The Agent's Secret Child

But what made Isabella’s fingers tremble and her heart pound was that the woman looked like her.

She reached up to touch her face, running her fingers along the tiny scars left from her surgery. What had she looked like before the fire? She couldn’t remember. Worse, why did she suspect she’d been made to look like this Abby Diaz?

She didn’t want to think about that. Nor about the other papers she’d found in the envelope. She looked down at her daughter. Elena still had the locket clutched in her fist.

The sight tugged at Isabella’s heart and concerned her more than she wanted to admit. Her daughter had cried until she’d been given the locket to hold. The battered heart-shaped silver locket with a stranger’s face inside it.

Then Isabella had awakened to find Elena on the phone and the envelope’s contents on the floor beside her, the silver locket open and empty, the photo in Elena’s small hand.

“Why did you call the number inside the envelope?” Isabella had demanded after she’d hurriedly hung up.

She didn’t ask how the little girl had realized it was a phone number or how she’d known to make a call. Elena had taught herself to read at three. She was smart. Too smart, Julio used to say. Gifted. Precocious. Frightening even to Isabella sometimes. Her grandmother would have called Elena an Old Soul.

Elena had shown her the phone number and explained it was like ones Julio had called in the States. Isabella wondered who Julio had called.

“But why would you call this number?” she’d asked, growing more afraid for her daughter.

Elena had handed her the tiny photograph of the stranger from the locket. On the back was printed: “Love, Jake.” When Elena had found the name Jake Cantrell in the envelope with a telephone number, she’d called it.

“Daddy will help us,” Elena had declared stubbornly.

“Julio was your father,” she’d said, “And he cannot help us.”

Elena’s lower lip had begun to tremble. Tears welled in the child’s eyes. “Daddy Jake will help us, though.” She’d cried inconsolably until Isabella had put the picture back into the locket and given it to the child to hold again.

What disturbed her most was that Elena was convinced Jake Cantrell was her father. Why was that? Had Julio planted this seed? The same way the hospital surgeons might have been told to make Isabella look like another woman? A former FBI agent named Abby Diaz?

She felt sick now as she watched her daughter sleep. Elena expected some stranger to come and save them from Calderone’s men.

But what the child didn’t know was that if Jake Cantrell found them, it wouldn’t be to save them. In the envelope, Isabella had found evidence that former FBI agent Jake Cantrell had set up his partner Abby Diaz to die in a drug raid six years ago. What scared her was that she looked enough like this woman that he might think she was Abby Diaz.

Isabella now feared that Elena’s call for help had only given away their location and set an even more dangerous man after them.

Chapter Two

Everything from the wedding reception had been cleared away by the time Jake returned. The ranch house felt cool and dark and blessedly normal again. He regretted that he hadn’t got to tell Brady goodbye before he took off on his honeymoon, but he knew Brady would understand.

He could hear Rosa and Slim in the kitchen, Slim trying to flatter the short, round, good-natured cook, but Rosa resisting the crusty old ranch hand’s charm to the clatter of dishes and Mexican music on the radio.

He breathed it in, wishing he could get back some of the tranquillity he’d found over the last five years here at the Smoking Barrel. Usually riding his horse Majesty under the vast Texas sky brought him some peace. But not tonight.

He couldn’t get the call off his mind. Still, he felt a little better after his long ride and regretted snapping at Penny earlier when she’d followed him down to the stables. She’d only been concerned, but he’d wanted to be alone. He’d felt like a powder keg ready to blow and needed to feel the wind in his face and a good fast horse beneath him.

Hat in hand, he now tapped lightly at Penny’s door, hoping to catch her before she went down to the meeting.

She opened her door and looked surprised, the air around her sweet with the scent of perfume, her hair pulled up into a style he’d never seen on her before and a hairbrush in her hand. No, not surprised. Embarrassed to be caught primping. He wondered if the carefully applied makeup and new hairdo had something to do with the date he’d heard discussed over coffee this morning in the kitchen.

“These are for you,” he said, drawing the fistful of wildflowers he’d picked from behind his back. They seemed too small a gesture, but her eyes lit at the sight of them and her face softened as she gazed up at him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, too much understanding in her voice.

The last thing he wanted was sympathy right now. He wanted even less to discuss the call.

