Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (30 page)

I
have one of my regular clients this afternoon. A real honest-to-God rock star. Joss Jamison, lead singer of Lush, always requests me for his driver, so I see him nearly every day I work.

“How are you today, Mr. Jamison?” I ask as he slides into the backseat of the limo.

“You don’t even want to know, Juan. But can I ask you one thing?”

I smile at him in the rearview mirror but know he’ll keep talking whether I answer him or not. I can tell he’s in a mood, and I’ve gotten pretty good at handling him when he’s in one of those.

“Why the hell do those girls think I want their underwear? I mean, why in the world would they think I find that even remotely sexy? Can you imagine if we were to get the hots for some starlet or pop singer and throw our boxers at her every time she came outside? Would she find that sexy?”

Mr. Jamison has had women camped outside his condo building in downtown Portland for weeks now, ever since his new album went platinum. I guess it’s getting old. I try really hard not to laugh, but this rich, movie-star-looking
1
huero
bitching about the thongs being tossed at him is just too much.

“Really, someone needs to explain to these girls that, just because their underwear has brighter colors and less fabric than mine, does not mean it’s sexier. And especially not when it’s thrown at my
face
. Fuck.”

I struggle for a few more moments and then bust out laughing, glancing at Mr. Jamison in the rearview after I’ve calmed down. He’s smiling sadly at me. I feel bad for the guy. I don’t think he’s very happy, which just goes to show that money can’t buy it for you. I’ve never missed anything I had at my father’s estate since I left. All his money and power weren’t equal to one minute of Beth’s touch. Money can’t buy me choices or freedom or love, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels really damn good to have them.

After I drop off Mr. Jamison at his recording studio, I stop back by the apartment to get my books so I can study while I wait to drive him home. That’s a great thing about this job—I have lots of waiting-around time to study, read, sketch landscape plans, and dream about my gorgeous girl.

When I walk in the front door, the mail has already come, scattered across the floor where it fell through the mail slot. I bend down to scoop it up, leafing through the bills and junk mail as I walk to the living room. The final envelope I hold makes me stop dead in my tracks. The return address is Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My hands shake as I slowly run my finger under the edge of the plain, white envelope until I tear open the seal. I withdraw a single sheet of paper and unfold it, my heart beating triple time. Then I read.

My Dearest Juan:

I am settled here in my new home, and really, it is not so bad. I find I enjoy the time to read and study, something I haven’t done since I began working for the Santos when I was seventeen. Of all the things I could miss, I find that Clara’s cooking is really the main one. But she sends me a treat once a month, and I’ve found that, if I share with some of the guards, they allow me to keep the rest.

I hope that you have a new home in Portland and you and Ms. Garcia are comfortable. I have heard that you are planning to marry the young lady, and I am very happy. I never married your mother. Perhaps things might have gone differently for us if I had, although I doubt it. She was a good person, much like her son, and pure hearts like hers and yours are not meant to be paired with hardened ones like mine.

Speaking of your mother, I hope that you will approve of the house I purchased for her in Monterrey. She does not know that it was me who did it, so perhaps it is better that you don’t tell her. I will never forgive her for taking you from me, but I also can never repay her for the way she raised you. You are everything a father could want in a son, and I owe her a debt of gratitude for that. I know that you love her, and I have sworn to always protect and care for you and those you love.

Which brings me to my last remark. Do not fear me, son. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this world. I have lived my whole life for you, and if my incarceration was necessary for you to have the things you love, then I will gladly serve this sentence, comforted in the knowledge that you are happy, that your wife is happy, that your children—my grandchildren—will be happy. Someday, when you are a father, you will understand this sacrifice I make for you and why I make it willingly, joyfully.

No one will ever find your whereabouts, and you will always be watched over. I have resources that the Americanos cannot touch and people that they cannot reach. The money is there whenever you need it. The people are with you even when you do not know it. They will protect you and those you love, as I always have.

Te Amo,

Miguel.

I stumble to the sofa and sit down, the letter dangling from my fingertips. Finally, I go to the kitchen drawer and pull out a prepaid cell phone. We keep them to talk to Beth’s friends and family. Every month, we get a new prepay, and so do each of her family members. Then we can talk. The feds don’t know, but I guess Miguel probably does. I hesitate, deciding who to call, but finally, I choose Gabe. He’s the only one besides Beth who was there with me, saw the place, met the man who is my father.

He answers on the fourth ring. “Bethy? Is that you?” he hollers obnoxiously.

