by Cara Putman
A tear drizzled down the boy’s face, one he angrily swiped away. “She did nothing wrong.”
“Did you see the man who did it?” Andrew kept his hand on Jorge’s arm in an effort to calm him.
“No. He threw me in a closet before I could see his face.” Jorge’s head slumped forward. “I couldn’t protect my mother.” He tugged a small cell phone from his pocket. “Mami bought this so I could call the police if ever I needed to.”
Had his mother really given him a phone for protection? If so, she had known someone was coming. This wasn’t a burglary gone wrong.
Hayden balanced several bags in each hand as she walked up the sidewalk to Andrew’s condo. Emilie had texted her the address, and now Hayden realized she’d gone a little crazy buying clothes and toiletries for Jorge. Maybe she’d submit the receipt to the partners. They’d love that.
When she reached the front door of the building, Hayden shifted her armload to free a hand. A bag fell to the stoop, and two LEGO T-shirts and a baseball cap spilled out.
An older woman with a spry step that belied her gray hair hurried over. “Let me help you with that.” She grabbed a bag and used the opportunity to scrutinize Hayden through her bifocals. “I haven’t seen you before.”
Hayden nodded. “I’m a friend of Andrew Wesley’s.”
The woman eyed her carefully, then apparently approved, because she reached into her oversized gardening apron and pulled out a wad of keys. “He got home a bit ago. I’m guessing these bags are for the boy with him?”
“Yes.” Hayden eased through the now open door and set the bags on the floor. Then she turned around and scooped up the items that had fallen out. When she turned back, the woman stood almost nose to nose with her.
“Andrew is a good man. Do not do anything that will make me regret letting you in.”
Hayden nodded. The woman reminded her of her second-grade Sunday school teacher. One look and Hayden would sit straighter and listen quietly. “Can you tell me which unit is his?”
The woman studied her another moment, then nodded. “Second floor unit, on the left.” She handed the bag to Hayden. “Good luck.”
The moment Hayden reached the top of the flight of stairs, Andrew appeared in his doorway. “Can I help with those bags?”
“Would have been great to have it a few minutes ago.”
“I knew Mrs. Bradford would help. She likes to do that.”
“You mean she likes to interrogate people.”
“With a charming smile and gaze of steel.” He held the door for her. “I’m convinced she was a detective in an earlier career, but she won’t admit it. Welcome to my humble abode.”
Hayden quickly took in the space. A living area, where Jorge was huddled on the couch, a dining area, and kitchen formed the part of the first floor she could see. An iron staircase spiraled toward what looked like a small loft area. “I didn’t realize there was a second floor.”
“It’s small, but a definite perk.” He gave her a quick tour of the condo with its décor that was attractive, but had too much of a stale designer air to put her at ease. It looked like a spread she’d see in Southern Living, beautiful but unrealistic for mere mortals. Throughout the tour, Jorge didn’t move from his position on the couch. As Andrew led her down a short hallway to point out the bedroom and guest bedroom, he asked quietly, “Any ideas how I can help Jorge?”
“Maybe we should take him to see his mother so he can see she’ll be okay. I’m going to visit her, and I can take him with me.”
Andrew studied his ward as if he wanted to reach inside Jorge’s mind and get a clear understanding of the young man’s thoughts. “We don’t know what condition she’s in.”
“But he does. And I guarantee images of her the way he last saw her are stuck in his mind. Maybe seeing her alive and recovering will be the best thing we can do for him.” She touched Andrew’s arm, drawing his worried gaze from Jorge to her. “Which hospital was Maricel transported to?”
“Arlington.” He nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.” He marched back into the living area and sank onto the leather coffee table in front of Jorge. “Hey. Let’s go check on your mom. You’ll feel better once you see her and know she’s okay. Hayden’s coming with us, okay?”
Jorge nodded like one still asleep and then slowly stood. Hayden followed them to the car and slid into the backseat of the Jeep. She met Andrew’s gaze in the rearview mirror and knew his concern matched hers.
Twenty minutes later Andrew parked in the hospital garage. At the visitors’ station they talked their way to Maricel’s room number from a suspicious volunteer. Jorge clutched Andrew’s hand as the elevator transported them to the correct floor.
“She should be down this hallway.” Andrew led the way, but Hayden slowed when a large man bumped into her.
The man looked like a well-muscled running back. He was tall and had a multi-color snake tattoo curling around his neck. He didn’t apologize for bumping her, or slow down, but Hayden’s gaze followed him until he entered the elevator.
“Andrew, have you seen that man before?”
“What man?”
“The one who bumped into me.”
“Nope, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, I was looking at room numbers. Jorge?” He turned, turned again, then looked at Hayden. “Where’d Jorge go?”
She shrugged and glanced around the hallway. She caught a movement in the shadows beside a vending machine, and pointed to it.
Andrew nodded. “Jorge? Come out, buddy.”
As Andrew coaxed the kid from hiding beside the machine, Hayden watched with growing concern. Jorge looked like he was diving deeper into his shock. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
Hayden looked back down the hall toward the elevator. The only person they had seen on the floor was the man who had bumped into her. Had he said something to Jorge in passing that had left the kid a scared shell?
