"So how come you're around so often," Gavin asked. "Are you on some kind of sabbatical?"
Grammy bristled and Meg stared down at her glass.
"If people behaved themselves, then my mija wouldn't have a job, see?" Grammy said. "Now, where are you two going for dinner?"
Dori caught the confused expression on Gavin's face.
Meg made some noise about how they should get going to make their reservation. Tuning them out, Dori just wanted them to go. She eyed the bottle. Gavin edged closer to the door and Meg practiced her pronunciation of tomatillo. Dori set down her glass when footsteps thumped in the front parlor. A door opened and then slammed shut, cutting off the chatter.
"Who's still here?" Gavin asked quietly. "I thought my guys all left."
"It's an old house. They make-" Dori started to say when a man shouted. His words were unintelligible but he'd cried out in pain and fury. Vicente.
She was three-quarters down the hallway when she stopped so suddenly that she nearly fell forward. The sage bundle that had been in her bag had exploded across the floor.
"Who's in there?" Gavin asked, now behind her.
She held up her hand behind her, motioning for him to stay put. "Stay with my Grammy."
"What about you?"
"Like hell I'm standing around by myself!" Grammy called, poking her head out of the dining room with Meg at her side.
A heavy thump vibrated the floor under her feet. Meg clapped both hands over her mouth. Dori went cold all over, remembering her dream.
"Just go," she ordered, approaching the front parlor even though she wasn't sure what she could possibly do. "All of you, go!"
She peeked through the doorway. She pressed her arm against her mouth and nose. The cold air was soaked in foulness.
Gavin came around Dori.
"No wait," she called after him. He looked from the bay windows to the fireplace in the empty room. "What the hell made that noise?"
"You need to get out of there," Dori ordered as the cold damp reached out towards her.
"This is going to sound crazy, but that guy-" He moved his foot over the floor where they all had heard what sounded like a body falling. Dori tensed knowing exactly what he was trying to say. "The one I saw upstairs the other morning-"
She walked in and grabbed his arm. They didn't have time for explanations.
"Who is he? Did he do this?" Gavin asked.
Dori heard the crackling over their heads. She shoved Gavin out of the way. He grabbed her arms and their feet tangled. They hit the floor as plaster crashed down from the ceiling.
Dust tickled her nose and she felt ceiling crumbs against her back. Gavin sneezed and his fingers dug into her skin. He'd pulled her against him, taking the brunt of the fall. Her hands rested against his chest, thighs against his, and he was warm and smooth and rough in all the right places. As she stared down into his face, she could've kicked herself for breaking his heart sixteen years ago.
Gavin reached up and gently pulled something loose from her hair. His dark eyes locked with hers. Heat flashed through her. His lips parted and his hand pressed ever so slightly against the back of her head, lowering her to meet him and-
"Oh!" Meg said from the door.
Dori jerked her head up. Looking over her shoulder, her friend stood in the doorway while Grammy rose up on her tippy toes to get a good look. Through the haze of dust, she couldn't read the look on Meg's face. Perhaps the dust was thick enough that she couldn't quite see Dori draped over her date.
She scrambled off Gavin. That was it, Dori decided. Tomorrow she would call an exorcist and go hardcore, old school medieval Catholic on whatever was in here. By the time she was done with him, the devil would have trouble putting its pieces back together.
"I told you not to go in here," Dori said to Gavin through the thickness in her throat. She left him there on the floor.
He got to his feet and followed her into the hallway. Meg and Grammy had vanished. "Why did you lie to me?"
Dori whirled around. "I was a stupid kid. I-"
"I wasn't talking about that," he said quietly. "I meant the guy I saw in the window a few weeks ago."
Dori hugged herself. "Oh. Right." She took in a deep breath and all the dust and grit burned her throat.
"Why do you have to lie about everything?"
She made herself look him in the eye, searching for condemnation in him. He simply waited for her answer. "I didn't think you'd believe me."
"But I told you I saw him."
"I know, it's just that-" She started to look away but stopped herself. "After what I did in high school, I didn't want you to have an even worse opinion of me."
He clenched his jaw. "Well, let's just deal with one thing at a time," he said. "How many times have you seen that guy?"
Dori jerked her chin up. "A few times."
"He doesn't scare you?" he asked.
"No. I don't think that was him-" She pointed to the front parlor. "He wouldn't have done something like that."
"What was it?"
She shook her head as if she didn't know. He reached for her and Dori took a step back. "You should go. Meg is…"
"Has he hurt you?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Do you know why he's here?"
She looked away, trying to figure out how to answer that question in such a way that it wouldn't break their fragile truce.
"You're figuring out how to shine me off aren't you?" he asked.
"No, it's just-"
He backed away. "Why would I think otherwise when you've lied since the day we met?"
"I'm so sorry about all that, okay? I'm not like that anymore."
"Okay," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. With the white dust in his hair, she could imagine what he'd look like as an old man. It made her chest ache. "I better go try and-"
Gavin shook his head as if there was no point in finishing what he was about to say.
