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  “Haven’t we already had this conversation? I need you to be a team player, Moreno, not a free agent,” he had said, conveniently forgetting he was partially responsible for isolating her from everyone else. He had chained her to a desk until she could earn her coworkers’ respect instead of their enmity. But how was she supposed to do her job when she had more shackles on her than most prisoners?

  “Fine,” she had said. “I’ll take Ruben Huerta.”

  “Huerta? That beanpole from Records? He couldn’t catch a cold, let alone a hardened criminal.”

  “Ruben has a vested interest in helping me crack this case. Carlos Ramos was his friend. I trust him, sir. I know he’ll have my back.”

  Director Chavez had eyed her for a long moment, obviously debating whether to accept her suggestion, tell her to take someone else, or advise her to use the government’s precious resources on a fresher case.

  “What are you hoping to accomplish tomorrow?” he had finally asked.

  “At the very least, I want to identify the four men in those pictures and help bring some closure to the family members still wondering where they are and what happened to them. And if I can tie them to the Jaguars, it could bring us a step closer to identifying the leaders of the organization.”

  Director Chavez had closed Perez’s case file and pushed it across the desk. “Then go. Just make sure you and Huerta come back in one piece.”

  Luisa packed a bag and placed it by her apartment door. Agua Dulce was a good eight hours away—more if the dirt roads surrounding it had been washed out by the spring rains—and she wanted to get an early start. After she conducted her interview, she and Ruben would stay in Agua Dulce overnight and head back to Mexico City on Thursday. She had barely set the bag down when someone knocked on her door.

  “Going somewhere?”

  As Mrs. Villalobos eyed the rucksack, Luisa was glad she had tucked Salvador Perez’s case file inside the bag instead of leaving it on top. Luisa thought the woman was harmless, but she was too curious for her own good. Not to mention she loved to talk. If she said something to the wrong person, Luisa’s investigation could end before it had barely begun.

  “I’m taking a day trip tomorrow.”

  “Somewhere nice, I hope.”

  “It’s for work, so I don’t know how nice it will be.”

  “Ooh. That sounds exciting.” Mrs. Villalobos invited herself in and took a look around the apartment. “Nice and neat. Everything in its place. You’re a definite improvement over the young man who lived here before you moved in. He was a police officer, too. Ramos, I think his name was. Carlos Ramos. Yes, that’s it. He was nice enough, but I have to say he was a bit of a slob. I’m not surprised. He kept a lot of late hours so he didn’t have time to clean or have a decent meal. I think he lived on cigarettes and coffee.”

  “Why did he move out?” Luisa asked, trying to hide her surprise that Carlos Ramos had once lived in the apartment she currently occupied.

  Mrs. Villalobos shrugged. “I woke up one morning and he was gone. Everyone in the building knew he had money problems. I think he was behind on his rent. He probably left before he could be evicted. I heard he’s been reported missing, but I think he’s on the lam from all the bill collectors he owed money. Unless they got to him and taught him a lesson for not being able to pay. Never buy what you can’t afford. That’s always been my motto.”

  “Is there anything that goes on in this neighborhood you don’t know?” Luisa could picture Mrs. Villalobos holding vigil in front of her apartment window, binoculars at the ready.

  “Someone has to keep an eye on things. It might as well be me.”

  “What brings you to see me?” Luisa was enjoying the pleasant diversion Mrs. Villalobos’s presence offered, but she was planning to make it an early night and she had a call to make before she turned in for the evening.

  “I was curious about something.” Mrs. Villalobos reached into the folds of her housedress and pulled out a postcard. “The postman delivered this to me by mistake. I was wondering.” She turned the card over, flipping from the picturesque scene on the front to the handwritten words on the back. “Who’s Finn?”

  Luisa plucked the card from Mrs. Villalobos’s hands before her nosy neighbor could read any more of the words she’d probably already memorized.

  “A friend from up north.”

  “A close friend?”

  Luisa felt a blush creep up the back of her neck. “We’re still working that part out.”

  Mrs. Villalobos flashed a knowing smile. “I’ll tell Javier not to get his hopes up about Saturday night. Seeing as how you might already be spoken for. What does Finn do? He must make good money if he’s staying at the Mariposa. The rooms there cost four hundred dollars a night.”

  “She’s a writer.”

  Luisa waited for the familiar look of disapproval she received when she revealed her sexual orientation to someone of Mrs. Villalobos’s generation, a group set in their ways and who placed inordinate value on the traditional roles for men and women she had no desire to fulfill.

  Mrs. Villalobos’s eyes twinkled, making her look much younger than her years. For a moment, Luisa saw the vibrant young woman she used to be instead of the more mature one she was now.

  “There’s room for everyone, I always say. Even…writers.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Finn you said that.”

  “Give her my best the next time you speak to her. Even though I can’t count on you becoming my granddaughter-in-law anymore, are we still on for dinner Saturday night?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Luisa gave Mrs. Villalobos a hug, then showed her to the door. When she was alone, she turned her attention to the postcard Finn had sent her. Mariposa Resort and Spa was printed on the front, along with a picture of a bikini-clad woman staring wistfully at the sun setting over the Caribbean. The back read, “Thinking of you. Wish you were here—Finn.”

