by Lacy, Shay
Charlie stared at the debris and nodded. “Gracias, Felipe. Let’s go home.”
Alfonso hissed from near the ruined door, “Police! Many of them.”
“Not again,” Charlie muttered.
Juliana fought panic, but Felipe ordered in a harsh voice, “Out the back. Quickly, and be quiet about it.”
He led the way to the back door, around a body, and out into air not tainted by gun smoke. They darted into the grass where the forklift had been parked, and found a graveyard of old Volkswagen cars. The cousins spread out, running as fast as they could around the carcasses. Juliana held on tight to Charlie’s hand.
They couldn’t be arrested. Mexican authorities didn’t like Americans, and in Mexico you were guilty until proven innocent. She, Charlie, and her cousins might be held for months or years until they could prove their innocence . . . or pay a hefty ransom. If the cops didn’t sell them to the drug lords first. She ran faster.
Felipe signaled to the left and they exited the field onto a narrow street. He kept them moving at a fast walk until they approached a seedy-looking bar. He stopped them under the weak light and glanced around the group. Juliana did, too. She spotted a bloody arm, Lorenzo had a bleeding cheek, and Estebon was holding up another cousin, who had blood on his trousers. They looked like what they were: survivors of a war.
Felipe helped clean up the obvious blood and made sure the guns were tucked out of sight. Alfonso tied a bandana around his cousin’s bleeding arm. Ricarda ripped another strip from her shirt and tied it around her cousin’s leg, under his pants.
“Those of you who are injured, stay in the center. We’ll catch a taxi in a few blocks and then switch taxis at the market. We’ll be home soon.”
Charlie coached them. “We’re just a group of young people out for the evening.”
“But cousin Felipe is not young,” Alfonso objected.
Ricarda moved to Felipe’s side and slid her uninjured arm around him. “He is my novio.” Her tone dared Alfonso to say anything further.
Felipe curled his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Charlie slid his arm around Juliana, and she welcomed his warmth. They were alive, and he knew she loved him. Now they needed to get to safety.
When they exited the narrow street onto a wider one, a police car headed toward them. Felipe, Ricarda, Charlie, and Juliana moved to the front of the group and waited for the police car to crawl by. The cops were looking over everyone on the street. It stopped in front of their group and the cop shined a flashlight at them. Juliana feared her heart would beat out of her chest. She hoped he didn’t pay attention to her and Ricarda’s shirts and shoes. Mexican women wore pretty high-heeled shoes and feminine blouses that showed cleavage, while the two of them wore flats, and T-shirts suited to skulking.
“What are all of you doing?” the cop growled. He wore a fierce scowl.
“My novio’s cousins are visiting from Tecate,” Felipe answered. “They wanted to try a bar they’d heard about, but it’s not a very nice place.”
The cop looked down the narrow street behind them. “No it isn’t. Take your cousins to a better part of town. You’re old enough to know better.”
“Yes, sir.”
The car rolled forward down the street. Juliana breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s go.” Felipe directed them through a warren of streets until they came out on the other side of the harbor. There they flagged down taxis and heard about the excitement on the docks.
Nearly three hours later, after the same discreet medic who had treated Charlie’s wounds treated the wounded cousins, they sat around Felipe’s dining room table and shared the story with Rosita. She clucked and fussed over them, bringing out food and tequila, and hugging them all.
All the while, Juliana wanted to be alone with Charlie so they could discuss her declaration of love and how he felt about it.
“I guess you’ll return home now that your task is done,” Alfonso said. “Will we be invited to the wedding?”
“Of course,” Rosita said. “What date have you chosen?”
Juliana hedged. “We just got engaged. We’ve been too preoccupied the past few days to plan anything. I don’t know how much we can afford.”
“Nonsense,” Rosita said. “Have the wedding in Mexico, and it will cost less.”
Juliana gave Charlie a helpless look.
“Rosita, they are Americans,” Felipe chided gently. “They may want to marry in their own country.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t know how big his family is, but it can’t be larger than ours.”
