Crossing the Line

by Simone Elkeles

  I pull out a backpack from my closet and quickly shove a bunch of clothes inside. I'm not going to sit back and let the things that matter to me slip away. Not anymore, when my parents refuse to trust me with the truth. I don't even feel like I'm a part of this family anymore.

  With renewed energy, I'm ready to do this. I'm going to cross the border and find Ryan. We're still in this together whether he wants to believe it or not.

  I put on jeans and a T-shirt, ready to shove all plans aside and start a new path. One that I've created.

  Reaching onto the top shelf of the hall closet where my parents hide our passports, I feel around but can't find them. Frustrated, I grab a chair and stand on it so I can see the entire top shelf.

  They're not here.

  Someone moved them.

  I rush downstairs and storm into my father's office. "Where is it?"

  He takes his glasses off and looks up at me from his desk. "Where is what, Dalila?"

  "My passport."

  He raises a brow and eyes me suspiciously. "May I ask what you need your passport for, mija?"

  "To cross the border. I looked in the hall closet and it's not there."

  "Ah, I see." He leans back in his chair. "I will tell you right now that I forbid you to cross the border, so finding it is of no consequence."

  Without warning my mama appears in the doorway. "Your father had nothing to do with it," she says. "I hid the passports somewhere else."

  "I need mine."

  She shakes her head. "It's locked in a secure place."

  Her words make me want to sink to my knees in despair. "No," I say in a defeated whisper.

  "It's for your safety, Dalila," she says, then steps closer to pull me into a hug.

  I shrug out of her embrace. "You don't understand. This place has become my prison," I tell them. "What's the use in being safe if you can't live your life?"

  "The alternative is not having a life," Papa chimes in.

  "I'm not happy here."

  "You think you'll be happy with that boy from the US?" Papa scoffs. "He's different and mysterious. A novelty. You'll get bored of him and he'll get bored of you soon enough, and then where will you be? In the middle of a cartel war where people want to hurt you."

  "Why would they want to hurt me?" I cross my arms on my chest. "Because of you? Be honest with me for once, Papa! You sent my sisters away. You're keeping our home a fortress. You're putting us all in danger. Why?"

  "I can't share those things with you," he says.

  "You have to trust us that we're making the best decisions for you and your sisters," Mama chimes in.

  I can't blindly trust them, not when it feels like they're the ones putting our family in danger. Somehow, Papa's friendship with Don Cruz and his association with Santiago Vega have something to do with the change in our lives.

  "Fine," I say. "You win."

  My parents look at each other with wary expressions as I walk out of the office.

  This isn't over.

  Back in my room, I stare at my backpack lying on my floor. That passport was my ticket across the border to find Ryan. Besides me there are only three people who matter to him: Mateo, Juan Camacho, and his friend from the Shadows of Darkness concert, Pablo.

  During dinner, I try to act normal.

  "What do you think about traveling this summer?" Papa asks me.

  "Where?"

  He hesitates as if it'll increase the excitement. "A cruise. There's a friend of mine with a private yacht. You and your mother and sisters can spend time on the ocean and enjoy--"

  "What about you?" I ask him. "Won't you be going?"

  "Unfortunately I have work and can't take time off. Not this summer, anyways."

  I look at my mom, who's busily eating her food. "It'll be wonderful to get away, Dalila. Wouldn't it? No stress, no drama . . ."

  No Ryan.

  "Sure," I tell them in the most enthusiastic tone I can muster. "Sounds like fun."

  I don't reveal that I won't be going on any cruises.

  Not without Ryan, anyways. Back in my room, I start making my plan.

  I decide to wait until they're asleep to sneak out. It's no use going out the front door, because there are two guards stationed there at all times. The only way out of my prison is jumping off the garden balcony into the fields below.

  Ducking through shadows, I stealthily glide through the house trying not to make a sound.

  But when I pass my dad's office, I hear him talking to his head bodyguard, Gerardo. "In the morning you'll take Dalila to Casa Nieves," he says. "She'll be safe there."

  "She won't want to go," I hear Gerardo say.

  "She doesn't have a choice," Papa responds.

