Epilogue
Six Weeks Later
Lourdes sipped herdelicious, fruity pink cocktail at the bar.
A faint hint of lavender scented the cool air in the spacious, dimly lit common area of La Estancia Roja.Classical piano strains flowed from stereo speakers that were discreetly hidden behind exotic leafy plants and long burgundy velvet curtains.
“It must have been a difficult choice.To choose this kind of job,” Lourdes stated, picking her words carefully.She shifted on the tall, cushioned stool and leaned closer to Martina.
“Difficult, sí, but necessary.My parents do not know about it,” Martina admitted and flicked her hand toward the high-end décor and brocaded wallpaper.Her bracelets jingled.“My husband works all day in the agave fields and sends me most of his earnings.He does not like my job, but accepts it.After the arson, we struggled to survive on his paycheck.The children grow so fast, you understand.Food, clothes, schoolbooks, rent—so hard to come by.I took in laundry, but it paid little.Now, the money I make here will make it easier to live.”
Lourdes nodded.For the past hour, she’d spoken with several prostitutes, expecting to hear stories of shame and misery.To her shock, they were grateful to be back at work.There was no desperation, no fear.This was a job.Nothing more.
Some had elderly parents or fatherless children to support.Others were married and doing this work to help pay the bills, all with their husbands’ knowledge and consent, like Martina.A few simply enjoyed sex and needed quick cash to fulfill their dreams.
The stigma was hers, not theirs.
Though she wasn’t so naïve to believe all prostitutes were content, well paid, or working in safe establishments, these women were.Enrique wouldn’t be the man she thought he was if he didn’t provide for his staff.
“I’d best get back to work.”Martina glanced at Lourdes’s wedding rings and offered her a half-smile.“While I prefer unmarried clients, I cannot afford to be picky.In my opinion, whatever is going on between a husband and his wife is between them, but you are fortunate.Your man only has eyes for you.”
“Gracias.”Lourdes shook the woman’s hand.
Martina weaved through the room and caught the attention of a middle-aged man in a dark-gray suit.
Sighing, Lourdes leaned back against the polished bar and swirled her drink in its glass.
Over a dozen elegant women in silk robes and lace lingerie lounged on red velveteen sofas or perched themselves on the armrests of winged chairs while chatting with potential clients.Some were flirtatious, running their fingers along a man’s tie or whispering in his ear.Others sat at intimate little tables and laughed with the men over drinks.
From attending the grand reopening of Santiago’s nightclub the month before to preparing several paintings for her upcoming gallery exhibit, she had banished all thoughts of the brothel to the darkest recesses of her mind.Now, here she was, at the center of a new, different world.
Across the room, her husband presided over a circle of bouncers.From his sharp suit and even sharper eyes, he commanded the space with an air of superiority that shot tingles to her toes.Once the bouncers darted off to other parts of the luxurious two-story building, Enrique chatted with Detective Ibarra, whom she’d met earlier, and the tall, lithe woman who clung to the detective’s arm.
With a few well-placed bribes, Enrique and Rubén had convinced Ibarra and the police chief to quietly close the multitude of investigations.Even though Diego was wanted for everything from the nightclub shooting to the clinic drive-by and even Officer Sanchez’s disappearance, as far as the police and public knew, Diego had fled the country to escape the charges.
Whatever happened to the bodies of Diego and his crew, she didn’t know.Hadn’t asked.Nor had she asked about Sanchez or the coyote the Nogales team had captured—the man who organized Diego’s crossing into the States.Enrique could keep those secrets to himself.
Since her kidnapping, the wall between them had finally crumbled.
Sometimes she joined him on his brothel and strip club inspections, and she even visited Camp 47, where he’d trained as a teenager.Even now, he was all business and barely glanced at the scantily dressed women.Likewise, the prostitutes weren’t wasting their time on him since he wasn’t a paying customer.Even Juana at the strip club had realized he was off-limits.Maybe Enrique’s threat to fire her if she propositioned him again was the reason for that.
