eighteen
Victorjia was in the study, brushing up on her classics, when she heard raised voices coming from somewhere down the hall. Frowning, she closed the old tomb and set it aside to investigate.
As soon as she opened the door, the voices grew louder and clearer, though she couldn’t discern actual words. But there was definitely an argument going on. And if her ears were hearing right, there were a lot of men involved. In fact, though muted, suggesting the source of the argument was going on behind closed doors, it reminded her of the commotion at the bar she’d met Heath at.
That alone drew her fully from the study and down the hall, toward its source. Her feet carried her to her father’s office. The door was indeed closed, but the voices had grown considerably clearer. And it was heated.
Eaten by curiosity, she had to force herself to back away. The last thing Victorjia was interested in was getting deeper involved in her father’s business beyond being his daughter. Even that was something she was starting to wonder if it was worth the potential hazard to her life.
Was he really dangerous enough to visit that kind of fallout on her? She had no way of truly knowing.
Overall, he seemed like such a good guy, with redeeming qualities. After all, her mother wouldn’t have fallen in love with a criminal and bore his child. Everything her abuela had told her about her said so. But she couldn’t deny the things she’d heard were lining up with what she was seeing and hearing since she’d arrived on his doorstep.
It had only been a couple days, and already there was something going down that caused her stomach to turn nervously and her heart to hammer in her chest. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a simple disagreement between business partners—of that she was sure.
Before she could make it a few steps back to the study where she planned on locking herself inside until the coast was clear, the door to the study opened and a flood of men poured out. They came out in batches, the first half in suits, and the second in black leather and jeans. All wore the same grievous expressions, as if someone had died…or was about to. Most were armed, their weapons worn out in the open without apology. But that wasn’t what shocked the breath right out of her lungs.
The men in leather were Spartans. The same men Heath aligned himself with, wearing the same patches he had on his riding jacket.
What were they doing here, in her father’s home? Were they into whatever kind of stuff he was? It didn’t seem to fit, but then again, what did she know about criminal enterprises?
The only saving grace and reason she could draw breath again was that she didn’t see Heath mixed into the bunch, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be just as embroiled as the rest of them…or he could be completely ignorant.
Jumping back as the men passed her, Victorjia held her ground and her chin firm under the lecherous eyes of her father’s suited friends and the scrutiny of his leather-clad ones. None of them appeared the least bit friendly, which made her shudder.
Maybe coming here hadn’t been the best idea after all. Her grandma had begged her not to go, but as she’d explained as she’d packed her bags and walked out the door, she was an adult now and free to travel and forge a true bond with her flesh and blood. Just as with any child, she was curious to see who she came from. It was bad enough she hadn’t been able to grow up with her own mother to care for her, but at least she had a father who seemed to love and cherish her. Distance had been an easy thing to fix.
“My men will see you out,” she heard her father say as he pulled up the rear, his face a mask of malevolence. He was upset, barely keeping his anger in check. “And, gentlemen, the next time you want a meeting with me, pick up a phone and schedule it,” he called after the Spartan men. “I don’t do drop-ins, especially when I’m already seeing to far more important things.”
The one with the snow-white hair and glacial stare stomped to a halt and swung a look over his shoulder. “It’s better to catch a kid with his hand in the cookie jar unawares than giving prior notice.” He lifted his chin. “We’ll be in touch again shortly.”
Her father’s eyes slitted. “I’ll count the hours.”
As soon as the men were gone, Victorjia turned wide eyes on her father, who merely cast her a bored look and turned away to return to his office. She was quick to follow.
“Who were all those people?” she demanded to know, reverting to her native Spanish language.
“No one to concern yourself with,” he deadpanned in kind as he seated himself behind the large, cherry wood desk and picked up an expensive silver-plated pen that probably cost as much as her college tuition.
“I’m living here,” she asserted, “so I have a right to know. They didn’t look like good guys.” Although the ones with the Spartan patches appeared marginally more benign than the suits. At least they just looked pissed. The suits looked calculating.
“You’re my guest,” he enunciated, reducing Victorjia to a fraction of her actual size with that one sharply delivered word. “This is my home, and I don’t answer to anyone but myself, least of all my daughter.”
“So I don’t have any rights?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest in a show of bravado that she most definitely wasn’t feeling.
He actually looked shocked by her assertion. “You have more rights than any other under this roof.”
