Читать книгу Body Heat - Brenda Novak - Страница 12

Sophia considered asking the cantina owner to walk her to her bike, but she doubted she could string together enough Spanish to make herself understood. Not only that, she couldn’t think of any reason he might be willing to put his life on the line for some gringo he’d never met before. Maybe she was being ungenerous and her nationality wouldn’t enter into his decision, but she knew it could. Racism cut both ways.

She thought about heading down the dimly lit hallway where a sign promised Los Baños. But even if the restrooms had a window through which she could crawl into a back alley, what good would it do? As soon as the man who’d called her a whore figured out that she’d given him the slip, he’d simply cross over to her bike. He’d seen her drive up, knew where she’d parked. It was only a stone’s throw from where he and his friend were standing.

She couldn’t use her cell phone to call for help. And she didn’t know a soul here in Mexico that she could depend on. She’d already let Enrique and his friends leave without asking them to escort her safely to her Harley. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad decision. As far as she could tell, they were friends with the loser who seemed so bent on harassing her and could just as easily come to his aid if forced to choose sides. No, she preferred to keep the numbers small and manageable. There’d be fewer variables.

Taking her gun from under her pant leg, she held it against and slightly behind her body as she strolled out of the bar. She had no idea whether these guys were armed, but she had to assume the worst. It was too dangerous to do otherwise. Their behavior was aggressive enough to suggest it.

The breath she held burned in her chest as she reached the man who’d been doing his best to make her uncomfortable. He’d stationed himself so that she couldn’t avoid walking past him.

She was prepared when his hand whipped out to grab her left arm. Letting him jerk her around to face him, she brought up her gun, using the momentum of his own action to shove the barrel between his ribs. “Let go or I’ll kill you,” she ground out, teeth clenched.

Fear replaced the menace in his eyes. She’d gotten the drop on him. He hadn’t expected her to be armed.

But, wary as he’d become, he didn’t release her.

Adrenaline poured through her body, which made her feel a little shaky, but she had to sell her “hard chick” performance. His life, and possibly her own, depended on whether or not he bought it. “You have three seconds. I’ll even count en español, comprendes?”

At first, he couldn’t seem to decide how to react. But his friend scrambled away so fast he fell in his hurry to put some distance between them.

“Uno…dos…” She knew she couldn’t pull the trigger, not at this range. Although she’d had to use her firearm twice in the line of duty, she’d never actually killed a man. Unless he did something more than grab her arm, something to prove his intentions were what she feared, her threat was only a bluff. But she had the image she’d created with her bike, her tattoos and the swagger she’d learned from the Hells Angels working to convince him otherwise.

She prayed it would be enough.

Before she could get to three, he muttered what sounded like “fucking loca” and stepped away with his hands up. By this time, his friend had darted around the corner and was no longer in sight.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “Nice and easy. No need to make me nervous.”

“Puta!”

“You used that one already.”

Hatred glittered in his eyes. “You better not ever come back here.”

She smiled. “But this is such a nice place to visit.”

Keeping the gun trained on him, she backed across the street. Then she shoved her Glock into her waistband, where she could grab it again, if necessary, got on her bike and rode away.

Only when she was in line to get out of the country did she pull her shirt down to cover her weapon. And it wasn’t until after she’d crossed the border and was nearly home that she put it back in its holster. Maybe she was safe from the man who’d scared her in Naco, but the area wasn’t as empty as the dark streets implied. Even as she flew down the road, there were coyotes smuggling bands of illegal immigrants into the country—and there was a killer lurking somewhere, waiting to shoot the unsuspecting in cold blood.

Roderick felt like roadkill. Unable to get a flight to Tucson, he’d gone to Phoenix, but it’d been after eleven-thirty when he got in. Then he’d had to wait for his luggage and go through the tedious paperwork involved in renting a car before driving four hours southeast to Bordertown. Other than a fifteen-minute nap on the plane, he’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours.

But, tired though he was, he couldn’t bring himself to pull into the Mother Lode Motel and get a room. The sun wasn’t up yet. Arriving so early gave him a short window of time during which he could drive around unnoticed, familiarize himself with what had changed and reacquaint himself with what hadn’t—all before having to face his father or anyone else he might know from those early days. For an hour or so, he wouldn’t need to don the mask of indifference he’d soon wear, wouldn’t need to pretend that what’d happened here didn’t bother him anymore.

