Dirty Souls, Page 3

  “Hi, you have reached Violet McQueen. I don’t use voicemail so if you want to get a hold of me, please text me. Ciao.”

  Ellie nearly weeps at the sound of her voice and when she starts to speak, her voice is choked. “Violet, it’s Mom. Please, please listen. You’re in danger. Vicente is not who he says he is. He’s the son of a drug lord. I know you might know this but he means you harm. Don’t believe him. Get yourself somewhere safe, or to the police. Or call me back. He attacked me before you left with him, taped me to a chair. Violet, he’s dangerous, he’s dangerous, he means to bring you to his father as revenge. Against me. See, he—”

  The voicemail beeps. She’s run out of room.

  She calls back. This time it goes straight to voicemail.

  She leaves another message.

  And another.

  Telling her about Javier Bernal.

  What he means.

  Who he is.

  All the secrets she kept.

  Then she texts. She texts and texts while Camden calls Ben.

  “Ben, something’s happened. We need you to come here tonight. Violet’s boyfriend is not who we thought he is. He has her, she’s in danger, and she just doesn’t know it. I promise we’ll explain everything, everything, when you get here. But we need your help finding her.”

  When he hangs up, he calls Ellie’s father, Gus. A man who, despite being in his late seventies, still has a lot of connections thanks to a long career working as a (sometimes crooked) cop for the LAPD. Even though his identity as Ellie’s actual birth father was kept under wraps for most of her life, he’s the type of man who would do anything for her. In fact, he has done more than enough already. When Camden went after Ellie in Mexico, Gus was with him every step of the way.

  With Gus coming down from Gualala and Ben coming up from Santa Cruz, there’s nothing left for Camden and Ellie to do but wait.

  And let the guilt eat them alive.

  Chapter Three

  Vicente

  I can’t say I feel good about it.

  The fact that I dropped her smartphone in the shower on purpose with the intent to ruin it.

  It worked. Her flimsy vanity case with the artful skulls on the back couldn’t protect it against even a drop of water, let alone a few seconds immersed in it.

  I will buy her another one. A better one. Maybe not right now, but soon.

  I peer down at it in my hand and close the hotel door behind me, making sure it’s locked, then make my way down the quiet corridor toward the lobby, my feet silent on the plush patterned carpet. It’s still early and everyone seems to be asleep, though with the ease that we were able to secure the room for check-in and the small amount of cars in the parking lot, I’d say that the hotel is pretty quiet at all times.

  It’s just for show, taking her phone to reception. I know they can’t bring the phone back from the dead and I wouldn’t want them to even if they could.

  What are you doing?

  I shut my eyes to keep out the voice. The one not coming from my head but somewhere deeper than that. Somewhere inside me where it’s black and hollow.

  I can’t think about that right now.

  Can’t think about what will happen next.

  Like Violet, I need to stay in the moment and stop looking ahead.

  Stop looking back.

  What happened with her mother last night was an accident.

  Kind of.

  I didn’t think it would end that way, with me knocking Ellie out and duct taping her to a chair. I should have known how she’d react, that it wouldn’t end well. My ambition got the best of me, as did my temper, and I’m going to pay for it.

  Fuck, am I ever going to pay for it.

  How long can I keep Violet from contacting her parents?

  I already see the guilt eating her alive, the way she left things with them.

  If she were to find out what I did…this would all be over in a second.

  And yet she will find out. I can keep her away from them but she will find out. And then what? Will she take my lies over the truth from her mother?

  I doubt it.

  Once she sees the snake that I am, I doubt anything that Violet feels for me will withstand the storm. Violet feels things very deeply, which is wonderful when it comes to love and terrifying when it comes to hate.

  I’m running out of time, that’s all there is to it. I’m going to have to hold on to every second until it blows up in my face.

  I’m an idiot. Out of everything I’ve done recently, this is the first time I’ve really fucked up.

  I push those thoughts aside, as true as they are. I can’t let them take over right now. I have to move forward.

  The same dark-haired receptionist from when we checked in is at the front desk. Pretty and thin, but with tired eyes, either from just starting her shift at an ungodly early hour or ending her shift at an ungodly late hour.

  “Can I help you?” she asks. I can tell she’s racking her brain trying to remember my name. I know in her head I’m just another Mexican and all of our names sound the same.

  “Yes, actually, though it’s a long shot,” I tell her, taking on my father’s smooth delivery. He was always so good at dealing with people, especially women. I place the phone on the desk. “My girlfriend dropped this in the sink. I was wondering if you could save it?”

  She grimaces and then gives me her most helpful smile. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re not the first. This happens all the time. I can run this over to the cooks in the kitchen. They’re on breakfast right now but they might have rice. It usually does a good job of pulling water out from the phone.”

  “I would really appreciate that,” I tell her, not expecting her to go above and beyond. I watch as she scuttles behind closed doors.

  A few minutes pass. Too many minutes. Too much time to think.

