by Rebecca Shea
“Tomorrow, I have to go into the office for a while. I don’t like leaving you here alone, but it’s more dangerous if I take you with me.”
“I hate that I’m an inconvenience to you,” I say, stabbing a piece of chicken breast with my fork. Sam’s cooking is delicious, but I seem to only be able to eat a little bit at a time because of my nausea.
“You’re not an inconvenience at all, Emilia. I wish we could locate Antonio and his men, then I wouldn’t be so concerned about leaving you alone—or taking you with me.” He sighs. Reaching behind him, he pulls another beer from the small outdoor refrigerator that’s built into the stone grill area. Twisting the cap, he takes a long pull from the glass bottle before setting it on the table.
“Are you close to finding him?” I ask, pushing the tossed salad around my plate. I set my fork down after suddenly losing my appetite. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end every time I speak about Antonio.
“Negative,” he responds and takes another sip of beer.
“If he finds me, Sam, he’ll kill me, won’t he?” Sam just stares at me. His refusal to respond tells me his answer. “He smiled at Alex before he pulled the trigger and shot him. I saw him smile. If he’d kill his own son, I know he’ll kill me…” My voice trails off as a new round of tears form in my eyes.
Sam rests his hand on the table and stares at me for a moment. A flash of concern rolls over his face. “I don’t know, but we have to assume he will. That’s why it’s important for you to stay here. Obviously, you’ll have to leave for doctor’s appointments, but we’ll figure that out—”
Is he joking? “So I’m basically a prisoner in your house?”
“You’re a guest. Not a prisoner, Em,” he says defensively.
Same thing, I think to myself. I take a bite of grilled asparagus and chew slowly. Wiping my mouth with the napkin, I push my plate away from me. “Well, if I can’t go out, can you arrange people to see me here?”
“Em, it’s best if nobody knows where you are.” Sam is tense and grips his fork tightly in his hand.
I sigh loudly, annoyed. I’m tired of arguing. It’s amazing to me how alike Sam and Alex are. No wonder they hate each other; there’s no negotiating with either of them. It’s their way or no way.
“Well, then,” I say, indignant. “I at least need to call Jax and Megan. I can’t just disappear from my job and not let them know why.”
His face is guarded. “What’re you going to tell them?”
“The truth.”
Sam sighs again. It’s our universal language of annoyance with each other. He sighs, I sigh, and then we both sit in silence until one of us finally admits defeat and speaks first. I poke at the grilled vegetables on my plate and Sam sits back in his chair, his fingers locked together behind his head.
“Okay,” he says, and I smile. I’ve won this battle. “You can call Jax and Megan tomorrow, but I’m going to stop by and talk to them as well. And Em, you cannot tell them where you are.”
“That’s fine.” I smirk at him and take a bite of chicken.
“Now eat. I want that plate empty,” he orders me as he tips his beer bottle back and finishes it.
“Sam, I have to schedule two doctor’s appointments—”
He cuts me off with a nod. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Go ahead and schedule them. Just let me know and I’ll take you.”
I cringe as I tell him, “I don’t have a primary care doctor or insurance.” I can’t even remember the last time I went to a doctor before I went to the hospital the other day.
“Don’t worry about insurance.” He waves me off. “I’ll leave you the name of my family doctor. You should be able to get in quickly for a follow-up for the concussion. For the other doctor, you’re going to have to look through the materials the doctor at the hospital gave you. I don’t have a recommendation there,” he says as he blushes.
The patio is getting dark, and Sam walks over and flips a switch. Suddenly, hundreds of little white twinkling lights light up the patio area. The lights are woven into the vines covering the pergola. Wow. If I thought it was beautiful in the morning, now it’s breathtaking.
“This was the one project I did myself after I bought this house. Everything else I contracted out. I had the house gutted and redone on the inside, but the outside is just as it was twenty years ago; just freshened up the paint and replaced the windows.”
“You knew what this house looked like back then?” I sip from my ice water.
