by Sharon Sala
“Who do you see?” he asked.
His hair had fallen down on either side of his neck, partially hiding his face from view, and even though they’d never been this close or this intimate, it seemed that she’d known him forever.
“I see you,” she whispered, and spread her legs.
Adam’s pulse shifted into a higher gear. Her invitation was impossible to misunderstand. He slid into the valley between her thighs, rocking against her a couple of times without penetration, testing his own willpower while waiting for a positive invitation.
“Who am I?” he asked.
“The man I want.”
She locked her legs around his back, caught him on a downward thrust and pulled him in.
The joining was immediate, and at the same time, Sonora felt a physical shock, as if she’d touched a live electric wire. She shuddered as she closed her eyes, and still she saw Adam’s face, silhouetted against a shower of sparks.
“Don’t close your eyes.”
His demand seemed impossible to heed and yet somehow, Sonora managed to focus. She saw him, and she saw herself. In a way, it seemed as if time stopped and she was outside her own body, watching them make love. They rocked and writhed in perfect unison, while the shadows from the lamplight flickered upon the walls. Soft whispers, coupled with a moan and the occasional sigh played an accompaniment to the dance.
Sonora was caught up in the act of making love in a way she’d never known before. Her sense of self was gone, leaving her at the mercy of this man and his skill at bringing her to a frenzy.
She wanted—needed—begged.
He heard her—felt her desperation—matched it with need of his own. Being inside her was like being caught in the storm they’d endured earlier. It was happening, and they were in it together, but without any control.
One moment she was caught up in the power between them and the next she was coming apart. The wave of the climax washed through her so hard that she heard herself scream.
The sound ripped through Adam like a bullet through flesh, shattering mind and body alike as he climaxed along with her.
Coming down from the high they’d created left them both exhausted and breathless, but there was a peace inside Adam that he hadn’t felt since he’d come home from the army. Whatever there was between him and Sonora, he wasn’t willing to lose it. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, so that she was now the one on top.
Sonora lay sprawled across his chest, her long legs entwined with his, her fingers tangled in his hair. There were unashamed tears on her cheeks and a flush to her skin. She felt as if she’d been in a flash fire and cleansed by the heat.
All of the ugliness and the loneliness of her past had been reduced to ashes by this man and what they’d done together.
Slowly, she raised up on her elbows and looked down at him, marveling at the gentleness in his eyes and remembering the passion with which they’d made love. Somewhere between the bed and the moment he’d taken her, the act of sex had been replaced by something more. There had been men in her life before Adam, but there would never be another after him. She didn’t know what he hoped to gain from being with her, but she knew what she wanted from it.
She wanted him.
Gently, she traced the dark wings of his eyebrows with her fingertips and kissed the shadows his lashes left on his cheeks. She could feel the faint ebb and flow of his breath from his slightly parted lips and shivered, remembering that he’d actually made her scream.
“Adam …”
His nostrils flared.
“Don’t say it,” he said. “No promises are needed. Not now. Later, when you come to know and accept that you are forever safe with me, there will be promises made. But not now. Just know that you are in my heart and in my blood.”
Sonora’s lips parted and she started to speak, then stopped. He was right. For now, all they needed to do was savor the magic they made together.
“All right. But … I have one thing to say.”
He smiled. “Of course you do. You’re a woman aren’t you? Women always have to have the last word.”
“Then let me have it,” she said, and when he grinned, she laid her hand on his chest. “I see you, Adam Two Eagles. Do you see me?”
Adam was shocked by quick tears that blurred his own vision. Showing emotion, let alone feeling it like this, was foreign to him. He groaned beneath his breath as he reached for her.
“See you? Woman … I am numb to everything but your touch. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I am forever changed by what we’ve done.”
Sonora raised up and then sat, straddling his thighs. Adam lay silently, watching the play of light and shadows flickering upon her body from the candles.
Slowly, he watched her as she rocked back on her heels and began stroking him, gently at first and then faster and faster until he was rock hard and aching for a release. It was then that she raised up and took him inside her.
Time ceased. Life shrank to a pinpoint of promised ecstasy as she swung her hair away from her face, arched her back, then bore down, racing with Adam to the end of the dance.
Later, when they could move without shaking, Sonora rolled over onto her side. Adam curled up behind her, pulled the covers over them and held her while she slept.
He watched the shadows lengthen throughout the night as the candles finally burned out, and daylight was only a whisper away. He watched her sleeping while morning broke and drowned the darkness in a fine display of pale light. He watched and remembered his vision and knew that there would come a day when she would need him and he would be helpless to come to her aid. It was the worst thing he’d ever faced—worse than anything the army had ever thrown at him—worse than believing his own life might end. He didn’t know the face that danger would wear for her, but he knew it was coming.
* * *
Miguel Garcia was, as the cowboys used to say, laying low. The men who’d been sent out to search for Sonora Jordan were making progress, but mostly by elimination. He didn’t know where Sonora Jordan was, but he knew where she wasn’t, and he knew where she’d been.
