Saint (35 page)

Had he enjoyed spilling Juarez blood again?
Hell yes. Like his father, Benito Juarez was a dangerous lunatic. It wouldn’t
have mattered which way the trial went, he would have found Maria and Bethy.

With Gabriel temporarily hiding Lolita,
Joan protecting little Bethy and Francis continually moving Maria around the
country, he’d had the last few months to take care of the people on her list.
Hocksteder built his own coffin when he had the bad judgment to get involved
with Juarez. And now that Benito was dead, the politicians and public officials
on the drug lord’s payroll were only too willing to give him up to save their
hides.

He’d given them a choice. They could resign
from their positions or face public ruination. And should anything happen to the
Attorney General’s witness once she came out of hiding, he would be back,
promising he would be the last person they ever laid eyes on.

A few well placed hints in the right places
and internal investigations ran rampant. The CIA was investigating the FBI, who
were hot on the DEA and ATF, who were blaming the US Marshals. And the Attorney
General wanted somebody’s balls.

Still, he imposed on Francis to keep Maria
out of the limelight for a while. He’d done all he could do to ensure their
safety. The rest was up to Maria.

Rumor had it Juarez’s new wife had taken
him back to Venezuela to be buried. With all the publicity and renewed media
interest in Benito’s legitimate activities he doubted the wife would cause a
problem. She’d been smart to cut her losses and run, otherwise she might have
found her ass in the hotseat.

He lit a cigarette and inhaled.

Another Juarez. Another woman. But this
time, he had taken action before it was too late. Something he should have done
the last time, except he’d been under orders to retreat. And orders were
orders.

If he had only known then what he knew now.

* * * * *

Los Angeles

Lolita breathed a ragged sigh of relief as
Maria opened the door. “Maria, thank God.”

“Lo, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.” Maria took the ex-stripper’s hand—ex, because of an unexpected
attack of conscience on Gabe’s part. The money he’d given to Lolita was enough
for her to pay off her debts.

Lolita led the way into the living room,
digging through her purse. She held up a stick, closing her eyes. “Tell me this
isn’t blue. Go on, tell me.”

“Lo! Is that…?”

Lolita groaned loudly. “It’s not supposed
to be blue!”

Maria’s mind went into warp drive. “Lo, you’re
pregnant,” she whispered in awe. “Shit!”

“Maria!” Lolita protested. “Since when did
you start cussing like a back-alley whore?”

“Sorry. I guess the dynamic trio wore off
on me a little more than I thought. Lolita, you didn’t…I mean, this baby, it’s
not…Gabe’s?”

“What? No!” Lolita shoved the vial back
into its box and set it on the end table along with her purse. “Jeez, do you
think I’m totally nuts?”

“Honest mistake,” she allowed sheepishly. After
all, Gabe had been the one to take Lolita.”

“Everybody freeze.”

Lolita did freeze for an instant before
recognizing Bethy’s voice. The child was dressed in camouflage pants and T-shirt,
holding a wooden gun Joan had carved for her. “Great. I’m being taken hostage
by a five-year-old.”

“Bethy, what did I tell you about pointing
that thing at people?”

The little girl’s face fell, but she holstered
the gun. “I’m a general. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

“Well, General, it’s lights out. Hit the
bunk.”

“Nice,” Lolita commented, returning Bethy’s
salute as she about-faced and marched down the hall to her bedroom. “You’re
raising Rambo.”

Maria shook her head in exasperation. “No
matter where I hide that outfit, she manages to find it. I’m sorry, where were
we?”

“The part where my life is in the toilet.”

“If I’m not being too personal…who, er, is
the father? Or would you rather not say?”

“You wouldn’t believe me it I told you.”

“Try me. I’m much more open-minded than I
used to be.”

Lolita took a seat on the couch, chewing on
a ragged fingernail. “Promise you won’t get crazy on me?”

For an insane instant Maria’s stomach
knotted. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. He’s out of your life. “Don’t be
silly. We’re friends.” She forced a smile, but she sat down in the chair across
from the redhead, just in case. Her knees weren’t feeling too steady at the
moment.

“He’ll hunt me down, you know, if he ever finds
out. You have to swear you won’t tell a soul.”

“I swear.” Oh God, please don’t let it be
Seth’s.

“Okay, here goes.” But instead of spilling
her guts, Lolita continued worrying the unfortunate nail.

Maria had to let out the breath she was
holding and took in another. “Lolita?”

“He murdered his wife, for God’s sake! What
kind of man murders his own wife?”

“Mommy!” Bethy called out from the door of
her room. “Are you coming?”

“Be right there, honey.” Maria sprang from
her chair and practically ran down the hall. Sweet mother!

This was all Seth’s fault!

When she had Bethy safely tucked in bed,
she closed the door and took a deep, calming breath before heading back to the
living room.

Lolita was pacing the floor. “I mean I’d
tell him,” she continued without missing a beat, “but then he’d insist I move
to that friendly little town he likes to call home. You know, where pillars of
the community still dress up in white sheets to cruise the neighborhood. He raises
cotton.” The last word was little more than a slur. “I don’t do cotton, I’m
from L.A.”

“Lolita, are you…are you thinking of having
an abortion?”

The pacing stopped. “No. I-I want it. I
mean, who’s gonna notice, right? This is L.A. We thrive on adversity and shock.
I always wanted a kid. And let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger.”

“But you don’t want to tell Joan.” Maria
speculated.

“Would you?” One penciled eyebrow arched
pointedly.

“I’m still working on the how of it. You
arrived at the mansion with all three, then you were with Gabe all this time, in
Texas. When did you…and Joan…?”

