Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (22 page)

Just as people are separated because of wars, because of illness, because of death, Beth and I will be separated because of circumstances out of our control. But even a few days ago, I would have never dreamed I’d get the chance to make love to Beth Garcia. That I would get the brief moment in time to touch her skin, taste her mouth, smell her hair, be inside her. I will cling to those memories for the rest of my life, and no matter what happens to me—prison, death, utter isolation—I won’t regret it, because I had her. For one brilliant, sparkling moment, I had her.

1
Siesta = rest time

T
HE
days at Miguel’s compound merge in a blur of sex, food, and time at the pool. If I weren’t a prisoner I could almost enjoy it. A tropical vacation. But the ever-present armed guards along with the lack of other people to talk to make it an uncomfortable experience. Luckily, Miguel fulfills his promise that I can call my parents.

My mother is hysterical, but when I tell her that I’ve been treated like a princess and that I’ll be home in just a week or so, she calms down some. My father is ready to get Gabe and David and my oldest brother Tomás and fly down here like some sort of paramilitary operation. I explain to him that it would be a really bad idea, and he relents, but only if I can call each day to prove to them I’m still alive and well. I ask Miguel, and he agrees.

Whenever I question Juan about the details of returning to the US, he deflects with generalities or starts undressing me and derails the whole conversation. He continues to spend much of each day with Miguel, and I can’t understand why if we’re going to leave. What is the purpose of learning the family business if he’s not going to be working in it? Juan says simply that Miguel wants to get to know his son, so they spend time together and of course they talk business since that’s all Miguel really does with his days.

Deep down, I sense that there’s something Juan isn’t telling me, but we’ve been through so much and salvation is so close that I don’t want to believe that anything else can go wrong. I want to imagine a happy ending for me and the man I’ve given my whole heart to. I ignore the warning signs, I deny the misgivings, and I make a conscious choice to live in the now, in the warmth and the luxury, and most of all, in Juan’s arms, which hold me so tight and bring me such pleasure.

Finally, eight days after we were brought to Miguel’s compound, Juan comes into the suite at six o’clock like he usually does.

“Hey,
linda
, you here?” he calls as he enters.

I walk in from the balcony where I’ve been reading. “Hi,” I beam at him as I run across the room and jump on him, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him with all the pent-up energy I’ve acquired over the dull day.

“Wow,” he says as he sets me down and looks at my smiling face. “Is that because you’re so crazy about me or just glad to have someone to talk to?”

I sigh. “A little of each, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I got some news you’re going to want to hear then.”

I move to the balcony and sit down as he grabs a beer out of the mini fridge then joins me.

“So? What is it?” I ask fidgeting in my chair. There is so little variation to my days here that the smallest glimpse of something different makes me antsy with anticipation.

“Mmm. Give me some more sugar and then I’ll tell you.” He taps his lips, indicating where he wants it.

I narrow my eyes at him but lean forward, slipping out my tongue and running it along his top lip before I take his bottom one between my teeth and slowly apply pressure.

“Shit,” he mumbles around my mouth. “Okay, you win.”

I lean back, smirking. “Don’t try to blackmail me, mafia man. I’ll always win.”

He smiles. “I’m not worried. When you hear the news, you’ll be all over me.”

“Just tell me!” I harp impatiently.

“We’re leaving for the border in the morning,
linda
. Tomorrow night, you’ll be back in the States.”

I scream so loudly that it echoes around the property. Then I throw myself at Juan, toppling both of us and his chair to the floor.

“Fuck,” Juan complains, rubbing his elbow that took the brunt of our fall.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t help but giggle. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. Here, let me kiss it better.” I take his arm and start kissing it up and down until one thing leads to another and we christen one of the few surfaces we haven’t yet had sex on—the hard, tile floor of the balcony.

That night, at dinner, I decide to brave speaking to Miguel. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I really feel I need to thank him for allowing us to go home. He might be a criminal and a violent man, but he must love his son and want what’s best for him. I can’t ignore that. I love Juan too. We have that in common.

