Marcus still hadn’t responded to her message about the thugs sniffing around Wyatt. She eked out a little sigh of relief. She didn’t know what to say to Marcus right now.
Why did a Border Patrol agent have Marcus’s name in connection to the cartels? Of course, finances could mean anything. She’d done her research on Marcus Lanier before taking the job, and it hadn’t been difficult. Everyone in Phoenix knew about Marcus.
He had his fingers in many pies around the city, and he seemed to have the Midas touch. He made money and he made other people money. And he spent money.
Whatever passed for a social scene in Phoenix, Marcus Lanier took center stage in that scene—he and his perfect wife. Did that perfect wife know he fooled around on the side? Probably. Did she know he’d fathered a baby with his side piece, Jaycee Lemoin? Probably.
If Marcus had hired her to keep tabs on Wyatt and gather evidence against Jaycee to take her to court for custody, Ming Lanier would have to know about her husband’s infraction.
But the public didn’t necessarily know what the Border Patrol knew. Were all of Marcus’s enterprising ventures covers for his real business, drugs?
“Damn.” Emily shoved her phone into the side pocket of her purse and flung open the car door. She may be using dirty money.
She stalked into the liquor store and made a beeline for the wine section. Might as well stay with the same poison. After the day she’d had, she needed more than that half glass of wine with dinner. But Nash had been right. Her father had drilled into her the evils of drinking and driving.
She grabbed a bottle of merlot by the neck and charged up to the register. Dad never said anything about drinking and watching TV, though.
She paid for the wine and slid back into her car. She drove to her motel and parked as close to her room as she could get. Paradiso had a limited number of lodging choices, but it was hardly a hot spot for tourism. Bisbee and, of course, Tombstone drew the lion’s share of visitors to this area. Paradiso wasn’t even near a well-traveled border crossing—at least not a legal one. She’d read that the border here was porous with tunnels used for the trafficking of drugs and even people.
She dug her key card from her purse and then hung her bag over her shoulder. She grabbed the wine and exited her vehicle.
The streets of Paradiso rolled up early. Most of the restaurants and bars still open lined the main drag through town, and this little gem of a motel was definitely off the beaten track.
Pinching her key card between her fingers, she walked toward her room. As she passed the stairs that led to the second floor, a shadow moved across the wall.
Instinctively, she reached for the side pocket of her purse where her gun nestled, but it was too late.
An arm shot out and ripped the purse from her shoulder. She started to wield the bottle of wine like a club. Her attacker grabbed it and dropped it to the patch of grass under the stairs. Then he dragged her toward an open door she hadn’t noticed before now and shoved her into a utility room.
A low voice growled in her ear, “Make one noise, and you’re dead.”
In case she hadn’t gotten the message, her assailant jabbed the barrel of a gun beneath her ribs.
Chapter Six
Emily gulped in breaths of air as the man held her from behind, curling one arm around her neck.
“Who is that baby to you?”
“What baby?”
He tightened his hold and she choked. “The baby at the Border Patrol agent’s house. Who is the baby to you and who is he to that cop?”
Should she tell him? Should she just blurt out the truth that Marcus Lanier was the baby’s father? Wouldn’t they leave Wyatt alone once they knew Brett wasn’t the father?
She gulped. She had no authority to reveal that information. That was the one thing she’d promised Marcus—she’d never tell a soul Wyatt was his child, not until he was ready to do so. Even to save Wyatt’s life?
Marcus should’ve taken her warnings seriously about the men who’d threatened Jaycee. Did he not believe her?
For now, Wyatt was safe with Nash. That was why this guy had gone after her. They knew Nash Dillon was Border Patrol and they knew better than to mess with the law. That bought her a little time.
He drilled the gun into her side. “Answer me. What do you know?”
She clawed at his arm and he relented a fraction of an inch. She coughed.
“I don’t know anything about the baby. The Border Patrol agent is my friend and the baby belongs to his friend who had an emergency. I don’t know the mother. I don’t know anything.”
He released her, giving her a push forward. That didn’t fool her for a minute, as she still felt the weapon up close and personal. She eyed her purse on the ground outside the utility room.
The man didn’t know she had a gun in there, but she didn’t plan to use it unless her life was in imminent jeopardy. If she dove for her purse, yanked out her .22 and shot him between the eyes, she’d have a lot of explaining to do—to everyone.
“I’ll tell you what, pelirroja. You’re gonna help us.”
“Me?” Her voice squeaked as much from surprise as the pressure that had recently been applied to her windpipe. That was not what she’d expected from him.
“How am I going to help you? I told you. I don’t know anything. If you’re the baby’s father, I suggest you go through the proper channels to—”
“Shut up.” He slugged her in the back and her knees buckled.
“Are you going back there tomorrow?”
“No. I’m leaving Paradiso tomorrow.” She gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain right above
