by Karina Halle
Even the sound of her voice over the line – how buoyant it was, despite all the shit and pain she still had to be going through – did something peculiar to me. I tried not to dwell on it but it was there, lodged in my chest and growing. I wondered if she was becoming more than a curiosity to me, a mystery to unsolved. I wondered if she was someone I was actually starting to care for.
Was it possible to care for someone you didn’t know?
God, I hoped not.
The hotel called up the cab and made sure the driver agreed on the price and the return trip before we started out – cabbies were known for ripping you off and Alana didn’t live near the downtown area – and soon I was knocking at the door of her first floor apartment.
That was one thing I didn’t like about her living situation. Though the apartment building was fairly new, Mission-style with white paint and a red-tiled roof, her apartment was ground floor, opening to a small gravel yard that you accessed through an iron-wrought gate. There were bars on her windows, which was the norm here, but that didn’t mean it was hard to get inside. All the apartments also seemed to back into an inner courtyard, probably with a pool, which meant there might be another door and easy access point into her place. It never slipped my mind that while I had been watching the front, someone could have been slipping through the back.
It was taking her awhile to get to the door, so I tried to look in through her barred windows, to get an idea up close without seeing too suspicious about it. But when the door flung open, I was caught somewhat red-handed.
“Hola,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Wasn’t sure if I was home?”
She looked absolutely stunning in a white halter neck dress that showed off her perfect breasts, thin waist and full thighs. I barely even noticed her leg and arm in their casts.
“Just noticing your bars on the windows,” I said evenly. I frowned. “Is this a bad neighborhood?”
She smiled at me like I was a little boy. “It’s not the best but it’s not the worst. Most places worth anything have bars. Mexico has more crime than you would think.”
I nodded not letting on what I knew. “Well then it’s good you’re well-protected.”
“Yup,” she said, placing her clutch purse under one arm and reaching for something against the wall. I heard the electronic beep of buttons being pressed. “I’m all alarmed here. Just in case.”
I looked over her shoulder to the back of the apartment but it looked like there was no entry from the back. That gave me a bit of peace.
I took her arm and most of her weight and helped her out of her small yard and to the waiting cab. She smelled like flowers and hot sunshine and I was tempted to kiss her bare shoulders and see if they tasted like the tropics. As usual, though, I brushed the urges away and kept myself in control.
Once in the back of the cab, she was sitting with her thigh flush against mine. I was somewhat dressed up – dark jeans, white and blue pinstriped dress shirt – and yet I could feel her heat through my clothing. That and her smell and the way her hair fell across her face, highlighting the coy glimpses of her eyes and smile, was driving me borderline insane. Though we made small chat throughout the ride, my mind was elsewhere, concentrating on keeping that well-earned control I had. I had to focus on the task at hand, which of course was her. But not in that way. I needed in deep, for her own safety and my own sanity.
It took a long time to finally get to the restaurant, located in the old town of Puerto Vallarta, despite the driver cutting everyone off along the way. You either drove aggressively around here or you didn’t drive at all.
“Thank you,” she said to me as I took her arm and helped her out of the cab. When she straightened up she looked at the place and made an impressed face. “Wow. You know, I’ve never been here before and I’ve lived in PV for a long time.”
“First time for everything then.”
I picked the place because it looked a bit different from the tourist traps in the downtown area. There wasn’t much to the outside except for a tall stone fence topped with green, strangling vines and flowers that bloomed like white and magenta cotton balls. But on the other side of the cast-iron gate was a different story.
I helped her over there and a waiter opened it up, giving us a hearty welcome to Coconut Joes. I gave him the reservation name and he led us through tables with ivory-lace tablecloths, past a clear blue pool with koi fish and a waterfall, under dramatic palm fronds and all the way to a table in the back corner with a candle on it. The place wasn’t anything too outrageous or stuffy but it was just classy enough.
“Again, wow,” Alana said as I helped her into seat. I was starting to like being her nurse. She looked around, her cheeks glowing beautifully in the candlelight. “This is something.”
“Something good?” I asked as the server poured us bottled water.
“More than good,” she said. “The guys I date never bring me places like this.”
Something pinched in my chest. “Oh? They take you to McDonalds?”
She gave me a look. “Most of the men I dated were pilots. They would take me somewhere really snobby and expensive to try and seem better than they were.” She took a polite sip of her water and straightened her napkin on her lap. Every day, her pain seemed to be easing, her movements becoming more fluid. “Then the next night they would take some other stupid flight attendant to the same place.”
As much as I felt an unjustified hit of jealousy, she was giving me some information, something I could work with.
“So I guess there’s a lot of drama in the workplace, huh?” I said casually, eying the waiter who was approaching us with menus in hand. In the background “Morena de Mi Corazon” started to play from the speakers. “Spurned lovers and revenge in the air.”
She laughed. “No, not really. It was my fault. Rookie mistake to date a pilot … even though I did more than a few times.” She looked away, embarrassed. “Most guys I date are a mistake but no one seems to get hurt.”
