Shady Lady

Once Upon a Time in Mexico

Chuch made a few calls and we wound up at a trailer owned by a friend of his cousin Ramon. We drove past mounds of trash, rusted carburetors and engines up on blocks. Our hideyhole sat at the back of the RV park, where most residents didn’t have a phone and weren’t about to get involved in someone else’s business. The trailer across the way had an impressive array of license plates, and the one catty-cornered appeared to collect hubcaps.

There were few trees, but plenty of dry grass and broken pavement littered with glass and plastic wrappers. Chuch stopped in front of a single-wide, and after he parked, I slid out; in the distance, I heard cars on the highway, barking dogs, and a woman screaming at her kid. Squaring my shoulders, I surveyed the cracked vinyl underpinning as I came up to the front door. The gaps meant that scurrying sounds could be rats nesting underneath. As long as they hadn’t chewed their way in, I could handle it.

The trailer was to let, but since it smelled of old pot and cat piss, so far there hadn’t been any takers. Imagine my surprise. Inside, I encountered stained brown carpet, spilled coffee grounds, an upside-down trash can, and a dilapidated couch in blinding purple plaid. I couldn’t fathom why the prior tenants left it behind.

Chuch staked out bedroom territory. Since it stank even worse in there—of stale sweat, old cigarette smoke, and rancid massage oil—I didn’t dispute his claim. He carried in basic provisions, nothing fancy: bread, peanut butter, crackers, chips, and soda.

I sank down on the sofa and made a call. An unfamiliar male voice answered, one of Escobar’s thugs, most likely. “Tell your boss he’s got a leak,” I said in Spanish. “He might want to plug it.”

“¿Quién es?” Who’s this?

“Corine Solomon. And if I’d relied on his men to keep my whereabouts a secret, I’d be dead now. Tell him to handle it.”

After I cut the connection, Chuch shook his head at me. “You like living dangerously, don’t you?”

“Not so much, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

Too often for comfort, I found.

We spent the next forty-eight hours sleeping, waiting, and playing cards. It was a great place to lie low; nobody bothered us. Butch, at least, enjoyed the respite from car chases, flying bullets, and unquiet spirits. As time wore on, Chuch called Eva periodically to make sure she was all right.

“Told you I’m fine,” I heard his wife say, ending the conversation. “I swear I’ll let you know if that changes. I’m not going through this alone.”

That night, I had a hard time falling asleep; it wasn’t the lumpy couch or the undesirable location. I’d crashed in worse places. No, it was worry and regret tying me up in knots. I hoped Jesse and Shannon were all right. From there, my thoughts wandered to Kel, and I was still thinking about him—fallen angel, Nephilim, man who held me in the dark—when I drifted off.

But I didn’t dream of him. I wish I had.

Instead I stood in Min’s shop on the boardwalk in John’s Pass Village. I’d spent hours here with Chance. With a twinge of pain, I recollected the photo studio where they’d taken our first picture together, the restaurant where we’d eaten, and afterward, we walked down to the ice-cream parlor to share dessert. We’d passed a jewelry store and, looking in the window, I’d wondered if he would ever buy me a ring.

I don’t want to be here, I thought. I don’t have the mental energy for a stroll down memory lane.

The quaint location attracted a lot of foot traffic from the beach, but Min had loyal local clientele as well. I knew this place like the back of my hand, its shelves stocked with wicker baskets, each containing a unique tincture or poultice. She also sold fresh dry herbs and oil extracts, candles and soaps, all handmade and carefully formulated to promote holistic healing. Even the tourists took home something, which I’d always thought meant she had laid a mild prosperity charm on the place. Not that Min would ever admit it.

The store smelled of peppermint today, probably due to the candles flickering on the countertop. Sachets filled with healing herbs were arranged around the cash register. I stood and drank the place in. When I’d left, I didn’t think I would ever see it again, not even in my dreams. Here, I fell in love with customer service, working with Min. When I hadn’t been traveling with Chance, I helped out; her shop had been like a second home to me. It all looked so real, from the glass storefront to the wicker chairs in the corner where Min did consultations.

