He had only wanted to help. Now his foolishness might cost his life . . . and Aunt Bianca's. Hector started to cry. Tears mixed with blood.
But damned if he'd take his aunt down with him.
'Okay . . . okay. I'll go with you. Just let me close the shop and lock up.'
The mean son of a bitch hauled Hector to his feet and shoved him into the next man. Hitting a wall of muscle, Hector stumbled, his legs not working. Two men grabbed his arms and dragged him to the front door, not waiting for him to stand.
'I'll search the place. Take him to the car.'
Between the steady thud of his heart, Hector listened to a faint whisper. And as the men shoved him into the backseat of a dark sedan and locked the door, the sound grew louder in his head. More urgent.
It took him a while to recognize . . . the sound of his prayer.
Cramming his pockets with cash from the register, Eduardo Silva opened the door to the supply room, looking for anything else to steal. Side benefits to the job. In the back, it looked like only more of what stocked the shelves in front. Roots, dried herbs, preserved animal parts floating in murky liquid, and macabre religious figures with faces twisted in agony. He'd grown up with superstition. This shithole reminded him of everything he hated from his childhood.
And to think, some people paid good money for a shot at redemption.
He had almost made up his mind to forget about the back, but in the quiet, he thought he heard a faint rustle of fabric. It reminded him of the rats skittering through the walls of the bedroom he had to share with his three brothers when he was a kid.
He didn't need any complications.
Silence. Nothing moved. Eduardo peered into the dark corners of the room. From what little he saw, wooden shelves lined the main aisle and a ladder leaned against them. A small desk in the back. It smelled of herbs and an underlying foul odor, like something musty or dead. He wedged the door open with a wooden block to let in the meager light of the storefront. Not much to speak of, but every little bit helped. When he found a chain dangling from the ceiling, he pulled the cord and the small desk was washed in a harsh light.
'Jesus.' He squinted, letting his eyes adjust.
Someone had been working. A pen atop a pad of paper, scribbled with a list. An inventory. The handwriting looked too neat to belong to the kid. A woman's touch, he guessed. Eduardo spied a coffee mug on the desktop and ran his fingers along the liquid line outside the cup. Still warm. His senses went on full alert.
Did the kid drink coffee or was someone else here?
He pulled open every drawer in the desk, tossing files and shoving aside paperwork until he found a purse in the bottom drawer. A grin spread across his face. The kid wouldn't have one of these. Dumping the contents on the desktop, he tossed the purse aside and nabbed the wallet, scrounging for a photo ID.
After he pocketed the money in the wallet, he gazed at the face on the driver's license and read the name: BIANCA SALVADOR.
She had to be here somewhere. His eyes searched the gloom. Slowly, he walked down the aisle, peering through the massive shelves. Then he bent over and hustled down the row, shifting his moves in hopes of catching anyone lurking in the shadows. The inventory of the supply room looked eerie in the gloom.
Eduardo didn't consider himself a superstitious man, only a cautious one.
After a long while, he gritted his teeth and scratched his bald head. Did he have a witness to the kid's so-called arrest or had the bitch stepped out before they got there? He hated loose ends.
'Hey, you done?' one of his men called from up front. 'We gotta roll.'
Fed up, Eduardo turned and headed for the front door, but his eye caught something out of place, a job left undone. Set atop a workbench was a tall jar with dirt in it. A scoop lay on the soil, propped against the inside lip of the container.
That's when he heard the creak of a door. A soft muffled sound.
Eduardo jerked his head and searched the darkness. His hand went instinctively for his Taurus 1911 pistol, tucked under his T-shirt at the small of his back. He pulled out the .45 caliber weapon and flexed his grip, his palms slick with sweat.
Against inky black, the bright light overhead played tricks on his eyes. Images drifted in the shadows, but why hadn't he seen any lights when the door opened? Maybe he'd missed it. That pissed him off. If the old lady hid in a closet, he'd make her pay for putting him through the extra effort. Teeth gritted and gun in hand, he headed toward the noise. And the darkness swallowed him.
CHAPTER 17
It broke Bianca's heart to leave Hector behind. She slipped out the back door and into the light of a fading sun. Squinting, she held up a hand to block the glare and get her bearings. Soon it would be dark, but not soon enough to help her escape. She thought she heard heavy footsteps behind her, or perhaps it had been her imagination.
But wishful thinking could get her in plenty of trouble.
Absentmindedly, she clutched at the talisman around her neck as she ran down the alley. She gasped for breath with the effort, her heart pounding. Deep inside she knew there wasn't much time, no doubt the voice of Ayza the Protector.
As she ran toward the nearest door, the sound of her feet hitting the pavement was soon replaced by the horror of Hector's beating. It replayed in her head, over and over. Even now she flinched at the brutality of the shocking blows. Her precious boy. His pleas to warn her gripped her throat, making it hard to breathe. And her eyes filled with tears.
She grabbed the doorknob of a shop down the alley. Locked. With her hand clenched in a fist ready to pound on the door, Bianca looked over her shoulder, back the way she'd come. When the back door to Guia Do Espirito opened with a faint yet familiar creak, she changed her mind about calling attention to herself.
Time had run out.
She ducked behind a Dumpster near a corner to the alley that branched off. She crouched behind the metal refuse bin, the stench of it stifling her breath. In the distance, she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot. Too late to move.
She didn't dare look. Bianca pressed her back against the brick wall behind her and prayed. She shut her eyes and held the talisman to her lips. Her throat dry, her breathing labored. She had to calm her heart or the man would hear her for sure. She cowered behind the Dumpster, too scared to budge.
