Desert Sons Read online

  Welcome to Sena Pueblo…

  …where the old beliefs still live in high desert country.

  …where the Pueblo people believe in the power of a shaman to heal, and in the power of a brujo to curse.

  …where three former Pueblo bad boys must unite to fight the magic of a murderous witch before he takes the life of another victim.

  As teenagers, Luke and Tom and Rico were the terror of the pueblo. But a tragedy forced them to go their separate ways. Now, in an ironic twist of fate, these desert sons must reunite, for only they have the power to save their people and the women they love….

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  This month you’ll want to have all six of our books to keep you company as you brave those April showers!

  • Debra Webb kicks off THE ENFORCERS, her exciting new trilogy, with John Doe on Her Doorstep. And for all of you who have been waiting with bated breath for the newest installment in Kelsey Roberts’s THE LANDRY BROTHERS series, we have Chasing Secrets.

  • Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor join together in Desert Sons. You won’t want to miss this unique three-in-one collection!

  • Two of your favorite promotions are back. You won’t be able to resist Leona Karr’s ECLIPSE title, Shadows on the Lake. And you’ll be on the edge of your seat while reading Jean Barrett’s Paternity Unknown, the latest installment in TOP SECRET BABIES.

  • Meet another of THE PRECINCT’s rugged lawmen in Julie Miller’s Police Business.

  Every month you can depend on Harlequin Intrigue to deliver an array of thrilling romantic suspense and mystery. Be sure you read each one!

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  REBECCA YORK

  ANN VOSS PETERSON

  PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  DESERT SONS

  RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK

  Rebecca York

  Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

  Ann Voss Peterson

  Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts, to working with quarter horses, to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.annvosspeterson.com.

  Patricia Rosemoor

  To research her novels, Patricia Rosemoor is willing to swim with dolphins, round up mustangs or howl with wolves…“Whatever it takes to write a credible tale.” She’s the author of contemporary, historical and paranormal romances, but her first love has always been romantic suspense. Patricia teaches Suspense-Thriller Writing and Writing Popular Fiction at Columbia College Chicago. She lives in Chicago with her husband, Edward, and their three cats. She would love to know what you think of this story. Write her at P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297 or via e-mail at [email protected], and visit her Web site at www.PatriciaRosemoor.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Luke Cordova—After serving time for a crime he didn’t commit, the pueblo bad boy thought he’d left his problems behind. But when black magic threatens Ashley Donaldson, he vows to uncover the dark secrets of the past.

  Ashley Donaldson—She came back to the pueblo to claim her birthright. Little did she know her heritage was plagued by witchcraft and murder, and that the only man who could save her was the one she never thought she’d love.

  Tom Lahi—After his friend was wrongly imprisoned, Tom became a lawyer to fight for justice. But to win this battle, he must believe in an ancient magic…and the power of love.

  Jessie Gardner—She rebelled against her wealthy father and joined the FBI. But when she’s teamed up with Tom Lahi, who as a boy sent her heart racing, can she stand up to him, too?

  Rico Tafoya—The gallery owner turned his back on his heritage after his friend was unjustly incarcerated. But as evil threatens, he can’t ignore his love for his people.

  Charlotte Reyna—The local artist knows Rico Tafoya is a good man at heart, but can her love convince him to save his people?

  Joe Cordova—The famous artist has a dark past—and it has finally caught up with him.

  Paxton Gardner—The art collector buys and sells people the way he does Native American art.

  Raul Estavez—The potter is desperate to make a name for himself. But how far would he go?

  Jay Soto—Rico’s overzealous assistant has been caught spying on others at the art gallery. Could he be up to something sinister?

  Roberto Sanchez—The janitor will do anything for money.

  Fred Gonzales—The tribal police officer takes out his frustrations on everyone around him.

  Contents

  Prologue

  LUKE: REBECCA YORK

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  TOM: ANN VOSS PETERSON

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  RICO: PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  LUKE

  REBECCA YORK

  RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK

  Prologue

  In the darkness, the witch stood outside Joe Cordova’s isolated desert house, looking through the lighted windows, watching the artist’s shuffling gait as he walked from his studio to the bedroom.

  “You’ve made a mistake, old man. You should have left well enough alone. And don’t count on Ashley Donaldson or your nephew, Luke, to save you.”

  As though he heard the words, the artist went stock-still and stared into the darkness beyond the house. A flash of fear contorted his face. Then he firmed his features and went back to what he had been doing—getting ready for an important art show in Santa Fe.