So that probably ruled out the whole spurned lover angle. Not that I thought an ex-lover could or would attempt to have her taken out and for that amount of money. Love made people do crazy fucking things but that would have been a first in my books. Besides, if she did have an obsessed ex-boyfriend then I was sure I’d find out about him sooner or later.
The waiter came by and told us the specials. I ordered for the both of us – seared Ahi – because I’d never done that before, not even with Carmen, and made sure he kept the bottles of wine coming.
She was about three glasses of wine in, giggly and eating her fish with gusto when I started pressing her.
“So do you have any siblings?”
The smile seemed to vanish right off her face. There. I had something there. No matter what her answer was, I hit a nail.
“I have a twin sister and a brother,” she answered simply.
“Oh? And where do they live? What do they do?”
She relaxed her jaw a bit and took a bite of her rice. “My sister, Marguerite, she lives in New York. Goes to film school.”
Hmmm. That placed her out of range and a student at that.
“And your brother?”
“He lives around here.”
“In Puerto Vallarta?”
She shot me a wary look. “Around here. But he’s an asshole and I’d rather not talk about him.”
I raised my brow. “An asshole? What makes you say that?”
“I just do,” she said stubbornly. Then she sighed. “He just is. Every family has a black sheep right? Well that’s him.”
“What’s his name?”
She bit her lip and said, “Juan.”
I didn’t know her well enough to tell if she was lying or not. I’m not sure why she would lie about her own brother.
I pressed it further. “What does he do?”
“He’s in importing and exporting. Trade with America. That sort of thing.”
Well, we all knew what that meant down here
. Running drugs, like everyone else. Still, that gave me something to go on. Of course the name Juan didn’t help me much.
“What’s his last name?” I asked, knowing that sometimes the men in Mexico took on their mother’s maiden names.
“Bardem,” she said without hesitation. “Why all the questions?”
I shrugged and leaned back in my seat. “Just want to know more about you.”
Her brows knitted together as she eyed me suspiciously. “Maybe so, but you’re asking with this look on your face like you’re all David Caruso.”
“David Caruso?”
“CSI Miami. It’s still my favorite, I don’t care for the other ones.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t have the hair to be David Caruso, nor do I have the sunglasses and quippy one-liners.”
She took a sip of her wine but couldn’t hide her smile. Good, she was back to trusting me again. I wanted to ask her about her parents but I thought that would be pushing my luck. Whoever they were to her though, they were either dead or out of the picture. They had never come to see her in the hospital and the truth about her brother and sister explained why they hadn’t either.
What the hell have you done, Alana? I asked in my head as I stared at her across the table, the light illuminating her in an almost angelic way. Why would anyone pay me two hundred thousand dollars to have you killed?
And how the hell would I ever know the answers to those questions without incriminating myself?
To help her relax a little more, I turned our conversation onto TV shows since David Caruso proved to be such a good segue. There was nothing that got the passion flaring in this country like Telemundo and poorly translated American shows.
By the time we were finished two bottles of wine, it was getting late and I had no idea where the evening was going to take us. I had gotten her drunk – a little too drunk – and she was looking wistfully at the area by the pool where couples had started slow-dancing to sad mariachi music.
“Care to dance?” I asked her.
She shot me a sloppy smile. “Yeah right. The way that I am?”
I got out of my chair and held out my hand. “We can make it work, I promise.”
She didn’t look convinced but let me get her out of the seat anyway. She was extra wobbly on her feet now, particularly since she really only had one foot to stand on, but somehow I managed to help her hobble over near the dance floor.
We weren’t quite in there with the crowd of couples – I had visions of us falling into the pool – but we were close enough to feel a part of it.
“Here,” I told her, peering down into her eyes. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on.”
She did as she asked, an impish smile on her lips. Her arms around me felt impossibly good.
“What do I do with my feet?”
“Step on my foot with your good one and keep it there. Wrap your other calf around mine.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me,” I implored and her hold around my neck tightened as she placed her sandaled foot on top of my boot and then hooked her casted leg around my other calf.
“I’m not breaking you?”
“Are you kidding? You weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“My thighs and ass weigh more than that,” she pointed out.
Taking the opportunity, I slide one of my hands down to the small of her back, my fingers just brushing against the top of her curves. “I can’t be the judge of that yet.”
She grinned up at me, her cheeks flushing. “Yet, you say.”
I returned the smile. “The night is young.”
She pressed herself into me. The night is also hard, I thought to myself. There was no point hiding it though. I couldn’t imagine any man who wouldn’t get an erection with this woman pressed against them.
Focus, Derek, I told myself.
But maybe it was the thick night air, or the way we moved together to the slow waltz of a broken-hearted band, or the way she looked at me, the way she felt, so soft and so close, that made me lose focus. Just this once, I wanted to be able to feel something without thinking it through. Just this once, I wanted to feel something more than ice inside me.
Alana was heating me up, one beautiful smile at a time.
We danced for three songs until she rested her forehead against my chest and seemed to doze off for a minute.
