Beverly Barton - This Side of Heaven

A female voice answered. "Ramon Carranza's residence. May I help you?"

"Yes, this is Cynthia Porter. I'd like to speak to Mr. Carranza about Tomorrow House in Jacksonville."

"Very well, Ms. Porter. Please hold."

Cyn gave a silent prayer of thanks that she'd had no trouble getting through to Ramon Carranza. She waited and waited and waited. Finally she began tapping her fingers on the sofa's armrest, patting her foot to the gentle rhythm of the music and even humming along with the tune.

"Hello, Señora Porter. This is Ramon Carranza. How may I help you?" The voice was strong and deep and only slightly accented.

"Mr. Carranza," Cyn said, her own voice breathless. "I'm the assistant director at Tomorrow House in Jackson­ville."

"I'm very familiar with Tomorrow House. I wholly sup­port your efforts to help young runaways."

"That's wonderful, Mr. Carranza, and we're extremely grateful for your generous yearly donations." Take it slow and easy, she cautioned herself. Just use your feminine charm and don't push so hard.

"But surely you are calling for more than to thank me." The tone of his voice had grown lighter, less formal.

"As a matter of fact, I am. You see, if we can't raise a substantial amount of money before the end of May, the church plans to close us down, and I simply can't let that happen. I know it's presumptuous of me to be pleading with someone who's already been more than generous—"

"Señora Porter, I would like to invite you to have brunch with me tomorrow, here at my home. I would be delighted if you can find the time to accept my offer."

"Delighted...lunch...tomorrow...at your home?" God, she knew she was babbling, but his invitation had been so unexpected, so totally out of the blue.

"May I take that as a yes?" he asked, amusement clearly in his voice.

"You most certainly may," Cyn said. "What time?"

"Shall we say around ten-thirty?"

"Ten-thirty would be fine."

"Will you need the services of my chauffeur?"

"No, thank you." For a split second her mind wandered to the limo parked across the road. Did Ramon Carranza's chauffeur drive a big, black Caddy, too? "I'll drive myself. And... thank you for agreeing to see me."

"It would be no problem for my chauffeur to come for you. Just give me your address."

"I'm staying at my family's beach house in Sweet Haven right now, Señor Carranza. It's on the other side of no­where. The only two cottages out here are mine and Nate Hodges's across the road."

"Living in such isolation, I hope your neighbor...this Señor Hodges... is a man you can count on for assis­tance?"

Clearly his comment was a question, and Cyn found his fatherly concern endearing. "Oh, believe me, Nate is defi­nitely a man I could turn to if I were in trouble."

"Nate? Then he is a friend of long acquaintance, yes?"

"Actually, no. We only met recently. He just moved into the house across the road a few months ago."

"It is always good to make new friends."

"Yes," Cyn said with a sigh, thinking how she would hardly describe her relationship with Nate as friendship. "It was kind of you to offer to send your chauffeur for me, but it will be easier all around for me to just drive myself."

"Very well, then. I'll be looking forward to meeting you, Señora Porter."

"Yes. Thank you, thank you so much." Cyn punched the off button on the telephone, held it up against her cheek and smiled. She had a lunch date with a man who could solve all of the shelter's problems. Somehow, some way, she was go­ing to make a good impression on Ramon Carranza and sweet-talk him into becoming Tomorrow House's savior.

Now, if she could only figure out a way to solve her other problem, she thought as the tossed the phone onto the sofa and got up to walk over to the front windows. The limo was still parked at Nate's house. Dammit, why had that infuri­ating man come into her life? Even if he were willing for them to explore their feelings for each other, he'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in a permanent re­lationship with a woman. Well, if she could charm thousands of dollars from a man rumored to be a former Miami crime boss, then who was to say she couldn't teach a hardened warrior how to love? * * *

Nate stood in the middle of his den eyeing the man standing directly across from him. Hell, he hadn't seen a man that big since Sonny Rorie, a survival instructor from his days at Coronado, that do-or-die time when he'd been a SEAL recruit.

"You said you had news of Ryker?" Nate asked, won­dering just who the hell this guy was, one of Ryker's front men or some agent he didn't know. From the looks of him, Nate's first guess would have been a sumo wrestler.

"I do," the man said, his voice laced with a slight Span­ish accent.

"Who are you?"

"Emilio Rivera."

Nate widened his almond-shaped eyes, a questioning frown wrinkling his smooth forehead. So, he thought, this is Ramon Carranza's bodyguard. "Where did you get your information?"

"My employer has his sources," Emilio said.

"And just who is your boss?" Nate asked.

"I am sure that your friend, Señor Romero, has already informed you of my employer's identity."

"Maybe you should inform me."

"Very well. Ramon Carranza has sent me to tell you that your enemy, Ian Ryker, has left Miami and is en route to St. Augustine."

"I've been expecting him, so this really isn't such urgent news." Nate noticed the big man flinch, his jaw tighten.

"Ryker already knows your exact location. We estimate that in approximately three days, he will make his move on you."

"Just what is Carranza's stake in all this? And why the hell should I believe anything you tell me?" Nate didn't like puzzles, especially not ones that involved his life.

"Señor Carranza is a very wealthy and powerful man. He has instructed me to tell you that everything he has is at your disposal if you wish to simply disappear. Ryker has signed your death warrant, Nathan Hodges. If you stay here, one of you will die."

Why would Ramon Carranza offer him the means by which to escape Ryker? Nate wondered. The man obvi­ously had something to gain. Or perhaps it was all some elaborate trap. Maybe Carranza liked to play games as much as Ryker did. "What is your boss's interest in me and Ry­ker? What possible reason would he have to want to help me?"

"If you wish to start a new life in another country, with a new identity, of course, we can arrange for the woman to join you," Emilio said.

"What did you say?" The tension in Nate's stomach wound tighter and tighter until it spread through his whole body.

"Señora Porter. If you wish for her to join you—"

Moving with the speed of an attacking leopard, Nate pulled his knife to the other man's throat.

Emilio, seemingly undisturbed by Nate's aggressive re­sponse, stood perfectly still. "You can put your knife away, Señor Hodges, I mean you no harm. But you must know that if we found out about Señora Porter, Ryker will find out about her, too."

"There is nothing to find out about. She's my neighbor. I hardly know her." Hell, how had this happened? Nate asked himself. The one thing he hadn't wanted was to in­volve Cyn in his sordid battle with Ryker. "Tell your boss that I don't run from a fight, that I'm ready for Ryker."

"And Ryker is ready for you," Rivera said. "A smart man would accept my employer's offer."

"Tell Señor Carranza, thanks, but no thanks. I'll take care of my problems, my way." Nate had no idea what Carranza's stake in all this was, but there was no way he would trust any acquaintance of the Marquez family. Car­ranza was his enemy as surely as Ryker was. Nate had no doubts about that.

"Very well. We thought as much." Emilio stared down at the knife Nate still held at his throat. "Would you mind?"