I look out the window. The body of Luis’ dead henchman lies unattended in the dirt. Flies drone around like the corpse in a cloud. A pack of mangy dogs materialize from the brush around the village. They sniff the body, take tentative nips as if testing to see if there is any life left, any movement that could signal a threat. After a while, two of them work in concert, grabbing the ankles, yanking the body to the side of the well out of my view.

Away from the lone man standing outside the nearest shack.

Luis’ guard, the only one not searching the perimeter for the girls, stands at attention beside the door to the shack. Trying to ignore the dogs. But he can’t ignore the sound. He can hear as well as I the noise the dogs make as they tear into the flesh of Luis’ victim. His eyes swivel back and forth. Sweat trickles down his face, stains the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t try to wipe it away. He doesn’t move at all, afraid maybe to incur Luis’ wrath like the man being torn apart on the other side of the well—especially if the wrath takes the form of a bullet to the brain.

I’m glad the girls are huddled in back. They can’t see or hear this.

When I think it’s safe, I climb out of the back window and drop silently to the ground. I have only to make it a few feet before reaching cover. Then I’m scurrying through the brush like a desert coyote, eyes, ears and nose alert for the return of Ramon and his men or the approach of Luis’ search party. Those cowards seem to have disappeared. Maybe the idea of facing repercussions for not being able to find the girls made running away a more favorable option.

The duffel remains where I left it. Culebra’s shack is within sight, but I don’t take time to reach out to him. I’ll let him know that Max is on the way when I’ve gotten back to the girls.

I lift the duffel carefully, hold it against my chest to keep the guns inside from shifting around. It’s so quiet around me, even the slightest sound might draw attention.

Then I’m racing back to the church. When I reach the back window, I lower the duffel silently to the floor and climb in after it.

The four girls are just where I left them, clinging to each other, breathless with fear. The older girl’s eyes flicker with relief when she sees me.

I zip open the duffel to see if there are any more of the protein bars inside. There are only two left. I hand them to her. “Éste es todo. Tu tienes que compartirlos con las otras.” When she’s taken them and is dividing them, I ask, “¿Como se llama?”

She waits until the three have started to eat, before she answers, “Esmeralda.” She points to each girl in turn, “Francisca, Dorotea, my sister, Peppi.”

“Do any of the others speak English?”

Peppi alone looks up from her bar. She has been eating slowly, one tiny bite at a time. “Sí. Yes. A little.”

I rummage in the bag to see how much water is left. One bottle. Shit. I think back to a few hours ago when I used a bottle to wash the blood from my face. A stupid waste of water. Water these girls need. With a sigh of self-recrimination, I pull the last bottle out and hand it to Esmeralda. “This is all the water.”

She understands and opens the bottle. She tells the girls in Spanish, “Take just a sip. We must make this last.”

There are no groans of protest, just grateful smiles. Each in turn tips the bottle to parched lips and swallows a mouthful. When they pass it back to Esmeralda, she recaps the bottle without taking a drink herself. She hasn’t eaten her bar, either, but has rewrapped it and slipped it into a pocket in her skirt.

She reads the question in my expression. “I don’t need it. They might.” Her eyes turn to the girls.

She is saving hers for the little ones. “You need to be strong for them. At least take some water.”

“You haven’t.”

And there’s a very good reason for that but telling her what it is might make going back to Luis seem a better bargain than staying here with a vampire.

“I drank a bottle earlier,” I lie. “I’m fine. Please. At least take a sip.”

She seems ready to argue but then, since I don’t appear ready to give in, she opens the water bottle and brings it to her lips. As if I can’t tell she’s not really taking a drink. Then she carefully recaps the bottle, and stares at me until I give her a grudging nod.

She’s stubborn. She reminds me of me.

I like her.

Nothing to do but hunker down and wait for Max and hope he gets here before any of the villagers realize no one has yet made a thorough search of the church for the missing girls. The fact that Luis’ men couldn’t move fast enough to get away from him is working in our favor. Hiding in plain sight does sometimes work.

Esmeralda has the three girls gathered around her like a mother chicken with her peeps. They are all so quiet, so withdrawn. Since they arrived less than twenty-four hours ago, and Luis has had other things to occupy his mind, maybe I’ll be able to get them away before their nightmare becomes worse than being kidnapped and drugged.

And what Luis had planned for them is infinitely worse.

CHAPTER 40

I’VE NEVER SEEN CHILDREN SO CALM AND SILENT. I guess that’s what happens when you’re scared to death. I’m the one who has to remind myself not to keep checking my watch, not to get up and pace to the window. Luis’ shack faces the church directly and if the guard sees a flicker of a shadow or a face at that window, he’s sure to come investigate.

My whole body burns with the need to do something. Waiting has never been easy—not when I was human, especially not now as a vampire. David used to hate doing surveillance with me. I’d get so antsy, he’d say I was like a maggot in shit. Crude but accurate. I couldn’t sit still.

What happens when Max gets here? As long as Ramon hasn’t returned, the answer is easy. I “question” Luis about the whereabouts of his brother while Max frees Culebra. Then we get the hell out of here. Get the girls to safety, come back to mop up.

If what Culebra says is true about Ramon, he’s as dead as the Santiago brothers.

I’m sure Culebra will insist. As will I.

Peppi is whispering something to her sister. Esmeralda looks over at me. “She has to go to the bathroom.”

The little girl has a look of embarrassment on her face.

“It’s okay, Peppi,” I whisper. “Go behind the vestibule door.”

Esmeralda helps her sister to her feet and points to the door. Peppi scoots around her, glancing back at us as if ashamed her body has betrayed her.

“What about the others?” I ask Esmeralda.

She asks, but the other girls shake their heads. I think they are afraid to move away from her protective arms.

“Are you all from the same place?” I ask Esmeralda when Peppi has returned and settled down once again near her sister.

“Yes. A village not far from here.”

I think of Adelita’s story. “Were you brought here with the promise of jobs?”

Esmeralda’s face grows dark with anger. “Jobs? No. We were kidnapped from a schoolyard. In the middle of the day. In front of our teachers. They stood by and watched, too frightened of the narcos to fight to save us.”

“Did you know the men who took you?”

“Yes. The men in our village grow amapolas . . . um, poppies. When the men came, we thought it was for the opio. The drugs. But they took us instead. For El Jefe.”

She is quiet for a moment. “I begged them not to take the little ones. They laughed and said I could come along, too, if I wanted to take care of them. They didn’t know Peppi was my sister. But the way they said I could come along, the way they laughed, I knew what they were going to do. I had to stay with the niños. To try to protect them. But I failed.”

“No. You were very brave. And we will get them out of here. Someone is coming soon to help us. We need only be patient for a little while longer.”