Charlie’s smile blazed. “I have a small family.”
“See.” Rosita waved a hand at Charlie. “Small.”
“If you decide to marry here, you could use the hotel I manage,” Felipe offered. “You’ve seen the missions. You could have the ceremony there. Our church is beautiful, too. And we could smooth everything with the priest.”
“I’m not Catholic,” Charlie said.
Everyone stared at him.
“Not Catholic,” Rosita repeated, as though he’d said he was from another planet. Then she lifted her chin. “You’ll convert, of course.”
Charlie sputtered a laugh. “Of course.”
Juliana gaped at him. Was he truly committing to this?
Charlie looked at her, and she felt herself falling into the heated warmth of his eyes. She wished the brown contacts gone. “I love Juliana. I’d do anything for her.”
“Are you sure?” The words were a wisp of sound, all she could squeeze out of her tight throat.
“I’ve never been more certain in my life.”
Juliana threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him out of his chair. “I love you, Charlie.” She’d be with him forever.
“I love you, too.”
As he kissed her, Rosita said, “See, it will be a good Catholic wedding. I’ll call Dolores tomorrow and we’ll arrange everything.”
• • •
Distant pounding jerked Charlie awake the next morning. Through bleary eyes, he saw it was seven-fifteen. His heart raced. Who’d be at the door at this hour?
Juliana lifted her head from his arm. “Trouble?” That one word was laced with fear.
“It can’t be the police, can it?” But even as he asked the question, he slipped from the bed. He stepped into his jeans and grabbed the gun from the dresser.
“Don’t go out there armed!” Juliana threw on his T-shirt and tugged on her panties.
As they exited their bedroom, they met Felipe and Rosita in the hall.
“Don’t worry,” Felipe said. “We didn’t leave a trail. The police can’t trace us here.” But lines furrowed his forehead. He wore only his trousers . . . and his gun tucked into the back of them.
In the living room, the younger cousins turned wide, anxious, bleary eyes to them from their sleeping bags. Most of them were armed, Charlie noted.
The pounding came again. As Felipe walked to the door, most of the cousins stood up. Charlie stayed back a little ways, gripping Juliana’s hand. He’d fight if he had to, but he hoped it didn’t come to that.
Felipe opened the door.
Juliana’s father stood there, with Rick Ziffkin behind him. “Felipe, I’m sorry to arrive unannounced, but—”
“Papá!” Juliana cried, her face a mix of relief and horror.
“Uncle Alejandro!” Estebon cried.
“Felipe,” her father glowered at the group of them, including Charlie.
“Hello, Alejandro,” Felipe replied, smiling. “Come in.”
Captain Sanchez crossed the threshold. Rick followed, his eyes locking on Charlie’s.
“Charlie,” he said, then couldn’t seem to say more.
Charlie strode to his brother and was enveloped in a bear hug.
“We thought you were dead.” Pain laced Rick’s voice. He held Charlie at arm’s length. “Agent Fuentes called to tell me he feared the worst, what with He
ssler murdered and your apartment a bloody mess. You took years off my life, and Mom and Dad’s, too. Despite what you may think, we love you. You should have called.” Rick wrapped Charlie in a tight bear hug.
Charlie blinked back tears. “Sorry. We needed secrecy.”
“I figured that out. Gutierrez’s death made international news last night. Fuentes called and woke me when the story broke. We figured you might have had something to do with it.”
“We did. All of us.” Charlie indicated everyone in the room. Then he squinted, thinking. “It’s only been a few hours. How did you get here so fast?”
“Captain Sanchez and I flew to Los Angeles to help look for the two of you. So we only had to drive down.”
“Who is he?” Alfonso asked in Spanish, pointing at Rick.
“This is my brother, Rick,” Charlie said.
“The small family,” Rosita crowed with delight. “Come into the dining room, and I’ll make breakfast.”
“But cousin,” Jose complained, “we’ve only been asleep a few hours.”
