Once More A Family Part 2

In spite of the growing distance between them, they'd always had a wonderfuls.e.x life. Grady was a tender, thoughtful lover. When he was touching her,kissing her, he allowed the gentle, tender side of his nature to emerge. Thatwas the man who'd won her, the man who'd looked at her with so much longingand love she'd felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

She needed that man now. Needed him desperately.

She was used to fighting long odds. The statistics she'd studied in graduateschool predicted that she would end up like her mother-uneducated, pregnant,on welfare. Instead she'd put herself through six years of college, graduatingwith honors and a satisfying number of job offers.

She'd also been a virgin when she'd married Grady.

Now she was fighting long odds again. Odds that said the distance between thetwo of them had grown too deep to be bridged. That the love they'd sharedbefore his job had come between them was dead.

Her hands shook as she worked the knot of her robe. When the sash hung loose,she slipped the heavy flannel from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.Her gown was cotton jersey, soft enough to reveal the contours of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

His eyes turned hot, and his chest heaved as he drew in a ragged breath.

"I need you tonight, Grady."

Holding his gaze, she reached for the b.u.t.ton at her throat, but he lifted hishand to push hers away. His fingers were too big and too rough to be deft. Ashe eased the gown from her shoulders, the calluses snagged on the thinmaterial.

She shivered, not from the cold but from desire. It was wildly exciting toknow that this tough man with the hard edges and brutally scarred, powerfulbody wanted her.

He lowered his head, and his kiss was hard, just shy of angry. Yet his tonguewas sweet as he drew it slowly along the curve of her mouth, sending slowwaves of the sweetest sensation spiraling through her. Her legs went watery,she clung to him, her fingers pushing against the lean, hard muscle of hisneck. Her pulse was roaring in her ears, and fire flickered low and deepinside her.

She felt the give in him, the sudden release of control. He growled deep inhis throat, a feral urgent sound that ran along her nerve endings like acurrent.

Need slammed into Grady like a series of vicious punches. The control thatwas his only defense shuddered, then broke. He buried his hands in her hair,holding her still for his mouth. He used his tongue, his lips.

A dark, angry emotion raced through him as he opened his mouth over thetender curve of her neck. He didn't know if it was love or hate or somethingin between. He only knew she was making him feel again, and it hurt. Yet, hecouldn't stop kissing her, couldn't stop wanting her.

She groaned, her hands frantic, jerking his shirt free of his jeans. Herfinger raced over his belly, sending ripples of sensation through him.

His body swelled. The pressure inside him was close to unbearable. His skinburned for her. His blood throbbed. He was too close to shattering now forpatience.

He let her go long enough to swing her into his arms. He carried her withpowerful, impatient strides to the thick rug in front of the living roomhearth, now cold. Later he would build her the fire she wanted. Later he wouldsoothe and pet. Now there was only the need to bury his pain in that softwilling body.

He jerked her gown to her waist, then glanced up. Her face was pale, her eyesglazed, her lips swollen and parted. His hand fumbled with the b.u.t.tons of hisfly. Too aroused to strip, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and jerkedthe material to his thighs.

His need was a living thing. He'd been so lonely, so lost. OnlyRia could healhim. His body surged free, and he moved over her. He closed his eyes andthrust into her.

She cried out, her body arching. And then he was pounding into her. Shetrembled, cried out. Through the haze of desire he realized she was sobbing.

He froze, struggling to contain the need clawing him. Her eyes were squeezedshut, her face lined and pale. Slowly he withdrew with shuddering slowness,trying not to hurt her any more than he already had. A hot knot formed in hisgut as he shifted to her side. His hand shook as he drew the gown over herlegs, his heart contracting when he noticed the discoloration of bruised skin.

Sick inside, the self-loathing sharp and twisting, he fastened his jeans,then leaned down to brush her hair from her wet cheek. He used his fingers towipe away her tears, then bent to brush his mouth over her temple.

"Forgive me," he begged, his voice raw.

Her smile was terribly sad. "It's over, isn't it? What we had."

