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“What you needed…” He laughs. It’s a low, unsettling dance of sound, but though I strain my ears… I don’t find disappointment or anger lurking within it. Perhaps surprise?
I told him as much of the truth as possible without revealing all the cards I have at my disposal.
My gut tells me he would have done the same thing if he were in my place.
What a dangerous way to think.
CHAPTERSIX
When he leaves, I don’t know what to do. Mainly because I’m not sure he’s really gone. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck won’t go away. Pedro’s apartment seems as safe as ever, but I feel eyes on me. Would I put it past a man like Jaguar to have cameras secretly installed in the home of a potential ally?
Hell no, I wouldn’t.
Yet, I can’t deny that this paranoia differs from what I remember enduring with Diego. There is no suffocating fear that I’m breathing incorrectly. Moving wrong. Blinking wrong.
In this case, there is only a persistent awareness. I have Julian Domingas’ attention—and I dare not disappoint him.
The first thing I do when I regain my senses is call Pedro. My panicked voice must convince him to put aside his latest paramour for five minutes. When I finish telling him what happened, he curses in a string of Spanish and whistles through his teeth.
“Damn. It actually worked. Holy shit. You hooked Julian fucking Domingas. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I haven’t hooked anyone,” I snap, leaning against the bathroom mirror. The blurry reflection of myself stares at me skeptically.You’re a damn liar,her eyes say. I turn my back to her. “I caught his interest,” I tell Pedro, “but trust me, he’ll tire of me by tomorrow. The point is, he got Braulio away from Franco. I know where he is. I’ll text you a picture of the house. If you could help me use one of your contacts—”
“Oh no,puta,” he snaps. “No way in hell am I getting involved any more than I already have. You’re in with the cartel now, Pita. If I had any damn sense, I would hang up on your stupid ass.”
“But you haven’t,” I say, switching to the whining tone I know he can’t resist. “Pedro, I can’t do this. Not without your help. Please don’t abandon me now. Remember when I kicked that coyote bastard who called you the f-word when we came over? He hit me so hard I couldn’t taste anything for a week.”
That was just one harrowing part of a hellish three-week ordeal that landed us in this backwater part of Texas. Still, it was better than the nightmare we escaped from.
“Pita…” I hear a muffled bit of movement come from the other end. Then a sigh. “You’re a bitch to bring that up. Besides, he only yelled at me because we kept falling behind because of that fucking backpack filled with books you made us carry. Still, there is one silver lining to your situation. Jaguarwilltire of you eventually. Play your cards right, and you’ll last a week at most and can retire with your own fancy crash pad and perhaps a new car. Hell, he could give you far more than that, but trust me. He won’t want more than a few days at most.”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring, Pedro.”
“You need more than confidence,” he says. “Besides, you should pray that I’m right. Men like Jaguar love sex, but don’t do commitment.”
“I know,” I admit. “In any case, I need an outfit for tonight. All I have on me is your dress.”
“Well, that I can help with. I have a girl I go to. I’ll hook you up. Jaguar will be well entertained while you do have his attention, at least.” After he falls silent, a bit of doubt creeps in.
“I… I’m scared, Pedro,” I admit, hating the tremor in my voice. “How far do I even take this?”
“As far as you need to,” he says in an abnormally serious tone. “You’re doing this for Franco, Pita. Think about him, and you’ll survive. You don’t have a choice.”
He’s right, my old friend. In more ways than one.
“I guess this means I’ll need to commandeer your place for a few more days.”
“After the motherlode you won the other night? Consider it yours. I’ll even have it put in your name—”
“No, not my name,” I rasp. “Pedro, he thinks… He thinks I’m Tiena.”
“Dios mío!” He whistles again, with far more exasperation. “How the hell did you step into that mess?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we’re identical twins?”
“Identical, minus her resting bitch-face, fake tits, bleached as fuck hair, and split ends.”
I ignore Pedro’s commentary. “Also… Because on paper Lupita Sanchez is legally dead?”