“Okay,” I whispered into her ear. “Time for bed. Let’s go.”
I thought that would get a reaction out of her but she pulled away and nodded, her eyes still shut. I couldn’t help but grin at her, glad I could do so without her noticing.
I paid for dinner and got us in a cab. It didn’t feel right sending her off to her own place. She was drunk and vulnerable and I wanted her in my sight for the night.
The cab dropped us off at the hotel and I helped her up to my room.
“You don’t mind staying the night?” I asked her as we paused outside my door.
She giggled to herself but didn’t say anything.
Once inside, I left her on the couch and went into the bedroom of the suite. I had cleaned it up earlier, knowing there was a strong chance I’d bring her back here after dinner. All my guns and weaponry were tucked away and it looked like the hotel room of your average tourist, albeit one on an extended vacation. In fact, if anything I should have had more stuff than just a duffel bag. I was so used to traveling light.
Once I pulled back the covers for her, I brought out one of my T-shirts from the drawer, one I worked out in but was freshly washed and laid it on the bed. Then I went back into the room where she was dozing and scooped her up in my arms, carrying her to the bed. I gently placed her down on it and then held her up while I placed the shirt in her hand.
“Get dressed into this,” I told her softly. “I promise not to look.”
She looked at me through glassy eyes. “You do it. I’m too tired.”
“All right,” I said, swallowing hard, and reached behind her neck to untie the straps of her halter.
She watched me closely as I did so, her gaze daring me to meet it. So I did. The straps came loose and the front of her top floated down like tissue paper, exposing her breasts.
Fuck. They were so fucking perfect. Beautifully round with dark rose nipples that tightened in the air. Suddenly all I wanted to do was run my tongue under their soft curve then take the nipple in my mouth and suck until she moaned.
My erection strained against my jeans and my breathing deepened. All the while, Alana kept staring at me, almost asking for it. Her eyes were heavy-lided, her mouth open and wet. I was so close to kissing her hard, to letting my tongue run down that vulnerable throat and to her breasts.
I took in a deep breath and looked away from her for a moment, composing myself. I may be a lot of horrible things but I wasn’t about to take advantage of her when she was this drunk, even if she seemed to want it. She couldn’t know what she wanted right now.
Before I could think better of it, I took the shirt and motioned for her to raise her arms.
She blinked at me, shocked I guess, but did as I asked. I slipped my t-shirt on over her head and then gestured to the bottom of her dress. “I guess you can keep the rest on,” I said.
“Don’t you find me attractive?” she asked, slurring her words a bit but still sounding hurt.
I took her good hand and placed it on the bulge in my jeans “I think I do.” Then I took her hand away and put my arm around her waist, scooting her back into the bed where I quickly undid the straps on her shoe. “But you’re drunk and I’m tired and it’s not going to happen like this.”
“But it will happen,” she said, her head leaning back into the pillow. She closed her eyes and yawned.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I told her. Then I went to the washroom, filled up a glass of water and left it on her bedside table.
I closed the door just in time to see her dozing off and then settled onto the couch in
the other room. I pulled extra blankets from the closet, the nightly battle against the air con, and tried to get some rest.
No way in hell was rest coming to me in my state. I took my dick out and jerked off in minutes flat, biting down my cries as I came onto my stomach. I didn’t know what relationship I had with Alana at the moment, my own motives seemed to be changing by the moment, but I knew better than to make her aware that I was getting off to her.
Once my heart-rate slowed and the hazy warmth of orgasm flooded my limbs, trying to take me down into sleep, my thoughts became more clear.
I needed to focus. I needed to find out why she was a target and who had ordered the hit.
Things couldn’t get complicated. I couldn’t get involved. There was no way any of this could end happy if I did.
But maybe, just maybe, her staying alive was happy enough. Even if I had to walk at the end, to protect my involvement, to protect my truth, maybe if she got through this safely, that would be enough.
I had to protect her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alana
I awoke to yelling from the other room. It wasn’t the type of yelling that made you jolt out of bed, but the unnerving, haunted yelps of someone having a nightmare. I should know, of all people, what I probably sounded like.
Because the light was dim and the sky outside the hotel windows was the hazy grey of pre-dawn, I carefully got out of bed, feeling out of sorts. My head was pounding from all the wine at dinner and I felt ridiculous in Derrin’s t-shirt with my dress around my ass. My god, had he seen me naked last night?
I shook away the embarrassment, recalling bits and pieces and that sting of rejection yet again and then hopped as delicately as I could over to the door that separated the bedroom from the main one.
I opened it a crack and peered inside. Derrin was on the couch, half-covered by a blanket, and twitching. For a horrible second I thought perhaps he was sick or having a seizure but then in the grainy light I saw his brows come together in a look of pain and he softly cried out, “Carmen. Carmen.”
Carmen? I wondered if that was his ex-wife, the one who had died. Poor guy. He obviously wasn’t over her yet. No wonder he wasn’t throwing himself at me. Not that expected him to but when you’ve got a drunk naked chick in your bed it’s hard not to dwell on it and feel slighted.