Questions chased through her mind during their fifteen-minute visit in Maricel’s room. Although Maricel was sleeping, the nurse who stepped in to check on them assured them that she would be awake later and would recover fully.
As Hayden studied the woman’s battered face and the cast around her left wrist, she was more convinced than ever that this had been no bungled burglary. What had followed Maricel and Jorge from Mexico?
CHAPTER 23
SUNDAY, APRIL 9
The sunlight filtering through her curtain pulled Hayden from a dream of shadows chasing her. Men with snake tattoos and terrified teens circled around a woman in a hospital bed. A shower helped shake the images, but Hayden didn’t truly banish them until she reached her church and entered into the worship service.
Home again, she changed into comfortable clothes and decided to call her mom. She knew she couldn’t focus on anything work-related anyway.
Her mother picked up right away. “Hayden? Is everything okay?”
A pinch of guilt zinged Hayden. “I’m fine, Mom. Sorry I call so rarely you think something’s wrong.”
“Honey, I know you’re busy.”
A few minutes passed in small talk as Mom caught her up on what was happening with her older brother and his family. Seemed life was golden for them in Colorado. Who would have thought that would be the place where he found a wife and a life he loved? Maybe nobody there cared what their father had done.
Hayden ran a finger along her quilt’s pattern and listened as her mom told her about the novel her book club was reading. When they hung up half an hour later, she felt centered and ready to tackle a project. The question was, what could she do on the Rodriguez case? She was at the mercy of the government, and it was not where she wanted this case positioned.
“Do you have a minute?” Emilie looked too serious for a Sunday afternoon as she stood in the doorway.
“Sure.” Hayden patted the bed next to her. “Come on in.”
The mattress squeaked a protest as Emilie sat. “I’ve been thinking abo
ut Miguel’s case. There’s a story there. Something fishy is happening.”
“I know. And I don’t believe the attack on Maricel was the random burglary the police want us to believe it was.” She filled Emilie in on what had happened at the hospital.
“You need to get to Texas.”
“I know, but I can’t unless the partners approve and pay.” Hayden’s bank account was thin. She’d repaid the last of her student loans, but coupled with her car and the rent she paid Emilie, she lacked margin. People thought you made the big bucks in DC, but they didn’t realize how crazy expensive housing was. She valued her ability to walk a few blocks to work, but it meant she couldn’t fly halfway across the country on her own dime.
“I also have to wait for the director to agree to a time for the deposition,” she continued. “Should happen this week.”
“I could fly out tomorrow. Poke around while you work out the permissions you need.”
Hayden forced herself to pause and consider the offer. At coffee she and Savannah had decided it was a good idea. And now Emilie offered before Hayden had time to ask. “I really want to go, but with the partners refusing, you should go instead. I can’t pay you though.”
“It’s okay. Something big is brewing. I’ll put my investigative prowess to work. Nobody there knows me, and I’m not an attorney on the case, so I can dig without the restrictions you’ll have.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll land my big story while I’m there.”
“You can’t publish anything until I approve, Emilie.”
“And you’re stalled right now, thanks to the government and the partners. Let me help.”
Hayden hated the harsh reality of those words. Until someone cooperated, sending Emilie was her best bet for getting the information she needed. She hated that she couldn’t cover the costs. “Are you sure you’ll know where to look?”
“Don’t forget the pro bono work I do for Andrew’s clients and my own. Those give me plenty of opportunities to work cases.”
“This could be a multimillion-dollar case. It’s not a landlord issue.”
Emilie’s cheeks colored, and Hayden knew she’d pushed too far. “Sorry, Em. That wasn’t fair, and your offer could change this case. I just hate the feeling I can’t do anything for the case myself right now.”
Emilie’s intense green eyes bored into Hayden. “It doesn’t give you the right to minimize what I do. My investigative reporting gives me a good knowledge of what you need. The fact I don’t spend every day on law doesn’t mean I’ll kill your investigation. In fact, I’ll make it better because I don’t sound like an attorney. You do.”
“Are you sure you can afford it?” When she and Savannah had discussed Emilie going, Hayden had still held out hope the partners would change their position.
“Yes.”
Hayden nodded. “Thank you. By the way, he thinks I’m an idiot.”
Emilie looked at her like she had become one. “What are you talking about? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”
“Andrew.” Hayden put her hands over her face and hunched her shoulders forward. “We were having a good time at the Cherry Blossom Festival, until I lost my mind and thought someone was following us.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“Some strange man made eye contact.” She paused as her mind flashed from that man to the one at the hospital. Details stood out that she hadn’t considered. Both had pronounced snake tattoos curled up their necks. Could they have been the same person?
She reached for her phone. “I need to find out exactly when Maricel was attacked.” While Emilie stared at her as though she had indeed lost her mind, Hayden dialed Andrew.
“Hey, Andrew. How’s Jorge today?” She listened to his comments about the young man loosening up, and then turned to the reason for her call. “Did the police tell you when Maricel was attacked?”
