Kay David: The Searchers

Anger flooded him. He didn’t want to do this the hard way, but he could if necessary. “I’m sure that would be best—for you. But that’s not going to happen.”

“And if I refuse to cooperate?”

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not at all,” he said. “It’s simply the way things are. If I were you, I’d accept that. Otherwise I might be forced into looking elsewhere for help.”

She didn’t blink and she didn’t speak.

He nodded toward the rolled-up newspaper lying on the edge of her desk. “I’m sure the press would be delighted to assist me. It’s not every day a former leftist guerrilla aspires to become a judge.”

MAYA WENT COMPLETELY STILL and stared at the man before her.

He smiled, his calculating expression as cold as the fear that suddenly possessed her. “All I want is a small portion of your time…and the truth,” he added. “Then I’ll leave you alone and you’ll never see me again.”

“Is that a promise?”

He actually seemed to consider his answer before he nodded. “You have my word.”

She felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass. Since the day she’d left Colombia, she’d worried that this might happen. She’d done everything she could to prevent it…in fact, her life had been designed to keep her past in the past, but if Shepard Reyes had found her, then she’d clearly failed.

Before she could say anything more, Patricia suddenly appeared in the doorway. Maya felt the blood drain from her heart and pool in her stomach.

He turned and spoke pleasantly. “Hello there.”

Maya crossed the room and came toward them, praying her legs would hold her up a little longer, her mind shuffling through the possible lies she could concoct, rejecting them until she came to one that sounded halfway plausible. “Patricia, this is an…associate, Shepard Reyes. Mr. Reyes…” she swallowed, then spoke quickly to cover her hesitation “…is co-counsel on a case I’m handling for some clients in Mexico.” She sent a warning gaze in Shepard’s direction. “This is one of my partners,” she said. “Patricia Livingston-Wallis.”

In her standard intimidating way, Patricia eyed Shepard up and down—then she smiled and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes. Did you fly in this morning?”

“Yes,” he replied in English. “I did. It’s always a pleasure to come to Houston, so I take any opportunity that I can. I visit frequently.”

He had no accent, Maya realized suddenly, and then she remembered. He’d been educated in the United States at the University of Miami, the long forgotten detail popping into her head. Renaldo had derided his older brother’s capitalist choice of a business degree.

Patricia responded to Shepard’s charm like a young girl. “Who are your clients, Mr. Reyes?”

Maya wanted to let him dangle, but she couldn’t. Who knew what the man might do? “It’s Sanchez vs. Sanchez,” Maya supplied. “It was a probate case we handled a few years back.”

Patricia frowned for a second. “I don’t remember that particular case.”

Maya started to answer but Shepard turned to Patricia, his expression so sincere and polite, Maya found herself gritting her teeth. “Señorita Velaquez and I were about to go out for coffee,” he interjected. “Why don’t you come with us and I’ll explain the situation in detail. I’m sure you’d like to hear all about it.” His eyes came back to Maya’s. “It’s a fascinating story, don’t you agree Ms. Velaquez?”

The threat was obvious.

Maya held her breath until Patricia shook her head, a regretful frown on her face. “Nothing I’d like better, but at the moment, I can’t. I have to deal with a fieri facias. We represent a CEO who’s on the hot seat right now, and I need to return to his problems.” She looked back at Maya. “That’s why I’m here, bothering you in the first place. You wouldn’t have the Andrews file, would you?”

“It’s on my secretary’s desk, waiting to be filed.” Seeing a way out, Maya took a step forward. “I’ll go get it for you—”

“No, no…” Patricia held up her hand and cut off Maya’s escape. “I can find it. You two go get your coffee, but keep me updated, Maya. Your case sounds much more interesting.” Shaking Shepard’s hand once more, she nodded to Maya and left.

Shepard inclined his head toward the hallway, his dark eyes steady and unperturbed as he held out his hand, the one still holding the umbrella. It dripped silently on the rug.

“Shall we go?” he asked. “I have a rental car out front.”

Maya felt her stomach clench at the way he’d manipulated her, but considering the choices—and his less than subtle threat—leaving the office was probably safer, at least for her reputation.

“I’ll take my car and you take yours,” she said tightly. “I drive a white Volvo. When you see me pull out of the parking lot, you can follow.”

Brushing past him, she headed down the hall without waiting to hear his reply.

SHE’D KNOWN he wasn’t Renaldo.

Renaldo was dead.

But it’d taken her heart a moment longer than her brain to remember that fact. When she’d looked up and seen Shepard Reyes in the doorway, the past had rushed in with him. He had the same smoldering look, the same glittering eyes, the same arrogant air of the man who’d become her lover when she’d been fifteen.

Her life before she came to the States seemed to have happened to another person. In fact, it came to her almost as a movie, the scenes something she felt she’d witnessed, instead of experienced.

Driving toward Montrose with Shepard Reyes behind her, Maya let the memories flood her, the difference between the two brothers coming into sharp relief.

Renaldo had been twenty-two when he died so Shepard had to be forty-five. Renaldo had been sleek and quick, a shadow who had lived in the darkness. Shepard seemed just the opposite—his presence couldn’t be ignored. He was taller and heavier than Renaldo would have ever been, his shoulders broad beneath his expensive suit, his black eyes more focused.

And he was, Maya suspected all at once, much, much more dangerous.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could handle this man and his threats, she told herself. Shepard Reyes and all he represented meant nothing to her and she’d be silly to let him rattle her. His demands had frightened her but they were meaningless—as long as he wanted something from her, which he clearly did.

Which brought her to the next question.

Just what in the hell did he want?

She exited the freeway and turned right, going beneath the underpass. In any other section of Houston, the streets would have been full of commuters heading to work but not here. The off-beat haven of the artistic and gay communities, Montrose never shut down. Slowing as she reached the main commercial area, Maya passed a tattoo place with three people already in the chairs, a group of twenty-somethings spilling out of the latest trendy diner and a beautifully decorated pocket park, maintained, a sign on the sidewalk said, by the Houston Gay Men’s Choir. After a moment, she spotted her destination, directly across from the park.

She’d been to the outre coffee shop a few months before to meet a blind date. The guy had been a disaster, but she’d liked the place, probably because it wasn’t the kind of restaurant she normally visited…which was exactly why she’d come here now. Most of the lawyers she knew would abandon their Beemers in the middle of Interstate 10 before they’d be caught in the Jumped-Up Java Bar. She parked then climbed from her car and locked it. Her eyes went to the townhouses under construction across the street. Despite its eccentricity, the area was growing. To buy a home in Montrose, you needed a fortune.