Son of a Gun (7 page)

Damien stood in the falling snow as Blake drove away, his mind cluttered with the strange turn the evening had taken. The birth certificate that created troubling doubts. A rescue in the snow.

The first could hopefully be cleared up with a conversation when things settled down and he had some time alone with his mother. As for the mystery surrounding Emma Smith, that wasn’t really his concern.

He’d brought her and her baby to the house. They were warm and safe. That should be the end of his involvement.

So why couldn’t he shake her and her problems from his mind?

* * *

CAROLINA OPENED THE DOOR and ushered Emma into the first-floor guest suite. It was in the west wing of the sprawling house, away from the living area and the noise that entailed, and with a terrific view of the swimming pool and its surrounding gardens.

The suite had been two small rooms when she’d married Hugh, and the pool had been an ugly concrete hole in the ground with no redeeming features. Still, the house and everything about the Bent Pine Ranch had seemed incredibly luxurious to Carolina.

Emma paused in the doorway, a sleeping Belle cradled in her arms. “This is where you want me to spend the night?”

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“No. I’m awed. This is like something from a home-decorating magazine—only far more inviting.”

“I like to make my guests comfortable,” Carolina said, pleased that Emma appreciated the efforts she’d put into creating the hideaway.

“I’m afraid I’m more an intruder than a guest,” Emma said.

“Nonsense. You were unexpected, but you and Belle brightened a cold, snowy night. I shudder to think what might have happened if Damien hadn’t gone out one last time and run into you. It was meant to be.”

Carolina crossed the room and touched the back of the antique cradle that had been handed down through three generations of Lamberts. “I hope Belle likes her accommodations.”

Emma stared at the cradle, obviously noticing it for the first time. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and Carolina could see the moisture glistening in her soft violet eyes.

“I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s fit for a princess.”

“My husband’s grandfather made it for his children, and every Lambert offspring since has slept in it. It’s had to be repaired and refinished a time or two over the years, but it’s held up amazingly well. I thought it would be perfect for Belle.”

“You surely didn’t get it out of storage just for one night?”

“No. I have a room upstairs where I keep some of the family heirlooms on display. Hugh’s grandfather was a master craftsman, and some of the toys he made his children are not only inventive but amazing. There’s a giant rocking horse that almost looks like a real pony. Damien spent hours on it long before he was able to ride a real horse on his own.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow morning. Now you probably need some rest. Your private bath is through this door,” Carolina said, opening the door to reveal the curtained claw-foot tub and the dressing table.

“The cabinet is stocked with staples, but if you need anything else, just let me know. And I hung your freshly laundered clothes in the closet and put Belle’s dress in the chest along with the extra outfits Sylvia sent over and a supply of diapers.”

“You think of everything.”

“I’m a stickler for details. It’s the curse that causes me to sit on far too many committees. Oh, and feel free to use the phone. I know you’ll want to connect with your aunt in the morning. There’s a phone book in the bedside table if you need it.”

“Thanks. In case I do get in touch with my aunt and she wants to pick me up, how would I tell her to get to the ranch?”

“She can ask anyone in the area where Bent Pine Ranch is. They’ll be able to give her directions. Or…” Carolina opened the top drawer of an antique chest and took out a box of stationery engraved with the Bent Pine brand and a small-scale map showing directions to the ranch from I-35 and I-45. The ranch fell about halfway between the two interstate highways. “The address is on this stationery, along with easy-to-follow directions.”

Emma lay Belle in the cradle atop the clean, specially made sheet. Belle barely stirred. She looked like an angel in the pink footed onesie that Sylvia had sent over.

Carolina touched the tiny hand and memories flooded her mind. The night she’d placed Damien in this same crib for the very first time—the night she and Hugh had married. She’d had tears that night. Her heart had been so full.

Hugh had laughed at her, but he’d quickly become as attached to their miracle son as she was.

Hugh. The only man she’d ever loved. She missed him so, but she treasured every second they’d had together. He’d been a hardheaded man, never comfortable showing his emotions—except with her. She’d been his one weak spot. He’d been her strength.

“I should go and let you get some sleep,” Carolina said.

“I am tired,” Emma admitted. “And that bed looks so tempting I can’t wait to crawl between the sheets. I know I’ve said it a half-dozen times tonight, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”

Carolina’s hand closed around the doorknob, but she hesitated. “You know, Emma, I have this feeling that God sent you to us tonight—as much for us as for you. Sleep tight.”

* * *

EMMA DROPPED TO THE BED as the door closed behind Carolina. She’d never met a family like the Lamberts. That would make it doubly hard to leave in the morning. But with luck she’d be out of here before Damien decided to go look for her ditched car. The plan was already worked out in her mind.

