The Searchers. Kay David

the hell did he want?

      She exited the freeway and turned right, going beneath the underpass. In any other section of Houston, the streets would have been full of commuters heading to work but not here. The off-beat haven of the artistic and gay communities, Montrose never shut down. Slowing as she reached the main commercial area, Maya passed a tattoo place with three people already in the chairs, a group of twenty-somethings spilling out of the latest trendy diner and a beautifully decorated pocket park, maintained, a sign on the sidewalk said, by the Houston Gay Men’s Choir. After a moment, she spotted her destination, directly across from the park.

      She’d been to the outre coffee shop a few months before to meet a blind date. The guy had been a disaster, but she’d liked the place, probably because it wasn’t the kind of restaurant she normally visited…which was exactly why she’d come here now. Most of the lawyers she knew would abandon their Beemers in the middle of Interstate 10 before they’d be caught in the Jumped-Up Java Bar. She parked then climbed from her car and locked it. Her eyes went to the townhouses under construction across the street. Despite its eccentricity, the area was growing. To buy a home in Montrose, you needed a fortune.

      But a very small one…compared to that of the Reyes clan.

      They owned half of Colombia, the half that held the emerald mines, and their power was unquestionable. Renaldo had turned away from a future filled with ease and luxury when he’d taken up la causa. He’d been foolish, of course. If he’d wanted a better life for those less fortunate, he should have worked with the wealth of his family to bring that about. But he’d been too young and foolish to see that.

      And she’d been too young and in love to see beyond him.

      Shepard Reyes pulled his rental car into the empty spot where she waited, their eyes meeting through the windshield. A sinking sensation assaulted her; the past was about to catch up with her.

      SHEPARD REYES WAS a bastard, but he didn’t care.

      He’d come to Houston for answers and he was prepared to do whatever it took to get them.

      Following Maya to a small café, he held open the door and they went in, Maya leading him to a table in the very back. They gave their orders to a young girl who sported three eyebrow rings and a snake tattoo on her neck.

      Just as she stepped away from their table, the bell above the front door rang loudly. Maya’s gaze shot over Shepard’s shoulder and he took the moment to study her without her knowledge. She wore a business suit the color of café au lait and a dark silk blouse beneath it. The fabric shimmered in the harsh overhead lights but not as much as her hair. The thick, shining mass was pulled into a severe bun, and he suspected she wanted to disguise its beauty for some reason.

      The thought was ridiculous, he told himself, but the fact that he had it in the first place was even more outrageous. Why did he care? Shifting in his seat, he followed Maya’s stare, taking in the two people who’d entered. They were dressed in the same nondescript clothing their server wore and seemed to favor the same body jewelry. One had pink hair and the other had blue.

      Shepard turned back to the woman across the table from him. “Is this where all the important attorneys in Houston come for coffee?”

      Unamused, she stared at him with a sudden and heated directness, her answer as obvious as his question. “I brought you here so no one I care about would see us. I don’t know what you want, Mr. Reyes, but I’d just as soon we do this fast—”

      “Por favor, call me Shepard.”

      She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. Anyone seeing them might think they were lovers reluctant to part, sharing one last intimate moment before leaving reluctantly.

      But that image only worked if their conversation was not overheard.

      “I don’t want to call you anything,” she answered, her voice tight with undisguised anger. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t want to talk to you. The only reason I agreed to this—” she waved her hand to the tables around them “—was to get you out of my office.”

      Shepard looked into her eyes as she spoke and all at once, he was struck by a realization; Maya Vega was a very complex—and contradictory—woman. Beneath the cool exterior, there was heat. Beneath the sophistication, there was doubt. Beneath the beauty, there was pain. The wall she’d built around her true emotions was thick and sturdy, and it’d obviously been in place for years. No one, especially him, could ever get around it.

      Shepard wasn’t a man who had insights and the unexpected revelation surprised him. But he knew it was right. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But—”

      “No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “You don’t understand and you don’t care or you wouldn’t be here.” Her lips compressed into a narrow line, as if she were trying to hold in her words but couldn’t. “Just tell me what you want, then get the hell out of my life.”

      His coffee arrived before Shepard could answer. He pulled his steaming mug toward him but Maya ignored the tea she’d ordered.

      “I will do exactly that,” he replied. “As soon as you answer my questions.”

      “All right.” Her voice was not as steady as it had been in her office. “But tell me first, how did you find me?”

      “The Reyes family has many friends here in the States.” He added sugar to his coffee and stirred slowly, lifting his gaze to hers. “They were happy to help me when I told them I was trying to locate you.”

      She took a second to absorb the implication, then filed it away for further study. Truth be told, she probably used the same investigators he’d hired. They were the best in town and even the fact that she’d changed her last name would have meant nothing to them.

      “And why did you need to locate me?”

      “As I said earlier, I’ve been given some information that I need to confirm. No one but you can do that for me. It involves my brother…and you.”

      “There’s nothing there to confirm or deny. What happened between the two of us took place too many years ago to matter now. You’ve come a long way on a fool’s errand.”

      “You don’t want to revisit your past?”

      “Not the one you know,” she said.

      “You have another one? One I don’t know about?”

      Her eyes were so dark he had the sudden thought that he wouldn’t be able to read them if the lights were dim and they were in bed.

      Her answer stopped him from taking the image any further. “You’re clearly aware that no one here knows anything about…my younger years. For obvious reasons, I want to keep it that way.”

      “Because of your career?”

      “Partially,” she admitted.

      “But also because…”

      “But also because it’s painful for me.” Her fingers rested lightly on the tabletop. They were tipped in pale polish and perfectly manicured. “I prefer to focus on the present and my work. Nothing else is relevant. My friends have accepted the facts for what they are. They know that I came to the U.S. from South America following the death of my parents. That I was young. That I made it on my own with the help of some good people. That’s it.” She paused. “And while we’re being so frank, I’ll take the opportunity to correct you, as well. I was not a leftist guerrilla. I did not share your brother’s politics.”

      “I find that hard to believe.”

      She shrugged. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

      “Are you sure about that?”

      She threaded her fingers together but she gave no other sign of nervousness, answering his question with one of her own. “Why are you here, Mr. Reyes? What is it you really want from me?”

      “I want