“Petunia. My sister’s name is Petula, and when we were little, I called her Petunia.” The memory surged fire through her sinuses, searing the backs of her eyes. “Miguel had the flower lasered off when I arrived here. There’s a faint scar, like a stretch mark.”
She knew the moment he saw it. His breath left him. His grip loosened, and he angled her face toward his.
“You speak English flawlessly.” His gaze raked her, flinty with skepticism until it dipped to her lips. He lingered there then slowly returned to her eyes, his own widening with realization. “Tula is a teacher.”
“Even before she earned her degree. She taught us both English when we were kids.”
“You should’ve fucking told me.”
“I couldn’t. The cartel is watching her. When she was released from prison, they sent men to follow her. Marco said they would leave her alone as long as I went along with Silvia’s ruse to be me.”
“Silvia.” He said the name with disdain, his mouth a puckered grimace. “Who is she?”
“She’s the half-sister of Omar, Miguel, and Alejandro. The four of them share the same mother. Hector La Rocha’s only wife. She died years ago. When Hector met her, he already had two children—Marco and Tula—from two other women. And his wife already had a child.”
“Silvia…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So she’s related by blood to Omar, Miguel, and Alejandro. Marco is her step-brother.”
“Yeah, but the five of them grew up together. Raised as full siblings by Hector’s wife.”
“Add in Tula, and it’s the fucking Brady Bunch.”
“Where’s my sister?”
“Colombia. Hidden and protected with the Restrepo Cartel. With my friends. I swear on my life that she’s safe.”
“I can’t believe this.” Her mind swam, and old guilt rose to the surface, unleashing a well of tears. “She served time in that brutal prison because of me. Years. If I hadn’t called her that morning…” Her voice broke as wet trails streamed down her face. “She would’ve stayed in Arizona. But no, I had to make that damn call, and she dove head-first right into my mess.”
“And fell in love.” He cupped her face, his accent soft and rumbly. “Twice.”
“What?”
“Martin and Ricky, my roommates…”
She remembered the names from his story. “Van’s ex-captives.”
“Yes. Three years ago, they infiltrated Jaulaso Prison as part of our on-going operation to take down Hector’s sex trafficking organization. Tula was with Hector in that prison when they arrived. She went to Mexico because you called her for help. But if you were already enslaved here, how did you make that call?”
“Shortly after I arrived, one of the guards left his phone unattended while using the bathroom. I had seconds to use it and didn’t know how law enforcement worked in America or if they would even believe my story and come. I didn’t even know where I was. But I knew Tula would know what to do, that she would find the proper authorities and get help. So I called her, whispering frantically, I’m in trouble. Need you. Come now. When I lowered the phone to look up the GPS location, Marco was there. He’d been watching me, waiting until I called her, and destroyed the phone before I could tell her I wasn’t in Mexico. It was a fucking setup, and stupid me, I fell right into it.”
“Vera…”
“It’s all my fault. I’m a worthless sister, and I know it. I never intended to involve her. God, I spent years keeping her oblivious to what was going on.”
“Let’s talk about that.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Why were you in trouble and accumulating debt?”
“Our mother…” Her scalp tingled, and though she was whispering, it sounded like a roaring gale in her ears. She searched the spaces between the trees and probed the field beyond.
“Tomas did another sweep of this area today. No one is listening. And he’s out there just over that hill right now, guarding. He’ll let me know if anyone approaches. Your mother…”
“Died of heart disease.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for your loss.” He stroked her cheek, her neck, his fingers constantly brushing her skin as if he couldn’t stop touching her. “Tula gave us a comprehensive rundown of your background to help us rescue you. Hector tried to convince her that you were working for him, but she never believed that. She was adamant about your innocence.”
“I miss her so much. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. We look alike.” She glanced down at the bones protruding on her frame. “Or, at least, we used to.”
“She didn’t have recent photos. The teenage girl in the pictures we saw…”
“I’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“You were beautiful then. And now.” A heated look came to his eyes, lazy and hooded. Arresting. The transformation drugged her with narcotic desires, turning cravings into a full-blown addiction. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Sometimes, I look at you and think you’re an illusion. You can’t be real. Then you return the eye contact, and I feel like a teenage boy all over again. A fumbling, fuzzy-headed, walking hard-on.”