Shattered Lullaby

by Rebecca York

  She didn’t like it, either. But for the time being, she knew he was right. “We have to find out what Jurado is up to—and have him arrested.”

  He laughed harshly. “That will be difficult If I set foot in San Marcos, I am the one who will be arrested—or killed. He made it look like I was responsible for the massacre at the clinic. I read the story he planted in the papers. It told how Dr. Valero got mixed up in the drug trade and ordered a cover-up.” He finished with a sound that was half curse, half snarl.

  Her hands tightened on his arms. “That’s crazy.”

  He shrugged. “He has great wealth. He can buy reporters as easily as he can buy a new face.”

  She struggled to keep her voice calm and reassuring, even as she wavered between optimism and despair. “Remember when I first brought you to my house, I told you that I had friends who could help? Well, it happens that one of them is a man named Jed Prentiss. He’s been to San Marcos. At one time, he trained troops for General Sanchez. Then he and my friend Marci had to escape from the general. Jed knows his way around your country—I mean, he knows the geography and the politics. And President Palmeriz owes him a favor. If you can’t go down there, he can.”

  Miguel stared at her as if he had trouble comprehending.

  “It’s true,” she whispered. “He can help get Jurado arrested.”

  The expression on his face made her chest tighten. He looked as if he was afraid to hope, yet he wanted to so badly.

  “Jed works for Randolph Security,” she continued. “And so do some of my other friends. They’ve pulled off some pretty tricky operations.”

  “They would help me?” he asked in a gritty voice.

  “Yes. The sooner I call them, the sooner we can get something going.” She started to climb out of bed, then remembered she was naked. Her dress was where Miguel had draped it over the railing at the edge of the bed. Slipping it on, she made a stop at the bathroom, then called Jed.

  “He’ll meet us tomorrow afternoon. At my house,” she said. “So we have a lot of time between now and then to make love.”

  His eyes glittered. “Do we?”

  “Yes. But your pregnant fiancée has to eat first. Did the guy who lent you this house leave any food?”

  Miguel laughed. “Tony’s refrigerator is kind of bare—except for beer. But one of the women from the neighborhood gave me a chicken casserole when I took care of her little boy.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “The women feed you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, you’ll have to tell them your wife is taking over the job.”

  “Yes. My wife,” he said with a thickness in his voice that made her forget about eating and reach for him.

  JED AND HUNTER BOTH came to Jessie’s house the next afternoon. She watched Miguel size them up, then, with a little encouragement, relate the same story that he’d told her. The men were more thorough about getting pertinent details than she had been.

  “It sounds as if Jurado is up to something big,” Jed agreed with Miguel’s assessment.

  Hunter silently nodded.

  “I, uh, had a friend of mine, Donna Russell, who works at the Organization of American Nations look him up,” Jessie interjected. “There wasn’t any hint of what he’s planning.”

  All eyes swung toward her. “You did not mention that before. When was it?” Miguel demanded in a sharp voice.

  “After Georgie. When you still wouldn’t tell me anything. I thought if I could find out something for myself, I could get you to tell me the rest.”

  Their eyes locked. “I would have appreciated knowing,” he said, his words clipped.

  “I didn’t learn anything significant,” she answered. “He’s a businessman who pushed his father out of the management of the family company. And he may be involved in the drug trade, according to a magazine published in Miami. ”

  “An excellent way for a man like him to invest his money,” Miguel observed with an edge in his voice.

  “I can go down there at the end of the week and start poking around,” Jed volunteered, and Jessie was grateful that he had stepped back into the conversation.

  Miguel looked uncomfortable. “Until I can get to my bank accounts, I don’t have the funds to pay for a trip like that.”

  “We’ve got discretionary money we can use.”

  When Miguel tried to protest, Jed shook his head. “There’s other stuff we should discuss. Like, for example, it complicates your situation, being in the country illegally. If the INS finds out where you are, they can send you back to San Marcos—where you’d be vulnerable to Jurado.”

  “Technically, I am not illegal,” Miguel said. “My mother was an American. So I am an American citizen.”

  “Thank God for that,” Jessie breathed.

  Miguel gave a little shake of his head. “The problem at the moment is that I can’t reveal my true name. And I can’t send to Santa Isabella for any of my records.”

  Still, Jessie felt a sense of relief. “Can you get a copy of Miguel’s birth certificate while you’re in San Marcos?” she asked Jed. “And other papers that would prove his identity, like his driving record or credentials from the medical society?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Good.”

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Do you have any proof that you operated on Jurado and changed his appearance?”

  “You do not believe me?”

  “Of course I do,” Hunter said evenly. “But I’m not the one you have to convince.”

  Miguel closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers wearily against the bridge of his nose. “I had proof at the clinic. Before-and-after pictures. I am sure that if he went to the trouble of killing everyone in sight, though, he would also have destroyed the photographs.”

  Jed nodded as his pen hovered over a blank page in the notebook he’d brought. “I’ll check, just in case. Give me the location of the clinic.”

