Page 186 of When Lies Unfold

“No.” My answer is immediate.

Gordo leans forward to rest his forearms on his spread knees. With his beer bottle danglin’ from his fingers, he stares down at it.

“Never doubted you before, boss. You know that, right?” His eyes lift to mine. “So, if you feel like we need to keep lookin’, that there’s a chance she’s out there, then we’ll do it.”

I drop my attention to my bottle of Imperial. Slowly turnin’ it on the desk’s surface, I search my gut, deep down, for that feelin’ that’ll tell me I gotta move on. That Lola’s really gone.

Amidst the doubt that’s spread from logic alone, my gut screams at me.

I meet Gordo’s gaze. “We need to keep lookin’.”

All he says is, “Okay.” Risin’ from his chair, he scans my office before his attention snags on the newest artwork displayed in one section of my bookshelves.

When I follow his line of sight, my chest grows painfully tight. It’s a drawin’ Alma made of me, her, and Lola holdin’ hands. Hearts and butterflies are all around us.

“Guess it’s fittin’ that the word you’ve got marked today is supererogatory.” Gordo slides me an amused glance. “Goin’ above what’s required. We’ve never done the bare minimum a day in our lives.”

Features soberin’, he straightens his shoulders in a move that’s indicative of his determination. “Then we’ll keep searchin’.”

With a dip of his chin, he turns and strides for the door.

The fact that he’s got my back, that he’s willin’ to keep goin’ for me, means everythin’. ’Cause if the roles were reversed, I’d sure as shit do the same.

Gordo’s got one foot past the threshold, edgin’ sideways so his shoulders fit through, when I speak, my voice muted.

“You know this means a lot to me.”

He stops and turns his head my way, expression indecipherable. “I know.” His gaze narrows. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a gleam of amusement there. “You goin’ soft on me, boss?”

I expel a sigh. “Get the fuck outta here.”

He gives me a shit-eatin’ grin. “If you need a hug, clearly, I’m the best candidate.”

“Fuck off, Gordo.” But my words don’t hold any threat, and he knows it.

With a wink, he edges out of the doorway, but the words he tosses over his shoulder aren’t the least bit cocky or sarcastic.

“Love you, too, boss.” He raps his knuckles against the doorjamb, still not lookin’ back. “And, just so you know, you’re not the only one who misses havin’ her around.”

87

SANTIAGO

THIRTEEN MONTHS AFTER LOLA’S DISAPPEARANCE

“Boss? We got somebody here requestin’ to meet with you.”

I lift my head from where I’ve been starin’ at the metallic-blue feather sittin’ on my desk.

Gordo’s broad form blocks anythin’ else from view of my office doorway, his hands braced on each side.

With a frown, I mentally scan my schedule but come up empty. I’m finished with everythin’ for the day, so who the hell’s requestin’ to meet with me?

My attention veers back to the feather, and a resigned sigh falls free. I close my eyes, grindin’ the heels of my palms against ’em, and leave ’em there while I tiredly pose the question. “Who the hell is it?”

But it’s not Gordo’s voice that answers.

“I was wondering if you were hiring any house cleaners.”

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