Nothing defeated a man like the death of his son. And nothing gave a man purpose like finishing the job his dead son had started. Justus had lost Ryan but found Jesus, and he’d declared himself transformed. From that day on, he had tried to perpetuate Ryan’s legacy of seeing value in helping others.
“Fine. I’ll go to Vegas, but it has to be tomorrow. The center opens next week and I’ve got five guys coming. That’s more important than this girl.”
Justus frowned but didn’t disagree. “Good. I’ll arrange for the flight. She’s expecting me to send the money with no questions, but she’ll have to give me more than some contrived claim. When you show up, we’ll see how serious she is about this venture. The girl will dance to my tune if she wants something from me.”
“Don’t we all?” Rick said.
A laugh blasted past Justus’s lips. “You learned long ago, didn’t you? I’m a hard man, there’s little doubt of that, Enrique, but I have a heart somewhere in here. I think.” The old man moved his left hand jerkily toward his shrunken chest.
Rick nodded. “What’s her name?”
“Kate Newman.”
“She’s gonna be trouble,” Rick said, slipping off the pool table.
“All women are.”
KATE BALANCED ON HER TOES in order to check the box at the post office. Why they’d given her one in the highest row she couldn’t guess. At barely five feet, it was obvious she’d have a hard time obtaining the mail. Must have been retaliation from the clerk, whose invitation to the movies she’d turned down. Some guys couldn’t handle even the gentlest of brush-offs. Jeez. She’d been nice about it. Or as nice as she could be.
She tottered on her toes, her hand barely brushing the inside of the empty box. Damn. Nothing.
“Can I help you, chavala?” The low-accented question came from over her shoulder.
She dropped back onto her three-inch heels. “Nope.”
She turned around and met eyes as dark as sin.
The man stood with one arm against the tiled wall. His posture affected ease, but she could tell there was nothing easy about him. Energy radiated from him like a wave of heat off the Vegas desert. “You sure?”
Kate bristled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
His gaze slid down her body, but she was used to men looking her over. She waited while he took in her high-heeled boots, textured black tights, ruffled blue taffeta skirt, skin-tight lycra turtleneck, hoop earrings and short raven hair. “Get your fill?”
A quick smile crossed his lips. “Not quite.”
A strange heat gathered inside her at his words. They were spoken quietly, with a hint of a Spanish accent. “Well, too bad.”
She spun and stalked toward the glass doors at the front of the post office. She could feel him following her. Alarm curled around her gut.
She faced him. “Listen, buddy. That wasn’t an invitation. Back off.”
The man stopped, crossed his arms and grinned. “Oh, man. You’re a live one.”
Kate swallowed. He acted as though he knew her. “Whatever.”
She turned around. He followed her. Alarm shrieked in her head. This dude, though seriously sexy, was off his rocker. What kind of lowlife stalked women in a post office? She tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He seemed right on her heels. In fact, she could smell his spicy warmth. It was dark and delicious. Forbidden.
She pushed through the doors and emerged into the blinding Nevada sunlight. Her car was parked under a withered palm tree, right beside an economy rental car. The man still trailed her. She didn’t know what to do. It was broad daylight—surely he wouldn’t try to abduct her. There were people crawling over the whole complex. It would be lunacy. Stupid. And the man didn’t look stupid.
She slowed and watched as he passed her. He pressed a button on his key ring and the rental honked a greeting. Relief washed over her.
She unlocked her own car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.
“Kate.”
She froze, one leg in the car, one still on the pavement. The guy knew her name. Her heart pounded and the first thing that popped into her mind was that the IRS had found her.
Which was ridiculous. Wendell had said she and Jeremy would have a month before any action should take place. And the IRS didn’t have field agents, did they?
So how did this guy know her?
She looked at him. He rested a forearm on the top of the silver rental and pierced her with his dark eyes. She eased into the depths of the VW, not sure what to do next.
“How do you know my name?”
He smiled. White teeth flashed in the brightness of the afternoon. “There’s much I know about you, Miss Newman. But the most important thing I know is that if you want to carry through with your threat against Justus Mitchell, you’ll have to get through me first.”
Not much shook Kate, but his words made her shiver in the temperate Vegas air. “Wh-what?”
“I read the letter. I know what you want.”
“Who are you?” Her legs quaked as adrenaline surged through her. Time to decide—fight or flight?
“Let’s just say I’m a good friend of Mr. Mitchell.”
Jeez, Louise. Who did her father employ? Henchmen? She looked around. A security officer sat in his little clown car about thirty yards away. She climbed from the car, slamming the door behind her. She knew how to stand up to men like this.
“Well, good friend of Mr. Mitchell, I guess you already know my father is a low-down, no-good bastard who spreads his seed all over Texas and leaves it to sprout with no help. He never acknowledged me or helped my family. I figure he owes me.”
She advanced on the man. She could tell he hadn’t expected much of a fight from her. What did he think she’d do? Squeak like a mouse, hop in her car and speed away? She’d sent the letter. She wanted the money. The bastard owed her that much. Likely more, but she wouldn’t be greedy.
He watched her as she stalked around his car.
She stopped in front of him and planted her fists on her hips. “So, does that get the attention of his majesty? Or do I have to write Mrs. Vera a little note signed ‘Kate Mitchell, your husband’s illegitimate daughter’? Or maybe I can take out an ad in the Houston Chronicle? Bet that’d get the governor’s attention.”
The man blinked. Then he smiled. “You are his daughter.”
She narrowed her eyes and waited.
“Justus wants you to come to Texas.”
“No. I don’t take orders from him. I’ll go to a lab and have blood drawn. I know he’s my biological father. I’ve known it for years. My mother and grandmother were not liars.”
The man crossed his arms and released a sigh. Though he was slightly under six feet, he towered over her. His shoulders were sinewy and tight, his body trim and coiled. He reminded her of a soldier. Perhaps he was one. “Mr. Mitchell’s instructions were firm. You want the money. You come to him.”
There was no way she could go to Texas. She needed to be at the salon raking in all she could, and if she canceled her appointments, she’d likely lose her clients. That was something she couldn’t do. She needed steady customers—her future depended on it. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t gone to Texas in the first place. That and the killer airfare.