Fade the Heat (11 page)

She was a hired shark, pure and simple, but one given to wearing killer heels and form-fitting suits cut to showcase generous curves. When Mayor Thomas Youngblood first hired her, there had been quite a few jokes about the nature of her qualifications for the job, but within weeks of her arrival from Atlanta, Sabrina McMillan had lived up to her reputation as a shrewd political player.

Whatever the stated purpose of her call, Jack knew it had but one goal: to somehow reel in more votes for her boss.

“What can I do for you?” he asked her.

“Oh, it’s not what you can do for me, Jack. It’s what I—I mean Mayor Youngblood—can do for you.”

Her laughter, rich and knowing, sent a frisson of awareness along his nerve endings. But for some reason, the face that popped into his mind was Reagan Hurley’s.

“What are you talking about?” He was too intent on confronting his sister—and far too battered by the events that had taken place since yesterday—to want to play Double-or-Nothing Entendre with a strange woman, no matter how sexy her voice.

“We wanted to let you know that Mayor Youngblood has personally ordered both the police and fire chiefs to take an active role in the investigation of any hate crimes perpetrated against members of our Mexican-American community, whether they are legal or illegal residents.”

Suppressing a sigh, Jack said, “And you’re calling here to tell me this because…?”

“Because Mayor Youngblood believes that no federal investigation should target any Houston citizen because of pressure from certain radio personalities or—”

“Hold it, Ms. McMillan. Are you saying that I’m being targeted by the task force because of Darren Winter’s bullshit?”

“I’m saying, Dr. Montoya, that perhaps you and I should meet. It seems to me the two of us might have some common interests.”

Jack could see it all now, the mayor trotting him up to some podium like a dog on a leash, then making some long-winded speech that boiled down to “
I’m not Darren Winter. Here, see? I love Mexicans—we’re real amigos. So those of you who can vote, vote for me.
”

As much as Jack hated Winter, he’d be damned if he would resort to playing the token brown guy on the stage—not even if it was the price he’d have to pay to get clear of suspicion. Besides, Youngblood would drop him faster than a flaming
habaĊero
if he figured out just how flagrantly Jack had violated the laws limiting the medical treatment of illegal residents. The mayor would have to distance himself to keep from being embroiled in a debate of Darren Winter’s choosing: the question of whether public dollars should “reward” his city’s uninvited—but economically essential—guests.

Jack rubbed his temples, trying to assuage the
headache building like a bank of storm clouds. “I’m sorry, Ms. McMillan. This isn’t about politics.”

That suggestive laugh again, then: “Really, Jack. If you’ll only open your eyes, you’ll see that
everything’s
political, in one way or another. I’m sure if we could get together—”

“I’d tell you the same thing. Thanks for calling, though. And you can tell the mayor I appreciate his stance against hate crimes.”

“If you change your mind, I can guarantee you’ll see—”

“Sorry, have to go now,” he said. “I’m getting another call, and it may be my service.”

Though this phone line didn’t even have call waiting, he broke the connection.

On his way out of the bedroom, he grabbed two over-the-counter, extra-strength migraine tablets from one of the many bottles crowded together on the nightstand. And for the first time he could remember, he thanked his lucky stars that his mother was a hypochondriac.

Downing the pills with a swallow of cola, Jack dealt with one headache and braced himself for what he feared would prove a worse one—the conversation with his sister about the man she had been seeing.

When she didn’t respond to either his knocking or her name, Jack cracked open the unlocked door and peeked into the room. “Luz Maria?”

A small dresser-top lamp was on, illuminating a room still decorated with the white furnishings, fuzzy throw rugs, and yellow walls she had favored as a teen. Aside from the addition of a computer sitting atop her student desk, and a couple more color
fully painted Oaxacan wooden animals in her collection, nothing had changed; even the pile of unfolded laundry lying on her rocking chair looked suspiciously familiar.

Though the PC was turned on, Luz Maria wasn’t in front of it. Instead, she lay atop her floral comforter, turned away from him. A black wire snaked along the curve of her back and disappeared beneath her wavy, loose, black hair. About the same time he spotted the headphones on her ears, he made out the muted notes of the Tejano ballads she lived for. No wonder she hadn’t heard his knock.

