“Who are the ghosts?” She didn’t believe in malevolent ghosts, though she was open enough to otherworldly energy. She could practically hear Ryder snort in disbelief.
“The priest and the women from town who helped out were killed by the Guiding Light a couple of years ago. It is said you can see lights at night, sometimes, and that Father Pascal is looking for the lost children.”
“Lost children?” Jenny echoed, horrified.
“Some of the children who attended the school never returned that day, and no one knows what happened to them.”
“I think we’ll take our chances with the ghosts,” Ryder said, taking over the conversation and smiling at the girl. Really smiling, using all his latent charm, and Jenny wanted to scream. He’d never smiled at her like that, never made the slightest attempt to charm her. “We’re really bone tired.”
“You need food? Come back and I will cook for you. This is my uncle’s cantina, and he pours the drinks in the evening while I take care of the tables. I can bring you something to eat during my break if you like.”
Jenny really didn’t like the girl. “No, thank you,” she said sweetly before Ryder had a chance to answer. “I can cook for my man.” She used the term deliberately, just to goad him, but he didn’t even blink. He probably approved of her territorial stance.
“Yes, thank you . . . ?” Ryder prompted.
“Rosario,” she said sweetly, and Ryder smiled at her once more. “If you change your mind I will be here. If your girlfriend is too tired you can always come alone.”
Over Rosario’s dead body, Jenny thought grimly. She drained her warm, bitter beer, shuddered slightly, and then grabbed Ryder’s arm. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” she said brightly. “I want to get settled for the night.”
“Women,” he said, not a tactful statement in a room with only women inside. “How do we find this convent?”
So Ms. Jennifer Gauthier Parker didn’t like it when he flirted with other women, Ryder thought as he drove down the narrow, rutted road leading from the village. Then again, she didn’t like it when he flirted with her, so that didn’t mean anything. His companion was tired and cranky and he couldn’t really blame her. Six hours in the open jeep over these roads would make anyone cranky, himself included. They needed to get settled for the night, get something to eat, and then get a good night’s sleep.
“You didn’t care much for Rosario,” he said lazily. “Jealous?”
“Oh, please,” she protested. “Go spend the night with her—I’m sure that would make both of you very happy, and it would give me peace of mind.”
“You want to stay all alone in the haunted convent?” He took the left turn, deeper into the overgrown forest.
“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” she said flatly. “Besides, these were good guys who were killed. I’d think the Guiding Light would have more to fear from them.”
“Good point. But I don’t think you can count on the ghosts to keep the Guiding Light away from you. You’d be a plum asset—the daughter of a rich American gangster . . .”
“My father is not a gangster!”
“Close enough. They could get a nice ransom for you, and that’s one of their stocks in trade. I don’t think ghostly priests would be able to stop them.”
He could feel her reaction without having to look at her. “Rethinking the idea of sleeping alone?” he murmured. “That’s wise.”
She ignored him. “What if my father refused to pay my ransom? I’m basically persona non grata in the household, and I doubt he’d be willing to fork over much money.”
“Even though you put everything on the line to save your baby brother?”
“That was my choice, not his. I don’t want his gratitude and I’m not expecting any. He knew I didn’t do it for him.”
“Who did you do it for? Surely you’re not so stupid that you think your brother’s an innocent.”
“I’m not stupid. My brother may not have been innocent, but he didn’t know what he was getting involved in. He deserved a second chance.”
“To do the same thing all over again? How many people have to suffer until you decide he’s past redemption?”
She flushed. “If you must know, I did it for my mother.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of a mother.”
“Everybody has one, at least in the beginning. My mother died when I was thirteen and Billy was seven. I felt responsible for him.” She sounded brittle and matter-of-fact, but it was easy to read the pain beneath the cool words.
“Tough age to lose a mother,” he said mildly enough.