by Rebecca York
The minister pronounced Hunter and Kathryn man and wife, and Jessie saw the joy on the groom’s countenance as he faced his bride, his love for her shining out for all to see. Then his expression changed to a broad grin just before he lowered his lips to hers.
The spirited kiss drew clapping and lusty comments from the crowd, and when the groom finally lifted his head and looked around, Jessie had the feeling he’d forgotten that he and his new wife weren’t alone.
“I think I was a little too enthusiastic,” he whispered, his cheeks endearingly flushed.
His bride’s face was radiant as she smiled into his eyes. “It’s okay. We’re among friends.”
The observation drew a laugh from the audience, and Jessie found herself smiling, despite her own inner turmoil. Hunter had lived a lonely existence until he’d met Kathryn. But he’d been welcomed by the Light Street group, and now he was truly among friends who could make up for the childhood he’d missed.
As people began to head for the terrace where bars and buffet tables had been set up, Jessie hung back, letting the flow of the crowd pass by. The ceremony had made her feel happy for her friends, but now that people were getting into a party mood, she felt very much alone. She wasn’t sure she could get through lunch and socializing when she wanted to be with Miguel so badly that her throat was starting to ache with the effort to keep from crying.
As she was slipping away onto a brick side-path, Katie joined her.
“How’s everything?” Katie asked.
To Jessie’s utter mortification the simple question triggered a spasm of misery. The tears she’d been struggling to hold back began to slide down her cheeks. Quickly she stepped around a boxwood hedge so that no one could see her. Katie followed.
“Oh, honey.” Katie took a step forward and held out her arms. Jessie went into them, letting her head sink to her friend’s shoulder as Katie patted her back. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. But the words and the comforting gesture had a soothing effect as Jessie struggled to get herself under control. When Katie handed her a tissue, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“Want to tell me about it?” Katie murmured as she led Jessie to a stone bench enclosed on three sides by boxwoods.
Jessie sat down, giving herself some time to decide what she wanted to say.
Before she could speak, Katie answered her own question. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“How—how do you know?”
“I’m making an educated guess.”
Unable to meet her friend’s eye, Jessie nodded.
“You’ve been to a doctor? You’re okay?”
Jessie managed another nod. She’d had her first prenatal appointment, and everything was progressing normally—at least with regard to the pregnancy.
Katie waited a beat, then asked, “So what’s Miguel going to do about it?”
Jessie kicked at the brick below her right foot. “I don’t know.”
“My God, Jessie, you probably saved his life, and he’s treating you like this?”
“My getting pregnant wasn’t his fault.”
“An angel of the Lord visited you after he left?” Katie asked in an acerbic voice.
Jessie flushed. “No. I mean, he would have walked away without letting things go that far. I forced the issue.”
Katie’s lips quirked. “You’re saying you dragged him kicking and screaming to bed?”
“No,” she replied in a small voice, her color deepening again as she remembered how it had been that night.
“And now he doesn’t want to acknowledge his child?” her friend asked.
“He doesn’t know about the baby.”
“Why not?”
“Because he hasn’t called me! He hasn’t made any attempt to communicate,” Jessie flung at her friend, venting her hurt and grief on the only person available. She’d kept her feelings bottled up for so long that she felt like a dam bursting. More anguished words kept tumbling out. “I waited a couple of days and went to his apartment, but the place was empty. He’d moved out without letting me know he was leaving. And nobody will tell me where he’s gone. I guess I’ve got two choices. I can put an ad in the Baltimore Sun advising him that he’s going to be a father. Or I just go ahead with my life like he and I never made love,” she ended with a little gulp that held as much misery as bitterness.
Katie absorbed the verbal blows without comment, then reached to lay her hand gently on Jessie’s arm. “I know you’re hurting,” she said in a voice that made Jessie’s vision cloud again.
“But maybe you’re not, uh, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He and I had a chance to talk when I was examining him. There were things he wanted me to understand about his being at your house. He was worried about you—worried that your association with him would get you into trouble. From his point of view, he turned out to be right. You got harassed by the police, a couple of agents from the INS and that creep Georgie.”
“He’s in jail now.”
“Lucky for you.”
The quiet observation hung in the air between them.
“Let’s get back to Miguel,” Katie said, her voice taking on a pragmatic note. “He has a right to know that you’re carrying his child. If you don’t give him that information, then he doesn’t have a chance to respond.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Jessie nodded again.
“Tell him,” she urged. “Promise me you’ll do him that favor.”
“He might not think it’s a favor.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
“Okay,” Jessie managed in a small voice.
Katie squeezed her arm again. “Good.” She hesitated for a moment, then asked another question. “Are you in love with him?”
For weeks, Jessie had considered that the most important question in the world. Now she tried to answer honestly. “I don’t know whether I fell in love with him or with an image of him I made up. It would be easier to give you an honest answer if I could spend some more time with him.”
“I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No. You were a big help.”
