Mercy Killing (Affairs of State Book 1) (17 page)

Peter Davis sprinted into the near-empty room. “What the hell happened in here? Where are my guests?” He looked horrified as a couple crept out from behind the bar and dashed for the French doors.

Sebastian took in their surroundings. Moments ago he had admired the abundance of flowers arranged in silver Taxco bowls, the Oaxacan textiles used as tablecloths, and Talavera plates that always reminded him of his country’s Moorish legacy.

All a shambles now. The place looked like the set of a Western movie after a barroom brawl.

Sebastian said, “I’m afraid this is my fault, Consul Davis. An old grudge followed me here tonight.”

The American glared at him. “Then those two thugs I just saw hauling an injured man from my house are
yours
?”

“They are.”

“You allowed them to enter my home carrying guns? What will my guests think? Gunplay in the middle of my—”

“Stop it, Peter.” Mercy picked up a cloth napkin from one of the few tables still standing and dabbed at the tiny nicks on her face. “No one even fired a weapon. And it’s a good thing Señor Hidalgo’s men were armed. We might have needed them.”

Her husband huffed and glared at her. “But my guests!” He couldn’t seem to get around his embarrassment. “The Ambassador will be furious that we let something like this happen. Thank God he hasn't arrived yet. I knew we should have hired extra security.”             

Sebastian stared at the man in disbelief. The imbecile didn’t, as Americans were fond of saying, have a clue. What his wife had just done was extraordinarily brave and cool headed. And where the hell had he been during the mêlée? With that stunning local woman Sebastian had seen whispering to him earlier in the party?

But Mercy seemed adept at ignoring his tantrums.

Mercy surveyed her living room and summoned up a reassuring smile for the last three guests as they appeared from behind a tall, lacquered screen.

“It’s all right now. Everything is under control,” she assured them. She turned to her husband. “Peter, perhaps you could escort the Alonzos and Señora Parque to the door? I expect they’re ready to leave.” She mouthed the words
damage control
.

He got the message, gathered his shell-shocked guests and herded them toward the foyer.

She turned to Maria. “You’re all right, aren’t you, dear?”

“
Si
.” Maria stared up at her father, her eyes immense and shining far too brightly. Mercy could tell she was doing her best not to cry.

“I should take my daughter home,” Hidalgo said. “I’m sorry your party has been spoiled.” He took up her hand in his and kissed her fingertips in parting.

The polite thing for her to say was that it hadn’t been his fault. But how did she really know that it wasn’t? Hadn’t the man said something about his brother being killed? Mercy quickly retrieved her hand. “What will happen to him, your attacker?”

“My men will turn him over to the police.” His eyes darkened. “They will sort things out.”

20

The car appeared to float on an undulating silver river. Through binoculars Sebastian watched the vehicle turn off Highway 57D, blurring in the desert heat waves, and cut to the west along the dirt connector toward his ranch.

He sensed something wasn’t right.

Sitting astride the great Andalusian, he tracked the glint of sunlight off the windshield, still too far away for him to see who was inside. So few travelers came this way, he was sure this must be the Davises. Maria had gleefully informed him that they would arrive today.

Until this moment, he had thought it was a good idea, since his daughter seemed so fond of Mercy. The girl needed company, and the reality of his recent lifestyle had limited her choice of companions. He’d been forced to isolate her to keep her safe.

Now, though, he was overcome by a sense of foreboding at the invasion of his privacy. While Maria and Mercy were together, what was he supposed to do with Peter Davis? He didn’t look forward to socializing with such a shallow, uninteresting man.

The car disappeared behind the red sandstone mesa, reappeared on the other side, crossed the iridescent blue strip that was an actual river, not just a heat-wave mirage.

Closer now he could tell it wasn’t one of the black embassy sedans. A dark green Mercedes sportster convertible zipped between cacti and yucca spikes, throwing up dust as it raced down into the lush valley. The driver was flooring the vehicle. Enjoying the empty road and thrill of speed.

Closer still it came…and now he realized why his instincts had warned him. Only one head was visible.

He turned Hermanito. The horse’s hooves clattered down the hillside, raced across sun-baked pasture, through the hacienda’s gates and into the central yard.

Sebastian shouted at his men as he dismounted. “Kennel the dogs. Remember your orders.” They rarely entertained company, and for good reason. The fewer intruders, the less chance of a leak. And trouble.

The convertible sped into the yard on a cloud of brick-colored dust. It braked only at the last moment. Mercy Davis lifted a hand in greeting to him. “It’s beautiful out here!” she shouted, beaming at him.

He nodded, checking again to make sure he hadn’t been mistaken. Her husband wasn’t slouched down in the passenger seat napping. Sebastian handed the reins of his horse over to a senior groom.

“You came alone,” he said.

She shrugged. “Peter was too busy. I decided I could use a break from the city anyway. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He felt a pleasant flush radiate through his body.
Don’t even think that
, he told himself.

Sleeping with a married woman was asking for trouble. Sleeping with a woman in league with the devil was even worse, and invited disaster.

Sebastian had learned a little more about Lucius Clay in recent days. His underground sources revealed that the CIA spook had a reputation as a mean son-of-a-bitch. One of Sebastian’s men had a cousin who had paid coyotes to get him across the border. The man had witnessed a man fitting Clay’s description gun down the two guides.

Why? Sebastian had no idea. Maybe Clay saw them as a threat to his mission, or to himself. Whatever the reason, it was clear Lucius Clay was a dangerous man. Why Mercy Davis chose to risk working with him was beyond Sebastian.

