Caught in the Act (19 page)

“It’s a family emergency,” Kari said, lowering her voice. “I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Tracy repeated, blinking her pretty eyes.

“You can’t bend the rules, just this once?”

“I wish I could.”

She sighed, drumming her fingertips against the counter. “Is the owner or manager available?”

“Sure,” the receptionist said. “Have a seat and I’ll get her.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as Tracy was out of sight, Kari reached over the divider and grabbed the appointment book, searching through the names. Sasha’s was scribbled in for 2:00 p.m. today. Relieved, she returned the book to its rightful place.

She drove her van to the transit station and parked it. The GPS device that Adam had found was still in the passenger seat, and she knew it could be used to track her movements. She’d decided to keep it. Play along—for the time being.

Donning a floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, Kari took the bus back to Soul Oasis. It was almost two o’clock when she arrived. She waited near the outdoor fountain, listening to the annoying faux jungle sounds
that emanated from the speakers. Sasha was late, but she showed.

Unfortunately, she had a bodyguard with her. Chuy Pena.

“Damn it,” Kari said, slipping further into the garden. Dripping springs and frog calls echoed in her ears. After the pair passed by, Kari walked around the back of the building, searching for an alternative entrance.

The receptionist she’d met earlier was there, also engaged in a furtive activity. Tracy was crouched near a dumpster, smoking a cigarette. When the girl saw Kari, she straightened, crushing the butt on the asphalt.

“Sneak me in to see my sister and I won’t say a word.”

Tracy used hand sanitizer and breath spray, deliberating.

Kari held up a twenty.

Tracy grabbed the bill and shoved it into the pocket of her low-rise jeans. “Come on.” She led Kari through the back door and to a private bathroom. “You’re not planning anything harmful, right? I don’t need any more bad karma.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

“If you cause a scene—”

“I won’t.”

Tracy brought Sasha in a few minutes later. Her sister was wearing skintight leggings and skyscraper heels. She skittered forward, frowning at Kari. “What are you doing here? My acupuncturist is waiting.”

Just what Sasha needed—more needles.

“I had to see you,” Kari said, shutting the bathroom door behind her. “Why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?”

She rolled her eyes. “Carlos took my phone away. He has me on a very short leash.”

“I saw your escort.”

“Exactly.”

Kari put a hand on her shoulder. “He wants to get rid of you, Sasha. Chuy said that Carlos would deliver you to me after I brought the packages over the border.”

This time Sasha didn’t dismiss Kari’s claims as silly or unimportant. Perhaps she’d had a rude awakening over the past week. “Carlos is worried about me,” she admitted. “He thinks I’m high all the time.”

Carlos was right. He was also
responsible
. He’d been a toxic influence on Sasha, fostering her addiction for more than five years. It was a little disheartening to hear that Sasha cared more about his opinion than anyone else’s. On the other hand, her sister had almost admitted she had a problem. That was a step in the right direction.

“You need help,” Kari said, pressing her advantage. “Let’s go right now and check you into a rehab. Please, Sasha. I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling. “I can’t leave him.”

“He’s killing you!”

“I’m afraid to leave,” she wailed back. “Even if I got sober, I’d still owe him money. He’d find me, Kari. He’d send his dog after me.”

“Chuy, you mean?”

“Yes. Carlos wouldn’t harm a woman, but Chuy would. I know he would.”

Kari was startled by Sasha’s vehemence. “Has he done it before?”

Sasha just stared at her.

“Did he kill Penelope Mendes?”

She raised a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

“Surely you know that Carlos makes the decisions, Sasha. He must have ordered Chuy to open fire.”

“No. They argued about it. I overheard.”

Kari fell silent, pacing back and forth in the bathroom. Adam would be very interested in this conversation, but it didn’t change the game for Kari. Carlos Moreno had deadly intentions and Chuy Pena was a ticking time bomb.

What was she going to do?

“I’m scared,” Sasha whispered. “Maybe if you … cooperate, Carlos will let me go, and we can talk about … rehab.”

Kari whirled to face her sister. “What do you mean?”

“Just bring the packages! You won’t get caught. They never do. Once my debt is paid, I’ll be free. I can enter a treatment program.”

Kari wanted to say no. But Sasha was her only sister, and she was in trouble. If Kari turned her back on Sasha and something bad happened to her—again—she’d never forgive herself. “Do you promise you’ll get help?”

“Yes! Please, sis. Do this for me. This one last thing.”

Kari closed her eyes in frustration, because it was a familiar refrain. How often had Sasha asked her for one more favor? One last loan. And she always gave in. Besides Moreno, Kari was Sasha’s greatest enabler.

“Okay, but that’s it,” she said, making a chopping gesture. “If I go through with this and you refuse to get help, we’re done. I will never speak to you again. You’ll be dead to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Sasha threw her thin arms around Kari’s neck, sobbing. “Thank you.”

Kari endured the hug for a moment. For the first time, it was she who felt uncomfortable, she who couldn’t wait to break away.

13

Kari was too keyed up to sleep in the next morning.

She went for an early jog and ran hard, pushing herself to the limit. On impulse, she headed toward Chula Vista Memorial Cemetery, which was just outside her normal route. The air was still cool with dew as she rounded the front gate, slowing to a stop underneath a sprawling live oak.

The graveyard was neatly tended and sun-bright, its lawns a fresh, brilliant green. Kari wandered up and down the rows for quite some time before she found what she was looking for: Penelope Mendes’s final resting place.

The smooth granite headstone was engraved with a simple epigraph:
Nuestra angel. Siempre perdida, siempre amada
.

Our angel. Forever missed, forever loved.

