Kitabı oku: «The Marriage Profile»
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
MILLS & BOON
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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.”
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