“In four years. How’s that for impulsive?”
She sank to the edge of the bed, her knees weak. She pictured Armando’s lifeless body. Sarai’s tortured face. Hugo’s broken arm. She pictured the decorations for the homecoming party her father had never come home to.
Love was pain.
Then she thought about Adam and Kari. Love hadn’t been a picnic for them, either. But it was passionate and it was pure. They looked at each other as if no one else mattered, and nothing could ever come between them.
That was the way Ian looked at Maria. It was the same way she looked at him.
“I’m in love with you too,” she whispered.
He sat down beside her. “What?”
“Yo también te amo,” she said, louder.
His eyes got watery. They reminded her of the river after it rained. “Since when?”
“Since we met.”
He took a deep breath, processing this news. “I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I, but it’s true.”
“What should we do?”
She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. “Tonight? We should make up for lost time.”
“And tomorrow?”
She kissed away the question, because it couldn’t be answered.
Chapter 26
Caitlyn woke up in an empty room.
She rubbed her eyes and looked around, disoriented by her surroundings. She wasn’t on the uncomfortable cot in the corner. She was curled up on a couch in front of an unlit hearth. There was a cozy wool blanket draped over her. She felt woozy, as if she’d been drugged.
Had she been drugged?
The last thing she remembered was sharing a meal with Carlos on the veranda. He’d been feeling well enough to sit outside, in a wheelchair. He’d made pleasant conversation, as always. He was almost handsome when he smiled, even with his charred face. But the smile hadn’t reached his eyes. He’d been in constant pain, and he seemed to relish it. She hadn’t been able to convince him to take morphine after the first day.
He’d told her all about his life. His carefree childhood, his troubled teens, his rise to power in the cartel, and his out-of-control drug addiction. He’d met his girlfriend, Sasha, at a nightclub in San Diego. He’d introduced her to heroin. He’d been a functioning addict, but she had not. Her rapid decline had scared him straight. Although he’d tried to help her get clean, he’d failed. He’d been struggling to manage his empire, and looking for a way out, when she’d overdosed.
Armando had been part of Carlos’s exit plan. He’d needed someone to take over the business and run things with integrity.
“Integrity?” Caitlyn had interrupted. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I have standards for temperament and conduct.”
“What standards? No killing after midnight?”
“I don’t allow women or children to be harmed.”
“I was kidnapped. That’s harmful.”
He waved a bandaged hand in the air. “Villarreal is a little rough around the edges, but he shares my views.”
“If he’s so great, why did your men treat him like a captive?”
“They were told he was a traitor.”
“Is he?”
Carlos shrugged. “He’s been loyal to me. Like most men, he puts his family first.”
She learned that Armando had killed several members of the Los Rojos cartel in retaliation for his wife’s murder. The recent upheaval in Tijuana had created a power vacuum. Everyone connected to Carlos was a target, especially Armando. Armando’s daughter wasn’t safe, either. He’d been desperate to survive for her sake.
Caitlyn’s opinion of the two men didn’t change after hearing this story. They were still drug dealers. Live by the gun, die by the gun. She felt sorry for the women with the misfortune of having relationships with them. She’d told Carlos again that she wanted to go home. Instead of making promises, he’d asked Domingo to bring her a glass of wine.
She’d had one glass—and passed out.
“That bastard,” she breathed, throwing the blanket aside. Her shoes were sitting on the tile. She put them on and stumbled through the house.
She was the only person there.
The room where she’d been held against her will for over a week was deserted. Carlos wasn’t inside. His hospital bed and the medical supplies were gone. Everyone else was gone too. She wandered back to the living room area. Her keys were sitting on the kitchen countertop next to a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and a brief note.
Thank you for your excellent medical care this week. Please accept this modest payment, and forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. There is breakfast in the fridge. May life treat you well.
Yours fondly,
Carlos
The modest payment was five thousand dollars. She stuffed it into her pocket and checked the fridge. There was a cinnamon spice muffin and iced coffee. Taking both with her, she walked outside and found her car in the garage. Her purse was on the front seat.
She left the house and drove through the Tijuana foothills to the border. It took almost four hours of waiting at the line in San Ysidro. When she finally reached the inspections booth, the U.S. customs officer asked for her passport and driver’s license.
She gave him the second item. “I don’t have my passport with me. I’m Caitlyn Weiss.”
He studied her driver’s license with a frown. Then he stared at her as if she was a ghost. “Caitlyn Abigail Weiss?”
“That’s me.”
“You’ve been missing.”
Tears flooded her eyes. She hadn’t been sure she was going to make it out of Mexico until this very moment. “I’m back.”