Read the book: «Forgotten Son»

“If I can knock you down, you have to talk to your brothers.”

Eli raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You can’t knock me down. I’m much stronger than you. And I’m not fighting a woman.”

Caroline put the boxing gloves on. “Are you chicken, Eli?”

He stood. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Didn’t Pa settle all your fights and disagreements this way? Put the gloves on.”

He shoved his hands into the gloves and held them up. She danced in and out, taking jabs at his stomach, but he didn’t move or respond. This was going to be so easy. She moved close to him, her body touching his.

Glancing up into his stubborn blue eyes, she placed her right foot between his feet, then she wrapped her arms around his waist. Eli tensed. Caroline raised her right foot, turned it, and hooked his left leg and jerked. His leg slid out from under him and he was on his butt in a split second.

He burst into laughter. “That was a trick,” he said, taking off his gloves. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“But a deal is a deal—and you’re a man of your word, right?”

Dear Reader,

This book is about a Texas Ranger, Elijah Coltrane. Eli first appeared in A Baby by Christmas (Harlequin Superromance #1167) as a stubborn, hardworking man with a troubled past. He grew up knowing who his father was, but the man denied his existence. He has dealt with this rejection all his life—he feels like the forgotten one, the forgotten son of Joe McCain.

As an adult, Eli finds it hard to accept love, and the love he discovers with Caroline is no exception. He was a very hard character for me to write, but I learned a lot from him. I couldn’t wipe away Eli’s pain with the tap of my computer keys. He had to grow and learn, and it took a persistent green-eyed blonde to make him realize that maybe someone could love him.

So come along and find out if Eli can find his happily ever after.

Warmly,

Linda Warren

P.S. I love hearing from readers. You can e-mail me at lw1508@aol.com or write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or visit my Web site at www.lindawarren.net. I will always answer your letters.

Forgotten Son
Linda Warren

While writing this book, I had the good fortune to speak with a real Texas Ranger, Sergeant Frank Malinak, and I’d like to thank him for answering my many questions with incredible patience and understanding. Any errors in this book are strictly mine, and all characters are fictional.

I asked Frank what he’d like people to know about the Rangers, and the following is his response:

“Much has been written about the Texas Rangers of the past, but probably less is known about the modern Ranger. Today’s Texas Ranger is a criminal investigator called upon to assist local, state and federal law enforcement agencies with an array of cases. With the growing population of this state and the increasing complexity of criminal enterprises, Texas Rangers are called upon now with as much necessity and urgency as in bygone eras. The modern Ranger stands ready to protect the citizens of the United States against common street criminals, organized crime, public corruption, identity theft, computer crimes and domestic and foreign terrorism. In short, Texas Rangers have the training, equipment and skills to fight crime in today’s sophisticated society. It has been said, ‘As long as there is a Texas there will be Texas Rangers.’”

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CAROLINE WHITTEN RUSHED into her apartment with the devil on her heels. She couldn’t be late—mustn’t be late. Not today. How could she forget the layout? She knew it was because she had the jitters at the prospect of meeting her father, U.S. Congressman Stephen Whitten, for lunch. The thought made her angry.

And made her feel guilty. A daughter’s guilt.

Her latest photo layout was on the kitchen counter. She quickly grabbed it and counted to ten to calm herself. At two o’clock, she had an appointment with the writer and an editor for the article on Texas wildflowers. The shots she’d taken in the Texas Hill Country where the flowers grew in abundance were great. At least she thought they were.

She groaned. Now the impending lunch had her questioning her capability as a photographer. Caroline blocked the negative thoughts. She was a damn good photographer and the shots were awesome.

How she wished her parents felt the same way she did about her career choice. But the lunch was sure to be another foray into how Stephen Whitten thought she was wasting her life—and her talent.

Caroline had a law degree, like her father, but she’d done nothing with it. Instead, she’d followed her first love, photography, and she made a good living. She just didn’t understand why her father couldn’t be happy for her.

At least her sister, Grace, would be there to take some of the pressure off Caroline. Grace was a lawyer and worked in their father’s law firm, as he had planned. She was the good daughter, while Caroline was…

Would the guilt ever leave her?

