How long had it been since she’d brushed her teeth? And had some clean clothes? The clothes Betty had given her the other day were already dirty from her time on the streets.
All she could manage was a small nod.
“Great! We’ll go to the store, get you some new clothes, maybe some personal items, you know, the basics.”
Funny how the basics could be not-so-basic when you didn’t have any money.
Money. She couldn’t afford any of the things Elly was talking about. “I–I don’t have any money.”
Elly waved off her concern. “I’ve got it covered.”
Got it covered? Like money was no object? “Are you rich?”
“God has blessed us.” Elly shrugged. “There are these rocks all over my homeland that are quite valuable here.”
Rocks? Really?
She tried to picture Elly hauling rocks… somewhere… and trading them for cash.
It seemed impossible. “What kind of rocks?”
“There are several. I think you call them diamonds? And emeralds, sapphires, and rubies? They’re all over the place where I come from.” She shrugged. “Shall we go now? Get this done before it gets dark and cold?”
And leave the safety she’d found on the boat for the uncertainty of the outside world? She’d rather stay in her too-tight pants and dirty shirt. “I–I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here.”
Her voice came out small and weary. Weak.
“Do you want me to just pick things up for you?”
Elly would do that for her?
Tears burned as she nodded again.
“Okay.” Elly gestured around. “You make yourself at home. I’ll be back soon.”
₪ ₪ ₪
Two days. It’d been two days since he’d been so roaring drunk that he’d made a fool of himself with Elly. And in those two days he hadn’t seen her once to clear the air.
Which was one part sweet relief to three parts torture.
Did she hate him? Would she take one look at him and tell him to get lost?
It shouldn’t matter, but it did. She mattered. To him.
He’d tried calling the phone number she’d listed, but it was the main line for the youth center. Why she’d listed that and not her own number was a mystery. Not to mention a little suspicious.
He had no way to reach her, except in person.
The wind whipped up off the water and caught his hair as he climbed out of his car. From where he’d parked he could see her boat.
But seeing it and getting to it were two very different things, especially with that locked gate blocking his path.
He just needed someone to enter. Elly or one of her brothers would be preferable but at this point he’d take anyone. Creating some story about surprising a friend or forgetting the code would get most people to grant him access.
And if that failed, he could always show his badge.
He dropped onto a wooden bench nestled against a building and rubbed his face.
The meeting with Celestine hung heavy in his mind.
A daughter. Jave had left a daughter.
Madre couldn’t find out. Not until Celestine allowed them to see her. If Celestine allowed them to see her.
Several seagulls squawked a protest as they lifted off the black water in a boat’s wake.
How long would he have to sit here?
How long could he sit here? Not only would he get restless pretty quickly, there were “no loitering” signs posted all over the place. Emphasized by several security cameras. Closed circuit, no doubt. Might not even be monitored on a Sunday, but it was hard to say.
At least his badge would smooth that over. Assuming whoever might be monitoring it didn’t just call the cops before confronting him.
What if no one opened that gate for hours?
He pulled out his phone and checked the time. One hour. He’d wait an hour and if he saw no one, he’d leave. As important as an apology was, he had other things to do.
Like digging into Celestine Montoya.
Montoya. Why did that name sound familiar?
Seemed like it was in a case file somewhere. Jave’s case? Or something more recent?
Maybe Jave. That’d make sense, after all.
But it didn’t feel right.
He unlocked his phone and navigated online, punching her name in the search field. A rudimentary way of trying to find more information, especially compared to the resources he had available at the office, but for now it’d do.
Lots of hits came up. Too many. Most of which would no doubt prove irrelevant.
He added San Francisco to the search criteria.
Still too many results.
He scrolled through them anyway.
A link to the local paper caught his attention. He clicked it.
A birth announcement. Dated a little over three years ago for a girl name Angelique Montoya. Celestine was the mother’s name. No father was listed.
He did the math. The baby was born seven months after Jave’s death.
The story lined up with what Celestine had told him.
At least he could be certain she’d told the truth about that part of it.
“Zander?”
He started, almost dropping his phone, and jerked his head up.
Elly. A long sweater flapped around her hips in the wind. Two canvas bags dangled from her hands.
Dang. He shouldn’t let people sneak up on him like that.
In his line of work, it could be fatal.
He closed the browser and locked his phone as he rose. “Hi. I, uh, didn’t know how else to get in touch with you.”
“Did something happen?” Concern laced her words and her eyes widened.
“No, no.” Well, not something that concerned her anyway. “I just, uh, can I come on board?”
Man, he must be desperate. Asking to go on a boat? Over the water? What was wrong with him?
She glanced over at the boat before returning her attention to him. “Now isn’t the best time. I’m sorry.”
