Chapter 13

The cruiser’s vinyl seat stuck to the backs of my legs. I kept my hands in my lap and tried not to fidget, but the ride felt like it took forever—even though I knew it was barely a few blocks. I watched the streets roll by ... pastel stucco homes, low garden walls, the omnipresent jacaranda trees shaking purple blossoms in the wind. The neighborhood probably looked like any other quiet border town, but to me it was like another planet.

The agent driving—Ramirez, I’d finally caught his name—glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“We’ve been in touch with your employer,” he said, casual but direct. “Or, I should say—former employer.”

I stared at the back of the passenger seat. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Figured as much.”

“They assumed you quit without notice. HR flagged it but didn’t escalate.”

“Sounds about right,” I said. “I’ll deal with it later.” I didn’t say how I’d been planning to leave soon anyway. None of that mattered now.

Ramirez’s tone shifted slightly. “You’re lucky you’ve got strong advocates.”

I looked up. “I know.”

“We’re not done,” he added, not unkindly. “We’ll need a full statement. Maybe more than one. For now, stay local.”

“Not going anywhere,” I said, and meant it. I knew I’d have to make a trip back to Utah to gather my things, but that was a little further down the road.

We pulled up in front of the girls’ house. It was modest but bigger than Carmen’s—single-story with a carport, a wide lawn, and an American flag snapping on the porch post. I felt my stomach twist. Luz’s parents were somewhere inside. People who’d be perfectly justified in looking at me and seeing only risk, maybe danger. I hadn’t even had a chance to make eye contact with them over at Carmen’s.

Ramirez came around and opened the door for me—not because I was under arrest, but because protocol still hung in the air like humidity. “You’re good to go,” he said. “We’ll be nearby.”

I stepped out just as the front door opened.

Luz came first, her hair still tangled from the journey, bare feet slapping the pavement. Marisol was just behind her, fresh from a shower, wearing a loose T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was damp but squeaky-clean, pulled into a ponytail. Sunglasses perched on top of her head.

As nervous as I was, I couldn’t resist. “Well, look at you,” I grinned. “The non-fugitive version of Marisol. Nice to meet you.”

Luz giggled. Marisol affectionately slapped me on the shoulder, then got to the point. “Hey,” she said. “Give me your sizes.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Shirt, pants, shoes. Don’t argue, just give them. I’m headed to the thrift store. You need clean clothes and I’m not waiting for the FBI to requisition you a wardrobe.”

I hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“Brendan,” Marisol said, leveling me with a look. “Let me do this. You’ll pay me back later.”

I sighed and gave her the sizes—it wasn’t like I had much choice. “Thanks, Marisol ... I appreciate it.”

She gave me a satisfied nod, pulled her keys from her pocket, and headed for her car.

Luz stayed at my side. “Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand. I took it into mine and then stopped her for just a second.

“You saved the letters,” I said.

Her eyes twinkled. “So we can read through them again someday.”

Before I could reply, she tugged on my hand. She led me toward the porch. My feet dragged just a little.

“I’m nervous,” I admitted.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, pausing just before the screen door. “We’ve already told them some of the story. You helped bring us home. That’s all they’ll care about.”

I searched her face, unsure what I’d done to deserve someone like her—but grateful down to my bones that she was standing firmly by my side.

Then she opened the door, and I stepped inside.

Luz led me inside, her hand still loosely curled around mine. The moment we crossed the threshold, the warmth of the house wrapped around me like a blanket. Something was simmering on the stove—onions, garlic, something rich and familiar—and I caught the scent of warm tortillas and slow-roasted meat drifting in from the kitchen.

For a second, I just stood there, overtaken by the simple domesticity of it all. It was so far removed from where we’d been. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the smell of real food.

The living room was straight ahead. Seated on the couch were three people. One of them I knew; the other two, I was about to meet for the first time. Carmen, already smiling at me like I was a stray puppy she’d adopted; a man with streaks of gray at his temples and a quiet strength in his posture; and a woman who stood the moment we walked in, eyes red-rimmed but alert.

“Mami, Papi,” Luz said softly, “this is Brendan.”

I swallowed and tried to remember every decent manner I’d ever had. “Hi. I—uh, I’m really sorry about the way I look right now.”

Luz’s mother shook her head immediately. “Mijo, please. You’re safe. That’s all that matters. And I’m Ellie.”

I glanced at Luz’s father. He gave me a nod and stood, offering a firm handshake. “Beto Castillo,” he said. “Thank you for helping bring our girls home.”

His voice was even, measured. Friendly, but there was something deeper behind it—watchful, maybe. I couldn’t blame him.

“I’m Brendan Jensen,” I said, awkward all over again. “And ... I don’t know what I’m supposed to call you.”

That earned a little chuckle from Ellie, and even a faint smile from Beto. “We’ll figure that out later,” she said. “Just sit. Rest.”

Luz didn’t take the open chair a short distance away—she sat down on the sofa next to me, close enough that her knee pressed against mine. I felt steadier with her there, anchored. I glanced over at Carmen, who gave me the smallest nod like she was saying you’re doing fine.

The conversation stayed light. Carmen filled in bits of what had already happened, the police, the letters, how Isa’s parents were still on their way. Ellie asked if I wanted anything to drink—water, soda, juice. I said no thanks, not because I wasn’t thirsty, but because I didn’t trust my hands to hold the glass without shaking.

Every now and then I caught Ellie watching me with curiosity—not suspicion. Not yet trust, maybe, but something warmer. She was seeing me, I realized. Not just as a stranger in her home, but as someone who’d endured this alongside her daughters. That look did more to calm my nerves than anything else.

Beto, though ... I couldn’t quite tell. He was polite, welcoming even, but I got the sense he was still keeping his cards close.

The bathroom door opened and Isa came out, barefoot and wearing a too-big T-shirt with a faded band logo on it and clean leggings. Her dark hair was wet and clinging to her shoulders, and she looked ten pounds lighter than the girl I’d first met a month ago. But her smile—her real smile—was back.

“Took you long enough,” I said, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Excuse me for wanting to be clean for once in my life.”

“You planning to use all the hot water in the state, or...?”

Luz laughed beside me. “That’s kind of her brand,” she said.

Isa stuck her tongue out at both of us, then crossed the room and plopped down in the chair beside mine. I didn’t miss the way she angled herself a little toward me, like she was saying don’t worry, I’ve got this covered while she’s gone.

Luz touched my arm lightly. “I’m gonna go clean up,” she said. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Go.”

She smiled and stood, slipping down the hall and out of sight.

I sat back, letting the moment settle. Isa tapped her foot gently against mine and gave me a little sideways glance. Just enough to say, we made it.

Before we could talk further, the front door opened and Marisol stepped inside with a plastic shopping bag in each hand.

“Got you covered, Jensen,” she said, grinning. “Hope you like flannel and questionable denim.”

I laughed, and for the first time all day, it felt easy.

The conversation flowed easily, more so than I would’ve expected. Carmen kept things light, steering toward stories of the girls growing up, favorite meals, inside jokes. Beto was quiet but engaged, occasionally adding a dry comment that made Ellie roll her eyes and shake her head fondly. Isa was back to being her bubbly self, tucked into the chair beside me, hair still dripping onto her borrowed shirt. Marisol sat nearby, legs tucked under her, looking pleased with herself for her successful shopping mission.