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  Magadan had been living in the home vacated by his predecessor for several months, but other than making sure his mail would be delivered here, he’d done little to turn the house into a home he felt comfortable in. That, he decided when he thought about it at all, would come later. For the present he was fully occupied with the task of undoing the damage caused by his predecessor. The transactions that put him into a deserted but completely furnished home were known only by a handful of people, and they were either lawyers or bankers who knew the wisdom of keeping their own counsel. Even the middle-aged woman who came in once a week to undo the damage of a bachelor knew almost nothing about her employer.

  For a few minutes Magadan thought he was going to be able to concentrate on mail that dealt with stock reports, a report from his accountant, and a few bills, but as he discarded an advertisement from the local Grange, he had to admit that ebony eyes and not financial matters were what was on his mind.

  She won’t be what you expect, the sheriff had said. Damn the old goat! If that wasn’t an understatement, Magadan didn’t know what was. Not a word about her being one of the most arresting creatures he’d ever seen. Untamed, the sheriff called her. But that didn’t say it all either. The plain truth of the matter was, Chela Reola didn’t fit any cubbyhole Magadan had ever been aware of. He’d met enough women in his thirty- four years to think he knew just about all there was to know about them. There were clinging vines, independent career women, insecure child-women, and bitter creatures who looked at all men with suspicion.

  Magadan couldn’t for the life of him figure out what Chela thought of men. There was a certain wariness to her that told him she’d had some bad experiences in her life, but that didn’t mean the warmth and giving had been sucked out of her. Somehow, he felt, there was a sensitive core hidden behind the dark eyes, but that core was kept well under control by a woman who’d learned that she had to be strong and independent in order to survive in the world she’d forged for herself.

  Somewhere along the line she’d stopped accepting people at face value. If he was ever going to get her to trust him, he was going to have to prove himself. But that was going to be difficult when the very nature of their relationship prevented total honesty.

  Magadan kicked off his shoes without bothering to untie them and wandered into the den-turned-office that served as the focal point for his activities these days. He dialed the number of Phillip McAndrews without having to look it up.

  “I can’t tell you if it’s going to work,” Magadan said after he and the fifty-year-old community kingpin had exchanged pleasantries. “I’ve made the contact, but I don’t know if she’s going to buy our story.”

  “She? You’re dealing with a woman? Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  “I’m sure,” Magadan answered. “I’ve done enough poking around to know that a woman named Chela Reola is our best bet—”

  “Chela?” Philip interrupted. “She’ll trust you about as far as she can throw you. You’ll never get her to go along with anything. She keeps to herself.”

  “I had dinner with her tonight. Give me time. Look, I spent an hour with the sheriff the other day. He agreed with us that the Mexicans around here aren’t going to give us anything that would expose Kohl. They’re too intimidated by him. And you better believe certain orchardists we can both name are going to protect that snake. He’ll blow the whistle on them if the law comes after him, and they know it. He isn’t going to go down alone unless we do this right.”

  “Are you sure you have the sheriff’s cooperation? We have a lot at stake here, you know,” Phillip said nervously. “If he doesn’t press charges—”

  “Kenneth is with us all the way. And so is the DA. I’m a little concerned because the DA is going to want names blasted all over the newspapers when this business comes to court. It’ll be a feather in his cap for him if he pulls it off. He’ll want everyone to think he was responsible for getting us involved.”

  “You keep my name out of the paper,” Phillip warned. “You’re new here. You don’t have as much at stake as I do. The orchardists are a powerful group.”

  “I have enough at stake,” Magadan pointed out wearily. He wasn’t crazy about working with the publicity-shy McAndrews, but the older man had connections and local political clout Magadan didn’t. “Besides, if this works out the way we want it to, we aren’t going to be the ones sticking our necks out. Chela Reola is.”

  “Does she know that? I think we need to clarify that with her. Arrange a meeting with the three of us. I respect her too much to be anything less than honest. Does she know what Kohl is capable of?”

  “She knows, all right. I don’t think she’s afraid, but neither does she trust me. Not that I can blame her given the little information I’ve told her. Look, it’s late. I just wanted to keep you abreast of what’s going on. Right now I’m giving her time to think things over. I have to do that.”

  “No way. Don’t ever give a woman time, especially that one,” Phillip warned. “That’s one savvy lady. I’ll tell you what I’d do if I were in your place. Turn on the charm. Get her eating out of your hand, and you’re home free. A woman in love will do anything for her man.”

  “It’s a good thing I have no intention of taking your advice,” Magadan said before putting an end to the conversation. “I’ve never heard of that trick working on a woman. I know it isn’t going to work with Chela.”

  What would work on Chela Reola? Magadan wondered later as he got ready for bed. He could imagine her expression if he sent her flowers or invited her out to a fancy restaurant. Instead of melting from the effect of his charms, she would be instantly suspicious. Sorry, Phillip, Magadan thought. Even if I have charm, which I’m not sure I have, it isn’t going to convince this particular woman that I’m on the up-and-up.

