She perched beside Ian, fingers threaded through the metal grate, and watched the world pass by. Her father had told her that overhanging branches could knock passengers off the train. They had to be careful to stay low and keep watch, even at night. Another danger was falling asleep. It seemed impossible to drift off on a sharp metal bed rushing through space, but the rocking motion of the train was sort of hypnotic.
“I thought you wanted to board the train,” she said. He’d run toward it, after all.
“I was considering it, but I’d decided not to endanger you.”
She studied the railcars ahead of them, feeling guilty. There was no one nearby who looked anything like Sarai. Or Hugo, for that matter. About three cars down, the huddled figures became unrecognizable. She moved her gaze back to Ian and met his flat stare. He knew something was wrong. She had to tell him about Hugo before they went any further.
“I think my brother is on this train,” she said in a small voice.
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”
“He ran away two days ago. I found out the night I arrived. He planned to take the train to Tijuana and join me in San Diego.”
“So you’re here to find him. Not to help me, or Sarai.”
She moistened her lips, anxious. He’d always been gentle with her, but right now he looked furious. “I’m here for all of those reasons.”
He squinted into the distance. When his eyes sought hers again, they were cold and hard. She preferred the hot anger she’d seen in them a moment ago. This was scarier, devoid of emotion. “What’s your relationship with Armando Villarreal?”
She flinched as if he’d struck her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Assume you’d lie about him too?”
“There’s nothing between us.”
“Except a big fucking favor.”
She didn’t know how to convince him of her innocence. They’d fallen into a tense bilingual conversation in which she spoke Spanish and he responded in English. It was the easiest, most efficient way for them to communicate. But it felt fractured now, like their connection. “He saved my life,” she said, tears clogging her throat.
“Why do you think he did that? Just to be nice?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it.
“He wanted to fuck you.”
“No.”
“Come on, Maria. You’re naive, but you’re not that naive. I spent the night with you, so I know. I remember how hot you were—”
“Cállate, cabrón,”she said from between clenched teeth.
He examined her face, which felt like fire. “He’s a drug smuggler. A cartel assassin. Men like that don’t rescue beautiful young women for nothing.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you save me for the same reason? For fucking?” She said it in English, because she wanted it to sound ugly.
“Yes.”
She didn’t believe him. He’d saved her because he was a good person, and he cared about her. But his harsh words stung, even if they weren’t true. He had the power to hurt her deeply—and she had the same power over him. She’d hurt him with her deception. That was why he was lashing out at her. He was suspicious of her for professional reasons, angry with her for personal ones. She’d left his bed to fulfill a promise to Armando. Men didn’t get over such things easily. She needed to backtrack a few steps and regain his trust.
“My father rode this train,” she said.
Ian looked away, not responding.
She followed his gaze to the blur of trees against the sunset. “He would travel from that camp all the way to Nogales. Then he’d cross the border and find work in the fields. He’d be gone for months, sometimes years. We never knew when he’d come back.” She snuck another glance at Ian, who appeared indifferent. “He was supposed to return for Hugo’s seventh birthday. We had a cake and a piñata and decorations.BienvenidoandFeliz Cumpleañosall rolled up in one.”
