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The Marriage Profile
Metsy Hingle
Mills & Boon Silhouette
Mayhem was at an all-time high in Mission Creek when Justin Wainwright joined forces with his ex-wife to track down an abducted baby. The by-the-book sheriff scoffed at the psychic mumbo jumbo that had turned Angela Mason into a star profiler, but he'd do anything to crack this case.However, that didn't mean Justin was going to be blinded by his bewitching former bride–especially when he had reason to believe she had ties to the mob. Nevertheless, Angela's dangerous pursuits were making her a target for murder…and this Wainwright would walk through a spray of bullets in the name of love!


CLUB TIMES
For Members’ Eyes Only
Astral Rejection!
Angela Mason, Mission Creek’s famous profiler, and I were both waiting for our hair to dry at the salon. I’d been doing some reading about spirits, crystals and otherworldly things, and thought, might as well ask Angela how to cleanse my aura. She told me to go buy a bran muffin. Her hair-dresser, Jorge, whisked her away before I could come up with a snappy comeback. Some people are so huffy.
I will say that Angela has fantastic taste in men. While doing my weekly lawn-chair stakeout on Main Street, I saw Ms. Profiler on the arm of that scrumptious Ricky Mercado. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome Mercado is one fine specimen who really should have his own calendar. I just hope Angela’s ex-husband, Sheriff Justin Wainwright, doesn’t get wind of this pairing. Better not tell him, either, members. I get the feeling that Justin carries a torch for his ex, and you don’t want to make a Wainwright mad. Trust me on that one.
Last note, for those pranksters who made rude shapes on some of the deck tables, using Yellow Rose Café coleslaw, we are not amused. Our fine Lone Star chefs worked long hours, shredding that cabbage. In the future, let’s all try a little harder to get along, shall we?
Come to the Lone Star Country Club, your weekend getaway, every day!

About the Author


METSY HINGLE
is the award-winning, bestselling author of series- and single-title romance novels. Known for creating powerful and passionate stories, Metsy’s own life reads like the plot of a romance novel—from her early years in a New Orleans’ orphanage and foster care to her long, happy marriage to her husband, Jim, and the rearing of their four children. She recently traded in her business suits and fast-paced life in the hotel and public-relations arena to pursue writing full-time.
She was thrilled to be invited to participate in the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series because it allowed her an opportunity to work with old friends and other authors whose books she’d enjoyed forages. She was intrigued by the entire concept for the series right from the start. What truly enamored her to the series was that at the heart of each story is the message that real wealth lies not in money and acquisitions, but in the bonds of family and the healing power of love. She had a wonderful time working with the talented authors and editors on this series. She fell in love with Justin and Angela in The Marriage Profile. She hopes you do, too.
Metsy loves hearing from readers. For a free bookmark, write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433 or visit her Web site at: www.metsyhingle.com.

The Marriage Profile
Metsy Hingle


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Welcome to the


Where Texas society reigns supreme—and appearances are everything.
It’s a race against time as the search for baby Lena continues….
Justin Wainwright: The last thing this rough-edged sheriff wanted was to team up with his former bride to work baby Lena’s case. But would keeping a tight rein on his smoldering desires be his toughest assignment yet?
Angela Mason: This investigation was a matter of life and death, and if her tough-as-nails ex-husband thought he could intimidate her out of this job, he had another think coming! It would just be her little secret that he still stirred her womanly passions like no other man alive….
Mission Creek rumor mill: Hmm…what’s star profiler Angela Mason doing on the arm of the good-for-nothin’ Ricky Mercado? Is she aligning herself with the underworld? And will the search for baby Lena lead to another dead end…or could it bring back presumed dead mob princess Haley Mercado to the family she despises?




For my Texas Pals Sandra Brown, Karen Young, Mary Lynn Baxter & Peggy Moreland And for the fabulous fans in Texas

