Twilight

Dana nodded. “Yes, I had. I didn’t want that kind of influence around my kids. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth, and you know why I feel that way. I’ve seen firsthand just how destructive an influence kids like that can be.”

Rick regarded her with disturbing intensity. He seemed to be weighing something.

“You know, Dana, I’ve changed my mind. I think the best place for you to start this investigation would be at Yo, Amigo,” he said eventually.

She stared at him in amazement, torn between gratitude and suspicion. “You’ll open the doors to me? Let me look at your files, talk to the kids?”

He nodded.

“Why? You said the answers weren’t there.”

“Maybe not to Ken’s murder,” he agreed. “But I think you might learn quite a lot about your husband.”

She found the suggestion that she hadn’t really known Ken to be insulting, but she couldn’t afford to turn down the offer. Once again, she and Rick Sanchez would be operating at cross-purposes. But whatever his motives in offering, she had to take advantage of the opportunity.

“I have no idea what made you change your mind, but thank you. I will be there first thing in the morning,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

“Why not now? You could come back with me.”

The prospect of being confined in a car with this man rattled her, but she could see the sense of taking him up on this offer, as well. Despite her determination to take whatever risks were necessary to get answers, there was no point in being foolhardy. Going into that neighborhood in broad daylight with Rick Sanchez as her escort made sense. His acceptance of her presence might smooth the way for her, might make others speak to her more openly.

“I’ll get my purse.”

“Just your keys,” he countered. “You won’t be needing your purse.”

“What if I get a hankering for something to eat?”

“I can afford to treat you to lunch, Dana. Dinner, too, for that matter.”

Something in his eyes, a flash of heat, a suggestion of sensuality, told her she would be wise to stay away from cozy meals for two with this man. He’d persuaded coldhearted politicians to part with city money for his pipe dream. He’d sweet-talked tough, streetwise kids out of their weapons. If he put his mind to it, would he be able to convince her to leave Yo, Amigo out of her investigation?

Hell would have to freeze over first, she vowed silently, her gaze clashing defiantly with his. To her regret, he looked amused, not intimidated.

He would learn, though. She vowed that he would discover very soon that Dana Miller was a formidable enemy.

5

Rick had regretted his impulsive offer to take Dana into Chicago the instant the words were uttered. Was he out of his mind to consider giving Dana Miller full access to Yo, Amigo? He’d seen no evidence of a kinder, gentler side to her. Yet for some reason, perhaps Ken’s frequently expressed faith in his wife’s essential goodness, Rick had to believe that her ingrained attitude of distrust wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

Still, what would the kids think when they realized she was there to investigate Ken’s death, when they saw that they were the target of her suspicions? It could unravel every shred of progress he’d made with them over the past couple of years. It could shatter their trust.

He couldn’t renege, though. One way or another, she would be underfoot, snooping. He owed it to Ken to keep Dana where he could watch over her, where he could protect her. Somehow he’d have to make the kids understand that.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as he imagined. They were bright. Maybe they would see how much pain Dana was in and would cut her some slack, especially if she managed to keep that tart tongue of hers in check. Maybe it would be a good lesson in tolerance for all of them.

And maybe they’d hang him for bringing the enemy into their midst, he thought wryly.

Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Dana was upstairs, probably tucking some sort of wire into her blouse and a gun into her back pocket, if he read her correctly. She might leave her purse at home, but she wasn’t about to go with him unprepared for her own style of battle. She had the determination of a pit bull. As angry as she was, she was also likely to be oblivious to real danger.

He glanced across the kitchen table to find Kate Jefferson studying him intently, a frown knitting her brow. “What?” he demanded.

“If you allow anyone to harm one hair on Dana’s head, I’ll come after you, personally,” she warned. She leaned closer and repeatedly jabbed a finger into his chest. “I may look like some sweet, innocuous, little suburban homebody to you, but nobody is more ferocious than a woman like me when someone we care about gets hurt.”

Because she sounded so serious, Rick held back the grin that threatened to emerge. “I don’t doubt it,” he said solemnly and fought the urge to rub the spot she’d been assaulting. He’d probably have a bruise there to match the one Dana had left on his cheek. “Believe it or not, I want her to find what she’s looking for.”

“Ken’s killer?”

“That,” he agreed, then added, “and peace of mind.”

Kate sighed heavily. “I’m afraid the last won’t come easily.”

“Where I come from, Mrs. Jefferson, very little comes easily.”

* * *

Rick’s car was old and battered and nondescript. The outside seemed to be held together mainly by beige paint and rust. It would be an unlikely target for young thieves, Dana concluded. Inside, however, it was immaculate, and it ran like the car of a man who tinkered possessively with its engine.

“How fast does it go?” Dana asked as they made their way into Chicago.

He slanted a look in her direction. “Fast enough. Why?”

“Just making small talk, Mr. Sanchez,” she said, mimicking his earlier claim. The truth was that a part of her wondered if he’d tuned it for quick getaways, but for once, she managed to keep the deliberate insult to herself. Somehow she had to find a way to meet the man halfway.

He glanced over at her. “Can’t you call me Rick?”

Dana debated before answering. That would mean taking one brick out of the wall of defenses she’d built between them. She wasn’t sure she dared risk it. Refusing, though, seemed churlish. Not that he had a particularly high impression of her, anyway, but she hated to add to the negatives. For the time being, she needed his cooperation and goodwill.

“I’ll try to remember,” she said eventually.

He seemed to be fighting a smile. “That’ll do,” he said, then added pointedly, “For now.”

Dana let that remark go unanswered. He was only trying to provoke her, a trait that obviously came naturally enough to him. Perhaps, if she failed to rise to the bait a few times, he’d give up and settle for the uneasy truce they’d reached. She still wasn’t exactly sure why he’d suddenly agreed to her meeting the kids at Yo, Amigo. Clearly he had a point of some sort to make.

As they neared the Yo, Amigo headquarters, the signage in the neighborhood was more frequently in Spanish than English. The taquerias, the bodegas, the promise that those inside spoke Spanish made Dana feel as if she’d unwittingly entered a foreign land. This world of immigrants, who clung to the past, to old ways and their old culture, seemed totally alien.

“Are most people here from Mexico?” she asked, her natural curiosity stirring.

“Most. Many are Cuban, a few from Central America.”

She nodded, absorbing that and the fact that in broad daylight, the streets seemed less menacing. Bundled up against the freezing wind and bitter cold of early March, people were simply going about their daily business, pausing only briefly to chat with neighbors, their breath visible in the icy air. Strains of rapidly spoken Spanish filtered through the car’s windows. Latin music blasted from passing boom boxes, the salsa beat cheerful and provocative.

It seemed so... She searched for the right word, then settled for normal. Except for the language, the street could have been any other ethnic neighborhood in Chicago, rich with color and surging with life. Where was the danger in this? she wondered.

“It changes at night,” Rick said quietly, once more displaying that uncanny knack for reading her mind. “These people stay inside after dark, even in summer. Kids aren’t allowed to play in the streets because of the threat—no, the certainty—of drive-by shootings. Children here see more violence up close than yours will see on TV. They’ll know it as a reality, as the loss of a brother or sister or a friend. It’s no way for a kid to grow up.”

Dana thought of Juan Jesus, whose presence in her neighborhood had stirred such controversy and wrath. As worried as she’d been about his influence on her kids and others, would she have wanted this life for him, instead? He was just a boy who’d already seen too much, experienced things no child should have to endure. Gazing around her, she gained a tiny bit of insight into Ken’s perspective.

And Rick’s, she conceded reluctantly.