"Go ahead," Dori said, moving further out of his way. Gavin refused to look at her as he walked away.
Chapter Twenty Three
When Dori finally entered the kitchen, Grammy sat at the table with a glass of Herradura and her iPad.
"She left and then he went after her," Grammy said, giving Dori the once over. "You should clean up before you eat."
Dori picked up her wine glass. "Pour me a shot."
Grammy did what she asked. "It's about damn time you jumped him. But I think your timing was off."
"I was pushing him out of the way." She pointed to her fine coating of plaster. "I'd never- I mean, I don't do stuff like that anymore."
"If someone had been fool enough to get between me and your Grampy, I'd stop at nuthin' to get him."
"I told you it was- Never mind."
"Too bad. I liked her." Grammy pointed to the enchiladas waiting on the stove. "You gonna eat or what?"
With the tequila warming her from the inside out, Dori made a plate for Grammy. Grit was wedged into the underwire of her bra, and her arms and head itched. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach, rising up and burning her throat. When was all of it going to stop? The investigation, Vicente, her family and now her friend and Gavin?
"Were they sleeping together?" Grammy asked.
Dori eyed the tequila and then thought that another with the Malbec would only make things worse. "Tonight was their second date. I think. I didn't ask."
"Well you could still-"
"I don't think so."
"Hell, call that girl up and explain it was an accident." Grammy thanked her for the plate. "I like her. A woman can't get through life without a comadre," Grammy said emphasizing her point with a fork. "You need one. Especially now that you got- How many ghosts running around here?"
Dori shrugged, too tired to count. If that thing hadn't acted up and she hadn't tackled Gavin to the floor, everyone might have parted ways with no hard feelings, at least on their part. She would've stewed in her own regret.
"Ay m
ija," Grammy said with a sigh. "You look too old for your age."
"Gee, thanks."
"You know what I mean." She patted her shoulder, and Dori's throat burned. "Take your shower and I'll make you some of your tea. Or do you think el fantasmo-"
"I doubt it."
"I could always bring Bernice back."
"I don't think so."
"She was right about him getting dangerous." Grammy paused in cutting her food. "You heading upstairs now?"
"Yeah."
She picked up her plate. "All right then. I'm coming with you."
"Get him!"
The voice startled Dori out of sleep. She lay on her stomach, her ears pounding with the blood rushing through her head. They were moving around downstairs again; their shoes scuffing against the floor and knocking into the wall. It was just as she'd heard them that night she found Vicente in the hallway.
When they moved towards the back door, she checked the time on the clock. It was 4:07 a.m. and they went silent. She should've stayed the night at Grammy's house. But no, she had to be brave.
She was about to pull the blanket up and hide when a pair of leather shoes appeared in her line of vision.
"The ceiling wasn't my fault," Vicente said.
"What the-" She struggled free of the blankets. "It just fell by itself?"
He actually backed away, holding up both hands as she sat up ready for battle. "That's just you messing in places you don't belong."
"It's my house. What the hell is in there?"
"Nothing. No one."
"Then what brought the ceiling down on me?"
Dori yanked the chain of her mica lamp. He wasn't answering. "Vicente!"
"It wasn't me. That's not me," he said roughly.
"What if there's a part of you in there?"
"So now they all know about me."
"Don't change the subject. And yes. Well sort of. I didn't tell anyone I talk to you."
"Cause that would be crazy."
"Exactly. But that's the least of our problems."
"Our problem?"
"Yes."
He lifted a shoulder and then slightly hitched his pants before sitting elegantly in the chair. "That day when I-"
She forced herself to relax, to not say anything that would give him a way out.
"I went from walking out of The US Grant to ending up in this house. I thought I was alive again and at the time I had no idea that I was…"
"Dead," she finished for him. "Maybe you need to go in there and-"
"No."
"I'm just saying from personal experience-"
"What? You went to that lady you killed and said you were sorry."
Her throat went stiff. "No."
"Well you could. I'm stuck here. I can't do shit."
Dori thought of the day she'd last walked into Kaylee's apartment. What if she'd left Kaylee in there? It was much easier to tell him how to fix his problems than face hers.
"You can go into that room and face what's in there," she said. "Maybe you don't need to know what happened to Anna. Maybe what's in that room is what's keeping you here."
Vicente flickered and then he was on his feet. He moved so fast she didn't have time to flinch or show any sign that he scared her. Half his face was lit but his eyes glittered. "You find her."
"You really didn't bust up my ceiling?" she asked.
"I just told you I didn't. What the hell more do you want?"
"I'm sorry. In my line of work, I'm used to being lied to"
The surprise on his face was almost comic. But then he went from standing over to her, to sitting back in her chair. "Who isn't?"
Dori pulled the blanket over her shoulders.
"How's your side?" he asked.
She touched it. A week ago, a mere brush would set off stinging arrows of pain. She had to press deeper to feel a twinge. "Better. Is that why you woke me up at four in the morning?"
"Time doesn't work the same for me. I need energy and-" He paused and looked her straight in the eye.
"I know."