  I stare at the non-descript décor in the lobby and wonder what to do with Violet next. I know she picked this small desert town because it’s where her parents grew up. To be honest, it’s strange to be here. I don’t even know their history or really how it entangles with my father’s, but there’s a strange sense of respect. Like time is heavier, like this whole town is rife with the weight of the past.

  By the time the receptionist returns—without the phone—someone has already entered through the sliding doors of the lobby and is waiting behind me. I don’t turn around to look.

  “I gave it to the cook,” she says to me as she steps behind the desk, chipper and professional like she solved a problem. “He says he’ll do what he can.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her as her focus and smile slowly drifts away from me and to the person behind me.

  I turn around, glancing quickly at the newcomer.

  Though I keep moving, though I keep my face still, the person I am looking at is a hard kick to my core.

  Everything about this, about him, is wrong.

  The man is dark haired, tanned, average height, wearing a cheap grey suit and tan huarache loafers. He doesn’t look at me at all, just waits for the receptionist.

  That alone is a tell.

  Normally an average person would take interest, even in a distant way, and especially if the other person is turning around to face them and they’ve only seen their back so far. An average person is curious. People seek out faces.

  This guy doesn’t look at all. Doesn’t meet my eyes. He looks straight ahead with fake impatience, hands folded in front of him, showing off a Rolex that might be real, and if so, contrasts with the cheap suit.

  This isn’t good.

  And he’s not worth drawing attention to. I head back into the corridors of the hotel, heading for the stairs to the third floor.

  That guy in the lobby is here for me or Violet. That much I know is true.

  While I climb the stairs two at a time, I think about my beloved car in the parking lot. Whoever the hell is following us—at this point I can’t tell if it’s my father’s men or someone else, the m
en that have maybe been stalking Violet—that’s the first place they’ll hit up.

  I’ll never be able to drive her again.

  Once I get to the third level I start hurrying along the hall, replaying the man’s face in my head. There wasn’t anything that stood out. He was middle-aged and of Mediterranean descent, maybe. He doesn’t look out of place here.

  He wouldn’t look out of place next to the Mustang, putting a bomb inside it.

  I may have been sloppy so far, but I know the signs when I see them.

  My head is already churning over the possibilities.

  To be honest, I never thought much of Violet’s stalker. I completely believe her on both accounts, from the stalking on Haight to the attack just off it. I just figured it had nothing to do with anyone I had to worry about. It sounds silly now that I think I may have glanced the enemy in the face, but I’d assumed it had nothing to do with my family.

  And who could be worse than them?

  But now? Now everything is different. The man I looked at wasn’t an albino, but that doesn’t mean anything. Everything about him made the alarms sound in my gut.

  There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole.

  You’re so far from your weapon and the place you were born.

  I am far from my weapon. In my plan and the way things have unfurled this early morning, it’s on me that I never thought to bring a gun with me to the lobby.

  It’s in this moment that I realize how terribly unschooled I am.

  All this training in so many countries across the globe and yet I’m undone close to home.

  It just took one girl.

  One fucking girl.

  That I will do everything to protect.

  I’m walking fast now, trying to remain composed. My father always taught me to remain cool in the most difficult situations but now that my heart is racing and wringing with worry, I’m not sure it’s as easy as I imagined.

  And then I stop dead in my tracks.

  The door to our hotel room is ajar, the deadbolt preventing the door from fully closing.

  I know when I left I closed that door fully.

  I heard it click shut.

  Fuck. Why the hell didn’t I bring a gun with me?

  “Violet,” I call out softly, slowly pushing the door open.

  The room is dark except for the bathroom light.

  It’s empty.

  Fuck!

  “Violet!” I cry out, running to the bathroom and kicking the door open.

  It’s also empty. The shower drips once, the sound empty and hollow.

  I whirl around and go for the pile of my clothes on the floor, finding my gun underneath it.

  I grab it and then check under the bed, then the closets.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  Panic is starting to undo me but I push it aside.

  I walk back to the pants on the ground and search the pockets for my keys.

  I can’t find them.

  Fuck no.

  What if she goes to the car? What if she starts the car?

  What if someone’s already taken her?

  With my gun at my side, I burst out of the room and start running down the hall toward the stairwell.

  “Vicente?”

  I come to a crashing halt.

  Go back a few steps.

  Peer down a short alcove.

  Violet is standing in front of a vending machine, a bottle of Sprite and a bag of chips in her hands.

  Fucking hell.

  The relief I feel is incomparable.

  “What, uh, are you doing?” she asks, staring at the gun.

  I shake my head. “I thought you were gone. The door was open. My car keys…”

  She frowns. “I left the door open because I couldn’t find the key card. I grabbed your car keys because I couldn’t find any change and remembered seeing some in the car. I was hungry.” She nods at the machine. “But it takes credit cards anyway.”

  I exhale slowly and start heading back to the room before a guest sees me out here with a gun.

  “Why do you have your gun out?” she whispers, following right behind me.

  “Always be prepared,” I tell her as we step inside. I close the door behind me, locking the deadbolt and the top lock. “Boy Scout motto, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but when they go camping, they bring extra matches. Not firearms.”

