Silent Shadows

by Natalie Walters

  THIRTEEN

  “I DON’T WANT TO, MAMA.”

  Juan watched Diego shake his head, not even looking up from the gaming device in his hand. Alicia pressed the phone to her chest and spoke to her son, but Juan could only hear her soft mumblings. He could tell she had already forgotten about the cameras that gave him a bird’s-eye view of Diego’s defiance. It would take a simple click and Juan would have access to their conversation, but he wasn’t sure his heart could handle it.

  A second later, Alicia’s shoulders moved in a sigh and she pointed down the hall. Diego rolled off the couch, tossing the game against the cushion before stalking to his room.

  “He’s tired.”

  Juan brushed his thumb over his laptop screen where Alicia had collapsed onto the couch. “Mi amor, you have forgotten about the cameras already.”

  Alicia’s eyes flashed up to the camera, which had been mounted only hours earlier. Her lips pulled into a small smile as though she could sense his pain.

  “He is upset, Juan.” Her voice was soothing, but not enough to wipe the memory of Diego’s anger from Juan’s mind. “Diego misses you. We miss you.”

  “I miss you, amor, and Diego too.” Juan exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t unsee the angry look on Diego’s little face. “Everything I do is for him. For his future.”

  “And what of mine?” she teased. Juan saw her smiling up at the camera.

  “Of course. You and Diego are my life. That is why it pains me to see him upset.”

  “Do not worry, my love,” Alicia said. “Diego will get over it and all will be fine.”

  Juan watched Beatriz bring in a tray of coffee and set it next to Alicia. He clicked a button and the large screen split into nine smaller squares, showing him varying angles around his home. Another click, and he had nine new angles. The only way he wouldn’t worry was if he did everything he could to make sure Alicia and Diego remained safe.

  “Did they teach you how to use the security system?” There was a pause, and the hair on Juan’s arm rose. “Alicia?”

  “I know how to use an alarm, Juan.” Alicia scowled up at the camera. “I don’t understand—why the update to the system? The cameras are a little much, don’t you think?”

  “Not if I want to see your beautiful face.”

  Alicia stuck out her tongue. “Seriously, Juan. I can think of only one reason why you would be making changes, and that doesn’t make me happy.”

  Juan sighed and leaned back in the desk chair so that it rocked back slightly. “I’m simply making sure you and Diego are safe.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” With a single glance up at the cameras, Alicia pierced the distance separating them. “Are we in danger?”

  “No, mi amor.” Juan sat forward, wanting to take his wife into his arms and reassure her, but instead, he was left only to draw his hand into a fist of frustration. “It is only a precaution. I’m not there to protect you, and I want you and Diego to be safe in my absence.”

  “We are safe, but you are making me nervous, Juan.”

  Alicia wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Juan hadn’t been able to settle his nerves since his conversation with Señor. The man was impulsive and irrational—a combination that could equal trouble if he didn’t get what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  “I don’t want you to be nervous, but you must be diligent when I’m not there. If something were to happen to you or Diego—” The ugly thought drove his attention to the board on the wall. A new photo had been added. Colton Crawford.

  Army captain. Military intelligence. Honorable discharge, according to his records, due to a movement disorder. Honorable. His actions the other night proved that, but one more second and the outcome wouldn’t have been good. If Juan hadn’t been quick, Señor would have had a reason to execute him.

  “I will not forget, Juan.” His wife’s voice was soft, and it pulled him back to the computer screen. She looked up to the camera. “I know what to do. You don’t have to worry.”

  Alicia was not naïve. She grew up in the business. Understood the risks but also believed in him. Juan would not let her down. Or Diego.

  “Mi amor, you are tired. Get some rest. Tomorrow I want you to go out with your friends. Shop. Let your mind rest and let me take care of everything. I don’t know how much longer I will be away, but I want you to be ready. Do you understand?”

  She nodded at the camera but said nothing.

