The Stronghold. Lisa Carter

departed.

      Pilar never saw the Apache cowboy again.

      She also never saw her stepfather again.

      Tending Byron, Isabel hastened to assure Pilar she hadn’t killed the wicked man.

      Leaving Pilar unsure if she was glad or sad about this fact.

      She returned to the foreman’s house the next day to find all traces of blood and tissue wiped clean.

      And when Alex returned to the ranch, he found Byron and Pilar ensconced at the big house in rooms of their own. To the best of her knowledge, Alex never knew what happened that night—or before—to her and Byron.

      “We will not speak of this again,” Isabel told her.

      Apaches weren’t the only ones, Pilar discovered, who could keep secrets.

      Isabel telephoned the San Carlos Tribal Child Protective Services and explained how the children’s stepfather simply walked away without a word.

      Although Pilar was fairly sure her stepfather hadn’t walked anywhere. Carried, maybe. Disappeared, for certain.

      The highly respected Doña Isabel Torres was taken at her word. Child Protective Services left Pilar and Byron in Abuela’s loving foster embrace for good.

      And life, as Pilar entered high school, became good, too.

      Because indeed, Abuela’s superpower was her ability to make everything right.

      Chapter 9

      9

      The shrill ringing of his cell woke Alex before six a.m. Praying another girl hadn’t been taken last night, he half-fell out of bed in his haste to answer the call. But it wasn’t Charles or Sidd or the tribal detective he’d yet to meet.

      It was Manny To-Clanny.

      “You gave me your card yesterday and said if I ever needed you . . .” The boy’s voice sounded muffled. “I need you now. Actually, it’s Auntie who needs you now.”

      “What’s wrong, Manny?” Alex’s tone sharpened. “Are you alright? Is Pilar—?”

      “She’s not alright. I can’t get her to unlock the bathroom door. When she screamed, I found her on the bathroom floor, surrounded by broken glass. She . . .” Manny took a deep breath. “She’s cutting herself. I-I don’t know what to do.” The boy’s voice rose and ended with a whispered sob. “She yelled at me to get out. Then she slammed the door and locked it.”

      Alex squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, God.

      “Please, Mr. Torres.”

      “Call me Alex.”

      “I never told anybody about what she does after one of her nightmares. I never told Abuela, though I think she knows. I shouldn’t have left Auntie alone when she woke up. But she’s been better for so long, I didn’t think—”

      “This isn’t your fault, Manny.”

      “Something bad—really bad—happened to my auntie before, didn’t it, Alex?”

      “Yeah,” Alex whispered into the phone.

      He, Alejandro Roberto Torres, happened to Pilar.

      “I think maybe only you can fix her, Alex.”

      Alex sank onto the bed, his head in his hand. “I’ll come right away. But it’s God, not me, who’ll help her, Manny.”

      Help me to help her, God.

      “You plus God, I’m sure of it.” Manny sighed. “ ’Cause it’s your name, Alex, she calls for in the dark.”

      ***

      A fist pounded the door. The wood rattled against the frame. “Open the door, Pilar. It’s Alex.”

      Curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, her eyes widened.

      Not him. Anybody but him.

      How had—? Manny must’ve called him. The look on Manny’s face when he spotted the jagged shard of glass in her hand . . .

      Oh, God. Pilar shuddered. She was so broken.

      Lines of blood flowed down her arm.

      More fist pounding. “Pilar? Answer me.”

      She had no business raising Manny. No wonder he was getting into fights and about to join a gang. She was so messed up. Too messed up to be playing mother.

      And now for Alex to see her like this?

      She pressed a towel against the cut to staunch the bleeding.

      “Pilar, if you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to break it down.”

      “Leave me alone,” she shouted, her heart thundering.

      “Good,” he yelled. “Glad to see you’re still in the land of the living. You’ve got until the count of three and then—”

      “Just go away, Torres.”

      “One . . .”

      A soft thud against the door panel as if his shoulder tested its strength.

      She scowled. “Manny shouldn’t have called you. There’s no reason for you to be all up in my business.”

      “Two . . . Might be a good idea to climb into the bathtub so the door doesn’t land on your head.”

      “I hate-hate-hate you, Alex Torres!” she screamed.

      “So you’ve said before,” his voice thickened. “Three . . . I warned you, Pia.”

      “And I told you,” she scrambled to her feet, unlocked and jerked open the door. “To stop calling me—”

      Caught off-guard in the middle of ramming the door, Alex’s momentum carried him over the threshold. He barreled into her. She shrieked.

      The both of them reeled backward in the grip of gravity.

      Wrapping his arms around her, Alex pivoted, and turned. He—they—landed. His back took the brunt of their fall.

      The breath knocked from her lungs, her head collided with his. Alex’s lips brushed across her cheek. Her nerve endings jolted from more than the force of the impact.

      She pushed at his shoulder. “Get off me, Alex.”

      Manny poked his head inside. “You two okay?”

      “He’s got a hard head,” she grunted. “He’ll be fine.”

      Alex massaged his forehead. “I’m not the only one.”

      “You can let go of me now, Alex,” she huffed.

      His gaze flitted from her eyes to her mouth and back again. “I could . . .” He tightened his one-armed hold around her waist. “Letting go works both ways, Pia.”

      Both arms locked around his neck, she reddened.

      She planted a hand on his stomach to leverage herself and shoved. He let out a whoosh of air, groaning. Rolling off him, she stumbled to her feet.

      Using the tub for support, Alex hoisted himself upright. His eyes flicked to the bloody towel, and then his gaze fastened onto the mirror. He went rigid.

      Manny frowned. “Mia. Did you write that, Auntie?”

      Her attention fixed on Alex’s reflection. “No,” she whispered. “I didn’t.”

      Alex’s face underwent a kaleidoscope of transformation. From thin-lipped shock to lip-curled rage.

      Manny’s eyes enlarged. “Somebody broke in?” His head rotated as if an intruder lurked in the corners of the bathroom. “Who, Auntie? What does ‘Mia’ mean?”

      “It means . . .” Her eyes