In Safe Hands

Hailing the bus driver to wait, she climbed the bus steps, pulled Colin along with her and found two empty seats. During the fifteen-minute ride neither of them spoke a word. Colin closed his eyes and rested.

She felt his body heat without even touching him. Colin’s nearness did crazy things to her, in both body and mind, but she couldn’t get past the dangerous position he’d put them in. Who on earth was this guy really, and who wanted to kill him?

At long last she spotted the side street that led to her hotel’s entrance and hurried them off the bus. The hotel that she’d checked into earlier couldn’t be called a palace, but it was sure a heck of a lot better than Colin’s flophouse room.

Small by Texas standards, the room was at least clean and warm. And temporarily safe. She snuck Colin past the reception desk and into the elevator. When Maggie finally keyed open her door and tumbled Colin and herself inside, she was so danged relieved that she nearly cried.

Her witchcraft would help heal Colin. The sooner he was pain free, the sooner they could talk, and then she’d be that much closer to leaving New York City and Colin’s trouble far behind her.

Plopping him down on the single bed, she shoved pillows behind his back and helped him kick off his shoes. “You rest while I check your leg.”

She turned, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “You’re not leaving.”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I said.” Swinging back to reassure him, she caught the look he’d been giving her behind her back. Wary. Stark. Lonely. The stricken look on his face struck a deep note of sympathy in her heart.

“You’ll not be calling your friends, love?”

“What friends?” She pulled her arm from his grasp then placed her palm against his forehead, checking for fever.

“The ones who must have come with you. The chaps with the fire bombs and guns.”

He thought she was the one who’d brought that disaster down upon them? “I might ask you the same question,” she said, realizing he had a small fever but nothing her medicine couldn’t cure. “All I did was come to bring you news of your brother and niece, and I got shot at and nearly burned to death for my trouble. I was hoping you would have the answers as to why.”

Colin groaned and grabbed his thigh. “Don’t leave, Maggie.” He closed his eyes, slumped back against the pillows and was fast asleep in an instant.

Swell. Now she was faced with checking his wounds without his assistance. Determined to do the best she could for the man who had caused her even more inner turmoil than whoever’d been doing the shooting, she went to the closet to retrieve her medicine pack.

Maggie Ryan was tough. She could do anything. Isn’t that what everybody always said?

Being tough was one of the traits that had turned her only boyfriend—her college fiancé—against her. In a fit of anger over losing what he’d thought would be his meal ticket for life, he pushed it even further, accusing her of being frigid and asking for his ring back.

That was the last time she’d let a man get close to her. But she was feeling things for Colin that she’d never felt for her ex-fiancé.

Too close. She was too close to caring for this complete stranger. She needed to remind herself why she’d sought him out on this dark and icy night in the first place.

When Colin opened his eyes, it took him a moment to orient himself. He felt beneath his body and discovered he was lying on some sort of bed or mattress. But with the jumbled thoughts in his head, nothing else seemed clear.

The pain in his thigh was most definite, though, and sharp enough to make him more alert. The memory of the wall exploding behind him kept repeating, and the sound of Maggie Ryan’s voice begging him to get down echoed clear and true in his ears.

Was he still in danger? Probably not. Because wherever he was, everything seemed absurdly quiet after all the commotion. Colin’s survival instincts lay still. Nothing screamed in his gut to either run or fight.

Turning his head, he pried open his eyes and glanced around. He found himself in some sort of bland and inexpensive hotel room. He’d seen many of these same small rooms around the world.

“You’re awake again. Good. Do you think you can sit up?”

It was her voice. Maggie’s. That same smoky pitch he remembered from when she’d appeared at his doorway.

Colin tried to rise, but he had little strength in his arms and one hell of a pain in his leg. “Where am I?”

Her soft, feminine arms slid under his back, and with a surprising show of strength, Maggie lifted him to a sitting position. “There you go. You’re in my hotel room. Does it hurt very much?”

