She chuckled. The dog was adorable, and Chuy had obviously doted on the little guy. The pup would be thoroughly spoiled by the time Gabby finally got him today.
Agent Lopez touched her elbow. “Excuse me,” he said, pointing at his cell phone. “It’s my wife. She’ll worry if I don’t take this.”
Veranda pointed toward a lattice festooned with black satin ribbons and bright pink bougainvillea. “Go over there behind the trellis. You’ll be far enough away to hear your wife over the band.”
She watched Lopez traipse to the lattice, thinking how nice it must be to have someone at home, when a swirl of color distracted her. A glint of pale purple caught the corner of her eye, and she swiveled in her chair to see her stepfather and mother stride slowly into the pavilion. Her mother’s lavender dress fluttered in the light breeze. Face radiant, eyes sparkling, head high, in that moment, Lorena was the most beautiful woman at the party.
Next in the procession, Gabby’s padrinos, her godparents, walked arm-in-arm down the aisle dividing the tables. Long-time friends, the older couple had attended every family function and gone to their church for decades.
The quinceañera court followed. Seven lovely girls wearing hot pink gowns were escorted by seven young men in black tuxedos with pink sneakers, cummerbunds, and bowties to match the dresses. Absolutely adorable.
After a long moment, the music shifted and Gabriela strode forward on her chambelan’s arm. Dozens of chairs scraped back as everyone stood. Veranda’s heart caught in her throat when Gabby made her appearance in a floor-length traditional gown of rosy pink. Made of satin with folds of taffeta under the skirt, the dress harkened back to a bygone era. With her dark, glossy tresses piled high on her head and Lorena’s silver choker with its etched cross circling her neck, Gabby looked every bit the sweet, virginal beauty she represented at this time of passage to womanhood. Veranda looked on as her mother walked to Gabby and gently placed a glittering tiara on her head.
Unexpected tears stung Veranda’s eyes. She’d almost ruined this special moment. When Bartolo had captured Gabby, he’d threatened to … Veranda swallowed the bile surging in her throat and pushed the rest of the thought from her mind.
A warm hand touched her arm, and she glanced over to see Agent Rios scrutinizing her. “Are you remembering your own quinceañera?” he asked.
She glanced around the table. All eyes were on her rather than her sister. She had made a spectacle of herself. Her hard-won training and self-discipline often deserted her when it came to her family. The group at her table obviously thought she was having a nostalgic remembrance from her youth. They could not have been further from the truth.
Veranda waved an arm, indicating that everyone should take their seats again. She used the few moments to compose herself. When she finally answered, her words barely carried over the music. “We didn’t have much money back then. I didn’t have a quinceañera like this.” She gestured to the band and elaborate decorations. “Just family at the church and a small gathering at home.”
Chuy puffed out his chest. “I was her chambelan.” When his proclamation met with silence, he added, “I was three years younger than her, but she scared off all the guys in her class.”
She wanted to slide under the table and crawl away. Chuy had shared one of her most embarrassing memories. Face flaming at the stunned looks around the table, she decided to elaborate. “When I was little, I got picked on. Like I said, we were poor back then. My clothes mostly came from the donation bin at church. For lunch, sometimes all I had in my brown bag was a cold tortilla and government cheese. Didn’t make me popular. My family was always working, trying to make ends meet, so it wasn’t hard to hide the bruises and scrapes I got from fighting.”
She scrutinized the centerpiece, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. To witness their pity would make it all real again. She clasped her hands in her lap and went on.
“After I got a black eye, though, my uncles caught on. They took me to a local gym and asked if they could teach me kickboxing in exchange for free food at our family restaurant. I learned how to take care of myself. Then I started to stand up for other kids who were bullied. Got kind of a reputation as a fighter.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess that didn’t exactly charm the boys.”
Eyes still trained on the floral arrangement in the middle of the table, she heard the groan of a flimsy folding chair under the strain of a man’s shifting weight as Diaz leaned toward her. “You were three years behind me in school. I was already in college before your quinceañera.” The intensity in his voice dragged her gaze up to meet his. “Too bad … I wouldn’t have been intimidated.”