By the darkness, it was late, though. The CLOSED sign showed in the window, and so I went through into the back room that served as her office. Min had decorated it with her customary panache: delicate screens and several water fountains, no metal file cabinets or ugly desk for her. Chance sat beside his mother over a pot of green tea and maejakgwa, the ginger cookies he loved. It looked as if he hadn’t cut his hair in six months, the most disheveled I’d ever seen him.

“You should go before it’s too late.” She sighed and shook her head. Her expression was heart-wrenchingly familiar to me. . . . Min had never been one to take her son’s part blindly. “Might be already. Stubborn, foolish boy.”

I had the sense I’d entered a conversation at the midway point, but if I lingered, I might make sense of it. But the naked grief in his face astonished me.

“It’s not. I won’t let it be.”

“Some things, dear son, are not yours to control. That was always part of the problem, you know. You’re too like your father.”

His father? My ears perked, but they spoke no more of him. Chance bowed his head and she put her hand on it, as if in blessing.

“You’ll be all right?” he asked.

“Dae Hyun will watch out for me. Go with a clear conscience.”

“Very well. I’m leaving tonight.” Chance rose and kissed her cheek, and then strode out of her office.

Before I could follow, however, Chuch woke me with a friendly nudge. Dammit. Just when things started to get interesting. Then I got annoyed with myself for giving a damn what Chance was doing. I’d moved on. Jesse was my future. With some effort, I forced the unnerving dream from my mind.

“Wanna play some cards?”

With a moan, I sat up and invited him to deal me in. Five hands of Texas Hold ’Em later, I checked my e-mail. As Ramos had promised, my phone let me do so if I didn’t take too long about it, as Net access burned twice as many minutes. Unlike the other times, I found a curt message in my box. I’ll kill you myself. There was no signature, just a phone number, but my enemy had finally taken the bait.

Euphoria bubbled through me. Before I could rethink it, I dialed; I didn’t wait for the other party to speak. “You really brave enough to face me?”

Challenge his manhood. Finish the job.

“Tomorrow.” No preliminary chatter, no questions. Montoya named a set of coordinates and a time. “Across the border, past Nuevo Laredo.”

I’d driven through there, lonely stretch of road between Nuevo Laredo and Monterrey. No chance anyone would stumble into our business. Good enough.

“I’ll be there. And you’d better be, Diego, or I’ll keep burning your pretty houses down. I only had the one, see, and now it’s gone, so I’d like to level the playing field.” Without Escobar, I didn’t have the resources to do so, of course—I wouldn’t be taking any more chances on his men—but Montoya didn’t know that.

He sucked in an angry breath. “Buena suerte, bruja roja. La necesitarás.”

I disconnected before Montoya could.

Chuch sat watching me. He shook his head. “You’re really gonna do it.”

“It’s the best way.”

“If you say so.”

Setting his misgivings aside, I rang Escobar.

To my surprise, the big man himself answered this time. “What a pleasure to hear from you. I took care of the leak. Ordinarily, the allegiance of such a one would not merit my personal attention, but I ordered them to look after you. I cannot permit such lapses.” He paused. “It was Petrel, if you’re curious. He’ll trouble you no more.”

I should feel something now. The tall, lanky young man breathed no more, and I made it happen. But I could only muster impatience to finish this.

“Good to know. I’ve got a meeting with Montoya set for tomorrow.” Quickly I told him where and when. “Can you come up with a strategy so soon?”

“Of course,” he said, as if the question were ridiculous. “I’ll send Paolo to you.”

Montoya would likely show up with five trucks full of armed gunmen, Vicente the sorcerer, and God knew who else. He intended to send me in with a seventeen-year-old boy for backup? Dear God. Maybe Escobar wanted me dead.

I tried to point out as much. “I may need more help.”

“He is adequate to the task, I promise you.”

“Why?” I’d feel safer with a crew of gunmen at my back.

“He wants to prove himself to me. Therefore, he will fight with more dedication than any hundred hired soldiers. His skills are not in question.”

