The Last Honorable Man (16 page)

Deepening the kiss, he moaned deep in his throat. She stroked his back, relishing the feel of every inch of his firm flesh. His stubble scraped her cheek. There was nothing soft about the ranger. Nothing weak. The hard press of his body to hers made her wonder how she had ever imagined him capable of wallowing in self-pity. He knew exactly what he was doing, protecting his friends. Protecting her.

And she couldn't let him do it.

She wrenched her mouth away from his, turned her head to the side. Their harsh breathing filled the gulf of silence between them.

Slowly she turned her head back. “Last night was not our last. There will be other opportunities.”

His gray eyes dulled. “But not today.”

“Not when it feels like I'm trading it for your freedom.”

He rolled off the bed and to his feet in one smooth move. Before she realized what he was doing, he grabbed the boxers he'd left atop his bureau, and the towel that had been around his hips fluttered to the floor. He stepped into his underwear with his back to her, but not before she caught an eyeful—two eyes full—of smooth, taut, beautiful male body.

He seemed unconcerned with her appraisal. “If you figure out a way to sleep with me without wrecking your moral code, let me know.” He snatched a T-shirt from
the bureau's second drawer. “Just don't wait too long. I figure this is going to be a speedy trial.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “A speedy farce, you mean. You know this is not about what happened at the warehouse.”

“What do you want me to do? Start a rebellion? Build a bunker on some old farm, stockpile guns and declare the land a sovereign nation? It's been tried before. Doesn't work.”

On shaky legs, Elisa walked to the living room and picked up a picture. The photograph depicted a group of weathered cowboys on horseback—late nineteenth-century era rangers—with heavy mustaches and long-barreled rifles.

She took the picture to Del.

Glancing down, he raised his eyebrows. “You want me to grow a bad mustache?”

“Read the caption.”

“‘They were men who could not be stampeded.'”

“That is what I want from you.”

He handed the wooden frame back to her. “I told you, I'm not a ranger anymore.”

She studied the grainy photo again, the creased faces, the familiar hard eyes. “I think you've been a ranger all your life and you always will be, whether you wear a silver star or not.”

He took the wooden frame from her and set it on his dresser, then studied her a long time. Then he tweaked the front of her T-shirt and pulled her to him. “Anybody besides me ever tell you you're the most stubborn, infuriating woman they've ever met?”

“Almost everyone.”

“I don't suppose you have a plan for how to pull off this miracle?”

A spark of hope kicked her pulse up. “I handled the motivation. Planning is your job.” She arched one eyebrow, reading the glint in his eyes. “You do have a plan, don't you?”

“The woman from the bar,” he admitted grudgingly.

Finally something clicked in Elisa's mind. “She called him ‘Lalo.'”

“What?”

“Lalo. It is the Spanish nickname for Eduardo. Usually only used by family and friends. Very close friends.”

“Maybe we questioned the wrong person at the bar,” Del admitted.

“Maybe.”

“You were planning to talk to her all along.”

“Maybe,” Del said.

Elisa jabbed a fist in his shoulder and handed him his shirt, then he tweaked the front of it once he had it on, pulling him to her. “Anybody besides me ever tell you you're the most stubborn, infuriating man they've ever met?”

He only grinned.

 

“Knew you'd be back.” Dusty Partrain, lone waitress at The Last Buck, lit a cigarette with shaky hands and threw the smoldering match into an empty soda can on her kitchen table. The bar didn't open for another hour and a half, so Del and Elisa had tracked her to the address Clint pulled from the Department of Motor Vehicles.

“What makes you say that?” Del asked.

“I know cops.”

“Been in trouble with the law before?”

She took a drag from her cigarette, puffed out her
lower lip and blew the smoke upward. It was almost 11:00 a.m., but she was wearing a bathrobe and her bleached-blond hair had not been washed.

She'd been pretty once, Del imagined, trying to see past the fatigue and hard living. Not a classic beauty like Elisa, but attractive in a down-home kind of way.

He wondered what had changed her.

“Once or twice,” she finally answered. “Lalo always was after me to clean up my act. That's who you're here about, ain't it? Lalo?”

