The Searchers. Kay David

had to in order to make up for yesterday. Wasting hours away from her desk, she’d endured breakfast with two county commissioners, a morning meeting with a law professor, lunch with the bar association, then dinner with a group of potential—spelled r-i-c-h—supporters. With no time for her regular duties, she’d had to come in early this morning and deal with a backlog of paperwork. Every attorney in the firm handled dozens of cases, but her load was much heavier. Well-known and well-respected in the legal community, she was in high demand, her time precious. Her life was about to become more complicated, too. A local judge, Marcus Chatham, was retiring early and Maya had been suggested as the person best suited to fill the resulting vacancy.

      She wanted that black robe for more reasons than she could ever explain.

      She took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk pad. A cold front had blown in last night and a morning rain scratched at the glass, a rising wind accompanying it. Maya hated winter. In Houston, the temperatures never dropped too low, but the dismal, gray days and even darker nights depressed her. With all the extra stress she’d been under, she’d let the weather bother her even more. Thoughts of home had slipped in before she could stop them and she’d gotten lost in the past, thinking of things best left alone. Of green cathedrals filled with iridescent parrots…of steep balconies shaded by wild hibiscus…of a man who had lived in the shadows and died there, as well.

      With dogged determination, she reined in her thoughts. Now was not the time to allow her history to haunt her. If anything, it was more important than ever that she stay firmly in the present.

      As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door. She looked up to see her colleague and mentor, Patricia Livingston-Wallis leaning against the frame.

      “You were perfect last night, Maya.” One of the founding partners in the firm, Patricia’s aura of power fit her as precisely as her tailored red suit and lustrous pearls. She was Maya’s staunchest supporter and the reason Maya had become a lawyer. Years before, Patricia and her husband, Franklin, had literally saved Maya’s life.

      Arriving in the States with nothing but the clothes she wore, she’d slipped in the back door of the first restaurant she’d come to and begged for a job. Franklin, the owner, had taken one look at her and brought her home to Patricia. They’d proceeded to open their hearts—and their wallets—and had done everything they could for Maya, not the least of which had been having her declared a ward of the state so they could then be her sponsors. Using their influence and power, they’d helped her obtain her green card and finally her citizenship.

      Their generosity had overwhelmed her and she’d insisted on paying them back by working for Franklin. By the time they’d offered to “loan” her money for college a few years later, she’d come to love them both, appreciating their work ethic and the determination each of them had to succeed. She’d never be able to repay them for everything they’d done for her, but as she’d gotten older she’d begun to understand that she’d given them something valuable in return. Patricia and Franklin had been unable to have children and helping Maya had fulfilled their own needs as well as hers.

      And they were still helping her. Patricia’s endorsement was the driving force behind Maya’s pending judgeship. Without the backing of someone as important as Patricia, Maya doubted she’d be in the running, despite her sterling reputation.

      “The appointment’s almost in your pocket, young lady.” The older woman beamed at her.

      Maya returned her friend’s smile. “I hope you’re right, Patricia. Time will tell. I have to get the nod from the governor first.”

      “You will.” She tapped the door frame with her nails. “You aren’t getting discouraged, are you?”

      Maya had learned a long time ago that wanting and getting were two very different things. As much as she desired to sit behind the bench, sometimes late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she’d wondered if she was making a terrible mistake or a very smart move. The balance was delicate; it could go either way.

      But Patricia knew nothing of that.

      “I’m not discouraged,” Maya replied firmly, substituting a simple concern for her real one. “But the process does seem to be taking a long time.”

      “That has nothing to do with you, my dear. These things simply require a lot of finesse. When Marcus retires next month—and he will—that vacancy has to be filled. And whoever is behind the bench will be elected to return next November. Stay fast and hold steady. You’ll get that gavel, I promise you.”

      With that, the other woman strode down the corridor, the sound of her heels fading as she crossed the silk rug in the entry and made her way to her own office.

      She should have started on her paperwork, but instead, Maya turned back to the gloomy window. Patricia may have made the promise, but until Maya’s name was approved, nothing was for sure. There were no guarantees.

      That was another lesson she’d learned early in life.

      A telephone rang down the hall and someone laughed loudly. The sounds pulled Maya away from her thoughts and made her realize she needed to get back to work, otherwise she’d be at the office until midnight. Again. Swiveling her chair to the credenza behind her, Maya opened the drawer that held her files, thumbing through them until she found the one she needed. As she pulled it out, a voice sounded at her door.

      “May I come in?”

      Holding the manila folder, Maya turned.

      A man stood on the threshold of her office, his hands at his side, a leather bag in one, a dripping umbrella in the other.

      Without conscious thought, she stood, the file slipping from her fingers to the floor, papers fluttering in every direction as her pulse suddenly roared in her ears. The man said something else and she heard him, but she had no idea what the words even meant. Her brain had ceased to work and all she could do was stare.

      SHEPARD REYES HAD always wondered what his brother’s whore looked like.

      Now he knew.

      They stared at each other, the luxurious office shrinking until there was barely enough air to breathe. Dark eyes. Black hair. Full lips. A straight nose that belied her ancestry. Her expression was so fierce and commanding that he could easily imagine her choosing the same lifestyle as his brother. With equal detachment, however, Shepard could see why Renaldo had been attracted to her. She was more than simply attractive; her eyes pulled a person closer and wouldn’t let go.

      His voice was low and contained and gave away nothing of what he was thinking. “Are you Maya Vega?”

      She swallowed and her throat moved. His eyes went to the motion, then she spoke, pulling his gaze back up. She’d recovered her composure so quickly someone other than Shepard would not have even noticed it’d fled.

      “Who are you? How’d you get in here—”

      Uncovering the whereabouts of Maya Vega—now Velaquez—had taken more money and more time than he had anticipated but Shepard had been forced by his conscience to hunt her down. She was the one person who could confirm or deny the peasant’s story, and if it turned out to be true, then he would be spending even more time and money. He had no patience left for the niceties.

      “I told your secretary we were old friends. And you know who I am.” He paused. “My name is Shepard Reyes. Renaldo Reyes was my younger brother.”

      Sweeping up the papers she’d dropped, then dumping them on her desk, Maya Vega stared at him. Her demeanor was steady but her expression held fear, and her ivory skin was pale.

      Shepard felt a twinge of sympathy that he immediately squelched. If everything he knew about her—and half of what he suspected—was the truth, then she deserved nothing but his scorn.

      “What do you want?”

      “I need to talk to you,” he said. “Something has come to my attention that no one but you can confirm. If I could have some of your time, I’d appreciate—”