. She was only here because of him.

There was no way on earth she could ever repay him for what he'd done for her. For making her face her demons and see the truth behind her restlessness. For pushing her to have
the courage to meet this precious family who had accepted her so lovingly.

She would always love her mom and dad, the Montgomerys, and they would always be her true parents. But now she'd found the Santanders, too. Two families. What could be better than that?

She met Philip's eyes across the room, and he gave her a wink. She smiled at him through the haze of her drying tears, and suddenly she knew. She just knew.

She had truly found what she'd been searching for.

There was no bottom to the depth of her feelings for this wonderful man who had saved her. She loved him more than anything on earth. She loved him, and she wanted him.

Forever.

Philip, her handsome, sexy, soft-spoken lawman,
he
was the real family she'd found. What she'd been seeking all along.

“I love you,” she mouthed over the heads.

She could see the surprise and disbelief in his eyes, then when he saw she truly meant it, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I love you, too,” he mouthed back. And started for her. Through the throng of laughing, chatting Santanders he advanced slowly but surely.

She bit her lip, her eyes filling all over again.

Oh, God. He was coming for her.

As he wrestled through the last remaining people separating them, he held out his hand for her. She took it and pulled herself into his reaching arms.

“Oh, Philip,” she whispered, and his lips came down on hers. “I'm so happy.”

“Marry me,” he said, kissing her over and over. “Marry me, Constanza Jean Luz Hidalgo Santander Montgomery. I love you so much. Marry me and have my children.”

The whole family erupted in cheers of surprise, clapping and jumping up and down, calling loudly for her answer.

She kissed him back, laughing and crying with joy. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, Philip O'Donnaugh. I love you, too, forever and ever.”

And as they were carried around the house on a tide of cheerful arms, glasses were fetched and corks popped, and she knew she'd never, ever been so happy.

Thanks to Philip, his breathless passion and his steadfast, undaunted love, she had well and truly reached the other side of the mountain.