THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN, Page 2

  "Lately you've been acting … odd," Casey went on. "Scared. You're starting to get that same look in your eyes that I saw when you first came to us. What's wrong, Laura? What are you afraid of?"

  Laura shook her head, saying nothing.

  "In the car on the way home, you kept looking behind us. Is someone following you? Is that what this is about?"

  Drawing a deep breath and blowing it out, Laura nodded, just once. "I … thought so. But it was just my imagination, Casey. Really, just drop this. There's nothing wrong."

  "You know me too well to think I can do that."

  Laura reached for a doughnut, took a big bite and snatched up another magazine from the pile. Her signal that the subject was closed. But Casey wouldn't let it go that easily, and she figured her sister probably knew it. She'd get to the bottom of this with or without Laura's cooperation.

  "Have you seen this yet?" Laura asked, holding up a copy of the glitzy Prominence Magazine.

  Casey glanced at it and pursed her lips. "I only read news magazines."

  "Well, this is news, sort of. They've been listing the world's most eligible bachelors, one a month since September. Mr. December is … interesting."

  "Yeah? What, some rock star?"

  "Not even close." Laura shoved the magazine into Casey's hands. An effort to distract her from the subject at hand, Casey knew, but she glanced at it all the same.

  There was no photo. Just a sketchy drawing of a shadowy figure with a hat pulled down over his face and a long dark coat. The caption underneath the illustration read, "Elusive, mysterious, a modern-day hero—the Guardian has men curious and women panting."

  Frowning her distaste, Casey couldn't help but read on. She got so involved in the story about some supposed vigilante who haunted the streets of Silver City, New York, rescuing people in trouble, that she ate two more doughnuts without even being aware of it. She read the last part aloud.

  "Witnesses describe him the same way. A shadow among the shadows. A dark-coated man who appears out of nowhere, saves lives and then vanishes again without a trace. Female witnesses to the elusive Guardian's heroics tend to embellish a bit more, calling him tall, broad-shouldered and lean. 'He moves like a dancer,' one woman sighed. 'Yet with such incredible power and speed it's as if he's superhuman.' Another witness remarked that his eyes 'flashed like chips of gleaming onyx' when they met hers."

  "Pretty sexy, huh?" Laura asked.

  Casey blinked up from the magazine, gave herself a shake and then grimaced. "It's ridiculous. An urban legend. You can't think this guy is for real."

  Laura shrugged. "Maybe he is. Who knows? Too bad we don't have one like him here in Texas." She ignored her sister's exasperated sigh and got to her feet. "Let's go shopping and then go out for dinner, Casey. I'm in the mood for pizza."

  Casey glanced down at her sticky fingers. "I shouldn't eat for a week."

  "Oh, come on. For me?"

  Laura's big dark eyes were irresistible, and Casey smiled and nodded. "For you? Okay, but you get the blame if I can't get my jeans buttoned tomorrow."

  She'd do anything for Laura. Anything. And Laura knew it. It occurred to Casey that maybe that was the problem. Laura knew that if she told Casey what was really going on, Casey would try to fix it. No matter the risk.

  And she was right.

  When they returned from the pizza place in town, Casey stepped inside, snapped on the light and froze as a bubble of panic rose up from her belly to her throat. Laura came up behind her, glanced over her shoulder and gasped.

  The house had been trashed. Drawers opened, articles scattered on the floors, cushions yanked from the sofa and chairs, even photographs taken from the walls and flung carelessly aside.

  "My God," Casey whispered. Laura tried to push past her, but Casey held her back with one arm. "No," she whispered. "They might still be here. Let's get back to the car … quietly."

  But when she turned, her sister wasn't moving. She was staring through the open door at the mess inside, and there was terror in her eyes. "Laura? Come on, we have to move."

  Laura shook her head. "He's found me," she muttered, not blinking, though tears brimmed in her eyes. "Oh God, he's found me."

  "What are you talking about? Who's found you?"

  Sniffing, Laura clamped her lips. Casey gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. "Talk to me, Laura. What the hell is going on?"

  "I c-can't."