  Flowers and a romantic evening—had Chela ever had that experience? Magadan thought of her strong hands with their short clipped nails and doubted that she’d ever been inside the valley’s exclusive restaurants. Then he thought of questioning ebony eyes with something vulnerable and hungry flickering deep inside them and acknowledged a desire to give her that evening. Then he chided himself. This wasn’t the way he should be thinking. This was a business arrangement, nothing more.

  Chapter Three

  Magadan had given Chela a week to learn what she could about him, but it could have been a year for all the good the week did her. Jackson County wasn’t what could be called an urban center, but with a city of some thirty thousand as the county’s hub, plus a half-dozen small towns surrounding Medford, it was impossible for Chela to learn anything about a man who didn’t even have his number listed in the telephone book. It bothered her to realize that Magadan had been aware of how hard he would be to trace, but in a way she understood. Some people required a low profile in their lifestyle. Magadan was one of them.

  When Chela deliberately mentioned that she’d been approached by a self-confident yet secretive man, her supervisor apologized for having told Magadan what he did about her. Unfortunately the older man was unable to answer any questions. “He came into my office wearing a suit that isn’t going to be found in a catalog. He was so self-assured that maybe I let it intimidate me. He said something about being involved in law enforcement. He expected me to answer his questions, and I fell right into his hands. I admit I was eager to cooperate with whatever agency he represented. What did he want anyhow?”

  Chela didn’t answer. What she and Magadan had discussed was none of the man’s business. Besides, she had learned long ago that it was better to keep certain things to oneself. She would continue going into the orchards and barrios and wait for Magadan to get in touch with her.

  He walked back into her life much the same way he’d entered it. Chela had been in one of the more isolated orchards, talking to a worker who was terrified of appearing in court about a traffic ticket. She’d assured the man that she would go to court with him and was walking back through the silent rows of trees
to the shed where she’d left her Jeep when Magadan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Instead of breaking the silence, he simply waited as she came closer. Today he was dressed in jeans and an unironed but fairly new shirt.

  “It’s hot,” Magadan observed objectively. “Don’t you ever wish you worked in an air-conditioned office?”

  Chela glanced down at the long expanse of denim-clad leg. “I’d have to wear a dress. I don’t own any.”

  “You don’t own a dress?”

  Chela allowed herself a smile. “Almost. I have a couple of sundresses, something with a blazer I bought for when the superintendent of schools comes calling, and slacks during the school year, but I live in these in the summer.”

  Magadan didn’t come closer, but his eyes made a quick decision. Size ten. And she would look good in any color, particularly intense ones that wouldn’t be lost next to her own rich coloring and shining black hair. “Have you had enough time?” he asked.

  Despite the sudden shift in conversation, Chela knew what Magadan was talking about. Instantly she pushed aside the image of a strong, competent man standing close to her in an orchard empty except for birds and small rodents. She dug her tennis shoes into the rich bottom soil of the Bear Creek valley and reached out to touch the hard, immature surface of a sun-warmed d’Anjou pear. “You knew I wouldn’t learn anything about you,” she pointed out. “Your name isn’t in the phone book, but I didn’t expect it to be.”

  “I have my reasons for having it unlisted. Forget that. That isn’t important.” Magadan waved away his own impatience and nodded in the direction of a shed surrounded by farm equipment. He fell in line behind Chela as she walked through a carpet of wild mustard toward it. “It’s so quiet here,” he said softly. “There’s a peace to the orchards. Does it bother you that I don’t have my face plastered all over town?”

  “The trees are doing their work now. It’ll get busy when the pears are ripe,” Chela said just as softly. “It bothers me that you expect me to take everything you say at face value. You want me to do something for you, but you won’t even tell me who you are, what you do. You played the same game with my supervisor.”

  Magadan waited until they reached a stack of baled straw just outside the shed. Chela climbed onto one of the bales and sat cross-legged on it. Taking her lead, he chose a bale next to hers, positioning himself so that nothing that might show in her eyes would escape him. Behind her he saw the gnarled branches of endless trees silhouetted against the summer sun. “What do you want me to tell you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m tailing to you.” But maybe she did. The man sitting cross-legged near her was fascinating, not because she knew so little about him, but because she was reacting toward him in a way she barely understood.

  “I don’t know why you haven’t told me to take a flying leap either,” Magadan admitted. “Except maybe you believe how I feel about a creature like Kohl. That’s one thing I can level with you about. I want the man out of operation. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish that.”

  “But you won’t tell me why you don’t want him around. Why should you care?”

  Magadan sighed. “Several reasons. I was near the Rio Grande last year. I wound up doing some interpreting for a family Kohl had taken across the border and deserted. Of course, he had their money before he took off. Two adults and five kids stranded illegally with everything they owned on their backs and Kohl getting fat from what they’d given him to get them into California.”

  Chela frowned. His words may have been quiet, but she could see the anger and outrage in his clenched jaw, his narrowed eyes. “And that’s why you’re after Kohl? Because of something he did to a family you didn’t know?”

  Magadan laughed. “That makes me sound like the white knight, doesn’t it? No. That was the first time I’d heard Kohl’s name. Since moving here I’ve learned a lot more about that bastard. The most I can tell you at this time is that I’ve had dealings with a couple of local orchardists who worked with Kohl. He provided them with illegal workers. In turn both he and the orchardists robbed the illegals blind. Immigration showed up just before payday and hauled them back to Mexico. No human being should treat another that way. Whether they were legal or not, they worked, they deserved to be paid. He has to be stopped.”