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen

One
“They aren’t going to show.”
Ignoring his deputy’s remark, Sheriff Justin Wainwright kept his eyes trained on the entrance of the Mission Creek Memorial Hospital and watched as one by one the movers and shakers of Lone Star County, Texas, strolled indoors. It seemed no one wanted to miss the dedication ceremony of the hospital’s new state-of-the-art maternity ward, Justin mused as he noted members of his own family and an equal number of the Carsons file through the doors.
“We’re wasting our time here, Sheriff. Mercado and Del Brio aren’t going to show for this shindig.”
Justin cut a glance to Bobby Hunter, the strapping young man he’d hired as his deputy less than two months ago. “They’ll show,” Justin assured his impatient deputy. His voice held the same conviction now that it had when he’d promised Dylan Bridges that he would bring to justice the person responsible for the death of Dylan’s father. He intended to make good on that promise. The fact that he had in custody the hit man who’d offed Judge Bridges fulfilled only part of that promise. He still had to find the person who had contracted Alex Black to kill the judge. According to the story Black had given him, the not-too-bright gunman hadn’t known who had hired him. He’d been contacted by phone, then given instructions via a tape recording. Payment for the job had been in cash and placed in a trash can in the park for Black to retrieve later.
As far-fetched as it had sounded, Justin had believed the man. Maybe Black hadn’t known who was behind the order to kill the judge, but Justin had a pretty good idea who was responsible. His every instinct as a lawman told him that the hit had been ordered by someone inside the Texas mafia—someone who was using the Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting business as a shield for their illegal activities. And he’d wager a month’s salary that that person was either Ricky Mercado or Frank Del Brio. Both men had axes to grind with the judge. The trick was linking one of them to the triggerman. Since conventional methods had failed, he saw no option but to try a less conventional route—namely, he intended to take advantage of tonight’s social event to rattle both men’s cages without their lawyers dancing interference. “They’ll show,” Justin said again, determined to keep his word to Dylan Bridges. And once this case was closed he could redouble his efforts and find the baby whose kidnapping had rocked his county.
“You sound pretty sure about that, Sheriff.”
“I am sure,” Justin replied.
“Don’t see why,” Bobby said as he plucked a chicken wing from a passing tray and all but inhaled the thing. “From what I hear, Mercado and Del Brio aren’t exactly what you’d call civic-minded members of the community.”
“You heard right. They’re not.” Far from it, Justin thought as he declined a glass of wine with a shake of his head and continued to survey the guests’ arrival.
“So what makes you think they’ll come to this dedication shindig?”
“Because neither one of them will be able to stay away.”
Bobby scratched his head. “Come again?”
“The whole purpose of tonight is to acknowledge Carmine Mercado for his generous bequest to the hospital in his will. Ricky will come out of respect for his late uncle and for the Mercado family name.”
“And Del Brio?”
Justin smiled as he thought of the beady-eyed thug with the vicious temper. “Del Brio will come because he’s paranoid. He may have beat out Ricky as Carmine’s successor, but he doesn’t trust Ricky. So he’ll show up here tonight and flex his muscles just to make sure that Ricky and anyone else who thinks that a Mercado should be running the family business thinks twice before challenging him. He wants everyone in the family to see that he’s the boss now and that he isn’t going to tolerate any disloyalty.”
“Well, if they’re going to show, I for one wish they’d do it soon. I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
“There’s plenty of food here,” Justin pointed out, noting the half-dozen finger sandwiches and appetizers the deputy had piled onto his plate. He didn’t bother pointing out that the younger man had already consumed enough to feed several people.
“This stuff?” Bobby countered as he devoured one sandwich and then another whole. “Barely enough to put a dent in a two-year-old’s belly. I need something that will stick to my ribs.”
Since the guy was built like a running back for the Dallas Cowboys and had a good three inches and twenty pounds on his own five-foot-eleven frame, Justin reminded himself to be grateful that he wasn’t responsible for feeding his deputy. “Try eating some of the cheese or fruit,” Justin suggested.
Bobby obliged by scooping several chunks of cheese from the buffet spread, along with a handful of crackers, then followed Justin away from the table. “Any chance I can talk you into taking me over to the Lone Star Country Club for a meal when this thing is over?”
Justin snorted. “You’d have better luck winning the lottery,” he told the younger man. “I haven’t forgotten that you conned me into buying you a lunch there last week that nearly bankrupted me.”
“Hey, you were the one who offered to buy.”
“Yeah. Before I realized you had a hollow leg that needed filling,” Justin teased. “Sorry, cowboy. When we’re finished here, you might want to try Coyote Harry’s or the Mission Creek Cafe. There’s no charge for seconds on the specials.”
“Yeah, but the food at the club’s better.”
Justin cocked his brow and studied his deputy. “You sure it’s the food at the club that’s caught your interest?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean is it the Lone Star Country Club’s food you find so attractive, or is it that little blond waitress I saw you talking to?”
“What waitress?”
“You know, that one they call Daisy.”
For the space of a heartbeat Justin could have sworn he saw a flicker of alarm in the other man’s eyes. Then Bobby scratched his head and gave him a perplexed look. “Daisy? She the one with those sexy dimples?”
“No, that’s Marilee, and she’s a brunette,” Justin informed him.
Bobby’s lips spread into what Justin considered a college boy’s grin. “Whoever she is, she’s a real looker.”
“She’s also real married to a fellow who rides bulls for a living. You might want to steer clear of her.”
“No harm in looking, is there?”
“Not as long as all you do is look,” Justin advised the younger man.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Justin nodded, taking a sip of the plain soda he’d been nursing since his arrival before discarding it on the tray of a passing waiter. When several moments ticked by with no newcomers arriving, he found himself growing impatient. “I’m going to move around a bit, see if I can pick up on anything. You might want to do the same.”
“Will do,” Bobby told him. “Want me to start over there where Johnny Mercado’s holding court?”
Justin followed the direction of his deputy’s gaze, frowning as he noted that Bobby was right. Surrounded by several members of the crime family and speaking emphatically about something, Johnny did seem to be holding court—which didn’t fit with the older man’s normal fade-into-the-background demeanor. Justin had concluded long ago that Johnny Mercado hadn’t been cut out for the business of crime he’d been born into. He was too weak willed and lacked the ruthlessness of his late brother, Carmine. Unfortunately, that criminal gene hadn’t bypassed Johnny’s son, Ricky.
As he studied Johnny, Justin couldn’t help feeling sympathy for him. Never a man to stand out in a crowd, Johnny was an easy man to overlook. And since the death of his wife, it was as though he’d disappeared within himself. He seemed to have aged overnight and had lost what little spark he’d once had. Or at least that had been the case until recently, Justin amended. Staring at Johnny now, he couldn’t help but notice the difference in the man’s demeanor. He was more intense, almost angry, Justin thought.
“Looks like you were right,” Bobby said. “Del Brio just walked in.”
Justin shifted his attention to the doorway where Frank Del Brio strutted into the reception flanked by two of his henchmen. Tracking his progress, Justin watched him make his way over to where Johnny and his cohorts had gathered.
“Want me to see if I can get closer and find out what they’re talking about?” Bobby asked.
“Not yet,” Justin told him, noting the adversarial body language between the two men. “Let’s see what happens first.”
Del Brio leaned in and said something to Johnny. Nearly a half-foot taller and leaner than Johnny, Del Brio blocked the older man’s face momentarily. But when Del Brio straightened, Justin caught a brief glimpse of Johnny’s furious expression—just before Johnny lunged at Del Brio. “Aw, hell,” Justin muttered. “Let’s go.”
Intent on moving in before things got ugly, Justin had taken no more than a half-dozen steps when he spied Johnny’s pals restraining him and halted midstride. Bobby nearly collided into his back. Justin held up a hand and said, “Hang on a second.” Still poised to step in if necessary, he waited several seconds until a smug-looking Del Brio sauntered off, leaving an angry Johnny Mercado staring daggers at his back.
“You want me to tell him and Del Brio to leave?”
“No,” Justin replied. “It looks like Johnny’s friends have him under control. Besides, the whole point of this thing tonight is to pay tribute to Johnny’s brother, Carmine, for his donation to the hospital. It wouldn’t look too good to kick Johnny out.”
“Wonder what Del Brio said to set old Johnny off?”
“I was wondering the same thing. I think I’ll go have a little chat with Johnny and see if I can find out. In the meantime, you keep an eye on Del Brio.”
“Will do. I—” Bobby’s jaw dropped. He let out a low whistle. “Oh, man, how come these wise guys have all the luck when it comes to women?”
At his deputy’s comment, Justin turned to see what had put that dumbstruck look on Bobby’s face.
And his own jaw dropped at the sight of Angela.
Feeling as though he’d been sucker punched, it took Justin a moment to regain his breath as he watched his ex-wife greet one of the hospital’s board members. Emotions stormed through him at breakneck speed—anger, disbelief, regret. He stared at her, noted that her hair was shorter now than it had been five years ago, a cap of sexy dark curls that framed her face and emphasized her cheekbones and those incredible blue eyes. She was thinner, too, he decided, as he followed the lines of the little black dress that skimmed her breasts, her waist, the curve of her hips. Disgusted by the unmistakable tug of sexual attraction, Justin scrubbed a hand down his face.
Get a grip, Wainwright.
He and Angela had both moved on with their lives since their disastrous attempt at marriage. She was a hotshot profiler now, and he was the sheriff of Lone Star County. And they had even less in common now than they had had when they’d split, he reminded himself.
But damn if just the sight of her didn’t still have the power to make his blood heat, his body ache for her. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself falling under her spell all over again. Infuriated by that realization, he swore. “What in the hell is she doing here?”
“If by ‘she’ you mean the hot number with the legs, she came in with Ricky Mercado.”
Justin looked across the room at Angela again. A red haze of fury rushed through him as he stared at that scumbag Mercado whispering something in Angela’s ear, placing his hand at her back.
“Sheriff?”
Justin flexed his hands into fists, fought the primal urge to storm over to the two of them and tear Ricky’s hands away from Angela. She was no longer his wife, he reminded himself. He no longer had any rights where she was concerned.
“Sheriff, you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Justin ground out the lie as he struggled to regain control of himself.
“So I take it you know the lady?”
“Yeah, I know her.” At one time he had thought he knew her as well as he knew himself. He’d loved her, had hoped to spend his life with her, create a family with her.
“So who is she?”
“Her name’s Mason. Angela Mason.”
“Angela Mason,” Bobby repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because she’s a hotshot profiler out of San Antonio,” Justin explained as he watched Ricky lead Angela over to where Johnny and his friends were huddled. “She’s helped out in a number of high-profile kidnapping cases and has been in the news off and on this past year.”
“Yeah. Now I remember. She helped locate that politician’s kid about eight months ago—the one whose little boy was strapped in the back seat of the family car when they stopped for gas and were carjacked.”
“That’s right.” Justin had read about the case, and had watched Angela downplay her role in the boy’s recovery.
“There was a lot of hype about her. The congressman and the media all credited her with saving his kid’s life.”
“That’s because she did save his life,” Justin pointed out to his deputy. Knowing Angela, he figured she would have driven herself relentlessly, forgoing food and sleep in order to find that child and bring him back safely to his family. “She’s good at her job, probably among the top profilers in the country.”
“Makes you wonder what a woman like her sees in a guy like Mercado.”
Justin remained silent, but it was a question he had asked Angela more than once during their marriage. The truth was he had never understood Angela’s loyalty to the likes of Ricky Mercado. Her friendship with the thug had been one of the sore spots between them. And, Justin admitted, he’d nearly driven himself crazy after he and Angela had split up, because he’d worried she would take up with Mercado. As far as he knew, she never had. But then she’d been living in San Antonio, while he had remained in Mission Creek.
“You ever work with her?”
“A time or two,” Justin replied.
“So,” Bobby began, a lazy grin curving his mouth, “seeing how you and she are old friends, maybe you could introduce me.”
Justin frowned. “Forget it.”
“Aw, come on, Sheriff. I’d really like to meet her.”
“I said forget it, cowboy.”
“How come?” Bobby persisted.
“For starters, she’s too old for you.”
Bobby grinned. “I like mature women.”
“Then I suggest you go introduce yourself,” Justin said, more irritated than he had a right to be.
“But I bet a good word from you would go a long way.”
“Trust me, you’d do better without any recommendation from me.”
“But I thought you said you and she were old friends.”
“I’m not sure ‘friends’ is the term I’d use to describe our relationship.” He and Angela had been colleagues, lovers, husband and wife, and at the end, they had been enemies. But he wasn’t sure they had ever been friends and doubted that they ever would be.
“All right, so you were more like acquaintances. But you do know her, right?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.
“I mean I know Angela about as well as any man can claim to know his ex-wife.”