“Then let’s get back to the reception before they send out a search party.”
“You go ahead,” Jessie murmured. “I need a few more minutes.”
CARLOS JURADO HAD always appreciated the finer things in life—and the simple pleasures, he thought with a selfsatisfied smile as he stood beside the Vulcan stove, the showpiece of his country kitchen. Soon he would have to leave this cozy estate and fade into the jungle, where he would emerge as another person. All the plans were in place—had been in place for almost a year. And by the time he was ready to make his move, the last little impediment would be out of the way.
But for now, he could still enjoy the luxury of his palatial hideaway. With the practiced gesture of a master chef, he hefted the weight of a cast-iron skillet in his hand. Cast iron was the only kind of pan for searing fish properly, he mused as he added a generous dollop of butter and watched it melt into a pool of golden yellow. Then he added shredded leeks, carrots, garlic, serrano peppers, salt, and pepper.
Humming under his breath, he adjusted the gas flame. He had a houseful of servants and an army of bodyguards on the grounds of his estate. But there was nothing like the epicurean pleasure of cooking a simple but delicious meal for himself. A man who didn’t stay in touch with his domestic side was missing a great deal of life, he mused.
When the vegetables had cooked down into a flavorful medley, he pushed them to the sides of the skillet and added a tender salmon fillet. He was going to enjoy it the way he’d had it in Madrid, seared on the outside and naturally pink in the middle.
“Sir?”
He deliberately waited several beats before looking up at Eduardo Sombra, one of his senior security men.
“I told you not to disturb me while I am in the kitchen,” he said in a deceptively mild voice as he reached to turn down the heat under
the salmon. His people had learned to fear that voice, and it gave him a glow of satisfaction to see the man cringe ever so slightly.
“You also asked to be informed if we had any more information on Miguel Valero. We have a dispatch from the States on him.”
The announcement made Carlos turn from the stove. “You’ve found him?”
“A man using the name ‘Miguel Diego’ was spotted in Baltimore a few weeks ago,” Sombra related with some satisfaction.
“A few weeks. And you’re just telling me now?”
Sombra coughed delicately. “Well, there was your change in staff.”
“Our new operative came highly recommended.”
“There was also some ambiguity about Valero. I wanted to be accurate before I came to you.”
Carlos waited with narrowed eyes.
“We have reason to believe that the individual in the report is Valero. He’s working with the poor in the Spanish-speaking section of the city—giving medical advice without a license.”
Carlos snorted. “He always had a soft spot for the lower classes.”
Sombra nodded. “The man’s size and build fit the description we have for Valero.”
“Does he look like Valero—yes or no?”
“Not exactly. That was part of the confusion.”
So the man was using a disguise. Apparently it had been effective. “Well, if he was spotted, what happened to him?” he snapped.
“He disappeared—went underground again. But I have a man on our payroll looking for him there.”
“What man?”
“Someone with excellent connections.” Sombra spread his hands as though offering a gift. “If anyone can find Valero, he can.”
The sudden sharp smell of burning fish reached Carlos’s nose. Swearing, he whirled and snatched the pan from the burner and slammed it onto the stovetop. His lunch was ruined. Valero had ruined his lunch. But at least there was progress. He was closing in on the only man who had the power to wreck his carefully constructed plans.
“I want him brought to me.”
“Brought here?” Sombra asked in surprise. “I thought you wanted him dead.”
“I do. But he has been on the run for a long time. He might have talked about me to someone. I want to eliminate any possibility of detection. Do you get my meaning?”
“Perfectly,” Sombra answered.
JESSIE PICKED HER moment carefully. In about a half hour, the evening staff would be taking over the rec center.
For the past week she’d been keeping track of Luis. He was often here in the late afternoon and still at the center when she left work. She had asked some careful questions about him and found out that he hung around to stay out of his stepfather’s way. The man was brutal with him—which made it remarkable that Luis had taken the risk of threatening her with a gun. But he’d done it for Miguel. Probably Miguel was like a substitute father to him.
Today she found Luis standing near the soda machine in the hall behind the gym. Casually, she put in sixty cents. After the can of Coke clattered into the slot at the bottom, she lifted the door and handed the boy the soft drink.
He looked at her questioningly.
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes,” she said, keeping her voice steady. He was just a kid, but an unpredictable kid. And he might hold the key to her future. So far, no one else would admit to knowing where she could find Miguel. Apparently there was an elaborate conspiracy of silence in the community concerning him. You wouldn’t think a whole neighborhood could keep the secret of his whereabouts, yet they seemed to be doing it. But perhaps she could get Luis to give her the information.
“About what?” he asked, edging away.
“Nothing bad,” she said quickly. “Why don’t you come down the hall to my office.”
He hesitated.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to stay casual.
Reluctantly, he followed her, clutching the Coke as if it were a shield.