She swung around and her inner skirmish stopped, replaced by a frisson of fear. Two men stood in her doorway, two men with long hair and full beards and brown robes. She’d seen them before…when she’d taken photos of the wildflowers. They belonged to a cult hidden away in the hills, and she’d accidentally trespassed close to the high fence that surrounded their property. She’d been afraid of them then and was afraid of them now.

“What do you want?” she asked as authoritatively as she could.

“You have been chosen,” one man answered.

“Excuse me?”

“You have found favor with the prophet.”

That’s what they called their leader. Caroline had met him briefly while she’d tried to explain why she was there. He’d looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl, and she’d been glad to get away. What were his men doing here? How did they know where she lived? And what did they want?

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call…”

Her words trailed off as one man grabbed her and the other clamped a foul-smelling cloth over her face. She lashed out with her arms and legs, then everything went black.

CAROLINE WOKE UP in darkness. Total darkness. Fear ran along her skin and spread through her body like a virus. It was chilling. Debilitating.

All-encompassing.

Take deep breaths. Take deep breaths, she kept repeating to herself. After a moment, her fear eased and she realized she was on a mattress. She felt its softness, then her hands touched dirt. Cold dirt.

The makeshift bed was on the ground. Getting to her feet, she groped around her with hands outstretched. She was in a small room with wooden walls, she discovered. There was nothing in the space but the mattress…and her. Oh, God. Where was she?

Nausea churned in her stomach and she could feel a scream rising in her throat. Then one of the walls opened and she blinked, the stream of light dazzling after the total darkness. When her eyes had adjusted, Caroline saw a woman with blondish-gray hair pulled back in a knot standing in the opening. She wore a tan, monklike robe and held a pitcher in her hand.

“I brought you water,” she said.

Caroline’s eyes focused on the shadowy yellow light. The woman was older, and all Caroline had to do was overpower her and run. But run where?

Caroline stepped forward. “Why have you brought me here?”

“You have been chosen to be the prophet’s next wife. It is a great honor. You will be the seventh wife, the one to bear the messiah.”

“What? I think that’s already been done.”

“Blasphemy,” the woman shouted.

This was Caroline’s chance and she made a dive for the opening. The woman grabbed her around the neck and flung her back on the mattress as if she were a rag doll.

Gasping for breath, she said, “You can’t keep me here.”

“You will get no water or food. Then you’ll learn to be submissive.”

“Never,” Caroline screamed. “Tell your prophet he has chosen the wrong woman. I will never be his wife.”

“You’ll change your mind,” the woman muttered. In an instant she was gone.

And so was the light.

Caroline jumped up and beat on the wall and screamed until her throat was sore. Then she sank down to the dirt. “Please, somebody. Please help me.”

Please.

ELIJAH COLTRANE, Texas Ranger, found the oldest clothes in his closet and slipped them on—worn jeans with holes in both knees and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that had paint stains from when he and Tuck had painted the old house where they’d grown up. Then he found a pair of tennis shoes that had seen better days.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Dark hair curled at his collar, not too long and not too short, just right for the mission ahead of him. His blue eyes looked back at him with veiled excitement and he could feel the energy pumping through his body.

Today would be the start of an undercover operation to nail polygamist and murderer Amos Buford, alias the prophet. This time Buford would not slip through the cracks of the system. Eli would see to that.

A knock brought him out of his reverie. Eli opened the door and Jeremiah Tucker walked in. Tuck was also a Texas Ranger, and Eli’s foster brother and best friend.

Tuck handed him some letters. “I picked up your mail because it was bulging out of your mailbox. Don’t you ever bring it in?”

“Whenever I think about it.”

Tuck thumbed through the letters. “There are three from Jake McCain.”

“Throw them in the trash.”

Tuck shook his head. “What’s the matter with you? Why can’t you talk to him? He’s your half brother.”

“Let it go.” There was a warning in every word.

Tuck was never good at heeding warnings. “I don’t understand what you have against Jake and your other half brothers. They seem like nice people.”

