again, he’d grown up Cuban and Irish, and between the two sides of the family, he’d heard stories about ghosts, pixies, chupacabras, espíritus and all kinds of otherworldly beings. Maybe because of that, he hadn’t even been shaken when he’d seen Miguel’s and Maria’s ghosts.
Maybe that was why he’d been invited to join the Krewe along with Brett. But the Krewe only had offices in New York City and Alexandria, with teams dispatched all over the country as needed, and for years he’d wanted to fight the good fight in his native Miami. Still, it was hard thinking that he and Brett would no longer be partners; they’d worked together for several years and had become good friends. He’d always felt safe knowing that Brett had his back.
Of course, for now Brett would be coming and going. Lara wasn’t giving up her job at the Sea Life Center, so they were going to be long-distance lovers for a while. And he knew that the Bureau could transfer him anywhere, but unless his bosses forced him to leave Miami, he just wasn’t ready to move yet.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Diego assured Brett. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”
That morning they’d arrested a human trafficker named Amelio Parva and his partner, known only as Pancho, in the act of betraying and abandoning at sea a group of Cuban refugees who’d paid handsomely to be brought safely ashore. With the bad guys in custody, the rescued refugees had been taken to a detainment center, where Diego and Brett had just arrived so they could sign off on the paperwork.
“Here’s hoping they all get asylum,” Brett muttered as he parked. The people being held here weren’t criminals, but even so, the facility was surrounded by barbed wire. Once inside, though, it wasn’t so much a prison as it was a hospital.
Diego finished signing, then handed the papers to Brett and wandered over to look through a window into a social room, where the newest refugees had been allowed to gather.
Diego noted a woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was probably about seventy, gray-haired, very thin, with sharp blue eyes. She noticed him, too, and stared at him hard.
She lifted a hand and beckoned him over. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she had something important to say to him.
Brett touched his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked.
“Hang on. I just want to talk to someone for a minute,” Diego said.
“I’m not sure if we should—” Brett began.
A doctor exited the room just then, and Diego went over to him. “Hey, we were on the detail that found these people today. Mind if I go speak to one of them?” Diego asked.
“I don’t see why not,” the doctor said.
As Diego stepped into the room, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him.
The old woman was still watching him, and she lifted her hand to him again.
He walked over and hunkered down by her chair.
She smiled—a toothless smile that was still somehow beautiful. “Gracias, gracias,” she said, then picked up his hand and brought it to her cheek. “I will live out my days here,” she said in heavily accented English, smiling, and glancing up at Brett, who had followed and was standing just behind Diego. “Thanks to you.” Then she met Diego’s eyes again, her own bright and piercing. “But you—you must be very careful. And you must go where you are called. You understand? You will know. You must go where you are called.”
He rose, smiling, his mind spinning with thoughts. He wondered if she had been considered a bruja, a witch, back home, if young girls had come to her, wanting to know if they would marry the loves of their lives.
“Thank you, senora,” he told her. “Muchas gracias.”
She smiled sweetly. “You are a good man, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Listen with your soul and you will survive.”
“Thank you, senora,” he repeated.
He joined Brett, ready to leave, but stopped when she spoke again.
This time her voice was odd—it was suddenly deep and husky, and she sounded like a man. Stranger still, there wasn’t a hint of an accent as she spoke.
“I just want to protect her, too.”
Diego spun around to look at the old woman. Her head was down, her eyes closed, and she appeared to be sleeping. No one else was anywhere nearby.
He shook off his unease, and they left the facility. Diego was glad that his mother’s parents had come to the States when they had, aware that there was trouble ahead.
“She liked you,” Brett teased.
Diego shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
“You know, you are divorced, and Lara has a lot of friends,” Brett said.
Diego stopped walking and laughed. “No. No, no, no. I don’t need to be fixed up. I can find my own dates if I want to. I’m cool, okay?”
“Whatever you say,” Brett said.
* * *
Dinner was delicious. Scarlet had chosen one of the town’s many barbecue restaurants, where she’d run into a number of people she’d already met casually. Afterward she headed down to one of the bars where a local band played live every night.
It was on her way there that the one flaw in the evening happened.
As Scarlet walked down the sidewalk, dodging people—including a number of children who asked their parents to buy them “moose droppings,” the local name for little balls of chocolate aimed at the tourists—she was approached by a man in his thirties wearing jeans and a striped cowboy shirt. She would have found him handsome and appealing if the weird way he’d come on to her hadn’t been so unnerving.
“You need to be careful,” he told her without preamble.
“Excuse me?” she said in shock.
“You shouldn’t be running around alone,” he said. “You have to be careful. There’s something going on.”
“I’m always careful, thank you,” she said, trying to get past him and be polite at the same time. “And what’s going on is that you’re bothering me.”
“Be careful,” he persisted.
He gripped her arm, but she was so upset she didn’t feel anything. She paused and stared at him, then realized people were staring at her.
“Listen—” Scarlet began.
“You’re one of us. And they’ll come after you. They’ll want you dead, too.”
Really shaken now, she jerked her arm away. “Leave me alone,” she said firmly. People were still staring at her, and that upset her further. She loathed making a scene. She left him behind and hurried down the street.
Once she was in the bar, she felt fine. She’d been there several times before, and the drummer in
