Side aching, he fled to the nearest church. He fell down on his knees and prayed for his daughter. He begged and pleaded for her safety. He paid the tithe with a pocketful of stolen cash. He touched holy water with his killer’s hands.
Then he left the church to sin again.
Chapter 20
Maria wondered if this was it. The final goodbye.
She wanted Ian to book a hotel and rest, but she was too tired to argue with him about it. He’d been ordering her around all day. Do this, do that. Stay here, go there. One minute he was saying something romantic, the next he was being a total ass. He kept glancing around the bus station as if he thought the police might have followed them all the way here from El Limbo. Maybe the fever had cooked his brain like an egg.
The bus to Hermosillo didn’t leave for two more hours. Although he hadn’t bought a ticket yet, she assumed he would follow through on his plan to pursue Sarai, especially now that Armando had been seen alive.
Maria knew she couldn’t convince Ian to go easy on Armando. There was too much bad blood between them. Armando had broken too many laws. She understood that he was acting in Sarai’s best interests, not his own, but those motives didn’t matter to Ian. He was determined to take Armando down. If the two men met up in Benjamín Hill, there would be a battle, and she wasn’t sure Ian would win. The more desperate man always had the advantage.
Armando would do anything for his daughter. He’d strike first, and shoot to kill.
While they waited, she took the opportunity to call the pharmacy in Mezcala. The store owner sent his son across the street to fetch her mother. A moment later, Virginia Santos was on the line. The sound of her happy voice brought fresh tears to Maria’s eyes.
“M’ija! I’m so glad you called!”
“How is everyone?”
“We’re fine. I talked to Hugo.”
Maria was cheered by this news. “Really?”
“He said he got robbed on the train. Some boys took his money and gave him a black eye, but he’s okay. He had to take a break from traveling to rest.”
“When did he call?”
“Two days ago.”
“Where is he?”
“He was in Mazatlán. I don’t know if he’s still there.”
“Mazatlán?”
“Yes. That’s where he called from. Where are you? Are you with your boyfriend? He is very handsome, but your father wouldn’t approve of you going away with a stranger. Se?ora Rivera told everyone you were an American puta now.”
“She did?”
“Well, no one believed her, but she did say it. You know she’s always been jealous because her daughter isn’t as pretty as you.”
“Her daughter married Juan Diego,” Maria pointed out.
“Good thing you didn’t marry him. He spends all of his nights at the cantina.”
“I have to go, Mamá,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”
Her mother protested, but Maria hung up.
Ian was standing right behind her. “Who’s Juan Diego?”
“My old boyfriend from Mezcala.”
His nostrils flared, as if he could smell a rival.
“Never mind that,” she said, grasping his arm. “My brother is here.”
“Where?”
“In Mazatlán. At the cargo station.”
“Why would he be there?”
“Some thieves beat him up, so he got off the train.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“He could be long gone by now.”
“I have to find out.”
He stared down at her, his expression inscrutable.
“Please,” she murmured.
For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. He raked a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “This is insane.”
“No more insane than you looking for Sarai.”
“That’s my job.”
“And he is my brother. My family.”
“You think I don’t understand that? I never had a real family, so I don’t know how it feels to love someone or worry about them.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, reluctant to argue. “I think that you are feverish. Maybe you should stay here.”
He scowled at this suggestion, seeming insulted. He grabbed the backpack and accompanied her through the station. Outside, he hailed a cab. They climbed in together. The cargo station was near the coast, according to the driver.
Mazatlán was a beautiful city. It was a balmy evening, thick with promise. Some of her tension drained away as she watched the palm trees sway in the breeze. She lifted her hair off the nape of her neck, enjoying the humid air on her skin. She wished she was here on a tropical vacation. She’d never been on a tropical vacation. Or any other kind of vacation.
“Tell me about this Juan Diego.”
She twisted her hair into a knot, glancing at him. He was slouching in the seat with his legs spread wide and one arm draped across his belly. She could tell that he was curious, but also half-joking. “You are a jealous man.”
“I am,” he agreed, without shame.
“Juan Diego is a boy from my village. We dated for two years.”
“Did he kiss you?”
She smiled at the question, fluttering her lashes. They’d held hands on the way home from school, and he’d stolen a few kisses, but it was nothing like what she’d shared with Ian.
“Why did you break up?”
“I left,” she said, looking away.
“He didn’t come after you?”
“No. He told me he would. Then I wrote to him about what happened at the border, because I thought he should know. He never wrote back. A month later, he married someone else.”
“He sounds like a fool.”
“What teenage boy is not?”
Ian conceded her point. “Why did you mention him on the phone?”
“No reason.”
“You were upset.”
“His mother-in-law saw you in town. She told everyone that I’m a whore.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Maybe I should go down there and kick her son’s ass to shut her up.”
Maria smiled again, shaking her head. She doubted he’d do that, but his anger over the insult was oddly comforting. “He’s her son-in-law, not her son. And it would not be a fair fight. He lost the use of his right hand in an accident.”
“Can he work?”
“Yes. He works at his father’s store.”
Ian fell silent for the rest of the ride, his brow furrowed. She didn’t know if he was broody or feverish or what. She stared out the window, soaking up the scenery. There were white-sand beaches in the distance, and dark waves lapping the shoreline. “Have you been here before?”