“With who?” Sasha asked, intrigued.
“A really hot guy,” she said, picturing Officer Cortez. “We just met at the store. He asked me out.”
“What does he look like?”
“Black hair, brown eyes.”
“How old?”
“Late twenties, I think.”
“Is he built?”
“Mm-hmm. Athletic, but not bulky. Kind of like a soccer player.”
“A soccer player?” Sasha exhaled with a rough laugh. “Sounds promising.”
“I don’t have anything sexy to wear.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Will you help me? You know so much more about clothes than I do. And we’re going out on Friday, so it’s kind of urgent.” Sasha used to dream about being a designer, so a fashion emergency was right up her alley.
“I don’t know.…”
“Come on, Sasha,” she said, almost there. “You cancelled our beach plans last week, and after I agreed to that awful bikini wax appointment—”
“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing again.
Kari clenched her hand into a fist and brought it closer to her body, a silent expression of victory. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anything to keep you from buying another shapeless hippie dress.”
She glanced down at her current outfit, frowning. It was a little bohemian, maybe, but not shapeless. She’d always favored comfortable, lightweight fabrics and simple styles. Her peasant blouses and gypsy skirts suited the store’s ambiance. Kari didn’t think she needed to change her work image. “Are they that bad?”
“They aren’t exactly cutting edge.”
“Next you’ll accuse me of wearing muumuus.”
“It’s a slippery slope,” Sasha warned. “This year loose frock, next year flowered housedress.”
Kari smiled at her sister’s wry tone. Sasha sounded sharp today, and upbeat despite her headache. It was a refreshing change from her typical drug haze. Sometimes she slurred her words and nodded off in the middle of a conversation.
They decided to meet at the mall after work, and Kari hung up the phone, feeling optimistic. She hated lying to her sister, but it was the only way to get the job done. She had to speak with Sasha in person. Moreno often screened Sasha’s calls and monitored her activities. Kari prayed that her sister would show up tomorrow.
She turned the sign in the window to closed and went outside, crossing her arms over her chest. The setting sun bathed the storefront in bright gold, and the still-hot sidewalk warmed the soles of her leather sandals. Although rush hour was almost over, the neighborhood was far from quiet. Cars passed by at full speed, while women carrying groceries shuffled home.
Kari cupped a hand over her brow and glanced down the street, toward the Hotel del Oro. Maria was walking in her direction.
For some reason, the sight brought tears to Kari’s eyes. She’d had a long day boxing shipments in the storage room. Maria must have had a longer one, doing hard manual labor without the luxury of air-conditioning.
Kari waved, blinking away the tears. She realized that she’d been afraid Maria wouldn’t come back. They’d only known each other a short time, and Kari was already attached. Maybe some of her fears and concerns for Sasha had transferred to Maria. She’d been trying, and failing, to reconnect with her sister for years.
On impulse, she gave Maria a hello hug. Her body felt slender but not delicate. She was like a reed that bent but wouldn’t break.
“How did it go?” she asked, studying Maria’s tired, pretty face.
“Fine.”
Kari released her and went inside, gesturing for Maria to follow. “Did you see any of Moreno’s men?”
“No. I saw laundry, and bathrooms, and beds.”
Relieved, Kari locked the door behind her and grabbed her purse, setting the alarm before they stepped into the back alley. “I talked to my sister,” she said, walking toward her van. “We’re having dinner tomorrow.”
Maria climbed into the passenger side. “That’s good.”
“You remember the man from this morning?”
She closed her eyes with a sigh, as if pleased to be sitting down. “Who could forget him?”
“He’s the border officer I met yesterday.”
Her eyes flew open. “No!”
“Yes.”
“That is not good.”
Kari agreed that it wasn’t. “He said he was looking for a gift for his mother.”
Maria’s expression was doubtful. Then she narrowed her gaze on Kari’s décolletage. “Maybe he wanted another look at your pechos.”
“I don’t know,” Kari said. “He was very polite.”
“He did not act … strange?”
She pulled out of the parking lot, deliberating. If he suspected her of breaking the law, why hadn’t he questioned her officially? His behavior hadn’t been that of a man in search of an easy lay, either. She shivered, remembering the way he’d stared at her when she tried on the rebozo. Something weird had happened between them. For a moment it had seemed as though he’d been picturing her with a baby. His baby.
Kari gave herself a stern mental shake. That idea was ridiculous. It was far more likely that he’d been imagining her naked—or in handcuffs.
“I saw someone also,” Maria said, letting her previous question drop.
“Who?”
“A guest at the hotel. I knew him.”
“You knew him?” Kari glanced from the road to Maria’s face. “How?”
She seemed pensive. “I told you that I came to the U.S. once before. I was lost in the desert. He … found me, I think.”
Kari’s mouth fell open. “You think he found you in the desert?”
“I was not well,” she explained, touching her throat. “I went to hospital.”
“My God,” Kari said.
“He was la migra, but very kind. I remember his eyes.”
“You’re sure it was him at the hotel?”
“No. He seemed different. Like a thief, or … una sombra.” A shadow.