There had been two separate sightings of women they thought were the female agent, but both had proved to be mistaken identities. He was frustrated at having to hide in a country that was not his own, and absolutely convinced that he’d been betrayed by someone he trusted. There was no other explanation for how the DEA knew what he was driving and how long he’d been in the States. He’d thought about it long and hard and the only name that kept coming to mind was Jorge Diaz. It seemed impossible to believe that the man who’d helped him escape was the same man who’d betrayed him. There was, however, one way to find out and it meant another call to Emilio Rojas.
* * *
Rojas was sitting in a lounge chair under a pair of palm trees holding his newest grandson. The day was hot and sunny in Juarez, just the way he liked it. The baby was his twelfth grandchild, but the first one who had been named for him. Family had gathered for a Sunday meal after church and Emilio was counting his blessings as he held the monthold baby boy.
A peacock was perched on a low limb nearby, emitting intermittent squawks of disapproval for the fact that the yard it normally occupied was full of running, squealing children.
Emilio was laughing and urging on the games that the children were playing, when he looked up and saw his oldest daughter, Pia, coming toward him carrying the phone.
“Papa, it is for you,” she said, handed him the phone and took the grandchild out of his arms.
With a few quick words, she ushered the children to another part of the yard to give Emilio some privacy to take his call.
Emilio was not all that happy with the interruption, and after he recognized the caller, even more displeased.
“Miguel, why are you calling?” he asked abruptly.
Miguel frowned. “I have another favor to ask of you.”
Emilio stifled a curse. He was old. He was tired. He didn
’t want anything more to do with the drug world, but it was easier said than done.
“And what would that be?” Emilio asked.
“I have reason to believe that Jorge Diaz is the one responsible for betraying me to the authorities.”
Emilio sighed. He knew what was coming, even before Miguel got it said.
“So, how do you know this?” he asked.
“Process of elimination,” Miguel said.
“And what do you want me to do about it?” Emilio asked.
“I want Diaz confronted and I want the truth. I don’t care what has to be done to make him talk, but if I’m right and he does confess. I want him to pay.”
A tiny, dark-eyed, dark-haired toddler crawled up in Emilio’s lap just as Miguel was still talking. Emilio’s expression darkened. How dare that man talk about such things on a Sunday, and when his family was here! It made Emilio feel obscene to have this precious little face looking up at him with love, completely unaware of what was being said in her presence.
“I am too old for such things,” Emilio said.
Miguel cursed. “I need this done,” he said. “I can’t let it become common knowledge that I was betrayed and let it pass. I want justice. I want him dead.”
“Papa … Papa … a candy, por favor?”
Emilio stared down at his little granddaughter. She wanted a piece of candy and Miguel Garcia wanted him to kill. If he could have put his hands on Garcia, it would be him who’d be dead.
“Una momento, chica,” he said gently, then gripped the phone a little tighter. “Miguel! You know this is no longer my life and yet you ask it anyway?”
Miguel could tell his father’s old friend was angry, but he didn’t much care. He was the one with problems.
“You know what I’m going through,” Miguel said. “I need you to do this for me.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if Diaz is not your enemy?”
“Then you find out who is and deal with it!” Miguel demanded.
Emilio gritted his teeth. He knew who needed to be dealt with, but even he didn’t have the guts to make an enemy of Miguel. It was his private opinion that Miguel’s father had catered to his sons to the point of ruination, but since his old friend was dead and Miguel was the last of the seed, he didn’t want the bad karma of being the one who ended the lineage.
“I will do what I can,” Emilio said, and hung up before Miguel could argue further, then made a call to his eldest son.
“Benecio, I need a favor.”
Benecio Rojas smiled to himself. His father always prefaced his calls with those words.
“What can I do for you, Papa?”
“Find Jorge Diaz and confirm that he’s the one who betrayed Miguel.”
Benecio frowned. “Then what?”
“You know what,” Emilio said.
“Papa, why are we involving ourselves with Miguel’s business? You know what he’s like.”
“Yes, I do,” Emilio said. “And for that reason alone, I do it. I don’t want a member of my family to go missing because I displeased him in some way.”
Benecio cursed beneath his breath, but he understood. “I will do it, Papa, but only for you. Not because I care what happens to Miguel Garcia.”
“Thank you, my son. Go with God.”
“And you, too, Papa.”
Emilio heard his son disconnect, then sighed. He looked down into the little girl’s smiling face, laid down the phone, picked her up in his arms and then stood.
“Now, niña, let’s go find that candy, okay?”
* * *
It was Monday, which was why Ming, the Chinese manicurist, was massaging Jorge’s right hand while the left hand was still soaking. Ming had fastened a hot pink cape around his neck to protect his clothes and rolled his pants up to his knees while his feet were soaking in a foot bath attached to the massage/manicure chair. The chair was a little cheesy, but Jorge secretly loved the fact that he got a quickie back massage without getting naked.
Actually, Jorge got a manicure and pedicure at Ming’s shop every Monday and a haircut every other week at her salon next door. His eyes were closed as Ming turned off the foot bath and wrapped his feet in a warm towel. Part of his mind was savoring his time with Ming, while he was giving himself a mental pat on the back for enlarging his territory, and at the same time, getting rid of Miguel.
