Love at 11 (22 page)

“Yes, I saw those pictures,” I said, wondering if Miguel’s brother had remembered to turn off the clicking sound on his camera phone before he took them. Maybe not, considering how he’d ended up.

“He took the photos thinking he could bribe the Lopez family and get a share of the business. Instead of accepting his proposal, they simply killed him.” Miguel shook his head. “He was young and foolish, my brother.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head in respect. I’d have to go back through those documents now that I knew what they were photos of. I’d had no idea the guy in them was head of the infamous Lopez Cartel. How perfect for the story. The smoking gun, so to speak.

“Does the Lopez family own the property?” Jamie asked.

“Oh, no. They do not own anything,” said Alejandro. “If they did, the
policía
would be on them immediately. They lease the land from a third party and pay them off in a combination of drugs and cash in exchange for the use of the land.”

“Do you know who they lease it from?” I asked, getting excited. That transaction we saw in the desert—that must have been the guy they were leasing it off of. It made finding out who owned Reardon Oil even more important.

He shook his head. “I do not know for certain. I would assume someone from the American side. Someone with a clean record that the Feds would not suspect. A business leader, perhaps. A—how do you say it?—pillar of the community.”

Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice in Wonderland would say. It all starting making perfect sense. Reardon Oil paid of Senator Gorman to approve their digging for oil on that property. With government approval, no one would suspect anything illicit going on. And since it was so far out in the desert, most likely it didn’t get inspected on a regular basis. Then, Reardon Oil leased the land to the Lopez family to transport their drugs. They made a huge profit for doing absolutely nothing.

Only one question remained. Who owned Reardon Oil?

Before I could ask any more questions, voices, speaking in Spanish, suddenly echoed through the warehouse. Someone had arrived.

All four of us froze. Alejandro glanced at Miguel, a scared expression on his face.

“Eduardo,” he said in a whisper. “The other guard. I do not know why he is here. He is not on duty for another hour.”

Jamie and I exchanged horrified looks. This was exactly the nightmare situation we’d feared. To be caught by drug lords! Tortured. Killed. Buried in the desert. Our lives could be over in a matter of minutes! I felt like I was going to puke. Why had I thought this was a good story?

“Quickly. Through the window!” Miguel pointed to a small, dingy window on one wall. Could we even fit through that? The voices were coming closer. We’d sure as hell have to try. Alejandro ran to the door and locked it.

“This will not buy us much time,” he said. “Please leave. I mourn the loss of your brother, Miguel. But I do not wish to join him in hell.”

We didn’t wait for a second invitation. Propping a chair against the wall, I stood on it and pushed up the window. It opened with a resounding squeak that I was sure would give us away. Any second the door could open. We could be caught.

Focus
, Maddy!

“
Alejandro?
” a male voice called. “
¿Dónde está usted?
” I nearly fell off the chair as the doorknob rattled. Thank God Alejandro had locked the door. That would have been it.

“
Un momento, Eduardo. Ha, ha. Usted me ha cogido que tomaba una siesta
,” Alejandro said, motioning for us to hurry.

“What did he say?” I hissed to Miguel, praying it wasn’t Spanish for selling us down the river.

“He says they caught him taking a nap.”

Phew. With great effort and much adrenaline, I pulled myself through the window. For a moment, my child-bearing hips stuck against the sides of the small frame, but I managed to wiggle my way out and jump to the ground. Short, skinny Miguel came next, slipping through easily.

My breath caught in my throat.
Jamie
. He was a much broader build than either of us. Would he be able to fit?

His head poked through the window and I could see that he was struggling. He was just too big for the narrow frame. Terror choked me. He would get caught. They’d kill him. KILL him! I couldn’t let it happen. Not to Jamie. Well, not to anyone, if it came to that. But especially not to Jamie.

I raced back to the window and grabbed his hand. “Let me help you,” I cried. “I’ll pull you through.”

“I don’t think I’m going to fit,” he said hoarsely, out of breath from his struggle and fear. “You should go on without me.”

“No!” I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m not leaving you here.” Inside we could hear banging on the door.

