Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (20 page)

I feel bad immediately. Just because he works for the Santos Mexicanos doesn’t mean the guy has no feelings.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m really not laughing at you. I’m still tired from traveling all night and it makes me laugh at stuff I shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,
Señorita
. Really. My mom had this thing for Ryan O’Neal, the American actor? So she named me after him. Everyone’s laughed at it my whole life. I’d change it, but honestly, it’d break my poor
madre’s
heart, so I put up with it. She’s just never understood how mismatched I am with the name Ryan.” He shrugs.

I can’t help but smile at him as we turn a corner and come to the large, central staircase that ends at the house foyer. “You’re really good to be so considerate of your mother,” I tell him.

We reach the bottom of the staircase and Clara appears from a hallway to the left.

“
2
Buenos tardes
,” she exclaimes cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

I can feel my cheeks heat as I remember everything that came after the sleeping, but Juan answers politely. “Yes, thank you, but I think my
Señorita
is hungry now.”

“Of course,
mijos
. How would you like to eat on the patio by the pool? I’ll have one of the girls bring your food right out and I’ll let your father know you’re up.”

Juan nods, and Ryan gestures behind the staircase, where the foyer continues back to a set of glass doors.

We find ourselves on a large, Saltillo-tile patio partially covered by a pergola. Beyond that, there are two steps down to a swimming pool that is a perfect crystalline blue. On the opposite side of the pool sits a pool house. The entire patio and pool enclosure are surrounded by lush, tropical foliage, bushes, flowering shrubs, and flowing, vine-covered trees. It looks like someone has dropped a Beverly Hills pool into the Amazon.

The patio is large enough to host a party on, and there is a large dining table that seats twelve as well as two smaller café tables and a seating area complete with an outdoor fireplace and sofas.

We choose one of the smaller four-person tables and sit down as Ryan goes to stand quietly near one of the posts that supports the patio roof. I notice him speaking into his wristwatch and pressing two fingers to his earpiece as he listens.

I look back at Juan to see him scanning the area carefully. “What are you seeing?” I ask quietly.

“A lot of money,” he says, looking at me from under his lashes.

“You couldn’t have had a father who had all this legitimately, could you?” I mumble. “It would have been pretty damn nice to come visit once a year and sit by this pool for a week.” I wink at him.

Juan smiles weakly. “Yeah, sorry about that,
linda
.”

I put my hand over his on the table. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to deal with all this so I’m saying a bunch of stupid things. I promise not to do it around
him
. I’ll get it under control.”

Juan shakes his head. “It’s fine. I don’t know how to deal with it either—” His eyes shift to something over my shoulder, and I turn in time to see Miguel Ybarra approaching us, followed by two servants carrying trays of food.

“
Buenos tardes, mijos
,” he says as he reaches our table and gives us a small bow.

Juan immediately stands, and I note the sign of respect to his father. “
Buenos tardes
,” he answers.

The older man gives him a small smile and then looks at me and asks, “May I?” as he gestures to the empty chair next to me.

“Of course,” I answer quietly, instinctively going back into mob-girlfriend mode—be seen and not heard.

He sits, and Juan follows as the servants begin to set plates and glasses on the table.

Once a spread of fruit, salad, grilled meats, and tortillas has been set out, the servants retreat, and Miguel speaks.

“You both slept well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Juan answers.

“Good. Please eat. I will do most of the talking for a bit.”

I shoot Juan a look, but he’s focused on his father, his face impassive as he nods and began to eat. It almost frightens me how he can turn the gangster stuff on and off like a switch. One moment, he’s a sweet, passionate lover, the next an expressionless, cool-as-ice mobster.

“There are many things you need to learn about the business, Juan. I had not anticipated that you would have the young lady with you, so I can see that I will need to make some adjustments with your time. I realize that young people who are as fond of one another as you two obviously are need to spend time together.” He smiles at me, and I do my best to return the gesture even though my stomach roils at having his attention focused on me.

“Ms. Garcia. Juan has told me that you are very close to your
familia
?”

I nod. “Yes,
Señor
, I am.”

“Please, call me Miguel. You are practically my daughter now. I want you to be able to speak with your family, and I’m sure they are worried about you.”

My heart leaps inside of my chest.

“However, I cannot, of course, have an international situation on my hands.” He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, questioning if I understand his meaning. “Reports of a young Americana
visiting
unexpectedly with certain groups in another country would create a very messy situation for all of us, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Juan interjects, giving me a look that clearly communicates agreement is the best response in this case.

“Good. You understand the delicacy of our circumstances. So as long as I can secure an agreement from Ms. Garcia’s family that they will not speak falsely to US officials, then she may have permission to speak to them by phone and perhaps at some point even accept a visit from them. You have younger sisters, yes?”

“Yes, two. One is still in high school, but the other is only a year younger than me.”

“I think that a young woman living here with all of these busy men would enjoy a visit from her sister, so we will look forward to that sometime in the future after you are more settled.”

