Running Wild (24 page)

Oh, please.
Her shoulders twitched impatiently.
Pity party much?
She was fully accountable for her actions and certainly usually more stoic. But all the same—

“Why didn’t you tell me until now the things you said at breakfast?” she demanded. “I understand not trying to get through to me when I was a teen—I was too angry then to give you an honest shot at an explanation.” Only barely conscious of crossing her arms over her breasts, she leveled a look on Nancy. “But I’ve been an adult for a long time now, Mom. How many years have you been writing to me? I’ve heard all about the problems in the neighborhood and the ups and downs of the kids you work with. Why did you never once say anything meaningful about
our
relationship?”

Her mother abruptly sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the work-worn hands she’d folded in her lap. For several moments Mags didn’t think she intended to reply.

But then Nancy looked up. “Oh, Magdalene,” she said, “I have no defensible explanation. I intended to tell you once you turned twenty-one, but you quit coming home for even those uncomfortable short visits when you were nineteen. When you started writing to me I told myself I’d explain in a letter, but I kept putting it off. I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings.” Looking miserable, she met Mags’s gaze. “I know that’s no excuse.”

“Actually, it’s not too shabby,” Mags admitted. Surprisingly, the simple act of demanding an answer had mitigated some of her anger. Her mother’s words abated yet another portion. It might take a while before her anger went away entirely, but this was a start. “I’m not all that great about opening up to people, either. So how about you and I make a deal? Let’s both try to do better in that area.”

Her mother nodded, her eyes lighting up. “I’d like to try that. I would
very
much like that.”

Mags abruptly realized how tired she was. And hungry—she hadn’t had much of an appetite the past several days, but it appeared it was back with a vengeance. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I need to lie down. Let me grab a nap, then we’ll talk some more.”

“All right.” Nancy stroked her work-worn fingers down Mags’s cheek. “I’m so glad to have you back in our lives,” she said and tears rose in her eyes, shocking Mags to the core. The older woman leaned in and pressed her damp cheek against Mags’s.

Then, with a kiss to her forehead, her mother stepped back, but maintained contact by lightly grasping her upper arms. She gave them a squeeze. “I love you, dear. You go get some rest. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“I will.” She started to turn away, but paused to face her mother again. “And, Mom? I meant to tell you, you look really pretty in that dress.”

A pleased smile curved her mother’s lips and she ran a reverent hand down the front of her garb. “I think this might be the most beautiful garment I’ve ever owned,” she admitted.

“It suits you.” Mags had searched for something that met all her mother’s requirements, the most important of which in Nancy’s eyes was a sales tag, as she hated to waste valuable resources on anything so frivolous as her appearance. Mags had found this dress at a deep discount,
plus
it was modestly cut and had white piping around the slightly scooped neckline and hemline that gave it the neat appearance her mother preferred. But the polished cotton was a beautiful blue-and-white delft print that made Nancy’s faded eyes regain the more vibrant blue Mags recalled from her childhood.

Or perhaps it was the makeup Mags had applied. Her mother had pooh-poohed the idea of fussing with lipsticks and blushes, but Mags had persisted. Not until she’d asserted rather acerbically that she was a trained professional and the last thing she would ever do was make Nancy look like a tart had her mom reluctantly agreed. But Mags had watched her check herself out in the ladies room mirror at the embassy.

Had seen the tiny smile and the way she’d stood a little taller after that.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She turned away and let herself out of their hotel room, blinking when Finn stepped around her to open the door to theirs.

“I thought you’d already gone back to our room.” And had been afraid that even as she talked to her parents, he might be packing up to get back to his hiking trip.

“Nah. I like watching you with your ma and da.” He grinned and escorted her into their room. “Especially your mom. It’s kind of like watching the mating dance of the cacti.”

She snorted. “I know, right? But you know what? We used to have a wonderful relationship and I think, given time, we might get back to a good place.” It felt good to give voice to the thought and she whirled back to him.

“You know what else? I’m starving. And since I’m still mourning the loss of the
ajiaco
soup we had to leave in La Plata, I’m going to run to the bodega on the next block and see if they have any.” She grabbed her wallet out of her tote and, rising onto her toes, planted a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Then without giving him a chance to respond, she whirled away and headed for the elevator. When she caught herself darn near dancing, she realized she felt lighthearted—and freer than she had in ages.

* * *

T
HAT
’
S
RIGHT
,
Joaquin silently urged the woman walking in his direction,
come nearer
. Just. A. Few. Steps. Nearer.

He was close—so very, very close—to getting his hands on Magdalene Deluca. When he’d seen her striding up the street a few minutes ago, he’d thought for an instant he’d summoned an image of her through sheer wishful thinking. When it sank in that she was very real, he’d had to concentrate on not making an abrupt jump back from the mouth of the alley he’d been using as his lookout post.

Then promptly chided himself even as he inched away. Because, would his imagination have conjured her in a dress and high-heeled shoes when he’d only ever seen her in shorts and those undershirts the
yanqui
mercenaries so colorfully termed wifebeaters?

The timing of her appearance was fortuitous, as he’d been on the verge of relinquishing all hope she was still at the Hotel Almerante. Even as he’d made this alley his headquarters, his first thought had been that he’d missed his opportunity to grab her. In the wake of Palmer’s phone call it had taken more than an hour to make his way through the city’s congestion from the south, where he’d entered Santa Rosa, to this neighborhood occupying the far northwest end of town. In that amount of time she and the interfering man she traveled with could have left Santa Rosa entirely or gone anywhere in the city—including the airport. He couldn’t guess why she’d given up looking for her parents when she’d seemed so determined to find them, but maybe she’d finally realized the futility of her plan to rescue them.

