Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set (26 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LITTLE ROSA STOOD AT THE DOOR OF HER MOTHER'S SUITE, 
watching her sob. Her daddy had left again for America that morning, and she was certain her mommy must be missing him. Even though she was only six years old, Rosa felt the urge to comfort her.

She padded over to the side of the Victorian bed with its yards of antique lace hanging from the canopy. It was a room like no other, and Rosa loved it. Unlike her little sister, Felicia, who enjoyed bouncing on the bed and getting into their mother's dresser drawers, Rosa would come into the suite whenever she could escape the clutches of her nanny, but was content to simply sit in the room, dreaming of stories about princes and their fair maidens. Her mother's room allowed for such dreams. Sooner or later though, Chata would always find her, and then Rosa would be reprimanded.

One day, Lydia found out that the child enjoyed coming into her room to think and dream about other worlds. She'd found Rosa sitting in the middle of the peach-colored antique rug that was placed over the hardwood floors. She heard her singing and talking about a princess who was searching for her prince. Lydia held her breath as she quietly stood watching her child at play.

Rosa had no idea that her mother was looking at her, until Chata stormed in. “There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. You are a naughty little girl,” she scolded her, shaking a gnarled finger at her, as her sparse eyebrows furrowed. She picked the child up with one swoop of her arms. But Chata's face, which had fumed with anger only moments before, drastically changed when she laid eyes on Rosa's mother.

Lydia instantly grabbed Rosa out of Chata's arms. “She is welcome here whenever she pleases. To sing, play and dream.” She winked at Rosa.

“I thought that, well…” Chata tried to explain, her weathered face wrinkling as she tried to hide her shame.

“You thought wrong. She is allowed in here without your supervision, or even your permission, for that matter. Don't you have something else you could be doing?”

“
Sí, Señora
,” the old woman replied.

Lydia waved her hand, dismissing the woman from her presence, and then set Rosa back down on the floor. She bent down, placing herself at eye level with her eldest daughter. Tears streamed down Rosa's flushed cheeks. “Shh, 
mija
,” she murmured as she pulled Rosa to her chest, hugging her tightly. “As I said, you can come to my room day or night to play and dream.”

“You're really not mad at me?”

“Of course not.”

“And Chata can't yell at me?”

“No, because if that old 
bruja
 yells at you again, I'll kick her in the behind so hard, she'll fly straight to the moon on that broom of hers.” They both laughed, and Lydia straightened Rosa's hair. “No more crying, okay?”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“Anything for you.” With that, Lydia left the room and let Rosa continue playing.

The memory of that day made her mother's bedroom a sanctuary for Rosa — not to mention that her little sister wasn't allowed the same privileges as she was.

But now her mother was in tears, and Rosa wished to console her. She climbed up on the high bed. Her mommy didn't even glance up. She wrapped her small arms around her.

“Oh hello, 
mija
,” sobbed her mother.

“Mama, why are you crying?”

“Don't worry about me.”

“But Mama . . .”

“I am missing your daddy, that's all.”

“I know, Mama. I miss him, too. But remember, he always comes back.”

Lydia glanced up at Rosa, who took her mother's face in her tiny hands and said tenderly, “Please don't cry.”

Her mother smiled. “All right, no more tears.”

“Promise?”

"Promise."

“Good mama,” Rosa replied, placing her hands on her hips. “No more crying. You promised.”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, I did. Now run along.”

*****

LYDIA WATCHED AS HER CHILD CLIMBED DOWN OFF HER BED 
and scampered away. 
Ah, my golden one, my baby. But she is not a boy, not the son Antonio desperately longed for. Neither Rosa nor Felicia will be loved as much as Antonio would love the son he has with another woman — the son I am certain he has gone to see
.

*****

IT WAS ALL FALLING INTO PLACE FOR EMILIO
. With some ingenuity and determination, the whole lot would be his. But now was a time for patience.

Killing Levine would be simple, even enjoyable. What his older brother didn't know was that Emilio had killed men before — often for as small a favor as a good screw or some fine tequila.

Emilio had scoped out Levine's rather massive home, as well as all the guards around it, and knew how to accomplish the murder. He'd studied Levine's habits for a week through a set of binoculars.