Kari was chilled by the description. For the first time, it occurred to her that Officer Cortez might be on Moreno’s payroll. The drug lord had deep pockets—of course he bribed members of law enforcement.
“Oh my God,” she repeated as the gravity of their predicament sank in. Would Sasha be safe in a witness protection program? Maybe she should cash out her bank account, kidnap her sister, and make a run for it.
“Don’t worry,” Maria said, rubbing her shoulder. “You talk to sister, I go back to hotel. We will be okay.”
Kari took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She wished she could borrow half of Maria’s equanimity. “Do you think these men are working for Moreno? The one you saw at the hotel, and the border officer?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? In Mexico, some policemen are worse than criminals. We hide from them.”
“What do you do when you need help?”
Maria gave her a level stare. “We help ourselves.”
5
Karina Strauss didn’t act like a drug smuggler.
Adam watched her house from a distance, annoyed by the squeaky-clean image she presented. Yesterday her behavior had been friendly and professional. She’d even seemed embarrassed, as if the sexy vixen routine at the border had been a joke.
He shifted in his seat, picturing the expression on her face when she donned that baby sling for him. She’d looked sort of … bare, and vulnerable. Emotionally naked.
Jesus.
There must be something wrong with him to find that appealing. She liked babies—so what? Lots of women did. Usually a ticking biological clock was a major turnoff. His libido must have its wires crossed.
While he pondered the anomaly, she returned from her morning jog, cooling down on the front lawn. She was wearing a snug sports top and nylon jogging shorts. A fine sheen of perspiration was visible on her forehead and upper chest. Breathing hard, she bent forward, resting her hands
on her thighs.
Adam acknowledged that she was in great shape. He’d noted this several times now. She had a body like a Playmate. She was curvy and feminine, but firm in all the right places. Drug users didn’t have taut thighs, bouncy ponytails, or flawless skin.
Maybe she was innocent.
In the past two days he’d collected some basic information about her. She’d graduated with honors from the University of San Diego, earning a degree in cultural anthropology. Her arrest record was clear. She volunteered for Hands Across the Border. Her father had once owned a chain of popular furniture stores.
On the surface, Karina Strauss was a real Goody Two-shoes.
But criminals didn’t always look like lowlifes. Carlos Moreno was handsome and fit. If he used drugs at all these days, he did it sparingly. Addicts broke the law to fuel their habits. Other people had more complicated, and often very compelling, motives.
After she went back inside the house, he took out his laptop, accessing a criminal information database. Chuy Pena had a checkered past and a long record, but Adam already knew that. His partner, Armando Villarreal, was more of a mystery. The Mexican national had been an armed guard in the capital city. Interesting.
Karina came out less than an hour later with the slender Hispanic female he’d seen yesterday. Her companion was wearing light-colored jeans and a pale blue smock. The cap, pulled down low on her forehead, seemed incongruent with her otherwise neat appearance.
He waited a full minute before following, keeping several car lengths between them. When her van turned into the Hotel del Oro parking lot, he passed on by, swearing under his breath. Doing extracurricular surveillance was a real bitch. He had to worry about being seen by both sides of the law.
About a block away, he pulled over and waited. Karina’s van reappeared a moment later, without a passenger.
It dawned on Adam that the smock was a maid uniform. The girl worked there.
Karina parked behind the store and went inside, flipping the sign in the front window, opening for business. Adam lingered a few minutes and drove around back, idling next to her parked van. He had an inexpensive GPS device ready. There didn’t appear to be any security cameras in the immediate area. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he got out and affixed the GPS to the van’s chassis.
Now he could track her movements.
The device would need to be recharged eventually, but Adam could triangulate her location until the battery wore out. The tactic was frowned upon in court, but this wasn’t a legit investigation. He didn’t have to worry about justifying his behavior to a judge. The moment he’d started tailing her, he’d thrown ethics and proper procedure out the window.
It felt pretty good.
He drove around to the front of the store and parked, as if he’d just arrived. His heart started thumping hard in anticipation of seeing her again, and not just because he was here under false pretenses. He liked her.
As he walked through the entrance, a bell chimed to alert her of his presence. She was behind the counter, staring at a sheet of paper and nibbling on the end of a pencil. Looking up, she met his gaze.
“Back again?” she said, her brows rising.
Yesterday she’d been flustered by his presence. Today she seemed cooler, more reserved. Perhaps it had occurred to her that he was lying about buying a gift for his mother. And he was—sort of.
“It’s on my way to work,” he said, going straight to the papier-mâché skeletons. “Besides, my mom’s birthday is this weekend.” That part was true, although no one would be throwing her a party.
Adam picked a tambourine-playing character in an elaborate hat, his mouth twisting at the irony. He was buying a dia de los muertos figurine for his mother. Maybe he would give it to her on that day, when Mexicans celebrated the memories of their loved ones.
He brought it to the counter and took out his wallet, glancing at the clock on the wall. His shift started in twenty minutes.
“Gift wrap?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.