“I’m just sorry I barked at you in the stables before,” he said, turning away quickly.

Before she could reply, he walked away. Downstairs, he took the hidden elevator to the basement, to find the three men already waiting for him. He realized Penny wouldn’t be joining them. Cody and Rafe were discussing the recent cattle-rustling and new evidence that someone had been camping on the ranch. For once, the young and cocky Rafael Alvarez wasn’t clowning around, but then Penny wasn’t here. Half Spanish, half Irish, Rafe had a way with women and he loved to tease Penny mercilessly.

Cody Gannon, a former rodeo bronc rider and the youngest of the bunch, was insisting what should be done about the rustling. Mitchell Forbes seemed only to listen at the head of the table.

Wondering why a meeting had been called, especially without Penny present, Jake took his place, his gaze on Mitchell. The older man didn’t look sixty-five, not even with his head of white hair. The ex-Texas Ranger and Vietnam vet owned the Smoking Barrel, a pretty impressive spread, even by Texas standards. On the surface, the widower seemed exactly what he was, a wealthy rancher.

Few people knew that the ranch was headquarters for Mitchell’s ragtag group of misfits known as the Texas Confidentials—an offshoot of the Federal Department of Public Safety. The confidentials were secret agents who handled cases that required a bit more sensitivity and stealth. When they weren’t on assignment, they worked the huge ranch just like the cowboys they were.

Jake knew he’d been handpicked for the job by Mitchell. He’d just never understood why. But he was grateful. Not only had Mitchell given him something to do that mattered, he’d given him a home and a family.

“I think that covers it.” Mitchell’s deep voice pulled Jake back from his thoughts. “We’ll step up security and see what happens.”

Jake realized he hadn’t been paying attention. Cody and Rafe got to their feet to leave, arguing over whose turn it was to ride lookout tonight. Jake started to rise, but Mitchell motioned for him to wait.

Once they were alone, Mitchell studied the tip of his cigar, taking his time to light it with an elaborate silver lighter, then he turned the lighter in his hand. Over and over, as if he didn’t know quite how to begin. That wasn’t like Mitchell.

Nor was he supposed to be smoking. Maddie would throw a fit if she knew. Maddie Wells, a neighboring rancher, was in love with Mitchell. His health was one of the things they squabbled about. That, and why Mitchell hadn’t gotten around to popping the question.

For Mitchell to be smoking again— Jake watched him through a haze of cigar smoke, his earlier anxiety growing with each passing moment.

“Penny told me about the call from the little girl,” Mitchell said at last.

Jake felt a wave of annoyance. Nothing that happened on the ranch escaped Mitchell’s attention. Penny saw to that. “It was just a prank call. Penny shouldn’t have worried you with it.”

Mitchell studied him, the lighter suddenly motionless. “Jake, I got a call from Frank Jordan, over at the FBI. I believe you worked for him when you were with the Bureau.”

Jake nodded warily.

“Julio Montenegro, a high-ranking distributor for Tomaso Calderone, has been killed. His wife and child are missing, along with a very large amount of Calderone’s drug money. The FBI wants us to find the woman and child before Calderone’s men do. Frank asked for you.”

Jake stared at his boss in disbelief. For the last six years he’d wanted nothing more than to nail Calderone, but it had been Mitchell who refused to give him any assignment that had anything to do with the drug lord.

“Excuse me?” he said now, getting to his feet. “You’re giving me this assignment? After all the years of telling me to forget what happened, to forget Calderone?”

Mitchell started to speak but Jake cut him off.

“Now, just because Frank asks, you’re going to let me go after the wife and child of Calderone’s top Mexican distributor? Would you like to tell me just what the hell is really going on?” he demanded, angry and not sure exactly why. Maybe because he didn’t want to dig up the past again. Not now. Not when he’d finally accepted what Mitchell had for years been trying to convince him of. Getting Calderone wouldn’t bring Abby back.

“Sit down, Jake,” Mitchell said quietly. He puffed on his cigar for a moment. Tension stretched as taut as a hangman’s noose between them.

Slowly, Jake sat back down. “Dammit, Mitchell, why now?”

“Jake, I’ve always told you that personal vendettas have no place in this business. That hasn’t changed.”