Page 7 of Desperate Justice
The job again, as if his family blamed the FBI for everything. He changed the subject.
“Mama, how come you never remarried after Dad died? Did the family pressure you to remain a widow?”
The question didn’t seem to surprise her. Carmela looked around the room and gestured to everyone.
“Rafey, it was my decision, and my decision alone, to remain a widow. I loved your father. Jeff will always hold my heart. I could never love another man as much as I loved him, and the same for him. We shared a connection that goes deeper than marriage. One day, soon, I hope, you will meet a wonderful young lady and have that same kind of love and devotion.”
My devotion is to my job.
He looked around the room. “Why did you stay in Miami instead of moving away and getting a fresh start in life? We could have lived near Dad’s relatives in Ohio.”
“I needed my family and their support. They were there for me in a way I hope you’ll never have to experience. I was a policeman’s widow with four children who relied on me to hold things together. And you, Rafey.”
She stroked his hair back, her expression troubled. “You were so angry, so young. You needed your family as well.”
Rafe picked up her hand and kissed it, rubbing it against his bristled cheek. “Mama, I do love my family. It’s just...”
I need more. I need my career. I need to keep the bad guys off the streets so drug dealers don’t create more widows like you.
He finally said what he’d been thinking and feared to admit. “I miss him. I always will. I don’t want to ever forget him, and sometimes it feels like no one really remembers him.”
“We remember, Rafey. But life goes on. Your father, more than anyone, would say that.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like anyone remembers him, Mama. Always at the family gatherings, there were things he liked, like domestic beer...”
“And hamburgers and American desserts that made his sugar rise.” Carmela made a face and laughed.
“I like American desserts as well,” he told her. “I’m American.”
“You are American, but you are also Cuban, Rafey. Here.” She touched his chest. “You were born in this country, you are a true American. But don’t deny your heritage simply to honor your father. Honor him by living a good life. And be happy. That is all he would want for you.”
She patted his hand again and went to join his sisters.
Rafe headed to the bar and had the bartender pour him a bourbon. Sometimes he didn’t know who he was. White, like his father and American as apple pie and fast-food restaurants? Or Cuban, with big family dinners on Sunday andpastelitos?
The job made it easier. On the job, he didn’t think about his culture or who he was. He was an FBI agent, dedicated to taking down the bad guys. Maybe that was why the job was his life. Maybe his grandmother was right. He avoided his family because they brought up an aspect of his life he couldn’t face.
The job mattered most right now because, Cuban or American, he was the best person to take down Hector Hernandez. Rafe knew everything about the man, and putting him behind bars would make Miami safer for everyone. The beauty salon raid was only the tip of a dangerous iceberg.
His thoughts drifted to Allison Lexington. Why was she there at the beauty salon? Seemed awfully suspicious.
He hoped like hell she wasn’t involved in something illegal. Because it would be a shame to put her pretty butt behind bars. To some, Allison being at the salon was only a matter of bad timing. But his gut told him otherwise.
Rafe had a bad feeling he was right.
Cousin Luis joined him at the bar, ordered a club soda. He grinned. “Why are you hiding? Did Ronnie threaten to fling achanciaat your head for being late?”
Rafe gave his cousin a pointed look. “Ronnie’s wearing heels, not flip-flops.”
“Ah, then you’re running away again from the fam?”
The question stung because it rang of truth. Rafe shrugged, sipped the bourbon and watched Sofia dance with her father. He smiled at the love in his brother-in-law’s eyes, the shining look on Sofia’s. In a few years, she’d be off to college, maybe find love, marry and have a family. He wished only happiness for her.
“They’re all worried about you,” Luis said.
Rafe shot him a puzzled look. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”
Luis glanced at the bartender, gestured to the window. Apart from the crowd, his cousin spoke in rapid Spanish.