  They went on to explore other options for proving Miguel’s claim, but nobody could come up with an easy answer. At the end of the meeting, Miguel thanked the men. When they had left, however, she found him staring at her with an expression that made her feel uncomfortable. “You should have told me about your friend,” he said.

  He didn’t have to clarify the observation. She knew that he was talking about Donna. “It didn’t seem important.”

  “It was important,” he disagreed, emphasizing every word carefully.

  “I meant, because I didn’t find out anything.”

  “Jurado has considerable resources. He may have an informant at the OAN. Or he may be watching for his name to come up in any unusual context. I told you, he had men looking for me in Washington, D.C.”

  Jessie’s bottom lip quivered. “You didn’t ask for the information. I did.”

  “How do you know this person—Donna Russell?”

  “She’s a friend from college. I told her one of my clients—a woman—might have been mixed up with Jurado in San Marcos.”

  He took in the explanation with narrowed eyes. “What if they trace the request back to you—and then to me?”

  She stared at him helplessly. “Isn’t that pretty farfetched?”

  “I’ve been through a lot on Jurado’s account. And I have come to expect the unexpected from him. You should have talked to me before doing anything that rash.”

  “You were the one who wouldn’t talk to me,” Jessie protested defensively. “I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t just sit around waiting for you to change your mind about trusting me. I had to do something.”

  He nodded tightly. “Have you done anything else that might compromise me?”

  Hurt welled up inside her. “Besides getting pregnant?” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t want him to see the tears clouding her vision. Stiffly, she turned and walked down the hall to her bedroom. He didn’t follow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jessie sat on the bed with her fist pressed against her mouth, her teeth di
gging into the side of her finger as she struggled for control, but she couldn’t keep tears from trickling down her cheeks. She had thought she and Miguel had come to an understanding. Now it seemed that understanding was just wishful thinking. Or were they simply living in two separate fantasy worlds?

  All at once she heard Miguel’s voice from down the hall. She thought he was speaking to her and hastily wiped her eyes. When she didn’t hear his footsteps outside the bedroom, she realized he was on the phone—and speaking too low for her to make out what he was saying.

  When all was silent again, she rolled onto her side, her hand cradling her child protectively through the fabric of her summer dress. She wanted to be strong for the baby. Instead, she felt fragile. Brittle.

  “Jessie?”

  Miguel’s voice made her stiffen. Hastily she pushed herself up and ran a hand through her hair. “Come in,” she called softly as she slid her feet to the floor.

  He filled the doorway, and she tangled her fingers in the bedspread, needing to hold on to something solid as she waited for him to step into the room. He did, but he didn’t come over to her. Questioningly, she raised her eyes to his.

  “I have to leave, Jessie.”

  “Not yet. We need to talk,” she managed, glad that she somehow kept her voice from cracking.

  His face contorted. “We cannot do it now. When I checked with Ernesto, I learned there is a woman who is very sick. I must go and find out what is wrong.”

  She wanted to beg him to stay so they wouldn’t part with this uncertainty between them, but she knew he took his obligations seriously. “When will I see you again?”

  “I cannot say, exactly. I will come at night, when it is safest. Later in the week. The best thing is not to keep a regular schedule, so no one will know where I will be next.”

  “Will you be at the house where you took me yesterday?”

  “Only for tonight. Then Tony will be coming home. I must move again. Probably to a place that isn’t quite so nice.”

  “Is there a phone number where I can reach you?”

  “The gas station where Bernardo works.” He gave her the number. “But do not use it unless it is very important. It is safer if I contact you,” he said wearily.

  She gave a little nod, not particularly liking the feeling of being caught in the middle of a spy movie. Yet she couldn’t suggest a better alternative to his carefully worked out arrangements. He was still in danger. Maybe she really had made things worse by her hasty call to Donna Russell.

  She swallowed painfully. “Miguel, I’m sorry about calling my friend at the OAN.”

  “You did what you had to do,” he answered in a gritty voice.

  She looked down at her hands. A few hours ago she had felt so comfortable with him. Now they were both on edge. Uncertain.

  “I didn’t consider there would be any consequences,” she whispered.

  “I’ve been living like this for a long time. It’s hard for you to get used to it.” He paused for a moment. “If I need to get a message to you, I will call Mrs. Stone—if you think she won’t mind.”

  “I’m sure that’s okay.”

  A knock at the back door of the house made them both jump.

  “See who it is,” he said brusquely, then followed her down the hall and waited while she cautiously pulled aside the curtains. Bernardo was outside.

  “He’ll be there in a minute,” she told him, then went back to Miguel. Swiftly she put her arms around him and clasped him tightly. His hands came up to cup her shoulders, but she felt the stiffness in his embrace. She wanted to beg him to stay, so they could feel easy with each other again.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  His words sounded mechanical. When he pulled away, she searched his eyes, not finding any comfort in their veiled depths.

