by Rebecca York
When she didn’t succumb to his mesmerizing stare, he gave her one last jolt of mental energy before turning back to Jim. “I have some other cases to check.”
The staff had had requests like this before, and they had always complied—at least on the surface. It was a matter of playing ball with the feds or risk losing the government funding for some of their programs. So Jessie wasn’t surprised when Jim led the way to the room where the files were kept.
As soon as the men were out of sight, Jessie ducked back into her office and flopped into her chair. She’d been in here pumping Luis for information right when Martinez had been in the building. What if he’d heard?
Panic rose at the thought. She forced it down, assuring herself that she was overreacting. Still, it was impossible to keep her hands from shaking as she straightened her desk.
She was heading for the ladies’ room, when Jim came out of the men’s.
He looked at her speculatively. “I didn’t know you, uh, were friends with that guy Diego.”
Jessie gave a little shrug.
“Martinez said he stayed at your house, that you’re lovers.”
She felt heat creep into her face. “That’s a pretty personal revelation.”
“He wants information about the guy.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Are you in a position to give it to him? Because if you are, it would earn us some brownie points.”
Jessie swallowed painfully. “I haven’t seen Diego in months,” she answered truthfully.
“Don’t make Martinez mad. He could cause a lot of trouble for us. With our clients. And with the government.”
“I understand,” she replied stiffly, then pushed her way into the ladies’ room so she wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. When she finally emerged, she was relieved to find that Jim wasn’t lurking in the hall. Quickly she left the building and headed for her car.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, she ached to turn right and drive directly to the block on Juniper Street where the boy had said she’d find Miguel. Instead she headed for a little restaurant in Fells Point where she sometimes went for lunch. Getting a table where she could watch the boats in the harbor, she ordered a Caesar salad with grilled shrimp.
Her raw nerves took away the taste of the food, and she sat there pushing romaine lettuce and shrimp around her plate as she imagined her reunion with Miguel. She wanted to tell him about the baby. But maybe she wouldn’t tell him unless he seemed glad to see her. What if she revealed that she was pregnant, and he came back to her out of guilt? That would be worse than nothing.
Silently she clenched her fist under the table and blinked back the tears in her eyes as she vowed she wouldn’t ask him for anything. She wouldn’t put any pressure on him or turn this into a confrontation, or act needy. She would do no more than give him the information.
Still, her throat was so dry she could hardly swallow as she drove toward his hideout. To make sure she wasn’t being followed, she kept glancing in her rearview mirror. As she made a right turn onto Juniper, she saw a kid in an orange-and-black jacket. One of Los Tigres!
Her hands gripped the wheel. She hadn’t even been thinking about the gang. Since Georgie’s arrest, everything had been quiet on that front. But she’d also been careful not to venture into the barrio alone. Thankful that she was driving her own car instead of the van, she reached into the glove compartment, pulled out the floppy sun hat she wore to protect her fair skin and jammed it down onto her head.
She made a run past the row of boarded-up houses, peering at them through the side window, finding the one with the blotchy blue paint on the bricks. It was the fifth from the right and had plywood nailed across the front door and the windows. Somebody had spray-painted obscene messages on the wood and on the brick walls.
Lord, what a place to live. Was Luis right—or was he deliberately misleading her to get off the hook?
Well, there was only one way to find out. After parking around the corner on a street where the dwellings were still occupied, she sat in the car for ten minutes, watching for any further sign of gang members. When none appeared, she quickly made her way around the corner to the row of houses. Unlike the place where Miguel had been living before, there was no convenient passageway between the buildings. So she walked to the end of the block, then up the alley behind.
Glad that she’d worn low-heeled shoes, she picked her way gingerly along the broken pavement, her eyes darting from side to side as she scanned the deserted landscape. The fifth house had a back fence made of wooden boards that looked like they might blow away in a strong wind and a gate hanging drunkenly from one hinge. Slipping through the opening, she found herself in a yard filled with refuse. Old tires, cereal boxes, discarded clothing and other trash were mounded in piles, making the place look like an outpost of the city dump. Great camouflage for a hideout—if Miguel was really living here.
Under more ideal circumstances, she would have stationed herself just inside the fence and called out his name. She knew, though, that it would be a mistake to alert anyone else to her presence, so she began to make her way cautiously across the area, heading for a stairwell that was similar to the one outside his former apartment
The evening was warm, the air humid. As she picked her way across the mess, she felt sweat collect at the base of her neck and trickle down her back. Wishing she had a stick to poke through the litter, she skirted a pile of ashes that might have been the remains of a vagrant’s cooking fire.
Then, reaching a clear area in the middle of the yard, she climbed over a low concrete wall and started across a stretch of flat ground. After a few steps, she realized that the dirt hid a layer of old wooden boards. They creaked under her, and she caught the smell of dampness wafting up from below.
Better go back, she thought, stopping short. This thing wasn’t safe. But as she took a tentative step to reverse her course, the surface below her feet gave way with a sickening crack. In the next moment, she felt herself plunging through a thin veneer of earth into a dark, yawning cavern below.
