“I know how hard this is—worrying and not knowing where he is or what happened tohim.”
She gave him a look. “Do youreally?”
“Yeah, I do.” He told her howsicariosfrom a drug cartel had kidnapped Natalie Benoit, a friend and former co-worker, while they were on a job-related trip to Mexico. “They killed all the Mexican reporters on the bus, shot them right in front of us. She was afraid they’d think I was Mexican and kill me, too. She didn’t know that they were there forher. They tore her from my arms, ripped her away from me. For more than a week, I had no idea whether she was dead oralive.”
Mia stared at him through wide eyes. “God, I’m sorry. Isshe…?”
“It turns out the cartel had taken Zach McBride, a deputy US marshal and former Navy SEAL, captive, too. Natalie broke him out of his little cell, and the two of them escaped. He got her safely back to the US, but the cartel came after her here. There was a big shootout, and some of my friends were caught up in that and wounded. Natalie married themarshal.”
There was last month’s holiday party, too, when terrorists had taken over the hotel, but that was still too raw. Once again, assholes had attacked his friends, and he’d been powerless to do anything aboutit.
“Tell me they at least got thebastards.”
“They did. That’s the story that won me my Pulitzer. I’m sure Elena told you about that. She tellseveryone.”
Mia’s eyes went wide. “A Pulitzer. Wow. Congrats. She didn’t tell me, but then she probably knows how I feel aboutphotojournalists.”
“Isn’t it bigotry to dislike an entire group of people? You’re judging all of us based on the actions of afew.”
Mia took another sip of wine, her gaze shifting to the window and the darkness beyond. “During my two deployments, we had plenty of journalists and photographers who came over. Some of them were ethical, but too many of them were there for the glory. Once, when one of our guys was wounded by an IED, a photographer got right in his face. The soldier was screaming in pain and in danger of bleeding out, but the photographer got in the way of the medics, making it hard for them to do their job. I literally had to push him aside, knock him on his ass. He didn’t care about LeBron’s suffering. All he wanted was a chance to make money off gore andmisery.”
Joaquin had met shooters who’d let ambition twist them. He’d felt nothing but disgust for them. “I hate guys like that. They give everyone else a badname.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is this when you tell me that you’re different, that you’re one of the goodones?”
Joaquin took a chance. “I think you already know that. That’s why you’re standing here talking tome.”
“Oh, you are smooth.” Mia laughed. “Elena is the reason I’m standing here talking toyou.”
“Ouch!” Joaquin supposed that was fair, given the day she’d had. He changed the subject. “Elena admires the hell out ofyou.”
“She’s tough, a goodsoldier.”
“What does an Army captain do when she leaves theservice?”
“Any damned thing she wants.” Mia laughed again, a sweet sound. “I went back to school and got a master’s degree in horticulture. Spending almost two years in the desert made me long to see anything flowering, anything green. I discovered that I love watching things grow. I work for the Botanic Gardens now as one oftheir—”
“Quino, where did you put your camera?” Elena interrupted. “Can you get it? I want a picture of me with my favoriteofficer.”
“Favoriteformerofficer,” Mia correctedher.
“Anything for you,chula.” Joaquin went in search of his camerabag.
* * *
Mia stoodin the doorway while Joaquin led Elena onto a bit of open wood floor to cheers from theirrelatives.
“Quino taught Elena to dance when she was only four and he was fourteen,” said a woman standing besideMia.
So, Joaquin was thirty-four—three years older thanMia.
Not that it mattered or meant anything atall.
“He’s a photographer,” the woman said. “He’s the artist of the family. I’m Isabel, hismother.”
“Nice to meet you.” Mia really ought to head home, but having seen him dance once tonight, she couldn’t get herself to move toward thedoor.
He and Elena stood there debating something inSpanish.