Of course it wasn’t. After the way he’d acted, she probably didn’t want to be anywhere near him, especially alone in confined quarters. He had no one to blame but himself. “It’s okay. I get it. I just wanted to, uh talk, and…”
How hard was it to say he was sorry? Seriously lame.
She lifted her bags slightly. “How about I drop these off, then we can go for a walk?”
So maybe she wasn’t scared to be around him. That was a good sign, right? He nodded, then sat back on the bench to wait.
Five minutes passed before she returned.
“There’s a lovely little bike path just past the marina. It has beautiful views of the bay. Shall we walk there?”
He couldn’t care less about a lovely little bike path, or what the views might be, but if that’s what she wanted, he was fine with it. He owed her at least that much.
Silence lingered as he fell into step beside her.
Where did he start? How did he start?
As intuitive as she was, she probably already knew what he wanted to say but she didn’t bring it up. In fact, she seemed content to walk in silence.
Did she even notice his tension?
The boats grew sparser, with only a few moored in the immediate vicinity. Off to their right was the bay. Just the bay. With the Golden Gate looming in front of them.
The paved path gave way to a long wooden bridge that stretched in front of them for about thirty feet.
Beneath them, water jostled, the rough waves competing for a place under the bridge.
The inlet stretched to their left about fifty feet, before ending against a rocky retaining wall supporting the road.
Putting this off wasn’t going to solve anything. Nor would it make things easier.
“Look, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” The words erupted from him as his feet stopped moving. “About the other night. I just, uh, I mean…”
How could he explain himself? There was no
justifying his actions.
He couldn’t even fully blame the alcohol. He’d wanted to kiss her for days.
Although if he’d been in complete control of his actions, he would have started with a gentle kiss instead of the wanting one he’d offered.
Leaning his elbows on the railing of the bridge, he stared out at the black water she loved so much.
Yet another thing they did not have in common.
“Zander.” Her voice broke into his thoughts about the same time he felt her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. All is forgiven.”
Just like that? “I’d had too much to drink and it was Jave’s day and…”
Enough!
He clamped his lips together.
Elly just smiled. A soft smile that went all the way to her eyes and made him want to revoke his apology and kiss her again.
“Well…” Her gaze searched his face for a second before she pressed on, “Maybe it’s time to cut back on the alcohol.”
“I can handle it.” The words lacked conviction and reeked of defensiveness. He mentally cursed himself. “I can stop drinking when I want to.”
And now he’d become a walking punchline. Had he really just said that?
Hesitation hung between them.
Her hand fell from his arm. She wanted to say something. It was practically written across her face.
He gave a little upward jerk with his chin. “Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”
“Something bad is coming.”
The fight drained from him as dread settled like clouds over the bay. Funny how something he would’ve shrugged off a week ago now had the power to make him want to pull his gun and look for threats. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” The wind almost stole her softly spoken words. “I just know it’s bad and that you need to be at full capacity.”
“When?”
She simply shook her head.
Right. ‘Cause it didn’t work that way. “Look, if God cares so much, how come He doesn’t give us something more useful to go off of?”
“God rarely gives us the whole road map. It’s more like turn-by-turn directions. Right now, for instance, what you need to know is that your drinking is hurting you and has potentially long-term consequences for you and the people around you. That’s the equivalent of God telling you to make a right turn.”
Right. Not left. Intentional or just a coincidence that she’d worded it that way? “So, what? If I stop drinking God will give me the next turn to make?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes God’s direction is nothing more than to stay straight on the course you’re on.”
The course he was on? Falling for some weird God-following foreign chick while getting to know his brother’s fiancée and his newly discovered niece?
Then again, was that such a bad path?
Still, who was she to think she could tell him what to do – or not do – with his life? Sheesh. First Morgan, now her. Felt like a conspiracy. Maybe they could call it the “make Zander feel bad about his life choices” campaign.
“You can tell God that I’ll think about it.”
“Why don’t you tell Him yourself?”
Was she kidding? He studied her. That smile was hard to define. “The Big Man and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“And whose fault is that?”
The words contained no condemnation, so why did he suddenly feel guilty?
Probably all those years of Mass that Madre had forced him to attend. The church was good at laying on the guilt.
“Yeah, well, God hasn’t done that much for me lately.”
She arched an eyebrow. “So saving your life counts as not much?”
“You saved my life.”
“God saved your life. I was just the person He used to do it.” She leaned on the railing beside him, her shoulder practically touching his. “Zander. You know I don’t have any special powers, right? It’s all God, choosing to work through me. If He says no, I can’t do anything.”
So, what? She had the gift of selective healing? “Has God ever said no?”
The smile slipped. “A few times. I don’t know why He sometimes says no, but I choose to trust that He knows what’s best. Give God a chance. You might be surprised.”
