Rogue Diamond Read online

  Rogue Diamond

  By Mary Tate Engels

  Published by Mary Tate Engels, all rights reserved.

  Copyright 2011, Mary Tate Engels

  Cover by www.digitaldonna.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or given away.

  PROLOGUE

  Email from Hermosillo, Mexico

  To: Carol W

  From: Alex J

  Subject: baby girl

  Hi Carol,

  I just had a baby tonight! No, I haven't been keeping a secret from you. Actually, my housekeeper gave birth, but I almost feel as if I did. Anyway, I'm exhausted and exhilarated and far too excited to sleep right now. If the Mexican telephone system were more reliable, I'd call you, even though it's past midnight.

  When the university sent Teresa to be my housekeeper a few months ago, no one knew she was pregnant. By the time I found out, I didn't have the heart to dismiss her. She's a good worker and needs the job desperately because she doesn't have a husband. She talks about going back to the States with me as if it were paradise. I've been so busy with my own job that I didn't give a second thought to how and where she would have this baby, just assuming she would go to the hospital. Imagine my surprise this afternoon when she asked me to send for the midwife. She was quite calm. I was a nervous wreck!

  I'm sure I was slightly incoherent. I only remember saying "Don't you dare have that baby here, Teresa! You go to the hospital where you belong!" She just smiled and said, "No, senorita, in my room. Don't worry. Please call Consuela."

  And sure enough, with Consuela attending, she had a baby girl! We sweated through ten hours of labor. I guess that's not too bad for a first baby. My God, Carol, Teresa is only a child herself, only eighteen! I tried to remember what the speaker from the Lamaze Method said, but it escaped me. I chanted things like "Breathe deeply," and "Try to relax," which, I'm sure, weren't highly appreciated at the time. My biggest contributions were to keep cool towels on her head and let her squeeze the hell out of my hand. By the time the baby's head appeared, we were all crying and laughing at the same time!

  I will never, ever, forget the sound of her first squeaky cry! There are no words to describe what I was feeling at that moment.

  Mother and daughter are doing fine. Consuela has completed her duty successfully. But la gringa assistant is going to have a tall glass of wine! Little did I realize when I accepted this Mexican assignment that I would become so involved in . . . life. Tonight, I've witnessed the awesome beginning!

  A new Godmother, Alex

  P.S. The baby's name is Jennifer Teresa Alexis Portillo, which is about as big as she is and she's absolutely beautiful.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A million times after the accident, Alexis reconstructed the scene in her mind and attempted to place everyone and everything in the correct sequence of events. But it did no good. She couldn't visualize the moment of Jenni's disappearance.

  She recalled every detail except the crucial one.

  The sultry air was redolent with scents typical of a Mexican marketplace. Charcoal grills with corn on the cob, fajitas, and barbecued beef, only added to the steamy street. The strong aroma of garlic clashed with the perfumed fragrance of flowers. She walked past crates of live chickens and turned her nose away from the pungent odor of damp feathers. And the air smelled like rain. It was unseasonably hot and humid for April.

  She remembered the noise that day. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual medley of sounds—the lilting Spanish phrases of vendors hawking their wares, children giggling, the occasional braying of a bored donkey.

  Alex touched Teresa's shoulder in order to get her attention. "I wish it would rain enough to cool things down, but not tonight. I want this party to be perfect."

  "Sí, senorita." Teresa grinned and shrugged. "So what can we do about it? If it rains, it rains. Do you want mangos for the fruit tray?"

  Alex envied Teresa's nonchalant attitude. "Mangos? Ah, yes! My consuming passion! Be sure to get enough for all the guests."

  "I'll get them." Teresa began to sort through the yellowish orbs and Alex watched, holding little Jenni's small hand tightly.

  She heard the whining of tires but had no time to think, to react to the car that headed straight for them! She screamed at Teresa and tried to shield Jenni.

  Jenni! Would she ever see the child again?

  A green, partially rusted car appeared out of nowhere and rammed people and wagons in the open-air marketplace. The vehicle finally stopped when it crashed into a light post. The disaster replayed again and again in Alex's mind, sometimes in slow motion. She could see the events as they happened, the events that changed the direction of her life forever.

