“We will be.”

  Her strong, firm statement both appeased and worried him. Sure, she was confident, but he didn’t think she knew exactly what she was up against.

  Diego did. That’s why he planned to be extra vigilant. Take to his neighborhood streets before his shift started. Poke around. Rattle some cages. Get the word out that he was looking for Tito. No doubt about it, he’d put a stop to any threat against Melba. And Lilí.

  If a small part of him wondered why he felt this sudden need to save the day for her, he’d chalk it up to doing the right thing. Another lesson Mami had taught him.

  As for why he found himself saving her phone number in his list of contacts once she’d hung up . . .

  Bueno, he’d deal with answering that question later.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be doing this, nena?” Lilí barely kept herself from rolling her eyes at Velma’s question. The same one the older woman had repeated at least five times during their walk from their office to Melba González’s house.

  Out of respect for the hardworking, dedicated volunteer, Lilí kept the sigh out of her voice as she repeated, “Sí, Velma, I checked with several people at work.”

  “Pues, I only want to be sure. And I certainly do not mind keeping you company so you are not alone.”

  “Gracias,” Lilí answered. Mindful of keeping her strides shortened so the older woman could keep up, she offered Velma a smile of thanks.

  “Pero hace un calor brutal!” Velma complained, her right hand moving in short jerky motions as she worked her black lace fan in an attempt to combat what she’d aptly called the brutal heat.

  The strong July sun beat down on them without mercy. It rose off the sidewalks and paved streets in waves that blasted pedestrians. Like it hadn’t already baked their bodies on its way down from the sky.

  Lilí dabbed at the perspiration dotting her forehead. Too bad she hadn’t thought to grab the Spanish fan she kept in her purse. They’d only walked a few blocks and already sweat trickled down the center of her back, making the thin rayon material of her multicolored sundress stick to her skin.

  These dog days of summer were meant for lazy-day picnicking on the shores of Lake Michigan or sitting in the bleacher seats at Wrigley Field watching her Cubs play baseball.

  Not traipsing through the mean streets of west Chicago, eyes peeled for potential danger, on their way to Melba’s place.

  They passed a group of teens hanging out in front of a mercado. The corner store was a popular hangout for the street kids, their pants hanging low, bandannas wrapped around their heads or wrists showing their gang colors. Thin tank tops revealed the tattooed artwork snaking up their arms and necks, across their chests. Even the youngest, who couldn’t have been older than fourteen, sported a tattoo of the Puerto Rican flag waving across the tanned biceps of one arm.

  Their tough-guy, stoic expressions normally didn’t bother her. Today she was grateful for Velma’s company. Not because she felt threatened or afraid to be in this rough neighborhood. Some of those who lived here had visited her office, or were regulars at the youth center nearby, where she was scheduled to start teaching a self-defense course next week. She honestly believed some could be reached. That there was enough good in her city, in the people she hoped to positively influence, to make a difference.

  No, her unease stemmed more from the idea of going back to the scene of the crime. So to speak. Yesterday she’d been operating in victim’s-advocate mode. Focused on Melba. On what needed to be said or done to aid Melba’s ability to cope in the aftermath of a scary, life-threatening situation.

  Today, Melba’s frightening, tear-laced description of Tito’s rampage ran through Lilí’s head like a recording on automatic replay. Standing in the midst of the aftermath like she was about to do, unable to stop picturing the violent episode that had occurred within the confines of the home . . . that was never easy.

  A chill shimmied her shoulders despite the heat.

  They reached Melba’s building and Lilí’s gaze caught on the top step of the front stoop. Right where Diego Reyes had stood like an immovable oak. Large hand on his holster, his dark brown eyes unsmiling and his tanned muscular body unyielding. Practically daring her to try and get past him. Making her pulse race when she accidentally bumped into him.

  Ave Maria purísima, that man was too hunky for his own good. Or hers.

  But he was also equally hardheaded. The epitome of Latino machismo, certain he knew what was best for her.