“Welcome home,” he muttered as he passed the drugstore, the family-owned grocery, Serrano’s Western Wear and the Catholic church his mother used to drag him to each Sunday. She’d insisted her younger brother go to church with them, but religion hadn’t been enough to keep Arturo on the right track. Was he even alive?

Roderick stretched the tight muscles in his neck. Maybe, when he was finished in Bordertown, he’d head down to Mexico and look for Arturo.

Then again, it’d been so long, maybe he wouldn’t. Some things were better left alone. He had no idea if the man he’d find would even want to be found.

When he reached the high school, he slowed to a crawl. The buildings had recently been painted; a new addition stuck out from the main hall like an extra appendage. Elmer’s Burrito Stand, the same awful blue color it’d always been, huddled on the corner across the street. Roderick had to marvel at that. For twenty years Elmer had made his living selling burritos out of that little stand. Not many places lasted so long. But not many places served food as good as Elmer’s, either.

In the very center of town, the buildings had the wood-plank sidewalks and overhangs reminiscent of the Old West. In an effort to save itself after the mine closed nearly a century ago, Bordertown had followed Tombstone’s lead in vying for the tourist dollar. But Bordertown didn’t have the O.K. Corral or any other real claim to fame. It had to rely on tours of the old mine, a string of souvenir shops and a few ranches in the surrounding desert that boarded tourists and offered an “authentic Western experience.” Rod was pretty sure the town would’ve died a slow death if not for the artisans who’d moved into one section and made a name for themselves selling turquoise jewelry and western art.

A few of the dumpier buildings downtown had been cleaned up. A chiropractor’s office and a veterinary office had received a face-lift and sported new signs. But a strip mall that’d been new the year he’d left was now weathered and worn-looking, home to a Laundromat, an electronics discounter and a liquor store. What Roderick remembered as an old thrift shop had been taken over by a salon boasting a full set of acrylic nails for forty-five dollars. At the Circle K, where half the high school had loitered late into a Friday or Saturday night, there was litter in the bushes and graffiti on the tan bricks facing the alley. And most of the houses on Center Street, those that hadn’t been turned into businesses, had bars covering the windows and doors.

On the whole, Bordertown wasn’t particularly attractive. It never had been. But there was a nostalgic quality that, for Roderick, coalesced into a combination of homesickness and regret. As he drove through the quiet streets, gazing at the buildings, many of which featured the typical desert landscaping, it felt almost as if his mother was sitting in the car beside him.

He considered going out to the cemetery to visit her grave. Now would be the time, when he could pay his respects in private. But the thought of standing there, looking down at that small mound as he had when he was only sixteen, brought back too much pain. He wouldn’t go. Not yet. Maybe if he avoided the cemetery, he wouldn’t miss her quite so poignantly.

Once he drove to the edge of town, he turned right and continued several miles before making a left and then another right. He was going to the ranch. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t care what it looked like, didn’t want anything to do with his father or his half brothers, but he was curious.

The arched Dunlap ranch sign came up more quickly than he’d expected. It’d seemed much farther from town when he was young, probably because he had to walk if he wanted to go anywhere.

Paloverde trees lined the drive to the mansion where his half brothers had lived with Edna, Bruce’s wife, who’d prided herself on her taste and cleanliness. His mother could’ve experienced a better life if she’d been allowed to become one of the maids. Edna had several in those days. His father had once promised Carolina the chance to work inside, get out of the terrible heat. But Edna had refused. She couldn’t stand to have Carolina in such close proximity to the Family. Knowing that she’d also had a son by Bruce, Edna had lobbied to have Carolina kicked off the ranch completely.

Fortunately, his father had never gone quite that far. He’d tried to buy her off once, but she’d refused to leave Jorge. So Bruce had let her stay. She’d continued to work in the fields, as long and as hard as any man, and continued to live in one of the little shacks along the periphery of the South Forty. Roderick had worked beside her, trying to do more than his share in order to give her a break. Until that last beating from his half brothers. Then his father had insisted he find work elsewhere to resolve the constant conflict.

