Not Without Her Son. Kay David

concern. “That’s in Texas, you know.”

      “Julia?” Jorge’s voice deepened as he said her name, his voice wary.

      A wave of unease rolled over her as she glanced at Jorge, who continued, “I asked you a question. Do you know this man?”

      The biker looked at her, as well. She sealed her fate with three words. “Yes, I do.”

      Jorge’s suspicious expression deepened but, after a heart-pausing moment, he tucked his weapon into his belt and put out his hand. The injured man winced and let out a sharp exhalation as Jorge pulled him to his feet. Julia stood, too.

      Ignoring the man’s exclamation of surprise, Jorge patted him down with efficient thoroughness. He finished and stepped back, his wariness marginally less visible. Stan winked at Julia before straightening his shirt. “You guys get real friendly around here mighty fast.”

      “This is a dangerous place.” Jorge’s reply sounded like a warning instead of an answer. “It is necessary to take precautions.”

      “That may be true,” Stan drawled, “but where I come from, we at least know each other’s names when we get that close to someone’s cojones.”

      Julia felt as if she should be able to see the tension it was so thick. Her pulse racing, she spoke quickly. “Of course. Where are my manners? Stan, this is an associate of my husband’s. Jorge Guillermo.”

      The two exchanged a handshake as Stan glanced toward the SUV. “Damn, Julia Anne, I’m sorry about your vehicle there. You okay?”

      The use of her middle name startled her. He was trying to prove he knew Meredith.

      “We’re fine.” Her voice was a little strained, and she hoped Jorge thought it was caused by shock from the accident. “But I’m not so sure about you. Why don’t you let me look at that scrape? It’s bleeding pretty badly.”

      He shook his head. “It’s not that serious. We can clean it up at Aunt Portia’s. That’s where you’re heading, right? She told me you were coming over later today. Didn’t know I’d run right into you on the way!”

      What on earth was happening? How did this total stranger know she was going to Portia’s? Julia hadn’t told Meredith her plans, had she?

      “Portia’s is exactly where we were going,” she acknowledged. “But are you sure? I think a trip to the clinic might be in order first—”

      “No way,” he interrupted. “It’s nothing but a scratch. Don’t think I can say the same for the bike, though.”

      The three of them looked at the crumpled motorcycle.

      “I could probably pull the cycle out from underneath if you could back up the SUV.” He turned to Jorge. “What do you think?”

      Jorge’s expression remained guarded. Miguel surrounded himself with smart people and Jorge was no exception, despite his frequent employment as Julia’s babysitter. He and Miguel were as close as brothers and had been ever since soon after they’d met at the University of Texas where they’d both been business majors.

      The connection registered immediately. There was no such thing as a coincidence. What did it mean that this man was from Austin, too? Her earlier apprehension returned. What was going on?

      Interrupting her thoughts, Jorge handed her the keys. “Back up the truck,” he ordered. “I’ll help him remove the motorcycle.”

      He didn’t trust her to be alone with the man—not even for the short time it would take to reverse the SUV. Or was it vice versa? While considering, she hesitated for less than a second, but Jorge noticed regardless.

      “Is there a problem?” he asked sharply.

      “No,” she said. “Absolutely not. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. Is it safe to do this? We could call a wrecker—”

      “We’ll be fine,” the biker said with a slow smile, his eyes locking on hers. “Just fine. Don’t you worry.”

      Once, when she’d been six years old, Julia had left the back door of their Mississippi home open and a rattler had slithered inside. When she’d seen the snake in the kitchen a few minutes later, she’d screamed so loudly the yardman had run into the house without even knocking. He’d compensated for his lapse in protocol by dispatching the unwanted guest.

      Since her marriage, she’d often thought she’d let another snake into her life.

      Suddenly Julia had the feeling she’d done it again.

      THE TWO MEN YANKED the remains of the cycle from beneath the SUV, the Harley’s fender screeching a shrill protest against the pavement. They proceeded to gather up the bits and pieces scattered around the road and put them in a pile to one side.

      “There’s a decent mechanic in town,” Guillermo said when they finished. “But I don’t know if he’s good enough to handle this.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands with it. “He’ll need parts from Bogota. If I were you, I’d start looking for another mode of transportation.”

      The bodyguard’s expression was neutral, but Cruz caught the undercurrent of his words. “Good idea,” he said in an equally indifferent way. “I’d hate to be stuck here without a way out. Poor planning, you know?”

      They exchanged another look, then Julia beeped the horn. Leaning through the open window, she called out. “Are you finished?”

      Guillermo nodded and started toward the driver’s side of the SUV. Julia got into the passenger seat, and Cruz took the back by himself. Cruz could tell the arrangement made the bodyguard nervous but he held his tongue, started the vehicle and pulled it back onto the road.

      “Skip the market,” Julia ordered Guillermo, “and go straight to Portia’s. We need to get Stan’s scrape cleaned up as soon as possible. You can drop us off there then go back and buy the supplies we need.”

      “That’s not how we do it, Julia. Miguel won’t like it—”

      “It’s how we’re going to do it today,” she replied. “Because Miguel wouldn’t like a lawsuit, either. You were driving way too fast or you would have been able to stop in time.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Cruz as if for confirmation. “I’m sure Stan doesn’t have plans to raise a fuss but he certainly has grounds to do so.”

      “The thought never crossed my mind,” Cruz answered in a deliberately lazy voice. “I’m not into the justice system myself. I think we oughta dump all the lawyers out to sea and settle our problems ourselves. I bet you agree with that philosophy, huh, Bill?” He reached over the seat and patted Guillermo’s shoulder in a friendly way. The touch was brief, but underneath his fingers, he felt the broad strap of a second holster. The body guard had two weapons, just as Cruz expected.

      Behind the wheel, Guillermo grunted. Scattering children and dogs, old ladies and chickens, they wound their way through the narrow streets of San Isidro, a cloud of dust marking their passage. There were pockets of privilege and wealth that came close to resembling Miguel’s compound with its broadband Internet service and satellite telephones, but most of the city remained in the past. Cruz had been to Havana once and he couldn’t help but compare the two places.

      There the clock had stopped when Fidel had taken over—the cars were straight from the fifties, few homes had televisions and even fewer had enough food for every member. Here in San Isidro, on the back streets anyway, time had stopped before then. The cars he saw were older and more beat-up and most of the homes had no electricity. Their definition of running water meant it was running in the street, not inside the homes.

      They slowed before Portia Lauer’s home and Guillermo honked the horn. Under a red-tiled roof, white stucco walls gleamed in the bright sunshine while along the side of the house, rows of bougainvillea swayed in the breeze. In stark contrast to the street they’d just come down, the Englishwoman’s villa could