Page 100 of You'll Never Find Me

“Hey, thanks for coming, but I got it from here.”

Jack ignored me and walked in. “Uncle Rafe, everything is secure and I called in a favor to have Phoenix PD increase patrols in the neighborhood.”

“They do not need to do that.”

“An unknown man came in and threatened you, and you don’t know if he’ll return.” Jack stared at Rafe. “You know who he is.”

“Yes. His wife left him and he believes I know where she is.”

Jack glanced at me, his face unreadable. Then he turned to Rafe. “And Margo is aware of the situation?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Care to tell me the whole story?”

“I think Margo needs to tell you,” Rafe said. “I have early mass tomorrow, so I need to retreat to my room. We will make sure the house is secure, and be on alert for any trouble.”

“I don’t trust that Margo will tell me the truth,” Jack said through clenched teeth.

“She will,” Rafe said. He got up, walked over to where Jack and I stood uncomfortably next to each other. He put his hand on my arm, looked me in the eye. “It’s not weak to ask for help.” He kissed my cheek, then kissed Jack, and walked to the back of the house.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Father Diaz said. “For what it’s worth, Margo, you did the right thing. Don’t let this trouble deter you from your path.”

He walked us to the door. Talking with Father Diaz always made me a little uncomfortable. I’d known Rafe my entire life, he was my uncle and ten years older than me. Every other priest I’d had was gray or bald. But Father Diaz was the first priest I knew well who was younger than me, by two years.

“Call me if you see him, even if he doesn’t set foot on the grounds.”

“I will, Rafe will.”

“And if he threatens you in any way, call the police.”

He nodded, and I made sure I heard the deadbolt slide closed.

“What’s going on?” Jack demanded.

I headed toward my Jeep and Jack followed. “Margo, don’t you dare walk away from me. Are you in trouble?”

“No,” I said. “Come to my house, I’ll explain everything.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in my living room. Jack had noticed the security cameras immediately, but didn’t comment. In fact, he didn’t say anything, waiting for me to talk. He’d been angry earlier, true, but Jack was usually even-tempered, and he was doing his best to remain so now.

“Three months ago, Rafe met a woman after Sunday mass. He’d never seen her before. She stayed after—her young children had fallen asleep in the pew, and she was silently crying. He went to her, and she told him her husband was abusive and she was scared. He told her to go to the police, and that he would help her and the kids get into a shelter that night. She said she couldn’t go to the police because her husband was in law enforcement.”

Jack’s face fell. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered. I almost smiled. That proclamation was the closest our dad had ever gotten to swearing. Jack reminded me so much of our dad. Not so much physically—Jack was a bit darker, taller, broader—but personality. Having him here was surprisingly comforting.

“She made Rafe promise not to go to the police, didn’t tell him her name, just that her grandparents had been parishioners and she came here to pray for guidance. Rafe gave her my card, told her to call me. He told me that night what he’d done, and I waited. It took her a week to call. Her name is Annie Carillo, her husband is a trooper, and he abuses her regularly.”

I told my brother about the rapes, the emotional abuse, the control. The system was flawed—they could protect Annie to a certain degree, but it was a he said/she said with no proof of abuse, no physical injuries. Without that evidence, the court wouldn’t deny Peter Carillo visitation rights if she left him, and Annie feared that he would come after her someday, when she least expected it.

“I believed her. More, I believed he would kill her for divorcing him. She needed to disappear, and I made it happen.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a long time. So long that I started to get angry. “What would you have done? Told her to go to court, get a restraining order? A restraining order is paper. It’s a deterrent for someone who hasn’t yet gotten violent. It’s no deterrent to a man who told his wife he would kill her if she ever left him.”

“I don’t know what I would have done,” Jack said. “Is she safe?”

“Yes. I don’t know where she is, or what her new name is.” Okay, the second part was a lie. But I would absolutely swear in a court of law if I was forced to that I didn’t, that I gave her a sealed envelope with the documents. In fact, depending on how I worded it, it wouldn’t be a lie—because I did give her a sealed envelope.

“I need a beer,” he muttered and got up. He went to my refrigerator, opened it. “You have no food.”