Chapter 3
Screams and shouts alerted him to the dangers awaiting him. He, a seasoned FBI agent, shuddered in anticipation.
“Let’s do this,” he muttered.
Rafe took a bracing breath and opened the door to enter his niece’s quinceanera party. The noise proved deafening. Salsa music, laughter, everything that was his big, noisy, loving Cuban family.
Purpose in his step, clutching the traditional doll he planned to give Sofia later, he headed to the reception room. The delicious smells of fried pork mingling with sweet pastries made his mouth water, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Double doors sailed open and his two sisters walked out.
Seeing him, Julia exclaimed and hugged him tight. He hugged her back. Veronica, his eldest sister, regarded him with a severe frown. She pointed to the gold watch her husband had given her upon the birth of Sofia, their first child.
“You’re late.”
Sorry, sis. I was looking for drugs. He offered a small apologetic smile. “My apologies. I tried.”
No excuses with his family. Not for family events, or anything else. They simply didn’t understand.
“You missed Sofia’s entrance with her court. Her dance with them. Her baile de sorpresa. You almost missed the father and daughter dance.” Ronnie heaved a dramatic breath. “Well, at least you made it. Unlike Julie’s wedding.”
Okay, he wasn’t taking this lying down. Rafe heaved a breath. “You know I had to attend the funeral of one of my team...”
“And we nearly attended your funeral last year, Rafey! When are you going to quit that damn job and get a real life?”
Ronnie’s verbal assault sent his blood pressure soaring and rocked him back on his Alden dress shoes. “Listen, Ronnie, if you’re going to...”
Julie stepped between them, holding them at bay like a referee holding back two prizefighters. “Enough,” she said in Spanish. “This is your daughter’s day, Ronnie, and not a time for family arguments.”
Rafe drew in a breath and smiled at his youngest sister. “Always, the peacemaker. Thank you, Julie.”
He shot Ronnie a level look. “She’s right. Let’s leave this for another day. This is about your daughter’s birthday, my niece and goddaughter. And right now, I need to see her.”
Taking a deep breath to lower his blood pressure, he pulled open the door and strode inside.
The hall was crowded, with lights sparkling from the disco ball shining above.
His anger faded, replaced by pure amusement.
Sofia loved glitz and glamour and had a thing for the 1970s.
The DJ played “Disco Duck,” which made him chuckle.
Right now she was dancing with a skinny, shy kid named Mark, who struggled to keep up with the music and Sofia’s expert moves.
So what if her mother could be a nag about his career and his life? Sofia could erase all his crabbiness and brighten his day.
You have to make the world safer for her, and all her generation.
Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about duty or worry about Hernandez and his gang getting fentanyl into the hands of innocents like his niece and her friends. Tonight was about fun, and celebrating Sofia turning into a woman.
She whirled, her pink taffeta gown swirling out around her, the rhinestone crown on her dark hair sparkling as much as the disco ball.
Someone shone a spotlight on her. He clutched the Barbie doll he brought to symbolize the last childhood gift as she made her transition from girl to woman.
A lump clogged his throat. Where the hell had the years gone?
Rafe slipped the doll into his jacket pocket. He headed to the buffet table, suddenly hungry. Hell, he hadn’t eaten all day.
The usual array of food his family preferred sat in chafing dishes. A platter of raw vegetables and a dish of plain grilled chicken had been mainly ignored.
Croquetas de jamón and mariquitas de plátano for lighter appetites, along with lechón asado, frijoles negros, boiled yucca and more. His nose wrinkled. No good old American cheeseburgers here. Only Cuban food.
He selected a few carrot sticks from the vegetable platter and gnawed on them.
“Rafael, why are you hiding from me?”
He knew that deep, beloved voice anywhere. Rafe set down his plate, turned and hugged his eighty-two-year-old grandmother. “I’m not hiding. I just got here.”
She’d find out soon enough.
“Did you eat?” she asked.
Elena glanced at the plate with the carrot sticks and shook her head. Suddenly he had no appetite. Rafe’s stomach churned as he thought about the implications of the fentanyl they’d seized—drugs that could kill innocent, experimenting teenagers. His gaze shot over to Sofia.
Instead of answering, he asked, “Did you?”
Elena shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
He worried more about her lately. Looking more tired and worn-out. Yeah, she’d done a lot for this party, perhaps too much. An ever-present pang filled his chest. How much longer would his beloved grandmother be with them?