Eli couldn’t explain it to himself, never mind to Tuck. There was just something in him that wouldn’t accept these men as his blood relations. The McCain brothers, especially Jake, had made several attempts to establish a connection. But Eli had spent the first thirteen years of his life being called a bastard, because Joe McCain had denied being his father. Eli wouldn’t acknowledge the name now, no matter how hard his half brothers tried to make him. He realized he had a stubborn streak, but he’d rather keep his life separate from them. That was how he wanted it.

When Eli didn’t speak, Tuck asked, “Do you mind if I open them?”

“Suit yourself.”

Tuck’s forefinger ripped through a flap and a photo fluttered to the floor. He picked it up. It was a picture of a little boy and girl. “Look, Eli,” he said. “It’s of Ben, Jake’s son, who we rescued from Rusty Fobbs. And Ben’s sister. Let’s see.” He glanced at the back. “Her name is Katie and she’s two years old and a beauty.” Tuck held out the snapshot to Eli, but he turned away.

It was Ben’s kidnapping, about three years ago, that had brought Eli back into the McCains’ world. He wished the family would understand that he’d only been doing his job, and would stop trying to make his role in the rescue personal.

“Put it on the coffee table,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to have to let go of the past at some point,” Tuck told him, gingerly setting down the mail with the photo of Ben and Katie on top.

“I have other things on my mind at the moment.”

“Caroline Witten’s kidnapping?”

Eli rubbed his day-old beard. “Yep. I’ve waited a long time to get Amos Buford.”

“Have you told the FBI the whole story?”

Eli sent him a look that would have made other men back off. “They asked for my help because I’d investigated Buford before. I told them everything they wanted to know, even the fact that he killed someone I cared about.”

“Eli…”

“What? You think I can’t do this?”

“Hell, Eli. I’ve known you most of my life and there ain’t nothing you can’t do. I don’t think you’re even afraid of the devil.”

“Buford is the devil.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Don’t make this about Ginny.”

When Tuck said her name, Eli turned away and picked up his gun and badge, trying not to think, trying not to remember. But his control weakened and the image of her limp dead body, thrown into a ditch on a Texas country road, flashed through his mind like summer lightning, quick and sharp. He felt the pain for a moment, then it was gone.

But other memories lingered. Jess and Amalie Tucker were Eli and Tuck’s foster parents, good people who took in kids that were in trouble and needed guidance. Tuck had been left with them when he was a baby, Eli at thirteen. It was Eli’s mother, Vera who’d taken him to her uncle Jess, and ex-Texas Ranger. Even though Eli had several encounters with the law, it didn’t take Jess long to adjust Eli’s attitude.

Eli grew up not knowing what a real home or love was about. Vera was a waitress in a bar and worked nights and slept during the day. She’d had assistance from the state for Eli’s day care, but at night he’d been shuffled from neighbor to neighbor or anyone who’d keep him. When he was four, Vera had started taking Eli to work with her and he’d slept in a back room. The smells of cigarettes and booze had filled his lungs, and stale smoke had clung to his clothes. He’d hated those smells. He still did.

But at twelve and thirteen Eli was guzzling down beer like an adult, doing anything to rebel, to get his mother’s attention. He knew she cared about him, but he also knew, even at a young age, that his mother had made some bad choices.

When Eli was a little older his uncle Jess told him a bit more about Vera’s life. Her mother, Adell, was Jess’s sister. She’d married an abusive man who beat her and Vera. In an obvious attempt to escape her home life Vera had dropped out of school at sixteen and married a boy two years older. He’d turned out to be as abusive as her father.

After several trips to the hospital, a counselor got her out of that relationship, and Vera started a new life in Waco, Texas. She didn’t have any job skills, but with the help of several state agencies she’d started working at a day care. The pay was minimal and she could barely live on it. Then she’d met a friend whose brother owned several bars, and she got a job as a waitress.

There she met Joe McCain.

And the abusive cycle went on.

Jess and Amalie—or Ma and Pa, as Eli called them—gave him everything that was missing in his life, and he grew up wanting to be a Texas Ranger, as did Tuck. They both knew they owed everything to Ma and Pa. The couple had adopted Tuck as a baby, and he carried the Tucker name. They’d wanted to adopt Eli, too, but Vera wouldn’t sign the papers. It didn’t matter. Jess and Amalie were his parents in every way that counted, as they were to so many children.