That was why he felt so compelled to come here, he realized. As much as he hated his father, this was home, the only home he’d known until his mother had died and some other farm laborer had moved into her shack.

The tires of the Hummer he’d rented crunched on gravel as he rolled slowly down the drive and turned into the compound. He didn’t have much time. Already, a light shone in the grand ranch house. His father had always been an early riser.

Circumventing the nicer vehicles and farm equipment stored near a large silver water tank and a grain bin, he took the narrow road that led along the fence to the living quarters for the field help. The shacks were as tiny as ever—only two rooms. But they’d been painted. A satellite dish sat on the roof of the first one, with cables running to the others, and there were air-conditioning units in the left side windows. Conditions here had improved. When Roderick was a boy, they’d had no heat or air-conditioning, no electricity at all, and no plumbing. When he told other Americans he’d grown up poor, they had no idea he was talking about the kind of poverty found in third-world countries like the one his mother had escaped.

As he sat there, taking it all in, a door swung open and a stooped, withered Mexican stepped out. The man hadn’t turned on any lights. He probably had family inside he didn’t want to wake.

Noticing Rod immediately, he squinted to see who it was.

Roderick froze when he realized he was looking at Jorge. Boy, had he aged in the past fourteen years!

Their eyes met, and the old man’s wrinkled mouth curved, revealing several missing teeth.

The urge to throw the car into Reverse suddenly gripped Roderick. As ashamed as it made him feel, he wanted to forget his roots, forget he’d ever lived here. But he didn’t drive off. Jorge was already shuffling toward the truck at an eager gait.

Conjuring up a pleasant expression, Rod lowered his window. “Hola, mi amigo.”

“Hola, hijo.” Jorge’s gnarled hand clasped Rod’s forearm with affection. “¿Cómo estás? Eh?”

“Muy bien. Muy bien.” Rod switched to English. He could speak without the slightest accent, which reminded him that he’d escaped his past. He had plenty of money and opportunities and people he cared about—a whole other life in California. “You’re still here, old man?”

“Where would I go? I’m too old and ornery. No one else would have me.”

After seeing what so many years of physically grueling labor had done to Jorge, Rod was surprised Bruce had allowed him to stay. Certainly he couldn’t do all the work he’d once done. Maybe there was an element of trust between him and Bruce that made up the difference.

“What’s our Navy SEAL doing these days?” Jorge beamed with pride. “Still catching bad guys for Department 6?”

“For now.”

“Your father is so proud.”

The smile slipped from Rod’s face; he felt it go. “What’s going on with him? Why is he contacting me all of a sudden?”

“With age comes wisdom, eh?”

“Sorry, not buying it. Something must have caused such a major change of heart.”

“No, he’s asked me about you for years. He knows what you are, can’t deny that you’re a good son, someone to admire.”

Rod cocked an eyebrow at him. “Jorge? Cut the crap.”

“Listen, hijo. He had a bad health scare eight years ago, a heart attack. He’s been different ever since. I think he has realized what he’s lost and wants to fix it if he can.”

“And bringing me here to help solve the murders, that was just an excuse?”

“More than an excuse. He thinks you can help. If someone can kill at will and walk away, never to face punishment, it scares everyone, eh? Americans as well as Mexicans. The whole community. You remember what I told you about that rancher near Portal.”

He was referring to a man whose family had lived in the area for fifty years. “He was stabbed to death on his own land last March.”

“That’s right. He’d just called in to say he’d found some Mexican nationals suffering from dehydration and was assisting them.”

Rod stretched the cramped muscles in his neck. “Do you think there’s any connection between that incident and what’s been happening lately?”

“I don’t know. But even if there isn’t, what if illegals arm themselves? Try to retaliate?”

“We’ve got to make sure it doesn’t escalate,” he muttered.

Jorge nodded in satisfaction. “Yes.”

That increased Rod’s dedication to finding the person responsible for all the bloodshed, but it didn’t change anything else for him, not where his father was concerned. He glanced toward the house. “I gotta be on my way. Take care of yourself.”

“What? No! Stay. You don’t have to go. Your father would be happy to see you.”

“There’s no need to upset Edna and her boys.”

