Ann Major - The Girl with the Golden Gun

“The more powerful he becomes, the worse it will be for me. The reason I publish your articles is because he’s phobic about making the papers, especially when there are photographs of him. A lot of peasants see him as a folk hero. He eats that up. But he knows that when the real truth about all his sordid atrocities is made known, there will be a public outcry to stop him.

“So, I have come to you with a big story that could get him the kind of international notoriety he most hates. This story has all the right elements. It’s a mystery…about a beautiful American woman who disappears into Mexico. It’s also a beauty and the beast tale.”

Fascinated, Terence stared at Valdez.

“Tavio’s prisoner is a celebrity. If he’d known who she really is, he would have let her go or shot her and dumped her body months ago.”

“And you know who she is?”

Valdez smiled. “I have a picture of her on a magnificent Arabian Tavio lets her ride. He’s holding the bridle. She’s a famous Texas heiress. If you were to print the picture—”

The hair on the back of Collins’s neck stood on end.

“Give this to somebody else. I don’t do disappeared people.”

“I remember what happened to your daughter…Rebecca. I’m sorry.” He hesitated. “But with your personal knowledge about such a situation coupled with your immense talent—why, you’re the only person who can write this story. You would tell it with compassion.”

Terence rubbed his eyes. Valdez had still been his brother-in-law when Rebecca had vanished into Mexico. He tried never to think about her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He still wondered…on a daily basis if she was alive.

“If I wrote such a story, he might kill her.”

“Or feel pressured to let her go. Remember, he wants the poor to see him as a folk hero. You could make people identify with the kidnap victim and sympathize with her family…instead of him. If her family brought the right kind of pressure, he would have to release her.”

“Sorry.”

“You owe me.”

When Collins looked up in surprise, Valdez’s smile was sly. “Who do you think has been feeding you information about him all these months?”

Suddenly Collins could barely contain himself. For months he’d wondered who the Sombra was.

“I sent you that videotape of Octavio and the federales.”

“But how did you penetrate his organization…?”

Valdez’s smile grew hard. His eyes were equally cold. “Like all shadows, the Sombra has secrets he must keep.”

“Okay, I’m curious. Who the hell is this ‘disappeared’ heiress?”

“Mia Kemble.”

Terence whistled. “Of the Golden Spurs Ranch?”

Valdez handed him a photograph of a redheaded woman on a magnificent, black Arabian stallion. She was pale, and her eyes looked haunted. Tavio was holding the bridle as he stared up at her. Everything was just as Valdez had described. The murdering son of a bitch was besotted.

Terence’s blood congealed even as his heart began to thump at a maniacal pace.

“How do I know the picture isn’t fake?”

“Has the Sombra ever lied to you before?”

Terence shook his head. He couldn’t help but think of Abby. For her sake, the Kembles of the Golden Spurs Ranch were the last people on earth he should mess with.

If he refused, the Sombra would simply tip off some other reporter.

Hell. Once a bastard, always a bastard. When had he ever let his personal life get in the way of a good story?

“Can I keep the picture?”

Valdez smiled.

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