  Ay, no thank you. The last thing she wanted to deal with was someone else thinking she needed babysitting. Her two sisters had that covered.

  Still, the rumble of his husky chuckle over the phone this morning had sent her belly flip-flopping. His playful side had surprised her. Pleasantly so. It made her wonder what it would have been like had they run into each other at a club or a bar out with friends. To have those intense brown eyes focused on her in a totally different way. The male-female kind of way.

  Had they been at a club and she noticed him, she would have asked him to dance. You know, take the opportunity to run her palms over his muscular arms. Maybe eventually get a chance to see what those kissable lips of his could do other than frown.

  Diantre, the heat spreading over her now had nothing whatsoever to do with the July sun.

  This morning, Reyes had shocked the hell out of her when he’d admitted she was right about how to approach Melba.

  Of course, the big lug hadn’t said he was wrong. Frankly, few men, few cops, hell, even fewer Latino men who were cops, would admit that.

  “¿Vienes, nena?”

  Velma’s call from the top of the stairs knocked Lilí out of her Diego Reyes mental side trip.

  “Yeah, I’m coming. Just . . . just thinking about something.” Or someone.

  Pushing Diego Reyes to the back of her mind, she hurried up the three steps and tugged open the entryway door.

  Inside the dingy hall, the same musty, moldy smell from yesterday greeted them.

  “Ay, huele mal.” Velma covered her nose and mouth with one hand, her thick brows drawn together in a deep frown at the stench.

  Lilí did the same, nodding at Velma’s complaint. The place did smell bad.

  It was another indication of why Melba needed to stay away from here. Never come back to the rancid life she had lived with Tito. Which was why Velma and Lilí were here to pick up some personal items for Melba to have with her at the shelter. They’d deal with packing her other belongings another day.

  Lilí’s tan sandals slapped against the aged linoleum floor as they approached the first-floor apartment. She knocked on the door, breath trapped in her lungs as they waited, praying Tito hadn’t come home. Velma’s face scrunched with worry, deepening the grooves around her mouth and across her forehead.

  When no one answered, they both breathed sighs of relief. Lilí pulled Melba’s key ring from her brown and black messenger bag, then slid the key into the slot. The dead bolt unlocked with a heavy click. Lilí paused. She’d never get used to seeing what she knew awaited inside.

  With her client tucked away in a safe place, no longer her immediate focus, there was always the danger of Lilí’s emotions overwhelming her now. Sometimes she tried detaching herself and looking at the place as if it were a movie set. Props staged for a scene. Instead of the broken, shattered, ugly reality the room or home represented.

  “¿Estás bien?” Velma asked. She wrapped a comforting hand under Lilí’s elbow, the wrinkles in her pudgy, mole-speckled face more prominent with her concerned frown.

  “Sí, I’m okay,” Lilí reassured her. She had to be. This was part of her job.

  The tones of a popular salsa song trilled from the dark purple sack-purse slung over Velma’s shoulder. The one that matched the dark floral muumuu dress flowing over her round figure. That also matched the black and purple sneakers on her childlike size-five feet. The older woman was a fashion style unto her own. Lilí had total respect for her flair.

  While Velma dug around in her purse, Lilí concentrated on calming her twitchy anxiety. She waited a beat, then twisted the scratched gunmetal knob and pushed the apartment door open.

  The stench of stale beer, spilled and left to dry on the same cracked, faded linoleum as the building’s entry, assailed her.

  Behind her, the salsa music stopped, replaced by Velma’s “¿Hola, Frances, qué pasa?”

  Frances was Velma’s oldest daughter. Mom of the two grandkids Velma often babysat. She was always keen to share a new pic she’d snapped of them on her phone. Cute kids whose silly photos made Lilí smile but not want any of her own quite yet.

  Velma continued her conversation, her voice fading as, on wobbly knees, Lilí stepped into the shambles.

  The pieces of the broken coffee table were butted up against each other in front of the sofa. Funny, she hadn’t remembered the cushions being ripped, stuffing tumbling out of a gaping hole in one. Picture frames and shattered glass littered the floor. Crushed beer cans and an empty bottle of tequila along with the mangled backrest from one of the metal breakfast-table chairs lay scattered across the kitchen.