  "Come on." Casey maneuvered her sister back to the car, got the two of them inside and locked the doors. She picked up the cell phone even as she was backing out of the driveway, and by the time they'd driven a safe distance from the house, she had the local police on the way. She set the phone down, pulled the car to the roadside and faced her sister.

  "Enough is enough, Laura. It's time to tell me everything."

  Lifting her chin, Laura met her eyes. "No, Casey. I can't. Don't ask me to."

  "I'll find out anyway."

  "It won't matter."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Laura brushed tears from her eyes, but more came to replace them. "I'm going to have to go. Leave here, Casey. I … it's the only way."

  "What do you— Leave here? Leave me?" Casey's mind jumped from one explanation for all of this to another, but it kept coming back to one screaming truth. "I can't lose you, Laura. God, you're all I have … in this world you're all I have."

  "Me, too," Laura said, and then she fell into Casey's arms, sobbing. Her face pressed to Casey's shoulder, her tears wetting the silk blouse. And Casey held her close, stroked her hair and made promises she had no idea how to keep.

  "I'll make it okay, I promise. You don't have to leave, Laura. Listen, just give me some time, okay? I'll find a way to keep you safe. I swear I will. I swear."

  Laura sat away slightly, staring into Casey's eyes. "I don't want you getting involved in this."

  "I know. I can protect you, though, without getting involved. I can, I know I can. I'll find a way."

  Sniffling, Laura nodded. "Okay. Okay, we'll try it your way."

  Relief rinsed away some of the tension. But not nearly enough. "We'll talk to the police, then, for tonight, we'll stay in a hotel. I've got to think, and you'll be safe there. Okay?"

  "Okay," Laura said. She wiped her eyes dry. "Too bad we couldn't call on that … Guardian character, huh?"

  Casey tilted her head to one side and reached out to swipe away a tear her sister had missed. "Yeah. Too bad."

  Ridiculous idea. Silly. The guy wasn't even real … or probably wasn't. And if he was, he could be no more than some mercenary type or a self-appointed vigilante. And probably half-nuts to boot. What sane man would run around in a disguise? She was surprised he didn't wear a cape and tights, for God's sake.

  But what if he was for real? What if…? He'd be the perfect choice to help Laura out of this mess. A shadow, a man who went unseen but was there to spring into action when the need arose.

  She wondered how a person could go about contacting a shadow … if a person was so inclined, which she wasn't, of course.

  He wouldn't have a listed number. Especially if he detested publicity as much as the article claimed. He was supposedly so elusive no one had ever so much as glimpsed his face, not even the people he helped, despite the love-struck woman's description of his onyx eyes. The trick, Casey decided, would be to get his attention.

  Then she smiled slightly. "If he is for real," she said, thinking out loud, "I'd hate to be around for his reaction when he sees that article."

  "What the hell is this!" Marcus threw the magazine across the foyer. It sailed ten feet, then slid several more over the smooth marble floor.

  "I've no clue where they got the idea, Marcus, but what's done is done." Graham's face remained as stoic as always, but Marcus suspected he was also mildly amused by the Guardian's newfound celebrity. And that only angered him more.

  "It's ludicrous! Do you have any idea the damage this kind of publicity could do?"<
br />
  "Quite frankly, sir, no." Marcus gaped at him. Graham only lifted his brows slightly and went on. "The article says nothing about you that wasn't already known."

  "The article," Marcus said, "is running in a national magazine. It's putting an unwanted spotlight right into our faces, Graham. I'm surprised this place isn't crawling with tabloid reporters already." He headed for the nearest window to peer out but saw only the serene, rolling lawns and the impenetrable iron fence beyond them.

  "How could it be?" Graham asked calmly. "The piece doesn't say where you live."

  "No, but every gossipmonger from here to L.A. will be doing his damnedest to find out."

  "I never realized the full strength of your aversion to the public."

  "Yeah, well, you do now."

  "Indeed. It borders on the obsessive."

  Marcus jerked away from the windows, glancing at Graham's face. But as usual he couldn't read it, didn't have a clue whether the old man was joking or dead serious.