  She couldn’t think of anything more to say, so she let him go, feeling a giant fist squeezing her heart. Tears welled in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back until he had gone to the door and slipped outside.

  EDUARDO SOMBRA STOOD in the hallway outside the closed study door, weighing his options. As the Americans liked to say, he had good news and bad news for Carlos Jurado. He had learned that it was profitable to make the most of good tidings. In the same way, he had observed that a messenger with bad news was likely to be shot. And he wasn’t using the expression simply as a figure of speech.

  On the other hand, there was also danger in withholding information—the danger of arousing Jurado’s fury if he found out. Sombra took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his perspiring brow. Then he schooled his features carefully before knocking deferentially on the door.

  “Enter.”

  “I have a communiqué from the States. Valero has made a mistake!” He saw the eager expression flash across Jurado’s face and hurried to explain. “We have positive proof that he is in Baltimore. He has been in hiding, never coming out during the day. Yesterday we had a report that he showed himself at a local recreation center.”

  “Why didn’t our agent grab him?” Carlos demanded, looking as if he wanted to personally do the job himself.

  “Unfortunately, there were too many witnesses in the building. Before our man could make other arrangements, Valero slipped away again.”

  Jurado cursed loudly. “He could be in San Francisco by now, for all you know.”

  “He isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Oh?”

  “We know from the incident yesterday that a woman named Senora Jessie Douglas is carrying his child.”

  A slow smile spread across Jurado’s face. “He’s been... imprudent.”

  Sombra laughed, relaxing several degrees.

  “Too bad for him that he’s an honorable man. He won’t leave her. Keeps her under constant surveillance. She will lead us to him. And then we can finish them both off.”

  He took a step back. “If you have no further need of me, then I will get back to my duties.”

  “Yes. Go.”

  Not until he had closed the door behind himself did Sombra breathe a sigh of relief. He had gotten through the interview in good shape. Now he had to consider what to do with the communiqué he had received from one of his informants in Washington. Out of the blue, an employee at the Organization of American Nations had done a search for information on Carlos Jurado. Was it a random event? Or was Miguel Valero getting ready to strike back?

  Either way, Jurado would see it as a failure of his intelligence team. But what if that didn’t matter? Eduardo asked himself. If he took some initiative on his own, the situation at the OAN could be nullified.

  He looked at his watch. Plenty of time to make a call to Baltimore.

  WITH A SMALL SOUND OF frustration, Jessie heaved her awkward body out of bed. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew that she had to eat. So she padded down the hall to the darkened kitchen to fix herself some dinner.

  On the way, she stopped in the living room, thinking that she should close the blinds and turn on some lights. But when she reached the window, she stopped. Across the street, moonlight gleamed off a parked car. As she watched, a match flared, presumably because the person inside had lit a cigarette.

  Her skin prickled as she wondered how long the watcher had been sitting there. Was he one of the men Miguel had asked to keep an eye on her? She hadn’t seen Bernardo or Ernesto smoke. But maybe they were being considerate of her condition when they’d been around her.

  Pulling the blind shut, she went to another window and stood so that she could look out without being observed. The moon had slipped behind a cloud, and all she could see of the interior of the car was the red glow at the end of the cigarette. Could it be one of Los Tigres? she wondered suddenly. They’d been warned to leave her alone. But what if some enterprising member of the gang had changed his mind and tracked her down?

  The number Miguel had given her was written on the pad next to the phone. She dialed it, and a man picked up. He told
her Bernardo would be back later—then hung up when she said she wanted to get in touch with Miguel.

  Jessie peeked out the window again. Now the car was gone. Craning her neck, she looked up and down the block but didn’t see the vehicle. She managed to convince herself she’d been getting all worked up about nothing. There was no reason to suppose the man in the car had been watching her. He could have come to visit a neighbor, found the person wasn’t home, and waited for a while. That explanation made as much sense as anything else.

  Her steps lighter, she returned to the kitchen and fixed a can of split-pea soup. Then she took a quick shower, checked the window one more time, and went to bed.

  At first she lay sleepless under the covers. But the events of the day had been too much, and finally her body gave in to exhaustion.

  Even in slumber, though, her mind wasn’t going to let her relax. Not long after she’d drifted into a restless slumber, she found herself caught in the grip of a nightmare.

  Strangely, she knew she was dreaming. And she knew that her subconscious was playing a continuation of the day’s anxieties, twisting them into a different form. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t help. She was powerless to wake herself up.

  In the dream, she was pregnant—more pregnant than in reality. Her enormous belly rode in front of her like a giant beach ball. Filled with dread, she looked around at an unreal landscape. She was in a warm and sunny place overflowing with lush greenery and bright flowers. Colorful birds hopped about and sang in the branches of the trees. She was walking barefoot up a flagstone path toward a charming white stucco building that should have been inviting, but her sense of unease increased with every step she took.

  She tried to hang back, yet her feet kept carrying her forward.

  The farther she traveled into the dream landscape, the more frightened she became. Something was wrong here—very wrong.