“I have to get out of this car,” I blurted out, shocked to hear the words in my head come out of my mouth.
Glancing briefly away from the road, Brody nodded toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too.”
“Brody, I’m not jumping out of a moving car.”
Taking one hand off the wheel, he fumbled with the radio tuner. “Then I suggest you sit back and ignore me for another hour and a half.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, only there wasn’t one. He just kept punching buttons, catching seconds of a song before it was swallowed by static. Letting out a growl, I knocked his hand out of the way and turned the damn thing off.
“Hey, I was listening to that!”
“Yes, unfortunately, I was too. A hundred and eighty minutes of choppy static, and it’s driving me fucking loca!” I screamed the last word, wishing I could’ve punched him without risking an accident.
I wasn’t surprised he was acting like such an asshole. He was pissed about my overreaction about my bag, but if he was waiting for an explanation before dropping the attitude, the next few days would be very quiet.
I let him pout for a few minutes before trying again. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Good. In about twenty minutes take a right. I’m about to introduce you to food cart dining.”
Brody’s eyebrows shot up, worried lines creasing across his forehead. “I’m sorry, did you say food cart? As in food made in a cart?”
“You’re not just a pretty face, are you?” Laughing at his pissed off glare, I sat back in my seat and smirked. “Don’t worry, counselor. If you get sick, there’s a hospital van just down the road.”
Wiping a stream of crema from his chin, Brody gave me a reluctant stare and mumbled around a mouthful of food, “Okay, I admit, you were right.”
Leaning back, I popped the last piece of bread in my mouth and grinned. “I’m sorry, could you say that again a little louder?”
He flipped his middle finger and swallowed. “Don’t push it.” Attacking the last bite of his sandwich with gusto, he crumpled up the paper, tossing it on the hood of the car before leaning back on his palms. “What was that again?”
“Pambazo. It’s fried bread dipped in red guajillo pepper sauce filled with papas con chorizo.” At his lifted eyebrow, I added, “Potatoes and spicy sausage. My mamá…” I paused and stared at my lap. “I mean, Josefina used to make them for Manuel and me all the time.”
“It’s okay to remember the good times with her, Adriana. She wasn’t a part of what happened to you.”
Tilting my chin toward him, I squinted into the sunlight. “Wasn’t she? Can you honestly tell me that hours after Alejandro Carrera’s wife, sister-in-law, and one-year-old daughter were murdered, her husband showed up with a one-year-old baby, and she didn’t know exactly what happened?”
Brody thought for a moment. The lawyer in him wanted to argue for the opposition but he couldn’t. There wasn’t one. “No,” he said, letting out a breath. “I can’t.”
“Just because there’s no blood on the hand, it doesn’t mean the stain isn’t there. Guilt is guilt. The only difference is the perception of severity. So, you tell me, which is worse, committing a sin or hiding it?”
Brody didn’t say anything, and I didn’t expect him to. If I hadn’t figured it out in six months, how could I expect him to do it in six seconds? There was no quick and easy answer.
“Come on,” I said, gathering our trash and sliding off the hood of the car. “We have places to be and people to see.”
Following after me, he leaned forward, pressing his palms against the hood. “Do you have a lead?”
It was a loaded question, but one I expected. I considered my answer as I chucked our food wrappers in a nearby trash can. Dusting my hands off, I turned around and winked. “I just might.”
“I don’t like when you get that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“That one,” he said, jabbing his finger across the hood. Just to rile him up, I turned my smirk into a pout, and he responded with crossed arms and a stony stare. “Don’t be cute. When your eyes get all shiny, I end up blackmailed into doing shit that could get me killed.”
He made it too easy sometimes.
Trailing a finger along the front of the car, I put an extra sway in my hips and sauntered toward him. “Aw, you noticed my eyes?”
A groan rumbled in his throat. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”
I had to admit, as much as watching Brody go from polished to prickled entertained me, we had more important things to do. “Relax. I’ve got a connection.”
“What kind of connection?”
“I know a guy who owns a club. There’s a good chance he might have some information.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, because I knew what he was thinking, and I was right. His face said it all. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed tightly together. Arms locked over his chest. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be fine.” His nod wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but I’d take it. However, when he dropped his arms, my eyes locked on the light blue tie hanging around his neck. “Well, maybe.”
He rolled his eyes. “What now?”
“Your clothes.”
“What’s wrong with them?” His confusion would’ve been almost comical if he weren’t dead serious. “This is an Armani suit.”
“You look like an investment banker. Did you bring anything else?”
“I brought black slacks and a polo.”
I pressed my hands over my eyes. If I made it back to Mexico City alive, I’d kill Val for this. I had to think fast. Waiting until we made it to Guadalajara wasn’t an option. I was good, but I wasn’t sure I could pull a miracle out of my ass.
Opening my eyes, I held out my hand. “Hijo de tu puta madre. Give me the keys. I’m taking you shopping.”
“The hell you are.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” Dirt kicked up around my heels as I stomped around him and snatched the keys out of his hand. “Now get in the damn car. As impossible of a task as it is, you have to try to blend in. If you walk into this place looking like a Wall Street Ken doll, you’re going to get us both killed.”
“Jesus, who owns this bar?”
I flung the driver’s side door open and paused, questioning my own sanity. “My ex.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adriana
If there were a rating system for stash houses, this one would be a two star. A step above last night’s which would’ve received about fifty health code violations and a tetanus shot. At least I didn’t hear the sound of rodents running through the walls, and there were real beds instead of roadside mattresses. Plus, the shower had hot water and a tub that didn’t look like the remnants of a crime scene. My standards had seriously taken a nosedive.