  "If my identity is discovered, Graham, I'll have to give it up. The Guardian can't function in the light, you know that."

  Graham lowered his head for a brief moment. "Perhaps … that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

  Narrowing his eyes, Marcus studied him. "How can you say that? It's my life, Graham. Just the way it was Caine's life, and his mentor's before him."

  Shrugging his narrow shoulders, Graham still didn't meet Marcus's gaze. "You aren't like them," he said, so softly Marcus could barely make out the words.

  "How am I different?" he asked.

  Drawing a deep breath, Graham stiffened his spine, and when he lifted his eyes to Marcus's, the same old emotionless mask covered his face. "Never mind. You should go, Marcus. You'll be late."

  Startled, Marcus glanced down at his watch. Late was not tolerable. Late could mean someone's life. Graham held the dark coat up, and Marcus shoved his arms into it. Like armor. Like a protective shield. Graham handed him the hat, a black fedora with a large brim. Marcus dropped it atop his head and gave the brim a tug, so it dipped, shadowing his face. And instantly he felt stronger, safer. Invincible. He tied the coat's belt, flipped up the collar and stepped outside, instantly blending into the darkness, the shadows. This was his world. It was where he wanted to be.

  The tip had come via the Internet. Graham believed it to be valid, and he was rarely wrong. A property owner would burn his own warehouse tonight and try to collect a hefty check from his insurer tomorrow. The fact that homeless people slept in that warehouse didn't seem to have any impact on his scheme. The Guardian would.

  Marcus slipped through the shadows of the decrepit buildings along the waterfront. Waves lapped lazily at the shoreline. The occasional groan of a docked freighter and the whisper of a breeze were the only sounds except for the lonely echo of a distant ship's horn. The warehouse in question stood a few yards from him, listing slightly to the left. The place smelled of fish and seaweed and engine exhaust. Marcus would have to cross a wide section of pavement to reach the warehouse. There was no cover.

  No matter.

  He stayed hidden, watching, until he was sure no one was around. And then he stepped out.

  Where they came from, he never knew. But suddenly cameras were flashing and a man was rushing toward him with a microphone in his hand. Marcus whirled, shielding his face and putting his back to the reporters, but one foolish photographer blocked his path. Camera in hand, the man loomed before him, aiming the weapon that would destroy the Guardian and preparing to shoot. The reaction was instinctive and unavoidable. Marcus's leg flashed up and out, and the camera sailed from the man's hand while he yelped in pain. When he bent over, injured hand pressed to his belly, Marcus raced past him, taking to the shadows once more. But this time, it was with a pack of journalistic hounds in hot pursuit.

  He ran, he dodged, he used every trick Caine had taught him, and finally, breathless, he leaned against a brick wall in a part of the city he didn't know. He swiped the sweat from his brow, closed his eyes and listened to his heart thundering in his chest. More from anger than exertion.

  The fools! How was he supposed to protect the people of this city if the press insisted on setting him up with phony tips and ambushes? What was he going to do the next time he had word that someone was going to be hurt or killed? Walk into what might very well be another trap? Or stay safe behind the walls of the estate and risk an innocent citizen dying because of his caution?

  "Damn," he muttered. "What the hell choice do I have?"

  Graham told him what choice he had the next night, after yet another setup where he'd very nearly been mauled and photographed by a mob of hungry reporters.

  Marcus, sweaty, filthy and furious, had stripped off the coat and hat and collapsed on the sofa. He sat there, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell he could do the job Caine had asked him to do, when every time he stuck his head out the door, someone tried to snap a picture of it.

  A cool, dewy glass pressed against his palm, and he glanced down. "Scotch, rocks," Graham said. "You look as if you could use it."

  "I sure as hell could." Sitting up slightly, Marcus swallowed the drink in one gulp, grimaced at the burn of it searing his throat and spreading in his chest, then held the glass up. Graham, anticipating his needs as he always did, had the cut crystal decanter in hand and poured more liquid amber over the ice.

  "Another ambush?" he asked.

