Page 9 of Dina's Favorite Mistake

“Camila,” Rafael said firmly, “you are going to answer the questions these men have for you.” When she started to protest, he held up his hand and silenced her. “People have died, Camila. Police officers from both sides of the border were killed. Do you understand how serious this is?”

Now, she looked really scared. She desperately glanced back at her mother. “Ama?”

Dina’s angry expression softened for a millisecond before turning fierce again. “Do what you are told, Camila.”

Glumly, Camila walked to the nearest chair and sank down dramatically. “I should have known you wouldn’t protect me.”

Steve looked to Dina who seemed suddenly broken by her daughter’s mean remark. From listening to the phone calls, he understood Diego had been playing on his teen daughter’s emotions. Like all young girls, she was vulnerable and easily manipulated. She’d bought her dad’s sob story hook, line and sinker.

Steve stood back while Morales handled most of the questioning. Camila answered rudely, often with just one or two words. Dina remained close at hand, her fingers tapping at her sides and waiting to jump in if the questioning became too much.

“Captain?” Morales called him forward.

Not looking forward to questioning a confused kid, Steve nevertheless took a seat across from the girl. He wanted to be as close to eye-to-eye as possible and put her at ease.

Looking at the girl, he saw very little of her father. Maybe the shape of her nose and the color of her hair, but everything else was Dina. Right down to the way she primly sat, looking down her nose at him as if he were lower than shit on the bottom of her expensive designer shoes.

“Camila, my name is Captain Steve Morgan—.”

Camila snorted derisively. “Captain Morgan? Really? Like the rum?”

Steve smiled wanly. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, but yeah. I’m with the Texas Rangers.”

Camila scoffed and rolled her eyes, startling him with how much like her mother she was. “Oh, great. Let me guess. You’re going to frame me like you did my father for the murder of those judges before I was born?”

Certain she wouldn’t like hearing exactly what he thought about her father, Steve played off the accusation with a wave of his hand. “That was before my time. I’m focused on right now.”

“You’re all the same. All of you. You’ve used my dad as a scapegoat to cover up all your lies and corruption.”

“That’s outside my wheelhouse,” Steve replied, not taking her bait. “What I'm curious about is the anonymous emails and DMs you’ve been sending to our headquarters in Austin.”

Camila squirmed. “I don’t what you’re talking about.”

“Camila!” Dina hissed.

“What?” She frowned at her mother. “I don’t know!”

“We can trace emails and messages, Camila,” Steve explained slowly. “I can even tell you what iPhone model was used and which Chromebook and even the names of the Wi-Fi signals you used sitting outside that McDonald’s near your school.”

Camila blanched. Changing her tactic, she insisted, “I didn’t mean it! I was just being stupid.”

“You realize how bad it looks?” Steve shifted in his chair and retrieved his phone. He swiped the screen and accessed his photos. “You’re going to pay for your lies.” He scrolled to the next one and read, “I hope you get separated from your children forever! Pig emoji. Pig emoji. Pig emoji. Water gun emoji.” He cleared his throat before moving to the next one. “Effing lying effing pig emoji murderers—.”

“I think we get the point,” Dina interrupted brusquely. She turned to her daughter and asked, “Camila, why would you send those?”

“Because it’s true!” Camila erupted. “They framed my dad for those murders in Texas. He wasn’t even there when they happened! It’s just a cover-up of an inside job!”

“He was there,” Steve corrected. “We have proof.”

“No, he wasn’t! He couldn’t have been!” Camila shouted angrily. “Those judges were killed nine months before I was born. He couldn’t have been in Texasandhere with my mom making me.”

Steve gawked at the kid, wondering what mental gymnastics she’d pulled to convince herself that her conception was proof of her father’s innocence.

“Camila! That’s not how—!” Dina threw her hands up in the air and made an exasperated sound. “You were born at thirty-four weeks, Camila! That means you were conceived thirty-two weeks before you were born because pregnancies are dated from the first day of your last period!”

Camila’s brow furrowed with confusion. “No, that’s not how it works.”

“Camila! I think I would know how pregnancy works!” Dina blew up with frustration. “What the hell are they teaching you in that school? Not even basic math?”

---