Arguing with him would offer the same benefit as banging my head against the trailer wall, so I just listened as Escobar told me where to meet Paolo. From there, we would travel together to the appointed location.

More waiting. I took Butch for a short walk around the trailer, and at midnight, Chuch got a call from Eva. He listened, spoke little, and hung up quickly.

“I’m sorry, prima. I meant to see this through with you—and she wanted me to, but the baby’s got other ideas.”

“She—or he—is coming?”

He already had one foot out the door. “Sí. Gotta go. Ramon will stop by in the morning and leave you something to drive. He just knows that you’re a friend I’m helping out.”

“My best to your family. Thanks, so . . .” But I was talking to empty air.

The night crept by. I lay on the couch because the bed still smelled sour, and I wouldn’t sleep much anyway. At dawn I showered, though I had nothing clean to wear, and ate the last of the peanut-butter crackers, the only thing left from our bare-bones grocery run.

A few hours later, Ramon dropped off a Chevelle, total piece of crap; I hoped it ran better than it looked. Another car pulled up behind him, his ride, I guessed. They didn’t knock. He left the keys in the ignition and I left the trailer as soon as they drove off.

Last leg of this mess. My hands shook a little as I went to meet Paolo. He was sitting in Denny’s—a mundane place for this meeting—just as Escobar had promised. In this setting, he looked even younger than he had at his father’s house. It was a wonder nobody had asked him why he wasn’t in school.

“Breakfast?” He rose as I approached, well mannered in a way I found odd, given what I knew of his father.

“We have time.” And I was hungry.

While we ate, we made small talk. Nobody could’ve guessed what we’d be doing later that night. Hell, I didn’t even know.

Though pancakes and eggs had sounded delicious, I couldn’t finish them. I fed the sausage to Butch in discreet nibbles. He took care of the bacon too. Afterward, I paid the bill, and we headed out to the Chevelle.

Paolo had a black duffel; I had only my purse. It seemed we both traveled light. He got in the passenger side, his face serene. Perhaps he was just too young to worry about the future, but I didn’t think so, and his serenity calmed my nerves. I trusted that Escobar wouldn’t risk a gifted heir without a strong conviction that he could prevail.

“Does he have you do stuff like this a lot?” I asked, putting the car in gear.

“No. This is a test.”

My heart nearly stopped. “Of what?”

“My skill. My loyalty. If I pass, he will reward me with more responsibility in the organization.”

“Rite of manhood?” Talk about hard-core. Escobar sure loved his trials.

“Sí, near enough.”

Throughout the day, I got a number of phone calls for a woman named Juanita. Apparently she’d traded her phone to Ramos without informing her creditors. I blew them off, and at noon, we headed for the border.

Crossing into Mexico never took very long. While the United States cared a great deal who got in, Mexico just wanted people to spend money. The agent checked our documents with cursory interest and waved us through.

Across the border lay a shantytown bearing the unlikely name of Blanca Navidad. The residents who founded the place claimed it snowed in the desert when they started building their homes: tin roofs, scrap wood and metal, chunks of scavenged cement. As far as I could tell, they had no electricity, and from the smell, no sewage disposal either. Most of the Navidadians worked in the maquiladoras, which were duty-free export assembly plants. The place made me sad as we drove past.

“I would live in a place like this,” Paolo said softly, “if my father had not taken me in.”

As far as I was concerned, Escobar owed the kid more than a living, but it never did any good to get between child and parent. “Lucky he did.”

“Not really. He kept only the gifted. My mother was nothing, a native whore.”

My fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “She gave you life. I’m sure she loved you.”

Paolo raised a brow. “Did she? Is that why she sold me to el Señor for eight hundred pesos and twenty-one grams of skag?”

Shit. Maybe you’re better off with Escobar. Since I didn’t know what to say, I drove on in silence. We passed through Nuevo Laredo and kept going. I remembered accompanying Chance to the zona, and how he’d fought for me there. No. Not Chance. Think about Jesse. Wonder if he’s healing.