  A chill shivered across Lilí’s shoulders. Dios mío, a freaking tornado would have done less damage than Tito.

  She picked her way through the debris, sidestepping the glass to avoid cutting her foot in her open sandals. Her eye caught on a photograph Melba had described to her. A young Melba, high school age she’d said, standing with her mamá at the beach in the Dominican Republic. Lilí stooped to pick up the frame, carefully dislodging a large shard of glass so it wouldn’t scratch the picture.

  The happiness beaming in Melba’s young face, shining in her eyes as she posed with one arm around her mamá’s waist, sent a sharp pang deep in Lilí’s chest. She’d never seen Melba smile like that before—relaxed, hopeful, almost excited.

  Sadness for the difficulties Melba had faced spread through Lilí like thick molasses, leaking into the nooks and crannies of her soul. Unfortunately, Melba would continue to face those same difficulties, worse maybe, if she couldn’t bring herself to completely cut ties with her degenerate husband.

  Lilí clutched the photograph to her chest, vowing to do whatever she could to facilitate that process. Praying the young woman would finally agree to press charges and move on with her life.

  “Ay, nena, perdón pero me tengo que ir.”

  Velma’s apology drew Lilí’s attention.

  “You have to leave?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at Velma, who remained in the open doorway.

  “Sí. My daughter is sick and her husband is working a double shift at the hospital. I have to go pick up Pepito from school.” Velma’s gaze trailed around the chaos in the tiny apartment. Her frown darkened and she made a quick sign of the cross, ending with a kiss to her fingertips. “You should not stay here alone. We can come back tomorrow. Vámonos.”

  “No, you go. I’ll be okay. This won’t take me long.” Lips pursed, Velma eyed Lilí like the stern abuela she could be when her grandkids weren’t respectful or they misbehaved.

  “Honestly, it’s fine,” Lilí reassured the older woman.

  “It’ll make Melba feel more comfortable if she has a few personal items. Like this one.”

  She turned the picture of Melba and her mamá around so Velma could see it.

  Velma’s expression softened. Lilí knew the volunteer understood. Their shared empathy for the women and children who came through the Victim Abuse Center’s doors bonded them.

  “I’ll grab everything and leave quickly,” Lilí promised. She wasn’t too keen on sticking around here anyway. Especially alone.

  “¿Me prometes?” Velma demanded, her pointed finger and narrowed gaze brooking no arguments.

  “Yes, I promise.”

  The mother hen routine didn’t bug Lilí. Velma acted that way out of love. The woman might be tough as nails now, but according to her, that hadn’t always been the case. She’d spent too many years in an abusive relationship before finding the strength to get out, so coming here couldn’t have been easy for her. She had though, for Lilí’s sake.

  “Bueno, do your business. Then immediately leave. Okay?”

  Lilí nodded solemnly.

  “Remember, Tito is out there. ¡Cuídate!”

  With her final warning for Lilí to take care of herself, Velma moved back into the hallway. The click of the door shutting behind her resounded through the silent apartment with finality.

  Lilí flinched.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on her training. On why she needed to be here. On the fact that she was one of the lucky ones who’d never lived through a situation like Melba or Velma, so she had to be strong. For them, for others who would come behind them.

  After taking a deep, calming breath, Lilí quickly got to work.

  She dug through her messenger bag in search of the piece of notebook paper Melba had used to jot down the items she’d requested.

  Picture with her mamá. Check.

  Picture of her extended family, taken the day before she’d left for the US nearly eight years ago as a young bride, unaware of the despair and pain she’d face at the hands of the man who had pledged to love and protect her.

  Rosary and prayer book. Should be in her nightstand.

  A few more outfits, a pair of sneakers, another pair of chanclas. Melba had worn a brown pair of sandals when they’d left last night, so she’d asked for a black pair from her closet.

