Page 84 of Everything We Found

“You’ve only heard what they know. There’s a lot more?—”

“I don’t want to hear a damn thing, especially from you.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Thomas barked.

“Obviously. That’s why I’m here.” James gestured at their surroundings.

Thomas grimaced. One thing sure hadn’t changed. Carlos was as stubborn as James had been.

“Goddammit.” He pounded the table. “Would you just hear me out?”

“Why now? Why not nineteen months ago when I was flat on my back in a hospital bed? Why not when my face was swollen and shoulder busted and I was going out of my mind crazy wondering who the hell I was?” He stopped, going eerily silent. His eyes narrowed. “You were there, in the hospital.”

An electric jolt shot through Thomas at his shock that James remembered. But he wouldn’t lie to him anymore, not about this.

“Yes, I was there.”

“You gave Imelda the envelope with all my documents.”

They’d been standing in the hallway. He didn’t think James could have seen them.

“I did.”

“You didn’t say a damn thing to me and you paid her to lie!”

If Thomas knew it would help his case, he would tell him the hardest thing he’d done in his life hadn’t been faking his death. It was walking away from him while he lay in that hospital bed, wondering if he’d make it out alive. He’d allowed himself oneliberty while he was there. James had been in a drugged sleep when he entered his room. “They’ll burn in hell for what they did to you,” he’d whispered to him. His fingertips grazed the back of James’s motionless hand then he’d left the room.

James grabbed a jar of paint and lobbed it at Thomas’s head.

Shit.

Thomas ducked. The jar shattered against the wall behind him. Turquoise paint smeared the wall, dripping onto the floor by his shoes. He stepped aside, feeling something against his back, and looked over his shoulder. Paint stained his shirt, speckled the back of his pants. His clothes were ruined. He could feel the stuff in his hair.

He shot James a what-the-hell glare.

James’s chest heaved. He ran his hand over his hair. “Go. Just go away.”

“I kept you hidden to keep you safe. Phil tried to kill you.”

“The same guy who attacked Aimee? Where’s he now?”

“Prison.”

“Then I don’t need to worry about him.”

“There’s more?—”

He held up a hand and Thomas stopped, debating to push his point. But his gaze had turned inward. He wasn’t going to listen to him, not today anyway.

Thomas pulled a business card from his pocket and left it on the table between them. “Call me when you’re ready to talk. But for now, it’s best you remain in Puerto Escondido.” He didn’t want him attracting attention. The media back home was still hungry for info about the Hidalgos. They’d descend on this beachside community like shadows swallowing the light if word got out that James was still alive.

“I never intended to leave.”

“I figured,” Thomas said, walking to the door. He bent to retrieve his jacket that had been spared from James’s outburstand folded it over his arm. He looked back at him one last time. “But if you change your mind?—”

“I won’t.”

“Call me,” he said, studying James like it would be the last time in a long while. “Take care of yourself and watch your back.”