She nodded, silent, and looked back.
The ranch was located down a five kilometer dirt road off the desolate highway sixty-seven. The closest town — La Perla — was nothing more than a few houses and dusty shops, a hard place where the locals would lean back against their adobe houses and squint into the sun, beer in hand, wondering where the years had gone.
We flew close to the sandy road, following it as it led to the compound, the dust whirring beneath the rotors. I’d picked out the spot myself last year when we snatched the property from a narco who wasn’t following the rules. There were other fincas, properties to hide in, but I liked this one the best. It wasn’t all harsh desert either. There was a wash that had some water trickling through it during the winter, and mesquite trees lined it, providing shade. The rest of the property sat beneath the rocky crag that hid a family of coyotes at its base and a golden eagle’s nest at the top.
The chopper touched down on the landing pad, which was located between the long garage and the barn. The horses in the outer pasture ran away from the sound, their tails flying in the wind.
“Oh,” Luisa said excitedly, and when she turned to look at me, I saw the woman I fell in love with. “I didn’t know you had horses.”
“We have horses,” I told her, tempted to put my hand on her leg, but not willing to risk public rejection. “Evelyn takes care of them and she will take care of us.”
Evelyn Aguilar was the mother of one of our narcos who was captured and tortured last year, probably by the Zetas. After he was found, I made a vow to keep his mother safe and employed. Evelyn lived by herself out here, looking after the ranch and the horses, and filling in as a housekeeper and cook whenever the ranch was being used. So far, I’d only come out here once and just for a few days, but her debt to me was deep, and she had waited on me hand and foot.
Luisa seemed to remember that she despised me, so her look became hard and she turned away, as if she was too stubborn to let herself get excited. I’d known she was that stubborn but I hoped later on when I told her she could go riding that the look would come back into her eyes again.
The chopper landed in a cloud of dust and was quickly approached by Borrero and Morales, two members of my security team and the top sicarios who carried out the kidnapping of Evaristo. Aside from Diego, they were the best of the best. It’s too bad that federale had to die during the event, but I knew that hadn’t been their fault. They were far too smart for that.
Borrero, tall and lanky with a skinny moustache and a penchant for wearing red, shook my hand as I got out of the helicopter. “You got here quicker than we expected.”
“Is that bad?” I asked as I walked away from the whirling sand. I nodded at Morales who was standing with his arms folded and he nodded back. If Borrero was red, Morales was black. He’d grown up in the desert and then later spent his formative years as a chief instructor for the military training camps that took place out in places like this. His skin was dark and weather-beaten, and he always wore a black cowboy hat and leather boots. Like Diego, he had a sordid past I didn’t care to know much about and was the kind of man you wanted — needed — on your side.
“Not bad,” Borrero said, following me. “Sanchez is still unconscious though.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to wake him up.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Luisa was all right. Esteban had her hand and was helping her out of the helicopter, her hair flying around her like a black cape as the rotors slowed. “Where is he?”
“In the tunnel,” Morales said as he fished a cigarette out of his front pocket. “Thought it would be a more agreeable place for him to wake up. Especially for whatever you have planned.”
All fincas have at least one escape route. This ranch had a tunnel leading out from behind the hot water tank in the basement that went all the way behind the mountain and into the wash. The other end opened up by a crop of prickly pear on the riverbank and under a camo net, shielded by nopales and tarbush. There was a black, bulletproof truck, tank full and ready to go the distance.
Remembering my manners, I stopped and waited for Luisa and the rest before approaching the house. There, on the long wraparound porch out front, was Evelyn, waving at us like an old frontier wife. Her greying hair was pulled back in braids and she wore a long peasant dress.
“Welcome,” she said, clapping her hands together. She had to be excited that she had company for once. Living out here must be lonely, though the solitude was one of the reasons I liked it so much. Having an entourage around you twenty-four seven was exhausting and I wondered if I could ever truly be on my own without someone watching me, whether for my own protection or otherwise.
“You must be Luisa,” she said to Luisa as she came forward, holding out her hand in politeness. Evelyn pulled her into a tight hug, and I had to chuckle at that. Evelyn was round and fluffy, like a stuffed pancake, and about sixty-four, though she looked much older. Nothing aged you as much as grief. Even now I was seeing more silver hairs at my temples and a line between my brows that hadn’t been there before.
“The place looks great,” I said to Evelyn respectfully. “I can tell we are in good hands.”
She beamed at that, ever grateful to me, and then to my relief she took Luisa and started giving her a tour of the sprawling ranch house. Luisa didn’t need to be a part of what would happen next.
After they’d gone, I looked to Borrero and Morales. “Show me to the federale.” I glanced at Esteban and said, “You should get yourself settled.”