“Maybe.”

After drying her hands on a towel, she shut the dishwasher. “You’re really going to hold out on me?”

He moved toward the fridge to get another beer, but she intercepted him. “Sit down. I’m making you some dinner.”

“No, you’re not. With you getting in my way, I can’t go back to drinking.”

“That’s true. But as long as I’m here, you may as well talk to me.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“That’s flattering. I’m glad I came over to help.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you here.” Actually, it was. But not because he didn’t care about her. “It’s just… I’m not sure what to do.”

“About…”

“Going to Arizona.”

She took two frozen chicken br**sts from his freezer. “Something happen down there?”

“Some ass**le is shooting illegal aliens as they come across the border, and I’m contemplating putting a stop to it. That’s all.”

“Local law enforcement can’t manage?”

“Bordertown isn’t exactly prosperous. It has a few wealthy ranchers but almost everyone else lives below the poverty line. There isn’t a lot of money in the public coffers.”

She put the chicken in the microwave to defrost. “The county or the state will help. Maybe even the Feds.”

“Probably. But I wouldn’t charge anything. I know the area. And I’m fluent in Spanish. I could float around, maybe pick up on a few things law enforcement might miss.” He felt he owed it to his mother and her people. That was the most compelling reason, but he didn’t say so.

“If it’s that important to you, I’m sure you can get the time off from Department 6. You’ve got weeks of vacation coming.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“So why are you fighting it?”

“You think I should go.”

She laughed. “No. You think you should go. Obviously. That’s why you’re so conflicted. I’m just trying to tell you that drinking won’t change that.”

“My father lives there,” he finally admitted.

Her steady gaze met his. “You told me you didn’t have a father.”

“I did?” He couldn’t remember saying that.

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s essentially true. He never acknowledged me. He gave my mother money every now and then—as much as he could siphon away without risking the wrath of his wife—but nothing steady and only out of a sense of obligation. He had another family. The one everyone looked up to.”

She pretended this was a casual conversation, but he could tell she was taking it all in. “Any siblings?”

“Two white boys. Mean sons of bitches, too.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Older.” And stronger. At least back then. He had no idea what they were like now. He only knew they’d joined forces to beat the crap out of him on several occasions, usually because he’d come across them on their own property and refused to step out of the way. He’d been tired of seeing his father and everyone else treat them like little princes while he couldn’t pick an orange without being accused of stealing.

“Your father didn’t stop them?”

“He turned a blind eye. He knew it would get back to his wife if he did and cause an even bigger problem.”

“Your brothers still live there?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never asked anyone.” Even Jorge. “But I can’t imagine they’d leave. They’re eventually going to inherit a sizeable farm right outside of Bordertown.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Buried in the town cemetery.”

The microwave dinged but she made no move to recover the poultry. “What happened to her, Rod?”

“Lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life, yet she died of lung cancer.” He chuckled bitterly. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“None of it sounds fair. But you’re not the person you were then. You’d be going back as someone else. Someone to be reckoned with.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What does that mean?”

“It means you can handle whatever’s waiting for you there—a killer who’s shooting illegal aliens, two mean sons of bitches who might still benefit from a good ass-whopping, a father who must have been a fool not to love you…and the sight of a grave that will probably break your heart.”

“See? This is why I don’t talk to you,” he said.

“Why?”

“You just don’t understand.”

Knowing he meant the opposite, she smiled. “When are you leaving?”

“I guess I might as well go tonight. Any chance you’ll take me to the airport?”

“You think you can get a flight?”

“I doubt I can get into Tucson, but I should be able to reach Phoenix. I’ll rent a car and drive from there.”

Sophia’s long hair was dark enough to blend in with that of the Mexicans she’d encounter, but the color of her eyes and her skin tone would give her away. Her light green irises drew attention wherever she went. People always commented on how startling they were. And, although she had a bit of a tan now that it was summer, her skin was most definitely that of a white person. But at least she wouldn’t look any more like a cop than she would a Mexican citizen. She had the tattoo “sleeve” partially covering one arm to thank for that. It might be a remnant of her wild youth, but she still liked the symbols of good and evil portrayed there. They showed humanity at its most realistic—never wholly honorable and never wholly bad. Besides, those tattoos gave her the hard edge she sometimes needed, helped make up for the fact that she was only five feet five inches tall and one hundred and ten pounds.

She pulled on a tank top to go with her jeans and biker boots. Then she combed her hair into a thick ponytail and lifted her pant leg so she could strap her pistol to her right calf before hopping onto the stripped-down Harley she’d purchased last summer. Other than Rafe and her brother, that bike was her only true love. She’d bought it after a particularly painful breakup, at a time when she preferred being single for the rest of her life to trusting another man. She’d been without sex long enough to rethink that “never again” attitude, but the Harley was still a better companion than the boyfriend she’d had last summer. She ran into Dick Callahan every now and then—him and the teenager he’d knocked up while they were together.




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