The Specialist. Dani Sinclair
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before moving straight for her hiding place.
She held her breath in terror as the closet door groaned open all the way. He rummaged on one of the upper shelves. She opened her eyes, hardly daring to breathe. A blanket fell to the floor in front of her.
She waited in an agony of fear for him to bend and pick it up. Because then he would see her and the popping sound would come again from the strange gun with its long barrel. But he left the blanket, and a towel that landed on top of the blanket, lying there. He turned and pulled off his glove for a moment. The gun hand disappeared from her line of sight. His left hand fell to his side as he stood silently for a moment.
A pretty red stone sparkled in the heavy gold ring he wore on his left hand. She stared at that stone until he pulled his gloves back on and went downstairs again, disappearing from view.
She heard him moving noisily in the basement. He thought he was alone in the house. Silently, she uncurled her body and crept down the stairs. When she paused in the hall she jumped as the woman’s eyes fluttered open.
“Next door,” she whispered. “Get Mr. Lee. Hurry! Run!”
And she heard the shadow man start up the steps from the basement level.
She ran into the living room, ducking behind a chair so he wouldn’t see her. Fear made her chest feel all hard and tight. Her stomach hurt. She was so scared. He would shoot her if he caught her. But he never looked toward her hiding place. Instead, he gazed down on the woman and fired his gun again.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to hurt that horrible shadow man with every fiber of her eight-year-old body, but all she could do was huddle beside the chair, consumed with hate for the man and his shiny red ring and his long, ugly gun.
He strode into the kitchen. She pictured him checking the others. There were no more pops from his gun. Were they dead? Was she the only one left alive inside the once-cozy house?
Then he was gone, out the front door. She rose on legs that trembled violently.
A strange smell had begun filling the house.
She decided not to investigate because he could come back at any minute. She turned to the sliding glass door in the dining room and struggled with the bar lock until she got it open. The smell was stronger. It made her feel really sick. She opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind her in case the man came back.
It had started snowing again, she discovered. Big fat white flakes that made her shiver. She wished she had her coat—and her boots. The snow was deep. She was going to ruin her shoes. Stupid thought. That didn’t matter. She had to hurry. She had to go next door. She started running across the pristine expanse of white.
And the world exploded at her back, destroying her life forever.
Chapter Two
Brushing aside the haunted shadows of her dream, Kendra let the aroma of coffee and bacon draw her downstairs. She had slept longer and deeper than she would have guessed possible. The silence of the house unnerved her. Where was everyone?
“Buenos días, señorita.”
Kendra smiled back at the short, plump woman with the cheerful smile and the graying hair pulled back in a bun. This would be Rosa Chavez, the Smoking Barrel’s cook, she decided.
“Buenos días.”
The following spate of dialogue was more than Kendra’s tiny bit of Spanish could follow.
“I’m sorry I don’t understand. No comprende.”
“She wants to know what you’d like for breakfast.”
Kendra’s stomach gave a lurch. She twisted to find Rafe leaning nonchalantly against the door frame leading to the front room. His worn denims and open-necked shirt invited a woman’s gaze to linger appreciatively. Her impression hadn’t been wrong last night. Rafe was dangerously sexy.
“Thank you.” She offered him a polite smile. “I’m not real big on breakfast. Would you tell her juice and toast will be fine?”
His eyes swept her from head to toe. It was all she could do not to blush under that perusal. She was uncomfortably aware of her thinness beneath her slouchy clothing, and her finger-combed hair. She pushed her glasses tighter against the bridge of her nose and waited for him to make some remark. Instead, his expression remained neutral, neither approving nor condemning. He spoke rapid-fire Spanish to Rosa who frowned and nodded, hurrying back out to the kitchen.
“We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Everyone eats in the kitchen.”
“Fine. I don’t like ceremony either. And I can get my own juice and toast. I don’t need to be waited on.”
Rafe came away from the door frame in a sinuous movement of pure grace. “No choice with Rosa manning the kitchen. Come on. I haven’t eaten yet either. I’ll join you.”
Kendra tried not to let her consternation show. With him sitting beside her, she’d likely spill the juice or choke on the toast. She knew it was ridiculous, but Rafe made her unaccountably nervous.
“What about the others?”
“This is a working ranch. Everyone else ate hours ago. Penny checked on you, but you were sleeping so soundly she didn’t have the heart to wake you. You’ll be happy to know that Cody found Settled Sue last night. He returned her this morning. Chet was relieved. He was a little annoyed that you took her in the middle of the night without permission.”
Kendra didn’t respond. She had no defense for the subtle accusation. Instead, as they stepped into the brightly lit, spacious kitchen, she focused on her reason for being here.
“When can I meet with Mitchell Forbes?”
“One o’clock suit you? He’s tied up until then.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have a seat.” Rafe seemed to glide forward, holding out a chair and waiting.
Kendra didn’t think she’d ever had a man hold out a chair for her. The action made her feel awkward, and foolishly feminine at the same time. The long table could easily seat fifteen or more. So why did Rafe have to pull out the chair beside hers and sit down? She was already far too aware of him.
“Tell me what you know about Stephen Rialto,” Rafe said.
Kendra wished she could look away from his penetrating eyes, but she couldn’t. “He’s the lowest form of human slime. He uses his legitimate oil company as a cover for all sorts of illegal activities.”
“For instance?”
“Murder, drugs, money laundering, gun running—whatever Tomaso Calderone wants him to do.”
Emotion came and went in Rafe’s expression at the mention of the other man’s name.
“So you also know about Calderone.”
“He’s a high-priced gangster who thinks he’s untouchable.”
Rafe nodded. “Close enough. What’s your stake in going after Rialto?”
“I want to see him pay for his crimes.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters very much.” He lifted her hand from the table, stroking it gently in his much larger, rougher hands. Working man’s hands. She felt the hint of calluses against her skin.
When she tried to pull free, he released her at once. But his suggestive smile caused her stomach to flutter. She had to stop letting him get to her like this. She was here for a purpose. Keeping that firmly in mind was proving difficult.
“Mr. Alvarez—”
“I think we’ve gone past formality, don’t you?”