Clearing the fog from his head, Colin stared once again at the most striking-looking woman he had ever beheld. The fantastic mass of curls he remembered from before as being dark auburn looked the color of burnt cinnamon in this light. The ugly, pea-colored coat was gone. She wore a long-sleeved, western-cut shirt with blue and red stripes, tucked into dark-blue jeans.

He focused on her face, his gaze skimming across clear golden skin and a soft, full mouth. But it was the eyes that drew him in. Still startling. Still the vivid green of an Irish mist. Just looking at them produced a surprising and unwelcome reaction in his groin.

“I have a few questions for you.”

She had questions? Since Colin’s brain had begun working past the pain, a million blasted questions sat unasked on his tongue.

“But I need to finish working on your leg first,” she added.

“How did I get here?” He couldn’t let her get ahead of him. His control was shaky, but he didn’t trust her enough to close his eyes again.

“You and I sort of limped over here on the bus, after we got out of that room one step ahead of the fire-fighter first responders. You were a little shocked and dizzy, but we made it.”

He gave her a disbelieving look, but she seemed undeterred.

“The shot that hit you only nicked the fleshy part of your thigh. No bullet fragments were left behind, I checked. You’ve got a couple of cuts on your forehead, but none of them are deep.” She paused. “I was afraid to stick around and wait for the cops or the paramedics. Someone must want you dead pretty badly.”

“Yes, it does seem that way.” But was she in on it? He’d been waiting in that room all day, and the shooting had started only after she’d arrived. “Never mind. Where are my pants, love?”

“I had to cut them off you to get to the wound. But you packed another pair. I brought your duffel with us as I dragged you out of the fire. Thankfully, your leather jacket was only singed in a few spots, but it should be—”

“You dragged me out of the room? By yourself?”

She gave him a sharp smirk before turning her back to dig into his duffel. “I’m tougher than I look.”

Yeah, he would bet she was quite a lot of things underneath those exotic looks. Grace, strength and a sort of magical beauty must have been bestowed upon her at birth by the fairies. But something sinister seemed to lurk about her as well.

He’d already made up his mind to find out everything. She would tell him first whether she had been sent to do him harm, and then she would complete her tale about his brother. The truth. Every bit of it.

It mattered little that her appearance affected him like no other woman’s. With everything they’d been through, he couldn’t imagine why his body kept betraying him with primal, sexual reactions. But he swore to set all that aside.

“What are you up to, Maggie Ryan? How did you know where to find me?”

Maggie winced inwardly, not sure how to explain. “I’ll tell you everything as best I can. But let me work on your leg at the same time.”

He didn’t bat an eyelash, just continued staring her down.

“Please. I swear I can help you. Let me.”

Something must have gotten to him, either her words or the way she stood up to him, because he relented at last. “What are you planning then? Shall we cut off the blasted leg entirely?”

The words had been said without so much as a smile, but they made her chuckle. “Heavens no. I have some…um…lotions that I’ll make into a poultice. It’ll relieve the pain, I promise. And I can put a couple of sutures in, too, if need be.”

Maggie bent to paw through the denim backpack containing her medicines. “Can you lie back again, please?”

She took her bag into the bathroom and mixed up her healing concoctions. Back at his side, Maggie went straight to work, splashing blanquillo, a clear liquid, over his leg.

Ready now to apply the poultice she’d made, Maggie gazed into his eyes. “This shouldn’t hurt. Try not to move.”

He stopped her by holding up his hand. “Tell me what’s in the poultice first.”

Impatiently, Maggie shook her head. “Look, I have training as a curandera—a healer—in Texas and Mexico. I can take away your suffering.”

When he continued to stare at her, she sighed and went on, “The poultice contains herbs and dried plants, nothing harmful. Let me—”

“Which herbs and plants?”

Gritting her teeth, she told him. “It’s a basic mixture of basil, rosemary and rue, the holy trinity for Mexican witchcraft.” When he didn’t flinch at the word witchcraft, she went on. “To those I’ve added three specially dried plants. Mexican arnica—”

“Camphor weed. Yes, I can smell the astringent. What else?”

