Chapter Eighteen
“I could’ve driven myself home.” Lourdes slouched in the passenger seat of Enrique’s sleek black muscle car. The roomy interior and yellow dashboard lights soothed her senses after the seediness of the strip club. The cold air blowing from the vents teased her hair.
Her husband snorted behind the wheel and took a right at the intersection. “How do you expect to get back into the garage or the apartment? You don’t have a passkey. Your voice and fingerprint are not on file. I planned to take care of that once Zayas was dead.”
“Oh. That slipped my mind.” She traced the stitching in her skirt and shifted into a more comfortable position.
The fabric caressed her bottom, now exposed from the loss of her panties.
The heat of his wicked touch between her legs, on her breasts, and in her mouth lingered like a passionate kiss.
Yet anger and hurt over those photos still burned.
“You could’ve driven behind me as an escort instead of telling that bouncer to drop the SUV off later. ”
“And let you miss the opportunity to ride in my baby? I don’t think so.”
“Your baby?”
Enrique grinned and tapped the steering wheel. “The car, princess. This gorgeous 1967 muscle coupe with its genuine Italian leather seats. I bought it several years ago from a junkyard and had it restored to original condition. Best money I ever spent.”
Despite her frustration, she laughed. “Just my luck. I would have to marry a classic car fanatic.”
“That, you did.”
She stared out the window where three men in flashy clothes and jewelry hooted and shoved each other good-naturedly as they entered a neon-lit strip club.
Down the street, a few men in ratty clothes hustled into a bar while a handful of skimpily dressed women who had seen and done too much eyed every car that passed.
Lourdes met the hard gaze of a bottle-blonde before the woman sauntered toward the pickup truck at the curb.
“Will you drive by La Estancia Roja?” She dragged her gaze from the hardships of the street to the now-scowling criminal beside her.
“The youth centers I volunteered at were in rough neighborhoods, so I’ve seen heartbreak before.
You don’t need to shelter me from something that is everyday life for so many people.
I know the tolerance zone has some higher-class places and not-so-nice ones.
The strip club draws in a lot of VIP clients, right? ”
“Sí, but it’s affordable enough for the average person.”
Half surprised that he answered, she licked her dry lips. “Person? You mean men?”
“Female customers are welcomed at Chicas Asesinas and others like it. The brothels, though, rarely see female clients unless they come in with their boyfriends or husbands.”
“Like a couple looking for a three-way?”
Enrique grimaced, likely at her slang. “Some women have little hope, like the ones you’re seeing now. Those who work at the Lozano establishments are paid well and protected. If they’re smart or able, they’ll save their money to buy their way into a better life.”
“Where’s the harm in letting me see the building?”
“Fine.” He stretched his fingers around the wheel. “I’ll drive by. You are not going in.”
She bristled. “I didn’t ask to go in.”
He turned left and drove deeper into the southwestern part of the city.
Metal bars covered the windows of rundown pawnshops, liquor stores, and convenience stores while thrift shops and hair salons took their chances. Graffiti intermixed with the Lozano gang tag of a spider in a massive web stained the sea of one- and two-story buildings in colorful street art.
Enrique parked in front of a two-story nondescript brick building.
She climbed out of the car and dashed to the yellow crime scene tape that sealed off the double doors. A few men in sharp suits hustled by her and headed toward an upscale bar. Enrique’s muttered curse echoed behind her just before he clutched her elbow.
“What the hell, Lourdes?”
“Just let me see.” She trailed her fingertips across his scrunched forehead, silently begging him to tear down the shield between them.
Exasperation mingled with curiosity in his creased eyes. Nostrils flaring, he released her and stepped back.
A twinge of hope fluttered in her chest. She strode down the sidewalk with Enrique at her side toward the alley between the brothel and an adult novelty boutique.
The buildings blocked the afternoon sunlight and engulfed her in shadows.
She stroked her fingers across the sooty, textured wall and over a boarded-up window, then rubbed her fingertips together to wipe off the blackish-gray ash.
“Lo siento.” Pursing her lips, she turned to Enrique.
The oddest little frown tightened his face.
“We need to come to an understanding. Perhaps I’m pushing you too fast. No, I know I am.
But the future is so uncertain right now.