The implication hung in the air. She blinked and looked away. Maybe the earth would open and swallow her. Maybe she would find a discreet way to kill Chuy and hide the body so no one would ever find it.
The band started playing again and her stepfather invited everyone to eat while the traditional ceremonies began. A long rectangular table set off to the side practically bowed under the weight of an elaborate buffet with Gabby’s favorite Mexican and American delicacies.
Tucking his phone in his suit jacket pocket, Agent Lopez walked back to the table and reclaimed his chair next to Veranda. He gave her a smile and they craned their necks to watch as the crowd made a wide circle around Gabby and her father, who were in the middle of the pavilion.
The DJ’s voice reverberated through the speakers set up around the yard. “And now, la última muñeca.”
Tiffany looked at Chuy, who was engrossed in conversation with Diaz. She blew out an exasperated huff of air and signaled Veranda from across the table. “I’ve never been to one of these things. What’s the DJ talking about?”
Veranda smiled, proud of her Latina heritage and the beautiful traditions of her culture. “It means, ‘the last doll.’ When a girl turns fifteen, she leaves her childhood behind and becomes a young woman. The presentation of the last doll is symbolic, so it’s a miniature of Gabby.”
They watched in silence as Gabby’s father, Miguel, handed her a porcelain doll with dark glossy hair and a tiny tiara, its pale pink satin and taffeta gown an exact replica of Gabby’s. The crowd cheered and applauded as Gabby clutched the figurine to her chest.
Miguel stood by and the audience grew quiet as a young cousin walked solemnly toward them holding a white satin pillow with a pair of pink strappy sandals resting on top.
Tiffany quirked a brow at Veranda, who leaned closer to explain the next part of the ceremony. “Now Gabby’s father will take off her kid’s shoes and put the first pair of high heels on her feet.”
Miguel knelt in front of Gabby, who sat in a chair and tugged the flowing skirt of her gown up above her ankles, exposing a pair of hot pink Converse high tops. Her father gently unlaced the sneakers, pulled them from her feet, and slid the pink heels on in their place. He stood and extended a hand to his daughter.
“Now,” Veranda continued her narrative, “is el vals. It means, ‘the waltz.’ Upon becoming a woman, a quinceañera’s first dance is a traditional waltz with her father, so they … ” She trailed off, impulse overtaking her. She would force Diaz out in the open. “But you know all about this, don’t you, Tiffany? You helped one of the boys learn to dance?” She deliberately raised her voice to get a reaction. “Joey, right?”
At the mention of the name, Diaz and Chuy abruptly ended their conversation. She smiled. How would they talk their way out of this one?
The two men traded glances before Chuy turned to Veranda. “I love your mother, mi’jita, but she should keep quiet about my business.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “This is what you say after keeping secrets from me for years?”
Diaz shot her a quelling look. “This isn’t the time or place, Detective.”
Temper stoked, she rounded on her lieutenant. “And what have you been hiding all this time?�
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Agent Lopez placed a hand on her shoulder. “Perdón, but you might want to watch the dance. It has already started.”
With a few quiet words and a fatherly touch, Lopez had extinguished her fire. Chastised, Veranda scooted her chair to get a better view of her sister. This was Gabby’s day, and she wouldn’t mar it with bickering.
The band played a Mexican-flavored waltz as father and daughter glided in a graceful arc around the center of the pavilion. Veranda allowed herself to get caught up in the beauty of the rite of passage handed down through generations.
The dance ended to more applause and the entire quinceañera court joined them. Miguel gave his daughter’s hand to her chambelan and stepped away. The other seven young couples, all dressed in their pink and black finery, filled the floor in another elegant dance. She couldn’t pick Joey out, which meant the boy blended in perfectly. Despite her feelings about the secrecy involved, she was happy the lessons had worked.
Absorbed in the father-daughter ceremonies, Veranda had lost track of her mother. She straightened, peering around at the partygoers, when Lorena grasped her shoulders from behind.
