Body Heat. Brenda Novak

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СКАЧАТЬ he didn’t want to wake.

      Noticing Rod immediately, he squinted to see who it was.

      Roderick froze when he realized he was looking at Jorge. Boy, had he aged in the past fourteen years!

      Their eyes met, and the old man’s wrinkled mouth curved, revealing several missing teeth.

      The urge to throw the car into Reverse suddenly gripped Roderick. As ashamed as it made him feel, he wanted to forget his roots, forget he’d ever lived here. But he didn’t drive off. Jorge was already shuffling toward the truck at an eager gait.

      Conjuring up a pleasant expression, Rod lowered his window. “Hola, mi amigo.”

      “Hola, hijo.” Jorge’s gnarled hand clasped Rod’s forearm with affection. “¿Cómo estás? Eh?”

      “Muy bien. Muy bien.” Rod switched to English. He could speak without the slightest accent, which reminded him that he’d escaped his past. He had plenty of money and opportunities and people he cared about—a whole other life in California. “You’re still here, old man?”

      “Where would I go? I’m too old and ornery. No one else would have me.”

      After seeing what so many years of physically grueling labor had done to Jorge, Rod was surprised Bruce had allowed him to stay. Certainly he couldn’t do all the work he’d once done. Maybe there was an element of trust between him and Bruce that made up the difference.

      “What’s our Navy SEAL doing these days?” Jorge beamed with pride. “Still catching bad guys for Department 6?”

      “For now.”

      “Your father is so proud.”

      The smile slipped from Rod’s face; he felt it go. “What’s going on with him? Why is he contacting me all of a sudden?”

      “With age comes wisdom, eh?”

      “Sorry, not buying it. Something must have caused such a major change of heart.”

      “No, he’s asked me about you for years. He knows what you are, can’t deny that you’re a good son, someone to admire.”

      Rod cocked an eyebrow at him. “Jorge? Cut the crap.”

      “Listen, hijo. He had a bad health scare eight years ago, a heart attack. He’s been different ever since. I think he has realized what he’s lost and wants to fix it if he can.”

      “And bringing me here to help solve the murders, that was just an excuse?”

      “More than an excuse. He thinks you can help. If someone can kill at will and walk away, never to face punishment, it scares everyone, eh? Americans as well as Mexicans. The whole community. You remember what I told you about that rancher near Portal.”

      He was referring to a man whose family had lived in the area for fifty years. “He was stabbed to death on his own land last March.”

      “That’s right. He’d just called in to say he’d found some Mexican nationals suffering from dehydration and was assisting them.”

      Rod stretched the cramped muscles in his neck. “Do you think there’s any connection between that incident and what’s been happening lately?”

      “I don’t know. But even if there isn’t, what if illegals arm themselves? Try to retaliate?”

      “We’ve got to make sure it doesn’t escalate,” he muttered.

      Jorge nodded in satisfaction. “Yes.”

      That increased Rod’s dedication to finding the person responsible for all the bloodshed, but it didn’t change anything else for him, not where his father was concerned. He glanced toward the house. “I gotta be on my way. Take care of yourself.”

      “What? No! Stay. You don’t have to go. Your father would be happy to see you.”

      “There’s no need to upset Edna and her boys.”

      “Bah! Who cares about Edna?” he teased. “And those boys? They won’t bother you these days. They’d be able to tell just by looking at you that it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

      “It’s not only them. Regardless of what Bruce might feel or what he’s been through, I’d rather not see him,” Rod clarified. “I don’t consider him to be any relation.”

      The expression on the old man’s face led Rod to believe he’d hoped for more. “Forgive him, Roderick,” he said, grabbing his forearm again. “Deja ir el pasado.”

      Let the past go…. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Only I want him to go with it.”

      “That’s not what she hoped for you.”

      A pickup began to move in the clearing. Someone was starting work. Roderick couldn’t put off his departure any longer without risking some type of confrontation. He didn’t want to hear what Jorge was trying to tell him, anyway. Just because his mother wouldn’t give up on Bruce didn’t mean he’d hang on till the bitter end. “It was great to see you,” he said, and covered Jorge’s hand with his own.

      Jorge nodded but seemed troubled as Rod backed up and headed out. Fortunately, the person in the pickup had taken the opposite direction, toward the lettuce fields. Was it his father or one of his half brothers driving? Rod couldn’t tell. He could see only the taillights, back bumper and the dust kicked up by the tires.

      He imagined confronting Stuart or Patrick now that he was older. He wanted them to demand he step out of the way, willing to take them both on at once, just as they’d always preferred. But…what was the point? He wouldn’t feel any better afterward. That wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be.

      Forget them, he told himself. But he’d been telling himself that for so long, it’d lost all meaning.

      When the phone awakened Sophia from a dead sleep, her heart nearly seized in her chest. She was sure it was one of her officers or county dispatch, calling to inform her that more people had been killed. But a second later, the sound repeated itself and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been dreaming. It wasn’t the phone. Someone was at the door.

      With a groan, she rolled out of bed and went into the living room of her little one-bedroom hacienda-style house. There, she leaned against the door, squinting to see through the peephole.

      It was Starkey. As usual, he was wearing his leather vest—or cut as they called it—with the patches that held so much significance for him, jeans and biker boots. His blond hair and his mustache, which was a shade darker than his hair, were longer than when she’d last seen him. He’d also put on a few pounds—but he wasn’t fat. His biceps bulged when he crossed his arms. And he had a new tattoo to add to the skull and all the others: FTW.

      She didn’t plan to ask what it stood for. She already knew she wouldn’t approve.

      “Give me a minute.” She hurried back to her bedroom so she could grab a robe to cover her T-shirt and men’s boxers. Then she let him in. “Hey, what’s up?”

      His eyes СКАЧАТЬ