  “Call it a habit,” I tell her as she sits down on the edge of the bed, the bottle of Sprite between her legs, her nails tearing into the chips.

  I don’t want to worry her, but the longer we stay in this room, the more dangerous it is.

  “Violet,” I tell her. “It’s too nice outside to spend it in here.” I walk over to her and snatch the Sprite and chips away from her, placing them on the desk.

  “Hey,” she says in a huff, looking at the junk food with longing.

  “Why don’t we go out for breakfast? You wanted to explore Palm Valley, didn’t you? Maybe we can walk around, perhaps find out some more about George McQueen.” It’s hard to keep the urgency out of my voice.

  She considers that then shrugs and gets up. “Okay. Pancakes do seem like a better option.”

  “That’s my girl,” I tell her. I walk over to my suitcase and take out my gun and ankle holster.

  “What are you doing?” she asks me as I kneel down, putting it on. “Do you think you’re going to have a shoot-out at Denny’s?”

  “Depends if they have real maple syrup or not.”

  “Vicente, I’m serious.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving them in the room,” I tell her, and that’s the truth. “A maid might come in here. It might look suspicious. I can’t risk it.”

  “Even with the Do Not Disturb sign on?”

  “Happens more than you’d think. Let’s go.”

  It’s not long before we’re going down the stairwell and out into the bright morning sunshine. The mountains in the distance are covered with a thin layer of haze, the wide sky above an impossible blue. It reminds me of a vacation we went on when I was a child, to a beach house of ours outside San José del Cabo, where my mother grew up. The ocean there is wild, but the desert lies beyond it, deep rocky crags that stretch forever under a cloudless sky.

  My father wasn’t with us on that vacation, of course. He had to stay behind at the finca. He had work to do. But Diego was there, and he took care of my mother and my sister and me. Even without my father in the picture, it was still a happy memory, a happier time, back when I was innocent.

  Thankfully, because it’s so nice out and the hotel is close to town, Violet doesn’t question why we’re walking and not driving.

  For the first time in my life, I wonder if I’m being absolutely paranoid. The man in the lobby…just because he didn’t look at me doesn’t mean he’s out to get us. It doesn’t mean he planted a bomb in the car. It doesn’t mean anything.

  And yet, I have to remain cautious. I’ve been overconfident so far, and if I keep that up, it’s going to get us both killed.

  During the walk to the nearest breakfast place (an IHOP, not a Denny’s, but close enough), I keep my eyes open, looking over my shoulder, on high alert. So far it seems we’re not being followed.

  Once inside the restaurant I do a quick sweep of the place. It’s not full. There are a few tables with senior citizens and one with hungover high school students. No one suspicious.

  We sit down at a booth and Violet quickly peruses the plastic menu, hunger in her eyes. I can’t help but smile at the joy she’s getting out of picking out pancakes. For all the cards she’s been dealt recently, there’s something still so pure about her. Even when she’s sucking my cock in the shower she manages to maintain her innocence. I can only hope, as she grows stronger and bolder, that she keeps that softness in her heart. A lioness can be both a fierce predator and a purring cat.

  A waitress named Carla comes by and takes our order—just bacon and eggs and black coffee for me, while V
iolet settles on walnut and banana pancakes with a side of French toast and herbal tea—and our conversation immediately shifts to that of the McQueens.

  “If I had my phone, I could look them up and at least see if George’s wife Raquel is still here,” she says.

  I try not to feel bad about that reminder and I pull out my phone, sliding it to her. “Use mine.”

  It doesn’t take long before she finds a listing for a Raquel McQueen, who lives in the Canyon Shores Estates here in town.

  “Do you want to pay her a visit?” I ask her over my coffee. It tastes like garbage, like most American coffee does, even the shit imported from my own country.

  She nods though she looks scared as hell. “Yes. I do.”

  “Call first?”

  “No. I think it’s best if we drop by. This isn’t the sort of thing I want to do on the phone. I want to see her. I want to see her face when I ask her questions. If we even get that far.”

  She’s being brave. I can appreciate that. When we’re done with our food and I’ve paid, we search out the address on the GPS and set out.

  Violet grows quiet as we walk past shops that aren’t even open yet, the sun beating down on us. After being in that fog for so long, the sun feels like home. I have to say, I miss it.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask her.

  “A little,” she says in a small voice. She then sighs, long and loud. “I just…I can’t stop beating myself up over how I acted with my parents. I can just see the hurt in their eyes. They were surprised I could be so vicious. I was surprised I could be so vicious.”

  “I find it hard to believe that in all your years you’ve never said things you didn’t mean.”

  “No, I have. I tend to keep it inside though. Perhaps I shouldn’t. Maybe I should be more vocal with my feelings, I just get the impression that no one takes them seriously anyway. Whether I fly off the handle or I keep it inside and drown in it, it’s always ‘Violet’s having a breakdown, Violet’s having a moment.’ Like what I feel isn’t valid.” She kicks at a rock and it skitters off the sidewalk and into the dusty sand. “I’m disappointed in myself. That’s what it comes down to.”

  It chips away at my heart to hear her talk like this.