“Let me look at you,” Johnny Mercado told Angela, holding her hands in his following their greeting. “Why, I still remember when you were just a skinny teenager. Now look at you, all grown up.”
Puzzled, Angela said, “But it hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me, Mr. Johnny. Don’t you remember, until about five years ago I used to live here in Mission Creek?” She didn’t bother adding that it had been during her marriage to Justin.
“That’s right,” he said, a look of confusion in his faded eyes. “And you’re still as pretty as a picture.”
“Thank you,” Angela replied while he continued to clutch her fingers in his weathered palms. “And it’s really good to see you again. I was sorry to hear about your wife.”
Something dark and dangerous flashed in the older man’s eyes, and his fingers tightened their grasp on hers for a moment. “My Isadora. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. I should have taken better care of her. If only I had protected her—”
“Pop,” Ricky said, and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Mama had a heart attack. Remember? There’s nothing you could have done.”
“I—” Johnny clamped his mouth shut, but not before Angela noted the murderous look he’d cast across the room. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, of course,” Johnny told his son. Releasing her fingers, Johnny took a step back so that Ricky’s hand fell away. But Angela couldn’t help but notice how the older man had averted his gaze. It didn’t take psychic abilities for her to recognize that something besides grief was troubling the usually easygoing Johnny Mercado.
“I saw Del Brio talking to you when I came in. He giving you a hard time about something?” Ricky asked, an edge in his voice.
“Del Brio is a yellow-bellied snake. He doesn’t scare me.”
“I didn’t ask if he scared you, Pop. I asked if he was giving you a hard time.”
“No,” Johnny told his son.
But Angela didn’t believe him. There was an aura of darkness about Frank Del Brio that she’d picked up on the moment she’d entered the room. And it was obvious that something Del Brio had said or done had set off the older man. Or was she imagining things? Angela wondered. Maybe the undercurrents and shadows she sensed were of her own making and had nothing to do with the Mercados or Frank Del Brio. After all, she hadn’t exactly been herself since she’d agreed to come back to Mission Creek.
Because you knew coming to Mission Creek meant seeing Justin again.
Angela let out a shaky breath at the admission. Even after all this time just the prospect of seeing him again still had the power to tie her up in knots. It had been that way from the first moment she’d set eyes on him at the police academy when she’d been a new recruit and he’d been the handsome deputy assisting in her training class. She’d looked up into those green eyes and the world had shifted beneath her feet. It didn’t seem to matter that they were all wrong for each other. That he was a member of the prominent Wainwright family, and she was the estranged daughter of a farmer who could barely make ends meet. She’d fallen for Justin like a ton of bricks, and when he’d asked her to marry him she had accepted.
Overcome by a wave of sadness, Angela attempted to shut off the memories and the ache that always came when she thought of Justin. Hardening her resolve, she reminded herself of all that she’d accomplished since leaving Mission Creek. Not only had she carved out a career for herself as a profiler, but she’d saved dozens of lives and reunited families. And she’d done it by finding a way to put the curse she’d been born with to good use. As much as she’d hated the visions that had made her different, they had served a purpose. She had served a purpose. She had made a difference—at least in the lives of those people she’d been able to help.
Did Justin know? Had he followed her career as she had followed his?
Probably not, she conceded. Why should he when he’d made it plain that he never wanted to see her again the day she’d told him she was leaving. Angela whooshed out a breath as she recalled how angry he’d been. She’d hurt him. Or perhaps it had been his pride that she’d hurt. She’d never been quite sure. All she had known was that Justin wasn’t a man used to failing at anything, and by choosing her as his wife, he’d failed big time. He certainly wasn’t going to be happy to have her showing up on his turf now. And he was going to be even more unhappy when he found out the reason why.
“Sorry about that,” Ricky said as he rejoined her. “You see what I mean about Pop being different?”
“He did seem distracted.”
“For a while after my mother died, he sort of shut down. You know, just didn’t seem to care about anything. But then he started making noises about how maybe Frank was right about my sister, that Haley really was alive. And I thought he was better. But now since I got back he’s changed. He’s gotten… I don’t know. Almost secretive.”
“Are you sure?” Angela asked. “He seemed sad, maybe a little lonely and confused, but sometimes that comes with age. He remembered who I was, even that he knew me as a teenager.”
“He’s only sixty,” Ricky pointed out. “But it’s not a memory problem. He remembers well enough. It’s some of the stuff he says. Not all of it makes sense. Like that business about him protecting my mother. She died of a heart attack. How could he have protected her from that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m worried about him, Angela. I can feel Pop slipping away little by little each day. And I’m afraid if I don’t do something soon, one morning I’m going to wake up and find he’s gone over the edge.”
“I know,” Angela replied, and patted his arm.
Ricky shoved a hand through his dark hair, then pinned her with anxious eyes. “You’ve got to help me, Angela. If Haley is alive and Pop’s right about that missing kid being hers, it could make a difference. You need to find that baby.”
“Ricky—”
“Please,” he pleaded when she started to withdraw. “Just hear me out.”
“All right, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. I’m here to work up a profile on a kidnapper.”
“You’re here to find that missing little girl.”
Angela neither confirmed nor denied his claim. “What is it you want?”
“When you find her, I want you to let me see her before you call in the authorities.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Angela insisted, taken aback by the request.
“I’m not asking you not to tell the cops you found her, just let me see the kid first.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because since I’ve been back, I’ve been watching my pop die right before my eyes little by little. He needs a reason to go on living. That baby could be it.”
“He has you,” Angela pointed out.
“All I’ve ever been for him is a headache, someone he doesn’t understand. Hell, even I don’t understand me. But Haley…Haley was his favorite. If the rumors are true, if my sister didn’t die in that boating accident and that missing kid is hers, it would make all the difference in the world to Pop. He’d have a grandchild who needed him, a piece of my sister again. He’d have a reason to live again.”
“Ricky, what you’re asking—”
“Is a lot. I know that,” he said, and caught her hands in his. “But I’m desperate, Angela. I’m desperate.”
The weight of Ricky’s plea enveloped her like a shroud, and Angela pulled her fingers free. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t make you any promises. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the FBI and the police chief—you shouldn’t pin your hopes on me. Justin Wainwright’s a good sheriff. He’ll have followed every possible lead to find that missing child. So will the Bureau. If they haven’t been able to find her by now, the chances are I won’t be able to find her, either.”
“You’ll find her,” Ricky said with the utmost conviction.
“Ricky, I’m not a miracle worker. I’m a profiler,” she protested.
“We both know you’re more than a profiler. My mama said you had a special gift. Second sight, she called it. You can see things, sense things that other people can’t. Like that time when I was supposed to make that truck run to Mexico and you called me, insisted you had to see me that night. It’s because you knew what was going to happen, didn’t you? Somehow you knew about that crazy hitchhiker, that he was going to kill the person driving the truck that night. That’s why you made sure I canceled the trip. You did it to save me.”
Angela remained silent as the memory of that day six years ago came back to her. She’d seen Ricky in the Mission Creek Café at lunchtime that day, and when he’d given her a hello hug, an image had flashed into her mind’s eye of a dark roadway, of the sign indicating the Mexican border thirty miles away, of the body of a dark-haired man lying beside a truck with a bullet in his temple. When Ricky had told her he was leaving that afternoon for Mexico, she’d panicked. She’d known at once that he was in danger. So she’d called him, made up an excuse that she needed to see him that night after she was off duty and begged him to cancel his trip. And he’d done as she’d asked. Regret washed over her anew as she realized she’d been so caught up in first saving Ricky and then later defending her meeting with Ricky to an angry Justin that she hadn’t thought to ask Ricky if he’d arranged for someone else to take his run. And because she hadn’t asked him, a man had died.
“You used your gift, or whatever you want to call it to save my life that night. Now I’m asking you—begging you—to use your gift again. Only this time use it to save my father’s life by finding that baby.”
Her gift, Ricky had called it. But for as long as she could remember, she’d considered her visions a curse, not a gift. “Marked by the devil” her father had claimed. And she’d believed him, believed she’d deserved to be isolated from her family, to grow up without the love and affection she’d craved. Even Justin, who had claimed to love her, had been uncomfortable when she’d tried to tell him, to explain to him about the visions. And because she’d loved him so desperately and feared losing him, she had gone along with him when he’d chalked up her uncanny knack for knowing things as female intuition. A cop’s instinct. A coincidence. Yet here was Ricky, a man with a questionable reputation and ties to the Texas mafia, a man with whom she’d shared nothing more than friendship, accepting without question that she could see things he didn’t. Know things others wouldn’t. Not only was he accepting it, but he was asking her to use her ability to help him. “I’ll try,” she finally told him. “That’s all I can promise.”
“And that’s all I’m asking.” He pressed a brotherly kiss to her forehead, then suddenly tensed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I just caught sight of your ex heading this way. And judging by his expression, he’s not a happy cowboy.” He stepped back, eyed her closely. “Want me to head him off for you?”
Despite the knot in her stomach, Angela shook her head. “I need to see him sooner or later. It might as well be now.” She paused, wet her lips. “Maybe it would be better if I spoke with him alone first. Would you mind?”
“You sure you want to do that? The man looks mad as hell.”
“I’m sure.”
“All right. I wanted to have a chat with Sal, anyway, see if he knows what’s going on between Pop and Del Brio. But I’m going to keep my eye on you. And if Wainwright starts giving you a hard time, I’m coming back whether you want me to or not.”
“Thanks,” Angela murmured.
Ricky winked at her, then headed to the corner of the room where his father and his cronies were gathered. Bracing herself, Angela turned around and waited for Justin to make his way to her. When he got waylaid by the town’s mayor, she took advantage of the moment to study him. Despite the sedate business suit and neatly combed hair, there was still something untamed about Justin Wainwright, an energy and restlessness about him that made her think of gunslingers and lawmen of the Old West. And blast her foolish heart if just the sight of him didn’t make her pulse quicken now as it had all those years ago.
As though sensing her scrutiny, Justin looked up, locked eyes with hers. Within moments, he was excusing himself from the mayor and heading toward her again. Angela’s heart pounded faster with each step he took. And as he drew nearer, she noted the changes in him—the new lines that creased the corners of his eyes, the hint of gray mixed in with the dark blond hair at his temples. She stared at his mouth, that incredible mouth that had always made her knees go weak when he smiled at her, that had made her skin burn when he’d kissed her, that had whispered promises of love and forever in her ears.
“Hello, Angela,” he said, his voice deadly soft.
“Hello, Jus—”
“You want to tell me just what in the hell you’re doing here?”

