by Unknown
Now other sirens filled the air, the long—awaited backup was finally arriving.
"You better give me that," Christina said, indicating Humberto's gun still in Munch's hand.
Munch handed it over, grip first.
Ellen poked her head out the front door of Munch's house. "I called the fire department and told them we were going to need some paramedics."
Asia pushed past Ellen and came running across the lawn. Munch had never seen her daughter's face look so pale or her eyes so wide. She wrapped her arms around Asia and turned the little girl's face from the carnage. "It's over now," she said. "We're going to be okay."
* * *
St. John arrived with the paramedics and badged his way inside the police cordon that Roger supervised. When he got to Munch and Asia, and realized that none of the blood was theirs, he hugged them in relief. His second reaction was to confront Roger.
"What kind of operation are you running here?" he demanded.
"And you are?" Roger asked.
St. John identified himself.
"This is the narc I told you about," Munch said. "He owes me an explanation and public apology."
Several other DEA agents in blue windbreakers arrived on the scene. They helped Humberto to his feet, treating him with care, and assisted him into the back of Christina's van. She told the other agents that she'd catch a ride with Roger.
"I'm waiting," Munch said.
Christina brushed dirt off her pants, pushed her long hair out of her face, and gave Roger a nod before she began. "Rico got a call from Delaguerra about a week and a half ago. Delaguerra wanted him to help smuggle some guns into the sheriff's lockup in Van Nuys. Several of Delaguerra's soldiers were in custody and looking at going away for a long time. Delaguerra needed help to break them out. Rico was in a spot. If he refused . . . well, let's just say Delaguerra was not a man who took no for an answer."
"Rico went along with the Santiago brothers," Roger said. "The plan was to raid the house where they kept the guns. Take 'em into custody before they hit the street. Rico would get busted along with them to maintain his cover. Then the brothers changed the plan at the last moment, moving up the timetable before we could get the team in place."
"Why didn't he just get out of there?" St. John asked. "Go out for cigarettes or something?"
"The brothers were already suspicious," Christina said. "Rico had run out of excuses. He was hoping some other opportunity would present itself on the way to the lockup. Remember, they had the names and addresses of all his family. We could protect some of them, but never all of them in time. That was Rico's choice."
"Save himself or save his family," Munch said.
"We don"t know what exactly happened at the meet," Roger said. "It was too dangerous for him to wear a wire. We heard shots and stormed the house. Rico was already dead and he'd taken out one of the brothers, but the other one was still alive."
"He drew down on our team," Christina said.
Of course he did, St. John thought, but he didn't condemn the agents for shooting the other brother. They had to make their story work. "We realized we needed to rescript the scenario or Rico would have sacrificed himself for nothing," Roger said.
"So you shot up his body?" Munch asked. "And said he'd been on the wrong side?"
"It was the only way we could protect all of you," Christina said.
"Not to mention your cover," Munch said.
"That's right," she admitted. "He died for me, too."
EPILOGUE:
Seven Months Later . . .
TIME WAS SUPPOSED TO HELP, AND IT HAD UP TO A POINT. Munch had some good days, but she also had some bad nights. Hour after hour, she would lie alone in her bed, praying for sleep.
There were other lingering effects.
There was a shiny rectangle of scar tissue on the small of Munch's back. The short-circuiting transmitter had charred her skin black. Fourth-degree burns, the doctors said. Munch didn't know there was such a thing. The doctors were surprised to learn that she had never lost consciousness from the pain. They said skin grafts were an option, but she didn't see the point. When she studied her naked back in the mirror, she didn't think it looked so bad. She suspected she was weird for thinking so, but she kind of dug having it.
She had to call Asia if she was going to be even five minutes late or the girl would work herself into a state. Angelica volunteered to baby-sit whenever Munch needed her, and sometimes came over even when Munch wasn't going out.
Munch told Angelica that she would be her stepmother. That Munch could be the person Angelica could always come to when she needed an adult to bounce something off. An adult who wasn't her mother. They didn't tell Sylvia about those conversations. It would only make the woman feel bad, and it wasn't about replacing her as a parent, as much as supplementing. Munch did the same for her nieces and the kids of friends from mostly the old days.