  Baby blanket. Folded in her bottom drawer.

  Reading this item the first time had made Lilí start with alarm. She’d met Melba’s sad eyes, then listened with her heart in her throat as Melba shared the halting story about the night one of Tito’s beatings had caused her to miscarry their child.

  Disgust for the man rose like bile in Lilí’s throat. It hardened her resolve to do whatever it took to save Melba.

  Moving quickly, she stepped to the end table closest to the window overlooking the front of the building. Melba had said the family photo should be there. Odds were good it wouldn’t be, seeing as how half the items in the living room were strewn all over the damn place.

  Spotting the picture, surprisingly upright on the square spindle-legged table, Lilí bent to reach for it. A shadow passed by the front window. Paused. The large figure dodged from side to side as if trying to see if someone might be inside the apartment, partially hidden behind the filmy curtains.

  The hair on the back of Lilí’s neck stood on end.

  It was hard to tell for sure, but . . .

  The man put his hands on the window and pressed his face closer. Lilí gasped at his likeness to Tito.

  Spinning around, she raced toward the front door, shards of glass cracking under her sandaled feet. Heart pounding, she turned the dead bolt, then slid the security chain in place for good measure.

  Outside a car honked. Lilí flinched, but the hulking figure didn’t move. Voices called out and blessedly the man turned toward the street. She held her breath, pulse pounding in her ears, as she pressed back against the door.

  Terrified to move, she waited.

  One. Two. Three seconds that felt like an eternity before the man finally edged away. Through the filmy curtains she watched him approach the idling car.

  She couldn’t be 100 percent sure, but . . . what if it was Tito. Ready to pounce on Melba if she came back. Ready to pounce on Lilí if he’d heard she’d taken Melba home with her last night.

  Fear turned Lilí’s legs into wet noodles, incapable of holding her up.

  She slid down the length of the door until her butt hit the floor. Panic flared, ricocheting around her chest like dried beans inside a maraca.

  Gracias a Dios Velma wasn’t here. Lilí would never forgive herself if she put the older woman in danger.

  The squeal of tires peeling away grated her rattled nerves and she stared at the window, breath trapped in her lungs, to see if the figure returned.

  Seconds ticked by. No one appeared, but what if he’d stuck around, casing the place? Ay Dios mío, she’d messed up by staying alone. She needed to get the hell out of here, but was scared to go outside. Maybe if...

  Lilí dug her cell phone out of her dress pocket. It took a couple nervous swipes to unlock her screen, a few more to bring up her contacts.

  Without letting herself second-guess the idea, she tapped the name, then cleared the fear from her throat as the call went through.

  “This is Reyes.”

  “Hi, um, Officer Reyes?” Lilí pressed a hand to her racing heart, willing a calm she was far from feeling into her voice. “Any chance you, um, might be nearby? And could, uhhh, meet me at Melba González’s house?”

  He didn’t answer right away and chagrin heated her cheeks. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have called him.

  In the background she heard male voices yelling. Some kind of rhythmic pounding followed by cheers.

  “Hold on a second. It’s kind of loud.” The sounds faded slightly and Diego spoke again. “Sorry about that. I’m at the youth center playing basketball. What did you say?”

  Lilí’s shoulders sagged with relief as the breath she’d been holding rushed out on a whoosh of air. The idea of people carrying on with their daily lives, doing something normal like shooting hoops rather than hiding from a drug-crazed cretin, settled her.

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten, concentrating on relaxing the muscles she’d unconsciously tensed in fear.

  Everything was fine. She’d simply overreacted. “Lilí, what’s going on?” Diego’s voice had slipped into cop mode. Brusque, demanding.

  She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Nothing. Never mind. I think I spooked myself.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I stopped by Melba’s house to pick up a few things and—”

  “You did what?”

  “It’s nothing. I just thought . . .” She trailed off, embarrassed by her overreaction. “Someone was peeking in the window. I thought it might be Tito and I freaked. But he’s gone. Or, whoever it was is gone. Probably. Forget I called.”

 

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