Two
Angela sucked in a sharp breath, taken aback by the stinging remark. Determined not to be intimidated, she hiked up her chin. “It’s good to see you again,” she said, and extended her hand.
For a second, something hot flashed in those green eyes before he looked down at her outstretched hand. But when he lifted his gaze to hers, those eyes were as cold as his voice as he said, “Too bad I can’t say the same.”
Angela’s smile died, along with any hope that Justin would make this easy for either of them. She dropped her hand to her side. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I know we didn’t part as friends, but I had thought…” She swallowed, tried again. “I had thought that after all this time we could at least be civil with each other.”
“Then you thought wrong.”
“Apparently,” she conceded. “Still, I had hoped…”
“What? That maybe I’d forgotten how you walked out on me five years ago?”
“I didn’t walk out on you.”
“Funny, that’s sure how it looked to me when you packed your bags and hightailed it off to San Antonio.”
“I asked you to come with me,” she reminded him.
“Because you knew I wouldn’t go.”
It was true, Angela admitted in silence. She’d known he would never leave Mission Creek. So she’d run away to save both of them from hurting each other even more.
“Evidently you forgot what I told you when you left here.”
“I didn’t forget,” Angela told him. It was a scene she would never be able to forget no matter how hard she tried. Just as she’d never forget that look of shock and disbelief on Justin’s face when she’d told him she was taking the job in San Antonio. Nor would she ever forget seeing that shock turn to desperation when he’d pleaded with her to pass on the job, to stay in Mission Creek with him and work out the problems in their marriage. Even now she could still hear the lie trip off his tongue as he’d insisted that her being unable to have a baby didn’t matter to him. And when his attempts to reason with her had failed, his passionate pleas had turned into a white-hot anger that bordered on disgust and had left her chilled to the bone. She pressed a fist to her heart at the ache that came as she remembered the frigid way he’d looked at her and the coldness in his voice when he’d warned her that if she walked out that door, their marriage was over and he never wanted to see her again. Two weeks later she’d saved him the trouble and had filed for divorce.
“Then you know you’re not welcome here. Go back to San Antonio, Mason. You don’t belong here.”
Angela tipped her chin up a notch higher, met his cool gaze. “You don’t own Mission Creek, Justin. And you certainly don’t own the hospital. I have as much right to be here as you do.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you give a damn about Mission Creek? You wanted the bright lights of the big city, remember?”
“That’s not why I left, and you know it,” she told him, irritated with herself for letting him goad her. “We both know why I left Mission Creek.”
“Yeah. You left to get away from me,” he said, his voice bitter, his expression hard. “So I’ll ask you again, Mason, what are you doing here? Better yet, when are you leaving?”
His words stung, hurting her more than she’d ever thought they would. But after growing up in a household where her visions had made her a frequent target for her father’s verbal and physical lashings, she’d learned long ago that it was better not to show pain or fear. So she lifted her gaze and met Justin’s chilling green eyes. And with an aplomb she thought worthy of an acting award, she said, “In answer to your first question, I’m here as a guest. As to when I intend to leave, I’ll go when I’m ready. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
He blocked her path. “No. I won’t excuse you. I don’t want you here.”
He was so close, Angela caught the woodsy scent of his aftershave and spied the muscle ticking in his jaw. “You’ve already made that clear. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want.”

Johnny Mercado clamped a hand down on his son’s shoulder. “Ricky, quit badgering Sal here and go see to your lady friend. Looks to me like the sheriff is giving her a rough time.”
Ricky shifted his gaze to where the woman in question was in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Sheriff Justin Wainwright. “Angela can handle herself,” Ricky informed him.
“What kind of talk is that?” Johnny countered. “The lady came with you, didn’t she?”
“Angela Mason’s no schoolgirl, Pop. She knows what she’s doing. Give it a rest.”
When Ricky started to turn back to Sal, Johnny cuffed the back of his son’s head—something he had done many times when Ricky had been a teenager, hell-bent on getting into trouble. “You show some respect for me, and for that girl.”
Ricky smoothed a hand at his nape, eyed his father warily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Johnny sighed. “I know you didn’t,” he said, softening toward this dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger that was his son. It had always amazed him that such a handsome and fierce young man had actually come from him and Isadora. Ricky had always been so much braver, so much stronger than he had been, Johnny thought. He still didn’t know what the hush-hush military mission was his son had just returned from, but he had no doubts that it had been dangerous. Ricky had never shied away from danger. And whatever this mission was his former commander sent Ricky on, it hadn’t frightened his son. Ricky hadn’t hesitated to go. Since his return, the boy had seemed different, more serious. But Ricky had said little about what had happened. Perhaps if he himself had been half the man his son was, Johnny thought, his Isadora would still be alive.
“Pop, you okay?”
Johnny shook off thoughts of his many failures. “I’m fine. Now, quit fussing over me like an old woman and go see about your lady friend.”
Ricky hesitated a moment, his gaze shifting from Johnny to Angela and back again. “All right. But you and I are going to talk, Pop. And I need you to be straight with me. I want to know what Del Brio said that’s got you upset.”
“Who says I’m upset? Do I look upset to you?”
“Cut the act, Pop. Sal told me you and Del Brio had words. I want to know what it was about.”
Johnny eyed his friend. “Salvatore doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now, go see about little Angela and quit fussing over me. I can take care of myself.”
“Pop—”
“La Madre di Dio! Basta! Leave it alone, Ricky. Just leave it alone,” Johnny commanded, and stalked away from his son toward the bar.
By the time the bartender handed him the glass of red wine, Johnny’s hands were no longer trembling from the rage that had been burning inside him for weeks now, ever since he’d put two and two together and had realized the truth—that Frank Del Brio had played a hand in Isadora’s death. Mixed in with the rage was shame. Shame at his own cowardice. He stared at the glass of red wine, remembered the sight of his Isadora lying in the hospital bed all battered and bruised. What kind of man was he to have gone along with Isadora’s claim that she’d been mugged when in his heart he’d known the truth? She’d been beaten as a warning because he had not followed Del Brio’s orders.
He hadn’t been a man at all, Johnny conceded. He’d been a coward, a yellow-bellied coward and a weakling. And because of him, Isadora was dead. He took a swallow of the merlot and squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of his sweet, tiny wife who had never had an unkind word for anyone.
Forgive me, Isadora. Forgive me.
How could he have been so blind? Johnny wondered as he left the festivities and wandered outdoors, away from the noise, away from the lights, away from the memories. He stared up at the sky, noted the dusting of stars, the half-moon. Yet his thoughts remained on Del Brio. How could he have failed to see before now how truly evil the man was? And to think at one time he had even condoned the man’s offer and allowed him to become engaged to his daughter, Haley.
Haley. My pretty, smart Haley. You knew what he was, didn’t you? That’s why you disappeared. It’s why you pretended to drown and let us believe you were dead. But all these years, all these years, your mama knew. She knew you were alive. And that baby girl, the little one called Lena that was kidnapped, she’s your baby, isn’t she? My granddaughter. My flesh and blood.
“I’m going to get her back for you,” Johnny murmured. And once Haley’s baby was safe, he would make Del Brio pay. He would pay for destroying his family. For forcing his daughter into hiding. For what he’d done to Isadora. Johnny clutched the now-empty wineglass between his palms as anger festered inside him. And when the pig was pleading for his life, when he was begging that he not be killed, Johnny would show the dog the same mercy that he had shown Isadora. None.
“Johnny, I’m sorry,” Sal said as he came up behind him. “That boy of yours, he tricked me. He said you’d told him you and Del Brio had had an argument. So I thought he knew.”
Johnny held up a hand to stem his friend’s apology. “It doesn’t matter. Ricky’s a smart boy. Both he and his sister have always been smarter than their old man.”
Sal frowned at him. “You talk as though Haley’s still alive. I thought you said you didn’t believe all that stuff Del Brio’s been spouting off, you know, about her not dying in that boating accident.”
“I don’t believe it,” Johnny lied, and silently cursed his slip of tongue. It was bad enough that he’d persuaded his son that Del Brio was right in his suspicions that Haley was alive. Now he wished he hadn’t. While he was convinced that the nun the nurse reported seeing in Isadora’s room shortly before her death had been Haley, he’d probably have been wise to keep that to himself. “Sometimes I get confused and forget that she’s dead. Too much vino, I guess,” he explained, holding up his empty glass.
Apparently satisfied, Sal nodded. “So, you going to tell Ricky what you found out? You know, that stuff about Del Brio ordering that potass…that potass…”
“Potassium chloride,” Johnny said, supplying the name. He’d read up on the subject after learning that Del Brio had taken a keen interest in the substance shortly before Isadora’s death. He’d also discovered that potassium chloride was one of the four electrolytes found in the body, but if injected into an IV in large doses it would be lethal and cause a victim to suffer a heart attack. His Isadora had never had a heart condition. That she had suffered a heart attack within a week of her hospital stay was reportedly a coincidence. Well, he’d lived too long and seen too many people he cared about hurt to believe in such coincidences. “And no, I have no intention of telling Ricky. I don’t want him involved. This is between me and Del Brio.”
Sal’s eyes darted around, searched the shadows. “Talk like that will get you killed,” Sal hissed in warning.
“I’m not afraid of Del Brio.” And he wasn’t, Johnny admitted silently. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid.
“Then you should be. You know what kind of man he is, Johnny. He sees shadows when there are none. He thinks you’re out to get him, and he won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“Not if I kill him first.”
Sal swore. “You’re my oldest friend, Johnny. I’m godfather to your son. I’m begging you to listen to me. Forget about this plan of yours,” Sal pleaded. “You’re no match for Del Brio. Not only is he almost half your age, he’s dangerous, and he has the power of the family behind him. His taking over for Carmine the way he did instead of Ricky, it only made him more dangerous. For you to even think of taking him on would be suicide.” He placed a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Let it go, Johnny. Forget what I told you about Frank ordering that drug. It’s too late to help Isadora now. And she wouldn’t want you to do something stupid that could get you killed.”
Johnny shook off Sal’s hand and whirled around to face his friend. “You think I really care what happens to me now?”
“You should,” Sal told him. “Frank isn’t like your brother, Carmine. He’s ruthless. He’ll kill you, Johnny. He’ll kill you without blinking an eye.”
“I told you, not if I kill him first. I intend to have my vengeance. An eye for an eye.” Una vita per una vita. A life for a life, he added silently.
Sal looked furtively around them again. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this, not here. You know as well as I do that the shadows have eyes and ears.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. Maybe you’ve lost Isadora and Haley, but you’ve still got a son, Johnny. And Ricky’s still part of the family.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Ricky,” Johnny said, and stared at Sal Nuccio, a man much like himself. Someone who had been born into the life of corruption and had followed the dictates of the ruling family all of his sixty years. It wasn’t the life he’d wanted for either of his children. Haley had been smart enough to try to get out. But instead of escaping, Ricky had used the skills he’d learned as a marine to grow more entrenched in the family business. It was one of his greatest regrets, Johnny admitted. Maybe if he could make things right now, find Haley and her little girl and take out Frank Del Brio, Ricky would finally break away, lead an honest life, the life that he and Isadora had wanted for their son. “This is between me and Del Brio.”
“Do you really think that will matter to Del Brio?”
It would, Johnny promised. Just as soon as he found Haley and his granddaughter, he’d make sure that Del Brio never hurt anyone in his family again.

