Avenging Angel

Judging from her behavior, Elle Medina knew what Alazandro had in mind and welcomed it. Some women were like that, turned on by power and money and he guessed she was one of them.

What did it matter to him? If she passed a routine background check, what she and Alazandro proceeded to do or not do was none of his business.

He had bigger fish to fry.

And yet, there was something about her. She was different from Alazandro’s other conquests, her sexuality provocative but clumsy as though there were two separate women inhabiting the same body. One, a flirt, a seductress. The other, nervous, fidgety, full of questions, anxiety behind her eyes.

His brow furrowed as a thought raced through his mind, retraced its steps, and sat down to stay. Maybe he could capitalize on this woman’s willingness to be used by a man to further his own goals.

He paused for a second, absently running a hand down the palomino’s nose.

He wouldn’t put Elle in danger, of course. Well, not overtly. And if danger arose, he’d be close by to protect her. He wouldn’t let her be hurt which was a lot more than Alazandro could or would say.

Okay, okay, it wasn’t very nice of him to think of using her this way. But the world Elle had just thrust herself into didn’t allow for such old-fashioned concepts as fair play and decency. She thought she was flirting with a wealthy entrepreneur, a playboy, a man who could shower her with all the best money could buy. She didn’t know about his drug connections or about the evil rumors that had followed this man for years.

No matter. The hungry way Alazandro’s dark eyes had devoured Elle Medina was too big a gift to ignore. And the wave of disgust that interest engendered in Pete just didn’t matter.

Pete took a cell phone from his pocket and turning his back to the others, punched in a few numbers. It rang only once before it was answered. Using the palomino’s golden head for cover, he lowered his voice. “It’s me. I have someone I need checked out right away. Name, Elle Medina. Age, early twenties. Currently working at Tahoe Stables on Lake Tahoe. I’ll call back in an hour.”

Pocketing the phone, he caught up with Alazandro and Stiles. The former, expounding his plans, talked about tearing down the old stable and replacing it with “something decent.” Something with a heated, bigger indoor arena in which to exercise the horses and amuse the patrons as winters were cold and snowy at this elevation. Perhaps an attached arcade with viewing rooms looking down over the arena. Better footing in the arena. Quality work. Something family friendly.

Peg Stiles looked mad enough to string up a rope and hang Alazandro from an overhead rafter.

Pete took his place, hanging back, appearing watchful while his mind raced along twisted paths.

If Elle Medina checked out okay, she might prove to be the key he’d been looking for. Alazandro was going to Puerta Del Sol for a reason that surpassed his stated goal of looking around to see how things were progressing. He had minions to do that for him, though it was true he’d just fired his latest in a string of resort managers. Rumors were flying that a meeting of some kind was in the offing. But Pete couldn’t get close enough to pin down any dates or names.

He needed a way to get closer to the man. To find out—

“Did you call my security people?” Alazandro demanded. “Did you start a background search on the girl?”

Pete blinked away his thoughts and answered, “Not yet. Sir.”

A flash of irritation ignited the man’s eyes for just a moment. Alazandro was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He said, “Make sure she has a passport. I want her to fly south with us tomorrow on my private jet. That Meacham fellow is proving to be a pain in the neck. I should never have hired him.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.” Pete all but fawned. He hated this job.

Peg Stiles said, “Isn’t this all happening kind of fast? Your fancy resort doesn’t open for a while yet. What’s the rush? Elle will be hard for me to replace. The season is almost over—”

“Elle Medina is just what I need down there. Bright, pretty, trilingual. She’s perfect.”

Stiles, going on sixty, had the wiry look of a woman who rarely sat unless it was on the back of a horse. Pete knew she was recently widowed. From the look of her, he’d guess she’d put as much heart and soul and elbow grease into this place as her late husband had. He’d glanced around the inside of her house when they first arrived and found old furniture, worn-out carpets and antiquated appliances. The barn they stood in was swanky by her standards.

The woman was invested in this property. And she was losing it, and she knew it.

