table,
taking his seat with a heavy breath of regret and staring
across the table at Saul. "As well he should. I should
have known Marika had not been killed as my
father reported. I should have known that his fascination
with her would result in a betrayal."
"He was an old man, Diego." Saul shook his gray
head sadly. "The little blond nurse you brought to him
was seen as an angel. An angel that should not be mired in
the blood and treachery of the cartels. He
sought to save her. It was only by chance that Carmelita
learned of her and of the child."
Diego stared at the table, his finger smoothing over the
lace cloth that covered it as he remembered
Marika Desmond. An unusual name, for an unusual woman. She
had been named after her Slavic
grandmother, and she wore her name with pride.
So blond her hair had glistened white beneath the Colombian
sun. Her smile had been filled with dreams
and with purpose as she came to the villages as a nurse,
healing the sick and touching all with her
kindness. She had been unaware of who Diego was, and she
had taken him into her bed with a love that
had touched his soul.
He had known her such a short time. Only months. And he had
never forgotten her. To learn she had
spent the years of his marriage to Carmelita living in
fear, that Ian had nearly died more than once, still
filled him with rage.
Diego's father had arranged it so it appeared Marika had
died. Carmelita had attempted to arrange her
death in truth.
"We made a strong son," Diego whispered, wishing
he could call Marika, wishing he could thank her for
Ian's life, but his son forbade it so violently that Diego
feared his wrath if he attempted it.
"You did," Saul agreed.
"Has she attempted to contact him?" Diego lifted
his gaze to Saul once more. "Have you heard her
voice?"
"He refuses to speak with her," Saul said
heavily. "He has broken all ties, Diego, even those with his
mother. I questioned him just this past week about her. He
said he does not speak to her in an effort to
not add to her pain. She would only plead for his return,
and he has sworn he will not leave the cartel."
Diego wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and stared
into the cooling liquid. Memories of Marika
washed over him, staining his soul with his own regrets.
"She is well?"
"She is well and happy with her American husband. And
protected, Diego. Ian and John Richards see to
this, though Richards is unaware of the two men Ian has
ordered to watch her."
"And my son is loyal?" He lifted his eyes to Saul
again, needing the confirmation.
"In my estimation, he is loyal. And within a few
years, my friend, perhaps he will even call you father."
Diego breathed in roughly. He needed to be called father,
perhaps even one day, grandfather. Recalling
the information he had received last night, he thought that
maybe with a little push, his son would take the
American heiress to the Maclane fortune. If nothing else,
as a lover. Diego did not care if his
grandchildren were legitimate or not. It was blood that
mattered. Now, he understood his father's beliefs
in family, no matter the betrayal. Blood mattered.
Five
SHE WAS A FOOL, ANDKira admitted it as she allowed the
waiter to lead her to the small table of
the restaurant where she had arranged to meet her uncle
that afternoon. The same restaurant where she
knew Ian would be having lunch. Money in the right hands,
and before the morning was over she had
known where to find him.
She was pushing him, pushing herself, and she knew it. Ian
was playing with fire, and she didn't just
mean the operation he was working against Fuentes and
Sorrell.
She was terribly afraid he meant to kill Diego Fuentes, a
monster, a brutal, merciless bastard who
preyed on the weak. But he was still Ian's biological
father. A son should never have to kill his sire. The
repercussions would be horrifying.
She had no proof of it, no verification. All she had was
her own intuition, which she admitted
taking his seat with a heavy breath of regret and staring
across the table at Saul. "As well he should. I should
have known Marika had not been killed as my
father reported. I should have known that his fascination
with her would result in a betrayal."
"He was an old man, Diego." Saul shook his gray
head sadly. "The little blond nurse you brought to him
was seen as an angel. An angel that should not be mired in
the blood and treachery of the cartels. He
sought to save her. It was only by chance that Carmelita
learned of her and of the child."
Diego stared at the table, his finger smoothing over the
lace cloth that covered it as he remembered
Marika Desmond. An unusual name, for an unusual woman. She
had been named after her Slavic
grandmother, and she wore her name with pride.
So blond her hair had glistened white beneath the Colombian
sun. Her smile had been filled with dreams
and with purpose as she came to the villages as a nurse,
healing the sick and touching all with her
kindness. She had been unaware of who Diego was, and she
had taken him into her bed with a love that
had touched his soul.
He had known her such a short time. Only months. And he had
never forgotten her. To learn she had
spent the years of his marriage to Carmelita living in
fear, that Ian had nearly died more than once, still
filled him with rage.
Diego's father had arranged it so it appeared Marika had
died. Carmelita had attempted to arrange her
death in truth.
"We made a strong son," Diego whispered, wishing
he could call Marika, wishing he could thank her for
Ian's life, but his son forbade it so violently that Diego
feared his wrath if he attempted it.
"You did," Saul agreed.
"Has she attempted to contact him?" Diego lifted
his gaze to Saul once more. "Have you heard her
voice?"
"He refuses to speak with her," Saul said
heavily. "He has broken all ties, Diego, even those with his
mother. I questioned him just this past week about her. He
said he does not speak to her in an effort to
not add to her pain. She would only plead for his return,
and he has sworn he will not leave the cartel."
Diego wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and stared
into the cooling liquid. Memories of Marika
washed over him, staining his soul with his own regrets.
"She is well?"
"She is well and happy with her American husband. And
protected, Diego. Ian and John Richards see to
this, though Richards is unaware of the two men Ian has
ordered to watch her."
"And my son is loyal?" He lifted his eyes to Saul
again, needing the confirmation.
"In my estimation, he is loyal. And within a few
years, my friend, perhaps he will even call you father."
Diego breathed in roughly. He needed to be called father,
perhaps even one day, grandfather. Recalling
the information he had received last night, he thought that
maybe with a little push, his son would take the
American heiress to the Maclane fortune. If nothing else,
as a lover. Diego did not care if his
grandchildren were legitimate or not. It was blood that
mattered. Now, he understood his father's beliefs
in family, no matter the betrayal. Blood mattered.
Five
SHE WAS A FOOL, ANDKira admitted it as she allowed the
waiter to lead her to the small table of
the restaurant where she had arranged to meet her uncle
that afternoon. The same restaurant where she
knew Ian would be having lunch. Money in the right hands,
and before the morning was over she had
known where to find him.
She was pushing him, pushing herself, and she knew it. Ian
was playing with fire, and she didn't just
mean the operation he was working against Fuentes and
Sorrell.
She was terribly afraid he meant to kill Diego Fuentes, a
monster, a brutal, merciless bastard who
preyed on the weak. But he was still Ian's biological
father. A son should never have to kill his sire. The
repercussions would be horrifying.
She had no proof of it, no verification. All she had was
her own intuition, which she admitted
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