Ginny had been one of them.

The memory of her once again slipped past Eli’s iron control.

She’d come to the Tucker’s when Eli and Tuck were already gone from home. Eli had been accepted as a Texas Ranger and Tuck was working as a trooper for the Department of Public Safety.

Amos Buford had kidnapped Ginny on her way to work. Amos and his followers often begged for money on street corners, and Ginny had stopped and given a donation. One look at her blond beauty and Amos had decided she’d be his next wife—though he already had three.

According to Ginny, Buford had kept her in a dark room for two days with no food. He’d broken her spirit and tried to brainwash her, and when Ginny thought she’d lose her mind, she’d participated in the marriage ceremony.

It was another month before she was able to escape, but by then she was close to a nervous breakdown. She made it to a highway Tuck was patrolling. After she’d told her story to the police, Tuck had taken her to Ma and Pa to heal. Ginny had no family and didn’t have the strength to face her friends.

When Eli first met her, she’d stared at the floor and wouldn’t look at him. Something about her attracted him immediately—as if her tortured soul was reaching out to him. He found himself going home to see her every chance he got, and eventually they started talking and laughing and sharing. Soon they were in love—something Eli had thought would never happen to him.

The police were never able to build a case against Buford because he and his followers denied ever seeing Ginny. And she had no proof of what they’d done to her. It was her word against theirs. Eli had investigated the case in his spare time, but hadn’t found enough evidence to arrest Buford.

Ginny started to heal mentally, and planned on returning to work. They talked about marriage. Eli had never been so happy in his life.

Then he got the phone call… Pa told him Ginny was gone, and that he feared something bad had happened. Eli began an extensive search, and when he found her body, his world came crashing down. He knew Buford had located her and killed her.

Again, Eli couldn’t prove it. But now… “I’ve waited a long time for Buford to make a mistake, and taking a congressman’s daughter is about as big a one as you can get.”

“Still…” Tuck rubbed his hands together as he sat on Eli’s sofa.

Eli watched him and knew exactly what was on his mind. “You’re afraid I’ll kill him.”

Tuck kept looking at his hands. “Something like that.”

“I might want to, but I won’t. I’d have to live with the knowledge that I’d dishonored the memory of the man who loved me more and taught me more than anyone in this world. I live by Pa’s code of honor and I would never kill a man in cold blood. I’m going to get Buford and it’ll all be legal. So stop worrying.” He handed Tuck his gun and badge. “Keep these for me.”

A tap at the door forestalled further conversation.

“That’s the FBI,” Eli said, and went to let them in. Agents Bill Caufield and Tom Mercer shook hands with Eli and Tuck.

“Are you ready?” Bill asked Eli.

“Yeah. Nothing but a couple of dollars and change in my pocket. No ID.”

“Great,” Tom replied. “We appreciate your help—the sheriff said you’re the best. You know all about Buford and you’re familiar with the area.”

“Yeah,” Eli said, refusing to look at Tuck.

“Congressman Whitten and his wife are beside themselves. We spent a full day checking out Buford’s compound and we found no trace of Caroline Whitten.”

“Did you check for secret rooms?”

“Yes. We heard that’s a trademark of Buford’s, but we didn’t find one.” Agent Caufield unfolded a map on the kitchen table. “There are five other men who live there with Buford. Buford now has six wives. Of course, he doesn’t call them his wives to us. They’re ‘women in his family.’ The other men have at least two or three women each, and we’ve counted forty-eight kids. That’s the sad part—it’s a regular commune and we can’t prove a thing. The police have arrested Buford several times on polygamy charges, but he only has one marriage on record and the other women won’t testify against him. So far there’s not a law prohibiting a man from living with several women. But there’s a law against kidnapping. We might have him this time.”

“Why do you think he took Caroline Whitten?” Eli asked.

“She had a lunch date with her parents but didn’t show, and she missed a meeting with an editor. She’s a photographer and does work for a lot of Texas magazines. She never misses an appointment. Congressman Whitten knew something was wrong and called her fiancé, who said the last time he talked to her she had plans to meet her parents.”

“So how does Buford come into this?”

