He’d picked a fight with Dinah as El Rey had suggested, and had told her that he intended to take a day or two away from everything to clear his head at the rustic cabin he owned on the road to Cuernavaca in the hills just outside of the small town of Tres Marías. The hurt and lack of comprehension in her eyes had been like a dagger to his heart, but he hadn’t faltered, even though his self-loathing had blossomed with every step toward the condo door.El Rey had been adamant that he couldn’t even hint at what was to come, and that any foreshadowing would be a death warrant if she were questioned. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and he’d slipped at the last minute, hugging her and sobbing as he held her in his arms, which he hoped would be viewed, in retrospect, as evidence of his precarious mental state – distracted and unbalanced.He retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment and moved around the exterior of the house to the thousand-liter propane tank, which he’d filled the last time he’d been there with Dinah seven weeks earlier.