“Except the right to ask questions.” As far as she was concerned, he was trying to run a dictatorship, if that was the case, and she wasn’t of the mind to be told what to do by him any more than she was by her grandma. “I’m not a pretty bird to be placed on a pedestal and shown off to your friends or business partners or whatever you call them.”
“No, you’re not. You’re my daughter, and that means you take the highest priority—”
“Then tell me who those people were.”
His eyes shuttered. “It’s not your business.”
“Then this isn’t my home,” she said, switching to English again. “I’ll start looking for better accommodations, but since I’m short on money and connections, I’ll ask you to be kind enough to give me a couple of days.”
“Totally unnecessary, mija. You stay put, enjoy this lovely home I’ve provided, and treat it as your own. Because it is. What’s mine is yours.”
What good was a roof over her head if she wasn’t trusted by the person who owned it, her very flesh and blood father? “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think this arrangement will work out in the long run. It’ll be better for me to leave and let you carry out your business in peace, with the knowledge that no one is trying to pry.”
Somehow, the look he passed her was at once disparaging and scolding. “You’re so much like your mother was—prone to overreacting.”
Victorjia took offense to his words. “Is that how you remember her? Well, I’d rather overreact than be cold as ice like you.”
She didn’t give him time to respond. Storming through the mansion, Victorjia flew up the stairs to her bedroom and locked herself away with no intention of leaving until she was certain he was in bed for the night or had left the premises so she wouldn’t have to risk running into him again.
The way she was feeling, she was liable to slap him. The anger pounded thick in her veins, demanding she fight back with both words and fists, but she went over to stare out the bank of windows instead, finding the serene view of the valley below calming.
If she was prone to overreacting like her mother, then she was quick to anger like her father. Neither was something she wanted to be, but if she had to choose, she’d pick the former over the latter every day of the week. As a girl, she’d always looked up to him, but today she’d finally grown up, because she’d seen and heard enough to know she never wanted to be anything like him again.
***
Rena had been out doing laundry and eating ice cream when Manuel called, wanting to see her. She couldn’t say no. She literally couldn’t say no. That’s what Angel hadn’t understood, but how could she tell her sister that she had an agreement with the FBI to take down a big crime/drug/whatever lord? So she’d lied. Just another one to add to the already long list.
One day she’d make it up to her. Although she’d been saying that to herself for years. She’d meant it each time, but something always came up to prevent it from happening. This time she swore things were different. She would make it up to her. She’d find a way to prove to Angel that she had turned over a new leaf. It just took…time.
Sighing, Rena padded up the brick walk to the stone steps, her flip-flops slapping the ground. The door opened before she reached it, and she smiled a friendly smile to the guy manning the entryway who she’d jokingly nicknamed Fester.
“Thanks for the assist.” Fester. “Is the old man in his study today?”
“His office, miss. You may wait on the patio while I inform him you’re here.” He glanced down at the beach tote in her hand. “Feel free to take a swim if you’d like. Mr. Contreras is taking an important phone call at the moment. He may be a while.”
“Sure, no problem. Thanks.” Fester.
“Would you like some refreshments while you wait?” he asked over his shoulder as he led the way toward the back.
Rena didn’t need the guided tour, since she’d been exploring a lot during her stays and had mapped out just about every square inch of the place, but she followed along without comment. “I’m good. No need to go to the trouble for little ole me.”
“No trouble at all, miss. It’s my job.” Crossing through the kitchen, he paused in front of the double, paneled patio doors to flip the locks and open the way. Beyond, the terra-cotta patio exuded warmth and a welcoming vibe. Beyond that, the crystal-clear blue water of the fifty-foot lap pool complete with waterfall and round Jacuzzi outfitting either end beckoned as well.
Passing by Fester, Rena selected one of the dozen or so deck loungers and set her bag down beside it. Then she stripped off the sundress she’d put on over her bathing suit, revealing a scanty two-piece that she was confident would turn Manuel’s head and raise more than just an eyebrow.
After a few minutes, Fester appeared with a pitcher of what looked like iced tea and a bowl of purple grapes, and then disappeared back into the house as quietly as he’d come.
Rena easily ignored the offerings, content to soak up a little sun. She was hoping for a shade darker than the last time she’d laid out, but it was a carefully choreographed dance that could easily result in a fire-engine red burn, ruining weeks of hard work.
She was a truly delicate flower, she thought, laughing at her own joke.
Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she wiped her thoughts clear in favor of enjoying the finer things in life for as long as she could.
