“I wanted to show you the postcard, but I don’t think Marco would want you to keep it lying around.” He’d want to protect his mother. If the police ever stopped by to ask about him, Maria could truthfully tell them she hadn’t heard from her son. Feenie hoped it would never come to that, but a feeling of dread had been building inside her.
Maria passed the postcard back to Feenie. “You keep it. Marco sent it to you.”
Feenie tucked it into her purse, deciding to get rid of it before she got home.
Kaitlin was watching Feenie now with solemn eyes.
“Do you like to swim?” she asked the girl.
Kaitlin nodded. The dog nestled its head in her lap.
“Maybe you can come over sometime. I have a pool in my backyard. I love going in it, but it’s more fun with two.”
Kaitlin looked at her grandmother, who nodded slightly. “Okay,” she said.
Feenie stood up. Her gaze landed on the mantel above the faux fireplace, where dozens of photographs had been arranged.
Maria smiled. “Mis hijos,” she said, nodding toward the pictures.
Feenie stepped to the mantel and examined the photographs. She counted five different faces, all bearing the same family resemblance. In one picture, Marco stood next to a slender brunette in a police uniform, his arm hooked playfully around her neck. She held up a shiny badge.
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Yes, very,” Feenie said.
“Kaitlin looks like her.” Maria smiled over at her granddaughter, who didn’t look up from her show.
“Well…I need to be going.”
“Thank you for coming,” Maria said, walking her to the door.
Feenie smiled and stepped out. “No problem. And I mean it about Kaitlin. She’s welcome anytime.”
The next morning, Feenie sped down Main Street, running a succession of yellow lights. She didn’t want to be late for her first monthly editorial session as a full-time reporter, but it appeared unavoidable. The meeting started in two minutes.
“Shoot,” she said, screeching to a halt at a red. She might have run that, too, had it not been for the trio of pedestrians on the corner. As they crossed the intersection, she took a moment to put on some lipstick.
A truck in the rearview mirror caught her eye. She whipped her head around and stared at the black Silverado parked a block away from Rosie’s. He was back? Her stomach clenched, just as a chorus of horns sounded behind her.
She swerved into the left-turn lane, made an illegal U-turn, and doubled back. She slowed as she passed the truck. The toolbox and dust-coated running board looked right. She checked the license plate. It was him.
She circled the block and pulled into the Gazette parking lot. Her worry about the meeting had disappeared.
How long had he been back? Why hadn’t he called?
She’d spent weeks telling herself he hadn’t called because he was too busy, or trying to keep a low profile, or maybe he was in a place without cell-phone reception. Now he was right here in Mayfield, and he still hadn’t called? She checked her cell phone. No messages.
She tried to ignore the ache in her chest as she went into the office. She managed to put in a solid day typing up stories on her computer and casting furtive glances at her desk phone, but it didn’t ring. When she exited the building late that afternoon, the ache returned.
She went about her normal routine, running errands, making dinner, stopping by the gym for an hour to work out. As she went through her fitness routine, she kept her eye on the doorway, half expecting Marco to stroll in. He didn’t.
Two more miserable days ticked by, and as Feenie left the office Friday evening, she decided to hell with it.
She called him and was bumped straight to voice mail.
He didn’t want to talk to her. Whatever she’d thought they had going between them had been in her imagination. It took some mental acrobatics for her to arrive at that conclusion, but she did. He didn’t feel anything for her; she’d simply misread the signals. They’d had one date and sex about a dozen times. It didn’t make them engaged. Everything had been casual, no strings.
Or even worse, nothing had been casual. Everything between them had been carefully orchestrated. It had been about her feeding him information, and now that she had no more to offer, he was finished with her.
Feenie’s phone buzzed just as she started her car, and she hurried to answer it. He’d seen her call come in, and he was calling her back.
“Hello?”
“You have to come over, Feenie.” It was Cecelia, and her voice was wobbling.
“Is Robert back? What’s going on?”
She heard a shaky breath on the other end. “The FBI just left. They spent half the day here executing a search warrant. I swear, Feenie, I think I’m gonna lose it.”
“Just sit tight, Celie. I’ll be right there.”
As she raced across town, she tried to put Marco out of her mind. She couldn’t let her world revolve around a man who didn’t want her. Her best friend’s life was falling apart, and she had to be there to support her. And then there was Feenie’s father, who Was facing another grim anniversary all alone in Port Aransas. She kept meaning to call him and set up a visit.
She had people who needed her, even if Marco didn’t.
After a tearful sleepover at Cecelia’s, Feenie returned to her house feeling emotionally beat and more than a little hungover. No one had heard from Robert in weeks. Federal agents had reason to believe he’d left the country, and he was now considered an international fugitive. Feenie had stayed up most of the night talking to Celie about her problems, but they hadn’t solved a one of them.
Back in her own kitchen now, Feenie made a strong pot of coffee and a list of chores to fill her Saturday. She’d start by calling her dad. Then she needed to get a haircut and stop by the grocery. Her weekend was shaping up. After a few sips of coffee, she felt positively positive. Really.
