Chained (7 page)

“Even though you think I’m . . . a little off.”

“You’ve been through an ordeal that would knock anyone for a
loop.”

“Not exactly a vote of confidence.”

 He cleared his throat. “I know Matthew Houseman guarded you
here eight years ago. I know you were close.”

“How?”

“He talked about you.”

She struggled to hold back tears.

“It makes sense that you’d be thinking about him here.”

Not just thinking
. But she didn’t say that aloud.

Isabella went back to Phoenix in the helicopter. At the
Decorah Security satellite office, Jordan Stone did a full interview with her.

She gave an account of what had happened since she’d walked
in the kitchen door of her rented house. But this time, she left out the parts
about Matthew. Really, she was regretting that she’d mentioned him at all,
because it was clear from Frank Decorah’s reaction that nobody was going to
believe her.

Two hours later, Stone drove her to the Arizona Biltmore, a
hotel complex designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, where she put the money from the
ranch into the hotel safe, then went to one of the luxury suites scattered
about the landscaped grounds where her father was waiting for her. She hadn’t
seen him in two years, because they’d both known it wasn’t safe. Now everything
had changed, but she needed time to think about where she was going from here.

Her heart squeezed as she looked at her father. Hiding out
from the San Marcos thugs had aged him. His once dark hair was silver and much
thinner. The lines in his face had deepened, and his skin was pale, probably
because he hadn’t gotten much sun while he’d been in hiding. And his leg was in
a cast.

When she saw that, she gasped. “What happened to you?”

“I was hiding in an old warehouse. I fell down a flight of
stairs and broke my leg. It took me a while to crawl to the exit.”

“
Dios
.”

“I’m fine. And more important, so are you.”

When he pushed himself up and held out his arms, she came
into them. As they clung together, emotions welled inside her. Deep in her
heart she’d wondered if they would ever be safe. Ever be together. Now they
were free for the first time in years, and it was finally sinking in.

“Nina, I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve been so worried
about you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she said, her voice cracking. “And
now we don’t have to hide anymore.” As she said it, the reality finally hit
her. They were safe from General Lopez.

“Are you all right?” her father asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You went to
El Cayado
.”

“
Si.
”

“I thought it was safe, but they must have found out about
it. They came after you there.”

“Someone helped me get away.”

He moved back so that his eyes could meet hers. “Who?”

“I can’t tell you yet. But I have to go see him.”

Her father looked confused. “If he helped you, haven’t you
already seen him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“And you’re not going to talk about it.” His face took on a
regretful look. “We used to be close. But that’s changed. And being apart for
so long hasn’t helped.”

“We don’t have to be apart now.”

“I put my whole family in danger with my wild idea of
telling the truth about the general. My son was shot. My wife left me.”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “We paid a price,
but what you did was the right thing. The people of San Marcos needed to know
there was hope for them. I’m sure your articles had something to do with what’s
happened now.”

“They were long ago.”

“But the people don’t forget.” She dragged in a breath and
let it out. “Don’t blame yourself for anything.”

He answered with a little nod, but she wasn’t sure she had
convinced him. Maybe she could do that later. Now she had another task.

“I have to go to Los Angeles. I’ll be gone for a while,” she
said. “Then I’ll come back here.”

“But you’re not telling me exactly where you’re going.”

“It’s better if I don’t. Not yet.”

He kept his gaze on her.

She wanted to look away, but his eyes compelled her. “You’re
being very mysterious.”

“It would sound . . . strange to you,” she temporized,
remembering the way Frank Decorah had stared at her.

He waited several seconds before asking, “Does this have
something to do with a ghost?”

She stared at him in shock. “Why do you ask?”

His hands clenched and unclenched. “Because of Nana Maria.”

“What about her?” she asked cautiously.

“After the funeral, I carried you to your room. Then I
wondered if it was a bad idea to leave you alone. I wasn’t sure so I came back,
and I heard you talking to her,” he said in a rush, as though the words had
been bottled up inside him for a long time. He paused before adding, “And I
heard her answer you.”

