Whitewater (Rachel Hatch #6)(33)
"Us? Look Miguel, I don't want to get you involved beyond what I already have."
"The minute I picked up that phone and got into this car to come get you, I knew what I was letting myself in for. The us part is not up for discussion."
"Alright." An extra set of eyes would've been beneficial at the nightclub.
Ayala picked up speed and they motored off into the dark unlit expanse of highway. "I just hope we're not too late."
Twenty-Two
Hatch finished the last morsel of the sweet cake Ayala brought for her and the sleeping Letty. It was made by his wife using a secret recipe, and one Hatch agreed was worth protecting. She washed the moist cakey cornbread down with a bottle of Propel Fitness Water. The blueberry gave the food in her mouth a funny aftertaste.
For a moment Hatch thought Ayala might've been moonlighting as a PR spokesperson for the water distributer. He prattled on about the bottle he'd given her, explaining that this particular bottle of the electrolyte-infused drink was low calorie and not zero calorie like their others. Ayala told her Propel made a zero-calorie drink, but that he drinks the Propel Vitamin Boost, which has ten extra calories from the organic cane sugar and Stevia it’s sweetened with.
He had tapped his gut when he said it, laughing about not being the man he used to be. He later divulged his love of the water came from an insatiable sweet tooth. He used to drink lemonade by the pitcher full. His wife turned him onto the fitness water when she got tired of letting out his pants.
Hatch had seen it with some of her friends after leaving the service. They'd put on a few pounds, often proving true the age-old adage, a good soldier makes a fat civilian. She'd known more than a few hardened combat vets to add a little weight around the middle after separation. And then watched as they fought like hell to get back what was lost, often never quite getting to where they once were. Hatch had a different philosophy upon exiting the military. If you always maintain your readiness, you never have to get it back.
The last of the fluid hit her belly. Her stomach gurgled, expressing its discontent loud enough for the man who'd just generously provided a meal made at his wife's hand to hear she was still hungry. A low in a battle was always a time to refuel. And she needed more for the battle to come. She'd learned her threshold, after pushing herself under the most challenging of conditions. Through pain, Hatch found her limitations greatly reduced when she had fuel in the tank. Beyond the physical benefits, it helped with mental acuity, something Hatch valued above all else. She eyed the indicator light just illuminating the yellow E next to a gas can icon. Ayala shot her a knowing smile and rubbed the cracked seam of his sun-damaged dashboard.
"Don't worry. She'll get us there. That light usually gets me about thirty miles. Ernesto's is only about twenty miles from here. Eight miles beyond that is a small crop town with a gas station. I can fill it up after we get young Letty settled in."
They drove on for the next twenty miles and the Nissan held up. And as Ayala said, they'd come upon the turn off to Ernesto's home. He turned right off the main road, exchanging it for an unfinished road that led to a small house with a rickety front porch and a tin roof. The exterior walls of the house were a deep burgundy, and in the dark, Hatch couldn't tell if the color was from paint or rust. A railing extended along a short front porch that had several folding chairs scattered around a small table with a chess board in play. A hand-carved mahogany queen had the opposing king in checkmate.
An older man walked out of the front door of the house and stood beside a decorative wooden rocking chair waving happily. A strange sight to see after waking the older man who looked to be in his late seventies or early eighties. Most would be annoyed or at the very least groggy at the intrusion. But not Ernesto Cruz. He seemed as happy to greet this unexpected arrival as if it had been a planned dinner date.
Ayala approached, and the two men embraced in a quick and friendly hug, a gentleman's bro hug. Hatch reached into the backseat and laid a gentle hand on the sleeping teen. She felt the tension in the girl's muscles twitch, even before fully bringing the contact into her conscious mind. The girl's experience left her with the residual scars a lifetime of therapy couldn't erase, but at least she was alive.
Letty startled and launched herself up into a seated position while gasping. Hatch gave the teen a moment to adjust to her new and unfamiliar surroundings. Letty settled in and calmed at seeing Hatch's face.
"It's okay. That man over there is going to help you get home, back to your family. Do you understand? He's a good guy. Now let's get you inside and cleaned up." Hatch exited the Nissan and the girl followed. The air, even in the dead of night, was still staggeringly warm, but comparatively cooler than the daytime.
"Daphne, I want to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Ernesto Cruz, meet Daphne Nighthawk."
Hatch, following Ayala's energized introduction, gave a slight bow of her head and extended her hand to the man. Who in turn, disregarded it, pulling her in for a hug. "I'm sorry, Ms. Nighthawk. I'm a hugger."
He delivered his feigned apology in clearly understandable English. The words rolled off his tongue, making Cruz sound like Ricardo Montalban welcoming a guest to Fantasy Island. Hatch awkwardly accepted the man's welcoming. After the quick embrace, Cruz looked to where Letty was shrinking herself behind Hatch.