“There’s a policeman at the door.”
“Can I hold your gun?”
I thought I would pass out when I heard Stephen’s heartfelt plea. Reyes and I had been stashed in the laundry room in the hopes that the local officers were just collecting for the annual food drive. A night-light lit the small space, and the room smelled like wildflowers in spring.
“Mi’jo,” Amador said in a loving voice, “you know you can’t play with guns.”
“I just wanna hold it. I won’t play with it. I promise.”
A soft laugh penetrated the air. I could imagine Bianca’s nurturing smile. “Stephen,” she said softly, “the officer is trying to talk.”
The man cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we’re checking all known associates of Reyes Farrow.”
This was it. The kids would give away our position in a heartbeat. Like taking candy from a baby.
And here I stood, surrounded by piles of freshly washed laundry with an escaped felon for company. If the officer found us, I would look more like an accomplice than a hostage, cowering in the dark.
What in the supernatural afterlife was I doing? This was my chance. My big break. I could put an end to all this right here and now.
My hand took hold of the doorknob just as a long arm reached over my shoulder. Reyes braced his palm against the door and leaned over me from behind.
His breath fanned across my cheek as he spoke. “Forty-eight hours.” He whispered the words as the warmth from his body enveloped me. “That’s all I need,” he added.
The fact that I believed Reyes didn’t get anywhere near a fair trial pushed to the forefront of my thoughts. Maybe he deserved to escape, to live free. No one really knew what happened. Earl Walker’s death could have been an accident, or more likely, Reyes was defending himself against that monster. What was his escape to me?
And then the reason for my hesitation dawned, washing over me like a bucket of ice water. If he escaped from prison, if he was a fugitive, he would have to leave. He would have to go to Mexico or Canada or Nepal and live completely under the radar.
I would never see him again.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. He was waiting for an answer. “What do you mean?” I asked, pretending not to realize why he needed the time. Surely it took a while to get fake papers. Forged IDs weren’t easy to come by. “What can you possibly do in forty-eight hours?”
He leaned in closer, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I can find my father.”
That got my attention. I turned to face him as quietly as I could. It wasn’t easy. He stood his ground, forced me to look up into his eyes. “I can find your father in about fifteen minutes.”
Raising his brows in interest, he questioned me with a tilt of his head.
“Sunset Cemetery—” I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in that general direction. “—and I doubt he’s going anywhere.”
A hint of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “If Dad’s at the cemetery,” he said in a teasing tone, “he’s visiting his late aunt Vera. Which is highly unlikely, because he really didn’t like her.”
I frowned, suddenly wishing I’d been granted access to his psych profile. “I don’t understand.”
He lowered his gaze to the floor, then closed his eyes with a sigh. “Earl Walker is alive,” he said almost reluctantly. After a long pause, he opened his eyes, a worried expression lining his face. “I went to prison for killing someone who is still alive, Dutch.”
That was impossible. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe him. The medical examiner had identified the body. Because it had been burned, they had to use dental records. But there was a positive match. In the transcripts, Reyes himself had identified his father’s class ring, which had been found on the body’s charred ring finger.
Reyes had to be mistaken … or … or what? Crazy?
The doubt must have shown in my eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he lowered his head and stepped back. Was he letting me go? Could it be that simple?
Then he looked up, the dark determination back in his expression, and I realized the answer to my questions would be a resounding no. If he hadn’t convinced me of the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted yet, his next statement certainly did.
“Fifty-five forty-seven Malaguena northeast.”
I stood deathly still and absorbed his words, his meaning. My heart stopped in my chest as an utter disbelief and an odd sense of betrayal washed over me. It wasn’t every day that an escaped convict recited my parents’ home address. Every nuance of Reyes’s demeanor confirmed the sincerity of his threat. He stared at me, waiting as the realization that he was giving me no choice but to cooperate sank in.
“And my reach,” he added with a knowing tilt of his head, “goes far beyond those prison walls.”
Visions of my dad emerged, of his warm smile. Even though he was trying to force me out of my own business, I would do anything for him, including aiding and abetting. Hot tears burned the backs of my eyes as I glared at Reyes. Our relationship had just dropped to a new low, one filled with contempt and distrust. How could I have felt so much for him?
I stood a long while, refusing to comment, letting the anger churning inside me take root, lead me, harden my heart. I had been a fool. No more. Never again.
“We understand each other, then?” he asked. He hadn’t moved a muscle. He just stood there and eyed me as if allowing me to soak in his words, to contemplate the consequences of any action I might take against him.
I eyed him right back. “You’re an asshole.”
His smile held no humor. “Then we understand each other.”
The door opened and I stepped to the side without averting my gaze. If he wanted a war, a war he would have.
We were shown into a spacious kitchen with commercial appliances and the coolest toaster oven I’d ever seen as Bianca put the kids to bed. They’d apparently been waiting up to see their uncle Reyes. Poor kids. They had no idea how dysfunctional even their pretend family members were.
Amador closed all the blinds, then started peeling Reyes’s clothes off as Bianca hurried in with what medical supplies they had on hand. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander when the coveralls came off, then the prison uniform. He was completely naked underneath and I tried to look away, but even injured, he resembled a Greek god. His perfect skin tight around the hills and valleys of his muscles. Bianca wrapped a towel around his lower half as Amador inspected the wound.
“I need a shower,” Reyes said as he downed three of whatever painkiller Amador handed him.
Amador shook his head. “I don’t know, bro. If this gets infected.”
“It’ll heal long before it has a chance. Just give me that peroxide,” he said, gesturing toward the table, “and I’ll be good.”
As he spoke, I stepped around for a better look, and my head spun at the sight. His entire left side looked shredded, deep gashes exposing muscle and bone. He couldn’t have weathered those injuries without at least one or two broken ribs, possibly more. Dark bruises were already spreading over his abdomen and up his chest. “Oh, my goodness,” I said, reaching for a chair.
“Charley!” Startled, Bianca scrambled to help me into one. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, fanning my face. “No.” I stood again and faced Reyes with a new fury. “Why are you doing this? Why risk your life?”
“Dutch,” he said in warning.
“No, this is crazy. Why would you do this? You’ll get nowhere.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You know what I mean.” I stepped closer, forcing my eyes to stay locked on his face. “They’ll find you. They always do.”