3 Whatever Hector was into, Alejandra wasn’t interested. But she was. They scrounged lunch in the deserted first floor café while the gun battle finished dying off around them. They sat side by side in the cool darkness of the kitchen, their backs against the steel door of the walk-in refrigerator and good visibility of both approaches—each with their rifle across their lap. They’d found cold beer, but Hector had opted for water so she’d done the same. “Where the hell did you go, Hector?” “North.” The only thing north was the US. “Why?” His frown said he didn’t like that question. Not a bit. She finished her empanada then nudged his ribs with the butt of her rifle. “You told me to go. Said you’d kill me if you ever saw me again,” his face said that his second empanada tasted like