We drove at least halfway back to town in seething silence before he spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re working for Ramiro Escobar.”
So maybe I wouldn’t put it like that, but in essence, yes.
“Who else was I gonna call, Ghostbusters?”
He didn’t take the sarcasm well. “Christ almighty, Corine, bad as Montoya is, Escobar is worse, because he’s not crazy. If he decides to have someone killed, he’s weighed the P and L of it. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”
Of course it did. But he didn’t have the right to judge me. “You can never understand,” I said softly. “Your history makes you strong and centered and certain you’re always on the side of right.”
“Not always. But I damn well know you don’t dine with the devil to kill a demon.” He slammed his fist against the dash. “Vigilante justice is against the law. I crossed the line once. Since it happened in Mexico, I tell myself it doesn’t count, but it does, and anything else is self-deception. How many times are you going to ask me to look the other way? When you know where Montoya will be, let the law handle him. I can contact federal agents who would love to lock him up.”
“You think that will stop it? Even if Montoya’s lawyers didn’t get him out on a loophole, he could still send people after me from prison. You know that. This only ends Wild West style—him or me.”
A fulminating silence followed my words, and it lasted until he slammed his car into the parking lot where he presumably lived. I’d been to Laredo twice, and Jesse had always just picked me up at Chuch and Eva’s, or we met somewhere else. Which meant I’d never seen his home.
He lived in a three-story brick building. It wasn’t part of a complex, but there was a small lot attached with a security camera on a light pole. I put Butch down in case our fighting had given him a nervous bladder; it had. Jesse let himself in the front door with a key, and jogged up two flights. It was a testament to his anger that he let me carry my own suitcase. I went up with less alacrity. I had a feeling the scrap wasn’t over; this was just the intermission.
His apartment was different than I expected; probably I could credit his mother for the décor. The place was a homey jumble of plaids and stripes that harmonized because of the colors. White walls, of course—it was a rental—but everything else had red and yellow running through the pattern. Overstuffed furniture with throw pillows added real warmth. The place had one bedroom, living and dining combo room, kitchen, and bath. Not much to see, but it was cute and clean. I should’ve guessed as much from his uncluttered desk at work.
Jesse disappeared into the bedroom. Once I set my bag down, Butch hopped out and went around sniffing. If there was anything out of the ordinary here, he’d find it. The little dog had an uncanny ability to scent supernatural skullduggery.
I put my flowered bag down and dropped onto the couch. Likely I’d be sleeping here, so good thing the fabric felt soft and smooth beneath my fingertips. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that if something went wrong, Jesse could have Laredo SWAT here in a few minutes, I wouldn’t be here. Chuch and Eva would not be caught in the cross fire this time.
A few minutes later, Butch pawed at my leg. I bent down and picked him up. He snuggled into my lap with complete confidence, which told me the place was secure for now. It drove me nuts worrying about Montoya’s resources, whether he knew about Chuch and Eva, if Shannon was safe with them. I fought the urge to call, like an overprotective parent, and toyed with the charm around my neck instead.
When Jesse emerged a bit later, his hair was damp. He must’ve taken a shower to cool off. I almost smiled at that. He propped himself against the wall just inside the living room.
“Is it always going to be like this with you?”
“What?” But I knew what he meant.
“Is it always going to come down to a choice between upholding the law and protecting you?”
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “But it might. I’m not Heather.” I named a pyro ex of his who had gone to prison for arson. “But I’m not the girl your mother always wanted you to bring home either.”
He exhaled in an unsteady rush. “There’s something I never told you about Heather.”
“And that is?”
“I’m the one who put her away.”
Ah, damn. I understood his raw reaction to my working outside the law. He’d been forced to make this choice before. Any other time, I might’ve made some joke about how bad girls proved irresistible to him. But his obvious torment made me feel tender and protective toward him. Sure, he had a white-knight complex a mile wide; he always wanted to save the damsel in distress, but I’d discovered I preferred slaying my own dragons. If he couldn’t accept that, then our relationship would be stillborn, even if he offered the best chance at a normal life.
“Look, in the usual course, don’t worry about me breaking the law. I wouldn’t have chosen Escobar as my partner, but I don’t want to die either.” I sat forward, elbows on my knees. “That’s the one thing you need to know about me. I’m a survivor, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
In fact, it was worse than he knew. If I died, I went straight to hell, because I had a demon debt weighing on my soul. Back in Kilmer, I’d been fatally stabbed, and the demon saved my life by using the murderer’s knife to plug the wound. Oh, I could’ve objected, but if I had, I would’ve expired on the spot. If I failed to satisfy the compact, both my life and soul were forfeit. Nervously, my fingers went to the metal in my side. Not repaying Maury before eternity punched my card . . . well. It didn’t bear consideration. I’d gotten a glimpse of the place when Caim crawled back home, and I had no interest in making a personal visit. So I had to stay alive, no matter what it took, until Maury called his marker due.