Page 106 of Vaquero
“I’m coming,” he muttered.“¡Ay, caramba!Don’t you people ever quit?”
Only it wasn’t a salesman. It was FBI Special Agent Persia Coltrane standing there with one hand on her hip and tapping her toes while she waited. The second Julio opened the door, she tossed a handful of dark wavy mane over her shoulder and growled, “Jesus, Juarez, it’s about time. It’s hot today, damn it. Can I come in or do you want to do this out here where all your neighbors can hear what I have to say?”
Yup. As ruthless and brash as ever. That was Coltrane for you. All those neighbors amounted to the old farmer and his wife who live three miles down the road in one direction, and the young married couple who’d just moved into their brand-new home a mile in the other. The field of alfalfa behind Julio’s and Meg’s home didn’t count.
He gestured Coltrane to enter, then ushered her past their toy-strewn, eclectically furnished living room to the kitchen he’d just tidied up after Dom’s second breakfast. The dishwasher still hummed as he pulled a chair from the breakfast table. “Can I get you a cup of coffee,mi amigo?”
“Yes, please,” she replied as she lowered into the proffered chair—Meg’s chair—with a huff. “I like it black. You remember, don’t you?”
“Of course.” He’d remembered everything from their limited time together.
FBI Special Agent Persia Coltrane was the one-time-super-spy who’d been tucked deep inside Zapata’s close-knit circle of bastards and degenerates. Back then, she’d worked for the CIA. Because of her mixed Hispanic heritage, her long dark hair, her bronzed olive skin, and her badass rep for getting the impossible done, she’d accomplished much during her two-year stint in Brazil.
Number one of those accomplishments was the day she’d slyly rigged an explosive within Zapata’s personal bunker, then detonated it and created one helluva fire that masked Julio fast-roping from a stealth helo. Without her help, he wouldn’t have known where Tomas or Bianca were in that maze of cellblocks. He would’ve wasted precious time. As it was, he’d stayed too long on the ground, and had nearly been apprehended by one of Zapata’s guards.
Even that memory brought recrimination. Bianca had stalled leaving. She’d fussed that she wasn’t prepared to simply up and leave. She’d risked his and Tomas’ lives. Now, Julio knew why.
“You like it out here in the middle of Nowhere, USA?” Coltrane asked, her fingernails tapping a beat on the tabletop, as she perused the half-empty built-in china cabinet across from her. “I mean really. How’s a big, badassed guy like you settle for all this—” her perfectly outlined, pink painted lips scrunched with disdain “—boredom?”
Filling two mugs to the brim, Julio had to smile. “One person’s boredom is another’s paradise.”
Settling one mug on the placemat nearest Coltrane, he set the other at his place at the table and sank into the chair between Dom’s highchair and Meg’s. Where Coltrane was now sitting. He liked sitting between the people he loved most. These days, the simplest things brought him pleasure. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner with hisfamilia.Cleaning up after them. Listening to Meg hum lullabies to his son. Making popcorn on movie night, or ice cream cones and milkshakes. All those ordinary, little, everyday things that never got old. Julio had learned the best lesson the hardest way. The truest treasure on earth was and forever would be—familia.
Coltrane took a healthy sip of coffee. “How’s the kid?”
“Dominic is fine. Thank you for asking.”
“He’s…” She cleared her throat. “He’s, umm, thriving?”
“Yes,” Julio murmured, noticing the hesitation at her painful word choice. “This is his forever home now, and he knows it. He is happy. So are we.”
“You two going to adopt him? I hear getting a healthy child out of Brazil is damned tough. Lots of regulations that don’t favor us US citizens.”
“Already did. Remember,amigo, we have an obnoxious United States Senator from Texas, on our side.”
“Senator Sullivan? He worked this for you?”
“For me and Meg,si. But mostly, for Dominic.”
McQueen Sullivan hadn’t pulled any punches when it came time to stand up for Dominic and what was best for a sickly, three-year-old boy. He’d flown to Brazil and met with the current president. After that, Brazil’s wise leader had made a grand public gesture, blaming the Zapata brothers for the strife in Minas Gerais. At the same time, he’d credited his National Guard with restoring law and order. Which worked for Sullivan and Julio. Julio had never cared about the politics behind grand gestures. By then, Meg had already filled out the overly redundant paperwork to adopt Dominic. They’d already been living in Ouro Preto with him to satisfy Brazil’s thirty-day rule—just in case they got lucky and were allowed to adopt the son they already loved.
With one private word from Brazil’s president, the country’s National Adoption Agency suddenly became compliant. Very eager to please. At least eager to get them out of their country. They’d hurried Meg’s paperwork through their convoluted system of checks, balances, and double-checks. Within days of Sullivan’s meeting, Julio and Meg were back in the USA with Dominic.
Meg’s other children still lived in Brazil, at the new, modernized orphanage with Craig and Marta, Fernando and Joseph. Several of the orphans relatives had been located. Others had stepped forward to adopt. Sweet little Maria had a paternal grandmother who wanted her back.Pronto!Who knew?!
“Did you marry her?” Coltrane always had a lot of nerve.
“Not yet,” Julio answered quietly. But the diamond he’d selected for Meg was paid for and sitting in his nightstand drawer. He just needed the right time to pop the question. Maybe soon.
Both his and Meg’s wounds had healed. They were healthy and happy. Employed. Her paralysis had improved to the point where her confidence boomed. He just wanted to give her enough time to get to know him better. He wanted her to be sure. Her divorce had been brutal. How does one recover from betrayal like that? Unfortunately, Julio knew the answer. Hence his hesitation.
Coltrane blew out a gut-deep sigh. “I have what you asked for,” she said as her empty mug hit the table. “You’re not going to like it. But you already know that, don’t you?”
He met her sharp, shrewd gaze with a humble nod. “I have suspicions. That is all.” He hadn’t tasted his coffee yet. He could only handle so much bitterness in a day.
“Okay then. Here.” She slid a portable hard-drive across the table. “That’s as much as I can legally give you. It’s not the redacted version. View it at your leisure, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He didn’t touch the drive, just looked at the evidence that would convict or pardon Bianca once and for all. It was peculiar how a man’s entire life came down to singular, defining, truth-or-dare moments like this. His heart kicked deep inside his chest at what facts he might soon learn. It was suddenly hard to breathe. His lungs seemed unable to fully expand. His chest hurt. A heart could only take so much betrayal before it burst. Did he really want to know what was on that drive?
