Taming Cross

  I nod slowly. I didn’t really plan on having this conversation with a kid. “I'm looking for my sister.” My fingers twitch in the direction of my pocket, but of course, the photo I had is gone. “I lost my photo of her—” and the video in my inbox on my phone, of Missy King wearing a baseball cap and a heavy coat, is next to worthless if I even have service— “but she's got red hair and green eyes. She's not very tall, but she is pretty. Close to my age,” I say.

  I can tell I've hit the jackpot. She’s chewing on her lip.

  “What is her name?” she says, cleverly biding time. She fiddles a bit more with her necklace, and I feel sorry that I've put her so on edge.

  “Her name is Meredith Kinsey, but she once went by Missy King. She was kidnapped, more than a year ago, but she escaped. I’ve been told she took refuge here.” The girl doesn’t confirm my story, so I add, “Sometime recently, the cartel came looking for her. That's what happened to your building, isn't it?”

  She clenches her eyebrows and shakes her head, and at that moment, I hear the clicking of a woman's shoes.

  “Alexandria.” I hear an older woman's voice before she rounds the corner. When she does, I note a nun's habit and a face that's stretched wide in alarm. Her eyes narrow as they run over the girl's slim form. “Alexandria,” she says, relieved, “go into the back room and help Sister Rita with her reports.”

  The girl's eyes hold the older woman's for a moment, and the older woman nods. The girl clutches her necklace, and I realize it must have been some kind of alarm.

  A second later, the girl is gone, and the nun is standing stone still, looking stern, and I feel like I’m about to get thrown out of catechism class. “What is your business here, sir? Do you have a child that we can help?”

  I shake my head. “I'm looking for someone. My sister, Meredith. She once went by the name of Missy King. She was kidnapped and sold. I heard she might be here.”

  I'm searching the woman's pretty brown eyes for some hint, but she gives nothing away.

  Instead, she folds her arms across her chest and sighs. “Whether she is here or whether she is not, it makes no difference. We have no business with those who seek to do harm to others.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” I make the sign of the cross. “I was reared Catholic.”

  She arches a brow, and her eyes move from my sweaty head to my dusty toes. “And what are you now?”

  “Looking for someone.” I lean in closer and let my urgency show. “And I don’t have much time. If she’s here, I’m her best shot at getting out. But it has to be now.”

  More like I’m her only shot, because it really does have to be now, and the sister seems to get it. Her thin lips press together. “Follow me.” Two men come around a desk and she says, “They need to check you for weapons.”

  I hand her Carlos’s Beretta, plus the giant magazine tucked into my pants. “I want it back when I go.”

  “Of course,” she says smoothly.

  They have scanning wands, and I'm slightly shocked when the one on my left goes off around my hip. The one being wielded by a dude on my right goes off around my neck. The men, both of them muscled enough to be imposing, grabbed me by my arms, and the woman holds up her hand.

  She comes around behind me, runs her fingers along my neck, and presses something at the base of my skull that almost makes me purr.

  “You hurt your neck,” she says simply.

  I nod, turning to face her once the men drop me. She nods at my legs. “You hurt your hip?”

  I nod again.

  “You have a slight limp. Only slight. It must have healed well.”

  “Observant.”

  She shrugs. “My job.”

  She holds her hand out, and when I don't take it right away, she grabs my left one from my pocket. When I recoil, she says, “That's what you are hiding in your pocket.”

  I exhale. “Yeah.”

  She opens the door to a small office and I step inside. “Tell me about the woman you are looking for. I want the whole story.” I hesitate again, and she puts her hand on my shoulder, urging me into a fold-out chair. She walks around to take a seat at her faux wood desk, where she sits her hands on the table and nods at me. “Go on now, the whole story.”

  I find myself giving it to her. Not the abridged version, but the whole story, leading to my wreck, to the conversation I had with my father, and finally—when I can tell she knows where Meredith Kinsey, or Missy King is—my hunch that I need to keep my real name quiet at first. Because Meredith might not leave with me if she knows who I really am.

