Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (29 page)

I
sit at my desk, watching my son and the
1
Americanos
as they slide quietly across the patio to the lawn, fading into the dark as they get farther away. I remember when Juanito was a baby and he’d just learned to walk. He would come to see me when I was here, working at the main house. His
madre
would visit with the women in the kitchen and I would tell her to leave him with me. Everyone loved my Juanito. He was a beautiful boy—happy, smart, polite.

The ache in my heart that has been there most of the last twenty-two years expands again, gnawing at my ribs and choking off my breath.

I pick up the phone on my desk, ringing the gatehouse. “Ricardo? You’ll see
Señor
Juan and the two
Americanos
leaving out the east edge of the property soon. They’re free to go, but keep them in sight. They’ll be traveling to the border, so stay with them until they’re across safely. Take Ryan with you.”

I set the receiver down and turn to look outside again. I used to spend hours sitting in this very chair, wondering what he would be like if I ever got him back. Now I know, and the knowledge makes everything so much better and so much worse than I could have ever imagined.

I’ve never been more proud than I was the day I laid eyes on my son again after twenty-two years. He is handsome, bright, sensible, and strong—a born leader. And he is good. Pure of heart, a gentle soul. He was never meant for the life he was handed. He is so much better than anything I’ve ever envisioned for him. He’s worth whatever sacrifices I end up making on his behalf. My hard, scarred heart can take comfort that I had this brief moment when he was mine again.

And now I release him one final time.

1
Americanos = Americans

W
E’VE
been waiting in my living room for two hours and they’re not here yet. Alexis and I are both bouncing off the walls. David and Tomás are here too, and I can tell we’re irritating the shit out of them. Max has moved out to the front porch, saying that he’s too old for all the agitation.

The front door opens and Lex and I both leap up, looking expectantly at Max.

“They just called. They’re five minutes away,” Max says.

Alexis and I are out the door and in the front yard almost before he can finish the sentence. We stand on the edge of the yard, watching the street. I hear the guys all come out of the house behind us and take seats on the porch.

It feels like an hour, but I think it’s actually less than five minutes before the big Ford sedan that Gabe had his boss outfit for the trip comes pulling up to the curb. Suddenly, the adrenaline I’ve been living off of for the last week abandons me and I feel like I might faint. As if I’m watching a movie, I see Gabe get out of the driver’s seat as Alexis runs around the car and throws herself on him. Benji gets out of the passenger’s side and smiles at me as my brothers reach him and start asking questions.

But those things are happening like background music. My full focus, the only thing that feels real right now, is the tall, handsome man who emerges from the backseat of the car. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a black, untucked polo shirt. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, curling up at the collar of his shirt. His face is somber, and he stands looking at me, his hands in his front pockets.

I walk to him slowly, frightened of what he might say to me but also relishing the sight of him like he’s a drink of water after a month in the desert.

“You’re here,” I say, my voice breathy as I look up into his eyes.

“Oh,
linda
. Did you really think I wouldn’t be?” A small smile curls the ends of his lips.

“I’m supposed to be mad at you, but I keep forgetting.”

“I should be mad at you too. WITSEC for both of us? Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod, biting my lip to keep the sting behind my eyes at bay.

He brings a hand up to my face and gently cups my cheek. “I’m so sorry,
linda
. I thought it was the best thing for you.” He clears his throat, his voice thick with emotion. “All I want is what’s best for you.”

I fiercely clutch the front of his shirt. “
You
are,” I tell him emphatically. “
You’re
what’s best for me. When will you get that through your stupid head?”

He laughs softly. “I get it now, I promise. And you’re the only thing for me. The best, the worst, the everything. My world starts and ends with you, Beth Garcia.
Te amo, mi corazon
.”

His lips slide across mine and I feel myself melt into his embrace. Something inside me takes flight. A weight that has pulled me down, kept me from soaring the way I need to. I know in an instant that, whatever else happens, Juan and I are going to be fine. We have each other, and that’s all we’ve ever needed.

Nine Months Later

I
wake to the very delicious feeling of my fiancé licking his way up my body. I open my eyes and look into Juan’s deep, serious gaze as he strokes my stomach with his tongue.

“Good morning,
linda
,” he whispers.