Those ancient eyes, filled with endless wisdom, searched his face. Elena reached up and touched his cheek with her paper-thin hand.
“You look tired, Rafey.”
Emotion clogged his throat. He clasped her hand in his, feeling bones and sinew and love in her strong, capable hands. Hands that soothed night terrors, dealt equal parts of love and discipline, hands that worked endless hours at the family bake shop to support her family.
What would happen the day those hands no longer held life? The day they were folded over her chest as her family gathered around her coffin and wept for their nana?
Unable to think about it, he forced a smile. “Long day, Tita,” he said, using the familiar nickname they called Elena. “I’m here now and I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to your grandmother, Rafael. I know you. Your job is consuming your life,” she said in Spanish.
“My job is my life,” he shot back in Spanish. “I wish the family would understand that.”
Rafe tensed, ready for another lecture about his job and his life. Instead, she patted his hand as he released hers.
“Your family is also your life, Rafey. Your heritage is part of you. You can’t escape it.” She shook her head in gentle chastisement. “Or me. Make us part of your life instead of trying to avoid us.’
He reached down and hugged her. “I’m not trying to avoid you, or the family, Tita. My job comes first.”
When he released her, his grandmother gave him a sad look. “You need to settle down. Find a nice girl, marry her and have babies.”
Rafe sighed. Same speech everyone always gave him. He understood, but sometimes it grew tiresome.
“The job keeps me too busy to date, Tita. Don’t you have enough great-grandchildren?” he teased.
She didn’t smile as usual, but rubbed her chest as if it pained her.
“Will your job be there for you when you’re hungry? Lonely? When you’re old and one foot in the grave like me, what will you have, Rafey? Job or a wife, children, grandchildren?”
Rafe couldn’t answer, because as always, his abulita hit upon the heart of him and the questions he’d asked himself lately.
“I’ll find someone.”
“Don’t wait too long. I may not be here much longer.”
Alarm sped through him. She was looking tired and pale, and the fact she hadn’t tasted any of the delicious food the caterer provided was distressing.
“Not you. You’re strong. Go sit, Tita. You work too hard taking care of everyone.” He kissed her paper-thin cheek again, feeling the rush of love and gratitude she always brought.
As he turned, his mama stood before him. “Rafey.”
She kissed his cheek. His heart turned over.
In her early sixties, Carmela was as lovely as he remembered from his childhood.
With her long black hair (dyed now, though she’d never admit it), warm brown eyes and trim figure, despite the pastries she baked at the family business, his mother still commanded male attention.
Yet after his father was killed nearly twenty-three years ago, she never remarried.
Sometimes at big family gatherings like this, he wondered what his father would say or do.
Jeff Jones adored his fiery Cuban wife and embraced her family.
But his father was a typical American guy, dedicated to his wife and children, football season and beer with the guys and focused on his career as a dedicated police officer.
Until the day a drug dealer fired a bullet that claimed his life.
Her sharp gaze studied him. “This job is taxing you.”
The job again, as if his family blamed the FBI for everything. He changed the subject.
“Mama, how come you never remarried after Dad died? Did the family pressure you to remain a widow?”
The question didn’t seem to surprise her. Carmela looked around the room and gestured to everyone.
“Rafey, it was my decision, and my decision alone, to remain a widow. I loved your father. Jeff will always hold my heart. I could never love another man as much as I loved him, and the same for him. We shared a connection that goes deeper than marriage. One day, soon, I hope, you will meet a wonderful young lady and have that same kind of love and devotion.”
My devotion is to my job.
He looked around the room. “Why did you stay in Miami instead of moving away and getting a fresh start in life? We could have lived near Dad’s relatives in Ohio.”
“I needed my family and their support. They were there for me in a way I hope you’ll never have to experience. I was a policeman’s widow with four children who relied on me to hold things together. And you, Rafey.”
She stroked his hair back, her expression troubled. “You were so angry, so young. You needed your family as well.”
Rafe picked up her hand and kissed it, rubbing it against his bristled cheek. “Mama, I do love my family. It’s just...”
I need more. I need my career. I need to keep the bad guys off the streets so drug dealers don’t create more widows like you.
He finally said what he’d been thinking and feared to admit. “I miss him. I always will. I don’t want to ever forget him, and sometimes it feels like no one really remembers him.”