I give him a weak smile, thoughts of how far into the future he expects me to remain here causing a wave of panic. That’s quickly followed by a hysterical feeling as I picture Alexis telling Gabe that she’s going to visit her sister the hostage at the compound of a Mexican drug lord. I don’t think Miguel has any idea what he’s just proposed.

“Will you be telling her family she’s okay soon?” Juan asks casually.

“Yes. I have people working on that right now. Hopefully by this time tomorrow, a phone call can be made and your young lady can hear her parents’ voices.”

Juan swallows, his distaste obvious to me and probably to his father as well. “Thank you.”

Miguel nods curtly. “Now, once you are done with your meal, you will need to come with me for the afternoon and Ms. Garcia can enjoy the pool or the theatre we have in the basement. Ryan is here to see to her needs while you are working.” He turns to me again as he stands. “Dinner will be served at eight p.m. most evenings. I would ask that you wear formal attire. I have provided a wide range of clothing in your suite, but if you need something else, please let Clara know and we will send someone out for it.

“Juan, one of the men will show you to my office when you are done with lunch.”

After Miguel leaves, Juan reaches over the table and takes my hand in his. “Tomorrow, you’ll get to talk to your parents. And we’ll learn more. Every hour that we’re here, we’re learning more. It’ll add up to something we can use. I promise,
linda
.”

My vision wavers through the tears that sit not quite ready to spill down my cheeks. “I know,” I whisper, feeling so terribly hopeless but trying not to weigh Juan down with that burden. “I know.”

1
Cabron = asshole

2
Buenos tardes = Good afternoon

I
T
kills me to leave Beth after lunch. I can see the distrust in her eyes, so I ask Clara to spend some time with her, hoping that makes her a little more comfortable than Ryan the bodyguard. He seems like a fine guy, but there’s just no way to tell. My father could have given him orders to lock Beth in a closet gagged and drugged all day for all I know.

I’m fucking miserable. Even in all the shit that went down with the RH, I never felt as helpless as I do now. It’s one thing when it’s your own life that’s being fucked with. It’s a whole other deal when it’s your girl’s life.

I walk into my father’s office led by Raymundo, who appears to be my personal guard. It seems he, Ryan, and a very big guy named Pepe are all assigned to Beth and me and take different shifts watching us. Unfortunately for me, they’re armed at all times, Glocks riding easy in their shoulder holsters.

Miguel’s office is as big as some people’s living rooms and full of expensive-looking art and furniture. I notice that it’s all Mexican and Spanish. I wonder if he’s a collector or if I’m the only object of his obsession.

“Come in,
mijo
,” he tells me as I linger in the doorway.

“Thank you,” I answer.

He gestures for me to sit in an armchair facing his desk while he resumes his seat behind it. “If you are going to run this business someday, you need to learn everything there is to know about it. You need to understand the politics of the world I operate in. You need to know the families involved and the different players and their roles. Someday, this will all be yours.” He sweeps his arm across the room and indicates the window that overlooks the swimming pool and beyond. “You must now learn to fulfill your role as the heir to this empire.”

My mind spins with the enormity of it all. Even if I were interested in running this show, it sounds like a hell of an undertaking. And again, that’s if I actually wanted to.

“And if I don’t want to be the heir to all of this?” I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.

He looks at me thoughtfully. “Currently, you are wanted in the United States for a parole violation, and you are eligible for extradition by the Mexican government should they decide to pursue you. If you are returned to the United States, you will be put back in prison for many years.

“Even if you didn’t have the parole violation hanging over you, you are now wanted by the Reyes Hispanos for the murder of their leader and his closest men. They have no way of knowing you weren’t aware of the coup that was staged. You’re the one they know, the one they’re familiar with, and to them, you’re not my son, I’m
your
father.
Comprendes
?”

Yeah, I understand. The old man has tied me up nice and tight. His activities over the last twenty-four hours have ensured that I’m wanted by so many people in so many places that I have no other options but to stay here with him, work for him, do his bidding—from now until the day he dies. It’s a very sobering thought.

But I also know how desperately he wants me here, wants my cooperation and my agreement. I know that he’s oddly obsessed with me, and I’m going to use that to negotiate for the one thing that means more to me than my own life.

“Yeah,” I say. “I understand all of that perfectly. And here’s the thing—I’ll stay here. I’ll give you my word that I’ll work for you. I’ll work hard and learn everything you want me to. I’ll be your
príncipe
. On one condition.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me and actually looks amused. “Please. What would you like to negotiate,
mijo
.”

“Beth.”

He nods, his face showing that he understands fully what I’m saying.

“I want to send her home.”

“You think I will agree to send her back to the US when she now knows where I live, when she was at the RH compound and can tie me to the murders there?”

“Yes, I do, because you’re untouchable as long as you’re here in Mexico, and because you must realize Beth’s not going to do or say anything that would hurt me. But mostly, because”—I look him in the eyes—“you love me, and
I
love
her
. More than anything or anyone I’ve known in my life, I love Beth Garcia, and if you don’t protect her and return her safely to her family in the US, I will go back to prison or to the RH and I’ll let them kill me. I won’t do a single thing for the man who hurts her in any way.
Ella es el amor de mi vida
.”
She is the love of my life.