“
Alejandro?
” the voice demanded, not so amused this time. “
Abra la puerta inmediatamente!
”

“Maddy, it’ll do no good to have both of us caught,” he scolded me. “Go. Now!”

“No!” I upped my grip to his arms and yanked as hard as I could. “I’m not going to leave you!” I tugged again, using my full weight for leverage.

It was amazing what someone under a severe adrenaline rush can do strength-wise. The last pull prompted the window frame to crack and give way. Jamie came crashing through, I fell backward and he landed on top of me, his weight crushing my rib cage.

I looked up. His face was inches from mine, his expression, a mixture of shock and relief. Then he leaned in closer—giving me a quick kiss on my surprised mouth.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then just as quickly rolled off of me.

We scrambled to our feet; there was no time to think, to feel. We dove into the darkness.

“Hurry,” Miguel hissed from a distance, his voice guiding us as we ran through the desert to the car. A few moments later, a light flashed from the window into the darkness and we ducked to avoid catching its glare. My knee slammed into a sharp rock and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out as hot blood flowed from my kneecap.

“Stay down,” Miguel commanded.

Crawling on hands and knees, it took next to forever to reach the car. I prayed over and over that they hadn’t left anyone as a guard waiting with an AK-47 to blow away whoever came to claim it. This sure seemed a lot more glamorous when it happened to James Bond. Of course, he had an Aston Martin as a getaway car. I wasn’t too sure Miguel’s subcompact hatchback would have much of a chance if it came down to a car chase.

Jamie and I hopped into the back of the car and Miguel pulled the gearshift into neutral. Then he got out and pushed the vehicle down the hill until we picked up speed. He jumped into the car as we rolled silently down the desert road. Once we were a distance away and the hill flattened out, he turned the key in the ignition and shut the door.

“We should be safe now,” he said.

I let out the breath I’d been holding for God knew how long. I turned to Jamie, panting for air, still not able to speak. He grabbed me and forcefully pulled me into a crushing hug that said more than words ever could. I clung to him, burying my face in his shoulder, sobbing with relief. Miguel stepped on the gas and we sped off into the night.

“Quite the adventure, no?” he asked, turning to look at us.

Jamie released me from his embrace and nodded. “Quite,” he said, his voice still unsteady.

I leaned back in my seat and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to talk. To think. Emotions ran too fast, too hard. I felt a hand squeeze my own and I opened my eyes and looked beside me. Jamie gave me a sad smile that spoke a thousand words.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For what?”

He paused for a moment. Then answered: “For just being you.”

Normal Heights

Community High School

10777 Alta Vista Road

San Diego, CA 92116

Dear Ms. Madison,

By law, every child at Normal Heights Community High School must attend an average of 180 days per fiscal school year. We do allow for occasional absences due to illness, family emergencies, even an occasional vacation.

However, Lulu’s extended leave has become unacceptable. She has fallen behind in her studies and is in danger of flunking out.

While I am sorry to hear of your recent bout with SARS from your visit to China and understand Lulu’s fervent desire to be with her sister in her time of need, as Lulu’s new legal guardian you must agree that her studies should come first.

I hate giving ultimatums, but if your sister does not start attending school immediately, she will be expelled.

Sincerely, Walter Sott

Principal

PS. I’m also sorry to hear about your parents’ tragic death by car accident. It’s odd, I must have missed their obituaries in the paper.

Chapter Thirteen

The clock had struck three a.m. long before I inserted my key into the lock of my front door. I couldn’t be more exhausted if I’d run a marathon. In a way I had, I guess—a mental marathon, anyway. My heart literally ached from the rapid beating it had been forced to drum during our desert adventure. And my scraped knee throbbed its annoyance at the horrid mistreatment it had suffered under my watch.

It was funny. James Bond never came home sore and exhausted. He’d go on high adventures—espionage, chase scenes, gun fights—much more strenuous than mine and still have plenty of energy to pleasure a Bond girl the same night.

He must have had better gym habits than I did.