He couldn't quite meet her gaze. "We've hit a rough patch,Ree . What'shappened is hard on both of us."

"No, it's more than that." She sat up and pulled up her legs. Her face wasunnaturally pale. "Somehow we've just lost each other. When we had Jimmy, itdidn't matter as much, but now..." She paused to draw breath. "We're just twopeople who share a house and some very precious memories."

She was ending their marriage, and all he could feel was relief that he nolonger had to face her every morning.

Chapter 2.

Two and a half years later Grady spotted the federalnarc the instant he stepped off the tarmac into thegloomy interior of theImperial ValleyInternationalAirport's only terminal. Agood-looking Latino of average height, with a wiry body and enough att.i.tude tomake even the toughest barrio hustler scurry for cover, he'd been leaningagainst a pillar just beyond the gla.s.sed-in waiting area, eyes hidden behinddark shades.

As Grady approached, the man straightened and moved into his path. It was asmooth move, a subtle power play. Though Grady was a head taller and a goodfifty pounds heavier, this was thenarc's turf, thenarc's rules.

Play it his way or not at all came through loud and clear.

Grady decided he liked the little guy's style.

"You looking for me?" he asked, meeting the eyes that were scrutinizing himthrough the smoked lenses.

"I am if your name is Hardin."

"That's one of them. I prefer Grady."

"Fair enough." The man's grin flashed as he offered his hand. "I'm Cruz. CruzMendoza. Welcome to Calexico."

"I appreciate the lift," Grady told him as they shook hands.

"Glad to do it. Guys like me usually see the dirty side of this business.It's nice to be part of a happy ending."

"It's not happy yet," Grady reminded him as they walked past a line ofcheck-in counters, most of which were still empty. The bone-jarring, stomachjolting commuter flight from LAX was the first of the day.

"Don't get me wrong, Captain, but you look like a man in desperate need ofcoffee."

Grady summoned enough of a smile to keep the man's goodwill. After twelvehours en route, two delays and three flights, he was feeling a littlepunch-drunk. "Thanks, but I'm already wired."

The truth was he would kill for a sip. h.e.l.l, even a whiff of caffeine wouldgive him a high these days. But for the past couple of months his gut hadtaken a strong dislike to the stuff.

"Is that it for luggage?"Mendozaasked, indicating the worn, olive drab duffelbag pa.s.sed down from his dad who'd been a sailor during the Korean War.

"That's it."

Grady arched his aching back to work out the kinks, then slung his duffelover his shoulder and walked with the agent out of the terminal into a blazeof summer sunshine. It had been drizzling inIndianawhen he'd left. A sodden,gray, miserable day in a long string of miserable days.

He fished a pair of shades from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. A hotsouthwestern wind flavored with grit slapped him across the face as hefollowed the wiry agent to a dirty brown Jeep with pitted fenders and a brokentaillight parked in a red zone.

"Border Patrol found it stuck in the mud a few miles west,"Mendozasaid with awry grin. "No VIN, no plates. Blends in real good south of the border."

Grady tossed the duffel into the back and slid into the bucket seat. The Jeepsmelled like damp sweat socks and stale hamburger grease. A desert emergencykit was tucked into one corner of the cramped s.p.a.ce behind the seat. A darkblue windbreaker was shoved into another. Between the two was a jumble ofboots, dirt-encrusted sneakers and a faded DEA ball cap.

Oblivious to the litter,Mendozaslipped easily behind the wheel and slammedthe door. "The couple picked up with the boy are at the county jail. I figuredyou'd want to talk to the prosecutor who caught the case, so I made atentative appointment to meet her atnoonat the courthouse."

"Thanks."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.dslawyered -up first thing. Some high-powered suit from LA."

"What about bail?"

"Two mil. They'll be a while making it."

"I'll want to see them."

"Figured you would,"Mendozasaid with a satisfied grin. "You want to head forthe motel first?"

Grady glanced at his watch which he'd set to Pacific time someplace overtheRockies. It was a few minutes past seven."If it's all the same with you,I'll like to see the boy."