  The light post toppled slowly against a building, and it lay like a matchstick that had been carelessly dropped amid a miniature Mexican street scene. Display wagons loaded with colorful fruits, vegetables, and flowers, fell like dominoes one on top of another, scattering their contents everywhere.

  Vibrant colors flashed through Alex's mind—yellow and orange and red flying in all directions. Then along came the green object of destruction. It all happened so fast: the green car fishtailing toward them, then the cacophony. The screams of fright, perhaps of pain. The braying of donkeys, the yelping of dogs. Rapid chattering of Spanish, all filling the chaotic Mexican marketplace, echoing in her head.

  There was a moment of nothing, a blank spot in her memory. Alex later realized she must have blacked out for a brief moment. She lay sprawled on the sidewalk, gathering her senses. What happened?

  She struggled to a sitting position and her eyes fell on Teresa. That's when the inner panic flushed through every inch of her, coursing like hot liquid fire, threatening to explode in a frenzy of screaming terror.

  Oblivious to her own scraped knees and elbows, Alex scrambled wildly over oranges and mangos to reach Teresa's still form. The young Mexican woman lay with her head nestled tranquilly against an adobe brick building, her eyes closed, and her body slack.

  Alex's head reeled. They'd been walking along the street, laughing and talking, selecting mangos for the party. What seemed so crucial moments ago now seemed ludicrous. It was like a horror movie, one you never believed because it just couldn't happen that way, certainly not to you. Yet here they were, Teresa unconscious with Alex hovering nearby, trying to retain some sense of control over her wildly racing emotions.

  Teresa moaned and rolled her head away from the crumbling adobe brick. Her eyes remained closed, as if she were asleep. And yet, her usually tanned face had an unnatural pallor. A lump the size of an egg marred the young woman's forehead, and was already turning deep blue-purple. For all the destruction and obvious harm, there was no blood. Teresa just looked like she was . . . asleep.

  There was a moment of unnatural quiet while Alex tried to decide what to do. She wanted to scream, to cry, to shake Teresa awake. But she refrained, knowing instinctively none of that would help. Panic grew inside Alex, fueled by pumping adrenaline and revealed in her shaking hands which cradled and caressed Teresa's face. She was careful not to move her but yearned to wake Teresa and force those eyes open, to shake some life into her.

  "Teresa . . . oh, my God, Teresa!" Alex's voice was oddly high-pitched and shaky. "Teresa, can you hear me? Wake up! Please, talk to me! Teresa! Everything's going to be all right. We'll get help."

  She looked around frantically and later recalled the circle of stricken faces, all dark-skinned and dark-eyed. Before she could make an appeal for help, a man reluctantly shuffled forward from the crowd.

  "How is she, senorita?" he asked in Spanish.

  "She needs help. Call an ambulance," Alex ordered, also speaking in Spanish. Something clicked
inside and she was filled with a sense of pseudo composure. Suddenly, her voice was sure and strong. She knew that Teresa needed help, not hysteria. That much was obvious and clear in her mind. "Quickly!"

  "Si, senorita."

  Alex turned back to Teresa's limp form and took her hand. She began to talk to the still, quiet face, muttering repeatedly in both Spanish and English, "Everything's going to be all right, Teresa. Help is on its way."

  Then, and Alex didn't know what took her so long to think of it, she swung her head around frantically and demanded of a woman who stood helplessly nearby, "La nina? Donde esta la nina? Where is she?"

  The woman gazed over each shoulder and shrugged back at Alex. "Yo no se."

  "What do you mean you don't know? Get her for me! She's just a toddler!" Alex was filled with a sudden vexation. How could they stand around so ineptly when she needed assistance right now? She couldn't be everywhere at once. Here lay Teresa, unconscious, and Jenni was probably scared and—"Bring me the child, por favor. This is her mother." She patted Teresa's hand and felt as utterly helpless as she ever had in her life.