  “Good.” The fire he saw in her eyes told him she would be ready when the time came. He was counting on that. “Now, I must make another call. Have a good night, and tell Diego I will have a surprise for him soon.”

  “You spoil him.” Alicia’s lips split into a smile.

  “It’s my job.” He ran a finger over the image of her face and wished he could draw her close to him. No. Drawing her close was temporary. What he wanted was to whisk her and Diego away as far as necessary so they would never have to worry again. That was his job. “But don’t worry, you will have a surprise as well.”

  “I only want you.”

  “Soon.”

  “Te amo, Juan.”

  He ended the call with his wife’s vow of love still lingering in his ear and watched her disappear down the hall to their bedroom. There were no cameras installed there. Alicia had limits. Minimizing the screen, Juan pressed the video chat and a ringing tone filled his office. Then he rose from the chair and walked to the window and opened it. A clean burst of air funneled into the room, bringing with it the cadence of crickets. Next door the sound of the nightly news echoed from his neighbor’s apartment.

  “I was expecting you to call sooner.”

  “Lo siento, Señor.” Juan stepped back from the window, turning on his heel to face the screen. Surrounded in hazy smoke, Señor sat at his desk, his fat fingers wrapped around a Cohiba 1966 Edition cigar. He was dressed in black and the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a poof of gray chest hair and a thick gold chain with a scorpion medallion. “I know what today is, and I did not wish to disturb you. I waited for as long as I could so that you would have time to mourn.”

  Señor brought the cigar to his lips, which were hidden beneath a thick mustache, and inhaled slowly. The pricey Cubans were Señor’s favorite, and he made sure those around him knew their value. It was a brazen display of power. He was smoking away hundreds of dollars with every puff.

  “Is the problem taken care of?”

  Once again, Juan found himself eyeing the photo of the Army captain. Before his arrival, only one other man threatened to get in the way, but now both had quickly exposed their weakness and Juan was ready.

  “I’m taking care of it. It will not be long.”

  “It is already too long!” Señor slapped his hand on the desk, rattling the computer and distorting the video for a second. “Promesas. You made promises.”

  Juan studied the man. His black hair was parted neatly, and Juan could almost smell the distinct scent of Tres Flores hair gel. Señor’s face revealed little emotion due to the enormous amount of money spent on plastic surgery to eliminate any sign of age. Youth, strength, and power were the only things the cartel baron wanted people to see.

  But Juan saw more.

  Behind Señor’s smooth exterior, Juan saw a reckless and unyielding man. A man desperate to reclaim the position of power that had been stripped away from his family by a woman.

  “She has made a mistake.”

  The pompous man sprang forward in his seat. “You have her?”

  Juan had to be careful about proceeding. Too much information and Señor’s expectation would escalate. “I have men in place. Soon the stakes will be too high for her to ignore.”

  “Soon?” Señor growled, pushing up from behind his desk. “Today I mourn a brother who has not even had the honor of a burial because there is no body, his family slaughtered by our enemies, and you sit there biding time you do not have?”

  Juan tucked his chin in deference, thou
gh he felt none for the man barking at him. “Señor, it will not be much longer. You have my word.”

  Señor leaned across the desk, his face inches from the screen. “I will have much more than that if you do not deliver.”

  The computer screen flashed blank. Juan wanted to scream. To throw something. He fisted his hands, wanting to squeeze the breath from the man. He stared up at her picture. It mocked him. A reminder that he would have no rest until she paid.

  Juan took in measured breaths, his gaze sliding to the rifle. He’d anticipated a response. The fact that he didn’t get one demonstrated her arrogance.

  It was time for him to raise the stakes.

  This time she would respond.

  FOURTEEN

  “YOU BETTER HURRY, CAP!” Sarge hollered. “Team Army needs their leader.”

  It had taken Colton nearly ten minutes to put on his shoes. He didn’t know if it was nerves, but the movement in his arm was worse than usual, making the task a preschooler could do that much more difficult. And now he was late.

