by Jon Land
“Not until you slow down.”
“If you were a man—”
“You still wouldn’t be able to outshoot me. Not the first time we met and not tonight either.” Caitlin met his dark, charcoal-colored eyes. “You can blink now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cort Wesley, his breathing settling.
“I don’t know what makes me madder, Cort Wesley; you taking off and leaving your boys on their own, or not telling me so I could look in on them.”
“After two months, I didn’t want to impose.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Chasing missing Mexican girls—you told me all about it.”
“Yeah, the prevailing opinion is not to give a shit about them, just like you.”
“Got my own kids to worry about, in case you forgot.”
“Actually, I thought you did.”
Cort Wesley’s face started reddening again, putting Caitlin strangely at ease. He had a strange quirk of going pale in the moments before violence became inevitable. Only man Caitlin had ever known, or faced down, whose rage didn’t deepen and darken his features. She recognized this as his frustrated look, the way he got when things piled up too high to see over.
Caitlin watched his gaze keep shifting from the door to her, then back again.
“You mind if I go inside now?”
“Tell me what those cops told you first.”
“Now you’re giving me orders?”
“Just tell me.”
Cort Wesley’s features started to relax and lighten a bit. “That Dylan got arrested on a drug charge today.”
“True enough on the surface. But it hardly tells the whole story.”
Cort Wesley’s eyes blinked and flashed, as if he were recording the scene for the first time. “Whole story having something to do with why you’re sitting out here on the porch with the strap undone over your SIG.”
“That’s right.”
He smacked his lips together, watched Caitlin twirl a finger through her hair, tightening the strands into a ringlet. “Yeah, I should’ve known.”
“Known what?”
“You got your trouble look.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You ever face off against a bull when he’s ready to charge?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Well, Ranger, he gets this look in his eyes, all focused and intent, but calm, like he’s in his element and nothing and nobody can take him down.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Caitlin asked him.
“Take it whatever way you want. The boys missed you, Ranger,” Cort Wesley added, softer. “They’ve seen you, what?, all of twice since we took them to Disney. Wouldn’t surprise me if Dylan got himself arrested just to have an excuse to call.”
“He wouldn’t have had to, if you hadn’t taken off and left him and Luke to fend for themselves.”
“I told them if there was a problem to call you.”
“You might’ve alerted me to that fact.”
“Guess it didn’t cross my mind after so long.”
“Good thing it crossed Dylan’s.”
Cort Wesley took a deep, labored breath. “So if it wasn’t drugs, what was it?”
“Sit down.”
Cort Wesley’s eyes darted up to Dylan’s window, the boy’s shape shrinking away too late to avoid being seen. Then he sat down. “I’m listening.”
After Caitlin had finished, Cort Wesley leaned back, suddenly reflective. “I’m not sure whether to smack him or hug him.”
“Yeah, boy’s a regular chip off the old block.”
“You didn’t say that with a smile, Ranger.”
“He put himself in real danger today, Cort Wesley.”
“And saved that girl’s life for sure.”
Caitlin frowned, forced her hand from her hair again. “So you approve.”
“Part of me does, yeah.”
“Which, the part that went to New Orleans?”
“Needed to collect on an old debt if I’m gonna keep the boys fed and all. I hated doing it, I’ll tell you that much. But the Brancas owed me the money and I needed it to take care of my boys the way they deserve before social services yanks them out from under me.”
“Social services?”
“They got a caseworker all over my ass about whether I’m a fit parent or not. Who knows, maybe she’s right. Me moving in here and impersonating a father. What the hell was I thinking?”
“I ever criticize you for that?”
“Wasn’t that what you were doing a minute ago?”
“For not calling me so I could look in on the boys while you were gone. Make the social services lady happy.”
Cort Wesley swept a hand over the sweat cooling on his brow. “Ranger, she had a look at your history, she’d probably think you were more likely to shoot them than mix up some pancakes.”
Caitlin rocked her chair back even with his. “Tell me why you didn’t call.”
“ ’Cause you would’ve asked me where I was going and then told me not to go there. Maybe I get tired of the lectures.”
“That’s why I’m making up for lost time tonight.”
“How long you gonna stay away this time?”
“I didn’t see you rushing to the phone to find out what I was up to.”
“Maybe I figured it was none of my business.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing for us Dylan thought it was still his business.”
Cort Wesley pushed himself out of his chair. “Think it’s time I went inside.”
18
SHAVANO PARK; THE PRESENT
Cort Wesley opened Dylan’s door without knocking, his eyes falling on the girl sobbing softly atop the bedcovers while Dylan sat on the side of the bed stroking her hair. He cleared his throat, waited for his oldest son to look his way.
“You got a minute to talk?”
The boy nodded and lifted himself off the bed after whispering something in the girl’s ear. He closed the door again himself, after joining his father in the hallway.
“I’m trying not to be too critical of what you done here,” said Cort Wesley. “I like a man who stands up for things, not afraid to take a risk if it means helping somebody else.”