Unless she just doesn’t know.

That was possible. But Sebastian couldn’t warn her. Doing so would reveal he was watching the agent. It would also end the cat-and-mouse game between himself and the Señora, and he was rather enjoying their unspoken rivalry.

Sadly, the time was approaching when he’d be forced to put an end to their sport. 

In the meantime, musing about Lucius Clay seemed far less interesting than the view of Mercy Davis’s long legs as they stretched out from the leather bucket seat. She stood up, looking almost too tall to fit into the little car.

“Maria is still with her tutor,” he said. “She wanted to be here to greet you, however—”

Mercy made a face. “The poor girl’s stuck inside on such a beautiful day?”

“She rides early in the morning, studies until
comida
, our main meal of the day around three in the afternoon. After that she is free to pursue personal interests.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I am not a tyrant, Señora Davis.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes, and he felt himself go liquid inside.

Was she taunting him, or flirting again? Maybe Clay had suggested she ditch her husband for the duration of the visit, free herself up to seduce her host. A pleasant possibility, from his perspective.

But again, there was that same question hanging in the air—why would a woman as strong-willed and talented as Mercy Davis allow herself to be used by the CIA? She had no need of money. Blind patriotism didn’t seem to fit her personality. The thrill of the espionage game? She seemed too down-to-earth for that.

He could think of only one logical reason why she would buddy up with a lowlife like Clay. The man had something on her. He was blackmailing her. Maybe she was trying to wipe clean a dirty slate?

She was saying something to him now. Sebastian gave her his full attention.

“Is my car all right where it is?”

“I’ll have one of my men move it to the garage after bringing up your luggage.”

“Just an overnight bag and art supplies. I expect I’ll stay for only a night or two. Just long enough to do preliminary sketches and take photographs. I can complete the paintings back in my studio.”

He grimaced as he led her up the crushed stone path to the main house. “That won’t go over very well with Maria.”

Mercy smiled. “She’s a sweet girl. Maybe I can complete one painting of the main house before I leave, to satisfy her.”

“I wasn’t talking about the paintings.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“Maria enjoys nothing more than visitors. I think she believed you'd be staying the week.”

“She’s that lonely? Poor kid.” Mercy glanced into the long adobe-walled stables and tacking sheds as they passed. “I know Maria’s home-schooled, but doesn’t she have any friends or family to visit with?”

“Her safety is more important than socializing. You saw what happened at your party.”

She raised one eyebrow. “That’s a frequent event?”

Choosing to ignore her probing, he said, “I’m just warning you that she’ll put up a fight to keep you here as long as possible.”

Mercy laughed. “I think I’m up to resisting the pleadings of a teenager.”

Sebastian just smiled. She didn't know his daughter.

As soon as they entered the cool interior of the central hall, Maria ran to meet them.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Mercy! First I will show you all around the hacienda. Then we will have lunch in the garden. We’ll walk outside and see everything—my horses, the rose garden with its maze and folly. We have a granary for the cattle and our very own chapel, I'll bet you didn't know that! And two kitchens, one indoors and one outside. The stables, of course, and a riding ring. You will need to decide from which angles you wish to paint the house. I suggest—”

“Are you going to plan every minute of your guest’s day?” a new voice asked.

Mercy turned to a short, attractive woman. Streaks of silver wisped through brown hair framing her face.

“This is Gabriella Nebel,” Sebastian said, “Maria’s tutor. Gabriella, Señora Mercy Davis. Mercy’s husband is—”

“Of course, I know who you are.” Gabriella stepped forward with a smile. “My sister-in-law works at the American embassy. She is a great fan of the new attaché.”

“Is she?” Mercy studied the woman’s handsome features.

Her speech was clipped and without noticeable accent. Her eyes sharp. She looked like a teacher who expected a lot from her students, and would get it.

“
Si
. Teresa says that all of the women in the embassy office envy you your handsome husband.”

“They have no idea,” Mercy murmured under her breath. Or maybe they did, since it might well be one of Peter’s co-workers that he was having an affair with.

“Has Maria finished her lessons for the day?”  Hidalgo asked.

“No, Don Sebastian. We have only begun her history studies. She heard the Señora’s car and bolted out the door.”

Maria gave her tutor a disappointed look. “I can study history any old time. It isn’t as if it’s going to change. Can't you see I have an important guest?”

Hidalgo was shaking his head. “There will be plenty of time for entertaining. I volunteer as a substitute host until you finish your lessons, Maria. Come find us on the veranda when you’re done.” 

“You’re treating me like a child again!” Maria fumed. Turning her back on her father, she marched away down the hall.

Gabriella rolled her eyes, gave them a little finger-wave and followed after her young charge.

“You must worry a great deal about her,” Mercy said in the ensuing silence.

Hidalgo tilted his head to observe her. “I’ve already told you I do.”

“Not for the reasons you spoke of.” How to make a man understand a young woman whose hormones had sprung to life and were now driving her? “Your daughter is at a precarious age. She needs a taste of independence, in addition to your discipline and direction.”

Hidalgo shook his head. “
Independence
is a word a child uses when she wants her own way. Now isn’t the time for taking risks.”

“Why do you say
now
? What do you expect to change?”

His eyes flashed a warning. “If I were you, Mrs. Davis, I’d ask fewer questions. Just take my word—the time will come when things in Mexico are different than they are today. Meanwhile, the innocent need to stand aside and let the combatants do what they must.”

She stared at him—wanting to ask him to explain what he meant, then deciding she’d be wiser not to. Not yet.