He was being a real bastard, Justin admitted. Though she’d tried to hide it, he hadn’t missed Angela’s wince before she had lowered her gaze. Disgusted with himself, he didn’t have to stare into those blue eyes of hers to know that he’d hurt her. He could remember all too well that bruised look she got when he’d hurt her feelings in the past. Hell, he’d been haunted by the memory of those sad blue eyes of hers for more years than he’d wanted to admit. Just as the woman herself had haunted every corner of his life for the past five years.
When she’d first walked out on him, he hadn’t been all that sure he would get over her. Those first few weeks had been a real bitch. But eventually time and burying himself in work had helped to dull the pain.
He’d gotten over Angela Mason. Or at least he’d thought he had gotten over her—until she’d walked through the doors of the hospital for tonight’s party. And now in less than an hour after seeing her again, she had him all tied up in knots.
He didn’t want her here. At least he’d been honest with her about that. What he hadn’t told her, and had no intention of telling her, was that he didn’t want her here because he didn’t want to remember what it was like to be with her, to hold her, to touch her, to taste her.
Justin shoved a hand through his hair. Dammit, he didn’t need this kind of grief. Not now. Not when he had so much on his plate trying to train a rookie deputy, finding the judge’s murderer, dealing with Del Brio and finding that missing baby. Having Angela show up now would only screw up his head, something he could ill afford at the moment. She would simply have to go, Justin reasoned.
“Justin? Are you all right?” she asked, and touched his arm.
Justin stilled even though his body went on full alert. Angela had always had that affect on him, from day one when he’d first seen her at the police academy. With a look, the brush of her fingers, one little word, she set off some primal instinct in him—an instinct that had caused him to practically bully her into marrying him because his need to bind her to him had been so strong. It was also an instinct that invariably led them to bed where the sex had been mind-blowing. And thinking about having sex with Angela was the worst thing he could do. He jammed his fists into his pockets to keep from reaching for her as that instinct kicked in again now. “Go away, Mason,” he told her, his voice deliberately hard. “Just go away.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, in much the same way she had that day when she’d told him that their marriage wasn’t working and that she was taking the job in San Antonio. “Truly, I am.” There was regret in her voice and in her expression as she turned away from him.
It was like déjà vu, Justin thought, watching her walk away from him. Five years ago, he’d been a lovesick fool. He had swallowed his pride and pleaded with her to stay. When she’d refused and kept right on packing, he’d resorted to threats and then anger. But nothing had worked. She’d walked away from him, anyway. He’d almost gone to San Antonio after her—until what little pride he had left kicked in and kept him from making a bigger fool of himself. And it was that same stubborn pride that kept him from going after her now. Pride and the fact that he wasn’t the same lovesick fool he’d been all those years ago.
But not even pride could stop him from tracking her movements as she crossed the room. And pride didn’t have a thing to do with that kick in his gut when he saw her hook up with Ricky Mercado again. Irritated with both Angela and himself, Justin marched over to the bar.
“What can I get for you, Sheriff?”
Justin glanced up at the petite redhead he recognized from the Lone Star Country Club. “Erica, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Erica Clawson,” she replied, and gave him a smile that was a shade too saccharine for his taste. Not at all like Angela’s warm smile, he thought, then chastised himself at once for thinking of her again.
“You got anything besides soda pop and wine back there, Erica?”
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, tipping her head to one side flirtatiously.
“Whiskey, neat,” Justin said, choosing to ignore the come-on. Besides the fact that he wasn’t interested, he’d heard noises that little Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Erica Clawson had been keeping company of late with Frank Del Brio.
“Here you go.” She slid the glass toward him, gave him a soulful look.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the drink and turning his back to her. He tossed the whiskey back, welcomed the fiery burn down his throat and the way it spread like acid in his stomach. Like radar, his gaze sought out Angela. She was still with Ricky, their heads bent close together, the two of them in what appeared to be a deep conversation. Justin tightened his fist around the glass, wishing it was Ricky Mercado’s throat. Agitated with himself for letting her get to him, he turned away and slapped the empty glass down on the bar.
“Another one?”
“Yeah.” He had the glass halfway to his mouth, was already anticipating the fiery kick, when he noted Ricky leading Angela toward the exit. In the blink of an eye, he had an image of Ricky sliding into the car next to Angela, reaching across the seat to touch her face, to taste her mouth.
Unable to shake the image, Justin slapped his glass on the counter. Ignoring the slosh of whiskey, he started to get up and follow them when a firm male hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You might want to let your head and your blood cool before you go after her,” Hawk Wainwright told him.
Justin narrowed his eyes, stared into the sun-darkened face of his half brother. Although he’d been aware of his father’s long-ago affair with the Native American beauty who had been Hawk’s mother, only recently had he and Hawk acknowledged the blood bond between them. The relationship was tenuous at best, and there were old wounds that needed time to heal. But tonight he was feeling too edgy to mince words with Hawk and blurted out, “That a Native American thing? You being able to tell what’s going on inside a man’s head?”
Hawk smiled, something Justin realized that he could rarely recall the other man doing. “More like an observation.”
“Then you have some pretty amazing observation skills,” Justin told him, and went back to nursing his drink.
Hawk declined a drink with a shake of his head and urged Justin away from the bar. “Not all that remarkable. I remembered that the woman you watch with hot eyes was once your wife.”
“Was being the operative word here. We’re divorced now, have been for more than five years.”
“There are still strong feelings between you.”
“Not the kind you’re talking about,” Justin assured him. “Whatever Angela and I had ended a long time ago.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”
“Neither. And since discussing my ex isn’t exactly one of my favorite things to do, I’d just as soon drop the subject.”
“Whatever you say.”
Noting his brother’s stoic gaze, Justin asked, “What?”
“I was just wondering if you’ll be able to shut off your feelings for her as easily.”
“What are you talking about?” Justin asked.
“I’m talking about the green-eyed monster that eats at your heart now as you think of your woman with another man.”
“She’s not my woman anymore,” Justin insisted.
“But you want her to be. Or am I wrong?”
Justin gritted his teeth and met Hawk’s steady gaze, refusing to answer the question even to himself. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not that complicated, either.”
“You don’t understand,” Justin told him.
“Maybe I understand far better than you realize. I may have Apache blood in my veins, but I also have Wainwright blood,” Hawk explained. “I know what it is to want something, to want someone, until that want becomes a hunger that burns like fire in the belly. And I know what it is to feel the steel talons of pride digging deep into the soul until it’s pride that rules one’s tongue and actions instead of what’s here,” he said, thumping a fist against his heart.
But Justin didn’t need to be reminded that Hawk had spent much of his life wanting to be accepted, to be acknowledged as Archy Wainwright’s son and not merely the bastard half-breed who had been at the root of Archy and Kate’s divorce. Even now Justin couldn’t help but feel a measure of shame at the callous way their father had treated Hawk. Justin also couldn’t help but feel shame of his own, as well as regret, for not doing more to bridge the gap that had long existed between Hawk and the rest of the Wainwrights. Not only had Hawk lost all those years, but he and the rest of his family had lost, too.
“I nearly let pride cost me the thing I wanted most—Jenny,” Hawk told him, referring to the interior designer who’d recently become his wife. “Don’t make the same mistake I almost did and let pride cost you what you want most.”