Or maybe not. He wasn’t placing any bets on that one.
Movement in his peripheral brought his head around. Three men, two Hispanic and one white, all wearing black and orange, approached from the direction of the marina.
Alma Negra.
Although it could be coincidence that these guys were wearing orange, and were out here, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. Especially considering the way all three of them stared at him.
What did they want with him?
He straightened and moved to the other side of Elly, putting himself between her and the gang members.
Wait a second. He recognized the guy in the middle.
The man from earlier today! What had Celestine called him? Damien.
The men stopped less than ten feet away, standing elbow to elbow, blocking the path.
None of them spoke.
Maybe he could diffuse the situation. After all, if they knew he was a cop, maybe they’d decide he was more trouble than they wanted. “Salinas, SFPD. We don’t want any trouble so how about you turn back the way you came?”
If his identity came as any surprise, none of them showed it.
Damien, who stood in the middle of the other two men, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Whatchu want with Celestine Montoya, homes?”
How did he want to play this? If Elly weren’t standing right here, he might try bluffing, but he was seriously outnumbered – and probably out-gunned – and couldn’t do anything to put her in the crossfire.
“She was a friend of my brother.”
“Was?”
Evidently Damien was the only one authorized to speak. “He died.”
“‘Less you wanna join him, you better back off o’ Montoya.”
“Why? She got something to hide?”
The thug whipped a pistol out of the waistband of his pants. “See, now I was askin’ nicely but I’m done bein’ nice.”
A hand landed on his arm. Elly.
He’d just killed them both.
“Trust me.” Her voice whispered behind him seconds before her arms went around his chest and she threw herself toward the railing.
What the…?
No! Not in the water!
He pulled against her as a gunshot shattered the silence. Air rushed by his ear.
Thoughts ricocheted in his head.
Nowhere to run.
Stay and get shot.
Go in the water and drown.
Or maybe live.
Trust me.
He changed course and let her drag him over the edge.
Seventeen
The water rushed toward him.
Another gunshot. Pounding footsteps.
A shock of cold.
The water enveloped him as he sank down.
He had to get to the surface! He was going to drown.
Trust me. Elly’s words echoed in his mind.
But he couldn’t breathe! He needed air and he couldn’t swim!
Salt stung his eyes as he opened them. He forced them closed again. Not like he could see anything anyway.
He clawed for the surface.
Nothing but water.
Elly was dragging him to the bottom. They were both going to die!
He felt Elly moving around him.
His chest ached. His lungs felt ready to explode.
Had to breathe! Now!
Something pressed against his lips.
Oxygen!
He greedily sucked in the life-giving air.
Where was it coming…?
Elly. Somehow she was breathing for him.
How could she do that? And didn’t that mean he was stealing her breath?
He needed to stop or he’d kill
her!
In spite of the thought, his body refused to obey. He drew in breath after breath.
Hold your breath. Hang onto me.
Elly’s voice. In his head. Underwater.
How?
Then again, she was breathing for him. How was that possible?
He drew in a long breath, then pulled away. Her hands guided his until they were at her waist, then she swam, pulling him along.
How, he didn’t know. Logic said he was too heavy for her to move, yet it felt like they were swimming at a decent pace.
The air in his lungs started to deplete. The water’s chill seeped through his skin.
She stopped, gave him more breath, then continued on.
Funny that he wasn’t cold any longer. The bay waters weren’t that warm, yet he wasn’t freezing.
His air started to run out again and he was cold. Until she breathed more life into him.
The cycle continued for what felt like ages. Finally, she pulled them to the surface and placed his hands on the rungs of a ladder.
His head broke water and he gasped in fresh air like he hadn’t had any in years.
Several seconds passed before he climbed the ladder, collapsing on the weathered boards. A few old fishing boats were moored on either side of them, but he saw no sign of anyone on the boats.
The sun broke out of the clouds and beat down, the heat warming him even as the wind whipped his clothing.
Elly eased down beside him, wringing the water from her hair.
He pushed up on his elbows and looked at her. “You saved my life.”
Again. She just smiled.
“H–how did you do that?”
She stared at him for a few seconds, then turned her head and parted the hair behind her ear. Several flaps of skin blended with the hair around them so that he could barely see them.
He stared. The flaps moved as though breathing. “Are those… gills?”
“Not exactly.” She dropped her hand, the hair falling back over to hide the deformity. “But they are a gift from God that allows us to draw oxygen from the water. We all have them. We can breathe underwater for hours.”
Impossible. His body felt like stone. Had he really just seen a human being with a something resembling gills?
More than just seen it. He’d experienced it firsthand.
“God gave… you can filter oxygen from water?” He could hardly process it all. “And what, God also gave you telepathy? How… how did you talk to me? Underwater?”
Silent is the Grave Page 19