“Luz Maria,” he repeated, touching her gently. Only to feel her shoulder shake beneath his hand.

“Please, Mama. I said I needed to be alone a while,” she complained, scooting away without turning over.

He lifted one side of the headphone off her ear. “I need to talk to you. About Sergio.”

Slowly she turned, until he could see that her eyes were wet and her face blotched with crying. Sitting up, she pulled off the headphones and said, “Jack,” then threw her arms around his neck.

He pulled her arm away from his throat so he could breathe. “Mama thinks you had an argument. Have you two broken up?”

“They’ve got it all wrong.” She flung a quick gesture toward the screen of her computer.

Following her gaze, he saw that the page was displaying a news site. On closer inspection, he recognized his own picture in the corner. He recognized it as a copy of an employee ID photo from the hospital system, one he’d always thought made him look like some sort of criminal.

But even so, Luz Maria’s distress surprised him. All
week, as the reporters bore down on him, she’d expressed anger about the “stupid law” he had ignored, but very little real concern about the likely consequences. This morning, when she had come to pick him up, she had been more practical than emotional about his situation.

He grabbed her desk chair and spun it around. “Let’s get back to my question. What’s going on with your boyfriend?”

And what the hell do you know about his ties to BorderFree-4-All?
Yet he held his tongue for now, convinced she’d clam up if he came on too strong.

When Luz Maria glanced at the open door, Jack walked over and closed it, even though he could plainly hear their mother working in the kitchen.

Before he could sit down again, Luz Maria said, “He didn’t tell me anyone would try to kill you. He said…he said it would make people pay attention to the cause.”

Her words plunged into his gut like a switchblade. The room spun around him, and Jack grabbed at the desk with one hand, trying desperately to keep his seat.

She pulled a wadded tissue out of the pocket of her jeans and blotted puffy eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were supposed to talk about the law, but the real issue is getting lost in Winter’s campaign. Everything’s turned on us—on you.”

His little sister was involved. Not so long ago, he’d tied her shoes and read her stories. Proudly watched her first communion. Escorted her to her
quinceaĊeras
, the rite of passage celebrating a fifteen-year-old girl’s ascent to womanhood. And finally, over these last few months, their work situation had helped him get to know his sister as an adult.

Or at least he’d thought he knew her. But how could he, if she could hide something this huge from him?

He turned away, unable to look at her. Yet somehow, he forced words past the razor wire tangled in his throat. “You copied the Elena Suarez file, didn’t you? You were the one who passed it on to Winter.”

Her silence drove the switchblade deeper. Unconsciously his hand swept across his stomach, some part of him expecting to feel the hot gush of fresh blood.

“Say it, Luz Maria. Tell me what you did.” His anger bounced the words around the small room. The mirror above her dresser trembled with the sound, so that in its depths, the house appeared to quiver.

Their mother’s footsteps clicked down the hall. A rap at the door followed, and then: “You mustn’t fight, you two. I will be finished with the
flautas
soon, and some
borracho
beans, too.”

As if they were no more than children, and leftover beans and fried rolled tacos could bring a halt to Armageddon. When Jack heard his mother walk back toward the kitchen, he turned toward Luz Maria. Her face had grown wax-pale, with tears streaming down like the melted droplets dripping down a candle’s sides.

But all he could think of was the flame—the fire he’d seen ripping through his apartment building on the news. “You betrayed me, Luz Maria. God damn it, you threw me to the wolves. And somehow, what you did caused a dozen families to lose their homes and a firefighter to—”

“The—the cause is bigger than the problems of the individual. Compared to freedom, each of us is nothing, no more than a single ant toiling to build a greater good—”

“Don’t you hear yourself? Do you actually believe that bullshit you’re spouting? Or were you so hot to get Sergio between your legs that you handed him the keys to your brain?”