  “They’re going to need more than that if they hope to win,” Sticks said. “Go, team Air Force.”

  “Bah.” Gunny swiped his hand in the air. “Go Navy.”

  “Sticks, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Navy get sunk by Army and Air Force this year?”

  “You ain’t wrong, Sarge.”

  Laughter echoed among the members of D-Wing sitting in the rocking chairs on the porch of the Mansion. They’d all claimed front-row seats, and Colton wasn’t sure if he was appreciative of their support or doubly nervous because of it. He was about to run down the steps when he thought of something.

  “Any of you boys play football?”

  Sticks straightened. “Four years. Tight end for the Midlothian Tigers. Went to state.”

  Gunny wheeled around, his right pant leg folded at the knee. “He’s not talking peewee league, Sticks.” Gunny leaned back, pride puffing his chest, and squared his eyes on Colton. “Longhorn, two years before the draft took me out of the game. Coaches told me I’d probably have gone pro, given the chance.”

  Colton turned to Sarge. “What about you?”

  “Baseball.”

  “But you know the sport? Watched it?”

  “Haven’t missed a single one of my grandsons’ games. And I’ve got four of them.”

  “Good.” Colton nodded. “You three have any plans for the next couple of weeks?”

  “Was planning my escape,” Gunny said. “But depending on what you’re offering, I might stick around.”

  “I’m here until my wife decides she wants me back home again.” Sticks smiled. “Hates my snoring, but that woman has no idea what she sounds like at night. Thought a Huey was landing to scoop me out of the rice paddies those first few years of our marriage.”

  They all laughed, and Colton couldn’t help smiling.

  “If you guys are up for it, I’d like you to officiate the games for the kids. From the sidelines, of course.” The last thing he needed was these guys trying to outdo each other to the detriment of their healing.

  The laughter quieted. Colton, wondering if he’d overstepped, glanced to each of them. Or maybe he was asking too much. He was about to tell them it was okay when Sarge rolled forward, Gunny standing behind him with Sticks.

  “It’d be a privilege.”

  “Hooah!” Sarge added.

  “Besides, the way Hot Tamale took you out, maybe she should be coaching the team,” Sticks said, breaking the moment of solidarity.

  Colton shook his head. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready.” He jogged down the stairs, ignoring the new round of jokes being passed between them at his expense. Even though they were decades older and constantly ribbing him, it felt good to be in a brotherhood again—a new team.

  Georgia had finally gotten the memo from Mother Nature that it was time to transition from summer to fall, and a crisp breeze curled around Colton’s bare legs and arms. He walked across the lawn toward the gym and could feel the excitement building the closer he got. He’d had no idea what to expect when he pitched his idea to Chaplain Kelly, but he and the staff at Home for Heroes were excited and made sure to spread the word. The turnout was more than he could’ve hoped for and provided just enough kids to form two teams.

  He found Maceo on the field with Noah and, like a magnet, his gaze went to Pecca, standing on the side next to Lane, in skinny jeans that hugged her curves, an oversized sweatshirt, and her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. This was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than scrubs. He was finding it hard not to stare—until she caught him.

  Nice, Colton.

  Pecca waved, giving him a tight smile that concerned him. He crossed the grass to her and Lane.

  “Hey, Colton.” Lane smiled. “You ready?”

  “I think so.” He eyed Pecca. “How about you?”

  A whistle shrilled behind him, and Pecca jumped. Colton turned to see Charlie gathering all the kids around him. “I should probably go.”

  “Wait.” Pecca grabbed Colton’s hand, her touch searing his skin. “You promise no one can get hurt, right? It’s flag football. Fun, right?”

  Colton glanced at Lane, who looked just as interested in the answer. He smiled, his thumb rubbing her fingers. “I can only promise one of those things.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” Pecca stared after Colton as he jogged to the middle of the field in his Mustangs T-shirt and shorts, baseball cap flipped backward. The second she’d caught him looking at her, a flutter of butterflies took flight inside her stomach. It was nerves about Maceo playing football. At least that’s what she was telling herself.