  Luisa propped the postcard against the stack of unread books on her coffee table and reached for her cell phone. Finn answered on the third ring. As usual, there was a riot of noise in the background. This time, it sounded like there was a concert going on. Luisa heard the bluesy vocal stylings of a raspy-voiced woman who sounded like the love child of Janis Joplin and Melissa Etheridge.

  “Is that Sarah Burress?” she asked.

  “Yep. Sure is.”

  “I watched her compete on the American version of Singing Star. The guy she lost to was good, but Sarah was ten times better. Too bad the voters threw their support behind the boy band reject instead of the lesbian with a shaved head.”

  “Hold on. Let me put you on speaker.”

  Finn held up her phone so Luisa could listen to a few bars.

  “Now I wish I was there, too.”

  “You got my card.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Villalobos got your card, but she was nice enough to share it with me. She says hi, by the way. And she wanted me to let you know she doesn’t hold the fact that you’re a writer against you. My ex-future husband’s comments were less than favorable, I’m sure.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Finn said, though she sounded anything but.

  “Tell me why someone who is as smart and funny as you isn’t in a relationship.”

  “I don’t do relationships.”

  “Why not?”

  “I-I’m never home,” Finn said after a brief hesitation.

  “That sounds more like an excuse than a legitimate reason.”

  “Maybe I’m not as perfect as you think I am. Maybe I’m not the glamorous world traveler I appear to be but an introvert with communication issues.”

  “Maybe I like introverts with communication issues. The introverts I know always feel like they’re expected to apologize for who they are instead of saying, ‘This is me. Take it or leave it.’ Is that how you feel?”

  “Yes, it is.” A wistful note had seeped into Finn’s voice. She seemed to be about to
say something else. To reveal something deeply personal. Luisa prepared herself to hear Finn’s confession. Then the moment passed. “Enough about me. What’s your excuse? Why are you still single?”

  Luisa wanted to say, “Because I hadn’t met you yet,” but she guessed it would make Finn turn tail and run. Finn already seemed to have her eye on the door half the time. Luisa didn’t want to help push her through it.

  “Like you, I don’t want to commit to anyone unless I know I’m going to be there for her day in and day out. If I wash out at this job, the only thing I want to leave behind is an empty apartment.”

  “And what kind of woman can you see yourself with when you’re finally ready to settle down?”

  “Someone who makes me laugh and isn’t afraid to laugh at herself. Someone who likes adventure but is equally content spending a quiet evening at home. Someone who’s independent but knows when to ask for help.”

  Finn sighed. “She sounds perfect. I want to meet someone like that, too.”

  You are that person, mariposa. You just don’t know it yet.

  “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, I’m not ignoring you,” she said. “I have to make a road trip, and most small towns here don’t have the best cell phone signals.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  Luisa knew better than to tell Finn her concerns were misplaced because Finn was savvy enough to see through the lie.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “You’d better. Who else is going to find my stories as fascinating as you do?”

  Luisa wished it was only Finn’s stories she found fascinating. Because if she wasn’t careful, when Finn packed her bags and flew back to America on Saturday, she was going to take Luisa’s heart with her.

  Day Five

  Finn tapped her foot in time with the music as she waited in line for a barbecue lunch on the beach. It felt incongruous to be listening to a reggae band playing a medley of Bob Marley’s hits in a country where the primary language was Spanish, but Cancún was located on the Caribbean, so she supposed it made sense. Nothing else in her life seemed to, though.

  She didn’t feel like herself. She wasn’t acting like herself. She didn’t talk about her past, yet she had come close to telling Luisa all about it last night. She hadn’t said anything because it hadn’t felt like the right time, but the urge to confide in Luisa was still there. The familiar urge to flee had gone missing, however. So had her ever-present itch for something new. At the moment, the only things she craved were the steaks the chef was pulling off the charcoal grill and Luisa’s kiss. The former she would have in a matter of minutes. The latter would have to wait. Perhaps forever.

  She tried not to think about what Luisa might be up to today, but her mind kept forcing her to consider the possibility Luisa might not make it back.

  When she had asked Luisa on the phone last night if she needed to be worried, Luisa hadn’t responded with the reassuring “no” she needed to hear, but a more measured “I’ll be careful.” The difference could be a matter of life and death. Luisa’s.

  Of course Luisa would take all the necessary precautions. That was what she had been trained to do. But what about the other guy? If the person Luisa planned to talk to didn’t like something she said, would the visit end in flying fists or bullets? One was much easier to avoid than the other. And far less deadly.

  The uncertainty gave Finn chills despite the warm breeze blowing across her skin. Her anxiety continued to grow as the hours slowly crawled by with no word from Luisa. She nearly jumped a mile when someone behind her in line goosed her in the back.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ryan held up her hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to know if you’d mind if I hang out with you during the trip to Chichén Itzá tomorrow. Jill and I signed up a few days ago, but she’s backing out because she heard the resort’s having a lucha libre exhibition tomorrow instead of the presentation on Aztec culture they had originally planned.”

