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“Oh, what fun we will have. However—” His tone shifts, casual once more. “I’ve promised Franco I’d play with him first. If you think you can trust me with him for five minutes, you can run up to our room and catch up with Pedro. I left your cell phone there. And if you’re worried about leaving me alone with your son, don’t be. I arranged for your worries to be placated, Lupe. You see… I understand the importance of having a clear view of a situation from every possible angle. Of knowing every perspective and potential bias. I’ve learned a lot from reading those books of mine you admire so much. Which reminds me, tomorrow I will show you my new library you can utilize. Now run along.”
He heads for the basement, and it takes everything I have not to follow him. I know a challenge when I hear it, and whatever he has in mind must be twisted enough that he craves to enjoy my reaction from afar. So be it.
I’ll trust Franco to call if he needs me for the five minutes it takes to race upstairs and into the master bedroom.
Once there, I skid to a stop, too startled to compose myself.
All along, there’s been a flat screen hidden in the wall across from the bed. It’s in plain view now, displaying a scene that makes me gasp.
It’s a series of eight squares, each one containing a different view of the house. The entrance. The outdoor patio. The game room. The room beside it…
And one square image, in particular, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s positioned directly at the back door, where I spoke with Pedro about Diego. Dear God. Could he have heard every word we said?
I don’t have long to process the chilling prospect. A buzzing sound pierces the air, drawing my attention to the bed where my phone sits, vibrating over the silken sheets. I answer it, unsurprised to find Pedro on the other end.
“Thank God,” he says. “I’ve been worried about you all damn day, but he told me not to call you until—”
“He’s probably recording us,” I say hoarsely. “So, keep that in mind.”
“Shit,” Pedro says with genuine alarm. “This is like when I messed with a high-profile politician who was so paranoid about blackmail, he kept his used condoms in a lock box that he would carry around with him. Sick shit, Pita. But even if Jaguar is listening… How are you? You didn’t seem like yourself before. I’ve been worried sick about you,puta.”
“Didn’t I?” The same frantic, paranoid Pita always getting herself into sticky situations.
“Fuck no. You seemed edgy. Restless. You only get like that when shit has hit the fan, and it’s out of your control.”
“I am always out of control.”
“Like hell you are,” he says coldly. “You always have a backup plan, and people write you off as a pushover until they realize the truth—you are crazy as hell, and no one gets under your skin easily. This is more than having an old friend coming to visit you out of the blue,” he adds, cleverly disguising his reference to Diego.
“I am a shadow, Pedro,” I say softly. “Or at least, I am used to living in one. I am always in the background, and I prefer it that way. Every time I think I can step up and take center stage of my own life, everything goes to hell—” My eyes water. “People get hurt. People die.”
“Yes,” he says. “But sometimes those people are the very ones who sought to hurt you in the first place. Don’t forget that. Damn girl. Whatever happened had to be bad. You’re rarely this pessimistic.”
“I’m worried about Franco,” I say, my voice breaking. “You, too.”
“Don’t be. You’ll do what it takes to protect us. I know you, and it will take more than Jaguar to get beneath your defenses. Buck up, Pita. It won’t get easier from here.”
He’s right. And as a sudden noise makes me turn to the doorway, I realize just how prescient he truly is.
“Say goodnight to Pedro,” Jaguar says. He leans against the wall, his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. “You will see him tomorrow. I arranged a spa day, just for the two of you. For now, however, I will commandeer your time.”
“I guess I’m dismissed,” Pedro says, having overheard. “Don’t worry about me, Pita. He set me up in a fucking lush penthouse suite. I’ll be good until tomorrow.”
“Bye, Pedro,” I croak.
But I don’t hang up first, and I’m left listening to the silence as Jaguar advances.
“So moody you are, tonight,” he says, casting me an appraising glance. “I need to find a way to cheer you up, it seems. Would a new purse or some cash do the trick? Or are you after something more than that?” He laughs loudly, chilling me to the core. “Something tells me you’re harder to please than my usual acquaintances, or even dear Francisco.”
“It’s late.” I stand, unwilling to enter another mental sparring match with him. I know that I can only put off the inevitable for so long. I’m desperate enough to take that risk. “I should tuck in Franco for bed—”
“Wait. I want to make sure you understand just how seriously I take your safety, Lupe.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He cups my chin against his palm as he comes closer. “Braulio has turned his people against you, it seems. Should you return to Texas on your own, your life will be at risk. I hope Pedro told you that.”
“It’s a good thing that you have promised me your protection then,” I say hoarsely, wrenching out of his grip. “Goodnight, Jaguar.”