“While they were trying to drive me totally
insane to get that list. Gabe took off one night with his little black bag and
when he didn’t return the next morning, Francis went looking for him. Bethy was
napping. It just…happened! I have a good excuse for not telling him though,
right? I mean I don’t even know his real name. What am I supposed to put on the
birth certificate, Joan of freaking Arc?”

Maria grinned despite herself. That would
certainly raise a few eyebrows. “I see what you mean. But Joan loves kids,
really. He—” She couldn’t believe she was defending a man who’d murdered his
wife in a fit of rage.

“Exactly,” Lolita concurred, collapsing
back on the couch in misery. “Besides, I don’t want to get married again. I
just got all my debts paid off. I’m ready to start a new life, and it doesn’t
include having Mother Theresa’s worse nightmare hanging over my shoulder
watching my every move, God bless her soul.” The impending mother pulled
herself together and rose to her feet to collect her purse. “I’ve dumped on you
enough for one night. Think I’ll go home and take a nice relaxing bubble bath.”

“Lolita, if there’s anything I can do…”
Maria accompanied her to the door.

“Nah, I’ll be all right. What about you?”

“I’m okay.”

“God, I’m just glad that nightmare is over.
You must have been scared witless. If you can get through something that
terrifying, I can get through this. Thank goodness it never went to trial. Some
luck, huh?”

“Yeah, some luck.” They hugged and Maria
watched Lolita walk to her new car, then waved before shutting the door.

Luck or Seth Harris?

Part of her was relieved Benito Juarez was
dead and with him the threat to her and Bethy’s existence. But part of her was
angry that Seth might have taken things into his own hands, making her an
unwilling accomplice to murder. More importantly, losing more of himself to the
demon inside.

The doorbell rang before she got five feet
from the door. Still jumpy at times, she looked through the peephole before
answering. “Yes, can I help you?”

The woman was holding a road atlas, looking
confused and upset. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she apologized. “But my car
broke down just up the street and I saw your light on. Would it be possible for
me to use your phone? The battery is dead on my cell.”

“Uh, sure.” She opened the door, trying not
to stare at the horrid-looking scar covering almost the whole right side of the
woman’s face. The well-dressed brunette looked frustrated and exhausted.
Normally she wouldn’t think of letting a stranger into her home, but the woman’s
predicament and weary demeanor softened that habit. Maria would hate for her to
have to go door to door when it was obvious she was near to tears.

She moved back to let the woman enter. “The
phone’s right through there, in the kitchen. Would you like something to drink?
You look tired.”

“You’re very kind.” The woman smiled her
relief, stepping past her.

Maria turned to shut the door and felt a
burning sensation slice across the back of her thigh.

“Something you will regret,” the woman’s
menacing voice from behind her predicted.

* * * * *

Lolita stopped when she reached the end of
Maria’s street. Damn, she’d left the pregnancy kit on the end table. Not that
she needed it, but the kit contained two tests and she thought perhaps it might
not be a bad idea to do the test again. There was always the possibility she’d
made a mistake the first time. After all, it was an over-the-counter job, how
accurate could it be? They claimed something like ninety-nine percent, but come
on, get real—human error is always a factor.

She turned the car around and headed back
down the street. Maria’s front door was ajar and light from the living room
spilled out onto the porch. “I know she lives in one of the better
neighborhoods but jeez.” Maria knew better than to leave her door open, unless
maybe she’d stepped out on the porch for a minute.

But Maria wasn’t on the porch.

Maria wasn’t in the house at all. Which
didn’t make sense, because Bethy was sleeping soundly in her room. Maria was nothing
if not responsible. She would never leave Bethy alone in the house unless…

* * * * *

Texas

“Mr. Galen.” His secretary stuck her head
through the door. “There’s a call for you on line two.”

“I’m busy, take a message,” Elliot said
without looking up.

“I think you’d better take it. The woman
is, shall we say, extremely upset. She’s not making any sense. Just keeps
shrieking, ‘I know that oilpan blankety-blank excuse for a religious relic is
there’.” Alice shrugged, splaying her hands helplessly.

Clearly, his efficient secretary was at a
loss as to how to handle such dementia. “I’ll take it, Alice. Close the door.
And no interruptions.”

He waited ’til she complied then picked up
the phone. “Maria?”

“No you jackass! It’s me, Lolita. Maria’s
gone!”

“Gone?”

“Something’s happened to her, I know it!
One minute she was here and the next—”

“Calm down and tell me what happened,” he
ordered brusquely.

“I didn’t know who else to call…she left
Bethy alone. She wouldn’t have done that unless something awful happened…you
have to do something.”

“Did you notify the police?”

“Not yet. I was afraid to…I couldn’t stay
there…are you going to just sit there and play twenty questions or are you
going to get off your rich ass and do something?”

Shit, he hated hysterical women. “Stay put
and don’t talk to a soul. I’ll get back to you.”

“You’ll get back to me?” she screamed
incredulously. “Like hell you will, mister. You get on that fancy high-flyer of
yours and come and get me! Now. That is not a request.”

He didn’t need this. Not now. Not when
things were starting to go so well at home, thanks to his wife’s incredibly
ingenious intuition. “Fine. Pack a bag. Wait at LAX. I’ll send someone for you.”

“I
am
at LAX.”

So she couldn’t have taken a little of the
cash he gave her and bought two plane tickets? What did she think he was, a
fucking charitable institution? But the fear in her voice made him relent. “All
right, all right. Keep your sequins on. Go to the private lounge marked Galen Industries.
Stay there. The pilot who took you home will come and get you. Don’t leave with
anybody else, understand?”

“Got it.”

Elliot disconnected and rooted through his
private Rolodex for the number to Murray State University’s Literature
Department and dialed. “Professor Seth Harris please, it’s an emergency.”
I think.