  “If she's in danger, I want to get her to the States, where I can help her. It's the least that I can do.”

  “And your father?”

  “I would never give her back to him. I'm going to get in trouble for it, but I plan to turn him in.”

  She nods for a long time before standing up. “Come follow me, Mr. Carlson.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I'm pretty sure if I have a visitor, it's not one I want. My heart pounds so hard I can barely draw a breath as I follow Sister Mary Carolina down the hallway in the direction of the prayer rooms.

  Why is this happening today? Is this Jesus? I decide as I walk briskly behind the woman who's been most influential in my life, that if this is one of is Jesus's guys, I’ll go willingly. The Sisters have said over and over that they won't allow that. That we all stand together; that's the only way it can be. But I can’t let harm come to them.

  The only thing I can’t figure out is why Jesus would send someone to kidnap me after the message Father Mendez delivered.

  Sister opens the door to a small reading room with green carpet and white bookshelves, and we pause before going in. All at once she pulls me to her chest and kisses my head.

  “Be brave, Merri, my love. You must do what you must do. We only want what's best for you.”

  And then she...leaves. She leaves me here, before I even see who's in the room.

  For the longest second, I stay on the threshold, staring at the man who is facing the bookshelf. My eyes run down the length of him, expecting to find Jesus or one of his sicarios, but that's not what I find.

  I don’t know who this man is. He’s tall, with dark hair and large bones. Long legs, wide back, big shoulders. He looks lean, almost sick, because I can tell he should be bulkier. He reminds me of a starved lion I saw once in a documentary.

  He turns toward me slowly, and as he moves I'm frozen, like in those nightmares where you're being chased but you can't run.

  At first I'm not looking at his features—only the expression, which is somehow both solemn and surprised. And I feel like I've been struck dead, because he has an angel's face. It's not just the flawless blue of his eyes or his celebrity-perfect bones. It's not his perfect, straight-line nose or that lush, cherubic mouth. It's not his smooth skin. It's what I see inside his eyes. Something so intense, so sad, so ecstatic, so relieved, that I know he must be God's answer to my prayer.

  For the longest moment, he just looks at me. I feel like I'll unravel in the brilliance of those ice blue eyes. I'm so thrown off I whisper exactly what I'm thinking.

  “Are you here to take me?”

  His lips curl slowly, into something that's not at all a smile. My heart stops as he steps closer.

  “Rescue you.” His eyes. They're still on me, burning through me. Holding my gaze like his hand is under my chin. His throat works and he seems to struggle with his words. “Meredith Kinsey.” His chest heaves. “You're her. You're really her.”

  I wrap my arms around myself as my throat constricts. Nobody here in Mexico knows my real name.

  He strides closer, close enough so I can smell his sweat and see his stark white teeth. And his skin: I can't see a single pore. His lips aren't chapped. His nose isn't crooked. His eyes are even bluer this close. Tall, dark, and handsome, I think dizzily. I'm gawking at my killer.

  I back into the bookshelves, holding out my arms. “Who are you?” It's e
mbarrassing, the way my voice comes out a croak. I flail behind myself for a heavy book and hold it out like that might keep him away.

  His blue eyes widen. “You don’t believe me.”

  “No joke!” I’m shrill. My chest is heaving now. He starts to step closer but I wave the book. “Don't do that! No! I want to know who you are, right now!”

  He's from the U.S. Government. He must be. Sean really did pin everything on me and I'm a wanted woman. Wanted for dealing drugs. And they found me down in Mexico! I have ties to Jesus Cientos!

  Mother Mary, I'm going to go to prison.

  My eyes fill with stinging tears, but I'm not sad. I'm angry. “Do you know why I'm hiding here? Because a Mexican drug lord wants to kill me. Because he bought me as—” my voice cracks here— “a sex slave! I was sold as a sex slave! I don't know what Sean told you but I didn't do those things. I have my flaws, I have my flaws but I was just his girlfriend!”