The surrounding land was dry, a long, low valley. According to the GPS, we had arrived at the correct coordinates—and several hours early. We’d long since left the main highway, off the beaten path on a dirt road. I wanted to check the place out, so I parked the car and got out to look around.

Montoya had chosen well; there was no cover for miles. Mountains in the distance on either side rendered this spot remote in ways few modern locations could match. There was just endless brown scrub sloping to unspoiled peaks.

Now we just had to wait. Butch didn’t seem to mind; he could nap anywhere. I fidgeted and shifted and considered all the potential worst-case scenarios. In self-defense, I studied my grimoires and tried to commit a couple of spells to memory that might work, if I could cast them quick enough. I sat on the hood of the car and watched the road behind us. I pondered my options.

After arguing a little with Paolo about the viability, I went to work with salt and chalk dust, placing them carefully to the left of the driver’s door. Against the dirt road, it didn’t show, but the energy I used in crafting the circle mattered more than my tools; when my enemy arrived, I’d be ready.

At last the bass roar of a powerful engine signaled an arrival, and the dust trail rising confirmed what we heard. I got my athame out and hid it behind my back. As he parked, Montoya had to be thinking, Look at her . . . she’s helpless. Dead meat.

A stocky man in late middle years, Montoya eased out of the driver’s seat, an enormous gun dangling from one hand. He hadn’t brought an army of thugs, as I expected. Instead, only Vicente emerged. Even numbers? That decision suggested Montoya had complete confidence in his brother’s ability to deal with me up close, and I hated to think what led to that surety.

“You’re dumber than you look,” Montoya growled, leveling his gun on me. “You brought a boy with you? Only a boy?”

Before I could reply, Vicente lobbed a spell, crackling blue energy. I dove behind the Chevelle and it hit the hood with a hiss, dissipating with the smell of a lightning strike. Fuck. He called it before and held it ready. I don’t even know to do that. There’s no fucking way I can beat him in a straightup duel.

Paolo crouched beside me as Montoya opened fire. They sprayed the dirt and pelted the old Chevy; I hoped like hell they wouldn’t break my summoning circle. I needed to get close enough to pull my ace in the hole, but with the two of them out there, it would take some quick thinking to push those five feet.

“I thought you can’t die,” Montoya taunted in heavily accented English. “Made a deal with the devil, no? Yet you cower like a little bitch, not the fearsome red witch. So beg me, and I make your death quick instead of giving you to Vicente, like I plan.”

His brother rumbled a low, awful laugh, full of such anticipation as to make my skin crawl. “Don’t beg,” the sorcerer said.

More bullets sprayed the ground, slamming into the Chevelle; we were pinned down. If only I’d been faster, if only I hadn’t hesitated. Dammit, we needed to get to the circle. Fear slammed in my veins, creating adrenaline, and to compound my desperation, Vicente started a new spell.

“Is there anything you can use nearby?” I whispered to Paolo.

In answer, he leaned out and scanned the ground. “Nothing but rocks and dust.”

That was an old schoolyard trick, but given our situation, it couldn’t hurt. “Try to distract them, but don’t get shot.”

I shuddered to think what Escobar would do if I survived but his son did not. By the sound of their footsteps, our enemies were pushing closer. Montoya laughed, the son of a bitch. I rolled beneath the car and squirmed on my belly as a minor dust devil sprang to life. They cursed and spit, trying to clear their eyes and mouths. The sorcerer’s concentration faltered, and Paolo taunted him with gutter Spanish; I understood only about half the words, but judging by Vicente’s roar, the boy had flair.

Once I had line of sight, I started my own spell. Drawing down the power, I used one of the two I’d memorized from the blue grimoire. My mother’s books contained no lethal spells, but this—if I cast it correctly—would cause some pain. My palms burned as I whispered, “Things that buzz and fly and crawl, heed me, heed my call. Come, come, you fearsome, darken swarm. Oh, feed and eat! Upon my enemies ye shall feast. As I will, so mote it be.” Even on my belly, I could complete the gesture, flaring my palms outward in a “V,” fingers fluttering like insect wings.