He nods and stares fondly at the large tree in the middle of the backyard, lost in thought. “I do. This is the house I was raised in until I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle.”
What?
My heart stops. “This is where you and Alex lived?” I ask cautiously.
“It was.” His eyes are full of pain—regret.
“So this is where your mom was…” I shudder to say the rest.
He nods his head quickly, his face twisted in anger. “Yes, it was. Ridiculous as it sounds, though, it’s the one place I’m the most at peace. I lost everything when that happened. My mother, my brother, my father… and I should hate this place, but I don’t. I’ll admit, when I first bought it and everything was the same, it was hard. I hired an architect to redesign the inside. To make it mine but also my mother’s. She was so proud of this little house.” The emotion in Sam’s voice is so thick as he talks about this house and his mom, and I want him to keep talking.
“There used to be a little garden out in the back corner of the yard. She’d grow whatever she could keep alive over there.” He laughs, clearly lost in a memory. “It can be hard to grow anything here, but she could get some vegetables to grow. She insisted that corner to the right was the only place that would get the morning sun, but was shaded from the harsh afternoon sun. My mom made Alex and me dig and dig, and she mixed in more soil and fertilizer until she finally had a garden she was happy with. Alex and I just loved getting dirty.” He pauses.
“And that tree over there.” He points to a medium-sized tree to the left that looks like it’s been trimmed into a perfectly round ball. “That’s an orange tree. She planted that. She never got to see the oranges, though.” I turn back to look at him as he swallows hard. “And that tree right there,” he points to the giant tree with large limbs, “there used to be a tire swing that hung from that branch.” There is a large, sturdy branch that reaches out to the center of the yard. “My Uncle Tommy hung it for Alex and me.”
“Was it still there when you bought the house?” I don’t know why I’m compelled to ask, but I am. I wonder what Alex would think of Sam living here and if his memories would be as bittersweet.
“It was. There were a few things that were too painful to keep. I had the landscapers remove it. Besides, the thick rope was frayed and the tire was completely dried out and cracking.”
I envision what this backyard must’ve looked like twenty years ago. Simple yet family friendly.
“When I saw this house was for sale, I needed to buy it—for me. I guess it was closure,” he says, his voice cracking.
I let Sam have his moment with his memories. I can imagine how painful they are for him. Finally, I say softly, “I’m glad you bought this place too. Does Alex know you live here?” I ask and catch myself. “I mean, did he know?” Sadness fills my voice.
He shrugs. “Not sure. I’m pretty sure he kept tabs on me, but I’m not sure if he knew where I actually lived.”
“I wish he could’ve seen this place again,” I say, almost a whisper.
“Why?” Sam questions me.
“He talked about your mom and you… although he never mentioned you by your name, so I never knew he was talking about you.”
Sam puffs through his nose loudly. “What did he say?”
“He loved your mom’s baking. He talked about her cookie dough.”
A giant smile reaches across Sam’s face. “She made the best chocolate chip cookies. Alex would always eat the
dough, though, and there was only a little bit left to make cookies.”
Sam’s story is so similar to Alex’s, it’s almost as if I’m listening to Alex verbatim. I bite my lip hard as the sadness envelops me. “I wish you two could’ve made amends,” I admit somberly, hoping I don’t elicit an angry reaction from Sam.
He holds his gaze on me, looking like he wants to say something but shakes it off, and then I add, “I hate that your father was the wedge that drove you two apart.”
Sam’s face turns cold. “Antonio ruined a lot of lives, Em. Not just mine and Alex’s. I have to find him.”
“And I have no doubt you will.” I pray that he finds him and gets the closure he needs for himself, and the closure I need for Alex. Hate is an awful emotion and I’m sure I’ve never felt it before until I think of Antonio and everything he took from me.