On one occasion, he had even disguised himself as one of Levine's gardeners. Nobody had been any the wiser. Levine's guards were a bunch of goons, and he knew that he would be able to get around them easily enough.

It was a Sunday night, and all the servants were out of the house. Levine always went to bed around nine. Once asleep, his two bodyguards would invariably venture into the game room to shoot pool.

Access to the house was fairly easy. Emilio scaled the eight-foot concrete wall, leading down to a mountain path overlooking the Caribbean. As he reached the other side of the wall, he paused, making sure he hadn't been spotted. Dressed in black from head to toe, he went around to the side of the house, where he found a bathroom window partially opened. He quietly opened it all the way and wriggled his way through.

He snuck up the stairs, his ears tuned to the movement of the bodyguards below. He paused when he heard one of them say, "Did you hear something?"

"Nah, man. It's probably the old man getting up to take a piss. Come on, it's your turn.”

"Yeah, okay."

Thank God. The last thing he needed was to take out a couple of big Jamaicans. He wanted it to be a clean job, free of any mess.

The master bedroom was located in the far end of the house. Its wide doors were locked. He worked the lock with experienced hands, and silently let himself in. There was Levine, sleeping soundly in the large bed.

Emilio walked over to the side of the bed standing inches from his face. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over Levine's face. The old man coughed, choking as he squirmed like a wild animal caught in a trap. The resistance excited Emilio, and he pressed the pillow harder into Levine's face. After a few minutes, Levine gave up and his body collapsed. Emilio smiled with satisfaction at a job well done. He pulled the pillow off Levine's face, exposing his rolled-back eyes. He then took the man's pulse to make sure he was dead. Yes, he was dead.

Fifteen minutes later Emilio was back at his hotel, drinking a whiskey next to a large-busted redhead.

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked him.

“I kill people.”

“Oh, really?” Her southern drawl revealed that she was a tourist.

“Really.”

“Sounds interesting,” she remarked with a laugh that indicated she didn't believe him.

“It is. It really is,” he replied. He broke out in a laugh that joined hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LYDIA THOUGHT ABOUT EMILIO CONSTANTLY: 
his smile, his touch — the passion they shared. At times, it seemed like a distant dream. A month had passed since they'd been together, and as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't wait until she could be with him again. While she was filled with shame about their indiscretion, the excitement and fear of being caught made her want him all the more.

He had been gone for a week in the Bahamas, and a part of her wanted to fly there and see him, but she had no idea what she would tell Antonio. She knew it would take all her resourcefulness to prevent her husband from finding out anything. Not that he'd notice or even care. He was always so busy with his life, and now that Lydia knew the truth about his other family, it alleviated some of her feelings of guilt.

Lost in her daydreams as she lay by the pool, Lydia didn't hear him approach. She opened her eyes when she felt the sun being blocked.

"Hey, gorgeous," Emilio greeted her.

She tried to conceal her happiness, but found it difficult. "You're in my sun," she remarked testily.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

“I am so sorry
, Señora,
" he answered. He straddled her lounge chair. Lydia sat back, pulling the towel up around her. Emilio sat down.

"Emilio, what are you doing?"

"This."

Emilio reached out his hand and lightly stroked Lydia's cheek. She turned away from him in order to avoid his eyes. He then pointedly turned her toward him again, placing both his hands on her face and kissing her softly on the lips. She momentarily resisted, but as the kiss became more heated, she quickened to his desires, which had now become her own.

Abruptly she pushed him away. "Not here."

"Why not?" Emilio asked.

"There are servants everywhere."

"That's what makes it so much fun."

"And risky. My God, Emilio, what we're doing is so wrong."

"Do you really care?" His finger traced the outline of her breasts inside her bikini. "I want you. Now."

"No."

"Come on." He grabbed her hand. She knew it was a losing battle, and her only choice was to follow him. He led her into the poolside cabana.

"I don't think we should," she continued her weak protests.

"Shh, relax." Emilio placed her down on one of the sofas, where she closed her eyes and gave in to her desires.

Emilio wasted no time. He quickly unfastened the tiny cloth scraps that covered her breasts, and began to caress them. He ran his tongue over her nipples making Lydia squirm in ecstasy. She tried as hard as she could to keep her breathing quiet. His tongue traveled down across her flat stomach, which showed no signs of the children she had borne.