“No, it’s, uh… It’s Juan.”

“Hey, dude. What’s up? How’s everything there?”

“Well, I need to talk to you about something,” I tell him as I sit down, still clutching the letter in my hand.

“Shoot,” he says. “I can take a break from this carburetor for a few.”

“Okay.” I read him the letter, and when I’m done, he’s silent for a while.

“You still there?” I ask.

“Yeah, man. Sorry. So, I guess the feds aren’t as sly as they think, huh?”

“I guess not, since it doesn’t seem like it was all that hard to track me down.”

“Can I tell you something, dude?”

I swallow, not knowing if I can take more bad news right now. “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“When we took you out of there? I didn’t want to say anything, but it was far too easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. I never expected the whole thing to go that smoothly, and while I’d love nothing more than to sit around and congratulate myself on what a badass operative I am, the fact is, I’ve suspected all along that Miguel
let
us take you.”

“Shit,
ese
. Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Completely. And if that’s true, then I don’t think he’s a threat. I think he means what he’s saying in that letter. He might be crazy, but I have a feeling his crazy includes doing no harm to you and yours.”

I consider what he’s said. I consider the life Beth and I have started to make here. The home we’re building in this little apartment. And I think that, at some point, you have to stop looking at your world in terms of what
should
be and look at what
is
. A man like my father
should
be a threat to me—to everyone, really. But in reality, he’s never done a single thing to harm me. Things that I took as threats could have been misinterpreted. Stories that my mother told me might have colored my perceptions. Experiences I had in the RH may have led me to see him in a way that wasn’t fair.

“I think you might be right,
hermano
,” I tell Gabe. “And thanks for that.”

“Sure thing, but watch your back, man. I can’t have you or Bethy getting hurt. Alexis would never get over it, and it’d kind of piss me off too.”

I chuckle, feeling better already. “No worries. We’re safe. We’ll stay that way.”

“All right. Call again soon so Alexis can talk to you.”

“
Bueno
.”

After we end the call, I grab my books and the letter and head back to the limo. I go straight to Beth’s work and text her to come outside where we can talk. She slips into the front seat of the limo and kisses me on the cheek.

“Oooh, are we going to have a nooner in the fancy car?” She flirts.

“Sorry,
linda
, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

“That sort of sounds serious.”

“It is,” I answer as I hand her the letter.

She sits and reads, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, and by the time she gets to the end, there are tears in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Beth. I just can’t believe this, now, after we finally get settled and everything’s going so well. You don’t deserve this,
linda
. And if you want me to leave, I will. You can go back home to Austin or stay here—“

“Stop it,” she snaps. “I thought we were done with that. There is no you and me, only us. You know that.”

I nod. Old habits die hard. “Okay. You’re right.” I look up and cup her cheek with my palm. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to hear what you think of this letter,” she tells me.

I swallow. “Well, I called Gabe and read it to him. He told me something that he’s never mentioned before. He said that, when he came to take me out of Miguel’s, it was too easy. Much easier than he’d expected.
Linda
”—I pause, looking at her steadily—“he thinks Miguel
let
me go that night.”

She lets out a breath she’s been holding and sniffs. “So he thinks Miguel allowed you to go, knowing what might happen?”

“Sounds that way, yeah.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that maybe it’s time to quit living in fear of my father. Because,
linda
, he’s never actually hurt me. Ever. Maybe it’s naïve or careless, but I don’t
want
to leave our life here. I don’t
want
to keep reacting to shit as if we’re being hunted. I love it here. I love my job, you love your job, we love us. And my father says he loves us too. Maybe we should just accept that and quit worrying.”

I watch as a little smile curves across her face and she leans over and kisses me gently on the lips.

“Juan Miguel Antonio Martinez Ybarra, I love you and I trust you, and if you believe in your father, then so do I. Life’s full of risks. You can’t live it without taking some. We’re just learning how to live. Let’s not stop now.”

We kiss, and as my lips slide over her smooth, silky skin, I know we’ve made the right decision. I know that, as long as I have this woman by my side, I’ll keep discovering who Juan is, and we’ll make it through anything. I also know that, if I’ve learned anything in the last ten years of my life, it’s that love is powerful and it can make people do some amazing things—like give up their world, risk their safety, start a new life. Love can make you lose it all, risk it all, want it all. But most of all, love can help you have it all.

1
Hueros/as = blondies/ fair skinned

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