  Marcus sipped the drink slowly this time. "Another ambush. And I don't know how the hell to deal with it." He glanced up at Graham's wizened face. "Did anything like this ever happen to Caine?"

  "No, sir. I can't say that it did."

  "Damn reporters. They want to destroy the Guardian so they can feed on his rotting flesh. Freaking carrion crows, that's all they are."

  Graham lifted one brow and said nothing.

  "I don't suppose you have any suggestions for me, do you, Graham?"

  "Actually, I do."

  Marcus waited. Graham walked to the wet bar and replaced the decanter of Scotch, saying nothing. "Well?" Marcus asked. "What is it?"

  Graham took a piece of paper from the counter and turned. "I would suggest we leave Silver City. Give things time to calm down. Allow the reporters to find some other … flesh to feed upon, as you so colorfully put it."

  Marcus blinked. Leave Silver City? And go where? God, he'd never been out of … well, he had, but that was when he'd been a kid, back in the life he didn't really remember.

  No, he couldn't leave here. He was safe here.

  "Where would we go?" he asked. "Just for the sake of argument."

  "Texas," Graham replied without missing a beat.

  Something flickered in Marcus's brain. Something blinding but too painful to be considered. He shook the sensation and the blurred memories away. "Why Texas? What did you do, spin the globe and point?"

  Graham smiled slightly and handed the paper he held to Marcus. It was the personals section of the Silver City Times, and one of the ads was circled in red. Marcus read it aloud. "Guardian tired of solitary existence. Seeking wi—" His jaw dropped. "Seeking wife?"

  "Indeed," Graham said. "Apparently you've taken out an ad, and you're asking that applicants reply to a voice-mail box at the paper."

  "For the love of—who the hell—"

  "I've checked into it already. The ad was purchased by a young woman by the name of Casey Jones, from Texas. So far, I, er, have managed to get an address and a telephone number for her, but I assumed you'd rather take care of this in person."

  Marcus scowled at the ad. He didn't like leaving the seclusion of the estate. Had never enjoyed interacting on a personal level with the outside world. However, his privacy was being threatened here. Invaded. And without it, without his anonymity…

  "Texas is far enough away to give the press here in Silver City time to focus on something else." Graham shrugged. "If we stay long enough, they may move on to Prominence Magazine's next choice for world's most elig
ible bachelor."

  Texas. It was there, lurking in the dark spot in the back of his mind that he never explored too deeply. Where the memories he'd lost or deliberately misplaced were alive and waiting like paper-covered packages to be unwrapped.

  He hated Christmas. Hated presents. Didn't want the memories. After all these years he was quite content to leave them stacked beneath the pine tree in his mind, their wrapping never to be torn.

  And yet Texas … it lured him, tugged at him. Maybe it was just his curiosity, or maybe it was something more that made him want to go there. To find what awaited him.

  "Book us a flight, then," he told Graham, ignoring the older man's surprised expression. "We'll find out what this woman is up to and see to it she thinks twice about trying anything so foolish again. And in the meantime, we can take some much needed R and R … away from Silver City."

  Graham nodded and reached for the phone. Marcus battled a cold shiver that danced through his bones. He felt danger. Like the light of day trying to penetrate his haven of shadows. If he stayed, he faced the press and their traps. If he left, he faced the unknown. Either way, it seemed a strong wind was trying to blow his long dark coat from his body and his wide-brimmed fedora from his head so the sun could shine down full on his face.

  He wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't let it happen.

  The shadows were where he lived. Alone, in darkness.

  Solitude was free of pain. Darkness … was safe.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Casey was in her car when she got the call. And at first it scared the hell out of her.

  "Casey Jones," she said, answering the phone just as she always did and managing to pass a slow car in the fast lane at the same time.

  "You've made me very angry, Ms. Jones. I'd like to know why."

  The voice itself was what got to her. And her reaction to it was instant. An unexpected chill, almost delicious it was so intense. That deep, rich tone spoke of secrets. Of forbidden pleasures. Of heat. It made her stomach clench tight, made her lick her lips—even as it frightened her in some foreign, primal way she didn't understand.