Surprised, she went on. “Spikenard for open sores and silk tassel for the pain reliever.”

“I recognize the name silk tassel, it’s called quinine bush in some places. But the other…”

“It’s rare. Also called elk clover, and found only in a few mountain areas in the Southwestern United States and Mexico.”

He nodded his head and lay back against the pillows. “Okay, go ahead. But I want your story at the same time. I’d wager you’re the kind of witch that can do at least two things at one time.”

“How do you know so much about the healing properties of some pretty obscure plants?”

With his eyes closed, he answered in a weak voice, “I’ve spent time in some pretty obscure places in the world. The uses for medicinal plants and herbs are not just the province of Mexican witches, you know.”

His eyes flickered open again for a brief moment. “But quit hedging, woman. Begin your story.”

She began applying the poultice. “I’m from a little town in south Texas near the Mexican border. A place called Zavala Springs. It’s a ranching town, surrounded by the multithousand-acre Delgado Ranch. You may have heard of the ranch, it’s pretty famous. The Delgado Ranch is my family’s heritage, but the whole area is a really nice place to live and grow up in.”

Was that a good enough recommendation to entice him to leave Emma there? Probably not.

Colin sat back, watching her work with icy-blue eyes that were becoming evermore sharp and clear.

She decided to approach this from another direction. “I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m sure your brother was the one killed in the auto accident late last spring. He was using the name John Sheridan and he and his wife had been living in Alexandria, Virginia.”

Shaking his head, Colin leaned forward and spoke with quiet danger in his voice. “In the first place, my brother wasn’t married, as I said before. And second, how could you possibly connect a man named John Sheridan to my brother and then to me?” Not waiting for an answer, he plowed ahead. “I owe you a huge thanks for getting me out of that room, Maggie, and I’m grateful for your efforts at natural healing on my behalf. But what’s the truth of why you sought me out? What aren’t you telling me?”

She fought to get control of the conversation. “Look, I’m sure of my facts. You’ve been searching for your brother, haven’t you? Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned already, and than we can compare what we know. I think what I know will hold up to whatever you have.”

Colin had to admit that she’d saved his life. And if she had actually wanted him dead, there’d been plenty of opportunities to do the deed. But it was the vulnerable look in her eyes that finally got him this time.

What did he have to lose? “All right. Fine.” He winced as she dabbed the poultice on his open wound. “I’ve discovered my brother was recruited by SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service, while I was overseas at war.”

That idea still troubled Colin. Had John gone into covert work in an effort to impress him? Perhaps to get his attention?

Focusing on the present, he went on, “A couple of years ago John participated in an international, interagency sting in Mexico. The mission was to infiltrate the Mexican drug trade, one organization in particular. But then the sting went sour and John disappeared.”

Colin caught his breath and watched Maggie’s expression as he finished the story. “It’s taken me months to get a line on what happened to him, to assure myself that he wasn’t murdered in Mexico. A contact in your state department let me know that John had been threatened, yes, but he’d escaped. Someone, a shadowy figure and difficult to find, knew of his whereabouts. That was the man I expected to meet, when you arrived instead—and the shooting started.”

Maggie’s eyes went wide. “I came only because I needed to ask how you feel about…”

Halting her stumbling words, Maggie worried that she’d already said too much in the wrong way, so she began again. “After we…um…buried the Sheridans and I took in their child, I made every attempt to locate relatives, however distant. I searched the Internet for months. Even the rental car agency records were of little help. I found out that the Sheridans had rented a townhouse in Alexandria about a year ago, but their neighbors don’t remember much about them.”

“Go on,” he urged impatiently, while she gulped in a breath.

“Their licenses and the baby’s birth certificate were registered there, but that seems to be where the trail begins and ends. It’s like they appeared out of thin air a year ago.” She sighed heavily. “So, while I was searching, I became their child’s foster mother. Your niece’s foster mother. How would you feel about…I mean…”

Her words died in her throat. She was too scared to ask.

