6. Rio
Iwas more than willing to be shoved aside when the paramedics arrived, especially since I saw it in Saint’s face when Cas passed out. I assumed it was from the pain and possibly blood loss, but judging by what I saw on the sidewalk he hadn’t lost enough to be truly dangerous. Now that the professionals were here, I could stand down, and I was glad I had only had soup and some Naan for dinner.
The paramedics scooped Cas up and sped off with him, and Saint and I were left with police officers to talk to for the second time today. Someone gave me a packet of wet wipes and I wiped off my hands gratefully, and then Saint and I were taken to two different police cars to give our statements. I only spoke as much as necessary, giving a very bullet-pointed report of what had happened, as I had been trained in the service.
“And what did the car look like?” the police officer asked. She was taking notes with a pen with a purple barrel, and for some reason I found myself staring at the pen as she moved it across the page of the flip-top memo book.
“2017 red Honda Civic, no plates, back window either rolled down or broken out. Silencer on the gun. Don’t know if there was more than one. I saw the gun come out the window and I shouted for them to get down,” I said.
She nodded. “Very good. You were in the military, I understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said.
“Can I get your personal information as well?”
I nodded and recited everything about myself that she would want to know. Her brows went up when I told her I was personal security for Shiloah Durand’s brother, but she made no comment.
When we were allowed to leave, an officer escorted us to Saint’s car, looked at him, and radioed back that he didn’t think that driving would be advisable.
“I can drive him,” I said, and it was true. I was rattled but in control. I had seen far worse than this.
The officer looked me over hard and then nodded. “Fine.” He let his associates know, and once Saint and I were in the car he jogged back to where the others were still working on the scene of the shooting.
I drove us back to Saint’s place, and swept it before I let him in. “Come on. I’ll make you something to drink,” I said. “As soon as I get my hands washed.”
I went into the bathroom and stripped my bloody shirt off, setting to work scrubbing my hands free of Cas’s blood. I hoped he would be okay, I liked him. I was lost in thought when I heard Saint gasp behind me. “Rio!”
I splashed water over the sink and my stomach and cursed. “Dios,” I said after a moment, breathing hard. “What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell the medics you were hit?” Saint was staring at me with huge blue eyes.
I blinked. “I… What?”
“Look!” Saint pointed towards my back and I turned in the mirror, trying to see. Then my brows went up and my jaw dropped. There was a scabbed line along my upper back, and when I saw it I realized I could feel it burning in the back of my mind. I hadn’t been aware of it until now, focused instead on Cas and then on the other things I had to do.
I frowned at the wound in the mirror. It wasn’t bleeding, and didn’t even look particularly deep. “Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked.
“Do I– Rio! You have a gunshot wound!”
I blinked at him. “It’s a scratch. It needs washed and a couple of bandages.”
Saint gaped at me, then threw up his hands. “Yes, I have a first aid kit.”
Five minutes later I sat backward on one of Saint’s kitchen chairs, breathing in the scent of alcohol. I rested my forehead on my forearms and held myself rock steady against the burn while he cleaned the wound. He applied an ointment that blissfully relieved some of the pain once it was applied, and then two larger adhesive bandages.
“Gracias,” I said when he was finished. I stood up and pulled on a clean shirt, then helped him put the kit away.
Once it was stashed, Saint dropped down into one of the other kitchen chairs and put his head in his hands. “Holy fucking shit,” he said.
“Sí,” I agreed easily, sitting down near him. “I should call Marcus and John, update them on events. Do you need something first? You look kind of green.”
Saint shook his head. “No, no. Do what you have to. Christ fuck…”
I felt sorry for Saint, it had been a big day, but there was nothing I could do to help other than what I was doing, so I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus.
He answered after one ring. “A motherfucking drive by?” he whisper-shouted in my ear, and that was it for me. I began to giggle hysterically. “Gregorio Torrez, what the fuck?” Marcus demanded in my ear while Saint goggled at me. I put my face in my hands and shook my head, finally getting myself under control. That hadn’t happened to me in a long time, but when I was younger, sometimes I responded to stress with an attack of the giggles after the fact.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t– I just–” I pulled in a huge breath and blew it out. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. It’s been a lot.”
Saint eyed me still, then nodded. “It has,” he agreed.
“I don’t know what funny about that, but when I heard about the drive by I gave everything I had to Lee. He’s tied everything together. I added him to the line while you were laughing.”