  But I do have a choice. I'm not going to be hidden away and ordered around like some kind of pawn.

  It's not easy ducking out of the house in the dark, especially when a bunch of bodyguards are patrolling our ranchero. When one of them goes on break, I sneak into the gardens and jump off the balcony. Running through the fields makes me anxious until I get to the other side of the property. I walk on the edge of the dark roads, hoping nobody realizes I'm gone until the morning.

  With one last glance at my home and tears staining my eyes, I silently say good-bye to my home. The life I once knew is gone, replaced by one less known but more meaningful.

  I knew where I was going the minute I left. Without a passport, I hop on a bus headed for Sevilla. I keep my head down, hoping nobody will recognize me as the daughter of Oscar Sandoval.

  I have to stay under the radar if I'm going to pull this off.

  Thirty-Five

  Ryan

  It's hard to play it cool when I know there's a ton of dirty cash hiding in our garage. So many thoughts have been running through my mind since I found it. Paul is either getting bribes from Los Reyes del Norte or Las Calaveras, the two major cartels taking over the border.

  I'm sitting at the breakfast table with the entire family when Paul blabs about getting some intel on the newest Mexican cartel, Los Reyes del Norte.

  "They're buying up real estate in Texas," Paul says. "Lots of it."

  "Don't you have to be a US citizen to buy property?" Mom asks.

  "Nope. Any immigrant asshole can buy US property with the right funds," Paul tells her.

  "Any asshole citizen can buy US property with the right funds," I counter.

  "Speaking of assholes, did you have any run-ins with the cartels when you crossed the border, Ryan?" Paul asks me.

  "No."

  PJ and Allen snicker as if they've got some private joke.

  "Really?" Paul cocks his elfin head to the side. "Because you were in Mexico for a few weeks and they're recruiting a lot of kids your age. And then you get beat up like you were involved in some kind of drug deal gone wrong. You didn't hear anything about them?"

  I look him straight in his beady eyes. "No, Paul. I haven't heard anything about them. Why do you keep asking me the same question?"

  "Maybe because we think you're a pathological liar," PJ chimes in.

  Instead of making him stop asking me stuff or defending me, my mom just zones out.

  Paul puts his fork down and sits back. "There's about to be a power shift between the Las Calaveras, who have been in control for years, and Los Reyes del Norte, the dangerous new cartel taking over territory in the north," Paul says. "We've got intel on the inside and they're telling us that the recruiting has gotten insane."

  "You sure do know a lot about 'em," I mumble.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  I shrug. "Just sayin' that you're pretty well informed. Must be nice to have inside intel."

  Paul pointedly looks at me as if I'm one of the enemies. "The bad guys always lose in the end."

  "Good," I say, then add, "Anyone who cheats the system needs to go down."

  He furrows his brow, as if my words trigger him somehow. But he keeps a straight face, even kissing my mother before heading to the station.
>
  Last night I went through every scenario on what to do with the money Paul has stashed in his garage. Stealing all that money to buy Dalila a large piece of land in Mexico would make my dream come true, but then I'd be no better than Paul. I can't go to the police, because I don't know anyone at the station who'd bring Paul down. He's the dictator at the Loveland police station.

  When he leaves for work, I pull out the old business card Max Trieger gave me with his contact info on it. My heart is beating fast as I dial Lance's number.

  "Lance Matthews, US Border Patrol," the guy answers in an authoritative voice.

  "Yeah, um, I was wondering if I could meet with you."

  "Who is this?"

  I swallow, hard. "Ryan Hess."

  "Sheriff Blackburn's son?"

  "Stepson."

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "Not really. I just have some information and wanted to meet with you."

  There's a hesitation on the line. "Information? What kind of information?"

  "I can't say over the phone. I need to meet you in person. And I need you to keep it confidential."

  "I'll be at the border station in Loveland at two o'clock today. Come by then and we can talk."

  "Sounds great. Thanks, Officer Matthews."

  I hang up and head over to Lone Star Boxing Club, because I can't do this alone. I need my one-man crew.

