An indignant shield fell over Enrique’s face.“Had I arranged a safe house at the beach, would that have made you more grateful?I’m trying to save your life, Lourdes.I know Diego Zayas a lot better than you do.If you want an abusive, cheating husband who thinks of you as property, then you’re not the woman I thought you were.”
She harrumphed, scrambled out into the cool mountain air, and slammed the door shut.Gravel crunched under her shoes.Dios.That man excelled at setting her teeth on edge.Battling back her anger as she had done for years when pitted against her father, she closed her eyes and fisted her hands so hard her nails bit into her palms.The breeze swept strands of her mussed hair across her face while carrying the scent of autumn flowers and rich earth.The harmony of rustling tree branches and lilting bird calls settled the harsh pounding of her heart.
Blinking rapidly, she stretched her sore fingers until the joints popped.The sun dipped toward the towering peaks and cast a striking shade of fuchsia across the emerald and sienna terrain as though begging for an artist to capture the beauty on canvas.Lourdes longed to be that artist.If only she had her supplies.
A sense of freedom quickened her pulse.How strange, given she was Enrique’s captive.
Nestled in a grove of pine and oak, the deceptively simple dark-wood cabin with its shuttered windows blended into the shadowy foliage around it.Motion-sensor floodlights lined the steeply slanted forest-green slate roof like damning spotlights, judging Lourdes as an intruder.An antenna rose discreetly at the side of the building where a mounted camera monitored the gravel road—a deterrent to her escape plan.A low mechanical grind echoed from somewhere behind the cabin, foiling the tranquility.A generator, maybe.
The cabin wasn’t some romantic hideaway.
It was a fortress to safeguard or hold prisoners.Here she was—a prisoner whom her captor wanted to protect.As Enrique rounded the vehicle, a chill snaked down her spine.She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms and scowled at him.
He headed toward the cabin with her luggage case hanging from the strap on his shoulder and the crinkled paper bag now stuffed with balled-up sandwich wrappers, empty chip baggies, and drained bottles in his hand.Once he punched in a code on the electronic keypad, a beep resounded, and a green LED light flashed on the panel.He opened the door and crossed the threshold to flip on the lights.
Alone, she fidgeted with the hem of her blouse and stared back down the canopy-shaded road.If she were a child, she’d stomp away in a pique of indignation.A foolhardy notion, especially with evening creeping in.She had better not risk her captor’s wrath just yet.Bide her time.Play his game.Despite his underhandedness, Enrique wouldn’t hurt her.She had to believe that.
With a sigh, she marched into the spacious single-room building and stumbled to a stop.Dios mío.The interior was beautiful in a rustic sort of way.From the varnished floor, exposed ceiling beams, and plaid-curtained windows, the quaint cabin emanated old-world charm.Thankfully, Enrique had left the planked walls bare instead of hanging up the tacky mounted animal heads that some homeowners considered so quintessential in backwoods décor.
He’d already deposited her suitcase on the full-sized bed, which was pushed up against the back wall near the locked weapons rack.The knives, rifles, handguns, and magazines stocked behind the glass door had to cost a small fortune that a high-ranking narco like Enrique could easily afford.Now, he stuffed the trash into a bin in the tidy kitchenette.
Hesitating in the doorway, she scanned the sleek desktop computer on the desk in the makeshift corner office.Perhaps she could email her mom if the device had Internet access.No, she’d better forget it.Enrique had probably password-protected the computer and installed tons of encryption software.If only she’d found her cell in her purse when she changed her clothes earlier, though she hadn’t expected to even find the purse.
“Cozy,” she muttered, closing the door behind her.And damn it, itwascozy.“Do you hide out here often?”
“Sometimes, when I want to disappear.”He rummaged through the canned goods in the open-air cabinets, clanking the tins together, before he pulled out a few.
“Only crazy people have a bunker in the mountains.”
“Or people who know how crazy the real world is.This place is safe,” he countered.
Time would tell.The stone-slab fireplace lorded over the sitting area from the right-side wall, a picture of perfection if flames flickered in the hearth.She padded across the rug and trailed her fingertips over the cold, textured mantelpiece and then the smooth veneer of a softly ticking antique clock.No dust or soot.Impressive.She picked up the framed photo at the opposite end.
Frozen in time, a skinny little boy held a fishing rod while a thirty-something-year-old couple grinned without a care in the world.The cabin gleamed behind them in the sunlight, free of cameras and bulky equipment.
Enrique.
The boy’s sharp nose and eyebrows matched those of the man who starred in her dreams.She stroked her finger down the protective glass, right over his face.Her heart clenched.She’d never seen an honest to God smile curl Enrique’s lips, but the child in the picture beamed as though he didn’t know how to stop.She turned and drew up short as Enrique watched her from near the whirring old-fashioned fridge.He cocked his head as though he didn’t know what to make of her.
“How old were you here?”She lifted the framed image.
“Ten.It was taken twenty-three years ago.”
That made him thirty-three, only six years older than she was.“What happened to your parents?Was this cabin your family home?I thought you grew up somewhere in Sonora, not in Chihuahua, and in a city, at that.”Enrique’s cabin was only a few hours from the Sonoran state border, so his family had likely used it as a hunting lodge or a private place to escape the hustle and bustle of city living.
“Those are questions for another time.”He closed the space between them, pulled the frame from her grasp, and set it back on the mantel.Shifting his jaw, he stared hard at the image.
“Why did you bring me here?”She rested her hand on his arm, daring him to look at her.Once his shadowed gaze slid toward her, she raised her chin.“This place obviously means a great deal to you.Why risk my father’s men destroying it when they track us down?”
He clasped her hands with his.“If it’s destroyed, I’ll rebuild.Whether it stays a secret or not, I don’t care.I wanted to bring you here.I wanted my parents to meet the woman I intend to marry.”He nodded back at the photo, then shrugged.“It’s stupid, I know.”
Lourdes blinked away the burn of tears and shook her head, his honesty astounding her.“Not stupid at all.It shows your humanity and, I daresay, decency.It’s the type of thing I always thought you were capable of, but I cannot marry you.”
“Shh.”He placed his finger on her lips.“I will win you over.”
“Oh, Enrique.”How could she convince him to see reason?Lourdes glanced back at the faces of his deceased parents.The weight of their love and their hope for a bright future pressed down upon her like boulders.What would they think of her?Would they approve of their son’s choice for a wife—a widow who always disappointed and couldn’t live up to her family’s expectations?
Her stomach turned.She swallowed back a rise of bitterness, keeping her ham sandwich and potato chips where they belonged, and rubbed the chill from her arms.
