“But you expect him to satisfy yours? Meet your demands with no proof? It’s more than reasonable to expect to meet you face-to-face. That was his offer. Take it or leave him be.”
Kate chewed on his words. “If he wanted to meet me face-to-face, why send you? Why not come himself?”
The man swallowed what she assumed to be aggravation. “You evidently didn’t do your research well. Mr. Mitchell is ill and confined to a wheelchair.”
Now, that was something she’d never expected. The powerful Justus Mitchell confined to a chair, crippled and sick? Something stabbed her insides. She was certain it was guilt. After all, she stood there ready to blackmail an ailing man and his reputed angel of a wife with dirty laundry from years past.
But Justus Mitchell wasn’t a victim.
Kate didn’t consider herself a victim, either. But she’d also grown up without the necessities of life while her father and his wife ate Chateaubriand and drank Perrier. She’d lived in castoffs from the Oak Stand Pentecostal Church while their precious Ryan had galloped upon a pristine lawn in a smocked John-John suit. She’d crawled into a used single-wide trailer each night praying it wouldn’t storm while the Mitchells tucked into plush beds in one of the seven bedrooms at the family estate, Cottonwood. And worse still was that everyone knew she was his daughter…and felt sorry for her.
Kate deserved the money.
But she’d rather face a firing squad than go to Texas.
“Here’s a plane ticket for tomorrow morning. Either you get on the plane or Mr. Mitchell will fix it so you never see a dime from him. Your choice.” He shoved an envelope into her hand.
“You’re threatening me?” Kate felt her toes sweat in her boots. They always did when she felt scared. Damn it.
“Turnabout is fair play, Kate.”
With those words, the man opened his car door and climbed inside. Kate barely had time to step back before he pulled out of the narrow parking space. She couldn’t tell if he watched her in his rearview mirror, standing bereft in the parking lot holding the envelope. He’d put on dark sunglasses that made him look even more menacing.
“I didn’t even get your name,” Kate muttered to the taillights of the car. “Rude ass.”
There was nothing left to do but climb into the comfort of the VW. She blinked back desperate tears. Justus played hardball.
But what had she expected? The man hadn’t risen to the top of Texas by letting people run roughshod over him. Of course he’d be as tough as the West Texas landscape that held his oil wells.
So now she had no choice. She’d have to go to him if she wanted to get the money for Fantabulous. She only hoped she could pull it off. Everything depended on her playing the game well.
CHAPTER THREE
RICK DROVE OUT OF THE PARKING lot as his cell phone jittered beside him. He glanced at Kate in the rearview mirror. She stared after him looking not the least bit happy, her lips forming words he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine the curses being shot his way.
Who could blame her? The tables had been turned on her little blackmail game. And strangely enough, it hadn’t amused him to get beneath her skin. He knew how it felt to be jacked around. But she’d brought it on herself.
The phone vibrated again. And again. He glanced down at the persistent humming. Justus’s number flashed on the BlackBerry’s screen.
He didn’t want to talk to the old man right now. He needed to process Kate Newman.
She was a smart-mouthed, sexy piece of work. He liked her style—the edgy look she wore like an attitude. She’d responded to him. He hadn’t missed that. And she didn’t seem afraid of him like other women were. There was little doubt she was Justus’s biological daughter—not because her manner was as brash as his, but because she had his eyes. Ryan’s eyes.
Justus had stamped his mark on his two children.
Kate’s eyes were like an exotic sea glittering at sunset. They dominated her delicate face, even overshadowed her tempting lips. He imagined men tripped over each other for a shot at her. She had a daring vibe, an appeal that would make people draw near to see what she’d do or say next.
Something stirred inside him. He wanted to tell Kate to stay in Vegas and not worry about Justus. There was a pall hanging over Cottonwood. It would suck her in and suffocate her.
Mind your own business, he told himself.
But logic couldn’t stop the feelings rising inside him. The one that said “protect her” and the other he didn’t even want to acknowledge. The one that whispered “bed her.” Those responses were asinine. Kate didn’t need protecting—he hadn’t seen so much as a hint of fear or regret in those Mitchell-blue eyes. And as to the other, well, he wasn’t that man anymore.
The phone sounded again.
He stopped arguing with himself and pulled into an empty lot, pressing the answer button. “Rick.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Yes, I’m having a nice day. And you, Justus?”
“Skip the bullshit. You’re in Vegas. You’ve seen her.”
Rick grimaced. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”
“And?”
“And I think she’ll come to Texas, but I can’t be certain. She’s not what I expected.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything about Kate. He should let the man draw his own conclusions about his biological daughter. Don’t involve yourself. Keep your distance. The less said, the better.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s…salty. She won’t be pushed around easily.”
“So she is my daughter.”
Rick’s gaze roamed the lot surrounding his car. It was empty. Yellowed weeds poked through zigzag cracks. Boards covered the windows of a vacuum cleaner repair shop and a series of blue graffiti marked the boards. Staking territory. The number thirteen was displayed prominently, as was the letter M. He’d parked on Sureño turf, the street gang that had once been his sworn enemy. “You keep saying she’s your daughter, so why go through all this? Just give her some money. You owe her at least that.”
But Rick knew why Justus wanted Kate to come to Texas. He’d lost Ryan three years ago, then he’d had the stroke that nearly killed him. His wife, Vera, clung to the past, drowning herself in grief. Things were bad at Cottonwood. Justus needed deliverance. He thought he could get that in Kate.
“I need to see her. For proof.”
Just look at her eyes. The words sprang to his lips but he didn’t give voice to them. “I’ll be back tomorrow, with or without her.”
The old man sighed. For a brief moment the silence sat heavy on the line. “Okay. Tomorrow.”
The line went dead. No platitudes about having a safe trip back. No polite farewell. Justus had never used niceties on Rick.
He shifted the car into gear and eased toward the road. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of two young guys crossing the back of the empty lot. Young Hispanic men. Flat-billed caps, thigh-length jerseys, baggy jeans, blue bandanas in pocket. Tattoos covered their forearms. Gang members.
The guys laughed, punching each other on the arm, but their laughter died when they saw him. He could feel them stiffen, grow aware.
He drove from the lot, leaving only sympathy behind. Sadness for a childhood lost. He wasn’t sure if it was for