  “Are you freaking out?”

  “A little,” Pecca said, rubbing her hands over her arms. “You?”

  Lane ran a hand over her belly. “A little.”

  Pecca gave her a sideways peek. “You lying?”

  “Mm-hmm. You?”

  “Yep.” For seven years, she’d been able to convince Maceo that sports weren’t a big deal, and maybe she used comic books and action figures to further make her point. But last time she checked, there weren’t pediatric concussion reports for Comic-Con nerds.

  A whistle blew, and the group of boys and girls—yes, five girls showed up—broke away from their circle and formed two lines facing each other. One side wore a belt with red Velcro flags around their waist, the other side wore blue. Flag football. Colton had come into his session with the idea a few days ago, and the excitement shining in his eyes made it impossible to tell him no.

  “I don’t know who was more excited about this—Charlie or Noah.” Lane sighed. “It was all ‘football this and football that.’” Lane placed her palms on either side of her belly and whispered, “I’m really hoping this is a little girl so I can level the playing field.”

  Pecca laughed. Looking across the lawn, she found Charlie kneeling next to one boy and tying his shoe as another walked up dutifully and pointed at his untied laces. Her gaze followed along the sidelines to the parents either standing or sitting in foldable chairs while, off to the side, siblings not involved in the practice were somersaulting, picking grass, or chasing each other. Her eyes stopped on David, who had promised Maceo he would come today. He looked over, smiled, and waved. Pecca returned the wave and smile.

  “So, have you decided?”

  “What?”

  Lane gave her an amused look. “Is it going to be Captain Handsome or Sergeant Good Heart?”

  “Shh.” Pecca searched the area around them. “You can’t call my patient ‘Captain Handsome.’”

  “Fine.” Lane shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking it.”

  And now so will I. Her eyes were drawn to Colton coaching on the side of the field.

  “The way you keep staring at him like that, it seems like the decision has been made.”

  Pecca sighed. “There’s no decision. I already told you that. He’s my patient. Even if he wasn’t . . .”
Her thoughts transported her back eight years. She’d made mistakes with Javier. Been too stubborn to listen to her family’s warnings until it was too late. She found Maceo making his way back onto the field. “There’s only room for one guy in my life.”

  Thankfully, another blast of the whistle saved her from having to explain. The action before them drew everyone’s attention as the kids scattered across the field chasing. “Is that Noah?”

  Lane put her hands next to her mouth and yelled, “Go, Noah! Go!”

  Noah rushed his way past two kids, narrowly escaping a third who lunged for the red flag attached to the belt around his waist but missed.

  “Watch your back, Noah!”

  Charlie’s warning came too late as another kid sprinted out of nowhere and grabbed Noah’s flag, ending the play.

  Clapping and cheering filled the air as the kids circled Charlie and Colton again. Pecca searched the field for Maceo and found him bringing in the rear. His black hair was smushed against his forehead in sweat and his cheeks were splotchy, but he looked . . . happy.

  That’s all Pecca wanted for him—a safe childhood where he could grow up without worrying about who his father was. She shuddered. It had already been a week and there were no new leads. Rumors around town blamed some restless teenagers, and Pecca had allowed herself to hope it was the truth. She’d finally stopped jumping at every little noise in her house and even slept with all the lights off the last two nights.

  Pecca inhaled deeply, feeling her body relax. Beams of sunlight pierced through the copse of trees, shining on the field and turning her focus right where it should be—on her son and his well-being. And of course Colton was standing right next to him.

  The Warriors. The kids voted, and Colton couldn’t think of a more fitting team name.

  “The kids did great out there, don’t you think?” Colton spun a football in his left hand. His throws were pretty abysmal, but the kids didn’t seem to mind. And for the first time in a long time, he’d begun to feel like himself.