  But he was never going to arrive. He was going to die. By his own hand, if possible. So that the only evidence would be of his own demented state.

  In a low voice the witch began to chant—ancient words that had served him well over the years.

  Lightning crackled across the velvet sky and wind stirred the piñons. In the desert, a coyote howled.

  “Help me, brother. Lend me your cunning,” the witch whispered, moving past a tall cactus toward the house.

  Inside, the artist stopped again. This time when he raised his head, he couldn’t wipe away the fear.

  “Go away,” he called into the darkness. “Leave me alone.”


  The witch answered with a burst of mental energy—of defiance. Of anger. Of power.

  And the man staggered back, throwing his hands in front of his face. As though flesh and blood could protect him.

  The witch spewed forth another burst of anger and the traitor screamed in pain and terror.

  Chapter One

  Ashley Donaldson hurried from the parking lot behind Canyon Road and up the steps to the Milagro Gallery. She’d been tied up with a client and now she was late to the opening.

  Pushing open one of the heavy carved doors, she stepped onto the pegged wood floor—then went very still as she was enveloped by the sounds, the scents, the sights of New Mexico. The mix of acoustic guitar and Native American flutes. The aroma of piñon from a burning smudge stick.

  Through the well-dressed crowd, she caught glimpses of the paintings and sculpture filling the rooms. Adorning the walls were desert landscapes and craggy mountains kissed by the last rays of the setting sun. On pedestals and in glass cases in the center of the room were three-dimensional pieces: a beautifully executed black-and-white pot, a tawny mountain lion about to spring, turquoise-and-silver jewelry.

  That she was here, in this environment, never failed to amaze her. She’d grown up in L.A.—the adopted daughter of Marge and Cal Donaldson. But after college she’d longed to learn about her heritage. So she’d come back to Sena Pueblo, her birth mother’s home, and she’d been here for the past two years.

  “Ashley.”

  She glanced around and spotted gallery owner Rico Tafoya striding toward her. His long black hair was pulled back in a braid lashed with a leather thong and decorated with a single raven’s feather. His shirt, pants and boots were black, too, set off by silver-and-turquoise jewelry. He looked the very image of a successful mestizo entrepreneur selling Native American works in Santa Fe.

  “I’m glad you could come,” he said, clasping her hand.

  Rico had grown up in the pueblo. His mixed heritage had given him striking features, while her own brown hair and brown eyes were nothing special.

  Rico’s face turned angry as he peered around her. “So where’s Joe?” he asked gruffly.

  She blinked. “Isn’t he here already?”

  “No. I thought you might be bringing him. What’s he trying to pull?”

  Ashley fought confusion.

  “Forget it,” Rico said in the next breath.

  “Maybe he’s with Luke,” she suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  So what was going on between Rico and Joe? Joe was an artist and one of her anchors to New Mexico. He’d been in love with her mother twenty-seven years ago and had offered to marry her when she’d gotten pregnant by a cowboy drifter. But she’d taken off for L.A. instead, and Joe hadn’t even known what had happened to her and the baby—until Ashley had come back to the pueblo.

  In the two years that she’d been in New Mexico, she and Joe had become close friends. For the past few weeks she’d known he was upset about something—al though he hadn’t shared his concerns with her. Was he feuding with Rico?

  This wasn’t the time to ask, especially when wealthy art patrons Paxton and Kathleen Gardner were coming toward them. A few paces behind was a slender blond with short-cropped hair, wearing a severe pantsuit instead of a party dress. It was their daughter, Jessie. She had grown up in the area and had become an FBI agent, much against her parents’ wishes. She was probably trying to make some brownie points with them by attending the show.

  “Wonderful opening,” Paxton said in a hearty voice. “Charlotte Reyna has outdone herself. I’m thinking about buying one of her landscapes.”

  Ashley wandered away, nibbling on a mini blue-corn tortilla as she admired the paintings and sculptures. But she kept one eye on the door, looking for Joe—or even Luke, though, to tell the truth, Joe’s nephew wasn’t her favorite person. Luke walked around with a ten-pound chip on his shoulder, although she certainly understood why.

  Charlotte Reyna caught her eye and Ashley crossed the room. “I hear Paxton Gardner is interested in your work,” Ashley murmured.

  Charlotte flipped a lock of long, dark hair behind her ear. “Yes! He’s put a reserve on one of my three canvases.”

  “Way to go!”

  Charlotte accepted the congratulations graciously. She and Ashley were friends. About the same age, they’d both returned to Sena Pueblo as adults. And they were both still trying to find their way in a world where neither was entirely comfortable.

