The Sometime Sister by Katherine Nichols (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📕

believed we would pick up where we were before he married my sister. I wished I could have dismissed this idea as ridiculous. What self-respecting woman would take back a man who cheated on her in such a demeaning way? But if I were being honest with myself—something about sitting in a jail cell encouraged unfettered reflection—I would have to admit the old Grace might have considered rekindling our romance. Not so much because I loved the bastard, but because losing Stella had left a gaping hole in my heart—one I was terrified I would never fill.

So, it wasn’t crazy for him to imagine a reconciliation. And it wasn’t illogical that when I hadn’t followed his script, he went berserk. I pictured him struggling up, eyes inflamed from the blast of Mace, and how furious he must have been knowing I won that round. But he would never concede the game so easily. No, he would plan his next move.

That’s when it hit me: Ben was having me followed. He knew I’d met with both Eva and Adelmo. He had been the one who sent the sheriff to arrest me. And if he had enough pull to do that, it wasn’t a stretch to believe he had manipulated Stella’s investigation to go his way.

I had to get out of this stupid cell and do something.

Before I could determine what that might look like, footsteps sounded in the corridor. The same guard who locked me up released me.

Justin and Ramirez stood behind the reception desk. Justin’s mouth was set in a thin, grim line. I could almost hear his teeth grinding.

“You are free to go for now, Señorita Burnette. But you are forbidden to step within one hundred feet of Señor Ben Wilcott.”

I gave Ramirez what I hoped was a disdainful glance, brushed past the men, and sashayed into the warmth of blinding sunlight. It had been less than two hours since I’d entered the local jail, but it seemed much longer. I sucked in deep gulps of freedom.

Justin passed me without speaking. I followed him to the rental, and he started the ignition before I was inside, barely giving me the chance to shut the door before he gunned the engine. His tires squealed as he cut the wheel and sped onto the main road, sending gravel spraying in our wake.

After we were on the main road, I gave him a side-eyed glance and saw the muscles in his jaw twitching. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but the crease above the bridge of his nose was deeper than usual.

I cleared my throat. “I appreciate you—”

“Do. Not. Speak.” He pressed his foot on the accelerator, snapping my neck into the headrest.

Clumps of wildflowers and shrubbery blurred as we flew toward the villa. I wondered what had happened with Justin. Had Prez’s contact given him any real information, or had he wasted his entire morning? By now, I was sure he was aware both he and Harry had been sent on fools’ errands. Shit! I’d forgotten about Harry.

I remembered the expression on Luis Cordoza’s face when he told us there were no pictures in Stella’s file. If it was procedure to photograph the body, why would my sister’s case have been different? I suspected there had been photos and somehow Ben had gotten possession of them.

Justin screeched into our parking spot at the villa and hit the brakes hard. When I reached for the door handle, he spoke.

“Hold on,” he commanded. “I need a minute.” He exhaled and continued. “What the hell were you thinking? Sending me off to talk to some stoner about buying weed from the locals while you were off doing God knows what with that lunatic Allen!”

I started to answer, but he hadn’t finished.

“And what about Harry? Is he chasing his tail in Guayaquil so you could play Nancy Drew?”

“Well, I—”

“And getting arrested in a foreign country? You realize you don’t have any rights here? They could lock you up and throw away the key. That’s what I should have let them do. At least, I’d know where you were.”

He scowled at me. I expected a second wind, so I saw no need to respond.

“I was worried sick when I realized you’d gone off by yourself. Which I figured out as soon as I met that dimwit boy Prez tried to pass off as a local gangster. When I got to the hotel and you weren’t there, I was sure he tricked you, too. A maid told me you and that jughead took off after I left and I thought, Oh, no! Grace might be in trouble running around with that hippie imbecile.” He pounded the steering wheel and glared at me. “And I was right; you were in trouble. But not because Prez was a threat. Oh, no. Because you went along with him willingly without a clue of what he might do to you. And you didn’t tell me anything.”

He took off his sunglasses and waved them close to my face. I scooted as far away as possible.

“If you’ll let me explain,” I began.

“Oh, you’re going to explain, all right. But not here. Come on. Let’s go.”

He released the auto-lock and shoved his door open. I trailed behind as he stormed down the path.

He went straight to the refrigerator, removed a bottle of aguardiente, opened it, and poured it into a juice glass. He drank and shuddered. Then he poured another and handed it to me.

All I wanted to do was wash the jailhouse off me but refusing him didn’t seem to be an option. I sipped and gasped as the fiery liquid blazed its way down my esophagus. A droplet slipped into my windpipe, and I began choking. Justin sat at the kitchen table where he watched while I sputtered. After several seconds, I caught my breath.

“Jesus! This stuff is terrible.” I fanned myself.

He ignored my beverage critique. “Hey, if you’re tough enough to get thrown in jail for assault, you’re tough enough to drink