She reached toward him, but didn’t dare to touch. “Please, Jack. I swear, it wasn’t like that. What’s happening along the Mexican border is nothing short of murder. Our father died because of—”

“You don’t even remember him.” Jack didn’t bother trying to keep the disgust from his voice. “If you did, you’d know that family meant everything to him. Hell, he was killed trying to go and see his mama. And I can tell you, he’d be sickened that his own daughter would sell out her brother. He’d be shamed that a firefighter had to die because—”

She stood and faced him, tears giving way to some fierce passion that made her face flush and her eyes gleam. “BorderFree-4-All didn’t set that fire. We only wanted to start a public discourse. We never intended for some loco criminal to hurt people—but don’t you understand? Maybe now they’ll see it. Maybe now the truth will come out after all.”

She gestured toward the monitor, and though the screen saver had replaced the image with a slide show featuring tropical sunsets, he understood she was referring to the media.

“Every struggle,” she said, “every cause worth fighting for creates some collateral damage.”

“
Collateral damage?
” Jack exploded, certain she was parroting her lover’s garbage. “Tell that to Reagan Hurley. Explain that to her captain’s family and his friends.”

Though the door remained closed, he became aware
of the aromas of his mother’s cooking: the cumin and onion from the beans, the frying corn tortillas of the
flautas.
Five minutes earlier, he’d been starving; now the thought of eating made him want to vomit.

His sister was a criminal. Or at the very least, she’d been brainwashed into stealing medical records for a group of terrorists. The authorities had to be told. And there would be no way to spare their mother.

Luz Maria sank into the desk chair, where she held her forehead in one hand and grabbed a fresh tissue with the other. She looked as if her outburst had drained the energy from her. Or as if she, too, had started thinking of the consequences to her own life. “I am sorry for that poor man,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry, too, that you’ve been hurt by what I did. I never meant—”

Jack gave her no quarter. “How long has this been going on?” he asked. “How long have you been involved with BorderFree?”

If Luz Maria’s association went no further than copying a medical record and sending it to Winter, she’d lose her job for certain, maybe even her career in social work, but he couldn’t see her doing jail time. But if she had had anything to do with last spring’s bombing or last night’s deadly fire, would that make her an accessory to murder?

At the thought, his stomach lurched. He wanted to take back the questions, but she was already answering.

“I’m not exactly involved with them. I only…” She gave a hopeless shrug, bringing to mind the girl she’d been so recently. “I just love Sergio, you know? From the first time I met him a few months ago, he’s made me feel…he makes me feel I can do something im
portant. I can change things. I don’t have to sit there in that clinic day after day, listening to people’s problems, patting hands and spouting useless platitudes.”

Jack breathed again. “So you haven’t met the others?”

She shook her head. “He never let me. But he says those people who blew up the INS office weren’t what BorderFree is all about. He says they’ve been kicked out, they’ve left the country, and—”

“You’re going to have to tell the task force, the ones I spoke with today.” Jack plunged on, ignoring the way her face drained of color. Yet he remained her brother, despite the foolishness of her mistakes. “You’re going to have to tell them about Sergio, about how he made you take that file—”

“No.” Once more, she jumped to her feet. “I’m not about to lie to anyone, and I will never, never give Sergio up.”

“Sergio’s a criminal. I have no doubt that he’s wanted. If you don’t want to risk jail—”

“I can’t let them do that to me,” said Luz Maria, her voice faltering even as her gaze dropped. “And I won’t help them catch the father of my child.”

It took several moments for her meaning to sink in, for the knife to twist and hollow out his wound. She was pregnant, Luz Maria. The same bastard who’d corrupted her ideals had put his baby in her.

Jack’s vision blurred with tears. She looked at him, frozen, waiting to hear what he would say. Scared, too, judging from the way she’d stepped back. Did she imagine he would strike her?

Mama’s footsteps preceded her voice in the hallway. “Joaquín y Luz Maria, come and eat some dinner. And whatever you two fight about, I don’t want to hear it at my table.”

She didn’t. For his part, Jack stumbled through the obligatory compliments of their mother’s cooking, though every bite went down like a mouthful of ground glass. As promised, he gave a halting, half-coherent summary of the hours he had spent being interviewed by several law enforcement teams. The customer’s genius attorney son, he assured her, had acquitted himself admirably, advising Jack of what he should and shouldn’t say.