Measuring her words, Peg said, “I wouldn’t want to hear you took advantage of that girl. Her father is some big judge down in Arizona. If he found out she was being used—”

Alazandro laughed. “You’re the one who pointed her out to me. You’re the one who extolled her virtues.”

Peg bit the inside of her cheek before grudgingly admitting, “Yeah. Well, she kept bugging me.”

“Come, compañera,” Alazandro said in what Pete privately termed his schmoozing voice. “She’ll make three times the money. She strikes me as a woman who knows what she wants. Her father is no concern of mine.”

With that, Alazandro strode down the walkway toward the rectangle of daylight at the other end. Peg Stiles stared after him for several seconds before visibly forcing herself to follow.

Punching the number for Alazandro’s security firm into his cell phone, Pete sauntered along a moment later. He didn’t want to keep the boss waiting.

BEFORE TAKING A SHOWER and changing her clothes, Elle made her way to the smaller stable to check on Silver Bells. The gray gelding, coat brushed to a silver shine, had been restabled and was drinking out of his trough. She let herself into the stall and, perching on her heels, ran a hand down each beautiful leg, just to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself.

Of course, he wasn’t the one who had actually hit the ground. He regarded her with big brown eyes as water dripped from his chin whiskers.

“What are you looking at?” she said as he nibbled at her hair. She reached up and stroked his soft muzzle. He really was a big sweetie.

“Hey, what happened out there?”

Elle looked up to find Mike standing in the doorway, his thick red hair going every which way as usual. Two sets of dimples and a ready smile didn’t hurt his popularity with the female clients. In fact, Elle suspected Tabitha had a big crush on Mike who, at nineteen, seemed embarrassed by her adulation.

“Silver Bells took out his annoyance with Tabitha on me,” she said, wondering for a moment if her own distracted state hadn’t contributed to the horse’s refusal to jump. “Where is Tabitha, anyway?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Her father finally showed up and took her home. She asked me to tell you she’d see you next week. Oh, and you got a phone call earlier.”

Elle’s imagination immediately provided a worst-case scenario. Rising, she whispered, “Was it Scott?”

“Who’s Scott?”

“My grandfather’s nurse.

“Oh. Well, no, it was your dad who called.”

“Did he mention Grandpa?”

“No. He wants you to meet him down at the Lakeside Inn at eight o’clock tonight.”

“He’s here? In town?”

“I guess.”

Elle felt like stamping a foot. “What lousy timing.”

“He sounded like a nice guy,” Mike said.

Elle shrugged. “The judge and I don’t see eye to eye about certain…things. That’s all.”

“Yeah. My dad wants me to be a lawyer. He can’t understand why I want to waste my time with horses.”

“I know. Mine was livid when I delayed grad school to take care of my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather is back in Arizona, right? If you’re taking care of him, what are you doing here?”

“We hired a live-in nurse, a big strapping guy.”

“Scott.”

“Right. They didn’t need me so I’m taking a break.” Elle didn’t add that this go-getter had happened into her grandfather’s life at a precarious point in more ways than one. As her grandfather’s health had declined, his past regrets had escalated. He’d started rethinking his acceptance of his daughter and her family’s unsolved murders, gotten Elle involved, and when Scott mentioned he had a brother working as a detective in the Seattle police department, Grandpa had roped him in.

She realized Mike was talking and tried to get her mind back on track. When he paused, she took the opportunity to get away. “I’m going to hit the shower. I have one more appointment at six o’clock. Let’s give Silver Bells the rest of the day off. Would you mind saddling Corky for the student and Majordomo for me?”

“Sure thing, they’ll be ready when you are.”

Elle emerged back into the sunshine. Her muddy clothes had begun to dry, which made walking a stiff-legged affair. As she started up the slope to her cabin, she thought about how great a shower would feel.

And then—well, she had to figure out a way to get rid of her adopted father, a man she’d nicknamed the judge when he took a seat on the Butter Gulch County bench a few years earlier. What did he want? Hadn’t they hurt each other enough the last time they quarreled?

She heard a door bang shut and turned to find Peg striding up the gentle rise toward her, cigarette smoke circling her head. She wore an expression Elle had never seen before.