Dylan smiled slightly. “I was afraid you’d put me over your knee.”
“Nah, I’d never spank you. I might shoot you, but I’d never spank you.”
Dylan watched Cort Wesley wink and widened his smile.
“You being a good student with no history of such things matters for something too. Trouble is word’s out in the city, among the cops anyway, that you’re my son. The upshot of that bit you this afternoon for the first time, but it might not be the last. That’s something I want you to take out of this, how extra careful you got to be in choosing your situations.”
“Nothing in this case I could’ve done different anyway.”
“You could’ve called me.”
“You were in New Orleans.”
“Would you have if I wasn’t?”
“What do you think?” Dylan asked him, not missing a beat.
Cort Wesley’s eyes flashed concern. He started to take a deep breath, then stopped. “She’s a pretty girl, Dylan.”
“She was in trouble.”
“Dangerous combination, trust me on that.”
“What is it you wanna tell me?” Dylan asked him.
“Not tell you, son, warn you.”
“So go ahead.”
“I just did, didn’t I?”
Dylan whipped the hair from his face with a snap of his head. Then he ran a hand through it. “Am I supposed to answer that?”
“No, this: how you plan on explaining your actions to the folks who run your school?”
“Lots of kids take off early sometimes.”
“They don’t belong to me. You do.”
Dylan rolled his eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look, I’m just trying to talk to you here.”
“You finished?”
Cort Wesley looked at his oldest son, thinking of what he’d done over the years to others who’d taken that tone with him. He felt his fingers twitching, eager to be curled into fists out of instinct.
Dylan blew some stray strands of hair from his face, his expression growing tentative. “What’s Las Mujeres de Juárez?”
“Huh?”
“Something Caitlin said when Maria was telling her story. The Women of Juárez.”
“You heard her say that?”
“Pretty sure I did, yeah.”
Cort Wesley’s spine seemed to arch. Dylan always had to look up to meet his eyes, but suddenly it seemed he had to cast his gaze higher.
“Make sure the window in your room is locked,” Cort Wesley said, and headed back for the stairs.
19
SHAVANO PARK; THE PRESENT
“Las Mujeres de Juárez,” Cort Wesley said, standing over Caitlin on the porch. “You forget to mention that to me?”
“I didn’t forget. I’m just not sure.”
Cort Wesley’s eyes seemed to stop blinking again, the color draining from his face. “Sure enough to be sitting out here with your SIG unstrapped.”
Caitlin looked at the shotgun he had brought outside with him. “You ever wonder why times like this bring us the closest?”
“You mean that spending time with Mickey and Goofy just doesn’t seem to hold? Nope. I was too busy wondering why every time I’ve got us figured out, you pull a disappearing act.” Cort Wesley stopped, then started again just as quickly. “Two months this time.”
“I explained that.”
“And now, maybe thanks to Dylan, you got a line on what you’re really after.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Yes, it is. That girl upstairs is what you been chasing for months. Tell me there’s not a part of you wouldn’t like this Macerio or whatever to show up here and now.”
“Got me figured out for sure, don’t you, Cort Wesley?”
“I think so.”
“Which explains why you didn’t bother to say thank you.”
Cort Wesley shook his head, looking disappointed. “You don’t thank family for doing what family does, unless you were doing it as a Ranger, in which case I am in your debt. So?”
“So . . . what?”
“Which is it?”
“If you need to ask, I’ve got no intention of telling you.”
Cort Wesley smirked and finally took the wooden chair next to her on the front porch, laying the twelve-gauge over his legs.
“How’d the talk go with Dylan?” Caitlin asked him.
“Like most of them these days. Got no idea if I accomplished anything at all. Boy always leaves me scratching my head.”
“Wonder who he takes after. You set him straight about his actions today?”
“Depends on your meaning.”
Caitlin flexed her eyebrows. “That answers my question.”
“I’m kind of new at this,” Cort Wesley told her. “Don’t know if I’ll get the chance to get old at it, if social services has their way.”
Caitlin looked at him closer. “That’s twice you’ve mentioned that.”
“Department’s thinking seriously of taking my boys away from me. No visible means of support, no woman in their lives . . . you want me to go on?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your responsibility, so you got nothing to be sorry for.” Cort Wesley tried to take a deep breath but stopped halfway, his frustration showing in the furrows suddenly dug into his forehead. “I never been scared of anything in my life like I’m scared right now. Why you think I hauled ass to New Orleans to make my case to the Brancas?”
“How about you give me the social worker’s number, lemme see what I can do?”
Cort Wesley fished the card from his wallet and handed it to Caitlin. “Texas Rangers got authority over Department of Social Services now?”
Caitlin stuck the card in her pocket. “You’d be surprised.”
“Maybe you won’t make the best character reference under the circumstances.”
“Meaning?”
“When she asks you how often you’re around and you say once every two months to bail the oldest out of jail.”
“Thought you might’ve been pissed over what happened the last time we were together.”
