I slept on the plane.

I rarely slept around people, but I hated to fly as a passenger—hated it with a passion although fear was something I masked very, very well. I’d managed to hide it from Angel well enough, but now that I didn’t have her here to distract me, my brain did what it normally did—it forced itself into shutting down.

Not a bad skill to have under most circumstances.

I was in first class and I’d bought the seat next to me as well—under LeVan’s name so no one could get assigned to it if the plane ended up overbooked. I’d even dragged him to the airport with me, right up through check-in.

It was his fault the nightmare came. He’d talked me into sitting at one of the numerous bars for a drink—then he pounced on me with the questioning, all smooth and cunning.

“You can’t shut out everybody, man.”

“What the fuck are you talking about now?” I asked. 

He just gave me a look with those golden eyes of his, making it clear he could see right through me.

“Like hell you don’t know. You’re back to keeping everyone at arm’s length, even me and Sly. And for short stretches, that solitary bird crap you do is okay. We get it. After the shit you went through in Louisiana, no one can question why you’d want to keep to yourself. But you’re about to be a daddy. You think you can keep a baby at arm’s length? Or get close then ice them out? They’d end up hating your guts. Plus I saw the way you look at Angel. Arm’s length is the farthest you want to be from her.”

After the shit I went through…

The shit I still went through.

Because in my head, it kept happening.

Night after night. Day after day. Nothing changed it and no amount of time or distance fixed the fact that I’d failed.

“See you when I get back,” I told LeVan, shutting down the conversation and leaving him at the bar.

On the plane, I slept to force him out of my head.

But even that turned on me, brought the nightmare back in vivid, hi-def as though it was really happening.

“You tell Tante Didi who hurt you.”

Tante Didi was my great aunt. My father’s aunt to be exact. His mother’s sister. She used to tell me and my baby brother, Micah, that she loved us and she’d always protect us, no matter what.

She’d tell us it was our job to protect each other as best we could.

In the dream, she was older now, frail, but as she stroked a hand down my face, she still seemed as big and strong as a giant. Blood bloomed from an ugly gash above her eyebrow, streaked down her face, yet she still whispered, “You tell Tante Didi…”

Micah clung to her. “Don’t die, Tante Didi. Don’t die. If you die, he’ll do it all the time.”

But she did die.

As the dream unfolded and twisted, my great aunt withered and faded, her body collapsing in on itself even as she demanded, louder now, so loud that it echoed around the room. 

“You tell Tante Didi!”

I jerked awake, her voice a rattling scream in my ears. I was sweating all over, even on my hands. Was that because I’d grabbed Micah at the end, or was it the dream itself?

You tell Tante Didi, boy. I’ll take care of it.

She would’ve kept her word, too.

If she hadn’t died.

Nobody ever argued with the powerhouse that was Didi Knight, not even my father. The man never believed a word Micah and I uttered, but he would damn well listen to his aunt.

The wreck spoiled all our chances, though…

“Sir, please return your chair to the upright position.”

Blinking, I looked over at the airline attendant, then out the window. Shit. Mexico City unfurled below us in a sprawling maze of low, squat buildings and sparkling glass skyscrapers. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” I mumbled.

Would’ve been nice to wake up a few minutes earlier and get a drink to wash the dream away.

A little too late now.

Fuck LeVan for making me think about this shit.

And the dream was still playing. I could hear the echo of Didi’s voice as though she was right beside me. Whispering.

“You tell Tante Didi who hurt you.”

It was Tante Didi, then my older brother, Danny, would shout, drowning out Micah, who’d always talk like he was whispering. Even in the dream, I tried to get them to stop talking. All of them. The foreknowledge that somehow, something worse would happen if Danny knew we’d told. Didi just wanted to know who had beat the crap out of me, locked me in the closet, whatever. I didn’t rat him out. I was getting bigger. Sooner or later, I’d be big enough to fight back. That was what I’d thought. And whenever he locked me up, I was always able to get myself out.

I got my start in magic dealing with my abusive, crazy older brother. That would’ve made the headlines. 

Micah eventually told Didi, and she’d promised she’d deal with it.

She’d kept her promise and gone to our house to have it out with my father. And on the way back, she was in a car wreck that killed her immediately.

You’re back to keeping everybody at arm’s length.

It hadn’t always been that way. But after Tante Didi, Micah and…

Yeah. Keeping people at a distance was just safer.

Brooding, I stared out the window, watching as the city drew closer and wondering about what LeVan had told me.

How would I ever be able to hold a baby, or Angel, at arm’s length?

