by LK Shaw
“Ms. Valencia, this is the police. We’d like to speak with you, please.”
There was the click of the lock being disengaged and the knob turned. My body was tense, but ready for anything. Slowly, the door opened to reveal a lovely Hispanic woman in her mid- to late-fifties with long brown hair graying at the roots. Something about her seemed familiar, especially her eyes and smile. A dead weight dropped in my gut, leaving a heavy and unwelcome feeling. I didn’t like this.
“I wondered if you would show up here. Please, come in Oliver. Officer Rodriguez,” she said, turning and disappearing further into the apartment. The door remained wide open.
Pablo and I shared a nervous glance. What the fuck?
“It is just me here, and I have no plans to harm either of you. You have my word.” Her voice carried from somewhere inside.
Not taking any chances, we both unholstered our guns. Panning the weapon back and forth, my eyes darted around the room, finding nothing. Pablo and I crept further inside the apartment, closing the door behind us. We continued our sweep until we located the woman, in the kitchen, cooking at the stove as though we weren’t of any concern to her. She glanced over her shoulder.
“The guns are unnecessary, gentlemen. I promise that no one besides me is here, and I do not have any weapons of my own.”
I gestured with my chin for Pablo to keep searching while I holstered my piece and stood on the other side of the threshold separating the living area from the eating area. The scent of whatever she was making filled the apartment and my mouth watered. A memory sparked in the back of my brain, but flittered away before I could latch on to it. I stood there watching as she cooked.
Pablo returned to my side. “The apartment’s clear.”
“I told you it was,” she said without looking at either of us. She merely continued stirring the food inside the pot in front of her.
“How did you know my name?” Every other question I wanted to ask disappeared. That one had been screaming at me since we stepped through the door.
“Would either of you like some pozole?” she asked.
“Ms. Valencia—” I started.
“Valesquez.”
I glanced at Pablo before quickly returning my attention to her. “Excuse me?”
Finally she set the stirring spoon on a ceramic holder and turned to face us, her hands clasped at her waist. “I think we can dispense with the pretense at this point, si? I believe you both know exactly who I am.”
“Maria Luis Valesquez,” Pablo stated.
I found that I didn’t care. “You didn’t answer my question. How do you know my name?” I asked again, biting out each word.
Her eyes bored into mine. “Because you are my son.”
Chapter 34
The knock on the door startled me, even though I was expecting company. I peeked through the slats of the mini-blinds and smiled at the visitor on the other side.
“Come on in,” I greeted Yvonne, stepping aside so she could enter.
I closed the door, and she pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Me too. I was scared shitless.”
“I bet,” she said, looking around. “So, this is Oliver’s place, huh.”
She leisurely strolled from the living room and into the kitchen before returning. “It’s not what I expected.”
I bristled a little at her tone, but managed to tamp it down. Oliver didn’t need me to be offended on his behalf. Her comment made me curious though. “What did you expect?”
Yvonne’s gaze darted to mine. Okay, so maybe there had been a small bite to my question. I smiled apologetically.
“I guess I expected less Better Homes and Gardens and more frat house chic.”
I snorted at the image she painted. Oliver and I were still getting to know each other, but I could see where she might get that impression. For a second, I hesitated, but a driving force prompted me to ask since she seemed to know him better than me. “Did you two ever…you know?”
Yvonne didn’t say anything for a minute, and I cursed myself for asking. Did I really want to know the truth?
“Yes, but it was a very, and I mean very brief, thing.”
I’d suspected as much. “Who ended it?”
“He did. I knew he would though. Oliver has never been interested in anything longterm or involving feelings.”
This was what had me worried.
“He’s different with you,” she said. “I think it’s important you know that. From the beginning, there’s been something between you two. He actually promised to owe me one if I went and talked to you that first day.”
I stared in surprise. Neither of them had told me that.
“That reminds me. I need to collect my payment soon,” Yvonne laughed.
“You’re so mean.” I bit my lip, wanting her to explain more about how Oliver was different, but I wasn’t sure how to ask.
“I’m scared.” I finally said.
Yvonne studied me. “Of what?”
I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by anything I said. Just because Oliver broke it off didn’t meant that Yvonne had wanted him to.
“I wasn’t in love with him, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she said with a soft smile. “He was merely an itch to scratch. I might have wondered, briefly, what could have been, but it wasn’t love.”
My heart hurt for her. Having all of Oliver’s attention was powerful. He knew how to make a woman feel special. “I’m worried my feelings aren’t real. That they’re just a byproduct of the fact that Oliver keeps taking care of me. I worry that his feelings aren’t real either. Or maybe they are, but they won’t last. He’ll wake up one day and realize he made a mistake.”
Yvonne reached out for my hand. “I think every person, at one point wonders if their partner’s feelings may change without notice. But there comes a time where you just have to push those thoughts aside. You can’t live in a constant state of fear.”