“Am I in trouble? Did Papa Roberto complain about anything?” he asked, his face tense as she closed the door behind them and sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs so that the desk wouldn’t be between them.
She looked down into his worried brown eyes, trying to put as much reassurance as she could into her own expression. “No, it’s nothing to do with him. And you’re not in trouble. But why don’t you sit down so we can talk. I need a favor from you.”
He perched on the edge of the other chair, his sneakers on the floor, still looking like he might take off at any minute. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to Miguel.”
“He left town,” the boy replied without missing a beat.
Jessie felt her heart sink. Although she’d assumed the father of her child was still in the city, the answer made sense. Miguel’s run-in with Officer Waverly and the visit from the two INS agents were good reasons for him to have moved on. Yet, even as she considered the boy’s statement, she wondered if it wasn’t a cover. When he’d said it, Luis hadn’t looked her in the eye. Now he was staring fixedly at the Coke can in his hand and scuffing his foot against the tile floor.
“I know you’re very loyal to Miguel. I admire that very much,” she said softly. “But there’s something important I need to discuss with him—if it turns out he’s still in Baltimore.”
“What?” Luis asked.
She shook her head. “It’s something personal. Between him and me. Something that he needs to know.”
She tried not to twist her hands together as she waited for the ten-year-old to make a decision. She wanted to say something more—argue that he owed her his cooperation since he had started things by threatening her with a pistol. But she sensed that she wouldn’t help her case by leaning on him.
Finally he gave a quick nod, and she let out the breath she was holding.
“If I tell you where he lives, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”
“I promise not to reveal his whereabouts,” she answered very formally.
Still, the boy hesitated. “He won’t like you coming there. But he doesn’t have a phone. You can’t call him.”
She shrugged. “I’ll deal with that.”
“What if he’s mad at me?” Luis muttered, and Jessie had to clench her hands to keep from reaching out and shaking him. He had said he would give her the information. Now it looked like he was changing his mind. Still, she forced herself to answer calmly. “I won’t tell him. If he asks, I’ll make sure he understands that I put a lot of pressure on you.”
The boy nodded, though his eyes still reflected hesitation. “If you go there, you must be careful. You must be sure nobody is following you.”
“I will.”
“The bad man is looking for him. He has spies around here—asking questions.”
Jessie swallowed. Luis was being very cautious, but it was only to protect Miguel. “I promise. I’ll be very careful.”
“Okay. He’s on Juniper Street. Just before the block with the warehouses. You go around the back—like at his other place.”
Her brow wrinkled as she pictured the area. “Are you sure? I thought the houses down there were boarded up.”
“Sí. He’s in one of those, where the bad man won’t look for him—I hope.”
Jessie closed her eyes for a moment. She’d thought Miguel’s former apartment was pretty bad. Now Luis was telling her that he was staying somewhere worse—in an abandoned building. No wonder he didn’t want her to see him there.
“Which one?” she asked.
“It has blue paint on the bricks.” The boy’s eyes sought hers. “Remember, don’t let anyone see you poking around there.”
“Yes. I understand. Thank you for trusting me.”
Still clutching the Coke, he stood and started to leave the office, then stopped abruptly in the doorway.
When he glanced uncertainly back at her, she rose and followed him to the door. Outside in the anteroom, she was startled to discover Jim
Alvarez talking to Ramón Martinez, one of the INS agents who had come to her house looking for Miguel.
“Miss Douglas,” the agent said, glancing up, his gaze zeroing in on her face. He looked pleased to have caught her by surprise.
She made an attempt to compose her features as she gave him a curt nod, then bent toward Luis who was still standing rigidly in front of her. “Thanks for talking with me. Go on back to your basketball game.”
“Sí.” He gave her a relieved look as he made a wide circle around the men, then hurried down the hall toward the gym.
“Problems?” Jim asked.
“No. I thought he might know the name of a girl who talked to me on the street about some help.”
“What girl?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know her name.”
Jim looked as if he didn’t quite believe the explanation, and Jessie was instantly sorry she’d resorted to making up a story. Lying was so foreign to her. Yet she didn’t know whether she could trust either one of these men.
The agent was inspecting her with what appeared to be detached professional interest. “Have you seen that fellow who was staying with you—Miguel Diego?”
She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. “Did you come down here to ask me about him?”
“That’s one of my purposes.”
“Then I’m sorry you wasted a trip. I haven’t seen him.”
“You don’t want to get in trouble for harboring a fugitive,” the man observed.
The advice made her angry. What right did this guy have coming to the place where she worked asking questions about Miguel or making remarks about her personal life?
Still, she kept the ire in check. Maybe he’d hoped he could get her going, and that she’d say exactly the wrong thing.
Instead of rising to the bait, she gave him a tight nod. “You’re absolutely right,” she agreed icily. “I wouldn’t want to get in any kind of trouble.”
He held her gaze for several more seconds, as if he were an expert in hypnotism and he expected his beady eyes would force her to speak some vital information.