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Audrey Lou Cox told him the following morning as Justin prepared to take a sip of the coffee he’d just poured himself.
“Why? You lace it with arsenic so you can have my job?” Justin teased the stern-faced secretary he’d inherited along with the sheriff’s office. Somewhere between the age of fifty and eighty, the woman had served more than twenty-five years under a string of Mission Creek sheriffs. “You don’t have to kill me to get the job, you know. I keep telling you, the folks in this town would vote you in over me in a heartbeat.”
“And why on earth would I want your job?”
“You’d get to wear a badge,” Justin offered.
The woman didn’t even crack a smile. “I got all the jewelry I want already. Besides, somebody has to keep this place running, and it don’t look like that person’s going to be you if you keep spending all your time traipsing from one end of the county to the other.”
“You got me there,” Justin told her, and took a sniff of the coffee.
“Heard there was quite a turnout for the dedication of the maternity ward at the hospital last night.”
“Yeah, I think half the county was there. You should have come,” Justin told her.
Audrey Lou sniffed. “And why would I want to spend my evening eating puny little sandwiches, drinking watered-down punch and listening to long-winded speeches from politicians when I could eat a nice hot meal, put my feet up and watch my favorite crime show?”
“When you put it like that, I guess I can’t think of any reason.” Justin certainly wished he had skipped the ceremony last night. If he had, he wouldn’t have seen Angela and might have actually managed to get some sleep. As it was, he’d barely slept a wink. Soured by thoughts of Angela, he stared at the inky contents of his cup. “So what’s wrong with this stuff?”
“That boy you hired made it about an hour ago, and he put enough grinds in the thing to make six pots.”
“Strong, huh?”
“I wasn’t about to drink any to find out. I was waiting for a free minute so’s I could come in here and throw the stuff out and make a fresh pot. But since you’re here, you can do it. I’ve got work to do.” And on that note, she turned and exited the little kitchen.
Desperate for the caffeine, Justin took a sip. And he nearly gagged. Audrey Lou had been right. While he generally liked his coffee black and strong, he drew the line at drinking brew that could pass for tar. Not that the extra caffeine would hurt, Justin admitted as he went about the business of measuring coffee grinds and water. After his chat with Hawk, he’d driven around and thought about what his brother had said. Hawk’s remark about pride had hit close to the mark. Too close.
More than once after Angela had left him, he’d missed her so much that he’d almost gone after her—until pride had kicked in and he’d abandoned the idea. Hawk had also hit the nail on the head about his feelings for Angela. Seeing her with Ricky had made him jealous, he admitted. And it had been that jealousy that had been the driving force behind his anger toward her last night.
As he waited for the coffee to finish dripping, Justin grimaced as he remembered swinging by the town’s two hotels, intent on apologizing to her for his behavior. Only there had been no Angela Mason registered at either establishment. He’d gone home to the ranch wondering if she’d driven back to San Antonio or if she was spending the night with Ricky Mercado. And it had been thoughts of Angela with Ricky that had kept him awake most of the night. Sometime during the early hours of the morning, he’d finally fallen asleep, only to dream about her. The way she’d looked at him on their wedding day in the small church when she’d pledged her love. The sweet, shy smile that curved her mouth on those mornings when he’d awakened her with a kiss. The way she’d gasped his name as he filled her when they’d made love. The way he’d felt when he’d been inside her.
Justin scrubbed a hand down his face. Was it any wonder he’d awakened with a dull, throbbing ache in his head and a painful hard-on for his ex-wife?
“Sheriff, the mayor’s on the line for you and your sister Rose wants you to call her, something about a dinner party,” Audrey Lou told him.
“Thanks,” Justin said, and forgoing the coffee, he headed for his office.
More than an hour later when Justin hung up the phone, the dull throbbing in his head had escalated into a bruiser of a headache. And he wasn’t at all sure how much of it had to do with his sleepless night or the workload. Rubbing the muscles at the base of his neck, Justin sat back and stared at the piles of paperwork and messages that covered his desk.
Maybe now was a good time for that coffee, Justin decided. After pouring himself a mug of the no-longer-fresh brew, he went back to his desk and began sorting through the endless reports and files and messages. For a county that he had always considered small by Texas standards, Mission Creek had certainly been a hotbed of activity lately, he thought as he sorted the open case files jammed with reports.
He opened the file containing a report on the abandoned baby girl named Lena who had been found on the Lone Star Country Club’s golf course last year—the same little girl who had since been kidnapped and he had yet to find. Picking up the snapshot of the smiling sweetheart that Josie Carson had taken only days before the kidnapping occurred, he traced her tiny face with his fingertip. Once again he felt that familiar pang as he thought of the little angel being snatched from the Carsons. And on the heels of that ache came frustration and anger. Anger with the person who had taken her. Anger with himself for failing to find her. Whooshing out a breath, Justin put the photo aside and reminded himself that as sheriff he couldn’t afford to let his emotions become involved. Anger and resentment weren’t going to help him find Lena. Only solid skills and dogged determination would do that.
And he would find her, he promised himself. He had to. Because it sure didn’t look like the FBI was going to be able to do it. If anything they only hampered his own efforts.
Thumbing through the file, he scanned the DNA tests that had been run on select members of the country club and the final paternity test that had revealed Luke Callaghan as the girl’s father. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Luke must feel, returning home from some sort of business trip out of the country during which he’d been blinded. And then discovering he not only had a daughter he knew nothing about, but that the girl had been kidnapped. What still puzzled him was how Luke could be the baby’s father and not know who the mother was. Justin rubbed a hand along his jaw. Had it been any other man, he’d have sworn the guy was lying. But not Luke Callaghan. He didn’t doubt for a second that Luke had told him the truth.
For the next twenty minutes Justin fielded calls while he went over the notes on Lena’s kidnapping. And once again he found himself with more questions than answers. Closing the file, he picked up the next folder in the stack and sighed at the sight of the label that read “Bridges, Carl—Murder Case.” He didn’t even have to open the file on this one because he could recite the details of Judge Carl Bridges’s murder from memory. The fact that the case remained unsolved gnawed at him almost as much as Lena’s kidnapping. As he made a note to follow up with a call to Dylan Bridges that evening, he snatched up the ringing telephone.
When he hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, Justin reached for the next file, which was not only the oldest working file in his office, but the thickest by far because it contained information on the Mercado crime family. Since Carmine Mercado’s death eight months ago and the shifting of power within the organization to Frank Del Brio, Justin hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was brewing within the family ranks. From all accounts, Johnny Mercado had been acting strangely of late. That scene he’d witnessed between Johnny and Del Brio last night attested to that fact. But it was more than that, he admitted. There was something about that look in Johnny’s eyes, his sudden spirit, that nagged at him like a splinter under his skin. Maybe now that Ricky was back in town, he should pay the younger Mercado a visit, ask him what was going on between his father and Del Brio just so Ricky knew that the sheriff’s office had an eye on them.
And what if Angela is with him?
Justin gritted his teeth at the taunting voice in his head and shut his eyes to block out the images of Angela with Ricky last night.
“Sheriff,” Audrey Lou called from the doorway, her voice impatient. “Something wrong with your hearing, son? Bobby’s on the line for you. Said it’s important.”
“Wainwright.” Justin all but barked out his name as he grabbed the telephone.
“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, boss.”
Just what he needed, Justin thought. “All right, spit it out.”
“I lost Del Brio.”
Justin swore. “What happened?”
“He pulled a switch on me.”
“I told you not to let him out of your sight.”
“And I didn’t,” Bobby contended. “I tailed him to Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting this morning just like you told me. And I’m positive it was Del Brio that I followed when he left there. I stayed with him all morning through this string of back roads outside of Mission Creek and all through Goldenrod—even down some private road—until he went back to his spread. Only when he reached his place and got out of the truck, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Del Brio. It was a dude dressed up just like him, and the truck was a dead ringer for the one Del Brio was driving.”
“If you were following him the whole time, how could he make the switch?” Justin demanded.
“The only thing I can think of is that he arranged to have the dummy driver in a look-alike truck waiting around one of those curves. Because I swear that’s the only time the man was ever out of my sight.”
Trying to contain his frustration, Justin wiped a hand down his face. He’d ordered the tail on Del Brio after that exchange with Johnny last night—in part because he didn’t want a full-scale war erupting between the Mercados and Del Brio and his men, and in part because there was a rumor on the street that a big deal was about to go down.
“I know I screwed up. I’m sorry, Sheriff.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Justin told the kid. “It happens to the best of us. Del Brio didn’t get where he is because of his brains. He’s got the instincts of a cat. Evidently he spotted your tail. I just wish I knew where he was going that he felt the need to shake you.”
“You want me to see if I can pick him up again?” Bobby asked.
“No. We’ve got too much to do. We can’t afford to spend any more time playing games with the likes of Del Brio. Come on back to the office. The phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning, and I swear the paperwork is multiplying faster than rabbits.”
“Boss, there’s something else you should know,” Bobby told him.
Justin paused, sensing he wasn’t going to like what his deputy had to say. “What?”
“I wasn’t the only one tailing Del Brio. So was Johnny Mercado.”
Justin scowled, not at all happy to learn his own instincts had been right. Something was brewing between Johnny and Del Brio, and whatever it was, it could only mean trouble. “I was afraid of that.”
“You think Johnny plans to fight Del Brio for control of the family?”
“No.” At least Justin hoped that wasn’t the case because Johnny, even with this newfound spirit he’d shown, didn’t stand a chance against a ruthless thug like Del Brio. His son, Ricky, however, was another story. “But something’s going on, and I intend to find out what it is.”
“You going to go see Johnny? Try to talk to him again?”
“No. The old man is playing his cards close to the vest. I was planning to pay Ricky a visit later. But I think maybe I’ll drive out to the Mercado place and have that little talk with Ricky now. I’ll see you when I get back.”
After hanging up the phone, Justin shoved away from his desk and headed out of his office. He grabbed his hat and paused in front of Audrey Lou’s desk. “Bobby’s on his way in, and I’m going out to Johnny Mercado’s place. I need you to hold down the fort for me until I get back.”
The woman didn’t so much as bat an eye. “What do you want me to tell your sister? Rose has called for you twice already.”
“Tell her I’ll call her when I get back.”
But when Justin got back, after striking out on catching either Ricky or his father at their place near Goldenrod or the Mercado Brothers Paving, Audrey Lou was manning two phone lines and Bobby was taking down Mrs. Elkinson’s weekly complaint about the randy bull on the neighboring homestead bothering her milk cows. Wanting no part of that scene, Justin reached for the stack of phone messages Audrey Lou held out to him and headed for his office when Audrey Lou hung up the phone.
“That was Dylan Bridges’s office returning your call.”
Justin looked up from the messages he’d been skimming. “He still in his office?”
“No. That was his assistant who called to say he’s tied up until late this afternoon, wanted to know if he could call you at home tonight. I said I didn’t see why not since you don’t do much of anything but work and sleep, anyway.”
Justin ignored the dig at his lack of a social life. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Nothing except that you’ve got yourself a visitor. I put her in your office to wait.”
“Damn! She’s here already?” Justin asked, assuming it was his sister. Granted he’d called her from his vehicle and agreed to meet with her back at his office, but he’d told her he needed at least an hour. Evidently Rose decided not to wait. Which seemed to be par for the course where his younger sister was concerned this past year—starting with her running off to Aunt Beth’s in New York and shocking everyone when she came back with the news that she’d married Matt Carson of all people and was expecting his child. While the wedding hadn’t sat well with either the Carsons or the Wainwrights, the early arrival of the baby and the illness that had threatened both Rose and the baby had not only scared everyone but it had eased some of the tensions between the two families. However, his sister didn’t appear to be content with the strained truce. No, now that the danger was past, the darned female seemed hell-bent on ending the feud between the two families that had spanned seventy-six years. And for some reason, she had decided he was to be a key player in her fence-mending plans.
“You knew she was coming?”
“Sure. I talked to her about twenty minutes ago and told her to come by. Of course, I told her to give me an hour to return some of these calls. Obviously, she didn’t hear that part,” Justin said, but he wasn’t really irritated. He both liked and loved his sister, and he especially liked getting a chance to see his nephew.
“Well, you might have seen fit to tell me she was coming,” Audrey Lou sniffed. “And she might have told me you was expecting her instead of just saying she needed to see you and that she didn’t mind waiting.”
“She probably thought you knew,” Justin said, not wanting Audrey Lou angry with Rose. “She got the baby with her?”
“You mean to tell me she’s got herself a baby?”
Justin frowned. Obviously his sister Rose wasn’t the woman waiting in his office because everyone in Mission Creek, for that matter, half of Texas, knew about the recent birth of Wayne Matthew Carson and the danger that both the baby and Rose had faced. It had been the near loss of his sister’s life and the birth of the baby that had prompted Archy Wainwright to begin making amends with the Carsons, Hawk and even with his ex-wife, Kate. From what he’d seen the previous night, Justin suspected his parents were well on their way to a reconciliation—three decades after their divorce.
“Well, she never said a thing about any baby.”
“Audrey Lou, why don’t we start over? I take it that that’s not my sister Rose waiting in my office.”
Audrey Lou blinked, her big brown eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed glasses, reminding him of an owl. “Who said anything about Rose?”
“No one. My mistake. So who—”
The phone rang and she grabbed it. “Lone Star County Sheriff’s Office. Audrey Lou speaking.”
Justin strove for patience as he waited for Audrey Lou to finish the call. She’d no sooner hung up when the phone rang again. When she started to reach for it, Justin grabbed the receiver. “Lone Star County Sheriff’s Office. Hold on a minute. Now,” he said after punching the hold button on the phone, “who am I going to find waiting in my office?”
The woman gave him a look so stern, he felt like an errant schoolboy who needed to apologize for his poor manners and not the county’s sheriff and her boss.
“Thought you just said you was expecting her,” Audrey Lou told him with a sniff.
“Audrey Lou…”
“It’s your wife.”

