Page 56 of Hidden While In Sight

Connor enjoyed perching on the barstools, though Hannah had told Diego that was dangerous for Emma, so he’d held her instead, letting her smear food-grimed hands all over his chest.

Hannah had been scandalized by eating picnic style on the carpet. The kids made a mess, but Diego cleaned it up after.

She’d relaxed most sitting on the couch in front of the TV while the kids watched cartoons, telling him that her parents had done that with her, though only on Saturday evenings. Her parents had been the dining-room-table types usually, with prayers said to thank God for the food.

When Diego suggested she do one the next night at the table, that pale, tight, blank expression that she’d been wearing a lot less was back. He wanted to kill Ashford all over again, sure the asshole had ruined even dinnertime prayer for her. Diego didn’t push, but he’d ask her again sometime. Hannah should be able to enjoy a ritual from her childhood.

Diego didn’t care where he ate—he was used to scrounging food whenever he could—but he was starting to have a preference. Not for location, for the company that brought him so much joy.

The soft music coming through the phone clicked off, and Diego realized Ramiro had made him wait a while.

“Anything to report?” Ramiro asked in that flat, angry voice of his.

Fuck him. Diego was the one who should be pissed. “You got something to say to me first?”

“I don’t have time for your shit, Diego. I just found out that Naz blew up our relationship with the cartel even more.”

Diego frowned. “Doesn’t sound like Naz.” He pulled his phone away to check his texts. Still no picture from the kid.

“I blame you.” Ramiro’s tone went even colder. “He ran off with some woman that wasn’t his. Sound familiar?”

“Fuck off.” Diego said it more out of habit than anything as he remembered the picture with that high arched foot. He hadn’t fed that information to Ramiro. “Is the kid okay?”

“So you haven’t heard from him?”

“Nobody hears from Naz. He’s a silent fucker.”

“But not one with a thing for pussy, not that I’ve seen.” Ramiro sighed. “I’m surprised. I never thought he’d have it in him. Figured he was a bit bent because of how you found him.”

“Naz doesn’t do things by chance.” Diego’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it away from his ear again. The picture was as shitty as all of them were, but he recognized Naz. He also recognized the couch that was barely in the frame. Diego had pretended not to stare at Hannah while she’d sat on that couch.

Naz was at the last place Diego had been holed up. Made sense. Naz had brought plenty of shit there, and the place should be safe enough. Those double-dealing fuckers Diego had spied on were already dead and gone.

“I got proof of life.”

Ramiro made his usual humming sound. “It’s probably as dim and blurry as always, but at least he’s alive.”

“I used to think that was the best I could hope for,” Diego admitted.

“Fuck, you’re getting soft. And now you’re making me soft on the both of you.” His words almost covered the sound of the sliding door behind Diego. “Fuck it,” Ramiro continued through the phone as Diego turned. “I’ll tell the cartel…”

Diego stopped listening.

Hannah had started swimming again. The sight of her in that strange bodysuit with a swim cap shouldn’t have been sexy, but every time Diego saw it he remembered the way she’d stripped it off her body in front of the camera while calling his name, and he got stiff with need.

She fumbled with the door as she noticed, her cheeks flaming pink before she walked toward her room. She walked, didn’t run, away from him.

Diego considered following her. “Fuck,” he groaned under his breath.

“Please tell me you’re not on the phone with me while your dick is hard,” Ramiro said, reminding him he was there.

“Okay. I won’t tell you.”

Ramiro snorted. “Asshole.”

“Just because Naz and I are luckier with women doesn’t mean you’ve got to be jealous.”

Ramiro went quiet.

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