Chapter 15 - THE WRONG APARTMENT
The protection apartment was empty.
No Camila.
No officer.
No Elena.
For nine seconds, I stopped functioning.
Then a closet door opened.
Elena stumbled out.
Her wrists were tied.
She was furious.
“They took the decoy.”
I stared.
“What?”
She kicked the door shut behind her.
“Camila isn't here.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Where is she?”
“With Lucía.”
My business partner.
Elena had moved her an hour earlier after noticing the same car circling the block.
“You didn't tell me?”
“You were being followed.”
I grabbed her shoulders.
“You didn't tell me?”
“I couldn't.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead I hugged her.
Too hard.
She said, “Ow.”
I let go.
“Sorry.”
“Later.”
The men who entered the apartment had taken a police decoy bag and an officer's spare phone.
They thought Camila had already been moved.
For the first time, we were ahead.
Barely.
Lucía brought Camila to a small apartment above her aunt's bakery.
Camila ran into me smelling like flour.
“Mommy!”
I held her until my arms hurt.
Then she pulled back.
“Can we make cookies?”
I started laughing.
Then crying.
Then both.
“Sure.”
We made terrible cookies.
Too much salt.
Camila ate one anyway.
That evening, while adults argued in the next room, she fell asleep on a flour sack.
I sat beside her.
Sofía joined me.
“My mother says my father is leaving tonight.”
“Where?”
“She doesn't know.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at me.
“You really don't trust anyone anymore.”
“I trust Camila.”
“She's three.”
“Best track record in the family.”
Sofía smiled.
Then her face became serious.
“I was wrong too.”
“About Daniel?”
“About a lot.”
She had known he was married.
He had told her we were separated.
She had not verified it.
When she realized he lied, she stayed another month.
“Why?”
“I wanted him to choose me.”
I nodded.
No judgment.
I didn't have enough clean hands left to distribute judgment generously.
At midnight, Teresa called.
She had found Ignacio's emergency passport.
His flight was not international.
It was to Cancún.
Rafael frowned.
“He has no operation there.”
Teresa said, “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“He used to.”
A pause.
“There's a hotel near Puerto Morelos.”
My skin prickled.
Daniel and I had honeymooned there.
Teresa continued.
“Your husband met Ignacio there three years ago.”
I looked at Daniel's old photos in my phone.
Honeymoon.
Beach.
Pool.
Dinner.
Then I found one picture from the hotel lobby.
Daniel smiling.
Behind him, blurry but unmistakable, stood Ignacio Navarro.
Our marriage had touched this mess before I even knew Sofía existed.
Then Teresa said, “Mariana, there is something else.”
“What?”
May you like
“That hotel belongs to you.”
