The Last Honorable Man (11 page)

In a moment of pure indulgence, Del wished he had parked farther away. Holding her this way felt good. It soothed an ache.

Soothed, hell. She turned her head up to smile at him, and the glimpse of wet T-shirt stretched over firm, female breasts nearly buckled his knees.

His body tightened. Blood flowed downward, concentrated.

Del cursed himself. Despite a concerted mental effort, he couldn't stop it. And in a pair of wet Levi's, it wasn't going to be easy to hide it.

He needed a distraction.

“Did you see Carter's arm on the mound?” Elisa asked, still staring up at him, still smiling. Still unaware.

He hoped.

“The Cowboys couldn't have hit him tonight if he'd been throwing beach balls,” she finished.

“Rangers,” he said. “Cowboys are football.”

“Cowboys, Rangers, whatever. It is confusing, is it not, calling them the same as the police?” She scrunched her nose. “Why did you name yourselves after a baseball team, anyway?”

“I think it was the other way aroun—” he started before he realized she was baiting him. And had caught him, hook, line and sinker, as the saying went.

“Get in,” he said, shaking his head at her cheeky grin. Who'd have thought the girl could go from noblewoman to royal imp in just one day? At least the banter took his mind off his…discomfort.

Until he climbed into the Rover next to her.

The dome light threw the shadows of a thousand tiny goose bumps down her arms.

“You're cold,” he accused as if it was a felony.

“Just excited.” She crossed her arms and rubbed, but the motion plumped her breasts together. Her arms weren't the only parts of her that had pebbled. Two perfect, pert peaks pointed at him from beneath the damp, clingy cotton of her shirt.

“It was a great game, no?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, even though he couldn't remember who had been playing, with her looking at him like that.

“The Rangers made a good show.”

Now he remembered. Sort of. “They got trounced twelve to two.”

“They…tried hard.”

Hard was not a word he needed to hear right now. “Maybe one of these days we'll get a pitcher, and you can see a real game,” he grumbled.

She threw her head back against the seat, smile blazing. “I still had a great time.”

He barely acknowledged what she said. Barely heard it.

This was not good. If he didn't pull himself together, he was going to embarrass them both and ruin a great
evening. The first really comfortable evening they'd spent together.

Moving gingerly, guarding against the pinch of tight, wet denim on sensitive flesh, he leaned behind the passenger seat, opened the gym bag he kept there and pulled out a towel.

“Here,” he gruffed, resolutely holding his gaze above her neckline. “Don't want to catch a chill.”

She wiped her face on the terry cloth, then ran it down the length of each arm, circled her delicate wrists, and brought one corner up to her neck. Mesmerized, he couldn't have cut his gaze away with a chainsaw as she dipped the corner beneath the collar of her shirt and down, down into that sweet, dark valley in the center of her chest, triggering a string of explosions in Del's groin.

How the hell was he going to live with this woman for two years? He was going to lose his mind. Or the motor function in his lower extremities. Could a man even survive a two-year hard-on?

He had a feeling he was going to find out.

Elisa curved one arm behind her head and swept her hair forward, over her shoulder, to towel it off. She missed a few strands.

“Here, let me,” he heard himself saying, and took the towel from her. He pulled her hair together, wrapped it in cotton and began fingering it dry.

“You have great hair.” Long, straight and glossy, it cascaded down her back like a sable waterfall. He wanted to tangle his hands in it, bind their bodies together with it while they rolled together, naked on a big, soft bed.

But tonight he'd settle for getting it dry.

“Thank you,” she said, a bit shyly. Had she heard more in his voice than a simple compliment?

He raised the towel to her head and massaged gently. His fingers probed slow, deep circles around her temples first, and then at the sides of her head, behind her ears.

“And thank you for tonight,” she added. “It was very special.”

“I'm glad you had a good time.” He moved his hands lower, pulling the towel along, to a spot just above her nape and dug deep into her muscles with his thumbs. A tiny moan escaped her, and he thought he might have pressed too hard until she pushed back into his touch.

“Mmm, that feels good.”

The towel fell away, and there was just his hands in her silky hair. On her silky skin.

He leaned close to her ear. “'Lisa?”

“Mmm?” Her eyes were closed. Her lips parted.

“Do you want me to make it feel even better?”

She shifted her head toward him until their noses bumped. Her eyes were dark and heavy. Her lips were just a breath away from his.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he had no doubt she knew what he'd been asking.