“You still haven’t said how you connected…”

“You to John Sheridan?” She refused to think of the consequences and plowed ahead. “Witchcraft. My Abuela Lupe helped me. She possesses crystals that see things hidden to others, and she knows how to use their special powers. We weren’t looking for people so much as a specific location of the nearest relative.”

Forcing herself to make eye contact, she continued, “That’s how I knew where to find you. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such sad news.”

Colin lifted the corners of his mouth in what could be either the ghost of a smile or a grimace. “Say for the moment that I…uh…buy into your witchcraft and crystal story, I still don’t understand why a woman who appears—” he waved his hand at her “—as reasonable as you let herself be persuaded to come all this way based on crystals.”

“I believe in my grandmother’s magic absolutely. Besides that, now that I’ve seen you, I’m totally convinced you’re the baby’s uncle.”

“Why?”

“You both have a very distinctive eye color. That clear ice-blue is not something I’ve seen before.”

Colin looked uncomfortable about more than just the bandage she’d applied. “So I’ve been told. But it’s not enough to assure me the child and I are related by blood. I wish for your sake it was.”

This was getting them nowhere. Exhaustion was overtaking them both, making compromise—or even clear thought—impossible.

“Sleep for now,” she whispered. “We’ll talk about it more when you’re rested. I won’t let any harm come to you. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust easily, Maggie,” Colin said as he lay back. “But I will sleep. Then when I awake, we’ll have the rest of our questions asked and answered. Count on it.”

Sunlight streamed down the air shaft outside the hotel room window. Maggie had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Last night, she’d curled up in the overstuffed, ugly, flower-print chair, watching over a sleeping Colin until her eyelids grew too heavy to prop open.

She cast a sleepy glance toward the mussed-up bed and sat up. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Colin was gone.

Holy moly. He must have slipped out while she was asleep. But why? She was fairly sure that she’d cured his wounds, but they hadn’t finished talking about his brother—and more important to her, about the baby.

Jumping up, she checked the room. Colin’s things were missing, too. Darn. She couldn’t just leave and go home to Emma. Colin knew where she lived. He could show up on her doorstep any day and demand she turn over his niece.

Maggie knew what she needed to do. She had to find him. Had to make him agree—in writing—to leave the baby with her for good. She went to her pack and pulled out her grandmother’s crystal, the one that could locate people.

She’d never tried this by herself before. Had never needed to. But this time, as she peered into the glass and focused her mind on finding Colin, the murky depths of the crystal began to clear and images began to form.

A shaft of panic slowly rose up through her spine as she saw Colin’s silhouette in a back booth of a darkened bar. His eyes were trained toward the front door as if he were waiting for someone.

But then another vision came into view in the crystal. A man, hunched into a trench coat, approached the restaurant’s back door. He slid his hand down into the coat pocket and withdrew a gun.

No!

Maggie grabbed her backpack and raced out the door and down the hotel’s stairs. Her mind knew the way to go, and it was clear she had to go now.

But would she be in time to save his life?

Chapter 3

From his booth in the darkest corner of the bar, Colin watched while the blighter who’d dropped off his pint backed away from the table, muttering something in Spanish. Colin tried to ignore the twit’s stares. He knew the fresh scratches on his face must look strange, but they’d already closed over with scabs and were healing thanks to Maggie’s natural potions. Not much else he could do about them now.

Needing to test his muscles, he stretched in his seat. A little soreness remained, but none of the intense pain from before. That Maggie Ryan had done an amazing job on him.

He had no trouble understanding why he’d so easily accepted her natural healing ability, yet still could not believe her witchcraft story. Years earlier, he himself had received training from a curandera healer. His father had been a diplomat, stationed in the Mexican state of Vera Cruz at the time, and Colin went for summer holiday. He’d spent a couple of fascinating months there learning about natural healing, honing the healing skills he’d picked up years earlier from his Irish mother and grandmother.

Colin seldom allowed himself to dwell on his early lessons in native plants, or on the Irish half of his background for that matter. Such thoughts usually turned dark when they led to the uncomfortable memories of his mother’s abandonment, and from there to thoughts of John, and the worthless reasons he’d given himself for neglecting his own brother.

