“Who worked here before you?” I asked.

“Old Doc Rivera? He has a room two blocks over and he sings sometimes down at the Timpani Club.”

Two blocks over. That bordered the area where gringos weren’t encouraged to wander, but I didn’t imagine Chance could be discouraged.

“Muchas gracias,” I said to the doc as we headed out.

On the way, we passed any number of small cantinas and pharmacies, where they tried to sell Chance some Viagra to enhance his whoring experience. I snickered.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.

“At least they didn’t direct you to Tranny Alley. You’re awfully pretty.”

“I’m so glad I entertain you.” But when he glanced my way, I saw the faint hint of a smile in his eyes.

“You always did.” That much was true—whatever else our problems, we always had fun together.

Trust and intimacy, on the other hand, give us trouble.

“Good to know you remember some of it fondly.” He wrapped an arm about my shoulders to guide me around a passel of noisy Texans congregated outside a bar.

A wave of nostalgia hit me so hard I almost staggered. Once I would have slid my arm around his waist and leaned into him. Once he would’ve slid his hands into my hair as he kissed me, careless of people passing by around us. When Chance touched me, the world disappeared.

I struggled not to lose sight of why we were here, not to lose myself in him. His step slowed as if he felt that same sweet magic. Much as I tried and as far as I ran, I didn’t know whether I’d ever be entirely free of him. He lowered his head as if to kiss me.

“Hey, roja! How much?”

Given that I wore a ruffled skirt and a peasant blouse, I could understand the guy’s mistake, at least from the back, but Chance growled as he turned, pushing me behind him in the same motion. I’d never seen him wear quite that expression.

“Back the fuck off, redneck.”

“Take it easy.” The cowboy held up his hands as if to say he didn’t want a problem. “I didn’t realize she was your whore.”

I winced. That wouldn’t make it better. Impotent as we both felt right now, Chance would be spoiling for a fight.

“You need to find another chica,” I told him, polite as I could manage.

The guy had two friends with him, who laughed. “What a dumb fuck,” one mumbled. “Don’t he know to leave the ball and chain at home?”

On the corner the policía stirred, glanced our way. Local law enforcement could be swayed with a bribe, but the Texans might have more cash, if it came down to it. Even wounded, Chance could kick their asses, easy, but unless he had a fat wallet too, we’d wind up in jail. I’d noticed there weren’t many white women on the street.

“Let it go,” I whispered. “This isn’t a place to start trouble.”

He exhaled slowly. “I know what I’m doing.”

Chance lashed out in a lightning strike. The guy who’d called me a whore took a palm to the throat, and the cops started for us at a run. The other two went down in quick succession. By the time the cops reached us, the three lay in a groaning pile. I think they expected to have to break up a fight, not deal with injured idiots.

“They called her a foul name,” Chance said humbly. “My mother raised me to respect women.” That might sound funny coming from somebody prowling around the zona, but the officers simply looked confused. “Perhaps this will help offset the cost of dealing with these idiots?” I didn’t see the size of the bill he offered but the police officers jerked the Texans to their feet. They’d spend the night in jail instead of the arms of their favorite ladies.

We walked on. “You just couldn’t resist, huh?”

“Nobody talks to you like that,” he said quietly.

That sent a shiver of pleasure through me. “You’ve been practicing. You’re faster than you used to be.”

He shrugged. “Training helps me deal with excess energy.”

Surely he didn’t intend to imply he hadn’t slept with anyone since I’d been gone. I lacked the courage to ask and wasn’t sure I could trust his answer anyway.

Just before the zona devolved into rougher territory, I spied a hand lettered sign that read TIMPANI. It didn’t look like much, just a dingy white building with an open doorway. Few patronized the club, mostly older men, but pretty young girls sat on each of their laps. An old man played a battered guitar at a table near the door.

I shook my head. “Some retirement.”

“That’s him.” Chance sounded sure, so he started forward, tapped the musician on the shoulder. “Doc Rivera?”

The old man lowered the guitar with a bemused expression. “Sí, so I was, once.” Most people in Boys Town spoke broken English at least, it seemed.

“May we buy you a drink or a few minutes of your time?”

Rivera laughed. “My time is not as valuable as it used to be, so I will take the drink and thank you for it.”

I went to the bar and signaled the bartender for a round, and he delivered them in cleanish glasses. After paying with a five, I waited for my change, which he gave with a scowl. When I returned to the table, Chance was flashing the picture once more. This time, however, we received a much different reaction.

“Ay, Dios . . . it has been so many years. How is Min?”

“She went missing in Laredo,” I said quietly. “Perhaps you could tell me how you know her?”