I guessed she was right. That didn’t help with my other worry though. What if this “thing” between us was only a facade? An illusion? Relying on Oliver wasn’t fair to him. I couldn’t constantly just take.
There was another knock on the door. Yvonne looked at me. “Are you expecting anyone else today?”
I shook my head. “Only you. Maybe it’s a delivery guy dropping something off?”
She rose from the couch and approached the window, peeking out between the blinds. “What’s he doing here?” she mumbled.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Yvonne glanced over her shoulder. “Sorensen.”
At my questioning stare, she clarified. “He’s another officer. Works with Oliver.”
“Oh my god, do you think everything is okay? I knew he shouldn’t have gone to that apartment.” I wrapped my arms around myself.
“He’s fine,” she waved off my concern. “He and Rodriguez have a whole team backing them up. Still doesn’t explain what Sorensen’s doing here”
While she headed to the door, I walked to the window. I widened the slats to peer outside. The taste of bile rose in my throat, and my vision went dark. Before I could find my voice she turned the knob.
“No,” I managed to choke out, but it was too late.
Yvonne stepped back, and my worst nightmare entered the one place I’d felt safe besides Oliver’s arms. She turned toward me. “Shit, Charity, are you all right? You’re white as a ghost.”
“I knew I recognized you at the precinct that day. You’re a hard woman to track down,” the man standing inside the door said. Yvonne’s head snapped in his direction, and I tried to call out a warning, but Sorensen was too fast. He punched her, and she collapsed onto the floor with a crash. It spurred me into action. I sprinted toward the back door. Just as my fingers latched onto the knob, he wrapped himself around me, pinning my arms to my sides and jerking me backward.
“Uh uh, not so fast.”
“Let me go,” I yelled, kicking and struggling t
o break free of his punishing grip.
“Stop screaming, or I’ll put a bullet through Spencer’s head,” he warned against my ear, and my cries dried in my throat. “You and I are going for a ride. El Diablo would like to have a little chat with you.”
Chapter 35
I stood there, paralyzed, staring at her. There was no way I’d heard her right. “What the fuck did you say?”
A flash of something resembling pain crossed her face. “You look just like your abuelo did when he was your age.”
This had to be some sick joke. “You’re crazy, lady. And a goddamn liar.”
“What is your mother’s name, Oliver?” she asked almost sadly.
I blinked. My chest felt tight, and my head hurt. Fragments of memories started playing. Conversations between my parents. My father yelling at my mother. “You’re just going leave him with me while you go back to Mexico to get your revenge, Maria?”
“Maria,” I whispered. It didn’t mean anything
Pablo’s head jerked in my direction, but I barely paid him any attention.
“Did your father ever tell you why I left?” she asked.
“He doesn’t even speak your name.” I shook my head. No, I was not buying into this story.
She flinched, but then nodded. “That does not surprise me. You probably have a lot of questions, then.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Would you like to have a seat?” She turned back to the stove and shut the burner off.
This was all surreal. I was having a hard time processing. Needing some fucking answers, I followed her as she led us over to the living room. I dropped onto the couch while Pablo took the opposite end. Maria sat in the matching upholstered chair.
“Because of your relationship with Agent Roberts, I am going to assume you know my history?”
Pablo jerked at the mention of Landon’s name. I should have been a little surprised at her knowledge, but my emotions were numb.
“There are rumors,” he filled in when the silence stretched because I was still grappling with this revelation. “Sold by your brother at the age of fourteen to one of his business associates, old enough to be your father, whom you then murdered, or had someone else murder.”
“He was old enough to be my grandfather, and that bastard Emilio was my half-brother,” she interjected. “Otherwise, all true.”
Pablo acknowledged the correction. “After your husband’s death, you disappeared for five years before returning to Mexico, where you continued building the alliances you cultivated during your marriage. Several years ago, you murdered Raúl Escobar and formed a partnership with Miguel Álvarez supplying his drugs. After Álvarez was killed you went into business with Elliot King, then, more recently, Ricardo Morales. The latter you persuaded to kill your half-brother,”—he emphasized the familial relationship—“and then you turned in evidence of the fact. Evidence that led to his arrest for not only murder, but human trafficking.”
Maria seemed impressed. “The Feds have done their research. All of that is correct. But it is the five years in which I disappeared that are the important ones, are they not?”
“I was born during those years, wasn’t I?” I finally found my voice.
“Si,” she replied. “After my husband’s death, I celebrated. He was an evil man, and no one mourned him, least of all me. I had no freedom under his rule. Every friendship I made was in secret. Ten years is a long time to be a prisoner. Once he was dead, I was free.”
Maria’s face shone with so much relief at that. Hadn’t I felt sorry for her after learning she’d been abused at such a young age? How could I blame her for being glad to be rid of her abuser?
“What happened after he died?” I asked.
“I was twenty-four years old and had never left Sinaloa. Being free meant I had choices. It meant I could see things I had only ever read about, including America, which had always fascinated me. I wanted to see it for myself. Explore all there was. Growing up, I had made a list of all the cities I wanted to visit if I ever escaped my husband.”