He now knew that no amount of anger toward his mother was adequate grounds for deserting his baby brother. It hadn’t been John’s fault that their mother drove a wedge between the family. Colin realized, too late, that John had looked up to him, counted on him. And Colin had let him down. Stayed away when John needed his big brother the most.

Feeling melancholy, Colin tried to shake off the memories. He’d left Maggie’s room because, if he’d stayed, he might have begun to believe all her stories. Her spirit had called to him, her body set his afire at first sight. He couldn’t think clearly around her.

Natural healing was one thing, but witchcraft and crystals were quite another. Deep in his being, he did not believe.

He wasn’t ready to give up on John. To admit he’d lost his only brother. Not yet.

After making a couple of phone calls, Colin had gotten hold of a man who swore to know the truth. He was to meet that man here, in this pub, in the middle of the day.

It now seemed a waste of time.

Without warning, Colin felt the cold steel of a gun barrel as it pressed against his neck.

“Don’t move, Fairfax,” the deep voice said in heavily accented English. “And don’t make a sound.”

Where had the bastard come from? Colin had been watching the front door, and the bloke had appeared out of nowhere.

“We’re going to take this out to the alley. But if you make any wrong moves, I’d just as soon shoot you here. Understood?”

Colin nodded. His mind was busy calculating his chances, and the choice between making a stand here or out in the alley. Would this man have any real answers for him? Or was he just there to stop Colin’s questions for good?

“Get up. Slowly, por favor.”

Colin found himself leaning more toward the idea that this hombre wanted to kill him, not talk. The thought chilled him to the bone. His brother must be dead after all.

Numb and heartsick, Colin shifted and slid out of the booth. The man at his side grabbed his arm and jammed the gun in his ribs.

“Now walk. Nice and easy, sí?”

A commotion in the front of the bar caught everyone’s attention. Colin and his captor slowed then stopped dead.

“Colin, darlin’.” A high-pitched female voice lilted through the barroom. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, you…you…I’ve got something to say to you.”

Colin turned and blinked at the sight of Maggie shoving her way through the tables and heading directly for him. She looked like an avenging angel, storming through the bar patrons, who all watched her every move. An angel in a familiar, pea-green coat. He wanted to warn her to stay away but hesitated to make any quick moves. Instead, he waited for a chance to take control of the situation. Colin knew he could wrestle the gun away from the smaller man at his side if all things were equal, but he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.

Particularly not Maggie.

She stormed up and raised her voice so she could be heard throughout the bar. “Colin Fairfax, you come home with me right this minute. How dare you leave just when I was telling you about the baby.”

“What?”

Maggie grimaced and shoved at his chest. “Come on. Stand up like a man. Let’s go home and face the music together.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the stunned gunman.

Colin shot a glance at the guy and saw the man’s mouth had dropped open. Colin knew exactly how he felt. What the hell kind of game was she playing?

A dangerous one.

Maggie pulled him toward the front door. Every eye in the place was locked on the two of them.

“Maggie,” he whispered in her ear. “The guy has a gun pointed at us and no one is watching him now. We need to disappear before he figures it out.”

They both hit the door at a run. Maggie leaned against it and shoved. Just as daylight and cold city air blasted him in the face, the zing of a bullet whizzed past his ear and hit the front window. Glass shattered everywhere.

Bending, he threw his arm over Maggie’s head and shuffled the two of them out the door as fast as he could. “Move!”

As they hit the sidewalk, he took control and grabbed her arm. “Let’s go. Run.”

She started off without a word, managing to keep up with him as he dashed along the packed sidewalk. They ran full out and pushed through midday crowds until they were both out of breath.

Panting, he slowed after they’d gone about five blocks. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he gritted out.

Maggie turned and gave him a sweet smile. “Why, Colin darlin’, you know the answer to that. I was saving your idiotic ass. What else?”

The head of the notorious drug cartel leaned back in his cushioned chair and looked around the veranda. The men in his employ either ate, drank or played cards as they lay around and waited to do his bidding.