  A siren pierced the air, and Alex shuttered with relief. The wail of a siren had always been an ominous, frightening sound. But now it was welcome. It heralded the reassuring arrival of assistance. The siren would bring clearheaded people who would help her. And take care of Teresa.

  Alex rocked back on her knees and watched as a police car screeched to a stop, dividing the crowd. Immediately, another official car pulled up behind the first one and the place swarmed with uniformed men. Most of them descended on the green car, but one approached Alex and the prone form of Teresa.

  He instructed the crowd to move back and knelt to feel Teresa's pulse. "Weak," he muttered, turning to Alex. "Do you know her?"

  "Yes, she's my housekeeper," Alex responded frantically. "She needs an ambulance. Can you get help for her?"

  "It will be here soon," he assured her, drawing out a pen and paper. "What is the name of the victim?"

  Victim? Alex wrenched inside at the term. She answered numbly, "Teresa Marie Portillo."

  "Address?"

  "She lives with me. She's my housekeeper. On Linda Vista."

  The policeman's eyes quickly assessed the slender, blond woman on her knees. "And your name, senorita?"

  "Alexis Julian. I'm a professor at Sonoran University."

  "The victim's age."

  Alex swallowed. "Twenty."

  "Can you tell me what happened here?"

  Taking a deep breath, Alex explained, pointing in the direction of the horrible green Chevy. "A car, that car, came around the corner, skidded into all these fruit wagons, and crashed into that pole. It knocked us—oh, my God, Jenni! Can you stay here with Teresa? I've got to get her baby!"

  Alex sprang nimbly to her feet and began a frenzied search. Jenni was nowhere in sight! Alex shoved past vendors who stood helplessly beside their overturned wagons and stumbled over the scattered mess of fruit, flowers, and bread. Soon she was frantically throwing aside embroidered dresses and decorative shirts and rushing headlong from one side of the narrow street to the other, all the while calling "Jenni, Jenni!"

  Finally, she turned to the crowd, her large indigo eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, please help me find the child. She's a little girl, eighteen months old. She belongs to the woman who is injured! She must be hurt too! Maybe under one of these wagons! Please look for her!"

  A rumble of sympathy waved through the crowd and they began to scatter and do Alex's frantic biding. Two men helped her set one of the wagons upright and watched sadly as she dropped to her knees on the pebbled street. There was no child beneath it.

  Undaunted, she scrambled to her feet and led them to another overturned wagon. "This one! Help me lift it. Maybe she's here!" With an inexhaustible energy, Alex searched, spurring the curious crowd to help her. "She's here! She has to be here! We had her with us before the crash!"

  The sound of another siren reminded Alex of Teresa. She rushed back in time to murmur comforting words to the unconscious young woman before the medics lifted her onto the white sheeted gurney. They closed the ambulance doors, and Alex turned frantically to a policeman.

  "You must help me find her child. The three of us were right here. She's just a little girl, not quite two, with curly brown hair, wearing a pink sundress. And now I can't find her. Maybe she's hurt!" From the way the policeman looked at her, Alex wondered if she was making any sense.

  He gave her a gentle smile. "We will find her, senorita. But, please—" He looked down and Alex followed his gaze. She was clutching his arm with white-knuckled fingers which dug into his forearm.

  "Sorry." She released him and whimpered apologetically. "I'm just so scared. First, Teresa. Now, Jenni. Things are happening so fast. ..."

  "I understand, senorita. Don't worry. We will find her. Now, tell me more about this child that is missing." The siren from the ambulance taking Teresa away blotted out all possible conversation for a few minutes.

  Nick Diamond heard the distant sirens and knew by the increasing swell, they were approaching his vicinity. Maybe there had been an incident at the neighborhood bar, a spot of constant turmoil, he thought. Then again, maybe not. What if there was some problem with their contact for the pickup tonight? What if someone had squealed? He always considered what might go wrong when the time grew close. It was his business to be a little paranoid.