* * *

The airport in Mexico City wasn’t the worst airport I’d ever been to.

That said, it sure as hell wasn’t the best.

I was used to the standard safety announcements. Like, Attention travelers, do not accept rides from private vehicles… blah blah blah. I understood the warnings as it was announced in English, Spanish and French. Languages had always come easily for me since childhood. Anyone who could look past pronunciation and get to the root word would see that all three languages had more commonalities than differences. Ditto for Portuguese and a few other languages I’d heard. Most of the French I’d first learned was a smattering of Cajun. Tante Didi had murmured into my ears back when I was a boy who’d smiled at things like, “aren’t you my handsome little bébé?”

Tante Didi.

Fuck. I could go months without actively thinking about her or any of the other stuff. But then it’d hit me like this. All the memories would come rushing to the surface. And immediately after, I wanted to hide away. 

Find a bar. 

Get drunk. 

Get into a fight. 

Worse.

Don’t let him. You just tell Tante Didi who did this. Qui?

We can tell Tante Didi. She’ll make it stop.

Shoving the heel of my hand against my eye, I tried to drown out the visions and voices of a past I hadn’t only run from, I’d tried to bury them.

“Señor! Señor! Do you need a ride? We go to all the finest hotels.”

The young man standing in front of me was small, his head barely coming up to the middle of my chest. His smile was charming and impersonal. His eyes were greedier than hell.

Well, shit.

I’d been looking for a distraction.

I bared my teeth at him. “Okay. I wouldn’t mind a ride.”

* * *

LeVan was one of the first to remain standing after going one-on-one with me after one of my rages.

I wasn’t proud of them.

But I wasn’t ashamed of them, either.

I knew where they came from and they were just a part of me, like the size of my hands or the color of my eyes.

I knew them better than I knew my own strength, sad to say.

The greedy taxi driver tossed a few comments in Spanish at me on the drive. I pretended not to understand. But I knew he was in league with the three little Mexican thugs who came after me. The driver pulled over claiming he had a flat tire. By then, I wasn’t concerned about taking them on. I knew my own strength. They should’ve done a better job of sizing me up. And sure, they could also have been packing weapons, which would put me at a slight disadvantage.

But I’m the one who intentionally put myself in a dangerous situation. After all, I pretended not to know this whole fucking thing was a setup to either rob me blind or take me hostage. The hostage takings in Mexico City weren’t as violent or dramatic as they made it out to be in movies. Kidnappers wanted money, plain and simple. And they were smart enough to know they wouldn’t get shit if they killed the people they grabbed. 

I looked like I had money. Maybe I should’ve left the Tom Ford sunglasses at home. Or the hand-tooled boots on my feet. But the boots were a lot more effective at kicking somebody’s ass than a pair of tennis shoes, and I was planning to do just that.

When he’d made the phone call in Spanish about a big, rich tourist with fancy boots, I decided he’d made his own bed mistaking me for a mark when it was the other way around. I tried not to think about the floodgate I’d opened up with that simple memory of Tante Didi. Micah.

You just tell Tante Didi.

“Señor, there is a problem with the car…”

The driver had pulled over to the side of the road and was now watching me with calm eyes. We were off the main drag. If I hadn’t been to Mexico City before, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. But I did.

I’d also been robbed before. At gunpoint. With LeVan. The first time he and I had a show down here before we’d hooked up with Sly. Back when I was still somewhat wet behind the ears…at least in some ways.

It wasn’t going to ever happen again.

“I can just wait in here,” I offered easily. He didn’t have to get hurt. The man still had a chance to redeem himself. To save his little face from getting fucked up.

“No, no, sir…you are a big man. The jack won’t lift if you stay in the car.” He flashed me a smile. “If there is an accident, you could get hurt.”

“Sure.”

Who hurt my bébé? You tell Tante Didi. You tell me now.

Sliding out of the car, I let myself listen to that voice from long ago. Tante Didi. And Micah. One part of me listened. The other part waited.

And when shadows moved at my back, I slid to the side.

Who hurt my bébé? You tell me!

It had been a long, long time since anyone had been able to hurt me.

That wasn’t going to change now.

And it didn’t.

Those three men and the driver had no fucking clue the kind of man they’d tried to victimize.

What could I say? That little scuffle with them tickled a bit.

The policia looked from me to the bloodied men on the side of the road. I waited for them to arrive. I’d also called the U.S. Embassy and my hotel with all the spare time I had.