So simple. No hysterics. No coy denials. Just pure, honest need.

He kissed her the same way. Lightly at first, nuzzling and getting to know the shape and taste of her. Letting her get used to the shape and taste of him. He didn't want this to explode with the kind of flash-grenade intensity that had overcome them after the wedding. He wanted to learn what she liked, show her what he liked. He wanted it to build slowly. Unbearably.

Rain splattered on the windshield. A jet cruised low overhead on its way into D/FW airport. The rumble of its engines vibrated through the Land Rover. Outside, the
crunch of gravel marked the steps of another fan who'd held out to the last pitch.

All of it was lost in a pool of greater sensation. Elisa's lips fusing to his. The dance of her slender tongue. Her hands fisted in his hair.

With one arm behind her back he lifted her to him. She arched, and the peaks that had intrigued him earlier scraped across his chest, making him grab for a breath like a drowning man.

With his free hand he felt for her, found the soft mound and the hardened tip. His thumb streaked across the cool dampness of her shirt until the warmth of the flesh beneath soaked through.

A breath shuddered out of her. He ducked his head to her throat, nipped at the vein that jumped to greet him. She jolted.

Damn, she was responsive. Her hands were everywhere. On his head, his neck, his chest, pushing.

“Del.”

Pushing? Of course. He should have known better. She didn't want him. It was wrong, sick for him to want her. The woman who should have married another man. A man he'd killed.

“Del!”

Stomach coiling, he raised his head and found her staring toward him with wide, startled eyes. It took a moment for his sex-fogged mind to realize the look wasn't for him, but for something beyond.

He spun in his seat, instinctively pushing Elisa behind him, and squinted through the dimples of rain on the window.

Outside, a man wearing a black trench coat and a ball cap with no insignia squinted back.

E
lisa slammed her fist down on the door lock button.

Her lips were still tender from the ranger's kisses, her breasts felt full and pendulous from his caresses, and her breathing had yet to find an even pace, but her defenses were on full alert.

She had lived too long in San Ynez not to sense a clear and present danger.

Studying the man outside, she coiled her legs beneath her, ready to spring.

The ranger wiped the condensation from the window and thudded the glass with the heel of his hand. “Hey, buddy, you wanna watch some action, rent a videotape!”

But the voyeur wasn't put off. He just stared at them. Or rather at
her.

Cold fingers danced up her spine.

The ranger reached for the window control. “Did you hear—”

“No.” She captured his wrist before he lowered the
glass. “Let us go. Please,” she implored when he made no move to start the car.

The ranger scowled at her a long moment, but he turned the key in the ignition. As they drove off, he craned his head, studying the man for as long as he could see him, no doubt trying to memorize the intruder's features so he could match them to mug shots later.

Only, if Elisa was right, there wouldn't be any mug shots.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” the ranger asked grimly as they pulled onto Highway 183.

“Before that man showed up or after?” She had a bad feeling about the stranger's presence, but she didn't want to discuss it with a Texas Ranger. It involved too many aspects of her life that she would rather not have American law enforcement know about.

“After.” The ranger's fingers flexed on the leather steering wheel cover. His voice softened. He took his eyes off the road long enough to ignite her. “Let's save the other conversation for later, okay? When we both have a little…perspective.”

She shrugged, covering her relief. She was not sure she would ever have perspective enough to rationally discuss what had passed between them. Her marriage to the ranger might not be real, but her desire for him was.

“Did you know that man?” the ranger persisted.

“No.”

“You were in an awful hurry to get out of there.”

She picked at her seat belt. “You are not carrying your gun since you were suspended, and we were alone there.”

“What makes you think I need a gun against some freak who gets his jollies watching people make out.”

Heat flashed in her cheeks, but she pushed the flames
back. “You are a police officer. Do you really think he was just a random voyeur?”

“Do you have reason to believe otherwise?”

“His clothes were expensive. His trousers were pressed. He stood straight, not slouching, and he did not react, either backing down or showing aggression when you challenged him.”

He glanced at her again, his eyes narrow. “You don't miss much, do you?”

“I can't afford to.” They turned off the highway, and she checked the sideview mirror for the third time in as many miles. She took some comfort in the knowledge that the ranger had done the same twice as often.

“There's no one back there.” He studied her a moment, then asked, “Elisa, are you sure you don't know that man?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I know his type. He is someone's watchdog.”