Del nodded, though he didn't like the way the woman kept glancing furtively at Elisa, or the way tremors in her hands had worsened and her breathing shallowed out.

“You knew Eduardo well,” he said.

Another peek at Elisa. “Well enough.”

“You called him Lalo. That's a nickname usually only used by family and close friends.”

“I guess you could say that. Yeah. We were…close friends.”

“How did you meet.”

“I tried to trick him.”

Elisa frowned. “Trick?”

“You're a prostitute?” Del asked, as much to clue in Elisa as to get an answer.

“I was. I tried to trick him, but he turned me down. Came back the next night, though, and took me to a hotel. I figured he was same as all the rest. But he didn't want nothing. Wouldn't take nothing from me.”

Dusty's eyes filled. Her nasal passages clogged and she sniffed loudly. Del handed her a napkin from the duck-shaped napkin holder in the center of the Formica table. “Not for months, anyway. Till after I got off the drugs and alcohol and got a reg'lar job at the bar.”

Elisa stiffened. Del cursed himself silently. He should
have known. Damn it, he should have taken one look at Dusty Partrain and known she'd been Garcia's lover. The woman's loss was written all over her stooped shoulders, her sad eyes.

Dusty wiped her nose with the wadded napkin. “That was all before, 'course.”

Del noted uneasily the ramrod set to Elisa's spine, the lack of color in her cheeks. It had to hurt to hear that Eduardo had another lover. He wanted to get her out of there, but the stubborn slant to her jaw was enough to convince him she wasn't leaving without her answers.

“Before what?” Elisa asked, as if to prove the point.

“Before you,” Dusty said sadly. “Least before he got the letter about that baby you're carrying.”

Del stood. That was it. He was getting her out of here. “'Lis, why don't we step outside a minute?”

As usual she ignored him. “He told you about the baby?”

“He broke it off with me. After three years, he ended it just like it was nothing.” Dusty's lower lip wobbled, but she held back the new tears. “Said he couldn't marry me like we planned because he had to marry you. It was the
right thing to do.
”

Well, hell. He was ending this. Now. Staring at the toes of his ostrich-skin boots, he asked, “Dusty, do you know anything about what happened at the warehouse the day Eduardo was killed?”

He expected a quick no. That would be that, and he could take Elisa and go. What he got was a hiccup, then a sobbing woman. Hesitantly—and amazingly, given that she had just found out the woman had been her fiancé's lover—Elisa rubbed Dusty's back.

“He'd been working on that deal for months,” Dusty choked out. “Said everything depended on it. I didn't
know what it was about, until the night he told me about…he said he was marrying someone else. We had a fight, but he ended up staying over one last time.” She glanced at Elisa, bit her lip and continued. “I heard him use the phone when he thought I was asleep. He talked about guns and colonel somebody or other.”

“Sanchez?”

“Maybe that was it. I…I don't remember. He said they'd make the deal in three days, on Monday.”

“Son of a bitch,” Del exclaimed. Not because they had proof Eduardo was dealing guns, but because the man had waited until three days before Elisa's arrival to break off his relationship with his girlfriend, and even then he'd
stayed over
one last time.

Dusty took another cigarette from her pack, but didn't light it. “The next morning I begged him not to go. He didn't want to—it was tearing him up, I could see it. But he said he had to. I was mad. Hurt. I didn't understand. I wanted to hurt him—”

She stopped for a breath. “So Monday morning I called the Texas Rangers and told them about the guns.” Her face crumpled like the tissue in her fist. “Now Lalo is dead. It's my fault.”

The anonymous tipster. The pieces were all falling into place now. The jilted lover had tried to screw up Eduardo's deal in retribution. She hadn't realized it could kill him. Afterward, she'd been too broken up by guilt to tell anyone. Since the incoming phone calls at the ranger office weren't routinely recorded, there had been no way to connect her to the call.

Del sighed, not sure where to go next. Not sure if there was anywhere
to
go. He could haul Dusty into court, force her to testify that Eduardo had been involved in the gun deal in the warehouse, but what good would it
do? She was a former drug addict and prostitute. The prosecution would tear her to shreds.

