Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (23 page)

I gulp and paste on a watery smile. “I love you, Juan. I will always love you.”

We kiss again before he pulls out of me and leaves me feeling empty and lost. After dressing, we go straight to breakfast, where Miguel sits waiting for us.

“
1
Buenos dias
,” he says as we enter the solarium.

Juan nods and goes to the buffet table to make a plate.

Miguel takes a sip of coffee then says, “Juan, all of the paperwork you’ll need is in the car. I’ll be sending two escort cars with you, and we have friends in the
policia
to watch your route along the way. All together, you will have ten men with you, and another four will meet you at the border in Laredo with Ms. Garcia’s parents and her brother David.”

I cough as the juice Juan brought me sticks in my throat. “Is all of that really necessary?” I ask quietly once I’ve recovered, looking between the two men.

“Unfortunately, it is,” Miguel replies. “If certain enemies of mine knew that my son and his girlfriend were traveling ten hours through much of the length of Mexico, they would very much want to take that opportunity to hurt me. The escort and personnel are for your protection.”

Juan doesn’t respond to or look at his father. He simply keeps eating.

I tell Miguel, “I understand. Thank you for looking out for us.”

“It’s a father’s job. I can never make up for the many years that I was unable to protect Juan, but I will make sure to do so from now on.”

Once we finish breakfast, I walk with Juan to the front of the house, where the requisite big, black SUV is waiting for us, flanked by two equally dark sedans. All three cars have Miguel’s men standing outside, waiting, lined up like the American Secret Service. I stifle a shiver at the thought of all those guns.

Juan helps me into the car then leans over and gives me a chaste kiss. “Give me a minute to talk to my father?”

“Sure,” I reply.

He walks up the stairs to the front door, where Miguel is standing, his expression somber. I marvel for a moment at how alike they look. Juan is slightly taller and thinner than his father, his limbs longer, but the eyes, the hair, and the tense way they hold their jaws are very much the same. Miguel speaks to Juan for a moment, Juan listening, arms folded and head down. One curt nod by Juan, and he and Miguel shake hands before Miguel takes Juan’s face between his palms and kisses him on each cheek.

Juan turns and trots down the stairs. As he comes toward me, I see him surreptitiously wipe at his face, and I wonder if anyone else has noticed. Once he’s in the car, the entourage gets into the other vehicles and the driver of our car starts up the engine. We roll forward, sandwiched between Miguel’s cars and Miguel’s men, and as I watch Juan while he looks out the window at the mansion receding behind us, I wonder if we’ll ever truly be free of Miguel Ybarra.

Ten hours is a very long ride when your boyfriend doesn’t want to talk. I try to engage Juan, but he has retreated into silence. He holds my hand and watches the landscape speed by. At some point, we both sleep, and when I wake, he is watching me, his eyes pinned to my face, his breath soft on my eyelids and cheeks.

“Hi,” I say, squeezing his hand that has held mine since we left Miguel’s.

“Have I told you you’re beautiful?” he asks.

I laugh. “Yes. At least a thousand times in the last week.”

“Well, it can’t be said too much. You’ve always been the prettiest girl I know.”

“Did you think about me…when we were younger? Did you ever want to date me or wonder about us being together when we got older?”

He huffs out a laugh. “I told you I had a thing for you when we were kids.”

“Yeah, but a
thing
could just mean, when you saw me in a miniskirt, you thought, ‘Hmm not bad,’ or it could mean you were dreaming about growing up and marrying me.” I wink at him.

He scratches his neck, looking awkward for a moment. “The second thing,” he mutters.

“What?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I heard him clearly.

“I spent a lot of time dreaming about growing up and marrying you.”

“Seriously?”

He rolls his eyes, and looks irritated. “Yes. Seriously.”

“Oh my God, that’s so sweet,” I cry, a feeling of triumph coursing through me.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” he tells me. “I also dreamed about driving a Ferrari, having a mansion in San Antonio, and going to law school at UT.”

“And you can have all those things,” I tell him. “Now that you’ve got this chance at freedom and a fresh start, anything is possible, Juan.”

The mask descends over his face, blankness taking over from the animation of moments before. “Whatever you say,
linda
,” he answers, his voice raspy like he’s swallowed a mouthful of sand.

He turns back to the window and I’m left in the silence once more.

1
Buenos dias = Good morning

W
E
ride on the desolate highways of Central and then Northern Mexico. They’re nothing like the highways in the US—no traffic jams of individual cars. You’ll find plenty of that in the cities, but out on the highway it’s mostly run-down buses and the occasional wealthy traveler, which oddly I’m one of.

