Page 1 of Wait for You

CHAPTER 1

Imogen

The acid burning through Imogen Sanchez’s gut warned her she had made a terrible mistake. She could almost hear her mother’s voice calling it a fool-hardy, impetuous miscalculation. The nagging feeling lingered with each step she took across the terracotta-tiled floor. She tried her best not to heed it, but there was no denying she trudged down a path with no return.

Like the chasm of improbability within her plan, the understated corridor in the Spanish-style mansion stretched before her into a never-ending expanse. Muted white walls ushered her forward while the coffee-colored colonial-style beams on the ceiling threatened to close in on her if she didn’t keep moving.

She took a calming breath, and the faint scent of lemon cleaner drifted to her from the woman she followed. Their matching sensible low-heeled black pumps clip-clopped in unison against the square tiles. It seemed to echo her heart rate. The organ refused to settle, and sweat beaded on the back of her neck, soiling the starched white collar of her new maid’s uniform. She tugged at the gray material of the dress.

Too late to turn back now.

Imogen’s grip on the feather duster tightened as her skin pricked with nerves. The slim, rounded wooden handle would likely leave its imprint on her delicate palm.

Thankfully, the job application as a cleaning woman hadn’t required viewing her hands, or the head housekeeper for the Lazcano Cartel’s lieutenant would’ve known Imogen wasn’t used to hard labor. No callouses graced the supple skin at the base of her fingers. She kept her fingernails diligently manicured with no hangnails nor even an overgrown cuticle in sight.

She was accustomed to having maids, not being one.

“You’ll start here, in the guest wing,” Lucia instructed Imogen as she pushed open a set of tall double doors.

They were stained a deep mahogany, making the intricate details carved into the wood stand out. Imogen had only a moment to wonder what the carvings depicted before the doors swung wide, revealing a spacious parlor with a vaulted ceiling decorated in a muted color palette of light blues and grays.

As cold as the man it belongs to.

But the guest wing wasn’t part of her plan.

“Oh. Do I move ontoSeñorMorales’ quarters next?” The tips of the fingernails on her right hand dug crescents into her skin as she squeezed the handle of the duster, attempting to hold in her eagerness to gain access to the lieutenant’s private rooms. She hoped it hadn’t colored her voice.

Lucia’s shrewd gaze jerked to hers. Frowning, she stated, “For now, you are only responsible for the guest wing.”

Imogen forced a smile despite the stones that had just sunk in her stomach. “What a relief. I’m sure this wing will be enough to keep me busy.”

Lucia nodded. “Indeed, it will. Now”—she set down a bin filled with cleaning supplies, then shooed her hands at Imogen—“haz una limpieza!”

The no-nonsense tone of the housekeeper’s voice telling her to get cleaning snapped Imogen’s spine straight. She flashed back to her catholic-school upbringing and the Spanish nuns who’d often yelled at her to pay attention. Not that she hadn’tbeen—paying attention. She’d simply had a habit of moving farther ahead in her lessons when she got tired of the slow pace they were taking.

She’d grown up with privilege, but attending an all-girls boarding school in Spain hadn’t been free of hardship. Namely, loneliness. She’d missed her brother fiercely during those years. Despite his being three years younger than her, they’d always shared a special bond—an understanding of the weight placed upon their shoulders because of the family they’d been born into. Whenever one of them started to falter, the other was there to help carry some of the load.

Until recently.

Shaking off the cloud of memory, Imogen realized Lucia had gone, apparently not needing a response from the likes of her.

The thought almost had her snorting a hysteria-tinged laugh. She might be the daughter of an energy magnate from a long line of successful oil barons, but she didn’t want Lucia—or anyone else for that matter—finding out who she was. So, for now, she would play the part of a maid.

But cleaning wasn’t the reason she was here. Not the real reason anyway.

Imogen took a deep breath and twisted her fingers in the auburn-hued feathers on the end of her duster. She’d willingly placed herself in the most feared man in northeast Texas’ household.

Risky?Definitely.

Unwise? Probably.

Loca?Maybe a little . . . okay,a lot. What she was doing was a lot crazy, but she would do anything to find her younger brother.

Despite her father’s money and influence, when it came to a missing Hispanic, the authorities in Gregg County couldn’t care less. Their small town of Liberty Station smacked of big money. It was located near Kilgore, whose economy ran onoil production. Big money meant big politics, and their focus remained on the border and the war against drugs.

A thought wiggled its way past her defenses. There was one man—one cop—who would’ve cared, but they no longer had a relationship where she could call and ask for his help. An ache pulsed around her heart, and she buried the memories of her ex-boyfriend, shoving the echoes of pain down with them.

If anyone were going to find Emiliano, it would beher.

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