Texas...Now and Forever

He was back before Haley could once more start to question what she was doing again. Mere moments later she’d changed into the outfit she’d bought and stashed with the judge in preparation for this night. The baggy tan slacks and loose-fitting top completely disguised her generous curves. Tucking her still-damp, shoulder-length hair up under a pixie-cut wig, she changed her brown eyes to a smoky green with tinted contacts. There wasn’t much she could do about the little bump in her nose she’d inherited from her mother until she made a visit to a plastic surgeon, but the oversize glasses she slipped on would detract attention from it.

The judge was pacing the front room when she emerged. Running a critical eye over her, he nodded. “I hardly recognize you. Ready to go?”

She swallowed the bitter taste of guilt and regret. “Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s get you on your way.”

Taking her elbow, he hustled her out to his car. “Your temporary ID, credit cards and passport are in the dash. I’ll send new ones when…if you decide to go ahead with cosmetic surgery.”

Gulping, Haley retrieved the documents and fingered the embossed passport. She could only guess the favors the crusty jurist had been forced to call in to manufacture her temporary identity.

“I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess, Judge.”

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, missy. I don’t count helping Isadora’s daughter as one of them.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“I don’t expect you to. Now duck down and stay out of sight until I get you to the rental I parked down the road earlier this afternoon. It’s only a few miles.”

The wily judge had thought of everything, even obtaining a nondescript sedan from a rental agency. Judge Bridges had made sure there was no way the car could be traced to him, or to the woman who’d park it at the San Antonio airport later tonight.

The drive to the hidden vehicle seemed to take forever, yet was all too brief. Haley crouched low in the seat, trying desperately to blank her mind to the frantic search she knew was taking place out on the lake. She’d made the wrenching decision to leave. For her father’s sake, she had to follow through with it.

“Here we are.”

Slowing, the judge pulled off onto a narrow track. Branches scraped against the sides of his car as it bumped down the path. When the headlights picked up the gleam of metal, he shoved the gear-shift into park but left the engine running.

The hot Texas night wrapped around them as they made their way to the waiting Ford. Digging the keys out of his pocket, Carl passed them to Haley.

“You’ll need some cash,” he said gruffly. “Here’s two thousand for immediate expenses. I’ll wire more when you get settled.”

“Judge, I—”

Her throat closed, tears burned behind her eyelids. This was it, the moment she’d both dreaded and planned for so meticulously. Her last seconds as Haley Mercado.

No, not as Haley Mercado. Haley was already dead. Lost beneath the dark waters of Lake Maria.

“You’d better get going,” the judge said gruffly, his own voice thick. “It’s a good stretch of road to San Antonio, and you have a plane to catch.”

She couldn’t get a single sound past the ache in her throat. Awkwardly, Carl patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll look after Isadora and Ricky. And I’ll do what I can to extricate your father from the mess he’s gotten himself into over the years. I can still pull a few strings ’round these parts.”

Maybe then she could come home again. Clinging to that hope, Haley threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

“I hope so, Judge. God, I hope so! Keep me posted, okay?”

“You know I will. Now scoot, girl, before we both start bawling like new-weaned calves.”

She gave him another fierce hug, then slid into the sedan and waited while he backed his own car down the track. Its headlights stabbed into Haley’s eyes. Almost blinded, she turned onto the paved road. She idled the car for a moment, waiting for the black spots to fade, then slowly accelerated. A few moments later a turn in the road took her away from Lake Maria.

In the weeks that followed, Carl Bridges was Haley’s only contact with Texas and the life she’d left behind.

The judge’s assurances that her family was working through their shock and grief sustained her through long days and lonely nights in strange cities. After a circuitous journey across several continents to cover her tracks, she found refuge in the comfy flat Carl had leased for her in London. There she found funds waiting to cover her expenses, including the cosmetic surgeon who altered Haley’s features.

Under the surgeon’s knife, her nose lost the little bump she’d inherited from her mother, and her slanting, doelike eyes became rounded. She considered breast reduction and possibly liposuction to diminish her lush curves, but by then stress had carved off so many pounds that she carried a far more slender, if still subtly rounded, silhouette. Dying her hair a glowing honey-blond, she adopted a sleek, upswept style that gave her an unexpectedly sophisticated look.

With her degree in graphic arts, it didn’t take her long to land a terrific job. She’d just begun to feel comfortable in her new skin when a call from Carl shattered her shaky sense of security. It came mere weeks after her supposed death. She could tell from his terse greeting that he was upset.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her pulse kicking into overdrive. “Are my parents okay? Ricky’s not hurt, is he?”

“No, no one’s hurt.” His voice took on an odd note. “No one we know, anyway.”

“Tell me, Judge. What’s happened?”

“They found your body.”

