He glanced over at her. “Can’t you call me Rick?”
Dana debated before answering. That would mean taking one brick out of the wall of defenses she’d built between them. She wasn’t sure she dared risk it. Refusing, though, seemed churlish. Not that he had a particularly high impression of her, anyway, but she hated to add to the negatives. For the time being, she needed his cooperation and goodwill.
“I’ll try to remember,” she said eventually.
He seemed to be fighting a smile. “That’ll do,” he said, then added pointedly, “For now.”
Dana let that remark go unanswered. He was only trying to provoke her, a trait that obviously came naturally enough to him. Perhaps, if she failed to rise to the bait a few times, he’d give up and settle for the uneasy truce they’d reached. She still wasn’t exactly sure why he’d suddenly agreed to her meeting the kids at Yo, Amigo. Clearly he had a point of some sort to make.
As they neared the Yo, Amigo headquarters, the signage in the neighborhood was more frequently in Spanish than English. The taquerias, the bodegas, the promise that those inside spoke Spanish made Dana feel as if she’d unwittingly entered a foreign land. This world of immigrants, who clung to the past, to old ways and their old culture, seemed totally alien.
“Are most people here from Mexico?” she asked, her natural curiosity stirring.
“Most. Many are Cuban, a few from Central America.”
She nodded, absorbing that and the fact that in broad daylight, the streets seemed less menacing. Bundled up against the freezing wind and bitter cold of early March, people were simply going about their daily business, pausing only briefly to chat with neighbors, their breath visible in the icy air. Strains of rapidly spoken Spanish filtered through the car’s windows. Latin music blasted from passing boom boxes, the salsa beat cheerful and provocative.
It seemed so... She searched for the right word, then settled for normal. Except for the language, the street could have been any other ethnic neighborhood in Chicago, rich with color and surging with life. Where was the danger in this? she wondered.
“It changes at night,” Rick said quietly, once more displaying that uncanny knack for reading her mind. “These people stay inside after dark, even in summer. Kids aren’t allowed to play in the streets because of the threat—no, the certainty—of drive-by shootings. Children here see more violence up close than yours will see on TV. They’ll know it as a reality, as the loss of a brother or sister or a friend. It’s no way for a kid to grow up.”
Dana thought of Juan Jesus, whose presence in her neighborhood had stirred such controversy and wrath. As worried as she’d been about his influence on her kids and others, would she have wanted this life for him, instead? He was just a boy who’d already seen too much, experienced things no child should have to endure. Gazing around her, she gained a tiny bit of insight into Ken’s perspective.
And Rick’s, she conceded reluctantly.
Leaving her to her thoughts, he turned the corner into the alley behind Yo, Amigo. Dana recognized it. She had crept down it just the night before, staying in shadows, filled with determination and rage. She was calmer now, but no less determined.
Rick stopped the car just a few feet from the back door in a spot clearly marked as his by the scrawled name in bright yellow paint on the brick wall of the building. It was surrounded by fading graffiti. If she’d been paying attention, as she should have been the night before, would she have spotted his car there? She thought back carefully. She couldn’t summon a single image of any car being in the alley. Surely she would have noticed it and checked it out. Her skills weren’t that rusty.
“Where were you parked last night?”
He regarded her innocently. “You were in a very big hurry. Are you so certain I wasn’t right here?”
She thought about it once more, then nodded with more certainty. “I’m positive.”
“Very good,” he praised, though his tone was mocking. “Actually, I left the car at home and hitched a ride over.”
“Why?”
The question seemed to make him uncomfortable for some reason, so she asked it again.
“Because we’ve had a few problems.”
She could see that the admission cost him. “What sort of problems?”
“Unwelcome visitors,” he said tersely.
“Other than me?”
He smiled at that. “I wasn’t expecting you, at least not last night.”
“Truthfully, you weren’t expecting me at all, were you?”
“Your friend seemed all but certain you’d turn up here eventually.”
Dana persisted. “But you didn’t believe her, did you?”
“No,” he admitted. “At least, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to come creeping around here in the middle of the night, since you’d never been inclined to show up with Ken during the day.”
“I didn’t stay away out of fear,” she protested.
“Just disapproval,” he guessed.
She realized that in his eyes that was far, far worse. Compared with her compassionate husband, she had to seem cold and hardhearted. She didn’t want Rick’s opinion to matter, but oddly enough, it did. Even so, she refused to waste time right now trying to change it. Even if she’d explained about the boy she had once trusted, would he have understood? Or would he have said that was just one boy, that others shouldn’t be condemned for his mistakes? Ken had said that often enough, but it hadn’t swayed her. She hadn’t had his capacity for forgiveness or his willingness to risk a second, more dangerous betrayal.
Now, though, she needed to get inside, to start looking at files and talking to people. She had to do something, find at least one solid piece of the puzzle. The compulsion that had brought her back from Florida was stronger than ever. Once again, she had allowed Rick to deliberately distract her. She wondered how many more times she would come up against the tactic as he tried to protect his precious program.
“Are we going to go in or are we going to sit here all day analyzing my psyche?” she inquired testily.
“Analyzing your psyche might be fascinating,” he said. Before she could respond, he added, “But you’re clearly too impatient to get on with your agenda to cooperate.”
She reached for the door handle, but before she could open it, his hand closed over hers. The shock of his touch, the heat of it, stilled her. He waited until she turned to look at him before he said a word.
“One bit of caution—proceed slowly in there. If you go in like a private detective, they won’t talk.” His gaze locked with hers. “I’ve taken a huge gamble by bringing you here. I won’t let you hassle them.”
“You promised—” she began, only to be cut off.
“I promised to bring you here, to let you get to know what we’re all about. If you get answers as a result of that, fine. If you can’t live with that, I’ll take you back home right now.”
She didn’t like the rules. Nor was she certain how she would operate within them. “How will you explain me?”
For a moment he seemed to be weighing the alternatives. “I’m going to tell them who you are,” he replied eventually.
Her gaze narrowed. There was more. She could read it in his eyes. “And then what?”
He smiled. “And then I’m going to say that you’re here to take up where your husband left off.”
She stared at him, aghast by the suggestion—no,