Page 24

Marisol’s demeanor has turned stony. I don’t see fear but the shattering of blissful ignorance in her eyes. She’s just realized something could be off in her world, something related to her father’s work.
Her reaction also tells me that Mr. Borrero has done a masterful job of insulating Marisol from his business, at least since her mother died. That doesn’t mean I have any respect for the man. It’s for greed that men get into that kind of criminal life.
Though Marisol’s father doesn’t directly deal in drugs, prostitution, or the other many dark sins of organized crime, he still bankrolls those who do. That means the blood of every innocent affected is on his hands, including Marisol and her mother.
The selfish bastard had no business bringing children into his dark world, knowing they would likely be sucked into it. Even in the best-case scenario, Marisol would never get to live a normal life. I’m not just assuming that part. Her own words confirmed her dilemma. She kept her secret from me, fearing I would bail when I found out.
And since her mother was taken from her by a rival mobster, Marisol isn’t living the best-case scenario. Not even close. Even now, she’s struggling to accept that I’m not already running.
She’s definitely not ready to bring me deeper into this mess. Sensing that she needs privacy for the confrontation with her father, I kiss her softly and stand. “I’ll give you some space to make the call. I’ll be out front spreading mulch.”
I’m just reaching for the second bag when Marisol comes outside. “I couldn’t get him. It’s Sunday. He likes to go out on his boat on Sundays.”
Marisol’s eyes drift down the street, and her stare hardens. I turn around to see what’s captured her attention and see a gunmetal gray SUV rolling by well below the speed limit.
“I’ll be here until morning,” I announce, hoping to calm her nerves.
“What about Piper?”
I smile because she remembered my dog. Good girl. “She’s in the backyard.”
Marisol descends the front steps and picks up the stiff rake I used to spread the mulch. I stand the second bag on end and slice it open with my knife without comment, knowing she needs a distraction.
We finish the job in an hour and step back to survey the work. “I love it,” Marisol says. “Thank you for the hummingbird flowers.”
“You’re welcome. May I take you to lunch to celebrate?”
She laughs and scrunches her brows together. “Celebrate?”
I reach out and snake a hand around Marisol’s waist. “Okay. Maybe not to celebrate, but I want to take you out. Now seems like a good time.”
Laughing, Marisol places her hands against my chest. “Okay. I’ll go change.”
“No need. You’re perfect like you are.”
“Then I’ll lock up.”
Marisol darts inside, coming back with just her phone wallet in hand. She shoves her keys into her pocket and glides gracefully back over to me, still in her frayed black shorts, fitted purple tank, and strappy sandals. Her long, dark hair is pinned on top with little wispy bunches loose around her cheeks. “Gorgeous.”
Her face, free of makeup, pinks at the cheeks at the compliment, and she takes my outstretched hand. I lead Marisol to the fence on B’s side and whistle for Piper. She races through the gate and greets Marisol with a wagging tail. The Puerto Rican beauty stoops to return Piper’s affection, and if I weren’t well on my way already, I think I would have fallen for Marisol just at that sight.
Piper jumps into the back cab of my red F-150 work truck when I whistle for her. I open the door for Marisol next and stare at her long legs as she climbs into the passenger seat. Damn. She looks good in my truck.
Marisol chuckles as if I said so out loud. “Well, you do,” I confirm.
Her laughter rings out as I close the door and walk to the driver’s side, a smile tugging at my lips.
I drive us to my favorite place for lunch because it serves a little of everything and because Piper can sit with us outside. Technically, she could anyway because she’s a service dog, but I prefer being outdoors with her.
During lunch, Marisol glances at her phone a few times, waiting for her father to call or text. At each glance, she frowns. “Nothing yet?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “When he goes sailing, he doesn’t even take his satellite phone. I don’t know why I keep checking. I probably won’t hear from him until tomorrow.”
Marisol’s leg bounces beneath the table despite her attempt at casual conversation. I place my hand there to put her at ease, stilling the movement. Piper also picks up on Marisol’s nervousness and drops her snout to rest on Marisol’s lap. She lifts a hand and absently pets Piper.
“Let me see your phone.”
Marisol looks up sharply at the softly spoken command but unlocks and hands over the device without question. I set up my numbers in her contact list and send a text to my phone from hers. “I’ll be at the duplex each weekend and some weekdays after work. If I’m not around and something happens that makes you uncomfortable, I want mine to be the first number you dial.”