“It took awhile to piece everything together. There was no forced entry, doesn’t look as if anything was taken out of the apartment. Then a neighbor said she saw two bearded men in robes outside the building. Her fiancé, Colin Burke, told us that Ms. Whitten had an encounter with Buford and his followers when she was photographing wildflowers for a magazine spread. He said that they wore long robes and had full beards, and Ms. Whitten had been afraid of them.”

“That’s all you have?”

“That’s it. This is the third day and the only thing left to do is to try and infiltrate the group.”

“Maybe she’s not there.” Tuck spoke for the first time.

Agent Caufield shrugged. “It’s the only lead we have. We checked with all her friends. No one has seen her. We’re getting pressure on this and we have to find her.”

“What’s the plan?” Eli asked.

Tom tapped the map with his forefinger. “This is how the compound is laid out. There are six makeshift houses that have two bedrooms in each—one for the man and his women and the other for his children. That’s what we’re assuming. Then there’s a large eating room and kitchen with a wood burning stove. All the buildings are in a circle. In the center is where they meet and pray, and there’s a big area for a campfire. Everything is very primitive—no running water, no electricity. There’s a spring on the property they use for water.”

He paused, then added, “Our only recourse is to get someone into the group and see what we can find. This is one of the days they beg on street corners. A police car will drop you off in front of them. They’re drawn to those needing a haven, anyone who’s down and out. At this time of year they’re looking for strong men to help work the fields. They earn income from the vegetables they sell. So your job will be to get in there and find out what you can. We need to know where they’re hiding her. Once you do that, we’ll take over. Just get the hell outta there.”

Bill laid a photo on the table. “That’s Caroline Whitten. Take a good look.”

Eli stared at the photo. Light blond hair, shoulder length, in disarray around a very pretty, almost ethereal face… Her eyes were green. Buford favored blond women.

Like Ginny.

The room was silent.

“Ready?” Agent Caufield asked.

“Yes,” Eli answered. He was ready to meet Amos Buford.

He’d waited ten years.

CAROLINE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d been here. Hours, days, weeks—everything was the same. The woman, Ruth, brought bread and water twice a day. The first and second times Caroline wouldn’t eat or drink. The third time she wasn’t so choosy.

Darkness was total and she felt it creeping into her soul. She’d beaten on the walls until her hands were numb. She’d screamed until her throat was raw. But nothing penetrated the blackness. Nothing eased its grip.

The air was close and dank and the room reeked. At times Caroline had trouble breathing. She had to hold on. The police must be looking for her by now, but how would they know where to find her? Colin. She’d told Colin about the cult and how she was afraid of them. He would remember. He would help her.

Please, Colin, tell my father and the police what I told you.

Colin wasn’t the type of man to go charging in after the woman he loved. Suddenly she needed that—a strong man who didn’t care about anyone or anything but her.

She twisted the ring on her finger. Lately she’d been having second thoughts about her engagement, and she didn’t know why. She loved Colin. They had the same interests—he owned camera stores in Austin, Dallas, San Antonio and Houston. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about cameras and photography. He helped her to improve her shots and they spent hours talking about angles and light.

But their intimate relationship wasn’t as satisfying, as it was comfortable. Caroline had given up on finding passion—red-hot passion. That didn’t last forever, anyway. But she loved Colin. And he was someone her father hadn’t picked for her. Was that his big attraction? God, no, this place was making her crazy.

A daughter’s guilt.

Earlier—how long ago?—that thought had made her nervous and angry. Now she saw it for what it was—meaningless pride. Her father wanted to bend her to his will, and she was determined to live her own life. In this black abyss, holding on to her pride seemed an insignificant, even petty, struggle.

She’d gladly trade her pride for the sight of daylight, for fresh air and time with her father. Time to say she was sorry and to…

She couldn’t breathe and she fought the suffocating feeling. Caroline was still in command of herself enough to know that the prophet was trying to brainwash her. Slowly, methodically, the darkness would eat away at her until—

Suddenly the wall opened and he stood there, the faint light like a yellow flame behind him. Caroline closed her eyes against the frightening scene. When she opened them again, Ruth was there with a white robe in her hands.

