Home To Texas - Ransom My Heart Part 16

So gentle, she thought. She had never forgotten how he had touched her that night, those big, strong hands moving with slow, sensuous intent over her body. The thought must have been reflected in her eyes because, despite the situation, despite the fact that she knew he hadn't been trying to seduce her when he had touched her, his hand hesitated.

His eyes changed, probably reacting to what was clearly in hers. And then his palms were framing her face, lifting it to his. His mouth began to lower and she felt her own open. Inviting. Welcoming. This was right. It didn't feel wrong in any way. Not even out of place. Even with Mandy in danger, it was fight that Chase was holding her. That they were holding one another.

He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, could almost taste the sweetness of his mouth.

Never forgotten. The memories had never been lost in spite of the years, the bitterness, the regret. Once more she was in Chase McCullar's arms, exactly where she wanted to be, watching his mouth lower to fasten over hers.

"Forgive me, Miss Kincaid. I seem to be interrupting something very private, but I had thought you came here to see me."

At the first syllable of Spanish, even while her own mind was lost in the seductive gentleness of his touch, Chase had shoved her behind him, his right hand automatically finding the grip of the gun. Almost before she realized what was happening, he had placed his body between hers and the mustached man who stood at the end of the narrow street.

Instead of staying where he'd put her, Samantha leaned far enough to the side that she could look around Chase's shoulder. She had thought she recognized the voice, and the hope that recognition engendered overrode any consideration for her own safety.

"It's him," she said to Chase. Even in the fading light she could see well enough to make the identification.

"It's the man who took Mandy."

"Are you sure?" Chase asked. Together they watched too

Kansom My Heart him walk toward them, unintimidated by the weapon Chase held trained on his midsection.

"It's him," she said again.

"I'm sure."

There was no one else. Only this one man, still moving down the street

toward them. It was so quiet that they could hear the sound of his boot heels striking against the hard-packed earth of the street.

"Why don't you stop right there, and we'll talk," Chase suggested.

The man smiled. The dark mustache that drooped around the corners of his mouth moved with the motion.

"Amanda's father," he said. It hadn't been phrased as a question, and Samantha felt sickness chum in her stomach at the sudden realization of what was about to happen.

"Mr. Kincaid hired me {of bring the ransom down here," Chase said.

"And to escort Amanda's mother. To deal with the details for her. To deal with you." The dark eyes studied Chase's features, and then they moved to Samantha. She had no idea what her expression might reveal, but she tried to keep her emotions from being reflected in her face. She met his eyes with a silent entreaty.

Sam had warned her this would happen.

Not like this, she found herself praying, Not in this way.

Please don't let Chase learn the truth from this man.

Finally his gaze came back to Chase.

"I think mine was a natural mistake, considering the.. circ.u.mstances.

But I'm confused as to why Miss Kincaid thinks she needs someone to deal with me." He looked at Samantha again and said calmly, "You have the money. I have the child. I fail to see what we need to talk about."

"The baby's here?" Chase asked.Samantha held her breath, waiting."Nearby," the man with the mustache said simply. His eyes were still on hers, and she thought she could read the natural question in them.Or maybe that was just her guilt."You did bring the ransom, Miss Kincaid?" he asked.That was the vital question, of course. One she wasn't supposed to answer. That was Chase's job, and even as she thought it, he spoke.

"We brought half a million dollars.

It's all Mr. Kincaid could manage in the time you gave him."

The dark eyes moved back to focus on Chase's face, a.s.sessing him as the old man's had done.

"That's why you were late?" he asked.

"Because there was some trouble getting the money together?" There was silence for a heartbeat, and through it the man's gaze remained steady on Chase's face.

"We're late because somebody ambushed us," Chase admitted.

"Somebody tried to kill us."

"An attempt to relieve you of what you were carrying," the kidnapper said, seeming to dismiss the attack as unimportant.

"Is that the money?" he asked, pointing to the single suitcase on the ground beside their feet.

"Half a million dollars. A h.e.l.l of a lot of money," Chase remindedhim, "which will buy a lot of things. Whatever you want. Whatever youneed."