“Get your lazy self to the table,” she ordered. “Can’t you see Alejandro and Charlie’s brother want to hear the tale? They are tired and hungry. Where are your manners?” She chased everyone to the dining room.
Charlie managed to extricate Juliana from her father’s arms and sit beside her.
For the second time in four hours, they relayed the tale, only this time Charlie and Juliana started from the attack on them in his apartment. Poor Rick understood only a smattering of Spanish, so one of the bilingual cousins translated for him.
“So you see why we needed secrecy,” Charlie said. “We needed Montgomery’s men fixed on L.A.”
“They caught Montgomery’s man staking out your apartment,” Captain Sanchez told him. “The California police tied him to Montgomery, so Montgomery’s under investigation for murder for hire.”
“What about the man in my apartment?” Charlie asked.
“There was no other man,” Rick reported, frowning.
Charlie looked at Juliana.
Rick sighed. “I’ll call Fuentes and tell him to look for a body. Was the blood in your apartment his?” He catalogued the bandages on Charlie’s body and the huge dark bruise on his chest.
“Some of it.”
Rick stared at him a long time, his expression inscrutable. “You didn’t look surprised when I said Hessler had been murdered.”
“We knew,” Charlie replied. “We saw him.”
Rick glared. “And you didn’t report it.”
“We needed to run. We’d already been shot at once that night. We weren’t going to stand around and let somebody else use us for target practice.”
“I don’t know you at all anymore, do I?” his brother asked.
“No. I told you I’d changed. But you can learn who I am now.”
“Yeah, I can.”
“Alejandro, you can settle an argument now that you’re here,” Rosita began. “We were discussing whether to hold the wedding here or in America.”
“Wedding?” Juliana’s father asked, frowning.
Juliana held up her hand and Charlie’s. “Surprise, Papá.”
“Those are wedding rings.” Captain Sanchez looked shocked, and then resigned. He ran a hand slowly down his face.
The younger cousins whooped with laughter. “They’ve been pretending to be married,” Alfonso explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez. But really they’re engaged.”
Charlie squeezed Juliana’s hand. Captain Sanchez didn’t seem too averse to having him as a son-in-law. “We could probably get a priest Rosita knows to say the vows over us today if you want.”
Rosita snorted.
Juliana poked him. “I want a big wedding. I want the whole world to know we were meant to be together.”
Her father sighed. “The priest can marry you today. Later we’ll have a big summer wedding. In America. We’ll invite everyone. I’ll pay.”
Rosita clapped with glee.
“And you,” Captain Sanchez pointed to Charlie. “I’ll sponsor you into the Police Academy.”
Rick looked stunned.
Charlie gaped. He thought of the Police Academy, and it sounded like the Army to him. Rules, regulations, schedules. He shuddered. “Thank you, Captain Sanchez, but no thanks. I’m a very unregulation guy. I don’t do well with authority.”
“How will you support my daughter and your children?” Captain Sanchez demanded.
“Papá, how old fashioned,” Juliana protested.
“I make a small living as a private investigator. My business is very young. Although I’d been counting on Jordan Hessler’s referrals to grow it. I can kiss that goodbye.”
The captain looked thoughtful. “I have an old friend, an ex-cop, who’s now a private eye. He gets a lot of business from Miami P.D., more than he can handle. I think he’d take you on as a partner.”
Move back to Miami? Charlie looked at Juliana. Her Sanchez relatives in Mexico were only three hours away, right across the border. Her Miami family was five and a half hours away by plane. Did he have the right to take her away from her family?
He glanced at Rick. Being with the Sanchez clan had made Charlie recall how good it used to be with his brothers. If Rick, his parents, and his older brother, Michael, were ever to get to know the new Charlie and accept him as the Sanchezes had, he had to see them regularly. There was nothing for him in California anymore. He inhaled a large breath. Yes, it was time to go home.
“I’d appreciate if you’d talk to him for me,” Charlie said.
“Tell him I’d like to work for him, too,” Juliana added.
