Shoe Strings

  Do you know how that made me feel?”   He slapped his knees with his hands and
rose.   “Don’t answer that because
I’m not prepared to answer it either.   Look,” he began to pace, “I heard from my friend at the paper.”   He stopped and looked her dead in the
eye.   “Your father’s a drug dealer
or at the very least in bed with them.   He’s under investigation by the DEA.”
    If she hadn’t already been sitting, she would have collapsed.   Her head shook with denial, while tiny
pieces of information flew together in her brain to form a picture, like
looking at one of those 3-D stereograms that holds a secret image.   If you looked long enough, a scene would
start to take shape like magic.   “I…” She closed her eyes and let her head
fall.   When she opened her eyes
Jesse stared, waiting patiently.   “Of course.   It explains
everything.”
    “I assume you didn’t know?”
    She shook her head.   “My God, Jesse, he’s made threats.   I told you he said his life was in danger, but, before I left, he
intimated that the people I care about would be in danger too.   This proves he was telling the truth and
explains his reasons for needing my company.”
    She got up to pace, unable to sit.   He leaned against the wide windowsill,
his eyes tracking her as she prowled the small space.   He gave her blessed silence and room to
come to grips with the truth at her own pace.   “Is that why you came?   Because you found out about Davi?”
    He pushed away from the sill and faced her.   “One of the reasons.   Does it really matter?”
    “No, not now, anyway.”   She gripped the back of a vintage club chair she’d found at a
second-hand store.   “What in the
world should I do?”
    “Sophie said you hadn’t signed anything yet.”
    “No.   I had an
attorney look over the contract.   There were no surprises.   We’d hand over control of importing textiles to him personally.”   Just saying it made her feel sick.   “Is that how he does it?   He uses legitimate companies to smuggle
drugs into the country?”
      “I didn’t get
much detail, but when we go see the authorities, I’m sure you’ll get the gist.”
    “Go to the DEA?   Me?”
    “You and me.   Apparently when my friend started making inquiries, they got their
hackles up.   He told them I’d asked
him to look into the consulate.”   He
let her putting him in this perilous situation roll off his shoulders as if it
meant nothing.   “Cal said he’d
already gotten a call from the sheriff.   Either we go on our own or I imagine we’ll get dragged in.”
    “I’m sorry, Jesse.   If I’d known about any of this, I never would have asked for your help.”
    “You didn’t.   I
offered and if it keeps you from getting involved with a drug dealer, then I’m
glad I’m in the middle of this.”   He
walked toward her, cupped her cheek in his palm.   She wanted so badly to lean into him and
let him take all her worries away.   “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Angelita.”
    No man had ever cared about her, really cared.   His offer, the meaning behind his words
meant everything.   She kissed his
palm and gripped his wrist in her hand.   His pulse felt like a lifeline.   “Where do we start?”
    “You got a phone book?”
    “How about the Internet?”
    “That’ll do.”

 

 
    Chapter 31
    Jesse poked around the condo while Angelita changed
clothes.   It spoke to him, the
tomato red couch, butter yellow walls, soft chenille pillows, shaggy rug, and
vibrant art.   She’d put it all
together with her usual flare for the dramatic and it looked like her; a little
bit different, a whole lot special.   He hadn’t meant to attack her, hadn’t meant to drug himself on her
before he’d gotten a word in edgewise.   Seeing her standing at the top of the stairs with that lost puppy dog
look on her face had made a tether snap inside him.   He was going to have to talk to her
about his feelings before they tumbled out without warning.
    He turned around when he heard the clicking of heels on
tile.   “Is that what you’re
wearing?” he asked.   She stopped and
looked down at her clothes, a feathered knee-length skirt the color of mustard,
clunky wooden bracelets that went halfway up her arm, and heels with matching
quills.   The only thing he
recognized as conventional was the white button-down that nipped at the waist
and opened enough to show cleavage and an