On the Edge Page 12

  Ortiz: Dinner time?

  I smiled. I’d forgotten how much he knew about me—my work schedule, my routines.

  Maddie: Tasty spaghetti. Join us?

  Ortiz: No thanks. But I’d like to see you tonight. You game?

  Maddie: Yes.

  Ortiz: I can be there at 8.

  Maddie: See you then.

  I put down the phone, feeling a rush of adrenaline. An hour and fourteen minutes until I’d see him again.

  “Sorry,” I said. Mom hated when I texted at the table. Usually I didn’t.

  “Who was that?”

  “It’s . . . this guy I’m seeing tonight.”

  Mom’s mouth dropped open. “You have a date?” Shock quickly became panic. “You should’ve checked with me. Who is he?”

  “Ortiz.” I didn’t know his first name, but I wasn’t going to admit that. “He’s a good friend of Eric’s.”

  She put a hand to her chest, relieved. A friend of a friend was always a good thing. “How old is he?”

  I didn’t know that either. “Maybe twenty. You actually know him already. He’s the cute guy who works at Sasso’s.”

  She tilted her head. I could tell she was mentally scanning her interactions with him. Then she relaxed some more. “He’s always been nice, polite.”

  “We’re just hanging out,” I assured her. “Don’t worry, Mom. I trust Ortiz. And . . . he’s looking out for me.”

  At eight o’clock, the doorbell rang. Dex skidded to the door, and Mom grabbed his leash.

  “It’s all right, Mom. You can let him go.”

  She gave me a yeah, right look and kept hold of the leash.

  I opened the door. The second Dex saw Ortiz, he sat down, wagging his tail. Ortiz got down on one knee and petted Dex.

  In shock, Mom mouthed to me, “Are you serious?”

  “Dex loves him,” I mouthed back.

  Ortiz got up and said, “Nice to see you, Mrs. Diaz.”

  Ortiz was all confidence. He had the you can trust your daughter with me role down to a tee.

  “Nice to see you, too,” Mom said. “Where are you headed tonight?”

  He turned to me. “A walk on the beach, maybe? Then a coffee?”

  “Sounds great,” I said, grabbing a sweater.

  Mom nodded with approval. As we stepped out the door, she said, “Have fun, but not too much.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  The dark cabin of the car was thick with electricity as he pulled out of the driveway. “You look really good,” he said, glancing my way.

  “Thanks.” I’d put more than the usual effort in, but hopefully he couldn’t tell. I wore my favorite jeans, the faded ones that time had molded to my body, and a white lace shirt with a black cami underneath. I’d initially undone three buttons, which would give him a good peek of cleavage, but the moment I’d heard the doorbell, I’d chickened out and done up two of them.

  “I like when you come into the store early in the morning in that big T-shirt and flip-flops,” Ortiz said.

  I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious,” he said with a huskiness that made me shiver.

  “So are we really going to the beach?” I asked.

  “Yeah. We can talk there without any worries.”

  We reached the beach in minutes, and Ortiz parked at a strip mall lined with cheesy tourist shops.

  The boardwalk was pretty at night. Colorful lights from the hotels and casinos reflected off the water. There was a coolness in the air, so I put on my sweater.

  Ortiz took my hand and we walked for a while. Whatever this was, this connection between us, it didn’t need words.

  “I wanted to bring you here because this is where it started. The Destinos, I mean. It’s where we made a pact to take down Salazar.”

  “How many of you are there?” I asked.

  “Twelve.”

  “Seriously? From your reputation, I’d have thought there were more.”

  “Good. That’s what we want people to think. Believe it or not, twelve of us can do a lot of damage.”

  “You guys have proven that. How did you find each other?”

  “On the streets. Some of them met in juvie. We were all magnets that stuck together, whether we wanted to or not.”

  “Destiny,” I said.

  “Yeah. I told them what I planned to do. Told them the risks. I had a mission, and I think they all needed one.”

