11. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
N ot like this.
Steve had wanted to tell her everything when the time was right.
But not like this.
Never like this.
And, shit, did Camila look mad!
That kid is never going to trust me now .
“Dina, I can explain.”
“Can you?” She shook the folder at him. The one he’d explicitly told her assistant Ximena to leave in the safe for him to retrieve later. “What is this?”
“They’re case files related to Diego,” he answered simply.
“I can see that,” Dina replied, obviously irritated. “I mean this one specifically! This one with your name on it!”
Steve swallowed hard as the memories of his grandparents’ gruesome deaths assailed him. “My grandmother was a state judge. My grandfather was a prosecutor. They’d both independently been involved in cases connected to the cartel. Neither would back down, and they weren’t easily frightened so the cartel sent their best killer to handle them.”
Dina looked absolutely sickened. “Diego.”
Steve nodded and glanced at Camila who had tears streaming down her face. Her expression was a mix of fury and shock and fear and betrayal. He ached for her. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was to see with her own eyes what her father had done.
“Were you there?” Dina asked, her voice breaking. “When he killed them?”
Steve shook his head. “I was coming down to spend spring break with them at the cabin. They'd gone two days earlier to settle in, and I had a cross-country race to run.” Regret soured his gut. “I should have left as soon as I was finished, but I had this girlfriend at the time. She was going off to Ruidoso to ski, and we had a few hours before we were expected by our families.”
“Oh.” Dina didn’t need him to draw her a picture.
“I didn’t make it to the cabin until it was too late.” The admission left him heartbroken all over again. “My grandmother was still alive for a few hours after Diego...” Steve’s voice trailed off as he noticed the way Camila flinched. “I might have been able to save her if I’d left when I was supposed to, but I was a stupid seventeen-year-old kid.”
“Steve,” Dina said gently, “it wasn’t your fault.”
“No, it was my dad’s!” Camila screeched. “He is a killer! And worse!”
Camila ripped the folder from her mother’s hands and started rifling through it again. Papers and photographs fell onto the floor. Steve knew exactly what Camila was looking for, and he rushed to intervene, desperate to stop her from locating them.
“No, Camila, don’t.” Steve tried to get hold of the folder, but Camila moved too quickly. Dina frowned at him, probably wondering why he was chasing her daughter. He shot her a pleading look, but it was too late.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Camila demanded angrily before flashing a printout with images of Dina’s battered face all over them. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a monster?”
The blood drained from Dina’s face. She looked so pale, almost as white as the laundry baskets lining the wall behind her. She swayed on her feet and reached out to steady herself on a washer. “Camila, please, I never meant for you to find out like this.”
“You should have told me!” Camila sobbed hysterically. “You should have told me he did this to you.”
“Camila,” Dina begged.
“I thought he was—.” Camila shook her head. “He told me—.” She wailed. “ She told me that you were all liars, and I believed them! I believed them, and I said terrible things to you!”
“Camila.” Dina dragged her daughter into a loving embrace. “It’s okay. It’s okay, mija . You didn’t know.”
“It’s not okay! It’s not!”
“Steve. Dina.” Beto spoke loud enough to be heard over Camila’s wailing. The scent of spices and grilled meat clung to him, and the red and white gingham smock he seemed to have borrowed from Jovita had smoky smears on the fabric. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he had walked in on. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later,” Steve said, certain Beto hadn’t come in from grilling to deal with this. “What’s wrong?”
“The police are here.” Beto kept his gaze focused on his niece and sister. “They want to speak with you, Dina.”
“Me?” Dina seemed surprised. She glanced at her distraught daughter and then to Steve. “Beto, this isn’t a good time.”
“They have warrants. Miguel is here, too.”
“Miguel?” Steve repeated.
“Our family attorney,” Dina clarified before embracing Camila and whispering something supportive and soothing in her ear. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“I’ll take care of her,” Beto promised.
“No,” Camila replied, shaking her head. “I want to talk to him.”
Steve hadn’t expected Camila to point at him.
“I want him to tell me the truth about my dad.”
Dina gulped, looking as if she might be sick at any moment. “Camila, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“He’s a police officer. He knows the truth. I want to hear all of it,” Camila insisted.
Steve didn’t know how to respond. No matter what he said or did, he was going to upset someone.
Dina stared at him for an unnerving long moment. She seemed to be trying to read his face, to gauge whether or not he could truly be trusted. Finally, she sighed and said, “Okay.”
“I can stay with them,” Beto offered.
Dina shook her head. “I trust Steve with her.”
The full weight of her trust hit him like a train. She was a very protective mother, and if she trusted him to tell her daughter the truth about her father, well, that was saying something wasn’t it?
Dina left with her brother, and Steve regarded Camila with uncertainty. “Do you want to talk somewhere more comfortable?”
“The library,” Camila said and bent to gather up the fallen papers and photos. She tucked them into the folder and carried it with her out of the laundry room. He trailed after the teenager, noticing at once how she walked with her mother’s regal grace.
When they entered the library, Camila walked to a leather sofa and sat down. She held the folder in front of her like a shield, and Steve decided to give her as much space as possible. He pulled an antique ladder chair from a reading table and placed it across from her. He waited a moment, wondering if she would speak first.
“You and my mom?” Camila’s dainty features distorted with disgust. “How long?”
“We aren’t,” he said, not wanting to delve into his personal life with Dina’s daughter.
“Uh, well, you sure looked like you were,” Camila snapped.
“It was a heat of the moment thing,” Steve said uncomfortably. “There’s a lot of stress, and sometimes kissing like that just happens.”
