by Pamela Clare
She wasn’t alone.
“He’s got a couple of buddies in the department, high-ranking cops who are also friends of mine, and they’re breathing down my neck to know why you’re here.” Wu said this as if this were her fault, part of some conspiracy or something.
That was news to Mia, and it raised her spirits even more.
“How long are you going to keep me here? I’ve answered every question you asked me, some of them more than once.”
“Not that last question. We got interrupted.”
Oh, right.
Shit.
“Andy was discharged after being wounded when he left our forward operations base without authorization.”
Wu’s eyebrows rose. “You mean he went AWOL?”
How could Mia explain this and maintain the secrecy that the government demanded? “Not AWOL exactly. He left the post without authorization along with others from the company, including our CO, and came under attack. This is what led to his being injured and discharge.”
“Why is there nothing in the file?”
“I can’t answer that question.” She truly could not answer it—but she misled Wu as to the reason for that. “I wasn’t in charge of his service record.”
Wu nodded, his gaze dropping to the files in front of him, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Thanks for your cooperation. Don’t leave Denver.”
“When will you finish reviewing the security footage?”
“Hard to say.” He stood. “This isn’t the only case we’re working on.”
Joaquin was standing near the door in the lobby when Mia walked out, looking exhausted and more than a little shaken. “Hey.”
She didn’t seem surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“I had to pick up a mug shot for the paper. I saw you come in and thought I’d wait around to make sure you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze went soft, then fell to the floor.
“Do you need a lift?”
She nodded. “I need a ride back to the Botanic Gardens. My car is parked there. Would you mind?”
“How about I take you out for a quick bite to eat first?”
She seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “Okay.”
So, dinner with him wasn’t on her bucket list.
They walked outside together, cold wind hitting Joaquin in the face.
¡Carajo! It was damned cold.
Denver’s streets were busy with rush-hour traffic, so it took a few minutes to make it two blocks to his truck. He opened her door, shut it behind her, then walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
Mia was huddled in her parka and shivering. “I spent two years in Iraq and can’t seem to get acclimated to the cold again.”
“They say it’s dropping to ten below tonight.” He started the engine. “Do you like Mexican food?”
She nodded. “Love it.”
He pulled into traffic, heading down 13th Avenue. “My cousin Mateo owns a place not far from here. He serves the best chile verde in Denver.”
“Oh, really?” Mia arched a delicate red eyebrow. “That’s quite a claim.”
“You’ll see.” Joaquin drew to a stop at a red light. “I have to stop by the paper first to drop off the mug shot. You can wait in the truck. I’m just going to leave this at the front security desk.”
“That’s fine.”
It took a few minutes to reach the newspaper. Joaquin left the truck running, doors locked, and hurried through the paper’s front door. He dropped the envelope with the mug shot on the security desk, sent a text message to Syd to tell her where the photo was, and then hurried back out to his vehicle.
“I’m starving. How about you?”
Mia nodded. “Hungry.”
He drove toward Speer, the conversation lapsing into silence.
Joaquin decided to come out with it. “I heard they found bloody towels and a bath mat along with this Meyer guy’s driver’s license in a wood chipper—and, no, this isn’t for the newspaper.”
Mia watched him, doubt in her eyes. “Yes. That’s what they told me. I didn’t put it there. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
He reached over, gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s what I said.”
She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “You barely know me. How can you be sure? I could be a serial killer for all you know.”
Joaquin didn’t talk about the spiritual side of his work with most people. Too many wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t want Mia thinking he was just saying this because he wanted to get into her pants or some shit.
“Elena trusts you, and she’s a good judge of people. More than that, I’ve been a photographer all of my adult life. I’ve shot politicians and rock stars and killers. My camera taught me to see beyond what people show on the outside to what they are beneath their skin. That probably sounds strange.”
She seemed to measure his words. “I guess you’d have to be perceptive about human emotions if you want to take good photographs of people.”
“When I shot you standing next to the barricade tape, your emotions were right there on your face. You were angry at me and afraid for your friend—not for yourself, but for him. I knew right away that you care about what happens to him. If you had kidnapped or killed him, you’d have been self-conscious, afraid of being seen, closed off. The last person you would have confronted was a photojournalist.”
Mia seemed to relax. “It’s nice to know someone believes me.”
Then he told her what he’d been thinking ever since Darcangelo and Hunter had told him about the wood chipper. “The way all of this has gone down—him disappearing right after you were at his place, the bloody towels, bath mat, and driver’s license turning up where you work. What if someone wanted to get rid of Andy and pin it on you?”
Chills skittered down Mia’s spine, Joaquin’s words bringing the big picture into focus, making her see her situation in a way she hadn’t before. “What?”
Why hadn’t she thought of that?
She’d been too upset by Andy’s disappearance and too distracted by the fear of possibly losing a job she loved to put the pieces together.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.” That wasn’t entirely true. The idea that someone might be trying to frame her was unnerving, but two deployments had taught Mia to control her fear. “I’m angry. Why would anyone do this?”