Once again, Lydia attempted to resist him by sitting up. But he pushed her back down and lightly placed his tongue upon her soft mound of flesh. With expertise, Emilio brought her to an orgasm. She tried with all her might not to let out a sound, but as much as she resisted, she couldn't stop the soft moans that escaped her lips.

Now it was Emilio's turn. He stood and unzipped his suit pants, and even before completely removing them, he was inside her. With heated passion, his rough side took over. Emilio pulled out and turned Lydia onto her stomach where he entered her from behind. As he made love to her hard and fast, Lydia climaxed again. Emilio felt satisfied enough to achieve his own release.

As soon as he was finished, he stood up and zipped up his trousers. Lydia was still on the couch, stunned and exhilarated.

"You and I were meant for each other. Mark my words," Emilio said. "I will see you at dinner. Antonio is expecting me now. Thank you, my love." He bent down and left her with one last kiss.

*****

JAVIER WATCHED HIS DAUGHTER RIDING HER HORSE, SALSA. 
He hated the thought of her getting hurt, but the image of Bella on that horse was amazing. Pedro led both horse and rider around with a lead line.

The young man had surprisingly turned out to be an asset to their organization. Pedro had a great future with their business, and Javier was prepared to put him in control of all of the marijuana distribution within the Los Angeles area, as long as Antonio concurred. It was important for Antonio and Javier to appear to be a legitimate business. Even though the cops, immigration, and anyone else who needed to be, were paid off, and no one gave them any real trouble, it was still important, since Javier was seriously considering running for the Presidency. It was something he wanted to discuss with Antonio, who he expected momentarily.

He'd been concerned about his friend lately. Something seemed to be distracting him. Minutes later, he arrived. "Ah, Antonio. I didn't hear you."

"Comes with practice," Antonio replied.

"I'm pleased you are here. I am worried about you. You seem troubled lately, my friend. Your age has begun to show."

"Thank you," he said with a smirk.

"You know I am only concerned."

"I know."

"Talk to me. We are like brothers. If you can't talk to me, then at least talk to God."

"God cannot save me from the torture I am going through."

"What on earth do you mean?"

Antonio looked away.

Javier reached across the table and poured him a glass of cola he'd had brought out prior to their meeting. He patted Antonio on the hand.

"Marta," Antonio finally said.

"Marta?" Javier asked.

"Yes, Marta."

At first, Javier was very confused. Who was Marta? Then, as if a bucket of cold water had slapped him in the face, he realized who he was speaking of. "You mean that pretty servant girl who used to work here, the one who left suddenly without giving any reason?"

"Yes.”

"What about her, Antonio?" Curiosity overcame some of his concern.

"We were lovers."

"I knew as much." Javier picked up his cola and took a sip.

"It was more serious than that. I made promises to her."

"What kind of promises?"

"Promises I couldn't keep."

"I see," he replied.

"There is more." Antonio took his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one. Javier stared at him in silence. "She left here because of me."

"Why?"

"The lies. I never told her I was married. I told her that she and I would be married, and I would take her away from her servant life."

"You knew you could never do that."

"Yes, but part of me 
wanted
 to believe that I could do these things for her. God knows, 
part
 of me wanted to." He paused for a second and looked at Isabella on her horse. "She's growing up."

"Yes."

"She's as beautiful as her mother."

"Thank you."

"Javier,” Antonio continued, “I fell in love with Marta. She was like a forbidden treasure. She filled a void in me that no other woman, including Lydia, ever has."

"What happened?"

"You know that I could never leave my family."

"Why didn't you keep her as a mistress?"

"I would have, but because I failed to tell her the truth from the beginning, she left here when she saw me with Lydia at the party you gave for Cynthia, shortly after she became pregnant with Bella."

Memories flooded Javier's mind. As soon as Antonio mentioned it, Javier remembered the fiesta as if it were yesterday. He remembered how happy he'd felt, how his wife had looked. He even remembered the teal dress she'd worn, loose around the midriff where she was beginning to show. That dress had matched the color of her eyes — eyes their daughter now possessed.

"I'm sorry, I know how much it still pains you to talk about it.”