  I watched him, waiting for an answer to the big, obvious question—why was he doing this?

  Ortiz reached into his coat pocket and handed me a neatly folded piece of paper. I opened it.

  Dear Daniel,

  My dream was an illusion. But please don’t let your dreams die. I hope that in death I can watch over you better than I have in life. I’m so sorry to leave you.

  Love always, Andrea

  My hand trembled. “Are you Daniel?”

  “Yes. It’s from my sister.”

  “What does it mean?”

  He gazed out at the water. It took him a while to find his voice. “I’m from Houston, Madeleina. The shit-hole side of Houston. My mom was . . . I think she was bipolar, but she was such a heavy user it was hard to tell. She died when I was ten and Andrea was fourteen. Auntie did the best she could for us, but she already had three kids.” His mouth twitched, and I could see that it was hard for him to get the words out. “My sister had big dreams for me. She thought I’d go to college, be a big shot someday. She saw an ad online about nanny positions in Miami. Figured she’d moved down here for a couple years and save up some cash. So we could have a better life, the two of us.” He looked out at the horizon. “That was the illusion.”

  My heart was in my throat.

  “There was no job. They locked her in an apartment, shot her up with drugs, and sent in one john after another. She fought. I know she fought. But she had no chance.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Oh, God.”

  “She did it for me. That’s the thing. Her dream was for me.” For a few moments, he was far away. I felt the rage pulse through him, the grief. When he came back, his voice was perfectly calm. “She escaped, eventually. I don’t even know how she pulled it off on her own, with all the security Salazar puts on the girls, but she did. It was too late, though. She was so broken that she only wanted to escape so she could end it. And she sent me this letter.”

  I started to cry, and reached out to touch his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  There was a hollowness in his voice that scared me. Like he’d been hurt so much he’d gone cold.

  “She wouldn’t want you to feel responsible,” I said.

  “I know. It’s ironic, though. This letter was supposed to bring me peace. To tell me to move on.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Not when I knew there were others like her.”

  “I can’t speak for her, but I’m not sure that she’d want you to risk your life for this. I bet she’d want you to be safe.”

  “If not me, then who will help those girls?” He looked at me, as if I could actually answer him. “Who?”

  But I had no answer.

  “It’s satisfying, you know. It really is. When I help a girl, I feel better. Every time I fuck with Salazar, I’m happier.”

  I knew there’d be no talking him out of this. No coaxing him to a safer path. Ortiz was determined to shut Salazar down no matter what the cost.

  Even if it was his own life.

  SMOKE AND FIRE

  AFTER THE BEACH, ORTIZ BROUGHT ME TO A BAR in Little Havana filled with cigar smoke and grizzled Cuban men. But I didn’t for a second think he’d taken me to the wrong place. The music was the real thing—pure, soulful salsa played by a lone man in a red fedora.

  Ortiz led me to an isolated table in a dark corner of the bar. We sat with our backs to a brick wall, pressed close together.

  “The performers are always good,” he said. “I come here sometimes to relax.”

  I w
asn’t feeling relaxed right now. Maybe I should try to kiss him. Would that cut the tension between us, or amp it up?

  He was studying my face. My lips, to be exact. I suspected we were thinking the same thing. Suddenly shy, I looked away and tried to focus on the guy playing music. I tapped my foot, and he put a hand down on my knee. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to feel more of me, or if he was trying to steady me.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said. I wished, for once, that he wasn’t so good at reading people. I wanted to project confidence, not jitters.

  I turned to him. His face was inches from mine, and so beautiful. “Do you, um, come here with the guys?”

  “No. We don’t go out together. Too risky. I come here alone.”

  “Oh.” I fought for something else to say. “So how do you know so much about dogs, anyway?”

  “My neighborhood was full of perros callejeros—street dogs. Someone had to keep them in line.”

  “You’re a born leader. Of dogs. Of people.”

