“No, it’s not in your nature. You said Julia isn’t Catholic?”
“No. I’m hoping, no,praying, that once I bring her to meet you, you will agree to marry us, however unorthodox this may seem to you.”
Father Dominguez drummed his fingers on the polished armrest. “It is, indeed, unorthodox. However, Miguel, I have known you practically your entire life. I see the good work you do in this community. You are determined to rid this world of evil.” He paused. “Bring Julia to eleven o’clock Mass tomorrow morning. I will speak with her first, then with you both. Afterward, I will render my decision.”
They rose to their feet and embraced again.
“Thank you, Father. We’ll see you tomorrow at Mass.”
Miguel’s energy began to wane. He headed toward a grocery store to buy a few necessities and ordered takeout from Pop’s Diner. After he put the groceries away and ate a cheeseburger and fries with a chocolate milkshake, he texted Julia.
Miguel:I’m home, but I’m tired and plan to take a nap. Where are you?
Julia:On the boardwalk having lunch at Susie’s. It’s been a busy morning!
Miguel:Are you happy?
Julia:Yes! Be home soon.
He sent a red heart emoji and crashed on his bed.
Miguel didn’t knowwhat startled him awake. A subtle sound he didn’t recognize. A shift in the air. An unfamiliar odor. Before he could reach for his gun in the nightstand drawer, a shadow separated itself from the gloom in his bedroom and hauled him from his bed. Another shadow draped a black hood over Miguel’s head and held him in a vise-like grip. The first shadow threw hard punches at Miguel’s face and broke his nose on the third round. He grunted and swallowed blood. Miguel threw his head back and connected with his captor’s face. His hold loosened, and Miguel twisted free. He ripped off the hood and flung it at the assailant behind him.
The guy who broke his nose rushed him. Miguel lowered his head in a football tackle, grabbed his attacker around the waist, and they crashed into his dresser. Miguel landed punches on the guy’s face and ribs until the second man kicked him in the side where he’d been shot. Pain exploded. He cried out and lost focus.
Seeing their advantage, they concentrated their energy on his wounded side. He flailed, throwing wild right and left hooks that didn’t hit their mark. In the end, they subdued him, secured his wrists behind his back with zip ties, threw the black hood over his head, and dragged him outside. They tossed him into a vehicle, a van, judging by the hard metal his body connected with.
Miguel heard one of them say in Mexican,“Drive around the block and stay out of sight. I’ll take care of Julia.”
The side panel door slid shut, and the van slowly backed out of the driveway. Miguel struggled against the zip ties and cursed. He and Julia had miscalculated how badly General Escobar and the Andersons wanted to get to her, so he hadn’t been prepared,hadn’t strapped a knife to his ankle as he’d been advised. He began to wiggle around the metal flooring, trying to find something sharp enough to cut through the zip ties.
The driver must have detected his movement because he yelled at him in Mexican, ordering him to stop.
Miguel replied in Spanish,“Go fuck yourself.”
That caused a flurry of rapid-fire threats.
“Come back here and say that to my face, you fucking son of a bitch.”
Miguel hoped to antagonize the driver into doing just that. They’d left his legs free, and if given the opportunity, he might be able to get the guy into a scissor hold until he passed out.
But no such luck. His captor wasn’t rising to the bait.
With their handsgripping multiple shopping bags and laughing in easy camaraderie, Julia and Brielle breezed through Miguel’s front door.
“Miguel! We’re?—”
Both stopped dead in their tracks. They lost their grip on the shopping bags. Brielle reached automatically into her shoulder bag for her gun, but Julia grabbed her arm.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Good advice, cousin.”
The stranger pointed a Glock at them. Tall, with features reminiscent of old Spanish aristocracy, he resembled Julia’s Escobar heredity. He’d addressed her in heavily accented English.
“Who are you?”
He feigned a pout. “You see, that disappoints me. I’m your cousin, Alfredo Escobar.”