Three
“Ex-wife,” Justin corrected. “We’re divorced.”
Angela tensed at the sound of Justin’s voice just outside the door. Despite a sleepless night and the lecture she’d given herself this morning, she was every bit as anxious at the prospect of working with Justin now as she had been when she’d agreed to take the assignment. But even if she could convince the FBI and the police chief to release her from her agreement to work the case, her conscience would never allow her to walk away. That meant she had to face Justin now and try to make him see that this wasn’t about them, but about the welfare of a missing little girl.
Bracing herself, Angela turned away from the window she’d been staring out of and watched Justin saunter into the room with that same purposeful stride she’d noted the first time she’d set eyes on him. His air of self-confidence had always fascinated her. Perhaps because she’d had so little self-confidence growing up and throughout their marriage. It had only been in the past few years that she’d begun to feel more sure of herself.
She hadn’t been mistaken in her impressions of him last night, she mused. Age hadn’t diminished Justin’s looks in any way. If anything, he was even more handsome in the slate-gray sheriff’s uniform than he had been the previous evening in the expensive suit. The silver badge pinned on his shirt gleamed beneath the office lights. With his service revolver strapped to his waist and the Stetson in his hand, he could have stepped right off the pages of some slick magazine showcasing lawmen hunks of the Southwest. Right down to the forbidding scowl on his face. She wasn’t sure if that grim set of his lips was due to her presence or to Audrey Lou’s reference to her as his wife. Probably both, she decided.
“For what it’s worth, I did try to explain that I was your ex-wife,” Angela told him. “And the truth is, I was surprised that Mrs. Cox even remembered me, let alone the fact that we were once married.”
“Audrey Lou’s got a memory like a computer chip,” Justin informed her as he made his way over to his desk. “The woman doesn’t forget anything when it comes to the citizens of Lone Star County. And there’s very little that goes on in this town that she doesn’t know about.”
The mention of how everyone knew everyone’s business made her smile. “I guess I forgot what a small town Mission Creek can be at times,” Angela offered.
“It’s not all that small of a town. But then I suppose that depends on the person and what they want.”
Angela knew it was a dig at her because she’d opted to move to the big city of San Antonio instead of remaining in Mission Creek and trying to salvage their marriage. Since Justin had refused to admit five years ago that the real problems at the core of their marriage had little to do with their careers and everything to do with their relationship, she doubted that rehashing her reasons for leaving would serve any purpose. Deciding to let the remark pass, she said, “Well, I’m sorry, anyway, about the confusion and any embarrassment it caused.”
“The confusion was of my own making. I thought you were Rose,” he explained as he dropped his hat on the corner of the paper-laden desk. “As for embarrassing me, you didn’t.”
“I’m glad. That I didn’t embarrass you, I mean,” she added nervously. “But I suppose I should have made sure Mrs. Cox understood.”
“She understood, all right. But whether we’d been divorced five years or fifty, it wouldn’t have made a difference to Audrey Lou. As far as she’s concerned, you’re still my wife.”
“I take it she’s not too fond of divorce?”
He made a dismissive sound. “That’s like asking if water is wet. The woman thinks the only time a marriage ends is when one of the pair dies. As far as she’s concerned, ‘until death do us part’ means just that. And since she’s been married to the same man for over forty years, I guess I can understand why she feels the way she does.”
“I suppose so,” Angela offered, feeling more awkward by the second. “The idea of two people spending their lives together, well, it is a lovely sentiment.”
“I guess that would depend on the two people and whether or not the marriage works out. In our case, it didn’t.”
While he didn’t say “because of you,” Angela could almost hear the words he’d left unsaid. Uncomfortable, she stared down at her clasped hands a moment. She’d long ago accepted blame for the failure of their marriage. Looking back now, she could see so clearly that their marriage had stood little chance of succeeding. How could it? Even without the added strain caused by Justin’s family’s objections to his choice of her as a wife and her inability to conceive a child, the marriage had mistake written all over it from the start. Someone like her wasn’t meant to be anyone’s wife—especially not the wife of a man like Justin Wainwright. Yet knowing that, she’d been too blinded by her love for him to say no when he’d proposed. And because she’d been selfish, she had married him and had made them both miserable.
Shoving aside the sad thoughts, Angela lifted her gaze again and found Justin’s eyes on her. And as had so often been the case during their marriage, those cool green eyes of his gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Growing more stressed by the minute, she decided the best thing to do was to get this over with and tell Justin the reason she was there. “Justin, I—”
“Listen, Angela, I—”
He chuckled.
So did she. And she let out a breath as some of the tension eased. Even though she realized that she was simply delaying the fireworks that her announcement was sure to set off, she said, “Go ahead. You first.”
“I was about to say that considering how our conversation ended last night, I’m surprised to find you here.”
“I realize I should have called you first, instead of just showing up here like this,” she said, feeling defensive. “But to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me. So I decided to just take my chances and come by.”
A hint of red burnished the sharp lines of his cheeks. “Yeah, well, can’t say that I blame you. I didn’t do such a good job of handling things last night. Seeing you…well, it took me by surprise. I was out of line.”
Angela knew what a proud, stubborn man Justin was, so the unexpected admission that he was wrong left her reeling. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure what to say.
It was Justin who spoke. “Anyway, I apologize for the way I acted last night.”
“Apology accepted,” she finally managed to say.
“I’d have apologized to you sooner, but I couldn’t find you at either of the hotels.”
“I didn’t stay at a hotel.”
“Yeah, I figured that much,” he said, a slight edge in his voice. “And I don’t suppose you drove all the way back to San Antonio last night and then turned around and drove back here this morning.”
“No, I didn’t.”
His lips tightened at her response, but he made no comment. And the short break in the tension between them evaporated as quickly as it had come. Once again Angela rued her decision to accept this assignment. “May I?” she asked, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.
“Suit yourself,” Justin replied, and once she was seated, he sat down in the black swivel chair behind the battered mahogany desk.
Striving to smooth the way for the bombshell she intended to drop on him, she said, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t make the decision to attend the dedication ceremony at the hospital until the last minute. Otherwise, I would have called and warned you that I’d be there.”
“As you pointed out last night, I don’t own Mission Creek and you’re no longer my wife. Where you go and who you go there with isn’t any of my business.”
The cool reminder stung. “True. But considering that we share a history, telling you that I’d planned to be there would have been the courteous thing to do. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
“Fine. Now that we’ve both got our apologies out of the way, you’re going to have to excuse me because I need to get back to work.” Without waiting for her answer, he reached for the stack of mail in his incoming basket. “You can just leave the door open on your way out.”
His dismissal stunned Angela almost as much as it irritated her. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here because I felt I owed you an apology or because I expected one from you.”
“Whatever you say. But I can’t imagine anything else we have to discuss and I really do need to get back to work.” Obviously believing the matter was at an end, he went back to perusing the papers in front of him.
Angered by his arrogance, Angela shoved to her feet. “Aren’t you even the least bit interested in knowing why I’m here?”
“Not particularly,” he told her without so much as a glance in her direction.
Suddenly Angela’s patience snapped. She came around the desk, slapped her hands down on the papers in front of him. “Dammit, Wainwright, look at me!”
Slowly he lifted his gaze to hers. And the heat in those green eyes sucked the breath right out of her. “All right, Mason. I’m looking.”
Angela’s pulse jumped. Her head began to spin, and she tried to remember exactly what it was she’d been about to say to him.
“As much as I enjoy looking at you, Angel, I’m pressed for time. So if you’ve got something on your mind, I suggest you spit it out.”
Angela felt a sharp pang at Justin’s use of the pet name he’d given her during the early days of their courtship. She started to speak, but her throat seemed impossibly tight, and she closed her mouth again. She couldn’t think about the past now, she reminded herself.
