The air shifted.He met Lourdes’s teary gaze as she moved closer and squeezed his arm.
“I’m so sorry, Enrique.I cannot imagine what you’ve been through.”She pulled him into a hug.
He stilled, not needing her comfort—any comfort—so many years after the fact.He gently pried free of her grasp and set her at arm’s length.“I’m fine.I rarely talk about my parents or childhood, but I wanted you to know.”
“Thank you for telling me.”She opened her mouth as though to say more, but then she snapped it shut and stared back down the path toward the cabin.“I’m not sure how inheritance laws work.If you ran away, how did you get the rights to the cabin?”
Enrique laughed, the knot in his middle unraveling.“Of all things, I didn’t expect that question.”Breathing easier, he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.“A while back, I petitioned the states of Sonora and Chihuahua for ownership of my parents’ properties.The family house had been sold off years earlier since I never stepped forth to claim it—rather have someone put it in a trust for me since I was a minor—but the cabin was abandoned, so my lawyer got that.”
In truth, he wanted the cabin more than the house.Only in the middle of nowhere had he ever felt at home.
“You wouldn’t believe its disrepair,” he added.“Covered in brambles.Trees growing through the broken windows and out of the collapsed roof.The furniture was ruined, the bedding and curtains in tatters.I cleaned it out and hired contractors to rebuild and modernize.In the cellar, I found an old lockbox.”
“That held the picture you have on the mantel,” she cut in, smiling.
Enrique grinned.She was a perceptive one.He’d give her that.“Mamá took lots of photos that weekend, and we always went to the nearest pharmacy to get the film developed.Every trip, she would frame her favorite shot to leave on the mantel, but since she forgot to bring a frame that time and the pharmacy just happened to be out of stock, she left the picture in the lockbox.None of the others survived.”
She grimaced.“At least you have the one.”
“Before I found it, I could barely remember what my parents looked like, or myself at that age.Nor did I remember my mother’s love of photography and art until then.”He stiffened as Lourdes reached for him again.He raised his hand to keep her back.
“Damn it, Enrique.Stop that.”Lourdes pushed his arm aside and clutched his T-shirt.“Let me hug you.Take care of you.Quit acting closed off and stalwart like these trees.”She nodded toward the towers around them.“You want to love me?Well, let me love you.”
Her frustrated spiel tightened his throat.As she wrapped her arms around him, he buried his face against her neck and savored her flowery scent.The last of his tension faded as she rubbed her hands down his back in slow, soothing caresses.This woman was everything pure in the darkness of his life.God help him, he was going to keep her or die trying.
She drew back enough to face him.“Take me to your favorite childhood spot.You’ve got to remember it.”
“I do, actually.This path leads right to it.”
“Come on, then.”She grasped his hand and led the way.
The overgrown path curled throughout the poplars, oaks, and ponderosa pines like an uncoiling serpent, luring him deeper into the forest.Birds tweeted from somewhere in the upper branches, unaware or uncaring as he passed.The breeze rustled through the trees and prickled the hair on his nape.He’d made the right choice in bringing Lourdes here, though they couldn’t hide out forever.Life in the city and all the trouble that came with it hovered over him like a black cloud.He rounded a curve, and the trees opened into a secluded glade, his childhood haven.
A wide, deep stream curved through the middle like diamonds glinting in the sunlight.Smooth river stones dotted the sandy banks, and patches of grass and moss spread like velvet toward the tree line.
“How beautiful.”Lourdes rushed to the water and plunged her hand in, then yanked it back out as ripples carried to the far side of the bank.“Ahh!It’s colder than a glacier in Antarctica.”She wiped her hand on her pants.
He chuckled and withdrew a thin blanket from the bag to spread over the moss and fallen leaves.Then he removed his boots and socks and reclined on the bedding.
She lay beside him and curled into his chest.“Why did you bring me out here?To the woods, I mean.”
“I wanted to hike.The cabin is great, but the forest is better.Hermosillo is always a scorcher, so I come here to escape the heat whenever I can.”
“That’s what I hated most about living there—the summer heat.What exactly is your job?I know you’re in charge of the enforcement branch, but what does that entail?”
“Enforcementandrecruitment,” he clarified and rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven cheeks.“I manage the men, assign them to various plazas, handle issues when things get messy, oversee recruits.”
She folded her arms on his stomach and propped her chin on her hands to face him.“What kind of recruitment?”
He hesitated, then sighed.“Unlike some of the newer cartels who are struggling to make a name for themselves, the Lozanos don’t force people to join unless circumstances demand it.Willing soldiers are best.Some are generational.If a father, uncle, or cousin is involved, the younger ones usually want to join.Some parents have law-abiding jobs and can barely afford food, so the children or the parents themselves earn extra money as mules or lookouts.Money, status, power, respect—it draws people in.It drewmein.”
Lourdes bit her bottom lip.“I can’t judge.I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
“A silver spoon forged in the bowels of Hell.”He bent his arm behind his head and shifted slightly for a more comfortable position.The tight muscles in his back eased.“Rubén donates to charities and hosts fundraisers, and I donate a fair bit myself.We give money in the cartel’s name to win people over, like helping out youth shelters and backing medical researchers working on cures for AIDS, cancer, things like that.”
She nodded.“Papá does the same, but he always gripes about it beforehand.”
“I’m not surprised.”Enrique stroked a lock of her silken hair between his thumb and forefinger.“Lots of kids or young adults slip through the cracks.They end up in the hands of pimps or human traffickers, get hooked on the pipe or needle, and have no say about their future.The recruiters offer an alternative.The criminal life is dangerous, but they get to choose it for right or wrong.It’s not perfect.Believe me, I know.”
