19. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
W ell. Fuck.
Spurred into action, Steve kissed Dina’s temple. “See if she took anything else from the safe or her room. Meet me downstairs.”
“Where are you going?” She wiped at the tears gathering on her face.
“To get answers.” Walking away from her as she cried was the hardest thing he’d done, but he couldn’t tarry. Camila needed him laser-focused.
“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Lola said when they nearly collided at the foot of the stairs. Jasper was no longer with her, and she had shed the baby carrier as well. “I should have kept a better eye on her.”
“You couldn’t have known she’d run off like this.”
“I should have known,” Lola insisted. “She’s a teenage girl in pain. She hates everyone and everything. She feels powerless. She wants to be seen and heard.”
“It’s not your fault, but you can help us find her.”
“How?”
“When did she leave?”
Lola glanced at her battered watch. “Maybe an hour ago? A little longer?”
Shit. Camila will be there soon. Before we can reach her.
“Do you know where she is?”
Steve nodded. “She left Dina a message of sorts.”
Lola blanched. “She went to find her dad.”
“Yeah.”
“He’ll kill her this time.” Lola’s face twisted with emotion. “He tried before when she was a baby.”
“I know. I heard.” He still couldn’t quite believe any father would do such a thing. “It wasn’t in any of the case files or police reports.”
Lola shook her head. “No, we kept it quiet. That’s how we do things.” She laughed harshly. “We just sweep away our secrets and hide them in a dusty, dark corner somewhere.”
Steve really didn’t want to know what other secrets the family had hidden.
“I tried calling Beto again.” Lola inhaled a steadying breath, as if refusing to cry. “He’s not answering.”
“Is that like him?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“He might be, but if he is, he can probably handle it.” She shrugged. “He circumnavigated the globe on a shitty little boat. He’s survived hurricanes and typhoons and brushes with the criminal underworld in Asia.”
“That would have been good to know,” Steve muttered, thinking he shouldn’t have been worried about Beto behind the wheel while taking potshots.
“What do you mean you lost her?” Soila Farias shouted, her angry voice echoing through the house like a ricochet.
Lola grimaced. “Mama is home.”
“And not happy,” Steve grumbled. He warily eyed the hallway, expecting Soila to come stomping out at any moment to waylay him. “Listen, I need a vehicle that can go off-road.”
“Take my Jeep. The keys are on the front seat. It’s got a full tank of diesel.”
“What kind of a driver is Camila? She’s not old enough for a license.”
“No, but I’ve had her driving me around the farm on the Gator and the work trucks. She’s pretty good. Wherever she’s going, she’ll probably get there safely,” Lola reasoned. “I’ll keep Mama busy. Have Dina take you out the back.”
“Call us if you hear anything.”
“I will, but you better call me if something changes or you need our help.”
“I will,” he promised.
Carefully, he rushed back upstairs and found Dina leaving the suite of rooms she shared with her daughter. “Did I hear Mama?”
“You did. Lola’s going to run interference so we can get to her Jeep and get out of here.”
“Wait. Steve.” Dina clasped his hand. “Camila didn’t only take the money and gun I keep in the safe. She took something else—a file.”
“A file of what?”
“It’s the hospital report from after—.”
“After he threw her out the window,” Steve guess sadly.
“Yes, and there were photos.” Dina exhaled with grief and anger. “I don’t know why I kept that stupid file. I should have burned it or shredded it years ago.”
“You kept it because you knew that Camila deserved to learn the truth someday.” Steve pulled her in tight for a hug. “Stop blaming yourself. You’re a good mother. You’ve only ever tried to protect her.”
“Why do you always say the right thing?” She buried her face against his chest and gripped the sides of his shirt, holding on as if she feared she might fall. “Why are you always so good to me?”
Steve’s mouth grew suddenly dry. It was too soon to say the words, too soon to reveal just how hard he’d fallen for her. “You know why, Dina.”
If she did, she didn’t say it. She lingered in his embrace, drawing whatever strength she could from him before finally stepping away from. She met his serious gaze with one filled with hope and trepidation. “This way,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or else we’ll get caught.”
Like two kids sneaking out of a house, they traveled through hidden doors and down staircases that had once been used by servants. Or maybe not servants, Steve thought grimly as he considered how old the estate was. He suspected the history of the family included exploitation of natives or worse. Probably a lot worse.
“Through here.” Dina said and gestured with her finger to her lips to indicate he should stay silent. She carefully opened a door, pressing her hand against it as if to brace the hinges and prevent any squeaking. There was a short squeal, and she flinched before poking her head through the opening. “Okay. It’s clear.”
Steve followed her as she tiptoed across a hallway to a set of French doors. They emerged into the stormy afternoon. Rain pelted their faces as they ran across the yard to a building he hadn’t toured yet. She yanked open the door and led him inside a dusty, dirty garage filled with piles of junk.
“What is this?” he asked, taken aback by the mess. Everything around the estate was so clean and tidy. This place was a hoarder’s dream.
“Beto and Lola’s playhouse,” Dina grumbled derisively. “They’ve been collecting shit out here since they were kids. It’s the one place Mama allows them to do whatever they please.”
It looked exactly like the sort of place the two siblings could hide away and tinker for hours at a time. Old engines. Mechanical parts. Spools of wire. Pegboards weighed down by wrenches and pliers and miscellaneous electrical gear. Stained workbenches. Rows of rolling toolboxes.
And right in the center, an old Jeep with rugged tires and a snorkel and everything else an off-roading enthusiast could want.
“She broke her collarbone in this thing. Almost killed Beto twice.” Dina cautiously approached the olive-green Jeep. “She drags it back here, fixes it up and takes it right back out to blast through mud and up and down old riverbeds and God knows what else.”
“Can’t imagine where Camila got the idea to go chasing after her father,” Steve wryly replied. “Can’t possibly be from the bullheaded women surrounding her.”
Dina tossed a filthy red mechanic’s rag at him, striking him in the side of the head. He grinned at the fire in her eyes. She might be scared to death about her daughter, but she hadn’t given up the fight.
“I’ll drive.” Steve snatched the keys off the seat. “You navigate.”
“And then what?”
Steve eyed the scuffed-up Winchester 70 and the Mossberg pump action shotgun fastened into the overhead rifle rack. He had a feeling the quick-draw setup would come in handy soon enough. “We find Camila—and kill Diego.”