And then she fetched the paper.
The wire story at the bottom of the front page made her choke:
Police Unearth Body of Slain Officer
Mexican authorities in Punto Dorado uncovered the body of a missing San Antonio woman this week, solving a two-year mystery. The remains, which were found inside a garbage bag, were identified through dental records as those of Paloma Juarez, a Mayfield native. The twenty-eight-year-old police detective was reported missing by family members two years ago. A second set of human remains found in a second garbage bag buried nearby is still being identified.
Feenie read on. According to sources inside the SAPD, the break in the case was an anonymous tip received late Wednesday. The tip prompted a team of forensic specialists from both sides of the border to focus on a particular patch of land near an abandoned fruit-canning plant just outside Punto Dorado. Investigators had not yet determined the cause of death and were still combing the area—
The phone shrilled. Feenie snatched it up.
“Hello?”
“Have you seen the paper?” It was McAllister.
“I’m reading it. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t know about it. It came over the wire last night just before press run. The night editor dropped it in.”
She skimmed the rest of the story. Following an autopsy, the body would be released to the family for burial. The San Antonio police were planning a memorial service next week.
The story didn’t mention the undercover FBI agent who’d gone missing with Paloma, but Feenie suspected the other remains would be identified as his.
The article also didn’t mention Josh.
“Feenie? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I said, do you want the interview?”
“What?”
“Because of the local angle, Grimes wants a story about the family. I’m on my way over there now to do the death knock. You want to come?”
“No.” The mere idea made her cringe. It was too personal. “Leave
me out of this one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I hear it’s a circus over there already. The TV guys have it. If the family clams up, will you put in a call for me?”
She hesitated a moment, her journalistic instincts warring with her sense of decency.
“I’d really like to get some time with the girl.”
“She’s only six, for God’s sake! Leave her alone!”
McAllister paused. “Okay, but if they stonewall me, I’m coming to you.”
“Fine. Just stay away from Kaitlin.”
Feenie glided through the water. A full hour at Chico’s had failed to cure her frustration, so she’d hoped a dip in the pool would help.
It hadn’t. Her nerves were frayed. She’d spent all week at the Gazette trying not to get involved in the Paloma Juarez story, but she couldn’t get away from it. Reporters had staked out Maria’s house, all hoping for emotional sound bites or a glimpse of Kaitlin. For several days, all media outlets had carried the tragic tale of the murdered policewoman. Then, just when interest began to fade, it was revealed that her grave had been discovered on land owned by a Mexican corporation with ties to prominent local attorney Bert Garland. The storm of coverage became a full-fledged hurricane. Local TV stations had carried little else in the way of news for days. Feenie felt sick about what the Juarez family must be going through, but what could she do? She couldn’t put a muzzle on every media organization in South Texas. The family would just have to wait it out. In the meantime, Feenie felt ashamed to be a reporter.
She hitched herself onto the side of the pool and blew out a breath. She’d been fretting for hours, but she still hadn’t decided whether to attend Paloma’s funeral the next day. She wanted to show her support for the Juarez family, but she didn’t know what to say to Marco. He still hadn’t called. And what if he misread her intentions and thought she was there to take part in the media feeding frenzy? She could just see his look of contempt if she approached Kaitlin. He’d hate her.
“Hi.”
She jerked her head around. Marco stood on her patio, his hands shoved into the pockets of his familiar leather jacket. In the near-darkness, she couldn’t read his expression. Not that light would have helped. He was amazingly talented at hiding his emotions.
She got to her feet. “Hi. What are you doing here?”
He stepped toward her. She had the urge to throw her arms around him, but it was accompanied by an equally strong urge to slap him.
“I needed to see you,” he said.
Her breath rushed out. What was that supposed to mean? He’d been in town at least two weeks without calling.
He stepped closer, until he was just inches away. Stubble covered his jaw, and his jacket smelled smoky, as if he’d been in a bar. She recognized the look in his eyes, and her pulse picked up.
“Marco—”
He kissed her, and whatever she’d been about to say flew out of her mind. He tasted like bourbon, and he felt different. Rough. There was meanness in the kiss. Finally, he let her go.
“How was your trip?” she asked.
“I got what I needed.”
She stepped back from him. So he’d done it. He’d killed a man in cold blood. She understood his motive, but what she didn’t understand was how he’d gone through with it. He’d spend the rest of his life hiding from it. And what if what he’d done caught up to him? Whatever future they might have together would always be in jeopardy. He was so selfish, she wanted to scream.
She stalked to the back door. He caught up to her and slapped a hand on it before she could turn the knob.
“I said I need to see you.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t need to see you.”
“Yes, you do.” He yanked her to him. He felt hard, and his breath smelled sweet.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“So?”
“So I can’t talk to you right now.” She tried to wrench her arm away, but he tightened his grip.
“What’s to talk about? I said I need to see you. Now.”
He pulled her closer. The light from the kitchen fell over his face, and she got a clear look at his eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol, but for the first time, she could see what it was he couldn’t say. He was hurting. Needy.