Angelica was keeping her grades up, but according to her teachers, she lacked association skills and tended to keep to herself. It was an Indian summer that year, the hottest days falling in early autumn. Following a spate of hundred-plus-degree days, Munch woke early on a Saturday morning mid-autumn. The windows were open, letting in the cooler night breeze. She grasped at the wisps of a dream, trying to decipher it, wondering if it was responsible for the sense of urgency she felt. In the dream, her house was sinking in quicksand as she clutched at the windowsills, trying to keep the building up. She had packed her bags to leave. When she tried to pull them through the open window, they alternately wouldn't fit or were too heavy to drag. Someone was trying to tell her something in the most urgent tones, but she was too busy.
Munch checked the clock by her bed. It was four-thirty, yet she was wide awake. At least she had slept a good five hours.
Jasper lifted a sleepy eyelid and regarded her groggily. His jowls hung crooked, one side still flattened by the pillow.
"We have something to do," she said. She went into Asia's room, woke her and told her to dress.
"What is it, Mom?"
"I know there's something we have to do today. I don't remember what." Asia pulled on her clothes without grumbling. Munch loaded them in the car. The dull yellow rays of streetlights broke through the night fog. Munch headed for the freeway, pulled by an impulse she didn't fully understand.
"Where are we going?" Asia asked.
"Looks like to Angelica. She needs to be a part of this."
Angelica was in front of her house when they pulled up. She had put on some much-needed pounds and looked younger. She didn't look surprised to see Munch as she got in the car.
They drove to the beach and parked next to a shuttered concession stand. The sign over the order window was cut and painted to resemble a rainbow.
"This is the place," Munch said.
"What are we supposed to do?" Asia asked.
"Let's walk out to the water. I have some questions." Munch picked up small rocks along the way and handed some of them to the girls. Jasper bounded in front of them, delighted to feel the sand and surf under his paws.
Munch threw one of the rocks at a breaking wave. "I hate feeling this way."
Asia looked at her in surprise.
"I hate it when people I love die." Munch threw another rock. "Why do you let that happen?"
Angelica stepped up next. "You said you'd take care of me forever, and now you're gone." She threw a rock, then two more. "You should have stayed out of my life. Now I miss you."
Asia tossed a rock half heartedly. "You shouldn't have taken drugs, not when you had a little baby."
Munch was surprised, and honest enough with herself to acknowledge that it hurt her feelings that Asia missed her birth parents. Angelica stepped up for another turn. "You'll never see me graduate, Daddy, or meet my husband, or—" She stopped talking as her tears overcame her voice.
Asia kicked at the water. She was also crying.
Munch let the girls express themselves. This was not the time for counse
ling or even comforting. They were here to air their wounds.
"You should have tried harder," Munch said, skimming a flat stone over the surface of a retreating wave. She wasn't talking to Rico now. She knew he had done his best to stay, but it had come to an awful choice, and he showed his love in a way no man from here on after could ever repeat. He'd sacrificed it all for the ones he loved. No, the hurt she was voicing was an old one. A pain she carried like some kind of badge.
The voice from her dream came back to her. She'd been hearing that spokesperson for years, but never quite identified who it was.
She had often woken and wondered at the familiarity of the voice and why she trusted it so completely.
"You're thirty years old," it had said. "It's time to drop this load. Forgive and release."
Munch looked down at Asia as the water swirled around their ankles, and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "It's going to be all right." She hugged Angelica to her with her free arm. "We're going to live and love and laugh."
A wave broke offshore and Munch could swear she saw a rainbow in its mist.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS IS THE PART WHEN I TRY VERY HARD NOT TO FORGET any of the fine people who helped me with the research and production of this novel.
Here goes:
LA Sheriff 's investigator Carl Carter answered many questions. So did my good friend Stephanie Monash. Thank you both for sharing your expertise.
DEA agent Rocky Herron, private investigator Becky Altringer, David Corbett, and sheriff's deputy Gary Bale were helpful with certain facts. My good friend Jerry Hooten gave me a great tutorial on listening devices and body wires, complete with pictures.
My wonderful critique groups; The Orange County Fictionaires; and John, Rachel, Tom, Grahame, and Sheila of our intimate Coachella Valley critique group. I treasure both groups' wisdom, companionship, and humor.
Thanks are also in order to my wonderful agent Sandra Dijkstra and staff; my publicists and friends Debbie Mitsch and Nanette Heiser of Martin and Mitsch; and my wonderful husband, Ron, who sticks with me through sick and sin.