Yes, I wanted to see Angel, but not when Tante Didi was stuck in my head. This diversion with my attackers was my coping mechanism. It was mandatory.

The hotel staff arrived before the police, offering profuse apologies. It wasn’t their fault. They’d had a limo waiting for me back at the airport. I’d even seen the guy holding a sign with my name, and I still left with the dumbass lying unconscious on the ground.

He was probably one of the luckier ones. I didn’t leave him with broken bones. He looked like he might be all of nineteen or twenty. If the police weren’t too rough on him, maybe he’d learn a lesson and get a real job as a legitimate driver after this.

But who knew? Mexico wasn’t exactly a country of opportunity for all. Sometimes it was easier to make a living breaking the law than earning an honest dollar. Though that didn’t mean I had to stand still and get worked over or robbed.

“Señor Knight.”

Glancing up, I saw two men from the U.S. Embassy—one was a guy who probably never got out from behind a desk. The man seemed scared of his own shadow. The other was his bodyguard. It was the bodyguard who took charge out here in the field. 

As I sat on the curb, he flashed me a wide smile. “I’ve been a big fan of yours for years. Ever since I saw you perform here in Mexico City about five years ago.” He waved his hand over at the unconscious men. Now I’m even more of a fan. You should try out for WWE or something in an octagon.” He looked at the cops as they started to drag the men upright. “Although, with all your traveling experience, maybe you should’ve just stuck to a legit taxi service.”

“Probably. It slipped my mind.” Rising to my feet, I held out a hand. Instead of shaking it, he returned my passport. I took it, checked it, then slid it back into my pocket. “Thanks.”

“Sí, sí. If I may ask… what brings you back to Mexico City? You’re not here to perform.” He wagged a finger at me. “Trust me. I would know. I order tickets for all the American magic acts.”

His desk jockey colleague eyed me and spoke for the first time. “You’re a magician?”

“Yes, sir.” I ignored the fact that he said the word with about as much condescension as he’d ask if I were a two-bit stripper. Giving him the same smile I shared with photographers, I nodded. “Want to see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?”

“Ah, no. No, that won’t be necessary. Seeing as how you’re unharmed.” His eyes flicked to the scrape on my right cheek, then to my hands which were bruised. Nothing like the faces of the men I’d decimated.

He didn’t continue. Looking away nervously, with hands sketching skittish gestures in the air, he patted the bodyguard on the shoulder and returned to their car parked on the roadside, mumbling something under his breath. I didn’t catch it and didn’t care enough to ask him to repeat it as two cops stepped up to speak with him.

I was just glad they weren’t coming to speak to me this time.

“You never did say what brings you to Mexico City, Señor Knight.”

Without thinking, I replied, “My girl.”

Halfway through the word, I realized what I was saying.

Angel.

I was in Mexico to visit Angel. Well, I was here to back her up against the nearest flat surface, run my hands all over her soft, warm body, and discover any new changes the past couple of weeks had brought. I’d fuck her until she agreed to come back to Vegas with me.

I was here to fix things.

I could see her now that I’d gotten the rage out of my system, thanks to my four attackers.

“A lady, sí.”

Why was this American persisting in talking to me, another American, with Spanish spattered into everything he said? It was annoying. Unaware of the turmoil in my head, he rambled on. I let him for about five seconds. To keep the peace and be sociable enough with people in an embassy. I figured it couldn’t hurt. But he wouldn’t stop.

Then I said, “Excuse me, but I should catch my ride now.”

* * *

Admitting to myself that there was more between Angel and me than the baby was akin to getting punched in the head. The physical attraction between us was strong, but I was avoiding the rest of it. Except for the baby. And a baby was one hell of a thing to have between us.

It was the middle of January now. How had that happened?

I was pissed off as hell, that’s why. I missed half a month of seeing the baby grow, even if the only way I could witness it was by watching Angel, but why the fuck did I let it happen?

Right. I happened. The asshole who shut her out.

Slumped in the back of the limo that whisked me away toward my hotel, I debated on how to handle the current mess I’d made of something decent and pure and perfect. 

I was good at fucking things up. That I knew.

Angel still had no idea I was coming to see her. It was now almost midnight—she fell asleep pretty early, or that seemed to be the case. And here I was, wasting precious time with those little Mexicans who I lured into trying to rough me up for my money. And even more time driving to my hotel instead of going straight to her. 

Leaning forward, I hit the button that lowered the window between me and the driver. “Hey, change of plans.” I handed him Angel’s school address information. “Take me there.”

Time to return my focus to the real reason I was here.