  “He?” Chela spat bitterly. “What about the orchardists? Or are they too powerful to touch?”

  “Maybe. Chela, you’ve lived here most of your life. You know how much influence the orchardists have in this valley. The fruit harvest is an important part of the area’s economic base. The legal system isn’t going to blow the whistle on them unless they have an airtight case and the money to counter the orchardists’ high-priced lawyers. But if Kohl is put out of business, then their supply is cut off. They’ll get the message: Either clean up their act or risk being exposed the way Kohl was.”

  “You said you’ve had dealings with the orchardists,” Chela said warily. “What kind of dealings?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that. Look, I haven’t given you any reason to believe I’m anything but a law-abiding citizen, have I? Let’s just say I’m working in conjunction with the law enforcement system.”

  Chela met the man’s narrowed, wary eyes. She knew that most men dropped their eyes when they were lying, but there was nothing tentative about the way Magadan returned her stare. Were his eyes telling the truth? Did she dare believe him? A part of her that was soft and deeply buried cried “yes”, but the part of Chela that challenged her to fight for migrant rights was wary.

  A gust of wind found its way down the rows of trees. Chela waited until the rustling branches had spent themselves before she spoke. “You have something to do with law enforcement? That doesn’t tell me much.”

  Magadan groaned. “There are some other things about me you should know. You got time?”

  Chela sat motionless, absorbing both words and impressions as Magadan told about the only son of a successful lawyer who cut his teeth on legal defenses and fact-gathering, much as other boys learned about sports and cars. “My father was a lawyer for twenty years before becoming one of the most outspoken district attorneys the state has ever seen. He loved his work; he fought to make sure that victims of crimes weren’t forgotten. He didn’t have much use for repeat criminals. Maybe my father was the modern-day equivalent of the Lone Ranger. I thought he was about the greatest man I’d ever known. I know I’ve never admired anyone as much as I admired him. For a long time I thought I was going to be a lawyer, too, but when I got to law school, I discovered I was much more interested in business than law.”

  “You’re a businessman?”

  “Something like that. Let’s just say I have a certain knack for sniffing out opportunities and turning them to my advantage. I had to start out small, but I now have enough capital to take bigger risks.” Magadan frowned. “Forget I said that. I’m not here to toot my own horn.”

  “I don’t know what you’re here for. Are you going to arrest Kohl? Do you have that authority?” Chela straightened and then recrossed her legs. She rested her arms on her bent knees and folded her hands together, waiting.

  “I’m here because you are. Because there’s a fly in the ointment, and you’re the one to get rid of him.”

  Chela’s laugh cut sharply through the gentle orchard sounds. “I’m a means to an end, is that it? Someone you can use.” A second later she was on her feet, brushing hay off her clothes as she turned her back on Magadan. “I’ve seen one user in my life. I don’t want anything to do with another.”

  Chela started to walk toward the nearest row of trees, but Magadan stopped her. He grabbed her shoulders, biting down with his fingers to keep the wiry young woman from pulling away. “I’m not a user. I wouldn’t take advantage of you.”

  Chela whirled back around. “How can I believe that? You won’t tell me anything about yourself, anything important.”

  �
�Because I can’t.” Magadan’s hands dropped to his side. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words. “At this stage of the plan, I just can’t. I’d jeopardize too much hard work.”

  Chela took a backward step, trying to decrease the impact of the agony she heard in the strong, competent man’s voice. But once again Magadan reached for Chela. His hands snaked out as if afraid she’d shy away before he could capture her. She’d started to back off, but he was too quick for her. Magadan gripped her wrists, pulling her toward him. When she was less than a foot away, he pulled her hands downward and close to his sides so she was thrown off balance. Chela felt his breath on the side of her face and stiffened. Gentle, caressing touches from men weren’t the kind of contact she was used to. Magadan was rough in his handling of her, rough enough to alarm her. And yet, because she retained the memory of the honesty that lived in his eyes, she didn’t try to escape. Instead she stood, trembling slightly, waiting for him to make the next move.

  Magadan hadn’t intended on kissing Chela, but with her soft lips only inches away, he surrendered to the impulse. He pulled down and back with his hands, drawing her ever closer. She thrust her chin out, but the defiant act only made him more determined.

  Chela felt his lips on hers and barely suppressed a gasp as she acknowledged her body responding to the contact. She kept her eyes open, body tense, as the gentle whispering touch became more intimate. His face was so close that it was no more than a blur but not so fuzzy that she couldn’t see that his eyes, too, were open. Chela stopped resisting the pull on her wrists and took the half step that brought their bodies together. Now she could concentrate on what was happening without being distracted by the almost painful pressure of his fingers on her wrists. She felt his body warmth through her, reaching the unencumbered breasts beneath the thin fabric. Unless she was representing the school district, Chela didn’t usually wear a bra. She hated any kind of confinement. Now that decision was working against her natural reserve.