“Need to talk to you,” Peg said, taking the cigarette from her mouth, flicking it to the ground and thoroughly grinding it out with her boot.

“What’s wrong?”

“You,” Peg said, expelling the last of the smoke. “You’re what’s wrong.”

“I don’t understand—”

“What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”

Somewhat startled, Elle blinked a couple of times and said, “You mean asking Alazandro for a job?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess I’m moving on. I told you I wouldn’t stay for long when I took this job.”

“Moving on, is that what you call it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay here long enough to help you hire someone else.”

“You might not be here long enough to find me a replacement,” Peg said. Looking at the ground, she shook her head in an almost defeated way.

“Mike is really good with people as well as horses,” Elle said gently. “Let him take over.”

Peg’s gaze flew back to her face. “You think it’s the damn job I’m worried about? The job is just part of it. The way you acted with that man—the way you came on to him. I never in my life thought you were that kind of girl.”

Elle murmured, “It’s not how it looks, Peg.”

“I’ll tell you how it looks,” Peg said. “It looks like you’re either a scheming gold digger or a stupid little tart. Either which way, that man will eat you for breakfast and spit you out. I bet he’s older than your own father!”

Elle’s hands bunched at her sides. She had to fight to control her temper as she said, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? All that bastard wants is to get into your pants, you do know that, don’t you? And you all but gave him an engraved invitation.”

“You are not my mother,” Elle said, voice trembling.

“No, and right now, I’m glad I’m not.”

Elle turned on her heels and stalked up the hillside, leaving Peg in her wake.

She’d been so caught up in herself she hadn’t stopped to fully consider what her behavior would look like to those on the sidelines. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the screen door slam behind Peg.

Drat. Was everyone she knew going to end up angry with her?

It’s not too late, her subconscious whispered. You can walk away right now.

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t live anymore with her nightmares, couldn’t bear the thought that Alazandro remained free to roam the earth while her family lay long dead in their graves. Besides, she’d promised her grandfather she’d find the truth and, if need be, exact revenge.

The sun seemed to dart behind the high clouds as Alazandro’s image loomed in her mind. The dark, empty eyes. The crooked nose. The cruel lips. Arrogance dripping out of every pore as he toyed with Peg, toyed with her.

And then there was Alazandro’s bodyguard, Pete, a man who looked as dangerous as Alazandro, perhaps more so for it didn’t appear he had Alazandro’s ego to fog his vision. Pete might not admit he’d die for Alazandro but there wasn’t a doubt in Elle’s mind he would kill for him.

Desperate to get into the hot shower and stop her bone-rattling shakes, she unlocked the door and stripped on the way to the bathroom. She stood under the hot water for a long time, eyes closed, hands propped on the tile walls, head hung, caught in the aftershock of her audaciousness.

ELLE MEDINA didn’t lock her door.

Stupid.

Pete frowned for a second because if there was one thing Elle didn’t strike him as it was stupid. Reckless, absolutely, but not stupid.

He could hear the shower running—made a nice way to keep track of Elle while he had a quick look around. All he had to do was keep his mind on his job and off visions of her all wet and soapy.

The few pieces of furniture in the place looked like castoffs from Peg Stiles’ house down the slope. A line of clothes and boots strung across the floor from the doorway to the closed bathroom door sounded the only note of discord in the otherwise orderly space.

He tossed her place quickly and thoroughly, searching drawers, closets, behind mirrors, under the bed. As the cabin was little more than a studio apartment, it didn’t take long.

The first conclusion he reached was that the woman had fewer clothes and shoes than any other woman he’d ever known. Heavy on jeans and T-shirts, boots and knee-high socks. Even her nightgown was white cotton. Nothing sexy about it except if you stopped to think what it might look like flowing around Elle’s curves.

Enough of that. But still, he’d been married once in his dim youth to a strawberry blonde whose closet rod sagged in the middle.