There was just one last detail to take care of. She picked up the phone and made a call that would put her plan in motion.

Once she’d showered, she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. She expected to see Caudillo’s image waiting for her in the dark with angry threats of what he’d do to her for escaping his paradise prison.

But it was Damien’s face that appeared as she drifted into a sound, safe sleep.

Chapter Four

Caudillo paced the tiled floor of his office. “I leave for a few days, and you let marauders take everything, even my beloved Emma.”

“What could we do? They came onto the island with hundreds of armed men.”

“You could have fought to the death instead of hiding.”

“We fought, but there were so many of them.”

“You are the leader of a hundred men, Chale, armed with the best weapons money can buy. You should have been able to shoot them like ducks in a row as they stepped off their ship. You let down your guard while I was away. Admit it, Chale.”

“I can only speak for myself. I was not on guard duty that night.”

“But you are responsible for your men, and you were responsible for keeping my island safe.”

Chale straightened the bandoleer that crossed over his shoulder, as if his supply of cartridges mattered now.

“I assumed my orders were being obeyed.”

“You assumed? I could train a monkey to assume and do nothing. And now not only are crates of weapons missing, but Emma is gone, as well.”

“I will see that she is found, unless she is in the stomach of a shark.”

“No, Chale. You will not. You have lost my trust. You are relieved of duty.”

Sweat pooled on Chale’s forehead and circled the armpits of his white shirt. Another time, Caudillo would have enjoyed his sniveling fear. Today, there was too much at stake to enjoy anything.

“Emma was not just another concubine, Chale. She is brilliant and deductive. She knows too much. Her freedom could bring the end of mine.”

Not that Caudillo would let it go that far. But that didn’t excuse Chale’s negligence.

Chale fell to his knees. “Please, Caudillo. Let me make this up to you. Let me find her. I know I can.”

“Good night, Chale. I’m sorry our arrangement must end this way.”

“May I leave the island?”

“Of course. You are free to go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Chale stood and walked toward the door. Caudillo waited until his hand was on the doorknob. Then he lifted his pistol and fired one shot into the back of Chale’s head.

That done, he picked up his phone and made a call.

“I told you to never call me at this number.”

“We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Emma Muran has escaped the island.”

“How did you let that happen?”

“I trusted the wrong person. That’s been taken care of.”

“Do you have reason to believe she’s in the United States?”

“If not, she will be soon. She’s a brilliant woman. She’d find a way to get home.”

“I’ll do what I can, but the best option is for you to find her and take her back to the island before she goes to the American authorities.”

“I don’t want her back. I want her dead. If I go down, so will you.”

Caudillo broke the connection and beat a fist into the wall. Emma could have had it all. He’d gone after her for purely selfish reasons, but his heart had found in her everything it desired.

She’d crushed it. Now she could crush him. He would not let that happen. He was Caudillo.

* * *

EMMA JERKED AWAKE TO AN anxiety attack that sent her pulse skyrocketing and her stomach churning. It took several agonizing seconds for her to realize where she was.

Belle began to fuss, soft grunting sounds that had probably been the impetus that stirred Emma from sleep. She rolled over, kicked off the covers and threw her feet over the side of the cloud-soft mattress.

“Are you hungry again?” she crooned to Belle. Or maybe she was sick. What if the formula had given her colic? And if it had, what was Emma supposed to do about that?

Most women had at least nine months to get up to speed on their mothering skills. Emma had been granted seconds. One moment Belle’s mother had been alive, the next she was dead. But at least Belle had one real parent out there. The sooner Emma found Juan Perez, the better.

She peered down at Belle. The squirming infant was working at getting both balled fists into her mouth.

“I’m going to take that for hunger,” Emma crooned. “And we have formula for you right down the hallway.”

Emma pulled on the buttery-soft sweats Carolina had lent her and then leaned over to pick up Belle. As she did, she remembered the horrid wig.

It was still dark out, but that didn’t guarantee that someone else might not get out of bed and wander into the kitchen. No chance they wouldn’t notice that her hair had changed from long and black to chin length and blond.

She plopped the wig onto her head, tucked loose blond hairs beneath it and then picked up Belle and started to the kitchen. The soft glow of night-lights scattered about the hallway lit her path.

Emma tiptoed, hoping not to wake anyone else in the house, but the occasional groan of a floorboard seemed almost deafening in the silence. She was relieved to make it to the kitchen without Belle starting to wail.

“Feeding time?”

Emma spun around at the voice, stubbing the big toe on her right foot against a chair. She sucked in her breath at the quick flash of pain and did a fast and unbalanced two-step.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Damien said, his whispered voice still raspy from sleep.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up,” she said. “And I didn’t see you in the dark.”

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I got up for a glass of milk and ended up standing here watching it snow.”