Beth’s questions about what I thought of her when we were kids sends shards of pain through my chest. When I remember who we were—our innocence and hopefulness—it’s crushing to realize where we’ve ended up today. Here on this abandoned road, speeding toward the final act in our short-lived time together.

I turn away from her unable to watch her beautiful face, knowing what I’m about to do. I’m not a good person. In the seven years since Beth knew me last I’ve beaten people, stolen from people, used people, threatened people, and yes, I’ve killed people. I’ve done anything and everything I needed to in order to survive. It’s not pretty, it’s not the kind of thing you can wrap a bow around and call it good. There is no looking away from it. And once again, there will be no looking away today.

But God, how I wish I could. How I wish I could turn a blind eye to what’s about to happen, to the deceit, the betrayal, the
tragedy
that will become of my love for Beth. Because, make no mistake about it, this time my actions don’t come from my need to survive. This time they come from my need to see
her
survive. As long as I know she is safe, I don’t need anything else in my life. And for as long as I live, I will know that I did the right thing—the only thing, the loving thing.

If only it didn’t hurt. So. Damn. Much.

W
e get to Nuevo Laredo at about six p.m., and as we crawl through the border town traffic, my heart rate increases mile by mile. When I see the bridge looming before us, one of the cell phones in the car rings. Ryan, who is sitting in the front seat, answers and has a short conversation in Spanish. He confirms with the caller that we’re near the point of entry. When he hangs up, he turns to look at Juan.

“The other men are at the crossing. They won’t be noticeable, but they’ll be on the bridge as we walk it.”

“
Bueno
,” Juan answers.

I watch as the enormous structure comes into full view. It’s all hard surfaces, angular planes, blinding light. No landscaping, no windows. It’s a bleak symbol of a bleak culture—immigration with all of its pent-up hopes, frustrations, complications. This bridge is a passage to people’s deepest dreams and their worst fears, including mine. A dream of Juan and me safe and happy together, a fear of some other outcome, too horrible to name or visualize.

We park the car in a lot at the base of the bridge and climb a set of stairs several flights high until we reach the pedestrian walkway that leads from the side labeled ‘Mexico’ to the one labeled ‘United States of America.’ Miguel’s men walk in front of and behind us, in pairs, keeping us surrounded at all times.

The walkways go through covered tunnels on both sides of the border, and in between is an open sidewalk that runs parallel to the car lanes that also cross. The air is full of carbon monoxide, diesel smoke, and despair. As we enter the tunnel, Juan squeezes my hand tighter and I hear his voice, low and forced.

“Promise me you’ll do what we tell you,
linda
,” he says.

I look at his profile in the weak light of the covered passage. His jaw is set, his lips tightly pinched together.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my heart racing like I’ve run a marathon. Foreboding is thick in the air, and I feel some part of me start to claw to get free.

“Just promise. You’re going to go to your family like you’re supposed to. They’re waiting for you, and they love you.”

I look ahead, and we have just a few more feet before the tunnel opens up. Everything starts to spin around me, and I can’t breathe. No. No. No. The realization of what’s about to happen hits me and I try to stop, but Juan has my hand and Miguel’s men are moving us along like a tide that can’t be stopped. Desperation takes hold. He can’t. He won’t. Dear God, tell me this isn’t happening.

“Juan,” I gasp out. “Slow down. I don’t understand what you mean.”

He doesn’t look at me, and he doesn’t slow down.

“Juan?” I say louder, the panic building inside of my chest until it feels like something might explode out of me.

He doesn’t answer, and we’re out of the tunnel now. I see my brother David up ahead in the open part of the walkway. I start to struggle against Juan’s grip on my hand.
Please no. Please don’t do this to me. You said you loved me, you said we would be together. You can’t do this.
My heart beats the refrain over and over. I’m pulling, but his grip is like steel, my hand is locked in his, and he’s stopped listening to what I want. Stopped caring about what I feel.

By the time we reach David, my feet are nearly skidding along the concrete as I try to fight the forward momentum Juan and Miguel’s men have created. We reach David, he looks at me, and the sympathy in his eyes, the understanding of what I’m about to endure, breaks whatever self-control I have left.

“No!” I scream as Juan puts a hand on my back and pushes me at David. He releases me now, leaving me floating in this purgatory where he exists, but not for me. He turns away as David puts an arm around my shoulders.

“Come on, Beth. Let’s go,” David says.

At the same time, I hear Juan quietly rasp out, “I love you, but it was never going to work.” Then, he starts to walk back toward the Mexican side of the bridge.