She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Rena was waking up to a giant shadow blocking her sun. A shadow that turned out to belong to a stunning creature that was too perfect to be real, yet there she stood, a bronzed goddess that made Rena’s insecurities sit up and take notice—and pull the dress she’d removed earlier back over her body for a little extra coverage.
“You must be my dad’s…girlfriend.”
Why did that sound so dirty, as if she’d called Rena his mistress when she knew for a fact he wasn’t married. Manuel’s only wife had died years ago, leaving behind— Ahh, now she understood the animosity. “You must be Manny’s daughter. Vickie is it?”
“Victorjia,” the woman gritted out, then took a seat in the lounge beside her.
She was dressed in a flowing, lightweight coverlet in a shade of hot-orange that perfectly accented her honeyed skin tone. Rena was impossibly jealous.
“I can’t say that I know so much about you,” Rena started in a friendly tone, “but it’s nice to meet you anyway. I’m Rena, Manny’s…well, I don’t know what we are exactly. We’re just hanging out right now.”
Victorjia raised an eyebrow. “It’s weird to associate my dad with that term right now. Or to think of him dating at all.”
“Because of your mom?” Victorjia shot her a questioning look. “He doesn’t talk a lot, but he says enough to put things together,” Rena explained smoothly. Manual hadn’t said shit about anything, but a lifetime of lying had made it so the explanation rolled off her tongue like melting butter.
Victorjia looked away. “Yeah, I guess so. Not that I actually saw how they were together. He was gone before I was old enough to form memories like that, so I guess it’s not really my place to judge what he does with his private time. Can’t expect him to live like a priest,” she said with a bit of forced levity.
Rena instantly felt sorry for her, feeling the strain of their relationship regardless of not having prior knowledge of their mutual past. “I can relate when it comes to parents and their lives conflicting with your idea of how they should be conducting them,” she offered. “My mom wasn’t the kind of parent I would have chosen for myself, and my father was…absent, to put it simply.”
Victorjia glanced her way, seeming to mull over Rena’s words as if weighing their truth and sincerity. Rena waited her out, allowing her to reach her own conclusions about her. The fact was, she wasn’t here to make friends. She was here on an assignment that could and would change her life. Her only goal at this moment was to garner trust from anyone she came into contact with and hopefully pull some juicy tidbits from that would help her with the FBI’s case against Manuel, period.
“So you like my dad, huh?”
“He’s good people.”
Victorjia stared at her as if she’d just grown a second head. “Are you sure about that?”
“Well, I haven’t known him for long, but yeah, I think so. Why? You don’t agree?”
The woman looked away again, staring at the pool’s glittering surface as she sorted through her thoughts. “I think I’m in the same boat you are,” she finally said, puzzling Rena.
“You’ve known him your whole life,” Rena reasoned, genuinely confused.
“Known of him,” Victorjia corrected. “The differences are vast. I’ve only just gotten here, so what I actually know of him versus what I’m learning about him are totally different.”
“And you don’t like what you’re learning,” Rena surmised, observing the woman’s guarded body language and that reflective, distant look in her eyes as if she was waging some internal struggle. Rena knew that look; she’d seen it in the mirror many times in her life. There were things the woman wasn’t saying, which only piqued Rena’s curiosity more.
I have to get closer to her, she thought to herself, calculating the risks and rewards of becoming Manuel’s daughter’s friend. If she could gain her trust, she might be able to pull a lot more from her than she’d been able to get from her father. If she misstepped, she could find herself the enemy of two bad eggs. Victorjia said she didn’t know much about her dad personally, and while she seemed like she might be an innocent in his world, Rena wasn’t going to let down her guard and assume the woman wasn’t as bad as the FBI claimed her father to be. After all, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
“There have been some things that give me cause for concern,” Victorjia said cryptically.
Rena leaned into the side of her chair, all ears. “What kind of things?”
Just like Manuel, a look came over her, like a wall slamming down behind those golden eyes. “Nothing really. I’m probably just overreacting,” she said, her tone biting. “Apparently, it runs in the family. Is this tea?” she asked, already reaching for the pitcher. “Geraldo makes the best tea.”
Rena only smiled and settled back into her chair. Though she was itching to keep pushing for answers, she knew she had to be patient—even if it wasn’t her strong suit. Answers would come eventually. And she would be waiting with baited breath to glean them from whatever source they came by, and then she’d run like her ass was on fire to deliver it so she could be done with this freak show assignment once and for all.