An orange glow burst forth and struck the dirt in front of Vicente. His scornful laugh rang out. “You missed.”

On the other side of the Chevelle, Montoya shot at Paolo, who countered with a mix of quick reflexes and telekinetics. Then a droning sound began, increasing as the dark cloud drew closer. Vicente turned, and a muffled sound of horror escaped him when the bugs enveloped him: stinging, biting, trying to crawl down his throat and into his mouth. He screamed and Montoya whirled, going to his aid.

In that respite, I asked Paolo, “Can you kill them with your TK?”

“I don’t think so. They’re both wearing body armor, and there’s no wall to slam them against. I could try to break their backs on the hood of the car, but I’ve never done that before, and I won’t have the energy left for defense. Do you want me to go for it?” Stumbling and slapping all the way to the trunk of his car, Montoya got a fire extinguisher and shot a white cloud on Vicente, driving off the bugs. They were both furious, bloodlust burning in their eyes. I had to decide fast—Paolo or me. Who’s going for the home-run swing?

Before I realized I’d made a decision, I whipped my athame out and slashed my palm. Me. It has to be me. I’ll end this.

“Guard our backs,” I told Paolo.

With my bloody palm curled toward me, I crawled the distance to the circle they hadn’t noticed, drawn as it was in the pale dust. I whispered, “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, I call you forth, Dumah Porai Valyonatha. I offer sacrifice in your name. As I will, so mote it be. In the name of Solomon the Binder, whose blood I carry, you must obey.”

Now free of my swarm and enraged beyond sanity, Vicente raised a hand to unleash a spell. I felt the magick gathering in the air, swelling like summer lightning. He used a mishmash pidgin for his casting, no doubt learned in the islands, and I didn’t understand the words. I didn’t know what he was doing, nor how to counter it, but something terrible would happen if he finished the incantation. He was done fucking around, letting us dodge and hide.

Because I’d summoned her before—and she was already in this realm in a human host—Dumah appeared in a swirl of inky smoke. I spoke quickly, racing Vicente to the finish. “For this single moment, my enemies are yours. In return for your help I offer you their souls and their power. You will not harm me or mine.”

Annoyance flashed on her ephemeral face and then she registered those outside the circle. Greed and hunger replaced her displeasure. I wasn’t binding her to me permanently and forcing her to serve; this was a simple summoning—catch and release. I hadn’t broken the letter of our agreement . . . but it bothered me just how good I had become at negotiating in such degrees.

As Vicente released his spell, the demoness whispered in my head: Done. This time, I knew to drain the energy from the circle before breaking it, and Dumah flowed in inky darkness toward the two men. She ate the magickal energy en route—it strengthened her—and then she continued toward them.

Montoya responded by unloading his whole magazine, the last of his ammo. I had no defense against that; Dumah was a creature of spirit, and could not stop a bullet. Maybe this was it. Butch whined as I dove; I tried to save him from the impact.

There was no need.

Bullets hung in the air like black hailstones, mere inches from my body. Paolo trembled, his face pale and damp. Sweat rolled off him from the strain of such fine control, and then they all fell, bouncing against the ground. I couldn’t believe his father had asked this of him—and I was glad I hadn’t asked him to kill for me. Better I should bear another astral scar; it was worth the price to see this nightmare ended at last.

The two Montoyas screamed as Dumah pressed against their eyes, testing their defenses. She devoured Montoya first; like the old witch in the supply store, his shields were soft and weak. In a black trickle she slithered in through his eyes, and he clawed at them, screaming. His nails left bloody runnels on his face until his whole body went slack. Horror seeped through me.

She’d eaten him, just as I promised she could.

Vicente lifted his hand, preparing another spell, but Dumah went for him next. His brother’s soul had made her stronger, so she had the power to fight him. His shields were stronger, but while he resisted her attack, he couldn’t cast. Paolo dived for Montoya’s weapon.

“No,” Dumah said. “This one’s mine. Promised.”

I stilled the boy with a hand on his arm. “We must let her have him or she’ll be free to turn on us.”