“Mi’ja.” Her mother’s soft accent radiated warmth. “I am so glad you are here. I missed you earlier.” She indicated the table. “Will you introduce me to your guests?”
Veranda rose from her chair, looped her arm in her mother’s, and turned toward the federales. “Mamá this is—”
Lorena’s eyes fell on Agent Lopez. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Esteban … ” she breathed.
Lopez gasped. “Ay, dios mio,” he murmured, staring at her mother. “Lorena Hidalgo. I … I thought you were dead.”
18
Mia Pacheco winced as her twin sister peeled back the bandage from her chest. She held Sofia’s wide brown eyes with her own, saw guilt mingled with horror, and braced herself to prevent any anguish from showing on her face. She knew her sister felt responsible for angering Salazar, who didn’t want her distracted from her duties. That wouldn’t do.
They sat together on a lumpy, bare mattress, its frayed sheets spinning in an ancient washing machine down the hall. The tiny upstairs bedroom served as a private space for the coyotes to take Carlos’s women for their amusement.
Still physically unable to entertain men, Mia kept the room clean. Revolted by wet, slimy stains when she stripped the bed, she’d touched only the corners of the threadbare fabric when she loaded the sheets inside the washer and added extra soap.
After Mia finished her cleaning duties, Nacho had ordered her sister to treat her burn with a foul-smelling ointment. She didn’t think for a moment her captors wanted her to feel better. She was certain they wanted both of them to remember their lesson.
As Sofia reached for the salve, Mia braced herself and started a conversation to divert her mind from the impending pain. “Sof,” she said, “you can tell me about it.”
Sofia’s hand tensed as she dipped her fingers in the jar. “About what?”
“I didn’t sleep last night. Too much noise. I’ve never heard so many men in the house. And I for sure never heard so many women. Señor Adolfo was shouting at everyone. Couldn’t make out the words, but he sounded mad.”
“I was working at my desk next to Nacho all night. He never lets me out of his sight anymore, so I don’t know what went on in the other rooms.”
She wouldn’t let her sister off that easily. “But you hear them talk, Sof. You know what Señor Adolfo is planning.”
“I only know what Nacho tells me. I make guesses from there.”
“What’s Nacho got you doing now?”
“He ordered me to make a larger map and ping every cell phone from the task force. He wants color-coded dots so we know who’s where at a glance.” Sofia gently touched the raised red welt with the burn cream.
Mia forced herself not to flinch. “What else?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Sofia hesitated. At her sister’s nod, she continued with the treatment and the information. “The men are all upset about a couple of federales from Mexico City. I heard Señor Adolfo and that pendejo, Salazar, talking to Nacho about it. Sounded like they chased Salazar out of some hotel downtown and almost caught him.”
The mention of Salazar’s name sent an involuntary shudder through Mia. Thoughts of him terrified her every waking minute. Then he haunted her dreams at night.
“We can’t go on like this,” Sofia whispered, dabbing more ointment on the raw burn. “One day, they’ll kill us.”
Mia sucked in sharply before schooling her features. “What choice do we have?”
“Sorry.” Sofia stayed her hand. “I’ve got to figure out the street address where we are. I want to send that detective—Veranda Cruz—a message and tell her to come rescue us.”
“You said Nacho cloned her phone and hacked her email. How can you get a message to her?”
Sofia bit her lip. “I don’t know yet, but I need to ask you something really important first.”
“What is it?”
“If I succeed, we’d be free and the Villalobos brothers and their coyotes would go to jail. But if I get caught again … ”
Sofia’s unspoken words echoed through the room as if she’d shouted them. Mia held her gaze for a long moment. She knew what her sister asked of her. It would not be Sofia’s, but Mia’s life on the line. While her sister waited for an answer, the bitter memory of the day Mamá had chosen between her twin daughters rushed back to Mia.
