Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (17 page)

"You smell like cinnamon," he tells me, inhaling deeply. Then he pauses before continuing the hushed conversation. "
Linda
? I'm so sorry. No matter what, I'll get you home. Once we get there and I see the place, learn how everything's set up, I'll figure out how to get you out. You believe me?"

I turn my face up, pausing to brush my lips across his. "Of course I do. We're both going to get out of this. Together. We'll figure it out and we'll get home somehow."

I notice that he doesn't answer. He just strokes my shoulder as he holds me.

Two hours later, we’re buckled into yet another expensive SUV, rolling through the dark to what Miguel refers to as "your new home." I’m rapidly tiring of feeling helpless. I’ve never been helpless, never pretended to be, and the silent-mob-girlfriend act is wearing on me. Juan's father has yet to speak to me, and Juan and I can hardly say anything to one another with Miguel and his guards everywhere around us.

When we finally pull into the gates of the enormous estate that Miguel calls home, I think I might crawl out of my skin. I want to rage, yell, hit, scream. How can everyone be so calm? I’ve been kidnapped for Christ's sake. Forced into cars and planes against my will then taken out of the country. I was in a shootout, nearly saw a woman murdered. What now? Am I going to be locked up indefinitely? Will these armed guards be watching me dress, use the bathroom, sleep? And ultimately, what is the end game here? What does Juan's father think is going to happen with me after a few days or weeks? Is he just humoring Juan so he'll cooperate and then they'll kill me?

From what I can see of the grounds, they’re heavily landscaped, and I’m guessing we’re in southern Mexico. The vegetation is tropical and the air humid. The house rises up above a semicircular drive that fronts it. It’s lit up outside and in, the white stucco surface glowing. The high, red-tile roof is two and a half stories above the ground level, and the structure has a central section with two large wings jutting out from either side of the middle.

The enormous, solid-wood doors open before we even reach them, and an older couple dressed very conservatively steps out, greeting Miguel first and then smiling as Juan is introduced. Next, Miguel turns to me. For the first time since we left Texas, he looks me in the eyes, and I’m confronted with the fact that I think I hate this man, but I also see so much of Juan in him that I feel guilty for my revulsion. I stand up straighter and fight not to drop my gaze. I know it isn't what Juan told me to do, but I don't want this man to think I’m some piece of fluff that can be disposed of like so much trash. I’ve already admitted to myself and Juan that I love him. I’ve always loved him, and I’m the only piece of his real family here. I’m not going to turn him over to Miguel Ybarra without a fight.

"My apologies, miss. In all the turmoil, I never did get your name," Miguel says, holding out an arm to usher me into the foyer with the others.

"It's Beth," I answer, proud of how strong my voice sounds.

Juan puts an arm around me protectively.

"Beth, this is Clara and her husband, Romeo. They run the house and property for me, and if you need anything at all during your stay, please feel free to let them know about it."

I smile at the older couple, thinking that they remind me of my parents. Then Clara begins making noise about everyone needing to get to bed.

Miguel turns sharply to us and says, "Clara will show you to your room now. It's been a very long day for everyone. Please take your time in the morning. I've had clothes and other items you may need delivered to your suite. Goodnight, Juan. Beth." He gives us a brief smile and walks away toward the far wing of the house with Romeo alongside him.

Clara fusses over both of us, lamenting our long journey so late at night but also making sure to tell us that
Señor
Ybarra has been waiting for many years to have Juan home again.

"This is a great day for
Señor
. I remember the day you left here when you were a baby. I have never seen a man so tormented with grief."

Juan stops suddenly, pulling me closer to him as he faces Clara. "This is the house? The house where I lived when I was a baby?"

"Yes. Well, you lived in the casita down the drive. That was back when the old
Señor
ran the business and the
familia
."

I can see the surprise on Juan's face.

"My mother worked here," he says softly, looking around the wide corridor we’re standing in.

Clara smiles gently. "She did. I remember her well. I was a few years older than her and we worked together for many years." She gives herself a small shake and exchanges a look with one of the guards who shadows us. "But it's probably best if you don't speak of her around
Señor
," she warns. "As I said, he was nearly destroyed when she took you and left. Sometimes the past is better left in the past."

Juan nods, and Clara starts walking again, pointing out pieces of art and other trivia about the house as we go along. I can't help the sense of foreboding as we move deeper and deeper into the enormous home.

When we finally reach our destination, Clara shows us into an elegant suite with a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The bathroom alone is nearly as big as my whole apartment in Austin.

The suite is on the second floor of the mansion, and it includes a balcony that runs the length of the suite so you can walk onto it through glass doors from either the sitting room, the bedroom, or the bathroom. Clara opens the set of doors in the sitting room as she bustles around, fluffing pillows and pointing out the wet bar with a mini fridge stocked full of snacks.

"We serve buffet breakfast every morning between seven and nine a.m.
Señor
and the men usually eat breakfast in the solarium and the back patio. Lunch will be served in the kitchen as needed because most of the men are working at that time and they all end up eating at different times.
Señor
has formal sit-down dinner each night. Many times, business associates are guests. I know that he will want both of you there each night. The meal is served at eight."