Andrew said it had been around noon. Then it probably wasn’t the same man. It would be difficult to travel from the congested Tidal Basin to Maricel’s apartment in that time. And why would someone who’d beaten her up then follow her to the hospital?
She said good-bye and set her phone down, then looked up to see Emilie staring at her. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. The man I saw at the Tidal Basin and the one at the hospital had similar tattoos. I was crazy to think it meant anything.”
“Well, it was an impressive distraction in an attempt to get out of telling me about your date with Andrew.”
“It wasn’t a date.” Hayden rubbed her face. “It was awkward. And wonderful. And then he was so quiet as we drove to the coffee shop. You know how I get when it’s too silent.”
“You couldn’t stop talking.” Emilie grinned, and Hayden sat straighter.
“Wait a minute. You’re supposed to be supportive. You talked me into going.”
“Of course I did.” Emilie popped to her feet and disappeared down the stairs, returning a minute later with two frosty cans of Dr Pepper. “Don’t you see?”
“No.”
“You rattled him.”
“I rattled the illustrious Andrew Wesley, most eligible bachelor in the nation’s capital?”
“You sure did.” Emilie took a swig of her drink, then grimaced. “How do you drink this stuff?”
“Nectar of the gods.”
“Whatever. Anyway, Andrew knows how to play debonair with the women his mom throws his way. Don’t get too close, keep small talk flowing—he’s a marvel to watch. If he was tongue-tied, that means he’s mystified by you.”
“You say that as if it’s a good thing.”
“Sure it is.”
Hayden rubbed her temples. “Then why’d you wait so long to introduce us?”
“You weren’t ready.”
“Oh, and my babbling proves I am now?”
“A year ago you’d have run screaming at the sight of that dress I loaned you. Now you were at least willing to try it. You’re losing that chip on your shoulder.” Emilie softened her words by reaching out and squeezing Hayden’s hand.
Hayden tugged her hand free. Chip? On her shoulder? That wasn’t fair. “I’ve never had a chip on my shoulder.”
“Yes, you have.” Emilie took another swig of her drink and shrugged. “You were so insecure when we first met. You couldn’t get past the fact that I have more . . . stuff. Things that don’t matter one whit in light of eternity. But to you, they got in the way.”
Hayden forced herself to consider Emilie’s words. She prided herself on being open to criticism, but it was hard. She wanted to defend herself, even if a kernel of truth existed in the words.
“I’m sorry if I came across that way. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t. And it’s okay. Really. Just keep an open mind about Andrew. He’s a good guy, Hayden. And I’m not saying that just because he’s my cousin.”
Hayden nodded, then held up her can of Dr Pepper. “I’m going to put in a little work. Sounds like you have an airplane ticket to buy.”
Emilie’s smile slipped. “Already did.” She studied Hayden. “Truth in love, friend.”
“I know.” Hayden tried to smile. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” Funny how you could love and hate the same quality in your best friend.
Emilie slipped out of the room, and Hayden went up to her office and sat, thinking about the way Emilie had described her. If that’s how her best friend saw her, then how did others? Had she built walls around herself because of her shame over her dad?
Maybe the more she’d held her head high, the higher she’d built the barricade that separated her from everyone else.
Usually, she loved the stark calmness of the dove-gray walls lined with bookshelves. One shelf was filled with the fiction she let herself fall into until the characters became her friends. The other was filled with textbooks and nonfiction, though she’d slipped The Killer Angels and other Shaara war-inspired novels there. She pulled out a book, then slid it back in. So many of these book
s had been gifts from her father, purchased on his many trips.
His job as a CFO for a major company had built his frequent flier miles and her library.
He had always sought to broaden her perspective by exposing her to different heroes. Men and women who had transformed their generations and worlds. William Wilberforce and Hannah More and their quest to end slavery and bring manners back to turn-of-the-1800s England. Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his vocal stand against the Nazis—and Corrie ten Boom’s quiet rebellion. Queen Victoria. Florence Nightingale. It was a truly eclectic collection.
Each volume inspired her.
She believed that one life lived in abandon to God could have far-reaching consequences for the world around her.
Yet as she examined the books and then thought about what she spent her life on, she wondered. Did her efforts matter?
Did the typical corporate clients allow her to make a difference?
She knew that was why the Rodriguez matter was weaving its way around her heart. Miguel’s story had moved past her mind and taken up residence in her soul.
She could close her eyes and imagine his journey to the States. She could imagine his first days in the detention center. And she could imagine his fear in the moments before his throat was slit.
God, I just want to be used.
To live a life that mattered, one that made a difference in the world.
FRIDAY, APRIL 7
The last light in the building finally went dark. The night had cooled considerably, and he shivered in his jacket. He sank against the seat. Ten more minutes. Then he would slip inside.
Over the last few nights, no one had reentered the floors of the law firm after the cleaning crews vacated. What if someone worked late tonight? That would break the system, and he must trust what he had witnessed.
He hunkered deeper into his jacket, his hands shoved inside his pockets. He continued to scan the rows of windows as his thoughts returned to Miguel. He had attended a mass, begged God for forgiveness, but all he saw was the blackness of his heart. How could he have turned on his brother?