“Sure,” he said, perusing the store. As a cover for a smuggling operation, it was pretty elaborate. Somewhere between a fine arts museum and a quirky curiosity shop, Zócalo managed to look authentic and classy. A lot of the crafts sold in Tijuana were crap, but her inventory looked hand-selected and high-quality. He recognized Oaxacan black pottery and Guatemalan textiles, along with hammered metal jewelry from Copper Canyon. She stocked some inexpensive novelty items, but none of the bobble-head Chihuahuas or faux velvet paintings that were an insult to his culture.
It was a nice place. His sister was going to love the rebozo.
With her back to him, Karina folded the figurine in colorful tissue paper, placing it lovingly in a simple brown gift bag. Her dark blond hair was caught up in a tidy knot, leaving her shoulders bare. She was wearing a soft white tank top with a gauzy green skirt. Her skin looked smooth and tanned.
As she reached under the counter for a ribbon, his gaze was drawn to her curvy backside and the lacy outline of her thong panties.
“How’s that?” she said, tying the ribbon into a jaunty bow.
Adam managed to avert his gaze, but it took him an extra second to process her question. “Uh, perfect,” he said, clearing his throat. She told him the price and he paid in cash. “I like your store.”
Pride warmed her honey-colored eyes. “Thanks.”
Adam looked around, seeing gleaming shelves and spotless glass. “What’s a girl from the Czech Republic doing in a place like this?”
“How do you know where I’m from?”
“Just a guess. I saw the stamps on your passport.”
“Oh,” she said, flushing at the reminder of their first encounter. She must know that he recalled her passport, the sign on her van, and her unbuttoned blouse—in exquisite detail. “I was eight when we came to San Diego. I didn’t speak much English, so they put me in ESL classes. Guess what I learned there?”
“Spanish,” he ventured.
She smiled, pleased he understood. “Right. Every student in my class spoke it, so I picked it up quickly. I learned English, too, of course, but Spanish was easier at first.”
“Is Czech a Romance language?”
“No,” she said, her gaze flitting over his mouth. “But the structure is similar. Feminine, masculine.”
Adam hung on her every word, moistening his lips.
“I couldn’t go back home often, but Mexico was within reach. I went to college there for a year, immersing myself in the culture. I liked the artwork, the bright colors …” She broke off, seeming self-conscious.
“Which college?”
“San Miguel de Allende.”
“I took a summer session there.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Really? When?”
“Eleven years ago,” he said, thinking back. “I was eighteen.”
She’d attended more recently, but their experiences had been similar. They spent the next few minutes reminiscing about the quaint colonial town and its nearby attractions. Adam had done quite a bit of barhopping while he was there, and they both remembered a cantina that was famous for its dirty-talking parrot.
He laughed at her impression of the barkeep, who charged patrons for every epithet. Karina Strauss was full of surprises.
“What courses did you take?” she asked.
“Spanish for native speakers,” he said. “I grew up here in the U.S., so I never learned to read or write it.”
“I suppose that comes in handy at your job.”
Adam nodded. He was paid at a higher rate because he could translate documents and converse fluently. But he didn’t want to talk about work. A tiny crease had formed between her brows at the mention of his profession, suggesting that the subject made her uneasy.
It made him uneasy, too. She seemed smart, sweet, and genuine. He wished he wasn’t here to deceive her.
“You own this place?” he asked, switching back to a safer topic.
&
nbsp; “Yes,” she said, her troubled expression clearing. “Well, the bank owns more than I do. But I’m getting there.”
He wondered how she’d managed to come up with a down payment. Property values had fallen some in the recession, but prices were still astronomical in historic areas such as Old Town. If Zócalo wasn’t doing well, she wouldn’t be able to afford the mortgage.
Not without help, anyway.
Karina Strauss had a successful business right out of the gate. Either she was incredibly savvy and hardworking or she’d made a deal with the devil.
“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” he admitted.
Her lips parted in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t come here just to buy gifts.”
While they were talking, she’d leaned forward, getting closer to him in a subconscious indication of interest. Now she retreated a step, wary.
Adam didn’t have to pretend he felt awkward. He wouldn’t normally pursue a woman like her. Drug smuggler or not, she was the commitment type, a certified nice girl. She reminded him of Penelope, in a way. Passionate, ambitious, beautiful. He could tell that she needed a steady guy—and he wasn’t one.
“I wanted to see you again.”
Color rose to her cheeks.
“I feel this connection to you,” he added, forcing himself to meet her eyes. It would have been easier to lie, but he knew intuitively that she couldn’t be swayed by half efforts. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.”
A pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m dating someone,” she said in a rush.
Adam studied her face, searching for signs of deception. Her actions at the border weren’t that of a taken woman. He hadn’t imagined the eye contact they’d made over the rebozo. She wanted a man, a family.
She wanted him, damn it.
“It’s kind of a recent development,” she explained. “We just met.”
Over the past few days, Adam had watched her interact with a handful of people. His mind balked at the thought of her with Chuy Pena or Armando Villarreal. The only other person he’d seen hanging around was the hotel maid.
Caught in the Act Page 5