He was ready to leave. More than ready. They hadn't accomplished anything here other than to further disillusion Elisa about the man she'd intended to marry. Only, Elisa didn't seem so anxious to take off. She had pulled Dusty's head to her shoulder and was rocking the woman, whispering words of solace.

One final possibility occurred to Del. It was a long shot, but worth asking. “Ms. Partrain, you said Eduardo used your phone. Have you received this month's bill yet, by any chance?”

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Dusty nodded. She pulled out of Elisa's embrace and retrieved an envelope from a particle-board desk in the living room.

Del scanned the itemized call list, automatically stopping at the number prefixed by area code 202.

Washington, D.C.

Heart quickening, he pulled the cell phone off his belt and punched in the number. He held his breath when someone picked up. A silky female voice answered, “U.S. State Department. How may I direct your call?”

“Y
ou're sending me away?” Sinking against the headboard of Del's bed, she watched as he swooped around the room, gathering the belongings she'd collected in her weeks with him and shoving them into a small black suitcase with wheels. His energy made her even more tired than the morning's revelations. She was ready for her afternoon nap, but Del didn't seem inclined to let her have it.

“Clint is going to get you to Canada. He'll set you up there with a new name. He knows how. I've already called the bank. They'll have five thousand dollars cash and a cashier's check for the balance of my accounts waiting for you.”

Bitter disappointment washed the back of her throat. They had come so far together, become so much more than they had been—strangers thrown together by an impossible circumstance. Foolishly, she had dared hope there was more for them yet.

She had fallen in love with him.

“And if I do not want to go?” she asked.

He yanked open a bureau drawer and hurled a stack of underwear toward the open bag. He was like a laser—a pure, focused stream of energy. And hot enough to burn. Barely controlled fury radiated from him in waves. “Don't you get it? If Eduardo was making calls to the State Department, then they knew what he was doing. The U.S. Government is selling weapons to Colonel Sanchez.”

“Perhaps Eduardo called to warn your government of the deal.”

“Then why weren't there federal agents all over that warehouse?”

“Maybe they did not believe him.”

“Doubt it. Since September 11, they tend to take that kind of thing very seriously.”

“Yet they would sell guns to a country that supports terrorists?”

“They may not know as much about Sanchez as you do. Or maybe they think they can use him as an informant, or that they can buy his loyalty and get him to squeeze the terrorists out. Wouldn't be the first time the U.S. did something like this. Ever hear of Iran-Contra?”

“I studied economics, not politics.”

“Then you understand one thing. Profit. In the end, none of them care about people getting shot in the streets or blown up in their own homes. It's all about making a buck.”

“Not for everyone.”

“All but a rare few.”

“Like you.”

He stopped packing long enough look at her, finally.
“I'm no saint, Elisa. You, more than anyone, know that.”

“You have already punished yourself for Eduardo's death more harshly than any court could.” She stood, brushed her knuckles across his rough jaw and found herself swaying toward him, pulled to him without conscious will. “Is that why you are sending me away? To punish yourself?”

“Eduardo's accomplices in the State Department are worried about what he might have told you. For all they know, you could blow the lid off their whole conspiracy. If they can't force you out of the country through a legal deportation, they might try to get rid of you…another way. It's dangerous for you to stay here.”

“It is dangerous for you also. You are the one about to go on trial. If these men can have you arrested, can they not also tamper with your trial? Ensure you are convicted?”

“They would have to convince twelve people. A jury of my peers.”

“You do not think this is possible?” Even with her limited knowledge of American politics and the legal system, she knew better.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You can. But will you? Or will you let them lock you away so that I can go free?”

“I'm not going down without a fight, if that's what you mean. But I can't take these guys on if I'm worried about you.”

“You do not know who is involved or how high up the corruption goes. What kind of chance—” Elisa didn't have to finish the question. She knew what kind of chance he had against them—about as much chance as a snowstorm in the jungle.

A chill not even his fire could warm seeped into her bones. If the conspirators, whoever they were, were willing to get rid of her “another way,” might they also be willing to get rid of him another way? A single bullet was much more certain than an attempt to sway twelve people. “You must let me go.”