  Pablo greets me the second I walk into the club. "Hey, Ry, how've you been? I've been thinkin' about you and wondering how you've been holding up."

  "Life's been crazy," I tell him. "I need you to do me a favor, Pablo."

  "Sure, Ry. What do you need?"

  "I need a crew, and you're it."

  I'm not going it alone this time. When Pablo comes to my house, I show him the money.

  "Damn, Hess," he whispers as he peeks his head through the break in the garage wall. "There must be over two million in there."

  "I need you to get rid of it for me," I tell him. "If you get caught--"

  "I'm not afraid of anyone. Crooked cops piss me off."

  With Pablo on board, we secretly load the cash onto his truck. After hauling it away and making a plan of what to do with it, I stand in front of him and shake his hand. "Thanks, man. I couldn't do this without you."

  "Despite the color of our skin, we're bros with fuerza, Hess. Thanks for trusting me. I mean it." I turn to leave when he calls out, "I think you finally found your cause. I'm proud of you."

  After leaving Pablo, I head over to the border patrol station to meet with Officer Matthews. I walk up the brick steps into the place feeling like my entire life has led up to this moment.

  Lance recognizes me right away. He's sitting on the edge of one of the desks lined up in the middle of the busy station. He's a good-looking guy, with dark, straight hair combed neatly to the side.

  "Thanks for meeting me, Officer Matthews," I say, feeling completely awkward and nervous.

  "Not a problem, Ryan." He motions for me to sit in the chair across from his desk. "Sit down."

  I look around at the crowd of people in the room. "Can we talk somewhere private?" I'm not about to out the town's sheriff as crooked in the middle of the entire border patrol station.

  "Sure," he says. "Follow me."

  He leads me to a back room, away from everyone else. I'm immediately on edge as I realize this is an interrogation room. It has one table and two old, metal chairs. I'm aware that there is no camera or recording equipment in the room. A window with blinds overlooks the rest of the station, so anyone can look in and see us. The door automatically locks as we enter the small room, making me feel claustrophobic.

  I briefly wonder if this is a good idea, or if I just put a nail in my coffin. If I'm wrong about Officer Matthews I might as well be handing myself over to the enemy.

  Officer Matthews takes a seat opposite me and leans forward. "Tell me what's on your mind, Ryan. Are you in trouble?" His words are kind and not judgmental, reminding me of Max Trieger.

  I focus on the handcuffs secured in his belt and the gun at his waist. "No. It's nothin' like that. What if I found cash that I suspected was connected to the cartel?"

  "How much cash are we talking about, Ryan? Hundreds? Thousands?"

  "More than that," I tell him. "A lot more."

  He takes a long, slow breath as he sits back in his chair. "Max Trieger was investigating Las Calaveras and their connections here in Texas," he says. "He said there was a money trail, but he wouldn't share the specifics with me. He kept me in the dark."

  "Why?"

  "Because he knew the closer he got to figuring it out, the bigger the target on his back." He shakes his head slowly, as if remembering his beloved partner's doomed fate. "The son of a gun wanted to protect me. He was like a brother to me and there's not a day goes by when I don't want to get revenge for his death."

  "What if I could give you--" I glance through the blinds covering the window and my entire body goes numb as I see Paul walking into the station with a furious look on his face. "Why is Paul here? Did you tell him I was comin' here?"

  "No," Officer Matthews says. "Did you tell him you were coming to see me?"

  I shake my head. "No."

  Officer Matthews stands. "Wait here, Ryan."

  He walks out of the room, leaving me alone. I would book it out of here, but the door suddenly opens again. Instead of Officer Matthews, it's Paul. He storms in front of me with a menacing scowl. "Where's the money, Ryan?" he says in a low voice so nobody else can hear. We're in a soundproof room, but I'm sure he doesn't want to take any chances.

  "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

  He grabs the front of my shirt and twists it in his fist. "Tell me where you put my fucking money or I will tear your fucking heart out," he growls through gritted teeth.

  "If you do that, I don't think you'll get your money."

  "Oh, yeah?" He lets go of my collar and steps back in an attempt to compose himself. "Let me tell you somethin', you piece of shit. If you don't tell me where the money is right now, I will destroy everything important to you."