  I burst into tears—angry tears; my lifelong nemesis—and it's not a second later that his hands are on my shoulders, squeezing gently but firmly. I’m terrified and outraged, but his right hand moves to the crown of my head, smoothing down my hair, cupping my neck, and God help me, it feels really good. Too good. Maybe he was sent by Cientos. I jerk back. Look up into his eyes. Again, the shock: This guy is seriously hot. I shove it away and side-step toward the door.

  “Why are you here?” I hold my arms out. “What do you want?”

  “I told you already. I’m here to help you escape.”

  “Who says I need help?”

  “I do. And I know you don’t have much time.”

  Does he know about tomorrow? How, unless he does works for Jesus? But why is he here if he does? “If you’re a sicario, just be straight with me. I don’t like suspense.”

  He’s confused, and growing frustrated. “I get that you have a lot of questions, but we don’t have much time. I got into it with one of Ciento’s guys—”

  “So you are with the cartel!” I jab my finger at him, and he groans.

  “Noooo. I’m trying to get you back to America.”

  My heart starts pounding so hard I think I might pass out “D-do you want me because of Sean? Because I know him—knew him.”

  “No. I don’t even know who that is.” That seems to be the truth; I feel a cold rush of relief. “I only want to take you back.”

  “Who are you?”

  He smiles a little, lopsided. “I'm your guardian angel, Meredith Kinsey.”

  I’m not buying it. “I go by Merri.”

  “Merri.” He says it with so much relief. “Merri, we don’t have much time. I got in an altercation with one of Cientos’s guys, so by now Cientos knows I’m coming for you.” I try not to shake as those blue eyes blaze. “We need to leave ASAP.”

  “I— you can't.” I stand there, breathing hard, struggling to explain why to him and myself why this thing I’ve wanted so bad can’t work. “If I were to leave with you, they'd find us.” My heart aches at the thought of what might happen to the clinic. “And plus I can’t be sure you’re not with them. How do you even know my name?”

  He leans back against a bookshelf, looking weary. “You're a missing person, Meredith.”

  Missing. No I'm not. I've been right here. It feels to me that the rest of the world has gone missing. I lean against the bookshelves, too, because my legs are giving out.

  “Who do you work for?” Her green eyes, still bright from tears, are dancing, angry now. Her strawberry hair, tied into a bun behind her head, glints in the fluorescent light. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are tight.

  Meredith Kinsey in the flesh is super hot, so help me.

  I grit my teeth and try to focus on what she said just now. Who do I work for? Right.

  I don't have an answer for that. Preparation never was my strong suit, so I just bullshit. “I find sex slaves and people sold on the black market and bring them back into the U.S.”

  She blinks. “For what agency?”

  Uhh...what?

  “What agency are you with? FBI? The State Department.”

  Fuck. I clear my throat. “We’re a group of bounty hunters. We do contracts for the government.” That seems plausible—or maybe not.

  “Which branch of the government?” she asks.

  I scratch my head. “I’ve only been with the outfit for not even a year. They just send me on jobs.” My dad always said I was good at looking dumb. He also taught me how to lie.

  She folds her arms under her gorgeous breasts and looks me over. “How did you get here?”

  Flailing... “I rode a motorcycle.”

  She doesn't like that. I can tell, because her lips pinch and she lets her breath out slowly. While I fumble for something to make it better, she fires again. “Why do you look familiar?”

  My throat tightens. Is it possible that I look more like my father than I thought? I blink, then shrug, like I haven’t the slightest. “No idea.”

  She brushes a stray strand of hair off her forehead and sighs. “I’m not used to American faces anymore. That’s probably it.”

  Whew. “Probably.”

  “How do you plan to get me away?”

  You’d think she found me on the Internet. “Uh, I've arranged for you to cross the border. With me.” Well, no shit Sherlock. Damnit, I'm striking out, but Merri is shaking her head. She doesn't seem to notice.

  “I can't leave.” She closes her eyes briefly. When they open again, they’re wet. “The people here would be made to pay. They'd get hurt. I would need protection for them.”

  “What happens if you don't leave? Do you think that was the last bomb?”