"Figured you'd say that, too."Mendozaturned the key, fired the engine. "He'swith a foster couple at the far edge of town. Good people."

Thenarc checked the mirror, then sped off, leaving a cloud of fumes behind.So much forCalifornia's clean-air act, Grady thought as he shifted position,trying to stretch the kinks out of his legs.

Too many hours jammed into a series of economy-cla.s.s seats with his chin d.a.m.nnear resting on his knees hadnumbed his backside, while the endless hours ofnot knowing had slowly, inexorably twisted his gut into a searing knot. Takingshallow breaths against the pain, he dug into the pocket of his windbreakerfor the antacids that were his constant companion these days.

He was supposed to be inIndianapolisfor a statewide meeting of policecaptains and inspectors this morning. No doubt he'd hear about that from thebra.s.s when he got back home. At the moment he didn't give a rat's a.s.s. Hisobsession to prove himself worthy of the Hardin legacy had been the worstmistake of his admittedly misbegotten life. Right now, this instant, he'dwillingly trade his captain's bars for his son's safe return. h.e.l.l, he'd even turn in his badge if that would bring Jimmy home again.

The first time he'd snagged a "maybe" from a kiddy cop inSt. Louis, he'd felthonor bound to callRia to let her know. And, yeah, maybe he'd wanted her toknow he wasn't sitting on his duff, licking his wounds and feeling sorry forhimself.

It hadn't surprised him when she'd insisted on going with him. Though shelooked as delicate as the lacy veil she'd worn over hershimmery brown hair attheir wedding, she had the soul of a warrior in that tidy little body. Whenlife took a punch at her, she doubled up those small hands and fought back.

Sometimes, though, no matter how many punches you landed, you couldn't win.When the child had turned out to belong to someone else, the disappointmenthad ripped open a lot of wounds for both of them. Since then, he'd checked outthe leads alone.

Twelve times in the past three years he'd climbed on a plane in response to a"maybe" from a fellow cop who'd seen the flyers he'd mailed out by thehundreds every month. Twelve times he'd walked into a strange room with hisheart in his throat and his gut in a knot. Twelve times he'd walked awaydisappointed, fighting to keep from pounding his fists into hamburger.

The divorce had been final for more than two years. The farmhouse belonged tosomeone else now. He and Trouble shared a place near the Purdue campus.Ria hadrented a town house overlooking theWabash. As far as he knew, she lived alone.His parents never talked about her love life. He sure as h.e.l.l never asked.

She was a career woman now, the administrative director of the Wabash Women'sCenter, which she'd founded a little more than a year back with two friendsfrom grad school.

He'd read about the opening in the paper. The mayor herself had cut theribbon. Everyone in his family had been there but him.

He hadn't been invited.

When the two of them met at family functions, they were polite to each other.When they spoke about something related to the search, they did it by phone.She'd stopped asking him if there were any clues, any leads.

Each time he'd had to disappoint her, the hope in her eyes had dimmed alittle more. He was terrified that someday that hope would be gone forever.

"The foster parents are expecting us, right?" he challenged, his voice ashade too rough.Mendozashot him a measuring look before nodding.

"Socialworker'll be there, too. Guy by the name ofTsung . I got hold of himon his cell phone right before your plane landed, gave him an ETA. He'sbringing the report from the kiddy shrink."

"Has ... the boy said anything?"

"Not much beyond crying for his mama. I mean, the piece of human slimehethinks is his mama."Mendoza's voice was surprisingly gentle. Grady liked himfor that.

"You ever been to this part of the country before?"Mendozacontinued after acouple of minutes of tense silence during which Grady sucked on chalk and tookstock of his surroundings.

"Nope."

Mendozabraked to keep from ramming the back of a slow-moving truck, whose bedwas piled with watermelons. Pickers were already in the fields lining theroad, their backs bent as they moved down the rows. In the distance a biplaneswooped low, leaving a trail of white behind.

"I grew up here. Picked my share of tomatoes before I got smart and hit thebooks."