  He shrugged. “Aren’t you in charge of your school newspaper?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not so easy for me. I’m no alpha dog.”

  “Are you sure about that? You’re different from most people. You’ve got a leader’s strong energy, but you can play the beta role, too. Like with that friend of yours. The one who was always hitting on me at Sasso’s.”

  “Iz. We’re not exactly friends anymore.”

  He looked surprised. “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve been hanging out with Julia and she feels left out. She called it a betrayal.”

  “Strong words. You gonna patch things up with her?”

  “Hopefully. If she decides to talk to me again.”

  The compassion in his eyes surprised me. After all he’d gone through, he actually felt bad about my broken friendship with Iz?

  “She doesn’t know who she is without you. But you know who you are without her. That’s the problem.”

  “How can you tell?” I doubted he was watching Dr. Drew like my mom.

  He shrugged. “It’s just what I see.”

  “You see a lot.”

  “Hope that doesn’t creep you out.”

  “Only a little.” Then I smiled. “Your instincts have kept me safe.” That brought something to mind. I might as well go for it. “I need to ask you a question—about the Reyes who attacked me.”

  I felt him draw back slightly. I’d gone and killed the mood. But I just couldn’t let this go.

  “You said it yourself, Madeleina. I’ve kept you safe.”

  “I know but . . . people are saying I’m connected to the cartel. You know why, right?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “There was no other way.”

  I turned away from him. I couldn’t stand to think of Ortiz or one of his guys cutting off people’s fingers, no matter who they were or what they’d planned to do to me.

  Ortiz brought my face back to his. “It was that or kill them. If we’d killed them, we’d have even more Reyes to deal with. And I’ve never killed anyone. The only thing that would scare off the Reyes is the cartel.”

  “You’re not working with the cartel, are you?”

  “Of course not. Never. Is that what you thought?”

  “I didn’t know what to think.”

  His mouth made a grim line. “The cartel deals in drugs, not girls. But they’re just as sick as the Reyes, trust me.” His hand reached out to touch my face. “I’d do anything to protect you, Madeleina. Anything.”

  “Why?”

  His hand fell away. He looked at me as if to say, You really don’t know?

  “You’re the one who works with words, Madeleina. Not me. Anything I say’s gonna sound phony, like a line from a soap opera.” His eyes burned into mine, as if he could make me understand. “The strangest thing happened to me that night at Eric’s party. It’s like you’ve been with me ever since. In my head, I talk to you, and you get me. In my head, I think about you and what I want to say to you and . . . do to you.”

  I swallowed, overwhelmed. And then his mouth was on mine. It was more than a kiss. I breathed him in and our mouths slanted, kissing deeper, devouring each other. My hands fisted the back of his jacket, pulling him closer. I felt him groan, and then his body ground against mine, pressing me into the brick wall.

  He muttered something against my ear, something in Spanish, and I felt his lips and teeth against my neck, then he was back to my lips, his tongue sliding in my mouth. I was on a roller coaster, hanging on to him, desperate for him.

  My mind flashed with images—of his body against mine, of what it would be like to be naked against him—of me grabbing and tearing at him and urging him on.

  We both pulled back at the same time, breathless. Before things got completely out of control.

  “Holy fuck.” His hazel eyes had gone quicksilver. His mouth was half open, still hungry, as if he were debating pulling me to him again.

  I was gripping his jacket, both holding him close and keeping him away. The kiss in my backyard had been restrained need. This one had been raw, feral hunger.

  We’d both known the hunger was there—we’d touched the edge of the fire before. But it still left us stunned.

  He took me home at midnight. We had a brief kiss in the dark of the car, then pressed our foreheads together.

  “I want you with me,” he said roughly. “All the time. Day and night.”

  “Me too. Are you heading home?”

  “No.” He sat back, gathering himself. “We’re moving someone tonight. Two hours from now.”

  “Will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you’re safe?”

  Something in his eyes softened. “I will.”

