“Ah, Magdalene, no.” Nancy leaned even farther into the table and for once didn’t retreat behind the imperious silent disapproval she occasionally wielded to great effect. She reached for her daughter’s hand, but Mags slid hers from the table and onto her lap.
Nancy sighed but straightened her shoulders, which had momentarily slumped. “Our decision had nothing to do with having more time to work with other people’s children and everything to do with the way you suddenly developed overnight and the explosion of interest it brought from the local boys.”
“What?” Finn watched as Mags finally quit pretending she was just too, too disinterested in her mother’s explanation and leaned into the table as well. “What are you talking about? What boys?”
“You know.” Her mom twirled a hand. “The boys you played with in the jungles and on the streets of every small township or larger city we lived in,” she said earnestly. “I have to stop and think to recall we were living in Onoato at the time. But, Magdalene, I will never forget the way those boys started looking at you.”
She thrust her fingers in her hair and held it off her forehead as she stared at Mags. “I admit we could have handled things so much better than we did, beginning with telling you our reasons for sending you to school in the States in the first place and continuing right through all the rebellious years that followed. But the truth is, I saw those boys beginning to...what do the American kids call it? Check you out? And I panicked. Lord above, Magdalene, I was terrified right down to my bones. We wanted so much more for you than marrying young and living too short a life having too many kids in too much poverty. We wanted you to have a good education and a chance at whatever your dream turned out to be.”
“So you screwed me up for life when a single conversation might have made things so much easier?”
“Honey, I’m sorry. I am genuinely, deeply sorry. We didn’t know how to connect with the new you when you came home on holidays, but we should have—I should have—tried harder. I know I did everything wrong.” Then she added fiercely, “But you are not screwed up. You turned out to be such a strong, capable woman.”
Mags opened her mouth and Finn held his breath, waiting for her to tell her folks about sleeping with half the lacrosse team before she turned fifteen. He was pretty sure it would kill them to learn what their lack of a simple explanation had cost.
His gut clenched when he looked at her. Jesus. Except for exhaustion-generated dark shadows beneath her eyes, she was pale as rice paper. He knew damn well she’d hardly slept since her parents’ return into her life. And despite the way she’d fallen into what had looked scarily close to a coma last night, he knew she was still sleep-deprived. One good night didn’t make up for the other four spent tossing and turning. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the sketchy sleep they’d gotten before that.
But with so many years of being furious with her parents, that made keeping her own counsel even iffier.
At the tail end of a moment’s hesitation, however, she merely said, “You’d be heartsick if you knew the many ways I’ve messed up.”
“Well, of course you made bad decisions,” her father said with beatific acceptance. “You were an angry kid. But that’s not your fault, kiddo—that’s your mom’s and my burden to carry for making you feel abandoned.” He met her unhappy gaze squarely and said with a firmness Finn hadn’t before heard from him, “We can’t undo the past, Magdalene. But we can take responsibility for it, and we’d sure like it if we could build a better relationship with you going forward. Do you think you could open your heart to that?”
Finn doubted anyone drew a breath while Mags pondered the question. Then she slowly nodded. “I guess I could try.”
Her parents audibly exhaled. Then Nancy actually laughed, and it transformed her, making her look years younger and worlds more approachable. He was helpless against smiling at her in return. Then he glanced at his watch.
And swore under his breath. “I hate to break this up,” he said, “but the clock is ticking down and we still need to find something to wear and get ready for our appointment.”
He decided to count it as a corner turned when Nancy didn’t argue.
* * *
JOAQUIN WAS ON the outskirts of Santa Rosa when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw the mercenary Palmer’s name and hovered his thumb over the red phone icon with its slashed-circle international No symbol. He’d failed in his mission and Munoz had ordered him back to the capital city. All the way back here he’d been fighting the urge to run in the other direction, fearful of what lay ahead for him.
Did he really want to further burden his day listening to the moron yanqui as well?
No. Yet he thumbed the green button all the same. “Palmer,” he said with admirable neutrality.
“Boss, Boss, I got me a bead on the woman and her American boy toy!”
“What?” He sat straighter in his seat, a rare joy suffusing him. He was saved? When Munoz had spent only the few seconds it took to bark at him over the phone to return to Santa Rosa now, he’d thought he was a dead man for sure for failing to complete the task he’d been assigned. But he had another chance! “Where?”
“I saw them entering the Hotel Almerante with shopping bags. Some older people who also had store bags went into the hotel in front of them but I couldn’t tell if they were together or just hitting the door at the same time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay to keep an eye on the joint—it’s sum-bitchin’ upscale, and first the doorman, then a guardia, rousted me. But I’m driving past as often as I dare, because that doorman’s got, like, fucking eagle eyes. With this bum leg, I won’t be much good to you for the takedown, but I can call up an associate if you’d like.”
“Do that. And, Palmer, excellent work. I will see that you’re paid a bonus if all goes well.” Disconnecting, he tossed the phone on the seat next to him.
And pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
* * *
“I VERY MUCH dislike not being able to see for myself what, if anything, is being done,” Nancy said as they returned to the hotel after their appointment with the consulate. “And while I understand the reasoning behind not yet being able to go back to our apartment, protective custody for your father and me by those United States drug people seems extreme. I don’t understand why they’re even involved in El Tigre business in the first place.”
Mags was running on a real lean mix but she dug deep for patience. Because contrary to Finn’s warnings regarding the need to make their case quickly and concisely, they’d been met by not only a very accommodating ambassador, but also representatives of the US Drug Enforcement Administration eager to hear their stories. “Special Agent Morgan explained it to us,” she said to her mother. “The DEA works closely with countries who ask for their help. And because corruption in El Tigre’s police departments is fairly widespread, this country did precisely that. Your testimony may well put a good part of Munoz’s operations out of business—if not shut down them down entirely. So of course they want you someplace safe.”
“I’m so disappointed, though, that you’re going home when we’ve only now gotten you back.”
“I know, Mom,” she said gently, “but my bank account is running on fumes and I need to get my career back on track so I can pay my bills.”
Because she and Finn had no firsthand information from Munoz that he’d held her parents on his grow farm, the DEA had given them permission to go home. If Joaquin wasn’t brought down by the case against Munoz, they’d be brought back for a separate trial, but no one honestly expected that to happen. Seeing her mother’s disappointment now, however, she said, “I promise not to let so much time go by between visits—I’ll come down as often as I can afford. Plus you and Dad still get sabbaticals, right?”
Nancy nodded.
“Then you need to come up whenever you can and see what my life is like.”
She was still reeling from the knowledge that everything she’d believe
d about her parents’ reasons for sending her away had been wrong. The upside-down and inside-out kind of wrong. A wound she’d carried deep inside for what seemed like forever felt as if it might finally heal once and for all.
Yet she also felt guilty, because even accepting they’d tried to protect her, a bitter-edged resentment still lingered. They’d have better protected her by telling her their reasons, and should have done precisely that. She’d spent all these years guarding herself against further rejection because they’d kept silent over something that, had she known, would have spared her that—as well as saved her years of heartache. At the very least, knowing might have made her less stingy with her emotions over the years, perhaps even to a point where she’d have been open to the kind of genuine relationships other people shared.
Oh, please. Her shoulders twitched impatiently. Pity party much? She was fully accountable for her actions and certainly usually more stoic. But all the same—
“Why didn’t you tell me until now the things you said at breakfast?” she demanded. “I understand not trying to get through to me when I was a teen—I was too angry then to give you an honest shot at an explanation.” Only barely conscious of crossing her arms over her breasts, she leveled a look on Nancy. “But I’ve been an adult for a long time now, Mom. How many years have you been writing to me? I’ve heard all about the problems in the neighborhood and the ups and downs of the kids you work with. Why did you never once say anything meaningful about our relationship?”
Her mother abruptly sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the work-worn hands she’d folded in her lap. For several moments Mags didn’t think she intended to reply.
But then Nancy looked up. “Oh, Magdalene,” she said, “I have no defensible explanation. I intended to tell you once you turned twenty-one, but you quit coming home for even those uncomfortable short visits when you were nineteen. When you started writing to me I told myself I’d explain in a letter, but I kept putting it off. I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings.” Looking miserable, she met Mags’s gaze. “I know that’s no excuse.”
“Actually, it’s not too shabby,” Mags admitted. Surprisingly, the simple act of demanding an answer had mitigated some of her anger. Her mother’s words abated yet another portion. It might take a while before her anger went away entirely, but this was a start. “I’m not all that great about opening up to people, either. So how about you and I make a deal? Let’s both try to do better in that area.”
Her mother nodded, her eyes lighting up. “I’d like to try that. I would very much like that.”
Mags abruptly realized how tired she was. And hungry—she hadn’t had much of an appetite the past several days, but it appeared it was back with a vengeance. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I need to lie down. Let me grab a nap, then we’ll talk some more.”
“All right.” Nancy stroked her work-worn fingers down Mags’s cheek. “I’m so glad to have you back in our lives,” she said and tears rose in her eyes, shocking Mags to the core. The older woman leaned in and pressed her damp cheek against Mags’s.
Then, with a kiss to her forehead, her mother stepped back, but maintained contact by lightly grasping her upper arms. She gave them a squeeze. “I love you, dear. You go get some rest. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“I will.” She started to turn away, but paused to face her mother again. “And, Mom? I meant to tell you, you look really pretty in that dress.”
A pleased smile curved her mother’s lips and she ran a reverent hand down the front of her garb. “I think this might be the most beautiful garment I’ve ever owned,” she admitted.
“It suits you.” Mags had searched for something that met all her mother’s requirements, the most important of which in Nancy’s eyes was a sales tag, as she hated to waste valuable resources on anything so frivolous as her appearance. Mags had found this dress at a deep discount, plus it was modestly cut and had white piping around the slightly scooped neckline and hemline that gave it the neat appearance her mother preferred. But the polished cotton was a beautiful blue-and-white delft print that made Nancy’s faded eyes regain the more vibrant blue Mags recalled from her childhood.