"It's all right." The lump in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything more.

"She was pregnant, my friend. Can you believe it? Pregnant with my child."

"How could you let her go?"

"I had no idea she was pregnant. I would've seen to it that she'd been taken care of if I had known."

"How did you find out?"

"It doesn't matter. I didn't find out until after the baby was born. By then, I felt wrong about going to see them. My loyalties were to the family I already had. Believe me, I wanted to go to her, to take care of her and my only son." Javier raised his eyebrows. "Yes, that's right. My son. She bore me a son. I found out their address, and I've been sending them money every month. A few weeks ago, when both of us were in Los Angeles, I finally worked up the courage to go and see where they lived."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes."

"What was their reaction?"

"They didn't see me."

“I don't understand."

Antonio explained to Javier what had occurred when he went to see Marta and his son.

"So you never spoke with them?"

"No."

"Now I understand why you have been so distracted. This, along with the Levine fiasco, must be very difficult to deal with. How have you remained sane?"

"I don't know, but I am going back to Los Angeles today, and I have decided to confront Marta."

"What about Lydia?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Marta may throw me out. I wouldn't be surprised if she hates me, but I have to see her again. She has to know how sorry I am. If there is any way I can make it up to her, I will."

"I wish you luck, my friend, I really wish you luck."

At that moment, Bella came running up to them. "
Tío
 Antonio," she squealed with delight.

"Hello, sweetheart."

She climbed into his lap and gave him a big hug. A bittersweet mixture flowed through him. He thought of Rosa, who was close to Bella's age, and of his son, who was also around the same age. He questioned himself as to whether or not he was betraying his wife and daughters by desiring to know his son better.

But perhaps the real betrayal was to the woman he had lied to, and the son who had never known his father. He prayed that the answers would come to him soon.

*****

ANTONIO SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE FLIGHT FROM 
Guadalajara to Los Angeles, his subconscious plagued by dreams of Marta and his son, and of Lydia and their two daughters.

A limousine picked him up, taking him to the Century City Plaza, where he checked into a tower suite. After tipping the bellman who had brought up his bags and checked to see that all was in order, he closed the door and rang for room service. "A gin and tonic, please. Yes, room 1274."

When in the United States, Antonio was always very conscious of his accent, and he made sure to restrain himself from speaking any Spanish. Javier had once chided him about being embarrassed about his own nationality and culture.

"Embarrassed? Ha. Never. I know how much hatred the 
gringos
 have for us. And to get ahead in their country, you must play their filthy 
gringo
 games. If that means acting like a filthy 
gringo
, then that is what I must do."

A knock on his door signaled the arrival of his drink. Again, he saw disrespect in the eyes of the boy who held both the drink and the bill. His pride made him leave a large tip.

"Marta, Marta, Marta," he whispered as he stood on the balcony, staring twelve stories below at the swimming pool. "What have I done? The agony I've put you through." He walked back into the room, leaving the sliding glass door open for the cool, spring breeze to flow. He sat on the bed and stared at the phone. He took the piece of paper with the number on it and fingered it, trying to decide whether he should call her or go there.

He had no idea what her reaction would be either way, so he picked up the phone and dialed Marta's number with trembling fingers. It rang three times, until a child's voice answered.

"Hello?"

Antonio froze. For the first time he was hearing the voice of his son. He closed his eyes and pictured the child he had seen a few weeks earlier.

"Hello?" he said again.

Antonio could not speak or move, and his son hung up the phone. His mind was made up for him at that moment. He had to see his boy. Tears formed in his eyes, tears that had accumulated from all the years he'd never known his son.

*****

MARTA WAS TIRED FROM HER DAY'S WORK, WHICH SEEMED 
more brutal than usual. The foreman yelled all day long for the sewers to work faster.

No matter how much Elisa harped about her using that money Antonio sent each month, Marta was determined to save this money for Alejandro. Her dream of sending him off to college one day could only come true with that money. If Antonio did only one thing for his son, it would be to provide Alejandro with an education.

Alex was a good student, and since Marta had switched him back to the neighborhood school where most of the students were Hispanic, he improved day by day — learning his arithmetic and how to read. Each day, she thanked the Lord for blessing her with such a beautiful, intelligent son.