She looked down. “Marco, this isn’t a good idea.”
He dropped her arm. “Do it anyway.”
Of course. Easy for him to say. Anger flared inside her as she thought of all the ways he’d hurt her, all the nights she’d gone to bed worried he could be dead somewhere. She loved him, and all he wanted from her was sex. And he probably only wanted that because he was too drunk to remember to stay away from her.
She stepped back and turned to leave. Again, he grabbed her arm. And something in her just broke.
“Don’t touch me!” She whirled around and punched him in the chest, hard, with the side of her fist. It felt amazingly good, and she hit him again, this time with both fists. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?”
He wrestled her hands to her sides and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly she couldn’t hit anymore, so tightly she could hardly even breathe. She was trapped there, against his chest, as she struggled to keep the tears from coming.
Finally, he loosened his grip a little. She took a ragged breath, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her. Hard. And she could taste the anger on his tongue.
Or maybe it was her anger. She kissed him furiously, nipping his mouth and clawing at the buttons of his shirt. She heard him fumbling with the doorknob and felt a cool drift of air as the door swung open. She stumbled backward over the threshold, dragging him with her.
Later, she lay beside him, watching him sleep. Her gaze skimmed over the tousled hair, the two-day beard, the hard planes of his chest. He looked drained, exhausted. If she had to guess, this was the first sound sleep he’d had in weeks.
She propped herself on her elbow and peered into his face.
“Marco?”
In the moonlight, he looked harmless. It didn’t fit his personality, but there it was. He was so full of contradictions, it drove her crazy. Enraged one minute, calm the next. One second laughing, deadly serious moments later. How was she supposed to read a man like that? A long-term relationship with him would drive her nuts. She’d never know where she stood, especially since he wasn’t big on talking. But she could get around all that, if only he’d let her in.
She needed to know what had happened. The details would be appalling, but still she had to know.
“Marco?”
The steady rise and fall of his chest told her he was fast asleep.
“I love you,” she whispered. “You can tell me about it later.” She rolled onto her back and tried to sleep.
Chapter
23
Juarez had imagined the day a thousand times, but somehow it had always been raining.
No chance of that today. Ninety-eight degrees and sunny, ninety percent humidity. An insane day for a black suit, but his mother had insisted. Thinking of the hell he’d been through to make this day happen, dragging his only suit out of hiding was a minor inconvenience.
Still, it was hot. And his head was throbbing from way too much Jack Daniel’s the night before.
Juarez slipped off his jacket and draped it over his arm. He’d wear it for the mass. If he put it on now, he’d be drenched by the time the service started.
Cars filed into the parking lot, snaking between giant potholes. Juarez tugged at the knot of his tie and watched Ricky approach the church. His brother wore his Army dress uniform like a second skin. Even without it, his ramrod-straight posture and close-cropped hair would have tagged him as military. Not a wrinkle in sight, and the creases in his pants looked sharp enough to cut butter.
“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” Juarez asked.
Ricky shrugged and propped a gleaming dress shoe on the curb. “I’m used to it,” he said.
Juarez felt a shot of jealousy. He’d been used to it, too, once upon a time. The starched shirts. The spit-and-polish. Sometimes he missed being a cop. He’d loved the job, but he could never go back. Especially now.
“I thought Mom was riding with you,” Juarez said.
“Tony’s bringing her. He has tinted windows. He thought it’d be better with the media and all.”
Juarez scowled at the line of cameras staked out near the church entrance. Having seen the paper, he wasn’t surprised. Today’s headlines had only heightened the drama of the long-awaited funeral. “Won’t do any good. The buzzards’ll just swoop down when they get out.”
Ricky nodded. “Yeah. But Manuel’s riding with them.”
Juarez’s oldest brother, Manuel, was built like a Hummer and looked as friendly. He and Tony would handle things. They were a good team. They ran a roofing business together in Corpus Christi and made good money at it.
None of his siblings had ever tied the knot. Everyone had expected Paloma to get married when she got pregnant with Kaitlin, but she’d refused. She’d said the father wasn’t marriage material, and she’d been right. The guy had barely spent five minutes with Kaitlin, even after Paloma’s disappearance. At least he’d had the decency not to show up today. Not yet, anyway. A reunion with her absentee father was the last thing Kaitlin needed right now.
A dark green Suburban pulled into the parking lot, and the TV reporters sprang into action. They clustered near the curb, blocking the path between the lot and the church entrance.
“Looks like they made the car,” Juarez muttered.
Ricky sighed. “Somebody probably saw them leave the house and called ahead. You think Kaitlin’s okay?”
She emerged from the Suburban, clinging to Manuel like a life raft. She wore a navy-blue dress and a tidy braid with a white bow at the end. Juarez swallowed the lump in his throat.
A hearse approached the church. Two of Juarez’s uncles stepped forward, both wearing white carnations in their lapels. The pallbearers.
“Looks like our cue,” Ricky said. “You ready?”
One Last Breath (Borderline Book 1) Page 30
