Preston raised his eyebrows. “Sounds a little too Freudian for me.”
“It is. I knew she hated me the moment I met her. She couldn’t stand to see another woman in Manuel’s life. I think she feared how much he seemed to care about me. And she rejected Max because she thought that having Manuel’s son gave me too strong a hold on Manuel. So she made Manuel feel guilty for falling in love with someone who wasn’t of the same background, made him feel he was letting his family down or not taking enough pride in his heritage. And, of course, she found fault with everything Max and I ever did.”
“But Max is her grandson.”
“To her, he’s simply an extension of me. A rival. She treated us as though we weren’t good enough for Manuel and tried to convince him of that. What he probably doesn’t realize is that she wouldn’t approve of anyone.”
“So she’s as selfish as he is,” Preston said, leaning on the counter. “Because, from what I’m hearing, it’s all about him.”
“It didn’t used to be that way. But, with his mother’s encouragement and example, the ambition and drive that once attracted me grew out of all proportion, slowly destroying his better qualities,” she said. “Until he gets older, Max is just another weapon Manuel can use against me, the most reliable in his arsenal.”
“What’s the point of forcing you to be with him?” Preston asked. “If you don’t want to be there, he doesn’t really have anything.”
“In his mind, I belong to him, like his clothes, or his car, or his house. He doesn’t feel he should have to let me go simply because I want to leave.”
“I know this guy isn’t normal, but what kind of man—”
“It’s possession, like you said. An ego thing, a compulsion to conquer, to own,” she interrupted.
So Manuel was your basic nutcase, and Preston might be risking his own safety by getting involved. He waited for that small piece of information to diminish his overactive libido—but it didn’t seem to make any appreciable difference. Maybe that was because self-preservation hadn’t been a real priority of late. Or else he wanted Emma even more than he’d thought. “You were attracted to this guy because he had ambition?”
“Among other things. He wasn’t like this when I first met him.” She combed her fingers through her long hair, which fell straight and shiny around her shoulders. “When we first met, he was away from his family. He was younger, more flexible. We were going to school, having fun, falling in love. But once we moved to San Diego, he started…working in the family business. He…changed.”
“What’s the family business?”
He assumed she’d say they owned a restaurant or a dry cleaner or something, but she didn’t. She sighed and said, “You don’t want to know.”
He finished half the bottle of juice, wondering if he should take her at her word. But he’d always been a glutton for punishment. “Tell me anyway.”
“They claim to import marble from Mexico.”
Claim seemed to be the operative word. “But…”
“I think they import something besides marble.”
“Something like meth or cocaine?”
She nodded. So she was talking about drugs. She thought Manuel’s family was involved in drug trafficking.
Preston tried that on for size. Now he was standing between a nutcase who lived and moved in the violent underworld of the Mexican mafia, and a woman and child. Nice. The perfect position, actually—for a man with a death wish. For the past two years Preston hadn’t been so crazy about living, but he didn’t intend to leave this world without Vince.
He dropped his head in his hand. Now why did I track them down in Ely?
Because he couldn’t abandon them, or Emma and Max would face the threat of Manuel alone.
“I can tell you’re excited to hear this,” she said wryly.
He peered up at her. “Ecstatic.”
“I won’t blame you if you want to go on without us.”
Maybe he should’ve asked some of these questions before. Maybe then he would’ve been able to go on without them.
But he doubted it. And it was too late now. He’d already met Manuel—and he wasn’t about to let him or anyone else harm Emma or Max. “What about the police?”
“You’d think they’d be able to help, wouldn’t you?”
He straightened. “Theoretically.”
“I guess the practical application poses a problem. Manuel has a big family, many of whom aren’t even U.S. citizens. And drug smuggling is a tough thing to prove, at least on his level. It’s usually only the carriers who are caught.”
This kept getting better and better. Yet they were alone in a hotel room with the memory of Ely between them. The sudden image of pressing Emma into the couch as he kissed her made Preston clear his throat before taking a sip of his juice.
Good thing he was a man who knew what was important.
Retrieving another bottle of juice from the refrigerator, he held it out to her. Emma should be eating more nutritiously. She was wearing herself too thin and needed to be healthy if she was eventually going to make it on her own.
“They charge six bucks each for these,” she protested.
“Don’t worry about it.” Opening the bottle, he carried it over to her and sat in the opposite chair. Ever since he’d noticed her burn, he’d been wondering about something, but he was almost afraid to ask. “You said Manuel expects Max to be perfect.”
“He does.”
“Is he abusive to him?”
“Not abusive. He’s hard on him, often demanding that he behave more like a ten-year-old than a five-year-old. He over-reacts when Max can’t perform, and he’s way too protective.”
“But he’s never hurt Max physically?”
“No. At least not yet.”
“Was he heading in that direction?”
She leaned her chin on her knees, which she still held to her chest, looking young and vulnerable in her dishevelment. “He was certainly heading in that direction with me.”
“Has he done more than burn you?”
“Only in the worst of our fights.”
Only. Preston wished he’d decked Manuel when he had the chance. “What did you fight about?”
“Me getting a job. Me pushing for more freedom. Me wanting some access to our money.”