  Roberto Sanchez nodded to Ashley as he took a plastic bag of used cups and paper plates from a trash receptacle and replaced it with a fresh bag.

  “How is your sister?” Ashley asked.

  “Doing better, thanks to you,” Roberto said. His sister, Anita Morales, had been rushed to a local hospital recently for stomach pains and had needed an emergency appendectomy. As part of her job at Pueblo Aid, Ashley had straightened out the insurance payment.

  She kept moving through the gallery, looking for Joe, her uneasiness about his absence mounting. Someone waved at her across the room and she waved back. It was potter Raul Estevez, whom she hadn’t seen until now.

  Raul was a buddy of Joe’s and she wondered if he might know where Joe was. But before she could cross to him, the crowd swallowed him up again, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to relax until she drove out to the pueblo to see if her friend was okay.

  Turning back to Charlotte, she said, “If Joe comes in, could you give me a call on my cell phone?”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “To check on one of my clients,” she said, not wanting to worry Charlotte on this important night in her career.

  “What about Luke?” Charlotte asked with a little smile.

  “What about him?”

  “He’ll be looking for you.”

  “I doubt it.” She and Joe’s nephew tolerated each other—barely.

  Luke had been a juvenile delinquent in his youth and had finally gotten arrested at nineteen by the tribal police for a robbery he hadn’t committed. Unfortunately he’d spent five years in jail until the real perpetrator had confessed.

  The experience could have destroyed him, but when he’d gotten out of jail, Joe had helped to set him up as a handyman. As his projects had become bigger, he’d transformed himself into a contractor—with a reputation for personalized service.

  She knew Joe wanted her and Luke to be friends. But the guy always seemed so cold and distant—with a way of mocking her that set her nerves on edge—so she’d given up on any kind of relationship.

  It was after nine when Ashley stepped outside into the cold, clear evening and dragged in a breath of mountain air.

  Thousands of stars twinkled above her. She took a moment to admire them, then descended the steps to the parking lot, thinking how far she was from the smoggy skies of her childhood.

  Away from the music and conversation, she used her cell phone to call Joe—and got his answering machine.

  “In case you’re on your way to the opening, I’ll see you there,” she said, thinking that if she didn’t find him at home, her only alternative was to make the trek back to Santa Fe.

  Canyon Road, Santa Fe’s Gallery Row, was a one-way street, and she had a little trouble getting to the highway because she didn’t know this area of town very well. Unable to tamp down her tension, she sped toward Sena Pueblo, hoping she wouldn’t get pulled over by a cop.

  At the two-lane road that led to the small community, she slowed her speed. She’d visited other pueblos since coming to New Mexico. A few, like Taos, reminded her of ancient apartment buildings, the adobe-brick housing units stacked together like giant blocks. But in Sena, most of the houses were low, separate structures grouped around an unpaved recreation area. The police station and the other public buildings, such as the Pueblo Affairs office, were in a small complex slightly removed from the residential area.

  With the money rolling in from his paintings, Joe had built himself a v
ery upscale home, in traditional southwest style, occupying a patch of desert about ten minutes from the heart of the community.

  She saw the low adobe house miles before she arrived. Every light was shining into the darkness as if he owned stock in the electric company. But as she neared the dwelling, she couldn’t see anyone inside.

  Lord, had he suffered a heart attack? Had he fallen? Or was he in some other kind of trouble?

  After pulling to a stop next to the artist’s shiny new SUV, she leaped from the car and ran toward the carved wooden door. When no one answered her knock, she reached for the brass knob.

  The door was unlocked so she yanked it open and stepped onto the thick Mexican tile of the foyer.

  “Joe?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Joe?”

  A blur of movement made her head jerk up—as the man himself leaped out of the shadows in the hallway, his eyes wild, a revolver in his hand.

  Chapter Two

  She froze.

  “Joe, it’s all right. It’s Ashley,” she soothed, hearing the quaver in her own voice as she studied the terrible tension in his weathered face. “It’s Ashley,” she repeated, because he didn’t seem to recognize her. “I’m here to help you.”

  “No! Get away from me.”

  Joe Cordova was as familiar to her as her own adopted parents. But tonight his eyes were wide and staring.

  “Stay away,” he warned, lifting the gun.

  She didn’t know what to do. Back up? Or hold her ground? So she stood where she was, her heart blocking her windpipe, wondering if this man who had been like a favorite uncle to her was going to kill her.