“Bah! Who cares about Edna?” he teased. “And those boys? They won’t bother you these days. They’d be able to tell just by looking at you that it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“It’s not only them. Regardless of what Bruce might feel or what he’s been through, I’d rather not see him,” Rod clarified. “I don’t consider him to be any relation.”

The expression on the old man’s face led Rod to believe he’d hoped for more. “Forgive him, Roderick,” he said, grabbing his forearm again. “Deja ir el pasado.”

Let the past go…. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Only I want him to go with it.”

“That’s not what she hoped for you.”

A pickup began to move in the clearing. Someone was starting work. Roderick couldn’t put off his departure any longer without risking some type of confrontation. He didn’t want to hear what Jorge was trying to tell him, anyway. Just because his mother wouldn’t give up on Bruce didn’t mean he’d hang on till the bitter end. “It was great to see you,” he said, and covered Jorge’s hand with his own.

Jorge nodded but seemed troubled as Rod backed up and headed out. Fortunately, the person in the pickup had taken the opposite direction, toward the lettuce fields. Was it his father or one of his half brothers driving? Rod couldn’t tell. He could see only the taillights, back bumper and the dust kicked up by the tires.

He imagined confronting Stuart or Patrick now that he was older. He wanted them to demand he step out of the way, willing to take them both on at once, just as they’d always preferred. But…what was the point? He wouldn’t feel any better afterward. That wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be.

Forget them, he told himself. But he’d been telling himself that for so long, it’d lost all meaning.

When the phone awakened Sophia from a dead sleep, her heart nearly seized in her chest. She was sure it was one of her officers or county dispatch, calling to inform her that more people had been killed. But a second later, the sound repeated itself and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been dreaming. It wasn’t the phone. Someone was at the door.

With a groan, she rolled out of bed and went into the living room of her little one-bedroom hacienda-style house. There, she leaned against the door, squinting to see through the peephole.

It was Starkey. As usual, he was wearing his leather vest—or cut as they called it—with the patches that held so much significance for him, jeans and biker boots. His blond hair and his mustache, which was a shade darker than his hair, were longer than when she’d last seen him. He’d also put on a few pounds—but he wasn’t fat. His biceps bulged when he crossed his arms. And he had a new tattoo to add to the skull and all the others: FTW.

She didn’t plan to ask what it stood for. She already knew she wouldn’t approve.

“Give me a minute.” She hurried back to her bedroom so she could grab a robe to cover her T-shirt and men’s boxers. Then she let him in. “Hey, what’s up?”

His eyes ran over her disheveled hair, her robe, which she’d had for so long he probably recognized it from when they were dating nine years ago, her bare feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I got a call from you last night. I got three, actually. But no messages.”

Three calls? She’d tried to reach him from Mexico, but she’d been out of network range…. “I was hoping to speak to Rafe, but—”

“At one in the morning?”

“No, earlier,” she lied. “Your number was in my recent call history. I must’ve pocket-dialed you.”

“Fortunately, I didn’t hear it ring, or I would’ve gone nuts wondering why you wouldn’t say anything. I was at a party and the music was too damn loud.”

She was glad of that. If he’d been aware of her calls, he would’ve been waiting for her when she got home last night, and she might’ve had to arrest him for driving under the influence. If he’d been at a party, there was no way he’d been drinking soda.

“What did you want with Rafe?” he asked.

“Just checking in, seeing how the week’s going for him.” She didn’t usually lie, and already she’d lied twice. But now that she was out of Naco, she didn’t really want to explain that she’d turned to him in her hour of need, so to speak. He’d take that to mean more than it did.

“He’s fine. At some camp with a friend. Won’t be back for four days.”

Some camp? He didn’t know which one? This was part of her problem with Starkey. He was a loving father but he didn’t pay much attention to the kind of details most parents considered important. “Which friend?” Did he know that much?

“Chase LaBreque.”

Sophia had heard Rafe talk about Chase and wasn’t so sure he was the best influence. But Rafe was being raised by a Hells Angel, so if she was worried about any example, it should be that one. Regardless, she had no right to complain. She was lucky Starkey allowed her to be involved with Rafe. He wasn’t pleased that she’d gone into law enforcement, felt it put him at risk just to associate with her. The others in the club were obviously unhappy that she was part of his life. They, too, would’ve preferred Leonard Taylor to be chief of police. Leonard was one of the good ol’ boys who turned a blind eye to certain activities Sophia was unwilling to ignore.