  "That's not really a threat," I tell him. "You should know by now that I have nothin' of value for you to destroy."

  "Oh, really? What about Dalila Sandoval?"

  I stand violently, my chair scraping the floor as I get in his face. "What do you know about Dalila?"

  "I know everything, Ryan. I know you were livin' in Sevilla at that run-down boxing gym and I know you were with Oscar Sandoval's daughter the night before you got the shit kicked out of you. You think you're so smart, don't you? You know crap, Ryan." He points to his chest like a gorilla marking himself as the alpha. "I've been a cop on this border since before you were born. I know everyone and everything on both sides. Give me that money, or that pretty girlfriend of yours is as good as dead."

  Every emotion I've ever had rises to the surface now as I get in his face. "If anything happens to her, I'll kill you. That's not a threat, Paul. That's a fact."

  "The fact is she's as good as dead. Just like our dear old Max," Paul says in an eerily calm manner as he takes out his handcuffs. "Oh, and by the way, you're under arrest for threatening an officer."

  "You're a crook," I tell him. "I'm going to tell them you're crooked."

  "Nobody will believe you, Ryan," he says, amused. "You're a bad seed and I'm the beloved sheriff of this town. Don't fuck with me. You won't win."

  He pushes me hard up against the wall, attempting to handcuff me. He's not strong enough to overpower me, though, and I end up grabbing the handcuffs and twisting them so I cuff one side on the table leg and the other around his wrist.

  While he's screaming at me, I knock on the door. Officer Matthews opens it, wide-eyed as he focuses on the scene in front of him.

  "What's going on here?"

  "Ask the crooked sheriff over there," I tell him, then rush past him and run as fast as I can out of the station. I don't want Paul manipulating the border patrol or the police to arr
est me for something random in an attempt to shut me up and peg me as a troublemaker delinquent. I wouldn't put it past him to frame me.

  I run through town knowing I'm finally done with the life I lived before this moment. I might be alone, but I'm not scared. I have a purpose, and that's to make sure Dalila is safe. I call Mateo and tell him to meet me across the border, then run as fast as I can to get there.

  Crossing the border into Mexico isn't a problem, even though I feel all eyes are on me, waiting to arrest Sheriff Paul Blackburn's wayward stepson who's gone rogue.

  After crossing, I breathe a sigh of relief as I catch sight of Mateo's uncle's red pickup truck. I quickly settle into the passenger seat. "We have to go to Dalila's house," I tell him. "She's in danger."

  "She's not there," Mateo tells me.

  "Where is she?"

  "Nobody knows. She's missing."

  Thirty-Six

  Dalila

  "Dalila, you need to get some rest," Juan Camacho says to me as I sit on his sofa and stare at the clock on his wall. He hands me a mug filled with champurrado. I breathe in the cocoa and it immediately comforts me.

  "Gracias, Juan," I say. "I can't sleep. I'm worried about Ryan."

  The old man smiles warmly at me, his deep wrinkles and white hair showing every bit of his age.

  Last night I came here and told Juan about what happened with Ryan and my suspicions about my father. He said I shouldn't judge before knowing all the facts, but I can't help it. There are just too many things pointing to the fact that my father's engaged in illegal activity with one of the cartels.

  "Stop worrying so much, Dalila," Juan says as he shuffles to his rocking chair and slowly takes a seat. "I know your father as a good, honorable man."

  "Then why is he involved with bad people?"

  "I don't know." He rocks back and forth. "These old bones don't get involved in other people's lives. Not anymore, anyways."

  "Were you ever involved in the cartels?"

  "No." He takes a long, slow sip of champurrado. "The promise of unlimited power lures young men in. It's intoxicating and alluring." He chuckles to himself. "They get duped into thinking they're invincible when they're just dispensable pawns. I'm not anyone's pawn," he tells me. "I never have been."

  "Why did you quit boxing?" I ask.

  "Something else more important lured me away." He motions to the other bedroom. "She's sleeping in there. When my wife got ill, I stopped dedicating my life to anything else but her."