“What!”

“Some fishermen out on Lake Maria hooked on to a corpse. It’s badly decomposed, but it matches your height and physical characteristics with uncanny exactness.”

“Frank!” she breathed. “Frank must have planted it.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too.”

According to Carl, Del Brio had gone beserk when divers found his fiancée’s halter top still tangled in the branches of the submerged tree. In a bitterly ironic twist, he’d insisted the local authorities arrest Luke and the others for taking Haley out on the lake and operating a high-powered speedboat while under the influence. Tests had confirmed a high level of alcohol in the men’s blood, and now the four marines had been charged with reckless endangerment.

“All hell’s broken loose ’round here,” Carl related. “Your father wouldn’t let Isadora view the corpse, but he and Ricky went down to the morgue. They both near about fell apart. Now even Ricky’s out for blood. He’s turned against Luke, blames him for taking you out in the boat when he was drunk.”

“Luke wasn’t drunk! I don’t care what the tests showed. He was completely in control of himself that night.”

“He’s going to have to prove that in court. I don’t know what kind of hold your uncle Carmine and Frank Del Brio have over the county D.A., but the idiot’s upped the charges against Luke and the three others to manslaughter. They’ve been put on administrative leave from the marines and are being held in the county jail without bail until their trial.”

“Oh, no!” Shattered by the unforeseen consequences of her deception, Haley searched desperately for a way to clear the four men. “What about DNA tests? They’d prove the corpse isn’t me.”

“They would if we had a sample of your DNA to use for a comparison. Your mother’s kept your room just as you left it, but she’s had it thoroughly cleaned. We couldn’t find so much as a hair caught in a comb or an old toothbrush to take a sample from.”

How like her mother. Isadora Mercado wouldn’t allow a single mote of dust to settle on her precious daughter’s belongings.

“I’ll catch the next plane home, Judge.”

“Now hold on a minute, missy.”

“I won’t let Luke and the others take the blame for my death!”

“Those boys aren’t going to take the blame. I know more about the law than any six attorneys in this state, including that pea-brained D.A. I’ll step off the bench to represent them and I’ll get them off,” he promised with utter confidence. “I’m only telling you about the fuss because I know you have the Mission Creek Clarion sent to a fake name at a post office box. I didn’t want you to see the headlines and have a spasm.”

“I’m pretty close to a spasm now!”

“Look, if it’ll make you feel any better, go down to a newspaper kiosk tomorrow morning and buy a paper from Berlin or Hong Kong or anyplace but London. Take a picture of yourself holding up the paper and overnight it to me along with those before-and-after photos the plastic surgeon took of you. If worse comes to worst, I’ll produce proof that you’re still alive. I won’t tell anyone where you are, though. You’ll still be safe.”

“I will, but will you? If Frank finds out you helped me escape, he’ll kill you.”

The judge huffed. “I’m an ornery Texan, missy, and tough as shoe leather. What’s more, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve Frank Del Brio never thought of. You just send those pictures and don’t worry about Luke and the boys.”

The sensational trial dragged on for months.

Haley followed its progress in the Mission Creek Clarion. The local paper remained sympathetic to the war heroes, but the Corpus Christi and Dallas dailies played up every scandal from the defendants’ past.

Old feuds were resurrected, including the longstanding battle between Flynt Carson’s great-grandfather and his former ranching partner, J. P. Wainwright. Tyler Murdoch’s youthful brushes with the law after his mother abandoned him made for juicy copy. Spence Harrison’s pre-law degree came into play as he assisted Carl Bridges in his own defense.

The tabloids may have had a field day with Flynt and Tyler and Spence, but they went for Luke’s jugular. They seemed determined to paint him as rich and shamelessly indulged by the absentee uncle who’d acted as his guardian. Several papers ran disgusting, tell-all interviews with women Luke dated both before and after he’d joined the marines. Instead of a healthy young bachelor with normal appetites, he came across as an oversexed playboy who’d plied his best friend’s sister with beer and coaxed her out on the lake so he and his buddies could take turns with her.

Despite the sensationalism, or maybe because of it, Judge Bridges made good on his promise to Haley. He got the four men acquitted.

The trial left its mark on all four defendants, though. They soon separated from the marines. Flynt took over management of the vast Carson ranching interests. Infuriated by the spurious charges brought against him, Spence went on to law school, spent his time in the trenches as a prosecutor, then campaigned for and won the D.A.’s job. Tyler disappeared into some shadowy, quasi-military organization. And Luke seemed determined to live up to the reputation as a playboy he’d gained during the trial.