She felt her throat constrict. All these years, they’d each
been keeping a secret from the other. “You never said anything to me about it.”

“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I’d made it up
because I missed her so much. And I didn’t want to talk about it with a child
if it wasn’t true.”

Isabella was amazed that they were having this conversation
almost twenty years later.

“You didn’t make it up. And now I know I’m not the only one
who heard her.”

Her father gave her a long look. “I think you’re tuned to .
. . the invisible world in ways most people aren’t.”

Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “Why do you
think so?”

“Because I saw how you read everything you could about the
vortexes. And I knew you asked Matthew to take you out into the desert so you
could be close to them.”

“I didn’t even know you were paying attention to that.”

“I paid attention to a lot of things that I didn’t talk
about. I’m sorry, I should have—” He stopped and started again. “I think now
you’d say I was depressed. And withdrawn. Forgive me.”

“Oh, Papa.” She hugged him tightly.

When she eased away, his gaze met hers. “So tell me, did a
spirit help you at the ranch?”

“I’m not sure, but I need to find out.”

“Then
vaya con Dios
,” he answered, before giving her
a critical look. “But you can’t just rush off. You should shower, get some
sleep, change your clothes.”

She didn’t want to take the time for any of that, but she
didn’t want to arrive at Garrison Care looking like a refugee from a war zone.
So she allowed herself the luxury of showering and washing her hair. While she
was getting cleaned up, her father had a messenger service bring over some
clothing from her house. He also checked the airline schedule from Phoenix to
Los Angeles.

“I got you on a flight tomorrow morning,” he told her when
she was dressed and relaxing on the patio of their suite.

Having to wait made her chest tighten, but she understood
the sense of her father’s arrangements.

They had a room service dinner together on the patio, and
she felt she was getting to know him all over again as they talked of old
times. Many of the memories were good like the
Navidad
pageant at school
where she’d had the honor of playing the Blessed Virgin. Some memories were
painful. Like when they talked about her brother, whom they would never see
again. But maybe now they’d be able to go back to San Marcos to locate old
friends.

“Did Frank Decorah tell you I had to blow up the ranch house
to get away?”

“
Si.
”

“I’m sorry about your books . . . and everything else that
was there.” She made a small sound. “Well, I did grab the money hidden in the
tunnel. It’s in the hotel safe. I thought I’d need it if I had to be on the
run. Now you should take it with you. Well, except for some I might need for
expenses.”

“Take as much as you want. I always intended it to be yours.
And about those things in the ranch house, they are nothing compared to your
life.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it, happy she had her
father back.

Still she worried about Matthew.

She went to bed early and woke long before she had to leave
for the airport, caught between excitement and trepidation. Though the trip
covered a short distance, it seemed to take forever until she was in her rental
car in Los Angeles. As she drove to Garrison Care, her tension mounted.

In the parking lot, she tried to calm the pounding of her
heart.

Taking a deep breath, she gave the two-story building a
critical look. It was in the mission style popular in California, with nicely
landscaped grounds.

Inside, she continued her appraisal. The facility was
spotless, and the staff looked efficient. Probably the best she could hope for,
under the circumstances.

Her pulse was pounding as she walked to the front desk and
said she was Isabella Flores, an old friend of Matthew Houseman who wanted to
visit him.

The woman checked her computer, then looked up with a
concerned expression on her face. “You haven’t been here before. You know he’s
in our coma ward?”

“Yes.”

“I should prepare you. He probably won’t know you.”

“I’m a nurse. I know what to expect, but thanks for warning
me,” she managed to say, wondering if she was really prepared.

“Room 202.”

“Thank you.”

She took the elevator to the second floor, walked past the
nursing station and into a room with a bed, monitors, and the kind of equipment
designed to sustain a patient who wasn’t able to function on his own.