  “That’s a drastic change. Why the switch?”

  “The lecturer got sick and had to cancel,” Jill said.

  “Now she’s geeking out like a fangirl at a Xena convention and she’s sending me off to Chicken Pizza by myself,” Ryan said.

  “Have you seen those guys?” Jill asked. “Some of them may be a little soft in the middle, but they’re all incredible athletes. They put on an even better show than the wrestlers in WWE. At home, I love watching them fly around the ring on TV. Now I get to do it in person. I can’t miss an opportunity like that.”

  “You’re choosing guys in masks and spandex tights over one of the Seven Wonders of the modern world? Nice move, fangirl.” Ryan turned back to Finn. “If the guide makes us partner up for some reason, will you be mine?” Her gray eyes displayed a vulnerability her muscle-bound body and outgoing personality had previously been able to hide.

  Even the life of the party gets lonely sometimes, too. Good to know.

  “Sure.” Finn loaded her paper plate with a roll, an assortment of fresh fruit, and a mixed green salad to serve as side dishes to the slices of sizzling sirloin she had received from the sweat-drenched chef manning the grill. “I’ll be glad to hold your hand and help you cross the street.”

  “You’ve been hanging around this one too long.” Ryan jerked her thumb toward Jill while she dug a teasing elbow into Finn’s ribs. “But, thanks. I owe you one. Tomorrow night, your first drink is on me.”

  Jill rolled her eyes. “It’s amazing how easy free drinks are to come by when they’re all-inclusive.”

  “In that case,” Finn said, reaching for a cup of sangria, “I’ll take two.”

  And when the time came, she hoped she’d be raising her glass in honor of a fun-filled day, not in Luisa’s memory.

  ❖

  The drive to Agua Dulce took closer to ten hours than eight, the last two spent on roads so badly rutted Luisa feared the rental car’s suspension would never be the same again. When she and Ruben finally arrived at a maze of densely crowded shacks and “houses” constructed of cinder blocks, tar paper, and sheets of rust-covered corrugated tin, she got out of the car and stretched her numb legs and aching back. Then she clipped her badge to the waistband of her black slacks and pulled on her blazer to cover the gun holstered high on her left side.

  Ruben climbed out the passenger’s side of the car and slammed the door behind him.

  “Which house do you think belongs to Silvia Perez?”

  Luisa slipped her sunglasses into her jacket’s inside pocket and peered at the dozens of wary faces staring back at her.

  “It’s supposed to be 1632,” she said, referring to the case file. “But good luck figuring out which one that is.”

  Some of the houses didn’t have doors or windows. Others barely had walls. Splurging on house numbers was out of the question.

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Ask someone.”

  Beads of moisture formed on Ruben’s upper lip as sweat dampened his white dress shirt.

  “Relax,” Luisa said. “We’re the good guys, remember?”

  “I think someone forgot to tell them that.”

  All around them, villagers began retreating into their homes or making themselves look busy.

  “I’m looking for Silvia Perez. Also known as Silvia Quintanilla,” Luisa said to a short woman balancing an overflowing laundry basket on her head. “Do you know where I can find her?”

  “I don’t know anything,” the woman said as she rushed past them and made her way to the river.

  Agua Dulce meant “sweet water” in Spanish, but the brown body of water that served as the villagers’ Laundromat, bathtub, and toilet looked decidedly sour.

  Luisa and Ruben approached several more people, but were met with the same stubborn refusals each time. After twenty minutes of wandering through the village with nothing to show for it, Ruben pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned the condensation on his glasses, then dried his sweat-soaked face.<
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  “How did a kid from a place like this end up working for the most powerful cartel in the country?”

  Luisa took another look at the soul-crushing poverty surrounding them. “If you were forced to live like this, wouldn’t you do anything you could to get out, too?”

  Ruben scraped his shoes against the back of a scraggly jacaranda tree to clean the mud caked on the soles. “I see your point.”

  “Heads up. We have company.”

  Luisa reached for her gun when she saw five men in a battered pickup truck slowly approach. Two were sitting in the cab and three were standing in the truck bed. The three in the back were armed with rifles so old they might have been used in the Revolution. The oldest of the five men, a weather-beaten man somewhere between fifty and seventy, slid out of the driver’s seat.

  “Are you from the Federal Police?” he asked after spitting a dark brown stream of tobacco juice on the ground.

  Luisa let her hand drop when she realized the men were what passed for law around here. “We are.”

  “Then where were you last night when we needed you?”

  Luisa shared a look with Ruben, who appeared to be as confused as she was.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The people in this village are too scared to talk to you, but I’m not.” The man removed his sweat-stained cowboy hat and used it to fan his face. “My name is Miguel Serrano. If you’re looking for Silvia Perez, follow me.”

  “What should we do?” Ruben asked as Miguel headed back to his truck.