I feel like I’m drowning when I should be elated and over the moon in love.
Yesterday, I was. Somewhat, at least. Today, I don’t know.
I need to find a way to trust you with all this”—she patted the brick wall of the brothel—“and you need to find a way to let me into the darker parts of your life. Normally, I’m not a jealous person, but I’m finding it hard to see reason when everything is so murky.
I’m not fragile, Enrique, not anymore. The truth won’t break me or destroy our relationship, but your silence very well might. ”
He closed his eyes and tunneled his hands through his hair. “What am I going to do with you?” His phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out, checked the caller ID, and smashed a button. “Tell me it’s done,” he barked into the receiver.
She stepped back to give him privacy before she inwardly chastised herself and returned to his side.
Whatever was happening, she wanted to know.
To be a part of it. To help him through it.
The lines framing his eyes shouted his anger from the rooftops.
His regret and helplessness, too. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Keep him alive. I’m on my way.” Enrique ended the call and squeezed the phone until the casing creaked. He glared at her. “You want my trust? You’re going to get it. Let’s go.”
She followed him back to the car. Questions seared her tongue.
The rumble of the engine vibrated through the coupe as he sped down the city streets and wrestled the stick shift. He zoomed past a red light for the highway ramp, leaving the city behind for the desert outskirts.
“Lourdes, listen carefully.” Enrique eased his death grip on the stick and clutched her hand. Hard. “Stay in the car while I take care of some business. You’re completely safe, but I need you to stay put.”
“Who called? Who needs to be kept alive?” As he gnashed his teeth, she drew back and fisted her hands. “If you want me to do as you ask, give me something in return. Confide in me.”
“I’m giving you more than I should just by taking you with me. Believe me, if I had time, I would take you home first.”
“I promise you, I will continue to nag until you open up.” Her chest ached, tension burrowing deep inside. “All my life, I’ve lived in the darkness of not knowing. Nothing you can ever tell me or show me will change how I feel about you.”
Curses split his lips. Then he slumped his shoulders. “The police found money laundering equipment in the basement of La Estancia Roja and sent it to a forensic lab.”
His growled words soothed her pounding heart. “Cash-counting machines?”
“And laptops. The police chief has instructed Detective Ibarra to arrange transport of the evidence to a secured storage facility. At some point tomorrow, the cyber division intends to hack into the computer mainframes. Muniz and his team have intercepted the evidence van.”
“Intercepted?” Lourdes gripped the side of the door, fitting the jagged puzzle pieces together in her mind.
“The cops on escort duty are on the cartel’s payroll. They weren’t supposed to lift a finger to prevent the theft, but one of them did. Now, things are fucked up.”
“Dios mío.” She breathed heavily. “Did your men get the equipment back?”
“They did.” Enrique veered around a pothole and steadied the vehicle.
“Thank goodness. The loss of the equipment will render the forensic reports null and void. Who’s Ibarra?”
“The detective in charge of the shooting and arson cases. He’s a good guy. A friend of the cartel.”
“I see. It’s always good to have police officers in your pocket.
” She rubbed her stiff neck and stared out the back windshield as the city skyline faded from view.
Her stomach roiled with the implications of Enrique’s confession.
She settled back in the seat and faced him.
“A money laundering charge would send you to prison. Rubén, too. The Lozano Cartel could fall apart.”
If that happened, smaller, more vicious cartels would move in and raze everything in their path. Right now, the status quo was well-balanced, like two sides of a coin. Dark and light. Yin and yang. A federal conviction of two top-ranking narcos would destroy that fragile peace.
“It would take more than that to dismantle the business, but you are right. Things would change, and not for the better.” He drummed the wheel. “Now, will you stay put?”
She nodded, though she had no intention of doing so. The rogue police officer had set Enrique tearing through the city and countryside. She wanted—needed—to know why.
He pulled off the highway onto a winding dirt road.
Pebbles kicked up and dinged the undercarriage. Dust plumed from the spinning tires.
“Carajo,” he cursed under his breath and choked the wheel. Traveling deeper into the craggy hills, he switched from one road to the next and kept changing gears.
The deep, shimmery shadows of scattered cacti, shrubs, and gnarled stick trees stretched across the vast sienna expanse in the waning sunlight.