  Nick lurched instantly to his feet, moving rapidly for a man so large. Though lean, his legs were powerful, his body muscular, his chest broad. His deep umber eyes gleamed as he scanned his surroundings. There wasn't a speck of warmth in those eyes, though. They were cagey, almost vicious, and dark. Those eyes had looked despair squarely in the face, and stared unflinchingly at all kinds of atrocities.

  He had overcome the fear most men felt in dangerous situations, and anticipated his next risk with shrewd determination, almost eagerness. It was the way he lived, on the edge of disaster and excitement. It was this edge that brought his lean body to a slightly crouched position, his taut muscles flexed like a coiled spring.

  Although he was an American, Nick Diamond blended in with the dark-haired Mexican people around him. Purposely, he dressed in casual peasant-style clothing— loose white britches and a camisa, a shirt that hung outside his waistband. Beneath the loose clothes and behind the dark, bushy mustache was a man of tempered steel, a dangerous man. Norteamericano, some Mexicans called him. Those who knew him referred to the tall, commanding man as El Capitan. He definitely fit the title. His coarse, unfettered camisa sometimes concealed a small gun, which was almost completely hidden in his large hand when he held it. He wasn't reluctant to use the weapon; indeed, the cold steel had saved his life more than once. To those who'd seen him in action, he engendered fear. And respect. In a time and place desperate for heroes, Nick Diamond was a reluctant proxy.

  Before Nick could take another step, a short, stocky Mexican man in similar peasant attire appeared in the doorway. His muscular arms braced the arched portal, effectively blocking the exit.

  "What the hell is that all about, Jose?"

  "It is nothing, Capitan. Listen." The burly man with the elaborate handlebar mustache held up a finger. It was almost a comical gesture coming from such a rough-looking man.

  Nick paused as the siren's whine was cut short.

  "See? They stop a couple of blocks away. Maybe two stubborn cars wouldn't give up their right of way. Did you hear the crash?"

  "Oh yeah. More than two cars, I’d say. You have some careless, crazy drivers in this city. Or might be trouble at Pancho's Bar again."

  The first siren was followed closely by a second.

  "Si." Jose relaxed in the entry way and turned to look out into the street, still listening. "Or the marketplace."

  "Maybe we should check it out."

  "Not we, Capitan. Maybe I will go." Jose shook his head and the carefully curled ends of his mustache jiggled.

  "We need to make sure
it's a wreck and not some terrorist act."

  "No, Capitan. No more heroics, please. We're supposed to keep a low profile, remember? If you keep on saving lives, word about you will spread fast and everyone will be talking. We do not want that."

  Nick relaxed his shoulders and leaned trim hips against the edge of an old wooden desk. "If you're referring to that incident last week, I merely performed basic CPR. Nothing fancy. The man was having a heart attack. I couldn't let him die in the street.”

  "And now everyone thinks you work miracles. It makes you some kind of hero." Jose gestured with an expressive hand.

  "Some hero," Nick grunted with a low laugh. "If they knew the truth about me, they'd swing me from the nearest mesquite tree."

  Jose grinned, his white teeth flashing beneath his handlebar mustache. "Si, Capitan. But they don't know the truth. They only know what they see. So you must lay low. Especially today. We cannot take a chance on messing up tonight's haul. Too much at stake."

  "Ah, you're right, Jose. But I need to know everything that's going on around me." Nick folded his muscular arms across his broad chest. "Anyway, the policia are there by now, and they can handle it. Probably."

  His eyes flickered with sarcasm and Jose sighed and looked away. He had worked with Nick Diamond long enough to know what he was thinking, how his shrewdly calculating mind worked. Nick's years of experience had left him wary and unyielding. No one or nothing could be trusted.

  A third siren pierced the dead quiet.

  Nick shifted uncomfortably and looked up, his unswerving umber eyes meeting his partner's in a mutual understanding.

  Jose nodded and began to move before the demand could even be made. "Si, senor, I'll go check it out."

  "Good idea." Nick turned back to the shabby space he and Jose called an office and picked up a paper from the desk.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jose returned with an account to relay. "A drunk driver crashed into a light pole and knocked over many wagons in the public marketplace. With the Saturday crowd in the market, they were damn lucky. Only a few people were injured."