“Whose?”

She shook her head. She had said too much.

He whipped the car into the parking lot of a convenience store and shoved the transmission into park. Flashing neon signs that read ATM, Money Orders and Cappuccino beckoned her inside, but gunmetal-gray eyes pinned her in her seat.

“If you're in trouble, Elisa, you have to tell me. I can protect you.”

But would he? She had seen the values he lived by: God, country and the Texas Rangers. Not necessarily in that order.

She shook her head, her lips clamped together and his taste still lingering on them.

“You are in trouble, aren't you?” His face twisted.
“And you'd rather endanger your child than tell me what the hell is going on? Who is following you?”

“I do not know.”

“Who do you
think
is following you?”

Her hands fisted, a seed of anger planted in her by a nameless face in the dark. “Your government?” she suggested. “Mine?”

“The United States Government doesn't send goons out to spy on every alien who crosses the border. Why would they be interested in you?”

Elisa had believed she could live with the ranger, accept his protection from the INS without telling him the whole truth about herself.

She had been a fool.

Now that the time for full disclosure had come, she found it more difficult than she had ever imagined. Because his opinion mattered now, she realized. He was not the heartless automaton, the hired gun she had once thought him to be. And, realizing that, she feared the truth would cause her to lose everything she had gained in the past week: the fragile friendship between them; the grudging respect; the passion that had burned so brightly but so briefly.

All would be lost to her before the night was out.

“Because your government stands by and does nothing while the illegal regime currently in power in San Ynez enslaves its people and rapes its economy,” she said, meeting his gaze levelly, if sadly. “
I
do not.”

 

“You're a
rebel?
” Even the word tasted bad to Del.

Elisa slanted her chin. “I am a member of the People's Resistance Party. We are freedom fighters.”

All the air inside the Land Rover vanished. Del couldn't breathe. Strangling, he shoved the door open
and jumped out. In contradiction to his roiling emotions, the night was calm. The rain had stopped. Crickets chirped in the pasture next to the gas station. The smell of fresh-cut hay mingled with the tang of gasoline from the pumps. Del leaned against the quarter panel of his car and breathed it in.

Elisa, a rebel.
He should have known it the minute she jumped him behind that warehouse. She fought like a pro. Then there was her story about Eduardo. She'd met him when the soldiers attacked. All the signs had been there. He just hadn't seen them. Hadn't wanted to see them.

He'd been too busy looking at her fine hair and perfect breasts.

He turned, leaned over his forearms on the hood and gave his steel-belted Michelin a swift kick.

God, he didn't understand people like her. Men and women without conscience who made war on their own governments—and anyone else who got in their way—in the name of God, politics or profit.

Now he'd married one of them. Promised to protect her.

How the hell was he supposed to live with that?

When he lifted his head, she stood beside him. He hadn't even heard her approach. If she'd had a knife, she could have planted it in his back already.

He considered himself lucky for a moment, then cursed himself for thinking it. Fifteen minutes ago he'd been hot for this woman. She hadn't changed since then. He was the one who was different.

“I told you my brother, Sam, died in Saudi Arabia,” he said by way of explanation. “I didn't tell you how.”

She waited in silence while he gathered his thoughts.
Separated the words from the emotion so that he could speak them.

“We both had passes off the base. I wanted to go into the city, see the sights, soak up a little culture. I had one of those disposable cameras, and I had this stupid idea about getting our pictures taken on camels…”

He swallowed hard before he could continue. “Sam didn't really want to go, but did. Said somebody had to keep me out of trouble. We stopped for lunch at this little sidewalk café. Sam took the seat closer to the street.” His face twisted. “You never think about it, you know? How an insignificant decision like which chair you take at a table can mean the difference between life and death.

“We were almost finished eating when a truck pulled up to the curb. All I remember is a roar and a blast of heat. Dust and pebbles stinging my skin. I yelled for Sam, but everybody was screaming, and I didn't hear him answer, so I crawled around. I cut my hands and my knees on all the broken glass, but I didn't even feel it at the time. I didn't feel anything until I realized I was crawling in something pasty. I looked down, and realized it was blood. Sam's blood.”

Elisa filled the long silence that followed. “I am sorry.”

“The suicide bomber killed eight people that day, including a five-year-old girl and a sixty-eight-year-old woman. About a week later some left-wing political group no one had even heard of took credit.