“That's what I'm doing.”

“Not to Canada. Back to San Ynez.”

“Are you nuts?”

“You must dissolve the marriage. Divorce me, and let them deport me.”

“No way.”

“It is the only way.”

“You can't go back there.”

“My people will protect me.” They would, to the best of their ability. But it would not be enough against Sanchez's soldiers. She had thought the United States would be her refuge. Finally she accepted she could not hide from fate. With her eyes tearing, her hand curved sadly over the mound of her abdomen. She had wanted so much for the little one. It just was not meant to be.

The ranger's jaw set. “No.”

What was left of Elisa's pride held her back straight and her head high. She could not let him do this. “Then I will divorce you.”

“Like hell.”

“I cannot let you sacrifice your freedom, possibly your life, for me.”

“I told you I'm no saint, Elisa. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for me. Because I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you, even though I knew it was wrong. Even though I thought you were in love with another man. A dead man.”

“You…you wanted—”

“I told myself I was only helping you because I owed you, and for the baby's sake. I lied.”

Blood pounded in Elisa's ears until she had to strain to hear his words.

“You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Elisa. I wanted to look at you twenty-four hours a day. I wanted to hear your voice in the morning and smell you in the evening.”

“Sm-smell me?”

“You smell like vanilla and almonds. It drives me crazy. So I told myself I could see you and hear you and smell you, but I'd keep my hands off you. I lied about that, too.”

“I…I like your hands on me.”

“I'm a selfish, greedy bastard. I wanted you. Now I've got you, and by God, I'm not giving up what's
mine.
”

The last word shuddered out in a possessive growl, and all her reasons why she should not make love to him ticked away like seconds on a clock, never to be recaptured. Her knees went as weak as her will. If he had not caught her, she would have fallen. He did catch her, though, and he lifted her up as if she were weightless. Even when he laid her on the bed, she felt herself drifting like a dust mote in the light, nothing holding her but air and his arms.

His knee nudged her legs apart, and his hard thighs settled home between hers. He held his weight off her with his elbows. “I want you Elisa. But I have to know there's no one in this bed but you and me. No ghosts. Because I couldn't live with myself if I made love to you when you still blamed me for Eduardo's death. If you do, tell me to stop now, while I still can.”

“I do not want you to stop.” Her arms circled his back, which rose and fell in time with his rough breaths.

“Then tell me you'll go to Canada.”

“I will think about going to Canada. Tomorrow.”

“And today?”

“Today I am counting on you to take me someplace else, entirely.” She raised one knee between his legs, caressed him intimately, and his eyes darkened in surrender.

“You might have to help me.” One of his hands left the bed to smooth over her ribs and rest on her swollen womb. “I'm not familiar with the terrain around here.”

“Nothing you could do would hurt me or the baby.”

“Just to make sure, how about we take it slow and easy?” His wandering hand moved lower, grazing her hip and the delta of her thighs.

Elisa bit her lip. “How slow?”

“This slow.” He lowered his head and laved his tongue over the tender spot behind her ear in a long, lazy stroke. “And this slow.” His blunt fingers traced a circle on her breast, teasingly close to, but not quite touching, the nipple that ached for his touch.

“Have I ever told you.” She had to stop talking to breathe. She had never felt so engulfed by a man. So enveloped in sensation by the slightest touch. “That in San Ynez I have a reputation as being somewhat impatient?”

A Cheshire smile scrolled across his face. “I would never have guessed.”

“I can be downright over-eager at times.” She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, but he bucked away.

“Downright? You're starting to sound like a Texan.”

“Yes? How about this? I'm fixin' to rope and tie you if you don't git back down here.”

He laughed. “Now you sound like you're from Fort Worth.” His laughter stopped and he leaned close. Storm
clouds churned in his gray eyes, whipping the gentle breeze that had been holding her aloft into gales. “I'll let you tie me up later, if you want. How about we stick with freestyle for now?”

This time when she reached for his shirt, he let her strip him. Then he opened the top of her sundress, lingering over each pearly button until they were both naked from the waist up.