She had looked everywhere except directly at the man in the
bed. Finally, with a mixture of hope and dread, she allowed herself to focus on
him.

Her breath caught when she saw him. It was Matthew Houseman,
looking like the man she had seen at the ranch. Only now he was lying in a bed
under a light blanket.

His face was still and pale, his eyes were closed, but his
chest rose and fell without assistance. At least he was breathing on his own.
And he looked like someone had been taking good care of him. He’d been shaved
recently, and his hair was trimmed.

Her heart was thumping inside her chest as she walked
quietly toward him. “Matthew, it’s Isabella. I’ve come to wake you up,” she
said, her words bold but her voice trembling.

When he didn’t answer, she laid her hand against his cheek,
stroking her finger against the stubble of his beard the way she had at the
ranch. She wanted to climb onto the bed with him and hug him to her, but she
was afraid to do that. Instead she leaned over him, pressing close, praying she
could connect with him as they had yesterday.

“Matthew, you were at
El Cayado
. You were going to
chase me away, until you found out who I was. You protected me there,” she
murmured.

He’d grown so responsive at the ranch. Here, he said
nothing, and she wondered if he had any idea someone was there talking to him.

“Matthew, please. Come back to me. I love you,” she said,
the last part coming out as a sob. “And I know you love me. You didn’t say it,
but I know it’s true.”

She was so focused on Matthew that she didn’t realize they
were no longer alone.

A harsh voice interrupted her from the doorway. “Who are
you, and what are you doing here?”

Isabella turned to see a plump nurse in her sixties with a
round face and salt and pepper hair. Her name tag said “Gloria Romano.”

“I came to see Matthew.”

“On a sudden impulse? You’ve never been here before.”

“I didn’t even know Matthew was here until yesterday.”

Who are you?”

“Isabella Flores.”

The nurse gasped.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You know my name?”

The nurse’s gaze flicked from Isabella to Matthew and back
again.

“He hasn’t spoken in five years. I mean, he
hadn’t
spoken—until he said your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes. Isabella.”

Isabella reached down and clasped Matthew’s hand, hope
springing up inside her again. Maybe this wasn’t so foolish after all. “You
called to me. Oh, Matthew.”

If she expected a response, she got none.

“What happened after that?” she asked. “After he spoke my
name?”

“Nothing. I mean, he said that you needed help. But that was
all. We called Dr. Berman. He couldn’t find any neurological changes.”

“And you were the only one who heard Matthew speak?”

The woman looked defiant. “I didn’t make it up.”

“I wasn’t saying that.” She studied Gloria Romano, sure that
the woman cared about this patient.

“What are you to him?” Gloria demanded.

Isabella had come here with some vague plan of waking
Matthew up. Or maybe she thought he’d open his eyes and leap out of bed as soon
as he saw her. It was clear that wasn’t going to happen, but how much should
she say now?

Would this woman think she was crazy—like Frank Decorah?

She continued to study the nurse, trying to decide. Finally
she said, “Eight years ago, my father and I were political refugees from San
Marcos.”

“San Marcos? It was just in the news. Wasn’t the strong man
who ran the country assassinated?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re deciding what lie to tell me.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because of the look in your eyes.”

“No. I’m trying to decide if you’ll believe the truth.”

Gloria rested her hands on her hips. “Try me.”

Isabella dragged in a breath and let it out. Trying to
condense a complicated story, she said, “My father was a reporter back in our
country. He got tired of publishing news stories that were lies and wrote a
series of articles telling the truth about General Lopez. But of course he
couldn’t put them in the paper. Instead, he had them privately printed.

“Lopez found out and tried to have him killed. They did kill
my brother, and my mother ran away from the family. My father and I escaped to
the U.S., but General Lopez still sent assassins after us here. Papa hired
Decorah Security to protect us, and Matthew was one of the agents who guarded
us at my father’s ranch outside of Sedona, Arizona.”