Or perhaps it was the makeup Mags had applied. Her mother had pooh-poohed the idea of fussing with lipsticks and blushes, but Mags had persisted. Not until she’d asserted rather acerbically that she was a trained professional and the last thing she would ever do was make Nancy look like a tart had her mom reluctantly agreed. But Mags had watched her check herself out in the ladies room mirror at the embassy.
Had seen the tiny smile and the way she’d stood a little taller after that.
“I’ll see you in a bit.” She turned away and let herself out of their hotel room, blinking when Finn stepped around her to open the door to theirs.
“I thought you’d already gone back to our room.” And had been afraid that even as she talked to her parents, he might be packing up to get back to his hiking trip.
“Nah. I like watching you with your ma and da.” He grinned and escorted her into their room. “Especially your mom. It’s kind of like watching the mating dance of the cacti.”
She snorted. “I know, right? But you know what? We used to have a wonderful relationship and I think, given time, we might get back to a good place.” It felt good to give voice to the thought and she whirled back to him.
“You know what else? I’m starving. And since I’m still mourning the loss of the ajiaco soup we had to leave in La Plata, I’m going to run to the bodega on the next block and see if they have any.” She grabbed her wallet out of her tote and, rising onto her toes, planted a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Then without giving him a chance to respond, she whirled away and headed for the elevator. When she caught herself darn near dancing, she realized she felt lighthearted—and freer than she had in ages.
* * *
THAT’S RIGHT, Joaquin silently urged the woman walking in his direction, come nearer. Just. A. Few. Steps. Nearer.
He was close—so very, very close—to getting his hands on Magdalene Deluca. When he’d seen her striding up the street a few minutes ago, he’d thought for an instant he’d summoned an image of her through sheer wishful thinking. When it sank in that she was very real, he’d had to concentrate on not making an abrupt jump back from the mouth of the alley he’d been using as his lookout post.
Then promptly chided himself even as he inched away. Because, would his imagination have conjured her in a dress and high-heeled shoes when he’d only ever seen her in shorts and those undershirts the yanqui mercenaries so colorfully termed wifebeaters?
The timing of her appearance was fortuitous, as he’d been on the verge of relinquishing all hope she was still at the Hotel Almerante. Even as he’d made this alley his headquarters, his first thought had been that he’d missed his opportunity to grab her. In the wake of Palmer’s phone call it had taken more than an hour to make his way through the city’s congestion from the south, where he’d entered Santa Rosa, to this neighborhood occupying the far northwest end of town. In that amount of time she and the interfering man she traveled with could have left Santa Rosa entirely or gone anywhere in the city—including the airport. He couldn’t guess why she’d given up looking for her parents when she’d seemed so determined to find them, but maybe she’d finally realized the futility of her plan to rescue them.
And it wasn’t as if he had other options. Palmer’s sighting was his only lead. So he’d taken up position here for the simple reason it allowed him to keep an eye on the hotel entrance without being conspicuous. Unlike the American mercenary, he knew better than to parade back and forth in front of the hotel, so he melted behind the large garbage bins at the rear of the alley anytime he spotted a policía swaggering in his direction.
But Magdalene was here now and he fumbled for his phone, called up the number he’d entered for Palmer’s contact and placed his call.
“Yo,” the
yanqui who answered said. “Wolkowski here.” Palmer had evidently delivered on his promise to bring in an associate.
“The woman is almost in my grasp. Bring the car.”
“Uh, about that,” the man rumbled and Joaquin stiffened. Those were not the words and tone that usually accompanied good news.
“Turns out this ’hood is lousy with embassies,” the man said, “so it’s crawling with cops and feds. I was rousted twice. Since I know how this game is played, I quietly moved along as instructed. But when the same fed rousted me a third time he called someone to put a boot on my car.”
What was this boot? Cars didn’t wear boots. Joaquin knew, however, it couldn’t be a good thing. “Can you take this boot off?”
“Not without the proper tools. I have a friend coming to do just that. He’ll be here any minute, and the second he arrives I’ll trade cars with him. I should be there very soon.”
If anyone ever suggested he work with an americano again Joaquin would stab them in the eye. And he’d do so cheerfully.
No. Not merely cheerfully. By all that was sacred, he’d sing like Carlos Vives even as he popped that eye like a grape. “I will trail the Deluca woman as long as I can to give you more time,” he said through his teeth. “But when I call again, you had better be ready to pick us up.”
He’d barely disconnected when Magdalene sashayed by. He gave her a second, then slipped out to follow a short way behind her. He had to whirl and feign interest in a window display of expensive-looking women’s clothing when she suddenly turned into the bodega next door.
As soon as the door closed behind her he edged over to the store’s window and craned to peer through the glass. He watched as she strode straight up to the counter and said something to the clerk. The man behind the counter turned away and selected a takeaway container.
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