“In my experience, bad people don’t need a reason to do bad shit, but this seems personal to me. Did Andy have any enemies, people who’d like to see you in trouble?”
Mia thought about it. “I haven’t been in close enough contact with him to know whether he has enemies.”
“It would have to be someone who knows both of you.”
“Well, that narrows it down.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “There were two hundred soldiers in our company at any given time and nineteen in Andy’s platoon besides him. People came and went. We’re talking about maybe three hundred soldiers.”
“How many of them live in Colorado?”
“I don’t know.” Mia looked over at Joaquin. “Maybe you should be a detective. You think like one.”
He grinned. “Nah, man, I think like an investigative journalist.”
“What’s the difference between an investigative journalist and an ordinary reporter?” Mia honestly had no clue.
“Investigative reporters don’t just report the news. They get out there and find the news. While a reporter might cover the City Council meeting and tell our readers what happened, an investigative reporter is digging through City Council’s paper trail, looking for anything that might expose corruption. The I-Team—the Investigative Team—they’re the newspaper’s rock stars.”
“I’ve heard of the I-Team. Are you part of it?”
He nodded, the pride he felt in his work showing in his smile. “I’m their shooter, though I sometimes get stuck doing GA work—general assignment—l
ike the other night when I met you.”
Regret stabbed at Mia. “I was rude to you that night. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” He turned into the parking lot of a restaurant named Aztlán. “Oh, man, this place is packed tonight.”
Joaquin parked and then pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his parka and typed in a text message. “I’m letting Mateo know we’re here.”
When the message was sent, they walked inside to find the front lobby crowded with people waiting for tables.
“This place must be good.” Mia glanced around at the Mexican décor—rustic pottery, colorful floor tiles, adobe walls. “We should get our names on the waitlist.”
Joaquin chuckled, his hand touching the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. “To hell with the waitlist.”
“Quino!” A man wearing gray trousers with a white shirt, gray vest, and bright yellow tie made his way toward them, a big smile on his face. He looked so much like Joaquin that he might have been his older brother.
He embraced Joaquin, the two of them speaking in Spanish.
Then Mateo turned to Mia, still smiling. “So, it takes a date with a beautiful woman to bring you through my doors, cousin?”
A date? Beautiful woman?
Heat rushed into Mia’s cheeks. “Um … I … Date?”
It wasn’t like her to get flustered by male attention. Then again, she’d never really gotten male attention—not the kind she’d wanted anyway.
Joaquin glared at his cousin. “She didn’t know it was a date. I was working up to that. Now you’ve ruined the surprise. This is Ms. Starr. She was Elena’s commanding officer her first year. You got a table for us, man?”
“A table for you, primo? No. But for you, señorita... Thank you for all you’ve done for our Elena. Follow me.”
Mia found herself seated in the back in a private alcove, golden light from luminaria flickering across the tile tabletop. Not sure what to say or do, she tucked her napkin into her lap. “A date?”
“I can’t tonight,” Joaquin teased. “Tonight, I’m having dinner with you.”
Mia laughed. But then she saw it, and her breath caught.
Attraction.
It was there in his eyes.
5
Joaquin could tell that Mateo’s teasing had embarrassed Mia. Her cheeks had flushed pink, and she had looked away. Now she seemed unable to meet his gaze.
Joaquin pretended to read over his menu. “Everything is good here—the empanadas, the enchiladas. The tamales are an old family recipe.”
A server wearing a colorful skirt and a white peasant blouse brought glasses of water, a basket of chips, and a bowl of pico de gallo, her long dark hair pulled back in a braid. “Can I get you any drinks to start off?”
Joaquin saw Mia studying the drink menu. “Try a paloma. It’s kind of like a margarita.”
Mia looked up. “Okay. Sure.”
“A paloma for you, señorita. How about you, señor?”
“Make it two palomas.”
The server disappeared with their drink order, leaving the two of them alone.
“Exactly how many cousins do you have?” Mia asked.
Joaquin thought about it. “Forty-one. No, forty-two.”
Mia’s eyes went wide. “Forty-two cousins?”
“First cousins, yeah.”
“Wow.” Mia gave a little laugh. “I have five cousins—three on my mother’s side and two on my father’s. When did your family come to the US?”
Joaquin bit back a grin. “We didn’t. The United States came to us.”
Mia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“My family has been living in Colorado since before this was a state or even a US territory. After the Mexican-American war, the border shifted south, making the San Luis Valley part of the United States. As my grandma likes to say, ‘We didn’t move. The border moved over us.’”
Mia’s lips formed an embarrassed O, color rising in her cheeks. “Sorry. I just assumed… That was stupid of me.”
He reached over, gave her hand a squeeze, the heat that arced between them startling him, making him reluctant to draw his hand away. “Don’t worry about it. But, hey, now it’s my turn to ask an awkward question.”