And it wasn’t as if he had other options. Palmer’s sighting was his only lead. So he’d taken up position here for the simple reason it allowed him to keep an eye on the hotel entrance without being conspicuous. Unlike the American mercenary, he knew better than to parade back and forth in front of the hotel, so he melted behind the large garbage bins at the rear of the alley anytime he spotted a
policía
swaggering in his direction.

But Magdalene was here now and he fumbled for his phone, called up the number he’d entered for Palmer’s contact and placed his call.

“Yo,” the
yanqui
who answered said. “Wolkowski here.” Palmer had evidently delivered on his promise to bring in an associate.

“The woman is almost in my grasp. Bring the car.”

“Uh, about that,” the man rumbled and Joaquin stiffened. Those were not the words and tone that usually accompanied good news.

“Turns out this ’hood is lousy with embassies,” the man said, “so it’s crawling with cops and feds. I was rousted twice. Since I know how this game is played, I quietly moved along as instructed. But when the same fed rousted me a third time he called someone to put a boot on my car.”

What was this boot? Cars didn’t wear boots. Joaquin knew, however, it couldn’t be a good thing. “Can you take this boot off?”

“Not without the proper tools. I have a friend coming to do just that. He’ll be here any minute, and the second he arrives I’ll trade cars with him. I should be there very soon.”

If anyone ever suggested he work with an
americano
again Joaquin would stab them in the eye. And he’d do so cheerfully.

No. Not merely cheerfully. By all that was sacred, he’d sing like Carlos Vives even as he popped that eye like a grape. “I will trail the Deluca woman as long as I can to give you more time,” he said through his teeth. “But when I call again, you had better be ready to pick us up.”

He’d barely disconnected when Magdalene sashayed by. He gave her a second, then slipped out to follow a short way behind her. He had to whirl and feign interest in a window display of expensive-looking women’s clothing when she suddenly turned into the bodega next door.

As soon as the door closed behind her he edged over to the store’s window and craned to peer through the glass. He watched as she strode straight up to the counter and said something to the clerk. The man behind the counter turned away and selected a takeaway container.

“Ah.” She was only there to get something to eat. He failed to comprehend why she hadn’t simply ordered room service from her fancy hotel, but it was fairly evident she meant to take her purchase back to the hotel.

Joaquin walked back to the alley, where he slipped into the shadow thrown by the west wall. He stood motionless near the sidewalk. This wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was one he thought he could work with—as long as the new mercenary arrived with the replacement car quickly. He glanced around, then had to jerk back when he saw she had almost reached the alley. He sidled back into the shadow.

It all hinged on this moment. If anyone was nearby and witnessed him grabbing her, there would likely be trouble. Yet it was either this or allow her to go back to her hotel—and what were the chances that the next time she came out she’d be alone?

She strolled past and he stepped out behind her, sending a quick glance up and down the sidewalk. A smile tugged his lips, for the gods were finally smiling down on him. Hooking an arm around her waist, he yanked her back against his front and hauled her into the alley, slapping his free hand over her mouth. The container in her hand hit the alley pavement and broke open, splashing hot soup.

She made a wild noise, but what would likely have clarioned to the heavens was an inconsequential sound muffled by his palm. Smiling even more widely, he turned her loose and shoved her up against the wall, pulling his knife from its sheath and holding it up for her to see its gleaming blade. “Hello, Magdalene. I had a feeling we would see each other again. Do not make a sound.”

* * *

“W
HAT
THE
HELL
were you thinking?” Finn suddenly demanded of the empty hotel room and reached for the backpack he’d dumped on the bed just minutes ago. He headed for the door. He’d had no business letting Mags go to the store on her own. Yes, plans were in the works to clean up Munoz’s cartel. At this moment, however, not a single bad guy was in custody.

Which meant they were all still in danger.

Granted, he thought as he exited the elevator and strode across the lobby to the exit, the odds of one of those bad guys just happening across Magdalene during the ten minutes—if that—it would take her to run to the bodega for her soup were probably a million to one. Hell, a trillion to one. Still, better safe than sorry.

He wasn’t genuinely worried about that happening...until the moment he made it to the store without running into Mags on her way back and discovered the bodega empty of anyone but the guy at the counter. Then fear sank poison-tipped claws into him, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and look more closely down the aisles between the shelves to make sure he hadn’t merely overlooked her. When he saw that he had not, he strode up to the man at the counter.

“Blonda senorita—”
he waved his fingers over his own hair
“—adquisición ajiaco?”

“Sí, marchado momento—”
The man was still replying with the cheerful smile of reminiscence Mags seemed to inspire in people when Finn turned on his heel and ran out the door again.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered sotto voce. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck
fuck
!” Ordinarily he didn’t possess a hair-trigger panic button and might have believed she’d simply ducked into another store. But she’d shopped today already, had professed herself starving and they had just spent a week being chased the length of this hell-bit country by goons with guns and knives. Pacing from the store entrance to the alley and back, he carefully checked out the cars driving down the avenue.

And choked back a bitter laugh.

Because if whoever snatched her had thrown her in a car, it didn’t matter if he were two lousy minutes behind her or an hour. She could be goddam
anywhere
.

To add insult to injury, he swore he could smell the soup she’d gone to pick up and a sour acidity churned in his stomach. Why hadn’t he—he should have—

Wait. That wasn’t his imagination; he
did
smell it. He began examining the sidewalk and just inside the alley saw a pool of still-steaming liquid. A little farther in, the container lay on its side. His gut promptly tried to twist itself into a pretzel.