“That's why I quit the army and became a ranger, 'Lis. To make sure that kind of insane, senseless violence never happens in my country.”

“And now here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I am sorry for what you have suffered. But are you so sure of yourself, Ranger?” Her voice was hypnotic. It called him to listen. To trust, even when he didn't want to. “Has your loss made you a champion of justice? Or blind to injustice, even where it is real and grave?”

“I don't know,” he admitted, shaking his head. “All I know is that I would give my life for my country if need be.”

“Would you kill for it, as well?”

“I would.” He gritted his teeth. “I have. But I haven't slaughtered civilians in the streets because I don't agree with their politics.”

“And neither have I. Mine is a peaceful cause. We are outnumbered and outgunned. We fight only as a last resort, when we are attacked and there is nowhere to run and no place to hide.”

“That's not what the news reports say.”

“Propaganda, created by Colonel Sanchez, the leader of the military regime that took power after they murdered Presidente Herrerra, to gain the sympathy of American policymakers.”

“President Herrerra died in a boating accident.”

“Yes. His yacht was accidentally torpedoed by Colonel Sanchez's navy.”

Del straightened. Studied her doubtfully. She made it sound plausible, if not probable.

“Sanchez put a stranglehold on the country,” she said. “He closed the schools and seized the hospitals.”

“There was rioting in the streets. Looting.”

“Soldiers masquerading as civilians so the people would not resist when military law was instituted. Then he brought in the cocaine growers and turned the tourist resorts into terrorist training camps.”

“While the rest of the world was blissfully unaware.”

“Visas for foreign journalists were revoked. The San Ynezian broadcasters only dared air the reports he provided.”

Elisa stepped closer. Her eyes were bright with a different kind of passion than he'd seen earlier tonight. A passion for principle. “You know where I was during all this? I was a graduate student in International Marketing and Business Law at San Ynez University. I thought my purpose in life was to help my country become part of the worldwide marketplace. I wanted to bring new opportunities to my people. New ways of thinking.”

Her expression saddened. “One day I was lecturing on the North American Free Trade Agreement to an assembly of undergrads when a group of soldiers burst in. They said they were closing the university and we were ordered to disperse.

“Some of the students shouted at the soldiers. Someone started pushing. Then there were screams. I was at the microphone. I asked everyone to calm down, to do as they were told, but a fight broke out.” Elisa's bright eyes turned glassy. “The soldiers fired into the crowd. Three of my students were killed. I held one of them, a young man named Guillermo, while he died. Then I was taken away.”

“Away where?” Del didn't want to ask, couldn't stand not to.

“My younger brothers and I were incarcerated in the presidential palace and interrogated as dissidents for three days before we finally escaped. Soon after, the resistance party was founded, and I had a new purpose in life.”

Would he have done differently? Who was to say?

Love of country ran deep in his veins, a legacy passed
to him from his father and grandfather. But what would he do if the country itself became cancerous? If a disease infected the government from within?

The questions whirled in his mind until he was dizzy. There was no sense agonizing about a future that would, in all probability, never happen.

Nor about a past he couldn't change.

Elisa was what she was. It didn't negate his debt to her, or his promises.

“What about now, Elisa?” he asked. “What's your purpose now?”

She smoothed her palm over the small bulge just below her waistline. “Now I have a child to consider, and nothing matters except keeping her safe.”

That, at least, they could agree on. “Then let's get the two of you home.”

 

In the hours before dawn, Del punched the couch cushions and tried to find a spot more comfortable than the last 220 he had tried.

It was no use. Sleep was a wish upon a star tonight.

He got up, pulled his laptop from the desk drawer in the corner and booted up the machine. He still hadn't been able to reconcile the Elisa he knew with his image of a third-world rebel. She was too intelligent, too ethical, too…vulnerable.

But the farther he traveled on the tangled strands of the World Wide Web, the more believable her story became. Reports of former Presidente Herrerra's “boating accident” were sketchy at best. All the reliable foreign news sources had gradually left or been driven out of San Ynez, and the local reports read like campaign flyers. Anonymous Web sites, complete with photos that
might or might not have been real, documenting human rights atrocities in the country dotted the Internet.

The one thing missing was an official U.S. position on the happenings. The greatest advocate of peace and democracy on Earth had been conspicuously silent on the subject of San Ynez.