  THE RIGHT REASONS

  CAFÉ VARADERO WAS MY FAVORITE PEOPLE-WATCHING place on Calle Ocho. It was modeled off an old country Cuban home, with worn, antique furniture, vintage lamps, and faded family photos. Miami hipsters came here for overpriced snacks and fancy versions of Cuban coffees. Naturally I had to show Julia the place.

  She walked into the café in blue high-tops, white jeans, and a tight black tee—part street, part chic, part laissez-faire.

  “Well, fuck me,” she said when she saw my smile. “You are so far gone, Maddie Diaz. When did you see Ortiz?”

  “Saturday night. Sunday night.” I slid her drink across the table. “Bought you a cortadito. No mocha latte blancos here.”

  She took a sip. “Mmm. What’s in it?”

  “Espresso with milk.”

  “Nice, I’ll get yours next time. So. Your message must’ve woken him up, huh?”

  “I think so. Thanks for your help.”

  Julia grinned. “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll go easier on Eric in the ring if he can release some of that pent-up sexual energy. Get ready, girl. He’s a raging bull.”

  “Giddy up.” I had more than enough pent-up sexual energy of my own.

  We both laughed, and I felt a pang, realizing it was the sort of raunchy girl talk I usually had with Iz.

  Julia must’ve read my face, because she said, “Eric told me Iz and Rob broke up yesterday.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “The poor guy’s days were numbered. I’m surprised she didn’t cut him loose sooner.”

  “That’s the weird thing. Rob dumped her.”

  “Really? Rob was so into her.”

  “Eric said she was totally blindsided. She was bawling on the phone.”

  “Bawling?” That didn’t sound like Iz at all. I figured I’d text her later to ask if she was okay. She would probably ignore it, but it was worth a shot.

  Julia sat back and sipped her drink, taking in the café and its young, stylish crowd. “Sweet place. I should bring my laptop here some time. We could have a study date.”

  “Think we’d get anything done?”

  “Probably not.” She smiled. “What were you working on, anyway?”

  “The tribute to Hector.”

  “Did Ortiz ever send you a quote?” />
  “Yeah. It’s perfect.” I opened my laptop and read it to her. “‘Hector was a gentleman. He always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone. The most grateful, humble person I’ve met.’”

  “Didn’t know Ortiz was so eloquent.”

  “Me neither. I got another powerful quote from Hector’s friend Eloise. ‘Shared everything he had, even if he had next to nothing.’” I sighed. “I have a few more quotes, and I’ve written up a biography but . . . there’s something missing. I need a personal account of his past and his family life. His sister wrote some great stuff on her Facebook page, but I can’t exactly email her to ask permission. I’m not allowed to have any contact with Hector’s family before the trial.”

  “As far as I know, you don’t need permission to quote her page. I’d have to double-check, but I think it’s all public.”

  “It might be, but it still wouldn’t feel right.”

  “How about I email her for you? I’ll tell her I’m a college student who thinks Hector deserves better treatment in the press. Then I’ll ask if she’s okay with her Facebook page being quoted. I can say it all without actually lying. Up to you.”

  I thought about it. I wanted my letter to the editor to be as punchy as possible, and I just couldn’t do it without using the information from his sister. It was worth a shot, anyway.

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Julia snapped her fingers. “Consider it done.”

  True to her word, Julia got it done.

  At nine thirty that night, she texted me:

  Vicky Rodriguez Sanchez says you can use anything on her page, pics and all. She said, “I’m so glad you’re doing this.”

  I replied:

  Thanks, Julia, you’re the best.

  It was the green light I’d needed. I went straight to her Facebook page. It was all there. Hector’s life story. Hector as a kind big brother. Hector’s battle with mental illness. Hector’s drinking problem and homelessness. I pulled several quotes and made notes on key events in his life. The Rodriguez family had been loving and supportive, a unit that had stayed strong despite Hector’s illness. I couldn’t help but think of what Ortiz had told me about his own mother.