Lee was our data analyst. Marcus dug it up and Lee dug more and tied it all together. His deep, rick voice sounded over the line. “I know who it was. It seems Greene and Fernandez have found one another. Fernandez is definitely linked to the spider and the carjacking – a car fitting the description you gave was stolen from a parking ramp late this morning in central LA, which is prime Fernandez turf – while the surveillance was Greene. I’m seeing some overlap with them, and I’d bet Hank’s best plug that they’re in bed together now.” He snorted.
I didn’t want to dwell on Lee and his partner’s toy collection, but relayed the rest to Saint, who sighed deeply. “So, the billionaire with no conscience, the gang leader, and my crazy sister. All one big happy criminal family.”
Lee could hear Saint. “Yup!” he said brightly. “Wounding a police officer was not a great thing,” he added. “They’re going to be looking at Fernandez much more closely now, but the links to Greene are, unfortunately, pretty weak yet so I don’t think he’ll catch any heat. If I were him, I’d be staying in the shadows so Fernandez and your sister take the heat.”
“Probably will,” I said, nodding. “Always best to let other people get their hands dirty for you, while you stand far enough back to stay out of the dust.”
Lee and Marcus both made agreeing noises, but before any of us could speak again, Saint’s phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at it, murmured, “Shiloah,” and answered it.
The next second Saint was holding his phone away from his ear, and I could hear a man shouting through it. “A drive-by shooting??”
“Calm down, Shiloah,” Saint said soothingly. He sighed and flipped it to speaker. “Look, my guard is right here, and he’s talking to someone about this all. Lee, right?”
I put mine on speaker too. “Marcus, Lee, Shiloah Durand just called his brother. You’re both on speaker here with us.”
“Shiloah, baby, listen. I’m doing my best to get everything all sorted out,” Lee said soothingly, and I heard the man on the phone sigh.
“I know that, Lee, and I appreciate it. But I just got a phone call that there was a drive-by shooting from my crazy sister and– and–”
“Your sister?”
“Ginny?”
Saint and I spoke at the same time, and the men on the phones were silent for a beat.
“Yeah…” Shiloah said slowly. “She called me and told me that it’s a shame that the cop bought it instead of ‘Saint Michael’ and she’d send me the video if I wanted. I declined, but maybe I should have accepted it for you?”
“That would have been useful, perhaps, but no matter,”Lee said.
“The cop didn’t ‘buy it,’” I spoke up. “He was hit but he’s alive.”
“That’s good, although maybe we should keep that under wraps for the time being,” Marcus said.
I nodded. “Saint,” I said, looking at him earnestly. “Do you see now why I asked you what I did?”
“What did you ask,” Shiloah asked urgently, but Saint was too busy staring at me to answer. He swallowed, lowering his eyes.
“Yeah,” Saint said finally. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”
***
The next morning saw Saint and I heading north. I returned my rental, since Saint didn’t want to leave his car alone in his lot for who knew how long, and while I was somewhat worried about their knowing what we were driving, the argument could be made that they would know the rental too.
Shiloah had hired another guard for the shelter through Alden Security, and he arrived late last night and had been posted at six AM after a quick but thorough rundown of events by Saint and I. His name was Rishi Rao, and he had listened seriously, his bushy black eyebrows pulled together as we left nothing out of why he was there. I knew him a little, we had been in the same unit in Afghanistan, and I knew he would do his job to the absolute best of his ability.
Once we were in the car Saint sat tapping his thigh with his index and middle fingers. He had made several aborted motions to grab his backpack from the backseat but then went back to tapping until I couldn’t bear it anymore. “Dios,” I growled. “Just grab your pack and get whatever the hell you want, please.”
Saint glared at me for a moment, then did as I said. I was surprised to see him pull a large pad of paper out of his pack and a small enamel case with several pencils in it.
I looked at him, brows up, and he narrowed his eyes as though he was daring me to say something, so I lifted one hand from the steering wheel and trained my gaze on the road again. “You did some of those pictures then?” I asked after I heard him open the pad and the case. I heard him shift, too, and then the pencil scratched gently on the paper.
Saint didn’t answer for a minute, then, softly, he replied. “Yes. I’ve always liked to draw. I’m pretty good.” He huffed quietly. “If I do say.”
I hummed. “I noticed the art at the shelter. I could tell a few were by the kids, but some of them…” I smiled. “I don’t know a lot about art but I appreciate it sin embargo. Everything that adds beauty to the world is important. There is far too little of it.”
The scratching stopped long enough that I risked a glance at him, and found he was looking at me thoughtfully. I smiled at him, just for a second, then looked back at the road. I heard him resume his drawing then, and we were silent until we reached Sierra Junction.