Both of them had taken a programming class at school, and the moment Sofia sat in front of an ancient, outdated computer monitor, she seemed to connect to the world of computers. While Mia found herself baffled by the increasingly complex coding, Sofia was in her element. Programming came easily to her sister, who rapidly expanded her skills. Unable to keep up, Mia eventually dropped out.
When Sofia qualified for an internship in the United States, the whole family celebrated the opportunity of a lifetime. The program only covered Sofia’s expenses, but Mamá wanted both of her daughters to go. That’s when Mamá made the mistake of contacting Villalobos coyotes, who promised her room and board and a job as a cleaning lady in a neighborhood near Sofia’s school. They would even arrange for Mia to attend school as well.
Total bullshit.
Nothing could have prepared her for what came next. The day their motley group of border crossers arrived at the drop house in West Phoenix, Señor Bartolo came to inspect them. Even though she was a virgin, she recognized the heat in his deep-set eyes as they slid over her body. When he learned they were twins, the heat burst into flame. Señor Bartolo wanted both of them. Together.
When Mamá begged him to take her in their place, he’d laughed in her face. The sadistic bastard tormented her mother, offering to spare one of the girls if she chose between them. If Mamá didn’t hand over one daughter, he and every one of his men would have both of them.
The moment the words left Señor Bartolo’s mouth, Mia had known what her mother would do. Sofia was the shining light in the family. The beacon of hope for a better future. The one who had to be saved at all costs. Not Mia. Sure enough, her mother had finally hauled her over to Señor Bartolo and pushed her into his grasp. He had dragged her down the hallway to a back room and thrown her on the bed. When she struggled against him, he had beaten her almost to death.
After waking up in some sort of clinic covered in bandages, she’d spent the past six weeks recovering from her injuries while she cooked and cleaned for the coyotes. Señor Carlos said she’d be ready to entertain clients soon, but she still suffered from dizzy spells and blinding headaches.
Her swollen face had returned to its normal shape, except for her broken nose. Every so often, she caught Sofia looking at her with eyes full of guilt. They used to be identical, but each day the resemblance faded as their lives took divergent paths. And now the branding iron had ensured t
hey would never be mistaken for one another again.
“Mia?” She jumped at her sister’s voice. Sofia wanted an answer.
Salazar had made it clear Mia wouldn’t survive another attempt by Sofia to thwart the cartel, and her sister plainly wanted do exactly that. Because Mia would pay the ultimate price, Sofia needed her permission to try again. It all came down to her. Did she have the courage?
An image of Señor Carlos sprang to mind, his large hands squeezing her flesh, checking to see if she had healed enough to start taking male clients for him. She squared her shoulders. “Sof, do whatever you can to get us out of here. If I die, it’s no worse than living like this.”
Sofia gave her a lingering look.
Mia set her jaw and hid all traces of fear.
Finally, Sofia nodded. “One way or another, this has to end.” Her doe-brown eyes swam with tears. “You are my hero, Mia.”
She clutched Sofia’s hand. “And you’re mine. I’m putting all my faith in you, Sof. You can do this. And if you can’t … ” she trailed off, then raised her voice with renewed determination. “Like I said before, I’d rather be dead than go on like this.”
19
Now sitting at the circular linen-covered table, Veranda’s gaze flicked from her mother to Agent Lopez. How had they known each other?
Lopez gave her mother a tentative smile. “Lorena, I cannot believe it is you.” He broke into rapid Spanish. “For so long, I have wondered what happened. When I couldn’t find you, I feared the worst.”
Tears spilled from Lorena’s eyes as she dropped her hands from her mouth and answered in her native tongue, as she always did when she wanted to be clear. “Esteban, I didn’t want to be found. I changed my last name. I stopped being Lorena Hidalgo the day my Ernesto died.”
Veranda knew this much. Lorena had switched back to her maiden name, Cruz, in order to protect her younger siblings, and took them with her when she fled Mexico. Using her maiden name had also helped in other ways. She had documentation when she filed for asylum in the United States and could prove she was related to the children in her care. Lorena hoped Hector Villalobos wouldn’t find her in Phoenix and, until recently, El Lobo had left the Cruz family alone.
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