I could banish her, perhaps, using the incantation I had used on Caim—assuming my shields were good enough to stave her off—but maybe, like Vicente, I wouldn’t be able to remember the words while struggling with her for control. I would rather not risk it. What was more, that call, if I succeeded, would seriously piss Maury off. I didn’t want to get on his bad side.

At last, she took Vicente and swept through him like a dark tide. His body crumpled, still living, but empty. I stared at the two Montoyas, chilled at the decision I’d made and what it meant. Paolo raised the gun and glanced at me for confirmation.

“Our bargain is done,” Dumah whispered. “I give you leave to call me anytime, Corine Solomon. This was . . . fun.”

Worse and worse. I didn’t banish her; she simply threaded away—back to the body she’d left behind, I assumed. I imagined the scene there: Woman fainting on the sidewalk. Maury telling people she was pregnant, not to worry, she’d be fine in a few minutes.

“I should finish this,” the boy said. “As my father requires.”

Gods knew I didn’t want to, so I merely nodded and turned my face away. Two shots rang out. Simple. Elegant. Awful. I’d fed the eternal part of them to a demon. Even if they were awful men, there was no denying it; I was a bad woman.

The devil shone in Paolo’s eyes as he examined the bodies. “Ah, Montoya. A son is always more powerful than a brother.” He gave me a look. “You will wish to turn around now.”

I didn’t ask why. I complied. When I glanced down again, the heads were missing. In response to a gesture, the two corpses bounced away, obedient to his will, until they landed in the drainage ditch on the side of the dirt road. I knew now what the black duffel was for. I didn’t imagine we’d be smuggling those back into the States.

“I need proof,” he said in a faintly apologetic tone. “Shall we call him?”

We did. Escobar instructed us to meet his men at an airfield three hours away. Numb, I drove on with two heads in a bag in my backseat and a killer beside me. Paolo scared me now because he seemed so gentle, and yet I saw nothing in his eyes that indicated conflict over his actions, whereas I felt like a hot mess of roiling regret and uncertainty. But a good robot never doubted its programming.

A plane sat waiting for us. Two hours in the air, and we arrived at a new location. Three goons conveyed us to yet another Escobar property. I hadn’t seen this house before; it was almost a cottage compared to the other. Beachfront property—the ocean glimmered silver in the moonlight.

Escobar greeted us on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand. Once more, he was barefoot, clad in white, and wearing a most disarming smile. Before he spoke, he took the black bag from Paolo. He looked inside with a ghoulish expression of anticipation. A quiet inhalation bespoke pleasure, and I shuddered as he handed the duffel off to one of his henchmen.

Christ, I couldn’t get away from these people fast enough. I might never wash myself clean. And, of course, there was the matter of what I’d done to survive.

“I am proud of you, hijo.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever called him that before. Escobar clasped Paolo on the shoulder. “There are only two Montoyas left, and they will not fight me. One is stupid, and the other is lazy. He will take what money he can and find someplace to retire.”

“Pleased I could help,” the boy said, as if he’d gone to the store for milk.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to be away from here. But I feared insulting my host. Now that he needed me no longer, I’d become acutely aware of my isolation and my vulnerability. He might decide I knew too much or something equally clichéd.

“You may go now,” he said, and Paolo passed along the terrace without another word to me.

Eventually I opened my eyes and studied the view. Staring out over the sea, I didn’t move when Escobar joined me. His tone was musing when he spoke. “You have proven useful. I believe I owe you payment for your time and effort.”

“That was the bargain.”

At a gesture, one of the goons brought him a fine leather briefcase. He opened it, and I got to see what 100K looked like in cash. “I will have my people take you wherever you like, one last time. I trust we will not bother each other again.”

“Never,” I promised.

Escobar was a man of his word, fortunately. Perhaps he had more of that stern priest in him than I’d realized. No question, he was an evil man who did terrible things, but like all demons he abided by his agreements.

“Where to, then?”