"But still, it's only half of what I told you to bring, Miss Kincaid.

I'm very disappointed. I thought you understood the requirements for getting your daughter back."

Samantha was biting the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge tospeak, the urge to promise him anything. This was Chase's job, hisarea of expertise. This was what they had hired him to do, and shecouldn't afford to screw the negotiations up by saying somethingstupid, not with Mandy's life at stake. Chase had said all along thatthey could probably cut a deal, and with only half the ransom, she knewthey didn't have any choice but to try.

"She understood," Chase answered for her.

"The problem was, as I've explained, it was impossible for Mr. Kin-caidto raise that kind of money on such short notice. His a.s.sets areprimarily in land, and that's not very liquid. Not in today'seconomy."

There was a short silence as the dark eyes again seemed to consider the accuracy of that.

"And in some very prime livestock," the kidnapper suggested, "which could easily have been sold. As could the stocks and bonds. Or some of those extremely expensive horses. Mr. Kincaid also owns a bank in San Antonio and another in Austin, I believe.

Could not one of his own banks have arranged a loan for Mr. Kincaid?"

So he had done his homework, Chase thought, reevaluating the situation.

He had been wrong about that as well as about a lot of other things.

Amateurs? He wasn't so sure anymore.

"Perhaps," Chase acknowledged.

"If he had been given more time perhaps he could, but what we have with

us now is $500,000 in U.S. currency. Unmarked. No effort will be made to trace it or you. A simple exchange is all that's needed. The quicker, the better. You know that as well as I do, especially considering that someone else down here is also aware that I'm carrying Mr. Kincaid's money."

"But that's not my fault, my friend," the man said calmly.

"Or my problem."

"If whoever ambushed us followed us here, it might be."

"You weren't followed," he said with conviction, "You may be at rest on

that account.""The old man who brought us here? He works for you?"The mustache moved slightly, again-indicating amus.e.m.e.nt."Your guide works for no one except his own people.We are simply.." acquaintances.""But that is how you knew we were here?""We've been waiting for you, watching the camp. After all, this is where we told you to come."

Chase didn't believe him, but he supposed it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered now but doing the deal. Doing his job.

"Half a million dollars in exchange for the baby," he offered again.

This was the important part.

"Take the money, and it's all over and done. That's a big payoff for a few minutes' work."

The kidnapper's eyes focused again on Samantha.

"Your father has a reputation for being a man of his word, a man of honor. It seems a shame that you haven't inherited that quality." Chase laughed, the sound of it short, harsh, and deliberately mocking, but it prevented Samantha from having to formulate an answer. "That's a pretty ludicrous accusation from someone who steals babies for a living. A man of honor? I suppose you believe that's what you are?" The dark eyes jerked back to Chase, and there was anger reflected in them for the first time.

"Money's a tool. Something that can be used for many purposes, both

good and bad. Perhaps I believe my purposes are more n.o.ble than Mr.Kincaid's. Or," he added, "that my needs are greater.""Maybe so, but let's remember that Sam Kincaid earned this money.

You're just stealing it. It's that simple. And it's not really amatter of honor at all.""Nothing is ever simple, Mr. McCullar. Not in my country.Not now.""Political," Chase said, letting his disgust show."That's what this is all about. Antigovernment c.r.a.p."The dark man smiled again."Pro-Mexico, perhaps."

"Whatever your needs, this is all we have to give you," Chase said."Take it or leave it." He didn't bother to hide his contempt as heshoved the suitcase forward with his foot. He pushed too hard, and thecase fell onto its side, a small fan of dust billowing out around theedges.

"Do we have a deal?"

The dark eyes held Chase's for a moment, not reacting to the insults, and then they moved back to Samantha's face.

"When I have the money--the full ransom--you may have your daughter."

Still she held her tongue, waiting for Chase to respond.

His job, she told herself. He knew what he was doing.

Then, in disbelief at what was happening, she watched the Mexican turn and begin to walk toward the buildings on his right. He had just appeared out of the shadowed twilight, out of nowhere, and if he moved out of her sight, she was afraid he might disappear as easily.

"No!" she called and was infinitely grateful when he hesitated.