Enrique lived alone, getting money to pay for his needed medication by selling information to the police. Enrique knew everyone and had many connections, and he’d stopped worrying about people killing him for being a nark.
Diego took a step back when Enrique opened the door. Enrique had never been the cleanest of guys, and the house had always smelled. Now with Enrique alone and uncaring, the stink was bad.
A Shifter would run away howling. Maybe that was why Shiftertown was so damn clean—anything else offended their superior senses of smell.
“Hola, Diego.” Enrique shuffled away from the door. Formerly a huge man, he’d lost so much weight that his flesh sagged on his bones. “I got beer somewhere,” he said in Spanish.
Diego followed Enrique into the living room. “No, thanks.”
Diego took out a roll of cash, five hundred dollars, all twenties, and handed it to Enrique. Enrique pocketed the money without counting it and motioned for Diego to sit on a threadbare armchair.
The state-of-the-art TV in front of the chair had its sound muted, but a movie rolled across the screen in vivid images. Enrique plucked up a remote, shut off the TV, and slumped into another chair.
“It’s sometimes hard to find people in Mexico,” Enrique said, sticking to Spanish. “But I did it. They’re holed up in a little town called La Nébeda. They’re gringos, so they stand out, and they’re stupid, so they really stand out. Want me to have them taken down?”
Diego shook his head, though his heart beat faster in hope. “Stay out of it.”
Enrique shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. I won’t go to prison, won’t have time to make the trial even. Doesn’t matter what I do now. But I get that you want to do it yourself. They got your friend.”
Enrique did understand, in his own way. “Keep it cool,” Diego said. “And go in peace.”
Enrique laughed, a harsh sound. “I’d rather go out fighting. You know, in a good battle. Don’t know why you’re so concerned about me, Diego. I was one of the reasons you ran out of here like you were on fire.”
“You were taking way too much money from my mom, who was working her ass off just to keep me and Xavier fed. She says hi, by the way.”
The man’s laughter rumbled again. “Juanita Escobar is one tough lady. She gave me the money but told me what she thought of me. You were a shit. A mouthy, too-tough-for-your-own-good kid, which is why I kept having you beat up. Heh.” He shook his head. “Look at us now.”
Yeah, right, those were good times.
Diego stood up and moved to leave. “I appreciate the info.”
Enrique looked up at Diego with tired eyes. “Why don’t you shoot me, Diego? Right now. I know you’re carrying. You always hated me. You can tell everyone I offed myself. Wouldn’t be far from the truth.”
Diego hesitated. Enrique was suffering. The pain in his eyes was real. He’d been a strong man—an alpha, in Shifter terms—though Enrique always put his own interests first. Eric, on the other hand, ensured that his family and everyone in his jurisdiction was protected.
Enrique had never protected anyone. He’d collected money up and down the street, had Diego and Xavier beaten if they didn’t obey him, and threatened to shoot both of them if Diego’s mother didn’t pay him. Enrique had demanded even more favors from Diego’s mother, but she’d managed to put him in his place over that.
“Tell you what,” Enrique said. He reached into the drawer of the table next to him and pulled out a black forty-four, a big weapon. “I’ve got my piece right here. You can say I lured you over here, then I shot at you when you came in the door. You shot me back in self-defense. Comprende?”
He screwed a silencer onto the end of the gun before taking the wad of money out of his pocket and plunking it on the coffee table. “Send that to my sister. I know you know where she is.”
“I’m not shooting you, Enrique.”
“No?” Enrique grinned, dark eyes sparkling. “Too bad, because I’m shooting you.”
Diego barely dodged in time. Two bullets thunked into the solid front door, right where Diego’s head had been. Enrique shot again, but this time, Diego’s bullet went dead center into Enrique’s chest.
Enrique gasped. His pistol fell from his slack hand but he managed to smile. “Muchas gracias,” he whispered, and then he died.
Diego holstered his pistol, put the roll of cash back into his pocket, and called 911.
He left in exhaustion hours later. He’d told the uniforms who responded plus his own captain that Enrique had lured him over with the promise of information about a drug case then shot at Diego when Diego had entered the house. Diego hated lying, especially to Captain Max, but he couldn’t tell them the true reason he’d visited Enrique tonight.
Captain Max accepted the story then told Diego to take some leave, to get over the incident. Diego didn’t fight him.
He started his car and drove home. Out of the old neighborhood, leaving the past to return to the present. Cassidy. The present was so damn much better.
Cassidy had been waiting a couple hours in the pitch darkness of Diego’s bedroom when she finally heard him open the front door and come inside. Any minute, he’d walk in and turn on the light, and find her sitting there in the chair beside his bed. He’d be startled, but he’d smile and walk to her, and maybe take her in his arms. She’d explain that she’d come to comfort him as he’d comforted her earlier tonight, just as friends, if that’s all he wanted.
Diego entered the bedroom, and her heart beat faster. He could also grow angry for her presumption and ask her to go. It was the chance she’d taken, but Nell, and even Lindsay, had convinced her. Time for Cassidy to act on her needs and worry about later… later.
Diego didn’t turn on the light. He shed his jacket and gun and holster, then headed straight for the bathroom. He did turn on the bathroom light, throwing Cassidy into shadow, before he cranked on the water in the shower.
Through the open doorway, Cassidy watched him peel off the rest of his clothes. His strong, broad back came into view, and she saw a jagged black tattoo stretching across his shoulders. Next, he stripped off his pants, and now she saw his powerful thighs and legs, his firm backside.
His c**k hung, thick and long, but nowhere near erect. Whatever Diego contemplated as he prepared for his shower, it wasn’t sex.
Diego stepped into his square shower stall. The frame was rubbed brass, the walls transparent glass. Steam wafted from it, and the mirror began to mist.