Haley’s heart pinched every time she read another story about the jet-setting millionaire. Invariably, he was photographed with some toothpick-thin supermodel or overendowed starlet hanging all over him. Once, she read that he was in London, attending the opening of a new musical he’d backed. She’d been tempted, so very tempted, to pay the outrageous sum the scalpers were asking for the sold-out performance to search the audience for a glimpse of Luke. But she didn’t. She’d wreaked enough havoc on his life. She refused to take even the remotest chance that she might cause more.

That fierce resolve kept her in London for almost a decade.

Waves of homesickness attacked often during those years, especially at night. Determined to immerse herself in her new identity, Haley refused to give in to the despair that seeped into her heart whenever she thought of her family and friends.

Gradually the cosmopolitan city took her to its generous bosom. She grew to love the pigeons and the parks and the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus. She even acclimated to the cold, foggy winters. Slowly she began to feel safe in her new identity. Carefully she built a small, intimate circle of friends.

She’d just returned from dinner with those friends when another call from Carl Bridges plunged her back into danger…and into Luke Callaghan’s arms.

The call came on a muggy July evening. The phone was jangling in that distinctive European way when Haley unlocked the front door.

“Your mother’s been beaten,” the judge informed her with the closest thing to panic she’d ever heard from him. “Brutally beaten. The doctors…”

His voice wavered, cracked.

“The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it.”

Haley caught a flight home that same night.

Four

The desperate need to reach her mother’s bedside dominated Haley’s every thought during the long flight from London to JFK, then on to Dallas and, finally, Corpus Christi. Exhausted but coiled tight as new barbed wire, she stepped off the jet to the rippling palms and ninety-nine percent humidity of the Texas Gulf. Too tense to even notice the sweltering heat, she rushed through the airport to the rental car desk.

Years of living under an assumed identity had honed her self-preservation instinct to a fine edge. Her altered features should give her anonymity, but just to be sure, she made a brief stop at a costume shop before leaving Corpus Christi. Improvising hastily, she explained that she’d been invited to a party that night, thrown by officers from the nearby naval air station. She left the shop with a nun’s habit and wimple tucked under her arm. The convent of the Sisters of Good Hope was located just a few miles north of Mission Creek. Since the sisters made frequent visits to area hospitals, Haley would hide under their mantle until she determined just what the heck had happened to her mother.

The moist air of the coast followed her out of the city as she headed west on Highway 44. Soon the marshy flatlands of the coastal plains gave way to rolling hills cut by dry arroyos and dotted with mesquite, cacti and creosote. With the wind whipping her hair, Haley breathed in the hot, dusty air for almost an hour. At Freer, she turned left onto Highway 16 and headed home.

Home.

Her chest squeezed tighter with each familiar landmark. As much as she’d grown to love London’s lights and glitter and sophisticated aura, Texas was home. In her heart, it would always be home.

She pulled off the road some miles north of Mission Creek to exchange her slacks and sleeveless turquoise silk sweater for the dove-gray habit. The long-sleeved dress raised an immediate sweat in the hundred-degree heat. Haley had to struggle with the wimple and short, shoulder-length veil, but finally got them right. The little makeup she’d had on when she’d answered Carl’s call had long since worn off. Inability to sleep during the long flight had added a hint of grayness to her olive-hued skin. Satisfied that she more than looked the part, Haley slid back into the rental car and turned the air-conditioning up full-blast.

She kept her head averted when she passed Lake Maria. The memory of that awful night almost a decade ago still seared her soul. Mission Creek’s historic downtown called her hungry gaze, however. The old granite courthouse looked exactly the same. So did the bank, founded in 1869 and still serving the local community. She flicked quick glances at Jocelyne’s fancy French restaurant and the Tex-Mex favorite, Coyote Harry’s. Her taste buds tingled at the remembered fire of Harry’s Sunday special—huevos rancheros topped with mounds of French fries, all drenched in his award-winning chili. As hungry as she was, she had no thought of stopping. Her one goal, her one driving need, was to get to the Mission Creek hospital.

Luckily she arrived post-afternoon visiting hours and pre-supper. The staff was busy getting ready to feed the patients, and the visitors had all departed. Haley took the elevator to the second floor and picked the most harried candy-striper to ask directions.

“Excuse me.”

The aide flicked her a quick glance. “Can I help you, Sister?”

“Yes, please. Which is Isadora Mercado’s room?”

“Three-eighteen. Around the corner, at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.”

Tucking her hands inside her loose sleeves in imitation of the nuns who’d taught her during her Catholic grade-school days, Haley glided around the corner. Halfway down a long corridor that smelled strongly of pine-scented antiseptic, she stumbled to a halt.

A heavyset man lolled in a chair at the far end of the hall, his nose buried in the paper. Haley guessed instantly he was one of the mob’s goons. He had the disgruntled air of a man who’d rather be out shaking down pimps and two-bit dealers than spending empty hours in a hard, straight-backed chair.

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