“Have him get in touch with me when he gets back, will you?” she said.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Thanks.” She started to close the door, but he stopped it with one of his giant paws. “Hey, wait! Guess who I saw?”

Not particularly interested, she covered a yawn. “Who?”

“Roderick Guerrero. You remember him, don’t ya?”

Of course she did. She immediately recalled the café au lait skin and dark eyes of the boy she knew in high school. They’d been in the same grade growing up. But when it came to girls, he’d always kept to himself, and she’d been more than happy to let him. He’d approached life with a belligerence that made her uncomfortable, frequently getting into fights.

But he’d surprised her once. It was during their sophomore year, his last year in school. Despite having a minimal relationship—she’d been in one class with him and knew he watched her a great deal—he’d asked if she’d go to the Homecoming Dance with him. He didn’t generally attend school dances. For one thing, he couldn’t afford it. And he didn’t go that year, either. She agreed to go, then stood him up when she got a better offer and, thanks to one particular girlfriend of hers, word of that spread all over the school.

Sophia was still embarrassed about the fact that she hadn’t even tried to contact him and that she’d humiliated him so publicly. She’d never apologized or offered any explanation, either. She’d been young and stupid and hadn’t known how to approach it. But she’d never forget the way he looked at her when he saw her at school after that weekend. She’d thought he was too tough, too mean, to be hurt. That was what she’d told herself when she ditched him. But as soon as their eyes met, she knew she’d hurt him deeply….

Those weren’t comfortable memories. Kids could be callous, and she’d been no different. Which was why she preferred to forget. But she was too curious about what Roderick might be like now to just let the subject go. “Seriously? It was Roderick? You’re sure?”

“Positive. Spotted him coming out of Bailey’s Breakfast Dive and pulled over to say hello.”

“I didn’t realize you even knew him. He’s my age.”

“He had an uncle who was a few years older—Arturo. I hung out with him for a year or two before he skipped town.”

“I never met the uncle.”

Starkey whistled. “He was one bad dude.”

Roderick hadn’t struck her as much nicer. In those days, her father hadn’t yet lost his business, his marriage or his life, so she’d been oblivious to other people’s needs. She’d been living in the idyllic bubble that had burst soon afterward and thrown her into the arms of Starkey.

“What’s he doing in town?” She definitely didn’t need this. Life was hard enough right now.

Starkey grinned. “I was waitin’ for you to ask me that. You ready?”

She tightened the belt on her robe. “Ready for what?”

“He said he’s here to investigate the UDA murders.”

Her mouth fell open. “What’d you say?”

He chortled at her reaction. “I thought you’d like that. He’s an ‘operative’ for a private security company in California. Those guys are bad asses. And they get paid the big bucks.” She couldn’t miss the twinkle in his eye that told her he wasn’t finished with her yet. “When I told him you’re the chief of police, he looked about as stunned as you do now.”

“So he’s staying longer than a few days?”

“Few weeks, at least. Haven’t you been listenin’? He’s tryin’ to steal your case.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s definitely not going to happen.”

“Any chance you’d like to thank me for the notice?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Thank you in what way?”

He sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

Ignoring his reference to thanking him, she moved on to her next question. “Where’s he staying?”

“Don’t know. But it can’t be far.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyway, it’s been fun but I gotta dash. Someone’s waitin’ for me.”

She didn’t ask who. She didn’t want to know about Starkey’s dealings because most of them were illegal. She was too preoccupied at the moment, anyway. “Right.” She waved numbly but made no move to go back inside.

Several seconds passed before a neighbor called good-morning and she realized she was still standing in the doorway, staring after Starkey.

With a polite nod for old man Phil, who shuffled past her on his morning walk, she went back into the house, trying to convince herself that Roderick Guerrero had forgotten all about that Homecoming incident. But the memory of returning home to hear from her mother that he’d shown up in a suit and was carrying a corsage made her groan.

Who was she kidding? He’d remember….