“Mmm, it’s starting out pretty well,” I tell him as I rock my hips against him.

He smirks and goes back to licking around my belly button. His big, strong hands smooth up my sides and find my breasts, massaging and stroking my nipples. I moan at the sensations.

He runs that talented tongue up my center, igniting fireworks that make my hips buck up off the bed.

“Oh, God. I swear I never get tired of that.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can hear his breath coming in pants as he moves a hand down and slides two fingers inside me while he continues to lick and suck on my clit.
Holy mother of God, that feels good
.

“You’re so warm and soft,” he growls. “Come here.”

He grasps my hips and turns me over on my stomach, pulling my ass back against him. He leans over my back to fondle my breasts for a moment while he kisses along my neck. Then he sits back up and thrusts into me, sending my body rocking forward.

“Put your hands here,” he instructs as he lifts my arms to the top edge of the headboard.

We’re now nearly vertical and he pumps into me deeper and harder, one hand on my breast and the other rubbing magical circles around my clit. He thrusts again and again, and I feel the ache in my core grow heavier and heavier until everything stops and I’m floating, for one spectacular moment in time, in the air, on the edge of a star-filled night, before I plummet in a thrilling, wicked ride back to Earth. As I land, I feel Juan tense up, and then he groans, breaking into Spanish, telling me that I’m beautiful, I’m everything, I’m his one.

As we collapse onto the bed, he pulls me close, kissing my eyelids, my nose, my lips.

“That’s a hell of a way to wake up,” I tell him.

“I just wanted to make sure you have a good day since I won’t see you until dinner.”

“Are you working all day, or do you have a studio class this afternoon?”

“Working, but tonight, I want you to look over some of these plant choices I have for the hotel project my group is assigned. Tell me which ones you like best.”

“Sure thing,” I say as I kiss him quickly and climb out of bed. “Can we go out to dinner? I’ll be at the Women’s Center until five and I’m always so hungry after supervising that eating disorders group.”

Juan laughs and watches me as I back into the bathroom to take a shower.

“I’ll take you out to eat,
linda
, but you’ve got to promise to be my dessert afterwards.”

I roll my eyes and shut the door to the bathroom, trying not to get distracted by all his smooth, rippled muscle as he stands up from the bed.

In the shower, I think about how much our lives have changed in the last nine months. We survived weeks of interrogations by the government, staying in seedy hotels with FBI agents stationed outside our door to protect us. Then we faced Juan’s father at a trial as we both testified to what we knew—me very little, Juan a great deal—about his criminal business dealings.

Throughout that entire trial, Miguel never looked angry, just sad. If I hadn’t heard with my own ears the kinds of things he’s done in his life, I almost might have believed he was just a man who had lost his son and not a drug lord who’s been responsible for the distribution of billions of dollars’ worth of illegal substances over the last twenty-five years along with the murders of the heads of several other crime syndicates.

After the trial, we were relocated here, to Portland. I finally finished my thesis and got my master’s degree a couple of months ago, and now I work at a women’s social service center. Juan got a job as a driver for a high-end limo company. He’s a regular driver for several celebrities, and he’s started a degree in landscape architecture. It will take him a long time to finish, but he doesn’t mind. He hasn’t been this free in nearly ten years. He relishes every single day. Just doing the most normal thing is a joy for him, and he makes it a joy for me as well.

We both insisted on keeping our first names, but he’s now Juan Espinosa and I’m Beth Harper. While we were in FBI custody, they had a laser specialist remove most of Juan’s RH tattoos. The stars are gone, the teardrops gone, the three-pointed crown gone. The picture of little Amanda Johnson is gone, but he got a small heart with her name in it tattooed on his hip where it can’t be seen by anyone else instead. Sometimes, when he’s sleeping, I sit and look at that tiny reminder of his time with the RH and I thank God I found him when I did.

He tells me stories about his life with the RH and what he did while he was in the gang, but we take it slowly, bit by bit. I might never know everything he’s done and been through, and that’s okay. I know who he is inside, and that’s what matters. He’s slowly learning who he is as well. He’s finally free to choose, and I’m helping him do that. We experiment with music, with clothes, with food, with hobbies. It’s fun, and I love watching him find himself after he was buried for so very long.