They both then stared at the floor, awkwardly recovering from their first real argument. When they spoke it was at the same time.
"So you left your sis-"
"I wanted to tell you-"
Dori gestured to him to finish.
San Diego, 1932
Ever since that afternoon when Vicente had left Anna in his sister's yard, the Santa Ana winds swept down from the mountains like dragon breath. Without pomade, his hair stood on end. His throat scratched with a perpetual thirst and sweat collected in the folds of his clothes.
There was no woman lying next to him to help him forget the girl he'd never even kissed. After seeing her, he wouldn't let someone like Clara put her hands on him. He never carried booze on his person, or kept it in the Penthouse.
This morning, his first waking thought was if Anna's skin tasted like candy. He rolled over the cold sheets, staring at his dim reflection in the mirror over the dresser. There was nothing more pathetic than a proud, lonely man. He'd walked into that barrio, ready to show her what she could've had. She all but laughed in his face.
He jumped out of bed, determined to fill his day with business. He ripped the seams of two shirts and nearly drove his foot through his socks in his hurry to escape his loneliness
Now riding in the back of the limousine, solitude and the early morning crowded in, giving him nowhere to hide from himself. Itching for some distraction, he glanced in the mirror he'd affixed to the wall separating him from the driver. He saw the feds tailing them two cars away as they'd been doing for months.
"Stop here," he ordered the driver.
Eli looked in his rearview mirror.
"I said here!"
"Right away, sir."
Vicente braced himself against the seat as they swerved to the right. Cars honked and delivery trucks heading down Market Street veered around them. He burst out of the door before they came to a stop.
The Model T screeched to a halt, its tail sticking out into traffic. Agent Campbell bounded out of the car, his face set with determination. Vicente rolled his shoulders back, the fight simmering in his gut.
"You need to get her," Campbell barked.
"Get who?"
Campbell was usually smart and recognized a man looking for a fight. But he stood right up to Vicente. "Miss Vazquez. She was arrested last night working for you."
Vicente almost blurted she didn't work for him. But then he remembered the dairy business was his cover. "Doing what?"
"I'm not fooling around. Do you know what those guys want to do to her?"
Vicente went cold, his face stiff with memories he didn't want in his head. "Where is she?"
“Hey there, I got what you want right here,” a woman called out, her face squeezed freakishly between the bars of her cell.
Vicente walked under the lights of the city jail, his shoes tapping smartly on the concrete floor. There were two large cells reserved for the women prisoners. Unlike the men, they were usually a quiet lot. Most of them sat prone, staring at nothing.
“She must be something special,” Watch Commander Sprague commented as if they were passing through a party. “Her English is even better than yours.”
Vicente stared straight ahead, angry enough to take Sprague by the neck and slam his nose into the wall. Never mind that Sprague and Mr. McClemmy were close friends. He flexed his fingers as they reached the end of the corridor. He had to get Anna out first.
“Here she is,” Sprague said, gesturing for the officer accompanying them to open the doors.
A former resident of jails up and down the state, Vicente felt the clanging and grating of steel doors in the pit of his stomach. He stepped inside the cell, his breath squeezing through the fear in his throat at what he might find.
If it weren’t for her man's shirt and beige pants, he might not have recognized Anna. She huddled in the corner, facing the wall and knees hugging her chest. Her hair had been shorn
so that he could see the back of her pale neck. Her hands were caked with dirt and blood.
He wanted to rush over and wrap his arms around her. But the cops he kept on retainer were watching. If they saw any tenderness in him, he'd be vulnerable. They needed to fear him.
He sucked in a deep breath and ordered, “Let’s go.”
She flinched as if he’d woken her from a deep sleep.
He stepped forward to take her arm and see if they'd done what Campbell had said. But Anna moved so fast he didn’t realize she’d slapped him until he was looking over his shoulder.
“I hate you!” Her voice echoed off the cold walls.
The cops snickered and his driver moved toward the cell, ready to break Anna’s arm if Vicente so much as snapped his fingers. He stopped them with a gesture to stay put.
He caught her by the forearm when she swung her hand back to land another hit. He caught her arm, locking his eyes with hers. He swallowed down the surge of rage at the sight of her swollen left eye.
“Do that again and you can stay another night,” he said.
Anna tried to throw him off. He yanked her to him, the feel of her whole body pressed against him made him dizzy. “Say nothing or we both spend the night here,” he hissed in her ear.
“Let go of me!” His fingers sprang loose and she staggered backwards. Her good eye stared into his, hating him with all she had as she rubbed her arm where he'd held her.
"Act like a lady and you can come with me," he said for the benefit of their audience. "Or stay here. It's your choice."
He turned with deadly precision to Sprague. Sprague backed up, and his junior officer hesitantly put himself between them.
“She put up a fight,” Sprague said, almost pleading.
"Remember where you are,” the junior officer stammered, his fingers sneaking towards his night stick.
“Shut up, you idiot!” Sprague stepped around the officer. “Just take her and get out.”
When junior’s hand dropped from his nightstick, Vicente turned back to Anna. He took her arm and pulled her out into the corridor.
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