Chained by REBECCA YORK Page A

Really, she was regretting that she’d mentioned him at all,
because it was clear from Frank Decorah’s reaction that nobody was going to
believe her.
    Two hours later, Stone drove her to the Arizona Biltmore, a
hotel complex designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, where she put the money from the
ranch into the hotel safe, then went to one of the luxury suites scattered
about the landscaped grounds where her father was waiting for her. She hadn’t
seen him in two years, because they’d both known it wasn’t safe. Now everything
had changed, but she needed time to think about where she was going from here.
    Her heart squeezed as she looked at her father. Hiding out
from the San Marcos thugs had aged him. His once dark hair was silver and much
thinner. The lines in his face had deepened, and his skin was pale, probably
because he hadn’t gotten much sun while he’d been in hiding. And his leg was in
a cast.
    When she saw that, she gasped. “What happened to you?”
    “I was hiding in an old warehouse. I fell down a flight of
stairs and broke my leg. It took me a while to crawl to the exit.”
    “ Dios .”
    “I’m fine. And more important, so are you.”
    When he pushed himself up and held out his arms, she came
into them. As they clung together, emotions welled inside her. Deep in her
heart she’d wondered if they would ever be safe. Ever be together. Now they
were free for the first time in years, and it was finally sinking in.
    “Nina, I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve been so worried
about you.”
    “I’ve missed you too,” she said, her voice cracking. “And
now we don’t have to hide anymore.” As she said it, the reality finally hit
her. They were safe from General Lopez.
    “Are you all right?” her father asked.
    “I’m fine.”
    “You went to El Cayado .”
    “ Si. ”
    “I thought it was safe, but they must have found out about
it. They came after you there.”
    “Someone helped me get away.”
    He moved back so that his eyes could meet hers. “Who?”
    “I can’t tell you yet. But I have to go see him.”
    Her father looked confused. “If he helped you, haven’t you
already seen him?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    “And you’re not going to talk about it.” His face took on a
regretful look. “We used to be close. But that’s changed. And being apart for
so long hasn’t helped.”
    “We don’t have to be apart now.”
    “I put my whole family in danger with my wild idea of
telling the truth about the general. My son was shot. My wife left me.”
    She dragged in a breath and let it out. “We paid a price,
but what you did was the right thing. The people of San Marcos needed to know
there was hope for them. I’m sure your articles had something to do with what’s
happened now.”
    “They were long ago.”
    “But the people don’t forget.” She dragged in a breath and
let it out. “Don’t blame yourself for anything.”
    He answered with a little nod, but she wasn’t sure she had
convinced him. Maybe she could do that later. Now she had another task.
    “I have to go to Los Angeles. I’ll be gone for a while,” she
said. “Then I’ll come back here.”
    “But you’re not telling me exactly where you’re going.”
    “It’s better if I don’t. Not yet.”
    He kept his gaze on her.
    She wanted to look away, but his eyes compelled her. “You’re
being very mysterious.”
    “It would sound . . . strange to you,” she temporized,
remembering the way Frank Decorah had stared at her.
    He waited several seconds before asking, “Does this have
something to do with a ghost?”
    She stared at him in shock. “Why do you ask?”
    His hands clenched and unclenched. “Because of Nana Maria.”
    “What about her?” she asked cautiously.
    “After the funeral, I carried you to your room. Then I
wondered if it was a bad idea to leave you alone. I wasn’t sure so I came back,
and I heard you talking to her,” he said in a rush, as though the words had
been bottled up