Shady Lady

“You were curious back there. About what I can do.”

“Obviously. But it’s up to you if you want to tell me.”

We walked for a few moments in silence. The house seemed bigger now that it was full dark, endless corridors full of shadows. I felt very small and cut off from the people who cared about me. Tomorrow, who knew where the hell I was going—and to make matters worse, I had to pick one person—only one—to take with me, even though I didn’t know what I was getting into or what kind of help I’d need.

“I don’t mind,” Paolo answered eventually.

I expected him to tell me, but he showed me instead. A single white rose sailed out of a nearby vase and floated toward my hand. Smiling faintly, I took the bloom. “Fantastic control. I expect you can do damage as well.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. It made sense that Escobar would cultivate employees whose talents could be weaponized. This innocent-looking boy had probably killed with his gift—a sobering thought. I’d do well to remember that a pretty face and big eyes didn’t equate to harmless.

“Well, thanks for the escort,” I said. “This is my stop.”

“My father will send someone for you at first light.”

That revelation rocked me. Nothing in the older man’s manner had hinted at a paternal relationship. To the best of my recollection, he’d treated Paolo like staff.

“You’re his son?”

Slim shoulders rose and fell. “He has many. Most were discarded.”

Oh, the irony. Montoya went mad because a prostitute aborted his child and he never sired another. Escobar appeared to have demon sperm, but he was also a cold, heartless bastard, and he had sons enough to abandon if they didn’t measure up. No wonder Montoya hated him, quite apart from their business conflicts. It must seem like salt in the wound.

On another level, it reinforced my need to be cautious here. A man who could treat his flesh and blood like help was capable of damn near anything, and I would do well to remember that. I’d fallen into the shark tank for sure this time.

“Good night,” I said then. “I have some thinking to do.”

How could I ever choose? I had the funny feeling this decision might prove portentous in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.

Corine’s Choice

Dawn stole across the horizon. From the bed where I sat propped against the pillows, I could see tendrils of light. Montoya’s men would arrive soon to ask for my decision. And really, it was no choice at all. Right then, there was only one person I could ask. Yet I found myself examining my reasons, just to be sure I’d made the right call.

Not Shannon. I was sure about that. As much as I cared, that was why I couldn’t take her with me. I needed her to be safe.

And though Jesse might never forgive me, I couldn’t envision any scenario involving him ending happily. After all, he worked as a cop. If Escobar scooped him up, his colleagues would either mount a manhunt or—after the debacle with his partner—assume he too was on the cartel’s payroll. He had a family: Off and on for the past few months he had been bugging me to come to Laredo again to meet his parents. I thought it seemed precipitous, but unless I wanted them to hate me for ruining his life, I’d better not go that way. So not Jesse, either.

Chuch would never leave Eva, and she was pregnant. Plus, they functioned as a unit; I could hardly ask for one without the other.

Chance? With the way things ended between us, I had no right to drag him into this mess now. My heart ached at the thought of him. I hoped he was happy and safe, at least, but if I wanted him to stay that way, I needed to leave him alone. Additionally, Nalleli had just cleansed me of all the ill luck, and it made no sense to summon him when I didn’t know what I’d be facing.

That left only one alternative, as I’d known all along.

Since I wasn’t sure where they were taking me, I dressed in jeans and a plain pullover. It gave me the willies when I located fresh underwear. Escobar just knew too much about me for personal comfort.

Paolo came for me shortly thereafter. Doubtless that was meant as a kindness, since he was young and nonthreatening. I followed him through the silent, opulent halls. Instead of turning toward the study, we went all the way through the house to an enormous veranda. Beyond, a private plane sat waiting on a distant airstrip.

“I’m not seeing your father again?”

“You will not,” he said, “until you’ve proven yourself. He is . . . reclusive.”

This just kept getting better. “Okay. So do I tell you the name, then?”

He inclined his head. “Please.”

“Kel—big guy, bald, tattooed—he was with me when they grabbed me. I’m sure your dad knows who he is.”

“Undoubtedly.” His tone implied Escobar knew everything worth knowing. “Farewell and good luck.”

I made my way across the veranda, down the steps, and across the field. A man in black waited for me, arms folded, beside the stairs leading to the plane. I had no idea if we were even still in Texas; the landscape gave me no clue. We might’ve crossed the border while I was unconscious.

“¿Lista?” the thug asked as I approached.

Ready as I ever will be. Nodding, I preceded him up the steps. He gave the orders and we got under way. I didn’t mind flying, except for takeoff and landing, but everything shook more in a small plane. This one couldn’t hold more than ten people. That meant we couldn’t be going far—well, not across an ocean, anyway.

Apart from my silent guard, I didn’t see anyone besides the pilot, and unlike commercial planes, I could see right up the aisle into the cockpit. They exchanged a few muttered words in Spanish, and then the plane powered up. I buckled in. A little voice asked if I was crazy. As we zoomed toward the end of the airstrip, I decided the answer was yes.

We put down in what seemed like a sea of trees—from the air, everything was green. I closed my eyes rather than watch the pilot aim for the impossibly small runway that was more of a dirt track in a clearing. The man guarding me grunted at me to exit the plane. I was tired and sore by this time, so I stumbled down the metal steps and into sweltering heat.

It was a different kind than I had felt in the mountains of Mexico; this was jungle heat. Monkeys chattered in the distance, and I suppressed a shiver. The guard gestured me toward an old decommissioned military jeep. They aren’t big on the explanations.

When I approached the vehicle, relief spilled through me. Kel sat in the backseat, and he didn’t appear to have come to any harm. I swung up beside him, immediately feeling more centered. It had shaken me more than I wanted to let on, the easy way Escobar had taken me.

“You knew I was in no real danger, right?” I asked softly. “That’s why you didn’t fight?”

“It was a necessary risk.” Which meant he hadn’t been sure.

“Did they explain the point of this exercise?”

“You chose me.” Somehow he made it sound like more than it was, a decision driven by necessity, as if I wanted him here, and, moreover, as if that meant something. “We’ll see it through together.”

The men conferred, and then two of them turned back toward the plane. One got in the driver’s seat. He didn’t speak to us, merely took off driving along a rutted road. A couple of times, I tried to ask a few questions, but he wouldn’t give me anything, so we passed the miles in silence. The light faded over the trees, and at nightfall, we came to the outskirts of a village.

Our driver cut the engine and addressed us in accented English. “This is as far as I take you. Instructions