AS I LAY in Sam’s bed, I reflect on all that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours. I sob quietly into a pillow in hopes of not waking Sam, but it’s in the middle of the night when I miss Alex the most and I’m unable to contain my emotions. Not being able to reach over and brush my fingers across his chest, or stretch my leg out and wrap it around his. It was the comfort of his presence that brought me peace—and the fact that I knew he’d do anything to keep me safe. I felt his love even when he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Now I press my eyes closed and push the memory of his touch, his smell, and his voice to the back of my head. I swallow down the lump in my throat and vow to my baby that I’ll be strong for him or her. It’s tonight that I make a decision that’ll ultimately change the course of my life forever—but I make the promise to Alex to take care of his baby, our baby. I promise to be the best mom in the world, despite my fears and my doubts. I promise to give my baby everything Alex ever wanted for himself—a normal life, free of the Estrada cartel.
IT’S BEFORE SIX in the morning when I leave the house. Emilia is sound asleep in my bed, and I scribble a quick note for her and leave it on the kitchen counter. I’m hoping she’ll sleep late like she did yesterday and I make it back here before she’s up.
Even though it’s less than fifteen minutes to my office, I’m not the first one here. Trey is already at his desk with a Styrofoam cup of piping hot black coffee from the break room. I don’t know how he stomachs it, though. The coffee here is shit.
“Hey, buddy,” he greets me as I toss my laptop bag on my desk.
Pulling out files and docking my computer, I grumble a short greeting back to him.
“How’s it going over there?”
Not really ready for conversation until I’ve had some caffeine, I spin in my office chair and offer to buy him coffee from Café Au Lait. Five minutes later, we’re walking through the still empty, early morning streets of downtown Phoenix. I’m briefing him on Alex, explaining that he’s turned down the offer until we can work something out for Emilia.
“They won’t go for it,” Trey hisses at me. “She’s not a concern to them.”
“I know. But we need them to take an interest in her or we lose Alex. Without his evidence and testimony, we’re fucked. Antonio is tight; you know that. The little we have won’t stand for much in court. There’s no way the prosecution will have a leg to stand on without Alex.”
“Shit,” he grumbles as he holds open the door to Café Au Lait for me.
Jax is behind the counter, filling the glass case with pastries from a large cardboard box, and I lower my voice to keep our conversation discreet. “We need a deal for Emilia or we lose him. He’ll walk. Especially once he finds out Emilia’s pregnant.”
Jax glances over to us but drops his head and continues stuffing pastries into the case.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Trey’s eyes are wide with shock, and I realize I haven’t told him about Emilia yet. “She’s pregnant? With Estrada’s kid?”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. “No, with Charlie Brown’s, you dumb fuck. Yes. With Alex’s.”
He chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “How are you feeling about that?”
I glare at him, shoving my disgust down. “Can we focus on the topic at hand? We need a deal for Emilia.”
He sighs. “I’m out of favors, man. Getting one for your brother was my last one, and let’s just say no one was happy about that deal. The DEA wants to prosecute Estrada’s ass—bad. The favors I had to call in will take me years to repay.” We lower our voices to just above a whisper as we move toward the counter.
“Morning, gentlemen. You’re here early. The usual?” Jax asks. He closes the pastry case and tosses the tongs in a small sink behind him.
“Early meeting today, but we need our java first,” Trey says, tossing a ten-dollar bill onto the counter.
I don’t stop him, even though it’s my turn to pay.
Jax pours our coffees and hands Trey his change, then glances at me. “Hey, Sam, think I could have a word for a minute… in private?” His eyes cut reluctantly between Trey and me.
Trey nods behind him. “I’ll grab a table. I have a quick call to make.”
Jax leans on the counter, both of his hands pressed to the light-colored stone top. “Hey, have you heard from Emilia? I haven’t and I’m worried. Word gets around, and—”
I cut him off, coming close so only he can hear. “She’s fine, Jax. I promise. It’s complicated and she wants to talk to you and Megan, but right now,” I pause, “there’s a lot going on. She feels terrible leaving you and Megan hanging, and she’s been asking about you both.”