“Chicago was on that list.”
She nodded. “It was the third city I visited after I arrived in the States. I fell in love with it. The culture. The people. All of it.”
“Where does my father fit in?”
Her expression shifted and she seemed almost sorrowful. “I was out for a walk one day, on my way to the library, when I passed by a construction site. A young man stood at the fence calling out instructions to some of the other workers. As I came alongside him, he turned and our eyes caught. He had the most beautiful smile. I visited the library often and took the same route each time. Every day I walked by the construction site he would smile and say hello, until one day, he stopped me and asked me out for a drink.”
That sounded like my dad—laying on the charm and coaxing the woman to let her guard down.
“He was very exciting, your father. Randall was the first man my age that had showed any interest in me. He flirted and made me laugh. No man had ever made me laugh like he did. I fell in love,” she said quietly.
I snorted in disbelief. “People in love don’t leave.”
Maria stared intently at me. “They do if they are not loved in return.”
That, too, sounded like my father. Why didn’t you take me with you? The confused four year old inside me cried out, but I didn’t give voice to the question. Something must have shown on my face though. An expression I couldn’t hide.
“I wanted to take you with me,” Maria said.
Another bitter laugh escaped before I could temper it. “You must not have wanted to very bad.”
She reached across the space between us as though to grasp my hand, but I jerked it out of range. She pulled back and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Right before I left, I got word from one of my associates that Emilio had finally taken over the cartel after Domenico Jimenez was killed,” she continued as though nothing just happened. “He put a reward out on my head. The leader of the most powerful cartel in Mexico could not be seen as weak. And letting me live after I had killed my husband, showed a weakness.”
“Christ,” Pablo said. My thoughts echoed his. Emotion swelled, and I swallowed hard.
“Emilio would either kill me, or he would kill you just to make me suffer. I would never let that happen. The only way to keep you safe was to leave you with your father. Especially because once the bounty had been placed, I planned on returning to Mexico to begin plotting my revenge,” she said.
“I don’t understand something. It had been five years. Why wait?” I asked. “Why didn’t he put a price on your head before then?”
“Because Domenico would not let him.” Her smirk was one of self-satisfaction.
“Why’s that?” Pablo asked.
“It was under his orders that I kill my husband in the first place. Although I would have done it anyway.”
Jesus.“If there was a price on your head, how did you manage to stay alive these last thirty years?”
Her lips tipped up again like she was imparting a secret. “When you make the right kind of powerful friends that I did, it is easy to remain hidden.”
“So you remained hidden for all these years. Why come back?” I asked.
“It was time. I had done everything I could to become even more powerful than my half-brother. The time for my revenge had arrived. I knew of his partnership with Morales and I had every intention of undermining it.” Her voice gained strength.
“Until you discovered he was dealing in flesh peddling.” It all made sense.
Hatred flashed across her face. “Si. Men who prey on women, who abuse women, do not deserve to live. They deserve to be punished, which is what I will do. Especially since one of the women they hurt was your Charity.”
The mention of her name made me go rigid. I didn’t want this woman, mother or not, anywhere near Charity.
“Stay away from her,” I growled protectively.
Maria’s e
xpression was pained. “I would never harm her. Everything I have done has been to protect both of you. Did I not provide the evidence to help you bring down Los Lobos? Charity was able to reach my building safely when Los Lobos broke into the gym to kill her, because I had men watching over her. I will also be the one who will make El Diablo and his men pay for causing her, and you, harm. She will never have to worry about any of them again,” she finished fiercely, a spark of vengeance burning in her eyes.
“What do you mean she’ll never have to worry?” I growled.
A ringing phone interrupted us.
“Excuse me, I must answer that.” She picked it up. “¡Hola!”
The person on the other end was speaking too faint to decipher their words, but whatever was being said cause Maria’s expression to shift. I caught rage, but on its heels—worry. She disconnected the call, and her attention snapped to me.
“He has Charity. We must go. Now.”
Chapter 36
Sorensen slapped me across the face, and I stopped asking where he was taking me. Instead, I slunk down in my seat and hoped Yvonne was all right. We’d left Oliver’s neighborhood and had just entered Little Village and Los Lobos territory. Waves of nausea rolled through my belly. I might never see Oliver again. Never get to tell him I loved him. That hurt the most.
Every worry I’d shared with Yvonne vanished. I didn’t love Oliver because he took care of me. I loved him because he treated me as though I were special. He’d taught me how to fight. How to laugh. How to be confident in myself. Most importantly, he taught me how to not be so afraid. If I was going to die today—and I couldn’t see any other outcome—then I was going to go out like the strong woman Oliver showed me I could be. That I was. I wouldn’t go quietly.
Finally we pulled in front of a rundown house, its windows boarded up and cracked siding along every visible exterior surface. Sorensen exited the vehicle and dragged me out of the passenger seat by my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, no doubt leaving marks.