I tiptoed into the living room, assuming Lulu would be sound asleep on the couch. At least I hadn’t come home to another wild party; tonight I wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to deal with San Diego’s pierced and tattooed.

But Lulu wasn’t lying on the couch. Nor, as further examination confirmed, had she passed out in my bed. I began to worry. Was she out partying again? The girl was going to flunk out of school. I’d already gone through the roof when she sheepishly presented me the note from her principal the night before. I had no idea she’d been skipping. The devious little bitch had been waking up at six a.m. and leaving the apartment on time to catch the bus; how was I supposed to know she’d detoured somewhere along the way? And to lie to the administrators? Tell them our parents had died and I’d contracted SARS?

Seriously, if I ever managed to get married, I was so not having children.

I noticed the answering machine’s blinking light and pressed the “play” button. Maybe Lulu had called. Maybe she’d decided to sleep over a friend’s or went back to our parents’ house.

“Um, hi, Maddy? Can you, like, come down to the police station when you get home? I’ve been, um, arrested.”

Or maybe she was in worse trouble than I’d even imagined.

Damn it all to hell! All I wanted to do was curl up in my warm, inviting bed and sleep for a year. Was that so much to ask for at three a.m. on a work night? And now I had to go down to the police station to bail out my little sister for God knew what reason? Seriously, whatever I’d done in another life to deserve such karma must have been pretty darn bad. Like Attila-the-Hun bad.

I thought about calling my father. Letting him know the consequences of his neglect. Lecturing him on how he should be sorting out his old family before starting in on his new one. Force him to parent—to deal with Lulu’s juvenile delinquency. But luckily for dear old dad, at this moment I didn’t have the mental energy to deal with his disappointment in me for not looking after Lulu the way I should have. As if it had been my job all along.

No, I’d go and bring my sister home myself. But he’d be sure to hear about the incident first thing in the morning. I should have gone to him to begin with, before things got so out of control.

I headed to my bedroom to grab money out of my underwear drawer. I had stashed it there before going to Mexico—didn’t want to bring a ton of cash to a foreign country. Of course, if I’d known the funds would be called upon to bail my crazy sister out of jail, I might have handed them out willy-nilly to the far more deserving Mexican beggar children. Or at least bought that purse.

I reached into the drawer and fished around under my collection of lacy thongs (hardly used) and granny pants (somewhat threadbare) for the cash.

I didn’t feel it.

Puzzled, I started pulling out the underwear and tossing it on top of the dresser. It had to be there.

Nothing.

Three hundred dollars had just disappeared.

Lulu. The thought hit me like a ten-ton truck. It had to be Lulu. Oh. My. God. She was soooo dead.

Seriously, I should let her freaking rot in jail. I wondered how long they’d leave someone there if no one came to bail them out. If we were lucky they’d incarcerate her until her thirtieth birthday.

What a fool I’d been. She was a drug addict. That stuff on the mirror? That hadn’t been no stinkin’ Ritalin. That’d been meth. Or cocaine. Oh, why hadn’t I trusted my first impulse? Called my father? He could have gotten her into rehab. Now she’d stolen from me and gotten arrested. How was she supposed to get into college with a criminal record?

No longer tired, adrenaline kept me pumped as I ran to my car and burned rubber to the police station. When had my sixteen-year-old sister become a drug addict? And why hadn’t I noticed the signs? This was all my fault. Mine or my parents’. How dare they be so selfish—go on living their own lives as if they’d never had children tying them down?

If I ever got married, I would get my tubes tied before the ceremony. Just in case the birth control pill, diaphragm, and double condom somehow failed.

A half hour and a hundred and fifty dollars later (thank goodness for ATMs), a pale, withdrawn, stony-faced Lulu walked through the police station door. I rose from my seat, half delirious with exhaustion and ran over to hug her. She shrugged me off.

“I’m tired. I want to go home.”

I wanted to yell at her. Shake some sense into her. Beat her to a pulp for being so stupid even. But the officer on duty suggested I wait until morning. Until she’d slept it off. At the moment she was coming down from the drugs and would most likely be combative, unremorseful.