“You going to tell me why you’re all worked up? Or am I supposed to guess?”
Angela swallowed, tried to clear her head. But before she could answer him, he shoved away from the desk and walked away from her, only to whirl around and march back over to stand in front of her.
“Since you seem to be at a loss for words, why don’t I tell you why I think you’re here,” he began, his mouth hard, his expression even harder. “I think you’re here because you want a little payback.”
“Payback?” Angela repeated.
“Yeah, payback. I gave you a rough time about the divorce, and last night you decided to pay me back by flaunting your relationship with Ricky Mercado in front of me and everyone else in this town. Well, it worked. I blew my cool last night when I saw the two of you together. But that was last night. It isn’t going to work today. You’re not going to be able to use Mercado to push my buttons.”
“Is that really what you believe? That I would do such a thing?”
The look he gave her could have melted ice. “You saying it isn’t? Are you going to stand there and deny that you wanted to rub my nose in the fact that you’re sleeping with Mercado?”
Taken aback by his accusation, Angela remained speechless for several moments. While Justin had never liked nor understood her friendship with Ricky, she had always believed it was because of the Mercado’s family business and Ricky’s ties to organized crime. It had never crossed her mind that Justin might have seen Ricky as a romantic rival. Staring at the man she’d given her heart to so long ago, she wondered how she could have been so blind. “You’re jealous of Ricky,” she murmured more to herself than to him as realization dawned. Which made no sense—especially now when Justin had all but said he wanted nothing to do with her.
“The hell I am!” He jammed a hand through his hair, paced the length of the room. “I just don’t like seeing you hooked up with a scumbag like Mercado.”
“But you’re wrong. Ricky and I—” She swallowed, deciding she needed to be blunt. “Justin, I’m not sleeping with Ricky.”
He whipped around, pinned her with those stormy eyes. “You expect me to believe that when I know damn well that you didn’t stay in a hotel last night?”
“Believe whatever you want,” she told him while she tried to convince herself that what Justin thought about her didn’t matter. “But the truth is I didn’t spend the night with Ricky. I spent the night in my own bed.”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “That’s quite a trick since you’ve already said you didn’t go back to San Antonio.”
“But I did return to my condo. Or perhaps I should say to my new condo—the one that I’m leasing, which happens to be located just outside of Goldenrod and is the place where I spent the night in my own bed, alone.”
Justin marched back over to her. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie about something like that? It’s easy enough for you to check. I moved into the place two days ago.”
“Why?” he demanded, eyeing her warily.
“Because I didn’t want to be living out of a suitcase while I’m working here.”
Justin’s head snapped up at that. “Working here? On what?”
“Finding the baby that was kidnapped from the Carsons’ ranch. The FBI said they’d had a request for my help.”
“The hell they did,” Justin shouted. “There’s no way that I asked for you, and if anyone in Lone Star County had, I’d know about it.”
“Evidently, someone did,” Angela replied, recalling her conversation with her FBI contact and her dismay upon hearing no one had advised Justin about her involvement in the case.
Justin snatched up the phone. “Audrey Lou, get the person we had as a contact with the FBI on the phone for me. Now.” When he slammed the receiver back down, he said, “I’ll speak with the Bureau and have them take you off the case.”
“I don’t want off the case.”
“No offense, Mason, but I don’t need your help.”
“No offense taken, Wainwright. But you obviously do need my help. So does the FBI. From what I understand, the little girl’s been missing for almost three months now. And you and I both know that in a kidnapping every day that goes by without her being found makes the chances of getting her back even slimmer.”
“I’m well aware of that fact.”
“Then maybe if you’d get past your anger at me, you’d see that you’re not getting anywhere on your own. I can help you find her, Justin,” she said, trying to ease the tension so that working together wouldn’t be more difficult than it had to be. “We can help each other find her.”
“I prefer working alone.”
His rebuff hit her like a slap. But Angela reminded herself she had a job to do—to find the missing little girl—and that meant she didn’t have the luxury of running away and licking her wounds. “Suit yourself,” she told him, and picked up the handbag she’d placed next to the chair. She walked toward the door, paused and turned back to face him. “But whether you like it or not, I’m on this case now, too. I’d prefer working with you because I think our chances of finding her are better. But I’ll work alone if I have to. It’s up to you. Either way, I don’t intend to leave until I find that little girl.”
“And how are you planning to do that? Hope that one of your dreams tells you where to find her?”
Angela stiffened. During their marriage, Justin had always skirted the issue of her psychic abilities and chalked up her uncanny accuracy as woman’s intuition. And because the memory of her family’s rejection had been so painful, she’d allowed him to do so. Not anymore. “I intend to use any and all means available to me to find her—including my psychic abilities. I’ve already made arrangements to visit with Flynt and Josie Carson tomorrow, and I’ve requested copies of the Bureau’s files on the case. I’ll want to take a look at your files, too.”
Justin shot across the room, slapped his hand against the door she’d started to open and sent it slamming shut again. “Let’s get something straight here, Mason. This is my case. Mine.”
“Then I suggest you have that chat with the Bureau because they don’t see it that way. Now, get out of my way,” she said evenly, and reached for the doorknob. When he made no move to allow her to leave, Angela looked up at his hard face, noting the grim set of his mouth.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared down at her. “I’ve been searching for that little girl for months and have hit one dead end after another. So have the feds. You think just because you’ve had some success tracking down a few missing people, you can waltz in here and tell me to turn over my files? That I’ll let you take over my case?”
Angela sighed. She didn’t bother telling him it wasn’t his case—that officially it was a federal matter. She knew Justin well enough to know that once a case was his, it remained his. Not even the head of the FBI himself would be able to convince the stubborn man otherwise. While he might have made noises about cooperating with the FBI, Justin would have continued to work the case on his own. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Justin. I’ve offered to work with you. I’m still willing to work with you on this case.”
“Right. You expect me to put my faith in the woman who walked out on me? Better yet, I’m supposed to tell the Carsons to put their faith and hopes of finding Lena into some psychic mumbo jumbo?”
Angela flinched at the barb. Her father had made her an outcast in her own family, subjecting her to brutal lashings of both his tongue and his belt, claiming it was the devil that enabled her to see things others couldn’t. It had taken her years to learn to control her own tongue, to not let others know about her visions. But no matter how hard she had tried, sooner or later she would slip and earn her father’s wrath. She hadn’t thought it possible for anyone else’s rejection ever to hurt her so much.
She’d been wrong.
Justin’s jibe about her psychic abilities had been just as sharp, just as painful, as Horace Mason’s leather belt had been all those years ago. Feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes, she blinked hard, determined not to cry in front of him.
“Angel.” He said her name softly and started to touch her. “I—”
“Don’t,” she said firmly. And because she felt so vulnerable, because she was afraid if he touched her the tears would start and not stop, she deliberately pulled open the door. “I want copies of the files, Justin. I’ll leave my number with Mrs. Cox. Have her call me when you have them ready and I’ll come by to pick them up.” Then before he could respond, she walked out the door without looking back.

Justin pulled his truck up to the curb across the street from Angela’s condo and shut off the engine. After turning off his headlights, he sat in the darkness and stared at the place Angela had moved into several days earlier. Located on the outskirts of Goldenrod, it was one of the newer developments that had gone up in Lone Star County during the past year. There were six units in all, moderately priced and small by Texas standards. The limestone facade still had that new look about it. He supposed the small trees with their less-than-lush branches had been the developer’s attempt at landscaping. They didn’t even come close to the massive century-old oaks found on the Wainwright ranch. But he had to admit the rows of azaleas that lined the front of each unit and the walkways were a nice touch. No doubt it had been those rose-colored blooms that had sold Angela on the place. She’d always had a weakness for flowers, Justin remembered.

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