“Back to Laredo, please.” I needed to see how Eva and Chuch and the baby were doing. I wanted to see Shannon and Jesse. “Will you make sure law enforcement learns that Montoya is dead? I need to get a friend out of protective custody.”

“What would you have me do, order my men to toss those heads into a cantina, as you hear of imbeciles doing on the news?”

“Could you? This once?” I smiled as if that might persuade him. Escobar had ice water in his veins.

He considered. “Yes, but only because it amuses me. Someone else will surely take the blame, because that is not my style.”

I knew that. Escobar was the quiet knife waiting in the dark, not the burst of automatic weapon fire. “Thanks.”

“Rodrigo, deliver Señorita Solomon safely to Texas.” He turned, glass of bloodred wine still in hand, and dismissed me.

Once we were up in the air, I realized I’d abandoned the Chevelle in Mexico. Fortunately, it hadn’t been a nice ride, and maybe nobody would mind much. With the baby and all, it might go unnoticed.

At my request, the goons deposited me at a used-car lot, where I spent a small portion of my blood money. For a thousand bucks, I drove away in a maroon El Camino and the satisfaction of knowing I didn’t have to give it back or explain if something happened to it. Butch yapped in approval as he sniffed the clean black cloth seats. The rest of the interior was ugly maroon vinyl, but it was mine. This would be great for hauling stuff, once we got the thrift store going. I couldn’t wait to show Shannon.

Since I hadn’t eaten since that morning, I found a driveup and munched a burger in the parking lot. Butch ate half of a kid-size one on his own and he whined because it wasn’t Carl’s Jr. quality. I shrugged. “Better than starving, right?”

The dog looked unconvinced.

Once we finished, I called Chuch. “Hey, how are you guys?”

I wished I could ring Jesse, but he didn’t have a cell phone at the safe house. But as soon as news hit about Montoya’s demise, Glencannon would spring him, and we could talk. We had a lot of things to settle; Shan and I needed to go apartment hunting. Maybe starting over in Laredo wouldn’t be so bad.

“Great.” I could hear the glow. “I got a little girl.”

“I’ll swing by. What hospital?”

He told me, and then belatedly realized aloud, “Shit, if you’re here, then—”

“Yeah. It’s done.”

Chuch whooped and then somebody shushed him, probably a nurse. “Gotta get back. Eva’s dying to see you.”

Circle of life, and all that. I was dying to see her too. I started up the El Camino and drove over to the hospital. I knew where it was: same one where Jesse had been laid up recently. I hated hospitals, but for this, I’d go in smiling. I hid Butch as we went through the automatic doors.

It wasn’t hard to find the maternity ward, even less difficult to locate Eva’s room. Between her mother and all the Ortiz cousins, they were driving the staff crazy. I figured one more person didn’t matter, though there was barely room for me to step inside. Watching, I felt more alone than I ever had, because they shared a support network that I’d never possess.

But maybe, maybe with Jesse.

Eva waved at me from bed, offering a half smile, and the feeling passed. “Glad you could make it.”

“Better late than never.” I stopped in the doorway, not wanting to fight the crowd to get closer.

She looked exhausted and blissful, long black hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles under her eyes didn’t diminish her beauty at all. The baby was so tiny, red faced, wrinkly, and wearing a wee pink hat. She had a bracelet on her wrist, and she seemed like she might start wailing at any minute. Relatives milled around me, murmuring in Spanish. Rather than making me feel out of place, it felt homey and familiar. I’d gotten to the point where I had to remember to speak English in the States.

“What’s her name?” I asked a random Ortiz.

Chuch materialized behind me. “Camelia Corine.”

Everything I’d been through lately—and that did me in. So I was crying when I spotted Chance. He perched on the window ledge, foot propped on the arm of the chair. Some woman sat beside him, gazing up at him dreamily.

“What’s he doing here?” I demanded, low.

Chuch followed my gaze. “He’s her godfather. Figure it out.”

Oh. I was not disappointed; for me, it was Jesse Saldana from this point on. But I couldn’t help the wild dread that Chance could undermine my resolve when my ex cut through the crowd toward me.