I wonder briefly if the dinners are like a meal with the Corleones. Someone might pull a gun in the middle of the soup course and shoot everyone. Or maybe it’s more like the Irish mobsters in The Departed and Juan's father will stab someone through the hand with his steak knife if they piss him off.

"
Señorita
," Clara continues, "while the men are working, if you ever need food served at the pool or brought to your suite, just let me know. I will give you the number to the kitchen in the morning so you can always reach me with any requests. And of course there will always be one of the men assigned to you both on and off the property."

"Thank you," Juan tells the older woman.

I smile as best I can under the circumstances.

After Clara leaves and the guard nods and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him, I sit on the bed, unable to stand another moment. I try so hard to keep it together, but I start shaking, and suddenly, it occurs to me that I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to stop. My breathing becomes rapid, my heart racing and my lungs closing up. My head is light and I gasp, trying to regain some sort of control over my body.

Juan has me in his arms in seconds, holding me tight and whispering platitudes. "It's okay,
linda
. I promise. I'm so sorry this happened. But it will all be okay, I swear to you. Breathe. Just breathe."

I try to let my mind go blank, focus on my breathing. Slowly, over the next few minutes, the gasping calms, the shaking subsides, and finally, I’m able to sit back to look at Juan.

He gently pushes my hair back out of my face. "You did great," he says quietly. "I'm so proud of you." He leans forward and presses his lips to each of my eyelids. "You're amazing. So amazing."

I hold my hand over my mouth, momentarily unable to speak as an entire day's worth of very strong emotions wash over me. My eyes well up and I struggle to hold the tears back.

"Sorry about the panic attack," I say in my new, small, wobbly voice.

"Jesus, don't you dare apologize. Do you know how many people would have lost it hours ago? You're fucking amazing,
linda
. I don't know many men in the business who could have faced Miguel like that. You're a female civilian and you didn't make a mistake all day. You're alive because of it. And
gracias a Dios
. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you." His voice wavers as he says the words.

"I'm okay. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I am. I'll be fine."

"This is my fault. I can't believe I've gotten you mixed up in it. I wanted you to stay away."

Juan pulls me into his embrace, and I let my body mold to his. My heart beats strong and sure, and I can feel his keeping pace with it. Our breathing syncs and I know in that moment that, if someone had told me this would be the outcome when I set out to visit Juan yesterday, I still would have gone. In fact, I can't bear the idea of him going through this without me. He needs me, and even when it means risking my own life, I won't leave him alone ever again.

"Let's try to get some sleep,
linda
. I have no idea what tomorrow's going to be like." He gets up off the bed and walks to the sitting room where he locks both the door to the corridor and the doors to the balcony.

He walks back to the doorway of the bedroom. "I'll see you in the morning," he tells me.

I move off the bed and take a step toward him. I hate the neediness in my voice, but I have very little emotional control right now. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"Just to the sofa right here. We can leave the door open if you want."

I take a deep breath, wondering if he’s just trying to be a gentleman or if he really does prefer the sofa to the bed with me.

"You don't have to do that," I say shyly. "I mean if you want to, but if it's just, um… If it's just to be polite or whatever, I'd actually rather have you in here. I mean, God, that sounds kind of bad, doesn't it? I didn't mean like that. I just meant that it's a big bed, and we've had plenty of sleepovers before. Remember when we were kids? It's fine. Um, yeah. I'll quit talking now." I feel the heat in my cheeks and wish the floor would open up so I could crawl into it.

Juan is across the room in two strides. "You sure?" he asks as he faces me, his hands resting gently on my arms. "I'll stay on my side, I promise." He smiles.

"Yes, it's fine." I kick off my shoes and pull back the covers. "But I'm too tired to change or brush my teeth, so I hope you don't mind a grungy bedmate."

Juan strips off his T-shirt and I work very hard at not looking at all of that lean, smooth muscle. It’s not easy to resist, and my eyes linger longingly on the space between his neck and his shoulder where one of his tattoos fans out across his deltoid muscles. In my head, an image develops—my mouth on that spot, biting gently down on that muscle, Juan’s arms clamped around my waist as he breathes my name and rocks into me.

"No worries. I think I could sleep on a bed of nails I'm so tired," he says as he crawls into the other side of the bed, startling me out of my fantasy. I avert my eyes, turning on my side away from him.

He reaches up and flips the switch on the lamp beside the bed, cloaking the room in darkness.

After a few seconds, he speaks. "
Linda
?"

"Yeah?"

"What you said back at the halfway house before the RH showed up? Did you mean it?"

My heart races. It seems like a lifetime ago, but I know exactly what he’s referring to. "Yeah," I whisper into the dark. "I did."

"Come here," he says in a rough voice, reaching a hand over to grasp my shoulder.

I scoot back until I can curve my back into his front, and his heavy arm comes across my body, where I hold his hand against my heart.

"I love you too," he whispers into my ear, his warm breath making everything inside me turn molten. "I always have."

I kiss his hand as I hold it in mine. We’re both asleep in moments.