The Stronghold. Lisa Carter

allowed herself a longer look at the boy—become man—she’d once loved so impossibly. The white Oxford shirt he wore contrasted nicely with his Latino skin tone. The shirt cuffs rolled to his elbows, his forearms were rock-hard muscle. But Alex had always looked good in clothes.

      And without them, too.

      She blushed at the memory.

      The SUV jolted over a pothole, and she lurched into Alex. He caught her. His hand electrified the skin on her arm.

      She inched away and steadied herself against the armrest. “Sorry.”

      “Don’t be.”

      He removed his hand, and as if unsure what to do with it, he raked his hand over his short-cropped hair.

      She tracked the movement of his hand as he gripped the steering wheel. His hands large enough to palm a basketball, the fingers were lean and well-formed. His face was more serious than she recalled. Not the same happy-go-lucky boy she’d so lov—

      “I’ve called a team meeting for tomorrow morning to pool our notes on the case.”

      She shrugged. “I’ll be on patrol. Haven’t made detective yet. Not my case.”

      “I’ve requested you be temporarily reassigned. There’s enough work for my team, the tribal detective, and you.”

      She frowned. “I don’t think you and me on the same team is a good idea.” She sniffed. “’Cause that worked out so well with us before.”

      A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Based on what we already know about this perp, he targets Apache girls and he’s not done killing by a long shot.” He didn’t bother looking at her. “You saying you won’t be a team player for the good of the tribe?”

      “You’d be the expert on being a player, wouldn’t you, Alex?”

      Tight-lipped, he pulled to a stop on the road beside Reyna’s home. Pilar watched a silhouette of Reyna move from room to room switching on table lamps.

      “You want to go inside?”

      Pilar shook her head. “She’ll want to lick her wounds in private. I’ll touch base with her tomorrow.”

      “Kind of what you do when someone hurts you, Pilar.”

      She stared at his hands, where he white-knuckled the wheel. “Is that a question?”

      “More like a memory.”

      His voice was deeper than she remembered. And he topped six feet now. His shoulders were broad.

      “We found two more bodies.”

      This time, her gaze found his. He’d been a boy the last time he looked into her eyes. No—he’d been unable to look her in the eyes that last, terrible day—

      He switched off the engine. “Thought you’d be up for the challenge, Cater-Pilar.”

      She bristled. “Don’t call me that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no longer thirteen.”

      He cut his eyes at her. “I noticed. A long time ago. I married you, didn’t I?”

      Pilar’s chest constricted. She fought for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “And divorced me, too.”

      He shuffled his feet on the floorboards. “About that, Pia—”

      She growled. “If we’re going to catch this killer before he strikes again, then I suggest you stick to the case. What do you already know about the killer?”

      “We know he operates on both sides of the border. At first, we suspected a sex trafficking ring. But when bodies emerged in New Mexico’s bootheel, close to the border, we realized we were dealing with a serial killer. Maybe affiliated with Franco Salazar’s cartel because once on the other side, he seems to disappear out of law enforcement’s reach.”

      “Franco Salazar, the drug lord?”

      Alex’s lips thinned. “It’s been a war zone since the Flores patriarch was captured by Mexican Special Forces. Rival gangs and cartels are locked in a bloodbath to see who will emerge as the new king of the hill. Intel says Salazar appears to be the winner.”

      He made a face. “At least until someone stronger knocks him off the heap.”

      “And this serial killer is Mexican?”

      “We think so. Although the girl kept repeating ‘Oos dah.’ ”

      Pilar leaned forward. “The Enemy. What the other tribes called the Apache.”

      “Exactly.”

      “What girl?”

      He shifted. “There’s been a flood of illegals this year. From as far away as Guatemala. Mostly children. Border Patrol picked up a bunch of them last month. Took them into temporary custody at the Nogales Detention Center.”

      “But this girl?”

      “Got a file.” He jutted his chin toward the backseat. “To get you up to speed.” Engaging the ignition, Alex did a three-point turn and headed back to Pilar’s house.

      She reached over the seat and retrieved the file. She extracted the photo of a dark-skinned girl in her mid-teens. “What’s her name?”

      “Don’t know. Seemed to understand Spanish and English. Refused to speak either.” His mouth tightened. “And you note how she’s dressed?”

      Pilar studied the overblouse and traditional three-tiered skirt. The dirty, matted hair was chopped off shoulder-length. Resembling photos she’d seen of nineteenth-century Apache women. Except this photo was in color.

      “You think the girl’s Apache? News flash, Torres. I promise you every girl in San Carlos speaks better English than Apache. And nobody wears this getup anymore unless they’re one of the Old Ones or for a ceremonial purpose.”

      She lay the photograph between them. “How’d the FBI get involved in a border issue? This have something to do with your undercover work in Mexico?” She reddened at what she’d let slip.

      He grinned. “Glad to hear you were keeping track of me.”

      She scowled. “Keeping track so I’d be sure to steer clear.”

      He veered into her driveway and parked. “I’d already been compromised when—”

      She inhaled. “Your cover was blown?”

      Before she could stop herself, her finger brushed the small scar at the edge of his brow. “Is that how you got this? Did they hurt you?”

      He caught her hand and ran her palm across the five o’clock stubble of his jawline and across his mouth. His breath warmed her skin.

      She snatched her hand away. What on earth possessed her to touch him? Except for Manny, she didn’t touch people.

      Pilar buried her hands in her lap. Just because they’d loved each other once—correction, hindsight always 20/20—she’d loved him. A long time ago. A lifetime ago.

      But her fingertips tingled.

      Alex swallowed. “Though I never met him, I guess I’m the Salazar expert after I managed to infiltrate the cartel. Only just escaped, too.”

      He shrugged. “Lots of scars, most not so visible.” He put a finger to the scar on his brow. “Afghanistan, not Mexico.”

      She’d spent a half-dozen years not watching the news when she learned Alex was over there. “What makes you think this girl is connected to the bodies here on the rez?”

      “Emily says—”

      “Your Emily seems to be an authority on everything.”

      He settled against the seat. “First off, she’s not my Emily.”

      Pilar