“
Señor
?” I say quietly as some of the guests at the other end of the table are engaged laughing at a joke.

“Yes?” he answers, pausing in cutting his steak.

“I wanted to thank you for tomorrow.”

He nods once. “You should thank Juan. He’s the one who arranged the trip for you.”

“Yes, but you’re the one who allowed it. And I know it will be hard to have him leave again so soon after getting reacquainted, but it really will be for the best. I’m going to make sure that he has a wonderful life in the US,
Señor
Ybarra. Now that he’s free of the RH, he can really start his life, and I’ll be there with him for every step.”

Miguel looks at me strangely and then down the table at Juan, who is listening politely to one of the employees telling a story. Juan must feel the scrutiny because he looks up at his father then at me. I grin at him and he gives me a weak smile in return before looking back at his father, something desperate bleeding in his eyes.

Miguel turns to me again. “I’m glad to hear that. And I agree. Juan is going to have a very good life. The life he deserves.”

I keep the politeness glued on my face but watch Juan carefully. Something in the way he looked at Miguel was wrong. Something in the way Miguel looked at me was wrong. Deep in my heart, I feel an odd ache begin, and it isn’t much longer before I excuse myself from the meal early. Upstairs, I lie down on the bed and pray that Juan and I will survive the trip to the border, because I don’t trust Miguel Ybarra and I know that something about tomorrow isn’t what he says.

B
ETH
has gone to the suite early, and my father calls me to his office after dinner.

“Come. Sit,” he gestures at a chair.

I do as he asks, waiting silently for what he has to say. I remember the way he looked at me at dinner and I know this has to be about something Beth said to him. I’ve tried to always sit between them during meals, but tonight, there were extra guests, and while I was working to make nice with some
cabron
who owns a shipping line we want to use for transport, my father invited Beth to sit right down next to him.

“I had an interesting conversation with your young lady,” Miguel tells me.

“Oh yeah?” I answer, trying to appear nonchalant.

“It seems that she doesn’t know she is the only one going home tomorrow.”

“And did you fill her in on the realities?” I ask, my heart beating hard.

“No. That is between you and Ms. Garcia, but I need your assurance that there won’t be a mess to clean up at the border tomorrow.”

“There won’t be. I haven’t told her because it would cause problems. She won’t want to leave without me and she needs to. But I’ve arranged it with her brother. He knows what will happen and how he needs to handle it.”

My father nods, looking thoughtful for a moment. “
Bueno
. I’ll trust your judgment on this. But please remember that I am concerned for your safety. Any scenes that draw attention to you will endanger you—and your young lady.”

I give him a nod and stand. “I won’t forget,” I say, wondering whether my safety is most in danger from his enemies or from him.

As my hand reaches for the doorknob, he speaks one last time. “I’m sorry, Juan, that you feel you must send her home. Hopefully, in time, you will find other things to take her place.”

I don’t answer as I walk out and quietly shut the door behind me. In that moment, I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life. If he
really
knew me, if he
really
cared about me, he would realize that nothing in this world or the next will ever take Beth’s place.

T
HE
next morning dawns muggy and tropical. I’m full of jitters, anxious to get to my family so they can stop worrying, curious to see where in Mexico I’ve actually been for the last week, and concerned about whether the trip to the border is going to go as it’s supposed to. Juan and I wake up before six a.m., and he makes love to me so tenderly and poignantly that I am nearly in tears afterwards.

“What’s wrong,
linda
?” he whispers as our bodies stop shuddering, our orgasms fading into the soft light of the dawn.

I bite my lip, trying to hold the tears at bay. He looks at me with deep, sad eyes and softly strokes my cheek.

“Is everything okay? Will today go like it’s supposed to? I’m scared. It feels like something terrible is about to happen.”

He kisses me on the lips, breathing me in deeply as if I’m the very air he needs to live. “Everything is fine, and it’s going to go exactly how it needs to. Don’t worry,
linda
. You’re going home, and you’re the love of my life.”