Camila looked less than impressed with his feeble explanation. “You know I’m not five, right? Like I know all about relationships and sex and stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” Steve replied, fairly certain she didn’t know anything at all. “Well, it’s best you talk with your mom about all of that.”
“Did you go after her to get to my dad?” she asked accusatorily.
“No. I would never do something like that.”
“But you met her before you showed up and ruined Jasper’s party?” Camila narrowed her eyes in a way that was so reminiscent of Dina that he realized he stood absolutely zero chance of lying to this kid.
“We met last year,” he admitted.
“But you didn’t recognize her?”
“I didn’t.”
“And you’re not here trying to use her as bait or something terrible like that?”
Steve suddenly realized why Camila was being so sharp with him. She feared for her mother’s safety. She wanted to protect her mother. “I would never use your mother or you or anyone else in your family as bait.”
Camila glared at him, her mistrust obvious, but she finally assented with a nod. “Okay. Now—tell me about my dad.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Why did he kill your grandparents?” she asked, her voice soft and frightened.
“My grandfather had prosecuted a case involving two drug traffickers from the cartel. My grandmother oversaw a few other cases in a different jurisdiction. Neither of them would back down or take bribes. They sent some very important people to prison.”
“So they sent my dad to...what? Intimidate other judges and lawyers?”
“To make a statement. To show that the cartel could touch anyone they wanted, even across the border, even a judge and a prosecutor.”
Camila nervously tapped her fingers against the folder. “And you’re sure my dad was involved?”
“He left DNA and fingerprints at the scene. On my grandmother and grandfather,” Steve clarified somberly. “He left the same DNA and fingerprints at another scene, three years later, after killing two more judges in Texas.”
“Oh.” Whatever hope Camila might have had that her father wasn’t a raving lunatic killer seemed to die out in that moment. “And my mom?”
Steve winced. “You should never have seen those photos, not unless your mother wanted you to see them.”
“But he hurt her?”
“Yes.”
“A lot?”
Steve hesitated. “I would assume those photos aren’t the first time he beat her.”
Camila looked sick. “Does everyone else know?”
“Your family?” he guessed.
“Yes.”
“Yes.” Steve hesitated again before adding, “There are surveillance photos from the double funeral service for your grandfather and great-grandfather, and your mother was wearing sunglasses and a hat and veil. I would assume that was to hide the bruises.”
Tears spilled onto Camila’s cheeks, and Steve was torn between trying to comfort her and not wanting to overstep. He was a stranger, after all, and a grown man. She probably didn’t want him patting her back or hand.
“Am I really stupid?” she asked on a ragged sob.
“No, you’re not stupid.” Steve’s heart broke as she cried. “You’re a kid, Camila. You’re so young and probably very sheltered.” He glanced around the sumptuous library, thinking that it looked like something from an ancient university in Europe. “Your mother and your family have done so much to protect you, to keep you safe, but that also makes you naive and vulnerable.”
“I feel stupid.” Camila sobbed. “I hurt my mom a lot. I said awful things.”
“You’re a teenager. Most teenagers do.”
“And I broke all of the rules!”
“Also normal things teenagers do,” Steve assured her. “You’re lucky you have a mother who has built a safety net to catch you and keep you safe.”
“I lied about the messages when you questioned me,” Camila said, her face burning with shame. “I did send them. I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”
“It was,” Steve agreed but tried to keep his tone even. “Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” She roughly wiped her face. “My grandmother Mirta expects me to call her tonight.”
Steve perked up at that piece of information. “But you don’t have a phone.”
“I almost did,” she said so quietly he barely heard her. “Last night, they left a package for me.”
“They?” Steve seized on the word. “Who? The two men in the truck that tried to kill me and your uncle?”
Camila swallowed nervously before nodding. “I think it must have been them.”
“They were here? At the house?” Steve jumped to his feet, a cold chill racing down his spine.
“I’m not sure,” Camila hastily replied. “They were supposed to leave a box in one of Tia Lola’s greenhouses.”
“Which one?” Steve had spent most of the afternoon touring her spaces. They were within walking distance of the house, but not so close they were within the small perimeter of security the family usually kept.
“Her zinnia greenhouse,” Camila said. “I looked but I didn’t find anything.”
“And how did you know it would be there? The box and the phone, I mean?”
“My friend told me.” She wouldn’t meet his inquiring gaze.
“The boy you were with when we found you?”
She shook her head. “Someone from school.”
“Someone? Who?” Steve tried to contain his irritation at having to pull information from her bit by bit.
“My counselor,” Camila admitted finally. “She helped get me back in touch with my grandmother. She says it’s important to have open dialogue with family and that I should know my father’s side of the family so I can heal from the trauma.”
Steve hoped this counselor had a good lawyer and health insurance. Once Dina heard this, she was probably going to beat the brakes off this woman and then sue her into oblivion.
“My stomach hurts. Can I go now?”
“Yeah. Of course.” Steve watched her stand on shaky legs. She clutched at her midsection, and he hoped she wasn’t about to puke all over him. “You need me to get your mom?”
She shook her head. “I get stomach aches when I’m nervous.”
“Yeah. My sister is the same way. IBS or whatever they call it.”
“Uh, sure,” Camila said, obviously uncomfortable talking about such a diagnosis with him.
“You’ll need to tell your mom what you told me,” Steve said as Camila walked toward the door. “I can’t keep that secret for you.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“See that you do.” After she disappeared, he picked up the folder. He fixed the messy sheets of paper sticking out at all angles. His mind ran a mile a minute, thoughts barreling around in his head at breakneck pace.
What was the connection between the counselor and Diego? Was she a friend of the family? Of his mother? Or was it something else? Money?
But most importantly?
How the hell had Dina’s assistant Ximena opened the safe and gotten her hands on this folder?