Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

tightly. He gave
her a little salute and went into the hotel.
    Through the glass
doors Emilia could see a wide lobby open to the ocean. A long bar angled along
one side. A mosaic façade spelled out Pasodoble in shiny blue tiles.
People in clean, white clothes carried cool drinks as they walked by the grand
piano.
    “Not your kind, chica ,”
Rico said. He put the car in gear and they started the long painful drive up
the steep road to the highway.

Chapter 3
     
     
    Emilia woke up
slowly. Her muscles felt like a train wreck as she lay in the narrow bed under the
rough wool blanket. She flopped over on her side to check the time and groaned.
It was 7:00 am and Rico would be there in an hour to pick her up.
    The bed creaked as
Emilia rolled herself upright, got her feet on the terracotta, and rubbed until
her face felt warm. She’d blithely said that they wouldn’t lose the car and had
convinced Kurt and Rico that offering it up to those seeking the counterfeit
was the right thing to do, but in the cool morning air, she wasn’t so sure.
What if they managed to take the car? What if they didn’t come back and find
it? Would they keep stalking Kurt? More importantly, who had set up the ambush
on the highway?
    Emilia and Rico
had cooked up a plausible story to use in case the car was gone. Emilia was to
say that the car had broken down late at night after dropping off Rucker. She
hadn’t been able to get a tow truck because it was too late and too far out of
town so she’d called Rico for help. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong so
he’d driven her home. They’d come back to get the car with a tow truck in the
morning, but the car was gone. If Lt. Inocente decided they’d displayed poor
judgment and referred their case to the union for arbitration, both Emilia and
Rico could lose their jobs.
    She pulled on a
sweatshirt and jeans, unable to shake her growing anxiety. The story sounded
like so much bullshit. Emilia hastily kissed the fingertips of her right hand
and pressed them to the crucifix above her bed. “ Jesu Cristo, ayudame ,”
she murmured.
    The water coming
out of the bathroom faucet was cold and splashed away the last vestiges of
sleep. As Emilia headed downstairs she heard her mother’s voice. Sophia
invariably was up early, talking to herself as she made coffee and chilaquiles or sticky rolls for breakfast.
    Emilia crossed the
small living room, feeling the familiar shiver of pride at the color television
and upholstered sofa and loveseat that had all come from the Liverpool
department store. She pushed open the door to the kitchen. The yellow concrete
block house was small and neat, with two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and a
front room, kitchen, and extra toilet on the main level. There wasn’t a lot of
furniture but what they had was the best quality that Emilia could afford and
there was a real stove with an oven and hot water whenever she or her mother
Sophia turned on the faucet. “Good morning, Mama,” she said.
    Sophia was at the
counter, slim and attractive, her long dark hair roped into the usual braid
down her back. She wore plastic flip-flops and a flowered apron over a dress
with an equally cheerful print. Most people assumed Sophia was Emilia’s older
sister rather than her mother and her smooth, unlined face wreathed into a
smile as she handed Emilia a mug of hot coffee. “Good morning, niña .”
    “Thanks, Mama.”
Emilia was about to raise the mug to her lips when she realized there was a
third person in the kitchen.
    A strange man was
sitting at the table drinking coffee. There was a plate next to him as if he’d
just finished breakfast. He was probably in his mid-50’s, with a defeated look
in a turned-down mouth. His clothes were old and worn and not very clean.
Emilia knew without asking that he’d been sleeping on the street.
    “Who’s your
friend, Mama?” Emilia asked softly.
    Sophia moved to
the table and put her hand on the man’s shoulder. “You don’t