He heard the little bell jingling over the front door of the shop, but didn’t bother to look up. People came and went in here constantly, and besides that, he was operating on the theory that if he didn’t see who’d come in, then he wouldn’t have to acknowledge them.
There was also a part of him that thought getting manicures was effeminate, so he didn’t want to see judgment in their eyes. The only men he knew who did it were wealthy, thus, the reason for his habit. He wanted the world to know how he’d risen in society. Thanks to the nation’s desire for drugs, he was, by anyone’s measure, an immensely wealthy man. It suited him to flaunt that, but only to a degree. Too much attention could get a man in his business killed.
However, once Garcia was completely out of the picture, his wealth would most likely triple. It was only a matter of time before the DEA found Garcia, and when they did, he would bet his own life that Miguel would die before being taken alive—which was exactly what he was hoping for.
“Mr. D … do you want clear polish on your nails?”
“Sure … why not?” he said.
Ming picked up a bottle of clear polish, tapped it a few times in the palm of her hand, unscrewed the lid and then sat it down beside her. She picked up a towel then dried Jorge’s hands thoroughly before loading her nail brush with polish.
Jorge was pleasantly aware of the scent of sandalwood as Ming bent her head to her task. He was not aware of the man with the gun until he felt the barrel in his ear.
“Don’t move,” the man said softly. “I have a question for you.”
Ming started to quietly weep.
To Jorge, it was more frightening than if she’d been screaming her head off. Even though he was shocked, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. The lifestyle had its drawbacks and this was one of them. Only this time he was wearing Ming’s hot pink cape. It was perfect protection as he opened his eyes and slid his hand inside his jacket.
“Who sent you?” Jorge asked.
The man leaned over and whispered a name in Jorge’s ear.
Jorge’s face paled. He didn’t even need to ask—he already knew the answer. Obviously, Miguel Garcia had figured out who’d betrayed him. Then he reassured himself that it didn’t matter. He was here. Miguel was stranded in the States with the American Federales on his trail.
“So … when you get to hell, say hello to his brother for me,” Jorge said.
The man’s eyes widened in sudden understanding as the protruding bulge beneath the cape around Jorge Diaz’s neck suddenly bloomed before he could get off a shot.
The bullet caught Emilio Rojas’s oldest son right between the eyes. His blood splattered all over the glass partition behind him, as well as on Jorge and Ming.
Customers were screaming and running with hot pink capes flying and stringing wet nail polish as they went. Ming’s hands were over her face and she was wailing in Chinese.
Jorge sighed. Damn. He was probably going to have to find another manicurist. Chances were Ming wouldn’t let him in the front door after this. Still, there were things to be done. He grabbed Ming by the shoulder and shook her.
“Ming! Stop crying and call the police. Someone just tried to kill us and I saved our lives.”
Even in her shock and fear, she got the message. By the time the Mexican police came, she was all about the man coming in threatening to kill everyone in sight and praising Mr. Diaz for saving their lives.
The police weren’t stupid. They recognized Emilio Rojas’s eldest son lying dead on the floor, and they knew Jorge Diaz’s reputation well. But it was to their advantage not to make waves in this case. The way they f
igured it, the cartel was just taking care of their own business.
However, no one had taken Emilio Rojas’s reaction into account. Before the sun set on the day, every member of Jorge Diaz’s family was dead, including Diaz, except his mother, Amelia, who now lived in a sanatorium and hadn’t known her own name for the past five years.
Retribution had been met for Miguel Garcia, but at a terrible expense to the Rojas family. And, Emilio had vowed to his family and to himself that if Garcia somehow escaped the talons of the American DEA, he would not escape Rojas, himself.
Miguel continued to live low-key in a Tulsa motel, completely unaware of what had happened, or that Rojas had called in the men who’d been helping him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was as alone in the world as he’d ever been. It would be the first time in his life that money wouldn’t buy him what he wanted.
* * *
Dave Wills was eating breakfast in an IHOP restaurant after an all-night stake-out to nab Garcia. Unfortunately, their tip was wonky. A man named Miguel Garcia had recently arrived in Amarillo flashing a big bankroll, but when Garcia finally showed up at his motel, they discovered it was the wrong man.
The DEA agents were decidedly disgusted with the motel owner who’d called in the tip. After further questioning, he finally admitted that all Mexicans looked alike to him.
Dave had resisted the urge to punch the man out and settled for treating himself to a real, sit-down breakfast instead of sausage, egg and biscuits on the go. He was down to his last few bites of blueberry pancakes and last piece of bacon when his cell phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID and then answered quickly. “Good morning, sir.”
Gerald Mynton grunted a response. After the news he’d just received, it was all he could manage.
Dave could tell something was wrong and glanced down at his plate, guessing his appetite was about to change. “Sir, do we have a problem?”
“You might say that,” Mynton said. “I’ve got a call in to Sonora, but she has yet to return it. I’m not sure how she’s involved in what’s happened, but I can guarantee I won’t rest easy until I hear her voice.”
Now Dave was really concerned. “Sir?”