“You mean, you breaking my nose?”
Caitlin was sparring with a Golden Gloves lightweight at Castillo’s Boxing Gym on Pleasanton Road a couple weeks after they got back from DisneyWorld, when Cort Wesley approached the ring between rounds.
“Hopefully you’re not picturing me when you throw that right cross.”
“What are you doing here, Cort Wesley?” Caitlin asked as some of the other cops and Rangers who used the gym for recreation looked on.
“Got some of your souvenirs in the car. Figured I’d give them to you when you stopped by, but since you haven’t I was curious where you been keeping yourself.”
“Now you know,” Caitlin said and spit some water into a bucket. “You don’t mind, the next round’s about to start.”
Cort Wesley started to climb into the ring. “Anybody got some gloves I can borrow?”
“It still hurts,” he told her from the chair next to hers on the front porch.
“I warned you I was good.”
“Figured you’d take it easy on me.”
“That was before your right hook nearly broke my jaw.”
He’d come at her with his cocky smirk, figuring he’d just have his way when . . .
Thump . . . thump . . . thump.
. . . Caitlin’s jabs snapped his head back and sent him reeling. Cort Wesley charged back in, going at her with brute force that backed her up into the ropes. She covered up, cross-stepping away from the corner, and then landed an uppercut that opened him up for the hook in question. She felt the heavy glove mash bone and cartilage on contact, both of Cort Wesley’s nostrils spewing blood that left a speckled trail across the mat. He doubled over, then bounced back up ready to go at her again to be greeted by the towel Caitlin had extended toward him.
“You should’ve been wearing protection,” she told him now.
“Not my style.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“Off and on.”
“Off and on,” Caitlin agreed.
Cort Wesley’s eyes continued to sweep the night before them, the streetlights bathing the minivans and SUVs stacked in the nearby driveways. “How about a rematch?”
“You want your nose busted again that bad?”
“I’ll be ready this time.”
Caitlin waited for him to look at her before responding. “You want me to talk to social services for you or not?”
“Rather you go a few rounds with this Silvaro woman. Knock some sense into her head.”
“How about knocking some into Dylan’s? Or is putting himself in a killer’s sights by taking off from school with a runaway girl acceptable from your standpoint?”
“She’s upstairs crying on his bed. What about her parents?”
“Number she gave us isn’t in service anymore. I got one of our office guys trying to track the new one down.” Caitlin heard her BlackBerry beep the signal for an incoming text message and checked the screen. “You mind holding down the fort for a bit?” she asked Cort Wesley, rising.
“Something happen?”
“Our office guy tracked down that number.”
20
SHAVANO PARK; THE PRESENT
“You mind giving me a few minutes?” Caitlin asked Dylan after he opened the door.
The boy shrugged his shoulders and nodded, retreating into the hallway. Caitlin closed the door behind him and moved to the bed, Maria turning to look up at her.
“I wanna go home.”
“And we’ll get you there soon enough.”
“Why not now? I could take a bus or some
thing.”
“Well, there’s reasons why you can’t do that, but I got the next best thing in mind,” Caitlin said and raised her phone. “We found your parents’ new phone number. Turns out they moved since you’ve been gone.”
The girl threw herself into Caitlin’s arms, hugging her so tight it hurt Caitlin to breathe. She hugged Maria back, the girl’s ribs and shoulder bones protruding from malnutrition. She felt Maria’s tears against her cheek, her hair rich with the smell of Dylan’s shampoo she’d used during a second shower in which she’d nearly scrubbed her skin raw as if to wash away the filth of the past six months.
Caitlin waited for Maria to break the embrace, then handed her the BlackBerry. “Number’s already displayed. All you gotta do is hit the send button here.”
“When can I tell them I’m coming home?”
“Soon,” Caitlin said, starting for the door. “Soon.”
She rejoined Cort Wesley on the front porch, aware of him studying her as she sat back in her chair.
“Looks like you been doing a little crying yourself, Ranger. Hope it wasn’t on account of me being so tough on you.”
“That girl’s been through hell, Cort Wesley. I just can’t imagine.”
“Yes, you can; we both can, kind of things both of us have seen.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
“What?”
“You and me. We faced down death enough times, Pirates of the Caribbean and Space Mountain just didn’t measure up.”
“You think that’s why I haven’t been around for two months?”
“Haven’t called either.”
“I’ve been—”
“I know, busy chasing down missing Mexican girls. You figure out why, maybe the rest will fall into place.”
“How many times you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“It’s like you’re on some kind of quest or something and now Dylan’s become a part of it.”
“So all of a sudden you’re the concerned parent. . . .”
Cort Wesley shifted his chair to better face her. “I don’t like thinking about my son being face-to-face with the man behind the Women of Juárez.”
“He did that all on his own.”
“Am I missing something here?”
“Just the point,” Caitlin told him. “Maria didn’t come to Dylan looking for help, she came looking for money. He took the rest from there, didn’t hesitate when this Macerio showed up.”