The last woman he’d cared about was another type altogether. She’d maintained a working wardrobe toward the end. Big on thigh-high boots and halter tops and tiny shorts that showed more than she ever understood. Showed malnutrition. Showed neglect. Showed the absence of rounded flesh and ripe possibility.

Drugs will do that to a woman. Whisper in her ear, tell her she’s gorgeous while robbing her blind.

He hung Elle’s gown back on the hook beside the one holding up a blue terry cloth robe. He found her purse on a shelf in the closet. Identity matched, checkbook in her name, nice photo on her driver’s license, made her look sixteen years old. According to the data, she was actually twenty-five and wore contact lenses. He hadn’t noticed them when he peered into her big brown eyes.

Still holding her purse, he gazed through the window and got his first troubling sensation about Elle. Okay, that wasn’t true, she’d been troubling him ever since he laid eyes on her.

His contact had verified her father was a judge in some hole-in-the-wall town in Arizona. Raised on a small ranch. Mother dead. Only other living relatives a smattering of cousins, two aging aunts in New Jersey and a grandfather with terminal cancer. She’d graduated with a degree in public relations, applied for and been accepted to graduate school, dropped out to live with her ailing grandfather. Then she’d suddenly left his bedside to come to Nevada and take a low-paying job giving riding lessons to little girls.

Odd. But not criminal.

He suddenly realized the shower had stopped.

Elle’s voice came next, low and serious. “Drop my purse, put your hands in the air and turn around slowly.”

He did as she asked.

She stood there dripping wet.

And very, very naked.

As awe inspiring as that sight was, however, the revolver held steady in her hands, barrel pointed right at the middle of his chest, demanded his full attention.

“You owe me an explanation,” she said. “Better make it a good one.”

Everything he thought to say died on his lips.

She lowered the gun and in the next instant apparently became aware of her state of undress. “Don’t you dare leave,” she said scowling and, turning gracefully on bare heels, strode back into the bathroom, banging the door behind her.

Hell, he wouldn’t have left for a million dollars.

A belly laugh rolled up his throat and erupted. It died a second later when the bathroom door flew open and Elle reappeared, still frowning, this time wrapped in a towel with her fair hair combed back from her freshly scrubbed and stunning face. She looked impossibly healthy and so alive she burned up the room.

She’d also apparently left the gun in the bathroom.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

“I thought I was searching your cabin,” he said, but it was hard to talk. Somehow, and go figure this one out, she looked more naked with a towel on than she had without it. But maybe that was because the image of her glistening nude body had burned itself into his brain. Her breasts, smaller than he’d thought they would be, but perfectly formed. The smooth skin of her belly. The curves between breasts and hips. Her legs—

His hands almost itched with the desire to stride on over to her and—

And what? Good grief, get a grip. You’ve seen naked women before.

“Are you always so careless?” she asked, moving toward the closet. She picked up her purse and threw it on the bed, then reached for her robe. Turning her back to him, she pulled it on as the towel puddled around her bare feet. By the time she turned, she was belted into blue terry cloth and much easier to talk to.

“Not usually,” he said, lowering his hands.

“Breaking and entering—”

“Your door wasn’t locked. Technically, no breaking.”

She frowned as though thinking, then perched on the edge of her bed, crossing her legs, studying him.

“Why?”

“Did I toss your place?”

She nodded.

“Because the boss wants you to fly you out with us tomorrow. I had to make sure you are who you said you were.”

“He is?”

“Yep. I told you the wet T-shirt was a no-brainer.”

“What about the boys in security?”

“They’re slow. Must be a backlog.”

“And are you satisfied now?”

“Yeah.”

“Just from looking through my purse?”

“Just from looking through your purse. Of course, I’m a professional.”

A smile broke unexpectedly, curving her lips, lighting her eyes. It transformed her face and he felt a grin tug at the corners of his own lips in response. It was like that sensation he’d had earlier, about there being two Elles behind the eyes.

As the smile fizzled, she said, “Are you worried that I’m the one sending death threats to Alazandro?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said truthfully. “Of course, up until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know you packed a gun.”

“I grew up on a ranch.”

“Which explains the horse riding and artillery skills.”

“That’s right.”