God, I hoped Rivera wouldn’t say Min was his favorite girl. When Chance reached for me, I laced our fingers together and didn’t flinch when he squeezed too tight.

“She worked for me,” he answered at length. “Min prepared salves and potions for the ladies who could not afford to go to a farmacia for their medicines.”

“But she left?”

“Yes . . . maybe thirty years ago? She did not say good-bye. I have worried about her over the years.”

“Well,” I said. “She was fine up until about a week ago. This is her son.”

Doc Rivera shook Chance’s hand. “Mucho gusto. Sí, I see her in you around the eyes. . . .” He tilted his head. “But I am sorry to hear of your trouble.”

Chance downed his beer in one swallow. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything that might help point us in the right direction?”

The doctor glanced toward the open door. When I turned, I didn’t see anything, but his face changed, became closed and tight. “No. I’m afraid it is very late, and I have stayed too long already. Buenas noches.” He headed for the back door in an uneven gait.

“You get the feeling there’s something they aren’t telling us?” Chance said.

I stood, dusted my hands on my skirt. “You think? They’re all scared to death.”

As we left, he reached for me, tucked me against his side. The gesture warmed me, though I knew he couldn’t protect me. In fact, close proximity to Chance could prove dangerous. We’d already proved that.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you to bed. You look busted.”

Second time he’d used that endearment, and I couldn’t let it go, not this time. Not when it roused such an awful ache. “Please don’t call me that.”

Chance paused, ignoring calls from ladies in nearby doorways, and cupped my face in his hands. His voice rasped with longing. “You think my feelings for you dried up when you walked away, Corine? You’re still my love, even if you don’t love me back.”

Oh, God.

In Dreams

I hoped he wouldn’t ask me whether that was true. Eva claimed I was still half in love with him. At this moment, tired and overwhelmed, I was in no shape to analyze my emotional state. He studied my face for what seemed like a long time and then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“You ready to go?”

This time I didn’t protest when we started for the car. To my surprise nobody had messed with it. Considering its purpose, the zona seemed peaceable overall, but then there was a significant presence from local law enforcement. We climbed into the Mustang and headed for the bridge.

I thought we might have more trouble on the American side, but they just glanced at Chance’s ID and waved us through. My blue eyes and long red hair weighed in our favor; I didn’t look like an illegal. If Eva could still manage it, I needed to have her cook me a passport, something that would withstand a casual inspection at land crossings anyway.

“Why do you think your mother worked in the zona?”

He glanced away from the road briefly. “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that myself. It would help if I knew how she wound up in Nuevo Laredo in the first place.”

I watched him, such a lovely profile. His hair was longer now than when we’d been together and, right now, deliciously tousled. The dishevelment softened his fine, angular features, not that he needed further appeal.

Should I mention it? Yeah, I decided. Chance wouldn’t thank me for keeping things from him.

“I did some research earlier.”

I decided not to mention why, or what I’d suspected about his mother. Though Rivera had said she worked as a healer in Nuevo Laredo, there was no telling what she did in South Korea. Min had always been reluctant to discuss her past; she’d lived in Seoul once, and that was all we knew. Until now, there had been no reason to pry, no reason to question her secrecy.

“Yeah?” he prompted eventually, sounding tired.

“There’s a thriving sex trade between Mexico and the East, including Korea and Japan. I read about a woman who was promised a job in a plastic factory and when she arrived, she was branded with a rose and put to work in a Yakuza-run brothel.”

“What do you think that has to do with anything?”

I hesitated and finally just came out with it. “Does Min have any odd scars?”

“You think she might be running from organized crime?” His eyes seared me.

“I don’t know. We don’t have all the pieces in order to see the big picture. Did she ever say why she left Korea?”

Chance sighed as he guided the car onto highway 57. “No. I’m coming to realize I know very little about her.”

“Everyone keeps secrets,” I said. “It’s just a matter of how dangerous they are.”

“True.” He drove in silence after that. I would have given a lot to know what thoughts occupied his mind.

Shortly thereafter we let ourselves into the house, tiptoeing so as not to wake Chuch and Eva. I knew I should put on my nightgown and curl up on the couch. God help me, tonight I didn’t want to.

For once he didn’t press. Instead he merely murmured a good night and padded down the hall toward his room, surefooted as a cat. I heard the click of the door with equal measures of chagrin and astonishment. With a sigh I went to sleep by myself.

Usually there’s a drifting period, where I don’t know whether I’m asleep or awake. This time I shifted immediately into REM sleep—at least, I assumed so, because I had to be dreaming. I certainly hadn’t left the sofa, but I found myself standing on a lovely Oriental rug, woven in lush jewel tones.