Down Among the Dead Men

67

Before leaving Los Angeles that afternoon, they stopped at a thrift store to buy more clothes and a small suitcase to hold them. Then it was on to a supermarket for food and toiletries. They had no idea how long they’d be in Mexico, but it didn’t hurt to prepare.

On the way to San Diego they encountered a traffic jam. A truck had jackknifed on the freeway, and according to the traffic report, several cars were damaged and three people had been killed.

This was not, Beth thought, a good omen.

After she had told Nick the story of Jen’s disappearance-with as many details as she figured he could stand-they spoke very little as they drove, each consumed by thoughts of their own. But what Beth found surprising was that there didn’t seem to be any of the usual awkwardness between them. That feeling of discomfort when you spend a large amount of time with someone you’ve just met.

Despite their silence, Beth found herself at ease sitting next to him.

Was this because of the man himself? Or the fact that they shared a common goal?

Probably both, she thought.

But she couldn’t be sure.

As they crawled past the accident, Beth saw a young family standing on the side of the road near their mangled car. All seemed to have escaped in one piece, but they looked shaken and slightly shell-shocked: a man and his young wife, who cradled their baby in her arms.

The baby was crying.

The sight of the child once again stirred something in Beth’s mind: those shadowed memories that were trying hard to break though. And for one fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of a face in the darkness.

But before it could fully register, it was gone-a barely remembered whisper-and she had no idea what to make of it.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Nick said. “But you may not know the answer.”

“Which is?”

“Who’s Angie?”

She looked at him. “The police told you about that, did they?”

“Not the police,” Nick said. “The boy. Junior. He told me you said it when they found you. He thought it was your name.”

“I’ve wondered about it ever since the police questioned me. But I don’t remember an Angie or an Angela or anything close to that.”

Nick nodded and said nothing more, returning his concentration to the road. The traffic had started to clear and before long they were rolling into San Diego, where they took a bathroom break and picked up a couple of coffees.

Beth noticed Nick quickly survey the area as if he was looking for someone. He continued to move stiffly, favoring his right shoulder, and she wondered if whoever had done that to him was out there somewhere, waiting to do it again.

Or worse.

When they got back in the car, Beth said, “Are you ever going to tell me about your shoulder?”

Nick took a long sip of his coffee, then set it in the cup holder between the seats.

“I warned you, there are people who are after me.”

“Because of me.”

“No,” he said. “Because we’re dealing with some very secretive assholes who are into some very dangerous shit. I happened to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, and after a couple of fuckups on their part they’re pretty anxious to cut it off.”

“La Santa Muerte.”

“That’s my guess, yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About Juarez.”

“What about it?”

“All those kidnappings Rojas was under pressure to solve. What if they have something to do with La Santa Muerte, too?”

Nick looked at her. “You think they may have been recruiting women by snatching them off the street?”

“I spent enough years prosecuting special crimes to know never to underestimate the darkness of the human soul. And there’s no reason these people wouldn’t be just as active in Mexico City or Playa Azul or even on board a cruise ship. Where all the tourists are.”

“Like you and your sister.”

“I think Jen was targeted on that cruise,” Beth said. “By Rafael and Marta Santiago.”

“It’s a theory. But it still doesn’t explain what happened to you. ”

Beth had been thinking about this, too.

“I guess I poked my nose in where it didn’t belong,” she said. “And got it cut off.”