There was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Is that how this works—one awkward question excuses another?”
“Is there a man in your life?” He’d been wondering this since the night of Elena’s party. “You’re too smart and beautiful to be single.”
Mia gave a little shake of her head, dismissing his compliment. “If we were in Iraq right now, I’d say you were looking through deployment goggles.”
“Deployment goggles?”
The server appeared with their drinks, interrupting the conversation. “Here you go. Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
Joaquin went for the tamales with tomatillo salsa.
Mia ordered a smothered burrito. “Lots of chile verde, please. I heard a rumor that it is delicious here.”
“The rumor is true. You’re going to love it.” The server took their menus and hurried away.
Joaquin picked up where he and Mia had left off. “Deployment goggles?”
“They’re like beer goggles, except they’re deployment goggles,” Mia explained. “You’ve been deployed for a while. There aren’t many women around. Suddenly the women you’d never find attractive otherwise start looking good.”
Joaquin understood—and he didn’t like it. He wouldn’t have ignored Mia anywhere. Did she think he was just saying this, that he didn’t mean it? Did she not know how beautiful she was?
He looked into her eyes. “I hate to disappoint you, amiga, but there’s nothing clouding my vision.”
She broke eye contact, a tide of pink rising in her cheeks again.
“Are you going to answer my question—or do I have to guess?”
“I just haven’t found the right man yet. Then again, I haven’t really been looking. My CO said I intimidate men. He told me that I come across as cold and unfeminine. Not that I asked him for his opinion, mind you.” She took a sip of her drink, her eyes going wide at her first taste. “Oh, this is good.”
Joaquin could understand people misjudging Mia as cold, but to say she was unfeminine… That was loco. What kind of CO talked to his female soldiers like that anyway? “These men you intimidate—how insecure they must be. I’m surprised they have the courage to get out of bed and put on a uniform. As for your CO, he sounds like a pendejo—a real asshole.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Mia dabbed her lips with her napkin and set it next to her almost empty plate. “I can’t eat another bite. This was incredible.”
Joaquin had finished his meal. “Like I said—the best chile verde in Denver.”
She took the last sip of her drink, the bite of tequila and salt mixing with the tart taste of lime and grapefruit. “Thanks for this. It was nice to forget about this mess with Andy for a while.”
Not that she’d truly forgotten. Worry had niggled at her throughout the meal, but good food, alcohol, and very good-looking company had blunted it. Now it was back in full force, the uncertainty of so many unknowns gnawing at her.
Joaquin leaned forward, looked into her eyes, took her hand. “They’ll get to the bottom of this. Wu is a good cop. Darcangelo and Hunter trust him, and that’s good enough for me. You’ll get through this, Mia.”
“Thanks.” Mia wasn’t sure how she’d managed to say even that much, Joaquin’s touch and the empathy in his eyes making it hard to think.
She knew she should pull her hand away. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Instead, she let her fingers mingle with his, the contact intoxicating, her skin seeming to tingle. She could see in his eyes that he felt it, too, their irises almost black, his pupils dilated. Then his thumb traced a circle on her palm and another.
She tried to act like nothing earthshaking was happening. “How
do you know so many cops?”
“I met Darcangelo through Tessa—a former I-Team reporter. They met when she was investigating sex trafficking in Denver. Hunter married Sophie, who’s still on the I-Team. They were sweethearts in high school. She got him released from prison. Those two guys—they saved a lot of lives when terrorists took over the Palace Hotel. Without them, we would probably all have been killed.”
Joaquin’s words flowed over her—except for that last part. It stuck, jolting her back. Mia stared at him. “The Palace Hotel? You were there?”
Everyone in the country knew about that. Narco-terrorists had turned the historic hotel into a combat zone, killing a handful of security guards and taking everyone at the hotel hostage in an effort to free one of their own from Supermax. They’d packed the basement with enough explosives to bring down the building and had threatened to kill every man, woman, and child unless their demands were met. The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team had managed to defuse the bomb, kill the terrorists, and free the hostages.
“Yeah, I was there.” Joaquin’s jaw went tight, his expression turning hard, shadows in his eyes.
Mia knew that look. She’d seen those same shadows in the eyes of young soldiers after shelling and IED attacks. She held his hand a little tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re okay. I hope all of your friends made it out safely.”
He nodded. “Hunter took a round saving the rest of us, but he wasn’t badly hurt. One of my co-workers, Kat, went into labor. I did my best to help her through it. She had a baby girl just after the shooting stopped.”
Mia’s heart melted. “You … you helped deliver a baby?”
Come to think of it, Mia had heard something about a baby being born there.
Joaquin shook his head. “I held Kat’s hand through her contractions and tried to keep her safe from that bastard Moreno and his goons. I felt so helpless. But it was Gabe Rossiter, her husband, who caught the baby. He’s the real hero.”
Mia opened her mouth to say that Joaquin was a hero, too, but Mateo walked up to the table. “How was your meal, Ms. Starr?”