  She nods. “I do.”

  “Are you crazy?” Her eyes widen, and I nod. “Yeah, your intentions are pretty clear. You know the nuns here want you safe. You should be safe.”

  Merri's eyes squeeze shut, and when she opens them, she looks bleak. “I'm sure they do, but I just can't. I can't risk innocent lives.”

  This floors me. “Aren't you innocent?”

  She brushes her palm over her cheek, like she's wiping away a tear. “We work with children here. I can't leave. It's just...not safe.” A strand of hair falls from her bun as she lowers her head, looking at the floor with wide, wet eyes.

  “I'm sorry,” she says, jutting her chin up so our eyes meet. “Thank you for coming to find me.” Her delicate mouth trembles. “Just tell them that you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After a stunned moment, I follow Merri out of the door, but she was in a hurry, and she’s nowhere to be seen. I start wandering the halls. I have no idea when the cartel will come for her—for us—and I don’t think I can risk finding out. I don’t want to force her to go with me, but I’ve got to figure out something.

  The first thing I do is return to the waiting area to see if I can find my gun. The young girl from before is helping an older kid sign in on a clip board, and I don’t see either of the guards or the older nun…I forgot her name. I turn around in a circle, and that’s when I see it: the bottom end of the magazine, sticking out from between the leaves of a droopy, flowy plant sitting atop some filing cabinets.

  Checking to be sure the girl is still helping the kid, I grab the gun, attach the magazine—just to be on the safe side—and stick it back in the belt of my pants. I hope by the time they notice it’s missing, Merri and I will already be out of here.

  After maybe twenty minutes of searching, I pause in the middle of some hallway and let out a deep breath. Meredith is here. Missy King is Meredith Kinsey. I almost can’t believe it. I wonder again how she came to this fate—but does it matter? Am I still trying to ease my guilt? I pick up my pace and keep on the lookout for nuns, for anyone who can direct me to Meredith.

  The building is actually four buildings: one that was apparently the old cafeteria, and was all but decimated by the bomb; another in the front that serves as the clinic; another pod serving as the sanctuary; and still another unit with the dorms. I
've wandered into the church pod.

  The carpeted halls are dark and smell like old Play Doh. I pass a young nun who is busy cleaning; she glances at me, then hurries by. An older nun chases a little girl who laughs ecstatically as she rushes past. I just keep moving, reminding myself that I’m doing nothing wrong. Another hall, a sharp right turn, and I see signs for the sanctuary. I peek inside, hoping to find Merri praying, but it's empty. The painted porcelain crucifix on the far wall glows under two weak lights. It kind of creeps me out. I cross through a hall at the back of the clinic, and I'm pretty sure that this will lead me to the dorms. Where I hope to find Merri.

  I'm feeling more and more stressed thinking of where the cartel is right now, when like an apparition, I see a swatch of reddish hair flying down the hallway right in front of me.

  I pick up my pace, and I'm about to shout Merri's name when she ducks her head, and I notice the way she's dressed: black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, plus sneakers. And she's creeping, like she doesn’t want to be seen.

  Interesting.

  For a half second I hope maybe she's looking for me, but then she goes down another hallway, pushes through a door, and disappears.

  By the time I finally get the nerve to follow her into the room, at least a minute has passed. It’s dark when I walk in. Then I notice movement, and I realize a window is open. A window is open, revealing a small swatch of the deep pink sky, and Merri is halfway out of it.

  I don't think before acting. I close the distance between us in half a second and wrap my hand around her upper arm. “What are you doing?” I have a sick feeling in my stomach when I ask this. I've built Merri up to be innocent—the opposite of everything I'd thought about Missy King—but what if she's really some kind of drug runner or something?

  Then she looks up at me, and I know I'm wrong. Her eyes are huge, her mouth a worried twist. And when she speaks, her voice is barely more than a rasp. “Are you here to take me to Jesus?”

  “What? Fuck no! I already told you that I'm not.” I tighten my grip around her soft, warm arm, trying to tug her gently toward me, but her hands cling to the window frame.