Page 132 of Drawn Blue Lines

“Marisol, did you get lost again?”

Click clack click clack click clack.

I peeked into the office, keeping my eyes on the ground. “No, sir.”

“Come in here.”

The invitation filled me with anxiety, yet my feet moved without my permission, and I stepped into the dark office, the dank, sweet leather scent of rain-soaked earth filling my nose. Papá sat at his desk, a lit cigar between his fingers as a row of silver balls hanging from wires clacked together.

Back and forth.

“What’s that?” I heard myself whisper.

“A pendulum.”

“What is it for?”

“It’s a reminder that nothing is stationary. Any situation can fluctuate from one extreme to the other at any given time. One must always prepare for the unexpected and never become complacent, Marisol.”

I didn’t know what most of that stuff meant, but it sounded scary. I didn’t think I ever wanted a pendulum. “Does it ever stop?”

He leaned forward, taking a long puff off the end of his cigar. “You should hope not, pequeña. The moment the pendulum stops clicking, the clock starts ticking.”

I giggled. “That rhymes!”

A cold smile split across his mouth. One that never reached his eyes and sent a shiver down my spine. “You laugh like your mother. The voice of an angel spoken by the lips of the devil.”

I frowned. “But Mamá never laughs.”

His gaze shifted back to the pendulum. “No, pequeña. She can’t. Not anymore.”

* * *

Houston, Texas

One Year Ago

“Hello, Val.”

His dark eyebrows bunched together. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not. But I’ve studied you for a while now, and I think I understand you more than most anyone.”

“I doubt that,” he shot back with full conviction.

Stepping out of the shadows, I ran a hand through my long hair, and he immediately took a step back.

“I’m the one that ordered the hit on your new girlfriend’s brother.” I smiled and moved closer. “I’m the one who’s been tracking you, turning all your allies against you.” I pounded my chest with my palm. “I’m the one who watched you long enough to know you had such a hard-on for your own lieutenant’s bartender that it was just a matter of time before you fucked up.”

“Oh, my God,” Eden croaked, her voice hushed and strained from Manuel’s restrictive hold. “It’s you. You’re the woman from the bar. You were sitting at the end the night Val came in. I remember because…because it was the night Nash was killed.”

I pulled my hair to the side and tucked the other behind my ear. “Marisol. Marisol Muñoz.”

“Muñoz?”

“Yes, Valentin…Muñoz. As in Manuel’s sister and Esteban’s daughter. I’ve been away for many years while you’ve been in America. Too bad we won’t be getting better acquainted.”

* * *

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