Chapter Nine
A scream welled in Jessie’s throat, even as her arms flailed. In the grip of panic, she tried desperately to stop her fall. When her hand hit the concrete rim, she automatically closed her fingers and clung. But with her body already tumbling through the air, she couldn’t hold herself up with only one hand.
All she could do was break her fall. Her fingers tore loose from the concrete, scraping her skin, making her scream again as she slipped downward into a dank, darkened pit that had been concealed by the boards.
Seconds later, she landed on an uneven dirt surface, barely managing to stay on her feet. She flung out her arms to steady herself against the curved wall as she struggled to collect her wits. When she could think clearly again, she took stock of the situation. Her hand was scraped, but she hadn’t fallen far. Moving her arms and legs, she decided nothing was broken.
But she couldn’t stop a surge of maternal fear from shivering through her. Her hand was trembling as she brought it to the barely rounded swell of her abdomen. There was nothing she could really tell by feeling the contours of her tummy, but she considered it a good sign that she wasn’t experiencing any cramping.
You’re lucky, she thought, then castigated herself for putting her baby in jeopardy. Craning her neck, she peered up at the broken boards above her. They’d been covering this...this... She didn’t know what to call it. It was too wide for a well and not nearly deep enough. And it was too crude to be one of those bomb shelters that people had dug in their backyards in the early sixties.
But it was definitely man-made—and, unfortunately, too deep for her to climb out of. Cautiously she began to explore her prison. The walls were cement. Too bad there were no convenient handholds.
Lord, now what?
She had vowed not to call out to Miguel. Now she had no choice. She tried his name in a raspy voice that she could barely hear over the pounding pul
se in her ears, and then louder: “Miguel!”
The sound reverberated around her, and she realized with a shudder that she should have stuck with her original resolve. Shouting from down here was dangerous. What if one of Los Tigres heard her?
The thought of the gang members cornering her here brought a wave of nausea roiling through her. Georgie might be in jail, but his friends wouldn’t let an opportunity like this pass.
That scenario was terrifying. Others weren’t much better. Like, what if someone had heard her and called the police—and that led to Miguel’s hiding place being discovered?
Tears of fear and frustration welled in her eyes, and she sank to the ground, her arms hugged tightly across her middle. Nobody but Luis would know where to look for her when she turned up missing. What if he didn’t tell anyone because he was afraid of getting into trouble?
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there. Finally she realized that the daylight above her was starting to fade. If she didn’t want to stay here all night, she had to find a way to get out.
MIGUEL AWOKE COVERED with perspiration. He had been dreaming again. Another nightmare. Only this time, Jessie had been there. At the clinic. He’d heard her scream, then call his name, and her voice had jarred him from sleep.
He swiped a hand across his face, then lay very still in the darkened room, listening. The only sound was the drip of water from the old faucet that wouldn’t turn off.
He’d been in this place for two weeks. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But Bernardo Contrares had told him he and his friends would find him another dwelling soon. Something better.
He had saved the life of Bernardo’s wife by diagnosing her bacterial endocarditis. And Bernardo had been grateful, like so many of the other people in this little community who lacked the money for proper medical care.
So Dr. Miguel wasn’t cleaning offices anymore; he was taking care of patients. It might not be legal, but it gave him a great deal of satisfaction. He had bonded with these people, and they were an important part of his decision to stop running from Jurado. He’d decided that if he wasn’t safe here, he wasn’t safe anywhere.
A gun rested beside him on the sheet. He tucked it under the pillow and lay in bed for a while longer, thinking of Jessie, missing her, wondering what she was doing. He spent a lot of his free time that way. Sometimes he pictured himself phoning her. Or knocking on her door. The closest he’d come was standing in the shadows of the garage across from her Light Street office—where he could watch her arrive and leave. Otherwise, he’d stuck to the promise he had made to himself; he wouldn’t put her in danger again because of his own needs.
Heaving himself out of bed, he stretched the kinks out of his muscles and went into the bathroom. The sink had a working tap, but he had to flush the toilet by filling a bucket of water and pouring it into the bowl.
After shaving with cold water, he stripped and stood in the shower, grimacing as he washed with another bucket of water. Maybe he’d ask to take a hot shower somewhere later, he thought. And maybe one of the families would offer him a meal.
JESSIE SWIPED A DAMP lock of hair away from her face, then began to search over the ground, looking for something—anything—useful. The best thing she found was a three-foot-long piece of board that had tumbled down with her. Perhaps she could use it as a shovel. If she could pile up enough dirt, maybe she’d raise the ground level enough to be able to jump up and reach the top.
Plunging the board into the ground, she came up with a couple of cupfuls of soil. The wood rubbed against the scraped skin of her hand, making her wince, but she kept working, building a hill at the side of the shaft nearest the fence.
It was growing dark when a sound from above made her go rigid. Footsteps—moving toward the top of the pit. The steps stopped, and she breathed in a little sigh. Nerves. It was just her nerves. Tight-jawed, she dug the board into the ground and loosened another couple of inches of dirt.