I had spent time in California when I was a kid, we had family here. We had spent one summer traveling and we stayed in Sierra Junction for two days because my little sister had come down with food poisoning. I remembered it and suggested it the night before, once Saint had agreed that leaving town was the best idea. A room had been booked in short order, and we reached Sierra Junction around noon the day after the shooting.
“We’re playing a couple,” I said as I parked the car. “Right?”
Saint looked at me and nodded. He had been shocked the night before when I suggested it, which I had found annoying but I kept that to myself. I had determined that I would allow people to believe what they wanted to about me long ago, and this was no different.
We checked into the room, and I dumped our luggage while Saint Googled restaurants. The town was small, but there were a few good options including a Mexican place that looked very nice. We decided to try it, and when we opened the door and stepped inside my stomach growled at the delicious smells.
We decided to dine in. The tiny Mexican woman who was behind the counter eyed Saint and I suspiciously, and I sighed to myself and took a step away from him. I ordered for us both after a gesture from Saint invited me to do so, and then we sat down and waited for our food.
“So,” Saint said after a minute. “You said you’ve been to Sierra Junction before?”
I nodded. “The year I was ten, we did a road trip vacation in California. My abuela on Papi’s side was from California, although I grew up in Arizona. My little sister Valentina got food poisoning and we stayed here for a few days while she recovered. She threw up in the car and my mami told my papi that she wasn’t taking Valentina back into that car until there was no chance she would do that again.” I grimaced. “It wasn’t pretty.”
Saint winced. “I imagine not. How many siblings do you have?”
“Five.” I let my eyes drift around the room, taking in the colorful painted decorations. “Mí hermano ángel is the oldest. Next is Juana, who is two years younger than ángel. Then is Rosa, another two years younger, and then me, and then Valentina, and our baby brother Héctor. From ángel down to Valentina, the gaps are between two to three and a half years. Valentina was ten when Héctor was born.” I chuckled, remembering her shock when she learned she would be a big sister. “I think our parents were surprised too.”
“I don’t blame them,” Saint said with a grin. “How old are you, Rio?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” I replied. I looked at Saint, trying to gauge his age, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Wow. I’m thirty-four,” Saint said. “I’m almost robbing the cradle,” he teased, referencing our cover.
I tilted my head and gave him a warm look. “Yes, Daddy,” I purred, only loud enough for him to hear, and was gratified by his utter speechlessness. I hadn’t used that voice or that word on anyone in a long while and seeing it have that effect felt good.
I laughed after I savored his stupefied expression for a minute, which snapped him out of it, and he rolled his eyes. “Please. As if you’d ever call anyone that.”
I lifted one shoulder. “Never know,” I said mildly. “How many siblings do you have?”
“There was me, Shiloah, and Ginny,” Saint replied. “My mother wanted more but she had a problem with Ginny’s birth and they had to take her uterus. For as long as I could remember, because I don’t remember a time when Ginny wasn’t there, she mourned that she couldn’t have more. Personally, I’m glad. They fucked up the three of us, that was enough.”
I nodded. “Your sister has mental problems?”
He nodded. “No diagnosis, of course, but yes. She was always rather slow, and it seems like she’s developed some serious mental illness. I left home when I was sixteen so I haven’t spent time with her in quite a long time.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Based on the briefings from Jackson and Shiloah’s case.”
“Well a person isn’t complete if they don’t have some homophobic assholes on their case, trust me.” Saint flapped his hand. “I–”
“Rio? Rio Torrez??” An excited voice from the doorway of the kitchen brought my head up. I frowned and looked around, spotting a short, wiry Mexican girl who I placed after a moment of search.
“Ana! Cómo estás?” I stood up and hugged her lightly. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Sí,” she said. “Got tired of the city and my Tia owns this place, so I decided that I’d come here to cook. When did you get back? The last time I saw you, you were wearing your soldier suit.” She looked Saint over. “Who is this?”
“This is Michael,” I said, keeping his rather unique nickname under wraps.
Ana grinned and nodded. “Very nice.” She patted my cheek. “You’re out then?”
I nodded. “My hitch was up. On a bit of a road trip to celebrate. I can go wherever I want now.”
Ana giggled and pecked my cheek. “Well, you two have fun. I have to get back in there.”
“Ex?” Saint asked when I sat back down, and I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes this time.
“No,” I snapped. “Since I’m fucking gay, she is not my ex anything. Christ, is my voice not high enough, or is it because I’m brown, that you’re certain I’m straight? Gay men come in all colors, I would have thought you of all people would know that.” I rolled my eyes again, pushed my chair back, and stalked out of the restaurant.