There was a long-stemmed rose at the base of the headstone, its bud slightly unfurled. The edges of the petals showed a hint of discoloration. Three days ago, at the most, this rosebud had been perfect and fresh.

It was a romantic flower, blush pink. She felt certain that Adam had placed it here, and the knowledge was like a thorny stem around her heart.

Forever loved
.

Kari stared at the inscription for several minutes, despondent. Had Carlos Moreno ordered Chuy Pena to open fire that day? Even if the bullet hadn’t come from the drug lord’s weapon, he was responsible for her death. His crew had engaged in a shootout in a public place. They’d gunned down a young, beautiful woman.

Forever missed
.

She turned away from the headstone, her throat tight. Kari might be visiting Sasha’s grave soon, if her sister didn’t get a handle on her addiction. As she trudged toward the path that led to the front gate, another decorated site caught her eye.

More long-stemmed roses. Deep, dark red.

There was a motley collection of other flowers, and they all appeared recently placed. The colorful bouquets weren’t quite as romantic, or as tragic, as the fragile pink rosebud. Kari paused at the headstone, reading the name.

Patricia Rosales
Cortez
.

That was Adam’s last name.

Frowning at the odd coincidence, Kari looked closer. Her date of birth was July 17. This past Sunday.

“Son of a bitch,” she said, straightening. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth and made the sign of the cross, apologizing to the poor woman resting here. Adam had told her he was buying a birthday gift for his mother, who was apparently dead.

He’d lied.

She walked away at a brisk pace, her thoughts in motion.
This new development cast Adam in a different light.

The first time he’d visited her store, he’d claimed he was looking for
dia de los muertos
figurines. Although the dancing skeletons symbolized that celebration, they weren’t given to the dead as gifts. Besides, the holiday was in November.

He’d mentioned his mother’s birthday again the second time he came in, speaking of her as if she were alive.

“Who does that?” she asked out loud.

No one in the cemetery answered.

Adam hadn’t come to Zócalo to buy a gift. If his goal had been to get in Kari’s pants, mission accomplished. But it was still a strange, sleazy thing to lie about. A real man didn’t invent lame excuses for stopping by.

What else had he been dishonest about?

Kari had looked into Adam’s eyes when he spoke of Moreno. She believed he’d rather kill Moreno than join him. Perhaps he was a conscientious officer on the job and a lying, cheating bastard at home.

She gasped, remembering the
rebozo
.

“Oh my God,” she said, starting to jog again. She didn’t slow down until she reached her front doorstep. It was still early, so she started making breakfast, beating Maria to the punch. When her roommate wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later, Kari caught her up on the Adam situation.

“Maybe this is good thing,” Maria mused.

“How?”

“Well, he hates Moreno, and he is willing to lie to get what he wants. You can use it to your advantage, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Kari said, shaking her head. It would be extremely risky to ask for Adam’s help.

“We have a saying in Spanish:
el enemigo de mi enemigo es mi amigo
.”

The enemy of my enemy is my friend
.

Kari studied Maria’s deceptively sweet face. “You have a devious mind.”

Maria smiled, sipping her coffee.
“Gracías, mi amor.”

After breakfast, Kari picked up her cell phone to call Adam. Her tank top was still damp from her run, her heart pounding anew.

“Yeah,” he answered.

Kari’s stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice, husky from sleep. If he was married or had a live-in girlfriend, he wouldn’t have taken a call in bed. “Can I see you?” she asked, trying not to imagine him naked.

He shifted the phone around; it sounded like the receiver was brushing against his pillow. “I have to leave for work in an hour.”

“Tonight, then. We need to talk.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you at your place.”

“No. I’ll come to you.”

“Whatever,” he said, sighing. “It’s 732 Grant.”

The phone clicked in her ear as he hung up. She scribbled down the address, frowning at his brusque tone. Despite their rocky start, she didn’t want Adam as a friend
or
an enemy. She wanted him as her lover.

Adam shouldn’t have been looking forward to Kari’s visit.

She was a criminal, involved in an intricate drug smuggling operation. He’d taken a sworn oath to protect the country from people like her.

It wasn’t a
date
.

But his libido wouldn’t hear that. As soon as he got home from work, he made sure the place was spotless. He also took pains with his appearance. After a shower and shave, he put on cologne and shrugged into one of his nicest shirts.

Then he braced his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering what the hell he was doing.

He’d told her he didn’t want to see her again unless she told him the truth. But he was edgy with anticipation, and it had a lot more to do with getting dirty than with coming clean. The intensity of his desire for her blindsided him.

Adam had slept with beautiful women before. He’d had hot, meaningless sex with strangers. Even with Penelope, he hadn’t always been a gentleman. Tawdry hookups and impulsive acts weren’t new to him.

But most of the encounters weren’t memorable, either. Only the times with Penelope seemed special. None of the women since had mattered—except Kari. It wasn’t just a physical thing between them, either, although her body was incredible. The way she’d responded, tearing off her clothes and lifting her skirt for him …

Christ.

It was like she couldn’t wait to get fucked.

He knew she’d used sex as a weapon, avoiding his questions by jumping on him. But he also knew she hadn’t faked anything. She’d been fantastically wet. He remembered her uninhibited cries, the hot clasp of her body as she came.

When the doorbell rang earlier than expected, he snapped out of his lustful stupor. Buttoning his shirt hastily, he went to answer the door.

It wasn’t Kari.

His sister, Raquel, was standing there. Judging by her slinky dress and done-up hair, she was going somewhere fancy. Her husband, Brian, waited in the car. Little Logan and Maya stood next to her, their eyes bright.

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw.