Page 69 of Drawn Blue Lines

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Wiping a stream of crema from his chin, Brody gave me a reluctant stare and mumbled around a mouthful of food, “Okay, I admit, you were right.”

Leaning back, I popped the last piece of bread in my mouth and grinned. “I’m sorry, could you say that again a little louder?”

He flipped his middle finger and swallowed. “Don’t push it.” Attacking the last bite sandwich with gusto, he crumpled up the paper, tossing it on the hood of the car before leaning back on his palms. “What was that again?”

“Pambazo. It’s fried bread dipped in red guajillo pepper sauce filled with papas con chorizo.” At his lifted eyebrow, I added, “Potatoes and spicy sausage. My mamá…” I paused and stared at my lap. “I mean, Josefina used to make them for Manuel and me all the time.”

“It’s okay to remember the good times with her, Adriana. She wasn’t a part of what happened to you.”

Tilting my chin toward him, I squinted into the sunlight. “Wasn’t she? Can you honestly tell me that hours after Alejandro Carrera’s wife, sister-in-law, and one-year-old daughter were murdered, and her husband showed up with a one-year-old baby that she didn’t know exactly what happened?”

Brody thought for a moment. The lawyer in him wanted to argue for the opposition but he couldn’t. There wasn’t one. “No,” he said, letting out a breath. “I can’t.”

“Just because there’s no blood on the hand, it doesn’t mean the stain isn’t there. Guilt is guilt. The only difference is the perception of severity. So, you tell me, which is worse, committing a sin or hiding it?”

Brody didn’t say anything, and I didn’t expect him to. If I hadn’t figured it out in six months, how could I expect him to do it in six seconds? There was no quick and easy answer.

“Come on,” I said, gathering our trash and sliding off the hood of the car. “We have places to be and people to see.”

Following after me, he leaned forward, pressing his palms against the hood. “Do you have a lead?”

It was a loaded question, but one I expected. I considered my answer as I chucked our food wrappers in a nearby trash can. Dusting my hands off, I turned around and winked. “I just might.”

“I don’t like when you get that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That one,” he said, jabbing his finger across the hood. Just to rile him up, I turned my smirk into a pout, and he responded with crossed arms and a stony stare. “Don’t be cute. When your eyes get all shiny, I end up blackmailed into doing shit that could get me killed.”

He made it too easy sometimes.

Trailing a finger along the front of the car, I put an extra sway in my hips and sauntered toward him. “Aw, you noticed my eyes?”

A groan rumbled in his throat. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

I had to admit, as much as watching Brody go from polished to prickled entertained me, we had more important things to do. “Relax. I’ve got a connection.”

“What kind of connection?”

“I know a guy who owns a club. There’s a good chance he might have some information.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, because I knew what he was thinking, and I was right. His face said it all. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed tightly together. Arms still locked over his chest. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be fine.” His nod wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but I’d take it. However, when he dropped his arms, my eyes locked on the light blue tie hanging around his neck. “Well, maybe.”

He rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Your clothes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” His confusion would’ve been almost comical if he weren’t dead serious. “This is an Armani suit.”

“You look like an investment banker. Did you bring anything else?”

“I brought black slacks and a polo.”

I pressed my hands over my eyes. If I made it back to Mexico City alive, I’d kill Val for this. I had to think fast. Waiting until we made it to Guadalajara wasn’t an option. I was good, but I wasn’t sure I could pull a miracle out of my ass.

Opening my eyes, I held out my hand. “Hijo de tu puta madre. Give me the keys. I’m taking you shopping.”

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