Chapter 7
7
W hen Alejandro called out to Camila, she was hiding in the corner beside her bed, gripping a collapsible baton that Alejandro had advised her to purchase years ago because she went on early morning walks to plan the day. He was always concerned about her safety and regularly gave her advice, reminding her to pay attention to her surroundings and trust her instincts.
She had called the police and hurriedly pulled jeans and a blouse over her nightclothes but otherwise didn’t know what to do as she listened to the struggle outside—horror and dread fighting for supremacy in every beat of her heart. She had wanted to help but had been afraid to open the door—not to mention Alejandro would be furious if she did.
She opened the door now, and what she saw made her drop the baton and gape at her friend. “Is that your blood?” she whispered.
Red smears streaked his hands, his tattooed arms, his torso, the tribal tattoo on his left pec, as well as his rumpled gray shorts. Despite his appearance and their current situation, she couldn’t help but admire his physique. Every muscle was defined, like someone whose full-time job was working out.
He glanced down at his body, as if he hadn’t noticed the blood. “I got a nick on my right arm. The rest belongs to the intruders.”
How could he speak so calmly after what had occurred?
“Where are they?” She tried to see past him.
“I took care of them.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“They’re dead. Both of them. One in the kitchen and one in the bathroom.”
Camila didn’t know what to say. She’d heard him fighting and yet, knowing they’d died was a shock. She knew Alejandro could handle himself. He was a bodyguard, after all, and when they were younger he had always been big, tough, and had a mean streak. Yet knowing he had killed those men left her speechless.
“Do you think they came here to kill me? What if you hadn’t been here?” She was talking too fast and sounded panicked.
“Don’t worry about what could have happened. I was here, and that is all that matters.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me, Alejandro. I-I don’t understand why they broke into my home.”
“We’re going to find out—why they’re here and who they are. Did you call the police?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Do you have disposable gloves or cleaning gloves?”
“I-I…” She was having a hard time thinking. “I have disposable ones under the sink in the bathroom.”
“Good. This is what I want you to do.” His commanding tone made her pay attention. “Go into the car and lock the doors. Drive a couple of blocks down the street and keep the engine running. If you see anything out of the ordinary—anything at all—I want you to leave.”
“Leave you?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t like his answer. She’d suffered so much loss in the past three years, what if she lost him too? She could have tonight.
“I will be fine,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “But I want to make sure you stay safe. It’s possible more men could be on their way here, and I want to make sure that if there is any more danger, you can escape. Understood?”
“Yes, but?—”
“We will talk later. For now, I want you to do as I tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Go.”
Shaking, Camila grabbed her purse and keys and walked through the house with Alejandro close behind her. She glanced briefly at the dead man on the floor. Something was sticking out of his neck, but she quickly averted her gaze from the sickening sight.
As Alejandro watched, she started the car and backed out of the carport. Though the danger had passed her heart was racing. She didn’t understand what had happened—how they had gone from celebrating with family and friends to a bloody crime scene.
She drove the car down the street and shoved it in park. She kept the engine running as he had instructed. Eyes darting around the neighborhood, she sat there, waiting for the police to arrive.
Alejandro moved quickly, going into his bedroom and removing his phone from the nightstand. He wouldn’t have much time before the police showed up. He hadn’t changed clothes because he wanted the crime scene investigators to collect as much DNA off him and his shorts as they could.
He went into the bathroom and found the gloves under the sink. They were a tight fit for his hands but would work for what he had planned.
He started with the man in the bathroom. Shifting him sideways, he removed his wallet from his back pocket and searched through the contents. Using his own phone, he snapped a photo of the man’s driver’s license. There was nothing else in the wallet of interest, but with a quick pat down he found a set of keys, which he took.
Next, he searched the man he’d laid out near the kitchen. He didn’t have a wallet on him but had cigarettes, a lighter, and keys. Alejandro took the keys and rushed outside.
Camila was parked down the street. Good.
Walking around outside, he pressed the key fobs of both sets of keys. Finally, he heard a car squawk on the next block. He raced between the houses and saw the car, its lights blinking on and off. He entered the vehicle right as he heard the sound of police sirens. Mierda . They didn’t sound too far away. He’d have to hurry.
He searched the car, taking photos of papers he found in the glove compartment, indicating the car belonged to the big guy. He found an impressive stash of weapons in the trunk but nothing else of interest. He locked the car, raced back to the house, and returned the keys to the pocket of each man. He tossed the gloves and then went down the street to where Camila was parked.
He tapped the driver’s window. “I’m going to stay out here. I don’t want to contaminate your car.”
“Okay. What did you find?” she asked anxiously.
“A bunch of weapons in their car. I took a photo of one of the men’s I.D. I have his name and address. Richard Larson. Ring a bell?”
Camila shook her head.
Alejandro’s eyes flicked to the approaching squad cars with flashing lights. “When the police are gone, we can discuss why someone was sent to your house to kill you. Because that’s why they were here. They had weapons. One a knife, the other a gun. Their weapons were already out when they entered the house.”
Her eyes widened.
“We also need to figure out who sent them,” Alejandro added.
That was the most confusing part. Camila wasn’t tangled up in anything illicit, and he doubted she had enemies. So why would someone want to kill her?
They stopped talking when the three police cars pulled up and blocked the street. Alejandro caught a neighbor peeking through a window before pulling the curtain closed again.
Camila exited the vehicle to stand beside him as a female officer approached.
“Ms. Hughes?”
“Yes.” Camila stepped forward.
“I’m Officer Jenkins.” She looked at Alejandro. “And you are?”
“Alejandro Sanchez, a friend.”
“Sir, are you hurt?” Her eyes swept his body with concern.
“No. The blood isn’t mine.”
“Whose is it?”
“The men who broke into my home. They’re both inside—dead,” Camila replied.
The officer appeared startled by what she said. “All right. We’re going to secure the scene. Other than the intruders, is there anyone else in the house?”
“No.”
“Do you have any weapons on your person?”
“No.”
A male officer stepped forward to frisk Alejandro while Officer Jenkins patted down Camila.
When they finished, Officer Jenkins seemed satisfied. “Please stay here.” She walked toward the house with the other officers following her.
Alejandro and Camila turned to each other. They didn’t have to say a word. They both knew it was going to be a long night.