He tilted his head and stared into her eyes. Now that he knew to look, he could see the tiny curved edges of her contact lenses. He said, “Alazandro was right, Ms. Medina. You are full of surprises.”

“Damn right.”

“Peg Stiles doesn’t want you to leave. She’s pretty sure Alazandro is out to corrupt you.”

“What do you think?” she asked, pulling the edges of her robe together. They’d fallen apart to reveal a creamy patch of thigh and he took a steadying breath. It wouldn’t do to start feeling all sexy towards Alazandro’s current conquest-to-be.

He said, “I think Peg is right.”

Elle’s smile was back, not quite as illuminating. “So do I.”

“So, we’re back to square one,” he said, “although it is odd how cool and calm you are after finding me searching your cabin. Most women wouldn’t confront a man stark naked, you know.”

“That’s true. But you already knew I was a brazen hussy.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t know it was me when you barged out of the bathroom.”

“I didn’t barge, I crept. Besides, it didn’t matter who it was. No one should have been here. Period.”

“Do you always take a gun with you when you shower?”

“Not always.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to lock your front door?”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Anyway, why am I explaining myself to you? You’re the bad guy, here.”

“You need a passport,” he said.

“I have one.”

He looked around the cabin and said, “Where?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s in your car, right?”

“I repeat, it’s none of your business.”

“You know, most women wouldn’t sit around in a skimpy robe talking to a virtual stranger, either.”

“You look harmless to me,” she said.

“Ouch.”

“Except for the gun you carry in back under the vest.”

“I hardly ever shoot beautiful women,” he said, smiling.

“That’s reassuring.”

He stepped forward and extended a hand, which she took. He pulled her to her feet and then against his chest. She came without resistance. Wiping a wet strand of hair away from her soft cheek, he lowered his voice and said, “I don’t know what you’re up to, Elle Medina, but you’re up to something. I’m going to be watching you.”

She didn’t even blink. Part of him wanted to rattle her. Was she always this controlled?

“So you’re not going to tell Alazandro I’m unsuitable for the job?” she said.

The woman was a one-note song. He had a feeling he could light the curtains on fire and she’d ask about Alazandro and a job while the place burned to the ground around her.

Why?

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Hell, no, I’m not going to tell him that. From what I’ve seen, you and he are perfect for one another. If the security boys say you’re okay, you’re in.” And with that, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth.

What had he expected? A slap, a shove, an oath?

She kissed him back, in force, her lips as soft and luscious as he’d known they’d be, her terry-wrapped body a perfect fit against his, her hands gripping his arms, the cleanly washed scent of her enveloping him like perfume.

He told himself he was winning her over to his camp in order to use her. As the kiss grew longer and he felt his soul slipping away, he reminded himself that wars create causalities.

She pushed him away at last, looking a little less composed than she had a few moments earlier.

“I should smack you for that,” she said, brown eyes stormy.

“But you won’t,” he said and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, swaggered out of her cabin like an actor in a B-grade movie.

Chapter Three

After her last lesson, Elle helped Mike groom and bed down the horses. She’d miss Mike, she realized, and she’d miss the horses. As careful as she’d been to avoid putting down any roots while biding time at Tahoe Stables, roots had grown all on their own. She’d even miss Peg.

Elle finished wiping down Majordomo’s back, the bay gelding dancing around even more than usual. Maybe he sensed her mood. More spirited than Corky, he made a more interesting mount for an able rider. He looked at her over his shoulder and she patted his white blaze, crooning to him a little. Then she unhooked his lead from the post and led him to his stall.

“I want you to have my car,” she told Mike as she unhooked the lead from Majordomo’s halter and closed the stall door. “I have to use it tonight but, after that, it’s all yours.”

Mike looked up from pouring oats into Corky’s feed bag. “Your car? I can’t—”

“Sure you can,” she said. “It leaks oil like a sieve and needs new tires. Half the time it won’t start. It’s not that big a deal.”

“But you’ll need it when you come back from Puerta Del Sol,” Mike said, replacing the lid on the barrel they used to store grain.