Fearless. Diana Palmer

big city, and you’re one of dozens of assistant district attorneys,” he pointed out. “Your face isn’t that well known even here, and certainly not in Jacobsville. You’ve changed a lot since you went to school there. Even if someone remembers you, it will be for the past, not the present. You’ll be a quiet little woman from San Antonio with health problems watching over several fields of vegetables and fruit, thanks to your friends, the Pendletons.”

      He hesitated. “One more thing. You can’t admit that you’re related to them, or even that you know them well. Nobody in Jacobsville, except the police chief, will know what you really do for a living. We’re giving you a cover story that can be checked out by any suspicious people. It’s foolproof.”

      “Didn’t they say that about the Titanic’s design?”

      “If she goes, I have to go with her,” Haynes said firmly. “She won’t take her medicine if I’m not there pushing it under her nose every day.”

      Before Glory could open her mouth, Marquez was shaking his head.

      “It’s going to be hard enough to help Glory fit in,” he told Haynes. “If she takes you with her, a gang member who might not recognize you alone might recognize the assistant who goes to court with her most of the time. Most of the gangs deal in drug trafficking.”

      Glory grimaced. “He’s right,” she told her assistant sadly. “I’d love for you to go with me, but it’s risky.”

      Haynes looked miserable. “I could wear a disguise.”

      “No,” Marquez said quietly. “You’re more useful here. If any of the other attorneys find out something about Fuentes, you’re in the perfect position to pass it on to me.”

      “I guess you’re right,” Haynes said. She glanced at Glory with a rueful smile. “I’ll have to find a new boss while you’re gone.”

      “Jon Blackhawk over at the FBI office is looking for another assistant,” Marquez suggested.

      Haynes glared at him. “He’ll never get another one in this town, not after what he did to the last one.”

      Marquez was trying to keep a straight face. “I’m sure it was all a terrible misunderstanding.”

      Glory let out a chuckle in spite of herself. “Some misunderstanding. His assistant thought he was very attractive and asked him over to her place for dinner. He actually called the police and had her charged with sexual harassment.”

      Marquez let out the laugh he’d been holding back. “She was a beautiful blonde with a high IQ and his own mother had recommended her for the job. Blackhawk phoned his mother and told her that his latest assistant had tried to seduce him. His mother asked how. Now she’s outraged over what he did and she won’t speak to him, either. The girl was her best friend’s daughter.”

      “He did drop the sexual harassment charge,” Glory pointed out.

      “Yes, but she quit just the same and went online to tell every woman in San Antonio what he did to her.” He whistled. “I’ll bet he’ll grow gray hair before he gets a date in this town.”

      “Serves him right,” Haynes muttered.

      “Oh, it gets worse,” Marquez added with a grin. “Remember Joceline Perry, who works for Garon Grier and one of the other local FBI agents? They gave Jon’s work to her.”

      “Oh, dear,” Haynes murmured.

      Joceline was something of a local legend among administrative assistants. She was known for her cutting wit and refusal to do work she considered beneath her position. She would drive Jon Blackhawk up the wall on a good day. God only knew what she’d do to him after the other secretary quit.

      “Poor guy,” Glory murmured. But she grinned.

      Haynes glanced at Glory with a worried look. “What are you going to do on the farm? You wouldn’t dare go out and hoe in the fields, would you?”

      “Of course not,” Glory assured her. “I can can.”

      “You can what?” Haynes frowned.

      “You have heard of canning?” Glory replied. “It’s how you put up fruits and vegetables so that they don’t spoil. I can do jam and jelly and pickles and all sorts of stuff.”

      Marquez raised an eyebrow. “My mother used to do it, but her hands aren’t what they used to be. It’s an art.”

      “A valuable skill,” Glory said smugly.

      “You’ll need to wear jeans and look less elegant,” Marquez told her. “No suits on the farm.”

      “I lived in Jacobsville when I was a child,” Glory reminded him with a forced smile, without going into detail. Marquez was old enough to have known about Glory’s ordeal. Of course, a lot of people didn’t, even there. “I can fit in.”

      “Then you’ll go?” Marquez persisted.

      Glory sat back against the desk. She was outnumbered and outgunned. They were probably right. San Antonio was a big city, but she’d been in the same apartment building for two years and everyone who lived there knew her. She’d be easy to find if someone asked the right questions. If she got herself killed, Fuentes would walk, and more people would be butchered in his insane quest for wealth.

      If her doctor was right—and he was a very good doctor—the move right now might save her life, such as it was. She couldn’t admit how frightened she was about his prognosis. Not to anyone. Tough girls like Glory didn’t whine about their burdens.

      “What about Jason and Gracie?” she blurted out suddenly.

      “Jason’s already hired a small army of bodyguards,” Marquez assured her. “He and Gracie will be fine. It’s you they’re worried about. All of us are worried about you.”

      She drew in a long breath. “I guess a bulletproof vest and a Glock wouldn’t convince you to let me stay here?”

      “Fuentes has bullets that penetrate body armor, and nobody outside a psycho ward would give you a gun.”

      “All right,” she said heavily. “I’ll go. Do I have to ramrod this farm?”

      “No, Jason’s put in a manager.” He frowned. “Odd guy. He isn’t from Texas. I don’t know where Jason found him. He’s…” He started to say that the manager was one of the most unpleasant, taciturn people he’d ever met, despite the fact that the farm workers liked him. But it might not be the best time to say it. “He’s very good at managing people,” Marquez said instead.

      “As long as he doesn’t try to manage me, I guess it’s okay,” she said.

      “He won’t know anything about you, except what Jason tells him,” he assured her. “Jason won’t have told him about why you’re there, and you can’t, either. Apparently the manager’s just had some sort of blow in his life, too, and he’s taken the job to get himself over it.”

      “A truck farm,” she murmured.

      “I know where there’s an animal shelter,” Marquez replied whimsically. “They need someone to feed the lions.”

      She glared at him. “With my luck, they’d try to feed me to the lions. No, thanks.”

      “This is for your own good,” Marquez said quietly. “You know that.”

      She sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She moved away from the desk. “My whole life, I’ve been forced to run away from problems. I’d hoped that this time, at least, I could stand and deliver.”

      “Neat phrasing,” Marquez mused. “Would you like to borrow my sword?”

      She gave him a keen glance. “Your mother should never have given you that claymore,” she told him. “You’re very lucky that the patrol officer could be convinced to drop the charges.”