Chapter 71
I easemyself slowly from beneath the heavy, comforting weight of Santy’s arm. A thin ribbon of guilt pricks at me because I’m the reason he’s still asleep.
I knew he wouldn’t get any rest with Alma away, so I insisted on making us some hot tea. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but I convinced him with a few kisses.
He didn’t know that I’d mixed some valerian root powder in his tea to help him sleep. While my primary intention was to prevent him from pacing the entire premises in his worried impatience, I had an ulterior motive.
To enable me to sneak away without his knowledge.
Last night, everything we couldn’t say with words, we said with our bodies. Once we showered, we sat propped up in bed, sipping our tea and talking. Our topics varied from Alma to Hidalgo to Juarez to life in general before we finally set our mugs aside to curl up and fall asleep.
Now, as I slide from the bed and tiptoe toward my pile of clothing sitting beside my bag, I try to assuage the guilt over slipping him the valerian root. Once I’m in my panties and sports bra, I brave a glance his way.
My eyes drift over him lovingly as he lies sprawled on his back, the sheet bunched at his waist to display all his inked flesh. Shafts of moonlight peek through the slats of the blinds, bathing him in soft light.
The curves of his firm pectorals rise and fall with steady breaths. But even in his sleep, his features are tainted with worry. Dark shadows have gathered beneath his eyes while his fingers twitch every so often.
I pull on my pants and hesitate before padding quietly through the open door of his dark walk-in closet. Trailing my fingers along the hanging clothes, I choose a button-down at random and remove it from the hanger.
I pull it on and button it before returning to the bedroom to stuff my socks inside my boots and gather them along with my bag.
With one more longing look at Santy, I quietly exit the bedroom. After pulling the door closed behind me, I hold my breath, waiting for either him or someone else to catch me. When seconds pass uneventfully, I exhale slowly.
Padding down the silent hallway, I weave my way along a familiar path until I arrive at his office. Only the small desk light remains lit in greeting, and I slip inside.
I let my fingers trail lovingly along the books’ spines as I draw closer to his desk. Lowering myself into his desk chair, I set my boots and bag on the floor before sinking deeper against the comfortable leather cushions.
My eyes land on the open dictionary at the side of his desk where yesterday’s word is marked and dated.
Woebegone: sad, forlorn, or heartbroken
Grief strikes through me, branding me to the bone, because this particular word has become all too real. Knowing that Alma’s been taken by a murderer and there’s a genuine chance that we may not get her back has my heart breaking to the fullest extent.
Even worse, I’m to blame for it.
Dragging in a fortifying breath, I force myself to focus. I figure Santy’s office must be the only place free of audio and visual surveillance, so this is the best place to carry this out.
I’m certain my cell phone activity has been continuously monitored, but right now, I’m betting that’s been shoved to the back burner with the distraction of the ambush and Alma’s kidnapping now at the forefront.
I prayed I’d never have to delve back into that world again, but these are desperate times. If I plan to try and eliminate Hidalgo, I’ll need all the help I can get.
I pull my cell phone from my bag and punch in the number I’d memorized but hoped I’d never have to use.
With my eyes trained on the open doorway, I keep my voice hushed when he picks up.
“Hola, Rodrigo.”
“Who’s this?”
“Rosa Carrera.”
Silence greets me before he finally grits out, “Rosa Carrera’s dead.”
“No, she’s not.”
“And why should I believe you?”
I hold the small, square desk calendar display beside my face and snap a selfie before attaching it to a text message. Once I press Send, I tell him, “This should suffice.”
Caustic silence stretches between us before his voice turns gruff with disbelief. “You don’t look anything like?—”
“I dyed my hair back to its natural color and got some tattoos.” Exasperation paints my tone. “Zoom in on my face, and you’ll see the proof.”
Hidalgo had insisted I regularly keep my hair a dark blonde shade, which required much upkeep considering my natural hair color borders on black.
But there’s no mistaking the small, pockmarked scars left from Hidalgo’s ring—two of which Rodrigo witnessed the birth of.
“You had your brother distract Hidalgo at the end of the night.” My throat swells with emotion. He”d been the first person Hidalgo ever interacted with who’d offered me genuine kindness. “You told me to call you if I needed help. That you knew what it was like?—”
“—because my father used to hit me,” Rodrigo finishes before his voice grows quieter. “I never shared that with anybody prior to that night.”
Silence lingers before his tone sharpens. “I admit, I’m intrigued, but I didn’t get where I am today by being gullible.”
His suspicion is warranted. Especially after what he did once—or what he tried to do for me.
“Even though he denied being involved, I know Hidalgo killed your brother.”
Rodrigo’s brother, Emanuel, was his best friend and confidant. The two had taken Peru by storm when they’d come on the scene.
One evening, Hidalgo invited them to dinner. Rodrigo had been gaining traction because he was a narco known to instill loyalty in his men, and to be fair but severe when doling out punishment.
My husband felt threatened by them, yet something still drew him to invite Rodrigo and Emanuel. Even worse, he insisted I attend the dinner.
Of course, I had to wear one of the stupid, hideous veils to disguise my face. Hidalgo was obsessed with keeping my face hidden and insisting I wear only long-sleeve, ankle-length dresses.
When Emanuel stepped away to take a call, Hidalgo lost his temper with me. He accused me of being unfaithful and attempting to lure the man.
He backhanded me in front of Rodrigo, the hit so violent that my head had snapped back, the impact knocking off my veil.
Then, because my face was exposed in front of our guest, he backhanded me yet again.
Rodrigo had attempted to intervene on my behalf, which proved to be a devastating mistake. Later that night, my husband put out an order to have Emanuel killed. Of course, there was no evidence to lead back to him being the murderer. But I’m certain Rodrigo suspected it.
“How do you know this?” His question possesses more than a healthy dose of skepticism.
“Because I overheard him plan it. He’s the one who bombed Emanuel’s car.”
As expected, he challenges with, “Everyone knows my brother was the victim of a car bomb.”
“But not everyone knows that each of Emanuel’s vehicles was rigged with a bomb. That the only one that went off was in the vehicle he decided to drive that day.”
“That motherfucker!” he explodes. This outburst is trailed by the sound of something slamming against a hard surface. A beat passes before he continues his line of questioning, his tone encased in an amalgamation of grief, anger, and wariness. “Where have you been all this time?”
“In Costa Rica.”
Suspicion enters his voice once again. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because I’d like to officially take you up on that offer of help.”
A harsh laugh sounds. “Help doing what?”
“Eliminating Hidalgo once and for all.”
A pause precedes his next probing question. “Who’re you working with?”
“No one. You’re my first call.” Hastily, I add, “But I do plan to contact someone who’s on the inside of that compound. There aren’t any guarantees they’ll come through, but I plan to try.”
He huffs. “You really think you can take him on?”
I expel a long breath, my tone turning subdued but laced with steel. “That monster enjoyed hurting me. He stole my dreams of having children. Of having a career. I say it’s long overdue that he gets payback for all the lives he’s ruined.”
When he doesn’t immediately protest or laugh outright, I continue with, “With him gone, you’ll be free to take over the rest of the Peru, Brazil, and the remaining Colombian territory, as well as his current strongholds.”
Avid interest cloaks his words. “And how exactly would you eliminate him?”
“I have a plan, but it requires some supplies I know you have access to.”
“I must admit, you have me intrigued…” A thoughtful pause lingers. “But I first need to know what supplies you’re requesting.”
Satisfaction courses through me, and my shoulders relax a fraction. “This is what I need…”