Elisa swallowed hard. She had seen his chest before. But never looming over her. Never so close she could feel the solid thump of his heart in her own blood. Touch the steely mass of muscle or the smooth, hot skin. He burned like he had a fever. A fever for her.

Awed, she pressed her palm to his sternum. When she came to the U.S., she had thought she was giving up her independence, commissioning her future into the hands of a man she barely knew. When that man was killed and she accepted the ranger's help, she thought she sacrificed her pride as well.

Knowing he wanted her with such ferocity restored a bit of her self-regard. It also made her feel she had some control over her destiny. Bravely she took his hand and pressed his big fingers to her breast. He let her set the pressure and rhythm a moment, then took over when she drew her hand away.

Leaning over her, he whispered. “Is this how you like to be touched?”

She nodded, losing coherency.

One-handed, he freed the remaining buttons on her sundress and pushed back the flaps. His knuckles brushed the line below her white cotton panties, tickling the tender crease just inside her hip where leg meets torso. Her stomach muscles fluttered.

“And this?” he said, his voice getting rougher.

She nodded again, head thrown back while his magic hands levitated her. Higher and higher she floated until, mewling, she reached for the snap of his jeans. She got them unfastened, but he pulled away, denying her the contact she sought. He stood, shucking the jeans and boxers, then helped her wriggle out of her panties. The process allowed her more than enough time to realize that the parts of him she had not seen were every bit as magnificent as the parts she had. A tingle of anticipation buzzed along her nerves as he lowered his full, naked length to her. Hands thrown over her head, she arched into his male hardness and heat. His strong arms supported her while his fingers penetrated her and she was flying with him. Soaring.

How could she ever have thought of marriage to him as a sacrifice? It was a gift.

He rolled with her, settling her on top, and she realized he was every breath she took. He set her free.

Elisa had never been skydiving before, but she imagined this was how it must feel. Balancing over the ranger's flushed, naked body, she felt as if she were teetering on the brink of a plane's open hatch, looking out at a mile of nothingness between her feet and the earth.

Their gazes met, held, and without hesitation she leaped.

His hands on her hips guided her gently down. She tipped her head back, focused on the expansion of her body, nearly grimacing with the strain of accommodation.

“Don't…let…me…hurt you,” he ground out, but she barely heard him with the winds of passion rushing by her, roaring in her ears.

Touching the tip of her tongue to her upper lip in concentration, she angled her hips a few degrees and
pressed down. With a pop, the pressure inside her released, and she seated herself fully on him.

For a moment they did nothing more than breathe—it was all either of them could manage. Then he took her hands in his and brought them to his chest, tilting her forward. Slowly his hips lifted her, pushing him deeper inside her. Hipbone to hipbone they gyrated, and then floated back to the bed. Her thighs tightened, held him, and he took her back up again. And again.

They moved harder. Gasped louder. The mattress squeaked. The headboard rapped the wall. Del reached for her breasts, plumped and squeezed them, shooting a molten message straight to her core. Her fists twisted in the sheets. Her hair hung over them like a curtain, tangling in his hands. Tied together, they flew. Soared.

“That's perfect. You're perfect,” he said through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with an upward thrust. “I love you.”

The unexpected declaration sent her spiraling out of control. Never had she felt like this. She was free-falling. Diving headlong into oblivion. She twisted, grasping at air, gasping for breath from the greedy wind rushing by. Vertigo took her in its grip and she couldn't tell down from up, right from left. The world was spinning, her body was convulsing and the scream that pierced the roar of the wind sounded like her own.

When she regained her balance, she was lying on his chest. Del's body was arched and tight as a strung bow until his own release subsided and he sagged beneath her.

He smoothed back the long, black hair plastered to both their faces.

“What,” she asked, still disoriented, “was that?”

He smiled lazily. “That, sweetheart, was one more
reason to fight the bastards that want to keep us apart, until my last breath.”

 

“Clint will take you to the train station,” Del told Elisa the next morning. Ranger Clint Hayes followed the discussion by watching in the rearview mirror. “He'll put you on a rail to Detroit, then catch a plane and meet you there. He'll help you get over the border and stay with you until you're settled.”