“I have brought your wedding robe,” the prophet said.

Ruth held it out to her. Caroline got to her feet and took it, then threw it on the dirt and spat on it.

“Blasphemy,” Ruth shouted, and grabbed the robe from the dirt.

“You have spirit,” the prophet said with a sinister smile.

“But that will be broken.”

“You can’t keep me here forever. The police will find me and you’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

“The FBI has already been here and they found nothing.”

“What?”

“If they come back, they won’t find you. At least not the person you used to be. You will be one of us by then and ready to fulfill the prophecy.”

“You’re evil,” Caroline declared between clenched teeth. “I’ll never be your wife. I’d rather die.”

His face hardened. “For your dishonor, you will be deprived of bread and water for a day. Then you’ll learn your place.”

“Never, never, never!” Caroline screamed as he disappeared through the wall and darkness engulfed her once again.

She sank onto the mattress, trying to still her trembling. Fear such as she’d never known before filled her. He was diabolical, out to kill her heart and her soul. Her body would survive, though.

To serve him.

No. No. No.

But the FBI had been here. They hadn’t found her. Oh God. Where was she that even the FBI couldn’t find her? In hell, she thought. And there was no way out of hell. She would die here in the darkness.

Or at least all that mattered would.

INFILTRATING THE CULT was easier than Eli had imagined. The police let him out of the cruiser with a few harsh words in front of Buford’s followers. They immediately came to his aid. He told them he was down on his luck and had nowhere to go. They said they’d let him work for food until he got his head straight, and he could listen to the word of the prophet, who would nourish his soul.

Eli was looking forward to that.

He climbed into the bed of an old pickup and they headed out of Austin to the hills. One man, Nathaniel, sat with him; two women were in the front with Samuel, the other man. No one spoke. They turned off a highway onto a dirt road. When they turned again, it was onto nothing more than a cow trail, and the ride was bumpy and dusty. This area was sparsely populated and there wasn’t a house in sight, just thick woods and brush.

Soon they stopped at a locked gate and Nathaniel got out to open it. Eli noticed the eight-foot-high barbed wire fence and the four-foot-high wire mesh that extended from the bottom up and enclosed the property. It wouldn’t be easy getting out of here.

They drove into an area that had been cleared and buildings stood in a circle, as Tom had said. Eli counted six shacks and a larger structure that had to be the kitchen and eating room. Women and children were working in vegetable fields beyond the compound. They all wore brown robes.

Chickens scratched in the dirt and goats wandered freely. Behind one shack was a rickety barn of sorts. The compound had a strange feel to it—as if it was out of step with time. And there was something else about it he couldn’t quite define.

As the truck pulled to a stop, the smell of smoke drifted to his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. This wasn’t cigarette smoke, though. What was it? He didn’t have time to ponder the question as two women, both pregnant, and several toddlers came to meet them. The women stared at the ground and didn’t speak. The children looked at him warily.

“Come this way,” Samuel said, and Eli followed him to the largest of the primitive houses. Samuel tapped on the door.

“Come in, my child,” a male voice called.

They walked in to find a man sitting at a table with a Bible opened in front of him. Two men stood behind him. Eli knew this was Amos Buford, and his heart hammered with anticipation, but he was careful that nothing showed on his face.

“Master, I found a needy soul and brought him to you.”

Buford raised his head, and Eli was unprepared for the emotions that gripped him as he stared into those evil gray eyes.

Tuck was right. Eli wanted to kill him.

He wanted to put his hands around his throat and choke the life out of him…as Buford had done to Ginny. But he wouldn’t. Caroline Whitten’s life depended on his honor as a ranger, and he wouldn’t forget that.

“What is your name, my son?” Buford asked.

“Eli Carter,” he replied, using the fake name the FBI had given him.

“Are you in trouble with the law?”

“I’m separated from my wife, and when I went to the house to see my kids, she called the cops and had me arrested. In the separation agreement I’m suppose to be providing child support, but I lost my job and was unable to pay her any money.” That was the story the FBI had also given him. Buford hated women who tried to dominate a man.

“Women do not know their place in this world.”

Neither do you, you bastard.

“Tell me about it,” Eli murmured.