Captain Sanchez looked like he wanted to protest, but he swallowed whatever he’d planned to say. “Fine.”
Rosita launched into plans to get them to the priest. The table broke up into excited chatter. Charlie used the commotion to take Juliana into his arms and kiss her breathless.
When they came up for air, Rosita was passing out glasses of tequila.
Felipe stood and raised his glass. “To the real Maya Hero Twins, Charlie and Juliana, who defeated their enemy through trickery.”
“Salute,” the cousins endorsed the toast.
Charlie kissed Juliana again. He’d triumphed over a lot more than Gutierrez to claim his soul mate, the other half of himself. They’d make every moment together count from now on. He thanked that damn sculpture for bringing them together once more.
About the Author
Multi-published author Shay Lacy lives in northwest Ohio with her photographer/graphic designer husband. She loves following the man of her dreams with a camera in hand and a pen and notebook in her backpack. Sensible secretary by day, romance author by night, when not lost in her imagination or reading a good book, she is likely researching her next book with a SWAT team ride-along or a visit to a DNA lab.
For more information about Shay or to see the books she’s written, please visit her website at www.shaylacy.com.
More from This Author
(From Counterpoint by Shay Lacy)
Who sent this? Bryce Gannon wondered, as he turned over the thick brown padded envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL looking for the return address. But the criminal defense attorney found no clue. Did it contain something for a case? He worked at the tight seal with his letter opener, but just as his curiosity was about to be appeased his phone rang. With one hand he reached for it, his gaze shifting away from the envelope.
Boom. The envelope exploded, shooting white powder into the air, just missing Bryce’s face. He jerked, dropping the envelope, which poofed another small cloud of white. What the hell . . . ? He inhaled and choked on the dust.
A letter bomb.
From the outer office he heard a woman’s frightened scream. His desk phone continued to shrill for his attention.
God, a bomb. He coughed, trying to wave away the white mist, until his brain finally kicked in. Get up, you fool. Get away from this crap.
Ramming his chair back fro
m his desk, he sprang clear of the cloud. But he continued to cough. His right hand was covered with white and tingled from the explosion’s percussion. The powder, whatever it was, blended into his stark white shirt.
“Bryce!” his office manager Sharron Rudgate shrieked from the doorway, “Are you hurt?” Her eyes were wild.
“Call nine-one-one,” he managed, although it took all his breath to get those four syllables out. He couldn’t seem to draw enough air into his lungs.
Sharron shouted his message into the hall before stepping towards him, her hand outstretched. He waved her back. He didn’t want anyone else inhaling this crap. A young researcher appeared behind Sharron, her face white as she stared at him.
There was an awful taste in his mouth, more bitter than chemical. He couldn’t seem to clear his throat. God, was it poison?
“Bryce, how much of that did you breathe in?” The usually unruffled Sharron sounded nearly hysterical. “What is it?”
Bryce couldn’t answer either question. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs screamed for air. His bronchial tubes spasmed painfully. His breath whistled as he drew it in. He tore at his silk tie, undoing the knot, and yanked at the button of his linen shirt collar so hard the button snapped off. But it didn’t help. He clutched his throat with one hand and his chest with the other. His lungs were on fire.
His knees buckled, dumping him to the plush carpet.
Jesus, he was going to die.
“Bryce!” Sharron screamed. “Bryce, oh my God!”
Bryce had no breath to speak. There were more frightened faces in the doorway standing at a safe distance listening to the sound of his tortured breathing. His staff, his office, his legal practice. The trappings of his success.
He saw his life pass before his eyes and felt deeply disappointed. He’d never been in love, never married, and never had children. He’d gotten criminals off on technicalities to roam free to hurt more people. He’d accepted large amounts of money from them, like the check with lots of zeroes on it he got today from accused racketeer Adam Steele. It was dirty money, guilty money — blood money. Thirty pieces of silver to betray himself and the law he loved. He’d had so much promise coming out of law school . . . and this was what his life amounted to. He knelt on the thick carpet like a supplicant, pleading for his miserable life.