The steps came again. Nearer.
“Who’s there?” a harsh voice demanded.
She didn’t move, didn’t speak, praying that the darkness would hide her—until the beam of a strong flashlight angled downward, hitting her squarely in the eyes. With a gasp, she threw one arm across her face.
“Jessie?” The voice above her had changed from sharp to incredulous, and now she knew who was there.
“Miguel! Thank God, Miguel!” she cried out, stretching her arms upward toward him, even as she closed her eyes against the brightness of the light.
“Jessie. What are you doing down there?” he demanded, moving the beam away from her face.
“I fell through the rotten boards up there,” she managed, her breath catching.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently.
“Yes. I think so.”
“Thank God.”
“Wh-where am I?” she asked. “What is this place?”
“It is an old cistern—where they used to collect rainwater.”
He set the light on the concrete rim so that it shone partially on the ground above and partially into the pit—but out of her eyes. Then he began to pull at the remaining boards, wrenching them apart and flinging them out of the way before throwing a leg over the side of the concrete and jumping down. With a cry of joy, Jessie threw aside the board she was still clutching and launched herself into his arms. He took the impact of her body and pulled her close so that she melted against him.
Until that moment, she hadn’t let herself admit how much she had missed his embrace, missed the strength of his arms around her, the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of his skin. Closing her eyes, she simply clung to him, letting his presence wipe away her terror—and all the long lonely nights when she hadn’t been sure if she would ever see him again. She felt his lips skim her hair, the side of her face as she tightened her grip around his waist
“Thank you for finding me,” she breathed. “But—but how are we going to get out of here?”
“We can worry about that in a minute.” He held on to her as if he would never let her go again, then continued in a choked voice, “I came outside to go to work and heard someone down here. I didn’t know it was you.”
She nodded against his chest, too overwhelmed with relief and joy to say more. She was hardly aware that they were standing in a hole in the ground. As long as she could hold on to him, she knew everything was going to be all right.
He didn’t kiss her. And she wanted that, too—so much. To feel his lips move against hers. To taste him. She was tipping her face toward his when his voice turned stern, bringing her back to reality. “This place is dangerous. You should not have come here.”
She looked away, remembering where they were and how she had gotten herself into this mess. “I came to see you.”
“Are you sure you are all right?” he demanded, his hands moving over her back and shoulders, then more carefully over her arms. He knelt and probed her ankles. “Nothing hurts?”
She held up her hand. “I scraped myself when I tried to grab the concrete.”
She heard him swear under his breath. Taking her hand, he turned the palm up and moved it into the light. Then he brought the injury to his lips for a quick kiss. “It hurts. But it’s not serious. You should put some antiseptic on it.”
“I know.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“About an hour. Maybe a little longer.”
He turned toward the pile of dirt she’d accumulated. “What were you doing?”
“Trying to make a place to stand where I can reach the top.”
She saw him inspect her work, then shake his head. “I’ll get you out of here.”
Moving away from her, he flexed his knees and jumped, his hands catching the ledge above them so that he could pull himself over the side and onto solid ground.
She stared up at him, awed by the athletic performance. Apparently he’d gotten his health back after the bout of malaria. “I’m afraid I’m not qu
ite that strong,” she told him.
“You don’t have to be. I’ll be back as soon as I can with a ladder or a rope or something. Wait there.”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked with a shaky laugh.
He made a low sound, then turned and trotted off.
She leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest, paying attention to her body. Maybe she shouldn’t have done all that frantic digging, she thought with a little shiver of worry. Yet she seemed to be okay, and she’d been keeping herself in good shape—doing exercises recommended for pregnancy a couple of times a week. After she told Miguel about the baby, he could make sure that everything was all right.
He was gone for a long time. When she finally saw light at the top of the pit, she turned her face upward expectantly.
“Did you find a ladder?”
“No.” He sounded exasperated. “I’m going to try something else.” Leaning over, he adjusted the flashlight, then motioned her to stand back.
She followed orders, and he gently tossed a wooden crate down onto the dirt. As soon as it landed, he rejoined her, then stepped on top of the box. Flexing his knees he tested the surface before bracing his back against the wall.
“I’ll lift you up so you can pull yourself out,” he said, beckoning her to join him on the box.
Snatching up her purse from where she’d dropped it on the ground, she slung it across her back. Miguel reached for her, boosting her to his level so that they were standing on the box—face—to—face, the position both awkward and intimate.
She heard him swallow.
“Miguel?”
“Querida.” His hand flattened against her back, pressing her breasts tightly to his chest. Her breath caught So did his.
She waited for his lips to capture hers. Instead, he turned his head to the side. “I must get you out of here,” he said thickly. “While I can still remember what I am supposed to be doing.”
“Okay,” she managed, reminding herself why they were standing like this.
“I am going to lift you—now,” he said, moving his hands to her waist and thrusting upward. But he hadn’t counted on her dress sliding up as he lifted her, halting her progress. She stopped several feet short of her goal, breathing hard.
