“Jimmy Dixon’s working on it.”
Josie watched Nick take a long swig of his beer, and again she was struck by his physical presence. When he walked into a room he filled it up; he was big and intense and couldn’t blend into a crowd if he wanted to. In contrast, Josie tried to fall back and observe; she attributed this to being a cop, but she knew it was also her personality. She watched the condensation drip down the bottle and onto his jeans and took in his hard jawline. He smiled without turning to face her.
“You okay with the view?”
She laughed. “A little cocky, aren’t you?”
“Just making sure you’re satisfied.”
“I was deciding what kind of a bodyguard you might make.”
“The best.”
“You busy tonight?” she asked.
“I’m your man.”
She smiled as she nodded. “Good. I need an escort to Mexico.”
*
Nick carried dual citizenship in the U.S. and Mexico and frequently made the trip across the International Bridge. Driving in his black armored SUV, they passed through customs with no issues, and within a few minutes they were driving parallel to the river, headed for desert country. Once they were out of Piedra Labrada they both rolled down the windows and let the warm night air blow through. When Josie had told Nick about Se?ora Molina he said he knew her. Apparently she was a legend with the young kids in the area. When somebody needed a place to crash, they could count on her.
Nick pulled off the marked gravel road and onto an arroyo that led down into a shallow streambed a half mile from the Rio Grande. The arroyo was dry, since no measurable rain had fallen in the area for several months. The monsoons should have started in September and people were getting nervous that the territory would have another fire season like the year before.
As Nick drove over the fallen boulders in the dry creek bed, Josie couldn’t help smiling at the night. The sun had faded and a fresh scattering of stars cast light across the sky. They were driving along slowly enough to catch the whirring sound of the night insects in the cottonwood trees at the top of the arroyo. In spite of the unpleasant nature of the trip, she relaxed into the night and breathed in the smell of juniper and creosote, a pungent earthy scent like perfume to Josie.
She felt Nick’s hand rest on her own, lying on her thigh.
“You like this, don’t you? The rough desert?” he asked.
She took a minute to respond. “I do. It’s strange to think back, how I grew up in the Midwest, but I never felt at home until I moved here. It’s like my body was meant to be here, with the heat and the wide-open spaces.”
In the failing light, Josie could barely make out the turnoff that Nick pulled onto from the arroyo.
“How could someone in trouble ever make it out here?” Josie asked. “It would be impossible to find.”
“That’s the beauty of Se?ora Molina. To get here is a feat in itself. It’s not like some kid who had a bad day at school would make his way over here for help. You have to seek her out to get here. And she recognizes that. She’s a pretty amazing lady.”
“Have you worked with her often?”
“She’s helped me with a few negotiations. She has a network of contacts that would rival any police department’s.”
“Why don’t the police use her? I’ve never even heard of her,” she said.
“I’m not sure how to explain her,” he said. “She doesn’t have allegiance to the police, or to anyone, for that matter. She wouldn’t put up with the police coming to her for information, especially as an informant.”
Josie nodded.
“She told me once that her life’s work is heartache and trouble.”
They rounded a bend and Nick pulled the SUV to a stop. Josie stepped outside and stood still to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. She smiled and breathed in deep the sweet smell of wood smoke from a fire, and then heard the river flowing before she saw it, a dark swath cutting through the high bank on the U.S. side of the river. A jagged silhouette of rocky outcroppings and clumps of salt cedar were visible above the bank. As she turned away from the river she saw the stone house, barely visible against the low canyon wall that ran behind it. Tucked back under a narrow front porch was a door with two windows lit up on either side of it.
The house was stacked stone, with the rock most likely collected from the lowlying mountains around it. Ruins of old stone homes could be found throughout West Texas, but there were still people who fought the critters and the occasional cold winters to live in them, enjoying the centuries-old way of living. Glass lanterns glowed in the deep windowsills and let off a warm orange light.