“All right …” She flinched and slowly donned the headphones.
Once they were ready to shoot, he motioned that he’d go first and that she should really pay attention. He demonstrated how to hold the weapon, showed her the safety, and then he fired two rounds into the target, the shots going a little wide. He was rustier than he’d thought.
Then they moved over to her shooting booth. He got behind her, breathing deeply into her hair, and taught her how to hold the pistol. Then, ever so gently, he released her, tapped her on the shoulder, then signaled that she should fire.
She took two shots. Their targets were the silhouettes of men, the type used by military and law enforcement officers. She scored two perfect headshots.
“Whoa!” he cried. “Look at that!”
She glanced at him, dumbfounded. “Beginner’s luck, I guess! Let me try again.”
She did, flinched, and didn’t even hit the target with her third shot.
“Try again,” he urged her.
She complied, but this time she closed her eyes and the shot actually hit his target.
With a groan, she placed the gun on the small table in front of her, then wrung her hands. “The gun’s getting hot! And that hurt!”
He took off his headphones and glasses, the stench of gunpowder heavy in the air. “Let me see your hand.” He took her palm in his own and worked his thumbs into her soft skin. Then she moved in close, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pulled herself tightly against him, rubbing her thigh against his crotch.
At that point, she had him. And within three minutes they were on the floor. Her moans echoed throughout the range, and he kept putting a finger to his lips, frightened that his father might’ve returned from his run to search for them. Castillo would know they were down there. He knew everything and would report to Jorge; however, Castillo would remain discreet in regard to the exact nature of their visit to the shooting range.
He suddenly broke away from her.
She sat up and pouted. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s me.”
“Then we should talk?”
“I don’t know …it’s just …the fund-raiser, all these people …You know everyone my father hires is afraid to get fired, so they kiss our asses. But do they really like us? Maybe they think we’re just a couple of fools. They pretend to respect us, pretend to honor us, when behind our backs they curse us.”
“That’s not true. Think about what your father said last night. He’s a good man.”
“But most men still fear him.”
“Maybe you’re mixing up fear with respect.”
“Maybe I am, but the kind of power my father has is a scary thing, even to me. I mean, we can never really be alone.”
“Your father is using his position to do good in the world. And why are you even thinking about this now?”
He breathed deeply and finally nodded. He felt guilty as he got dressed. He hadn’t told her about the hidden security cameras. Their entire escapade had been recorded, because turning off the cameras would’ve immediately alerted Castillo. There was no privacy at Casa de Rojas, because its price was too steep.
They spent the day at the beach, swimming, taking pictures, and drinking. Even though Sonia wore a blue bikini, a few of the pics reminded him very much of his mother, since that shot in the library had been taken on the very same beach. Even their names were similar — Sofia/Sonia — and he began to place himself in the context of Greek tragedies.
Although they attempted to remain discreet, two of his father’s security men were there with them, seated on chairs about ten meters away, with Castillo not straying far from the pool deck to spy on them through a pair of binoculars.
“Those guys work for your father, too,” Sonia said, staring at them over the rim of her sunglasses.
“How can you tell?” he asked sarcastically.
“I guess you’re used to this, huh?”
“It was nice when we were in Spain. I think my father had some people there, but I didn’t know who they were, so I never really noticed them.”
She shrugged. “When you have money, some people hate you.”
“Of course. Kidnapping is never far from my father’s mind. He has friends who’ve suffered through terrible ordeals when their loved ones were taken. The police are useless. The ransom money is ridiculously high. You either pay or you never see your family again.”
“The gangs from the cartels do that all the time.”
“I’m sure they’d like nothing more than to kidnap my father and get a huge ransom.”
“I don’t know, he’s so well protected. I doubt that would ever happen. Besides, he travels so much. It’s hard to predict where he’ll be. He said something about having to pack.”
“Yes, he’s taking off again.”
“Where? The International Space Station?”
He laughed. “Colombia, probably. I heard him talking about seeing the president and maybe some other friends down there. We own some businesses in Bogota. He’s got a friend who makes him special suits.”
“My father met the French president once, at the Tour de France, but it’s not like he’s friends with presidents around the world like your father is.”
“You know what?” he began, brightening over a thought. “Maybe we’ll do a little traveling ourselves …”
Dinner was served promptly at six p.m., and Miguel and Sonia had showered and dressed for the occasion. Miguel had warned Sonia that his father placed great emphasis on family meals, because they were so few and far between. Dinners at home were precious experiences, and they should be treated with the utmost respect.
Since there would be only four, they dined at one of the smaller tables just off the main kitchen, and J.C. prepared a four-course meal of beef and chicken that had become one of the signature experiences at every Sofia’s throughout the world. The family owned sixteen of the exclusive restaurants, all named after his mother, and they served both traditional and fusion Mexican cuisine, embracing all six regions of the country. Their world-renowned dishes were served in an atmosphere that Jorge had said should suggest the great ancient civilizations of Mexico, from the Olmecs to the Aztecs. Colossal sculptures of heads, fish vessels, and ancient masks were just a few of the art pieces hanging in every dining room. Dinner for two at the Sofia’s in Dallas, Texas, set back most patrons nearly two hundred dollars — before ordering the wine.
“Sonia, how are you enjoying your stay here?” Jorge asked, after taking a long sip on his mineral water.
“Well, it’s just horrible. I feel like I’m being mistreated, and I’m ready to go home. You people are obnoxious, terrible hosts; the food is just disgusting.”
Miguel nearly dropped his fork. He turned to her.
She burst out laughing and added, “No, seriously, I’m only kidding. Of course it’s incredible.”
Jorge finally smiled and turned to Alexsi. “You see? That is a sense of humor. That is what I’m talking about. You are much too lovely and much too serious.”
Alexsi smiled and reached for her wine. “Being lovely requires serious work.”
“Ah, and clever,” Jorge added, then reached over and gave her a kiss.
Miguel sighed and glanced away.
The conversation throughout dinner was focused on Sonia, her experiences at school, what she thought about the government in Spain, and her opinions about the European economy in general. She held her own as his father continued to interrogate her. When the meal was over, and they were leaning back and trying to breathe past their swelling waistlines, Jorge leaned toward the table and hardened his gaze on Miguel.
“Son, I have great news for you. I’ve been waiting to announce this, but I think this is as good a time as any. You’ve been accepted for a summer apprenticeship at Banorte.”
Miguel was about to frown but held back the reaction. His father was beaming, his eyes full of a wonder Miguel had not seen in years.
An apprenticeship at Banorte? What would they have him doing? Filing financial records? Would he be
