Defending the Eyewitness. Rachel LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
had no idea,” she said finally.
“Most people don’t.”
“But you got to know them?”
“I sure did. Some of the mules make it back, but they’re angry because they didn’t get paid what they were promised. Others come back with tales of being arrested and sent to jail. Those are good cautions, but there are still youngsters who can’t resist the idea of six monthsʼ pay for what they think will be a few easy hours of running with a backpack.”
“God!” She drummed her fingers. “I’ve heard about all the violence, too. Is that getting any better?”
“Depends on where you are. Again.”
“It must have seemed very different from visiting your family’s—what did you call it?”
“Finca. And yes, it was very different.”
She looked as if she was about to ask another question, then bit it back. He’d heard some of what Gage had told her about him, but not all of it. “How much did Gage tell you about me?”
“That you were undercover for six years in the border towns. He didn’t say exactly what you were doing.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“Fine by me.” She gave him a pale smile. “Get some cereal. You’ve got to be hungry.”
* * *
Corey had never had anything to do with drugs, although she was certain some of her friends had indulged. They made no secret of it, really, but this was such an out-of-the-way place that if there was a drug problem it remained relatively small.
What she had never thought about was the cost of those drugs, not in terms of money, but in terms of human misery. The news had made it clear that there was a lot of violence between the drug cartels in Mexico, but she had heard nothing about the people who got enticed into carrying those drugs over the border. She had always assumed they were members of the cartel, not innocent kids who were being tempted with desperately needed money.
Until this moment, all of that had seemed far removed from her. Somebody else’s problem. But the way Austin had just described those Tarahumara boys sickened her. Their lives were hard, they loved to run evidently and were being drawn into terrible danger by amounts of money that must look like salvation.
Austin pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard. “What’s this stuff?”
She looked at it and had to chuckle at his expression. “I call it my roots and twigs. High fiber. I think guinea pigs get better food.”
He cracked a laugh. “This from a woman who brings home Danishes from the bakery?”
“The same. Who said I had to be consistent?”
He poured some into a bowl. “It looks like animal feed.”
“It probably is. I eat it plain, but you might find it easier to swallow with some sugar on it.”
“I can swallow just about anything, trust me. I wasn’t raised on caviar. Thanks for sharing.”
“Tell me that again after you’ve tasted it.” Her tone was wry, and as she heard it, she realized she was becoming a little more comfortable with Austin Mendez. Maybe it had to do with the way he talked about those Indians.
“So, no idea how you could help the Tarahumara?” she said.
“Not yet. I don’t mean to make them sound like the quote-unquote noble savage, because they’re not. They fought the Spanish more than once. They fought the French and they fought us. Mining has long since destroyed a lot of their land, about half the original population simply integrated with the rest of society, and the remainder are not above putting on a good show for tourists. It’s just that—well, I spent some time with them. The pressures on them from every direction are enormous and I’d kind of like to think there’s some way to help them hang on to what’s left rather than see them forced to raise opium poppies or run the border. Probably a pipe dream. Change, for good or ill, seems to be unavoidable.”
She put her chin in her hand. “It probably is,” she agreed. “You can’t go back there, can you?”
He paused, then said, “To that part of Mexico? Not anytime soon. I guess part of what gets to me about them is that they make me think of grist caught between the grinding stones of a huge mill, drug cartels on one side, corporations and developers on the other.”
“And you like them.”
His smile was crooked. “Those I met, most definitely. But enough of that. It’s a problem beyond a single man, there’s another country involved, and I haven’t even got a plan yet. Do you have to open your shop today?”
She nodded. “I’m always open for four hours on Sunday afternoon. When you need something for a project, you need it and you don’t want to have to wait another week because you didn’t discover the lack until Saturday night.”
He flashed a smile. “I can understand that. This cereal is pretty good, by the way. Despite what it looks like.”
“Roots and twigs, like I said.”
So, all right, she thought. Maybe having him around wouldn’t be so bad. She just hoped he didn’t feel like being sociable all the time. She spent so much time being sociable at the shop, and while she enjoyed it, she needed her quiet time, too. Of course, she could always retreat to her room with her knitting or embroidery. It wouldn’t be the first time she needed to hide out.
But Austin didn’t linger much longer. He announced he was going to scope out the town, then go shopping. Ten minutes later, he vanished out the front door.
Her peaceful Sunday morning returned. She bent her attention to the paper again but realized she wasn’t seeing much of it.
Instead, she was seeing Austin, hearing his voice as he’d talked about the Indians. She had no idea what kind of work he’d done in Mexico, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But whatever it had been, it hadn’t hardened him. No, he wanted to help a whole tribe of people.
She couldn’t think of a better recommendation of his character. Or anything that could have made him sexier.
As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she shook it quickly away and went to get dressed. She’d go to the shop early and take care of some busywork. It would be a good distraction, and right now she needed one.
A man had entered her personal space and left her wanting more. She’d think about how stupid that made her later. Right now, she just didn’t want to think about it at all.
* * *
As she was walking to her shop two blocks over, she passed Good Shepherd Church. She hadn’t attended since her grandmother’s death, but before that she’d been in the pews every Sunday. What had changed? She honestly didn’t know, but deep inside she was sure something had. Often enough, someone would invite her to return, and she had pleasant memories of the fellowship there, the potluck dinners, all of it.
It wasn’t as if church had ever been a bad experience for her, but she still had no desire to go back. She glanced at the doors, saw a few stragglers entering and just kept on walking. Evidently, whatever she might feel was lacking in her life wasn’t inside that building.
Not that she really thought anything was lacking. This was the life she had planned out for herself. She’d grow old like her grandmother, running the shop. She hadn’t completely dismissed the idea of a family, but considering her trust issues with men, she didn’t think it was very likely.
Regardless, she enjoyed her work, and that was more than most people could say. To her surprise, an hour before her scheduled opening, Daisy Loden was already waiting for her.
“Bless you!” Daisy cried upon seeing her.
“Me? For what?”
“For coming