Grady heard the rueful note and sympathized. "Reminds me of northernIndiana."Lots of fields, lots of dust and plenty of backbreaking labor for not muchpay. "My brothers and I used to pick up extra money summers threshing hay." Hecould still feel that maddening, itchy feeling between his shoulder bladeswhere the chaff invariably settled, no matter how tightly he tied the bandannaaround his neck.

"Sorry about the lag time on notification."Mendozaflicked him a quick look."Budget cuts. .h.i.t us hard this year, and we're short three agents in thisdistrict. Me and my partner have been inMexicalifor the past week, which iswhy I didn't get to the arrest report until yesterday."

Grady didn't want to think about other times, other places when overworkedpublic servants just might have overlooked a vital clue. "System works slowsometimes. Sometimes it doesn't work at all. This time maybe we got lucky."

In response to a tip, Border Patrol had checked out a couple fromSan Diegobythe name ofWilson. The guy who'd dropped the quarter swore the "Wilsons" wereseasoned moles, real pros at smuggling junk into Calexico from the Mexicansister city ofMexicali.

The drug-sniffing shepherd had found the neatly wrapped bricks of heroin inthe hollowed-out seats of the late-model van and called DEA. In the back seat had been a six-year-old, blond, brown-eyed male who'd given his name as StevenWilson.

The couple claimed to live inSan Diego, but the local authorities hadn't beenable to scare up any school records or next of kin. The alert caseworker fromchild welfare had flagged the case for further investigation.

The arrest report had sat onMendoza's desk for ninety-six bleeping hours.Hours that must have seemed like a lifetime to a scared little boy stuck in afoster home with strangers.

"As soon as I saw the boy, I knew there was a strong possibility he was thekid in the picture you sent."Mendozaslowed to let a rust-bucket pickup chugpast before turning into a narrow street lined with stucco and timberduplexes. "Your son was three when he was kidnapped, right?"

"Right."

"d.a.m.n amazing what computers can do these days."Mendozashook his head."Showing what a three-year-old would look like at six. Impresses the heck outof me, that's for sure."

"Actually, that particular picture was real. My dad took it of me when I wa.s.six."

"Yeah? Guess that means your boy looks like you?"

"Darn near identical. My wife ... ex-wife ... had our baby pictures framed sideby side. Not even my folks could tell which was which."

ButRia could tell. She claimed it was a mom thing. Part of the bondingprocess.Ria had been big on bonding. h.e.l.l, she'd even bonded with her rosebushes. Her prized babies belonged to someone else now.

"It was the half-moon birthmark that jogged my memory,"Mendozaconfided,braking for a stop sign. "Remembered reading about it before in the memo myboss sent around about a year back. Said you'd called him direct to ask us tokeep an eye peeled. Then when I read the new flyer, it clicked."

Grady reached for the roll of antacids again. How many similar calls had hemade? Hundreds? Thousands? d.a.m.n near maxed out his Visa card paying tollcharges. If he had to, he'd beg the bank to raise his credit limit-and worksecurity to make the payments.

"Tell me about this couple you picked up," he said, glancingMendoza's way.

"Not a lot to tell yet, Captain." The agent checked the mirror, then pulledout to pa.s.s an ancient VW bus with Mexican plates. "IDs are in the names ofMoira and Lance Wilson, good forgeries, but phony. Anglos, both of them.Mid-thirties, fancy label, teeth-bonded types. Claimed to own a gift shop inOld Town San Diego, and in fact they do have part interest, though some guynamed Barger runs it. Retro-hippie type, no known record. Way I figure it the'Wilsons' bought into the shop in order to use the buying trips as a cover fortheir trips south. Had the back of the van piled with pots and wrought iron,typical Mexican exports. Claimed to be man and wife-until the computer spitout a long list of aliases. Don't know for sure what names are on theiroriginal birth certificates, but we're checking. Far as we can tell, they'venever made it to the altar-at least not together. There's also no record ofchildren born to either of them."

Grady fought a surge of excitement. Mixing emotion with logic was a rookiemistake. He'd taken a bullet once because he'd ignored that basic fact.