Jax nods and twists his lips into a frown, so I add a little more for his peace of mind. “I promise, as soon as it’s safe, she’ll come by. Do me a favor, though, will ya? If anyone, and I mean anyone, comes by asking for her, let me know. Oh, and don’t tell them anything.”
“You got it,” he says, but I see the hesitation in his eyes. I offer him a small, reassuring smile when Jax leans in and whispers, “Just tell me she’s okay? I mean like, really okay. Not what you think I want to hear. I heard it was pretty bad—and bloody.” His face twists with disgust.
I give a firm nod, not wanting to divulge more than I have to. “I promise she’s okay, Jax.” I can visibly see him exhale and relax.
He nods, finally accepting my answer. “Thanks, Sam.”
“You got it, buddy. Thanks for the coffee.” I raise my cup in lieu of a wave, and Trey follows me out the door with a cellphone pressed to his ear, juggling his own cup of coffee.
We make it back to the office just in time for today’s status meeting. The good news is we’ve stopped all Estrada business operations. We’ve shut down all of Estrada’s known drug routes, confiscated shipments of guns, frozen bank accounts, and secured property and real estate. We’ve essentially crippled the business. The bad news is Antonio and his men are nowhere to be found. The compound in Mexico has been cleaned out and everyone seems to have vanished, leaving no clue as to where they could be.
I decide to pay another visit to Alex to see if he’ll give up any details as to where he thinks everyone is hiding, specifically Antonio.
“Hey, hold up.” Trey jogs up to me as I wait for an elevator. “You headed to see Estrada?”
“Affirmative.” Why? He usually leaves dealing with, or tailing, Alex up to me.
“Mind if I tag along? Maybe with two of us putting the pressure on him, he’ll cave and sign the—”
“Not happening,” I cut him off. “He won’t sign anything until Emilia is protected with a deal.”
“And what if we can’t do that?” He pushes his suit jacket back, propping his hands on his hips.
“We’re fucked,” I tell him bluntly. “It’s as easy as that, Hoffman. We. Are. Fucked.” Unease simmers just under the surface of my skin, and my patience is wearing thin with Alex, with this case, and with finding Antonio. I need Alex to accept this deal in return for his testimony and evidence. It’s the only way we’ll put Antonio away for life—if we can find the bastard.
AT THE HOS
PITAL, Trey and I both present our credentials in silence to the guard still positioned outside Alex’s room. With a stiff nod, he lets us in. Alex is sitting up in his bed, staring at the sterile grey wall in front of him. At the sight of us, his head turns slowly, his eyes narrowing on Trey with a look of disgust.
“What’s he doing here?” he barks, although his anger is directed at me.
Who cares? I’m not in the mood for his shit today. “Agent Hoffman and I are out on business, and I wanted to stop by to give you a few updates.” I look between Trey and Alex, both of them glaring at each other. I roll my neck, trying to relieve the tension I feel take over me every time I’m in Alex’s presence.
Alex’s face is now covered in short, dark stubble and his hair is messy. He looks more like an Afghani terrorist than the sleek mastermind of a criminal organization. His one good fist is balled at his side in a weak show of testosterone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to show some concern for his condition and not jump right into business.
“How does it look like I’m feeling?” His tone is sharp, bitter.
“You’d look better in the fucking morgue,” Trey spits out with a cocky smirk. “Quit playing games, Estrada. Are you going to sign the deal or not?”
Alex seethes, his breaths coming short and fast. The vein in his neck is throbbing as his balled up fist tightens to the point that his knuckles are white, and my own anger simmers just beneath my skin. We’re all on the edge of losing it, but I need to remain calm.
“We’ve been chasing your ass for four years, and quite frankly, I’m getting bored.” Trey props his hands on his hips again, intentionally exposing his gun holstered on his hip.
Alex rolls his eyes. “Get rid of this fucker before I do.”
I let out a long breath, again trying to defuse the situation, and shoot Trey a stern look that tells him to simmer the fuck down.
