Texas Kissing

by Newbury, Helena

  ***

  The meet was at Momma B’s, a diner not far from the arena. It was actually a pretty nice place, all done out in shades of blue and white that made it feel pleasantly cool, and with a lot of polished wood. The morning rush of workers was just dying down and the families on holiday, stopping in for a relaxed breakfast, were just starting to arrive. The menu was good, too. I’d been living in Gold Lake for two years—why have I never been in here, before?

  Oh yeah. Because I have no one to have breakfast with.

  I was nervous, so I arrived even earlier than usual. That left me with a full half hour to kill, so I made the most of it and had juice and coffee and waffles with strawberries and maple syrup.

  When the guy and his two heavies strolled in, I was just pushing my sticky plate aside and finishing up my coffee. I sized them up as they approached. Blond hair, expensively styled. Nice suit. His two heavies were typical hired muscle: no neck and carefully blank expressions.

  What interested me about the guy was that he wasn’t from one of the usual customer bases—not Russian or American or Mexican or even Colombian. He’d flown in from Europe, although he was vague as to exactly where and insisted I call him simply Carl.

  I’d guessed at Austrian or German. From his accent, as he said my name and sat down, I was spot-on. He smiled and told me how pleased he was to finally meet me. He was charming, in a way—even sort of good looking, but...

  Something was off. However much he smiled, I still felt my stomach knotting. It was like a spider asking you to stroke it. Then the two heavies slid into the booth as well—one beside Carl and one beside me. Now I couldn’t easily get out, if I needed to run. Shit.

  “So,” Carl said enthusiastically. “To business.” He leaned in. “I need European passports. I’m told you can do those.”

  I nodded. “Which countries?”

  “Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria, about thirteen United Kingdom—“

  “Thirteen UK?” My eyes bulged. “Wait, how many are we talking about in total?!”

  “Eighty-seven.”

  I felt my jaw drop. I’d been expecting five or ten.

  “Is that a problem?” he asked, losing his smile.

  I swallowed. “Not at all.” It would mean a lot of late nights, but it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. And it would take my mind off a certain cowboy.

  “Good.” His smile returned. It was in contrast to the two heavies, neither of whom had smiled at all. He popped the catches on his briefcase and took out a ring binder. “Here are the details,” he said, tossing it to me.

  Making sure that no one at the other tables could see, I cracked it open and looked at the first page. There was a passport-sized photo, ten neat fingerprints on a card, a name, date of birth, eye and hair color...everything I’d need. The only unusual thing was that the photo was of a woman—a pretty young thing with glossy black hair. Her date of birth was only three days after mine. Normally, in the criminal world, it’s all men. Maybe she was someone’s girlfriend.

  A lot of the people I work with aren’t good at organization but this perfect—it would make my job a breeze. “Fine,” I said. “Depending on the exact mix of countries, figure three a day, so twenty-nine days. Let’s meet one month from now.”

  Carl raised an eyebrow. “You work weekends? When do you have fun?”

  I gave him a polite smile and started to shove the file into my shoulder bag, but the corner caught on the fabric. I had to pull it out and shove it in again, which was when the thing flopped open. I saw another page, about halfway through. Also with a woman’s photo. I blinked and, out of some deeply-ingrained paranoia, turned the page.

  Another woman.

  They were all women. Every single one. All my age...or younger. Eighty-seven women, all needing passports so that they could be sent—shipped—all over Europe.

  I tossed the file back to Carl. My fingers tingled, as if I’d been tainted just by touching it. “No.”

  He leaned forward. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’ve always been very clear about what I will and won’t do,” I said. I glanced around. All around us, families were chowing down on eggs and hash browns, while the moms checked their Facebook feeds and the dads checked out the waitresses. I lowered my voice until he almost had to read my lips. “And I don’t do trafficked women.”

  Carl shook his head. “Mine is a very old, established business. Rich clients. Very discreet. There won’t be any problems. Nothing to blow back on you.”

  I frowned. “I said no.”

  He opened his briefcase again and took out a thick envelope, put it on top of the ring binder and shoved both across the table towards me. “Half now, as agreed,” he said. “Half on delivery.” He smiled at me, as if to show how reasonable he was being.

  I charge three thousand dollars for a European passport and all the back-end hacking that goes with getting the false name onto the right databases. There was a little over a hundred and thirty thousand dollars in that envelope. All I had to do was reach out and take it.

  I pushed the ring binder and envelope back across the table.

  Carl stared at me coldly. And pushed it back to me.

  I put my hand out to push it back again but, this time, the heavy next to me put his big paw on top of it, weighing it down. He scowled at me.

  “Take the money,” said Carl sadly.

  “Get that thing the fuck away from me,” I said in a low, dangerous voice. This had gone south, badly, and it was time to get out. I always keep my purse on my knee during meets. Now I slid my hand inside it, feeling for the glossy touch of mother-of-pearl under my fingers. I wouldn’t actually pull the gun out—not yet. I’d just let him know it was pointing at him under the table and—

  Where was my gun?

  I’d packed it. Of course I’d packed it. I always packed it. I’d have to be really fucking dumb to not pack my gun. I’d gone for my run and showered and dried off, dressed and— And—

  I could almost see the gun, sitting neatly in its holster under my bed, miles away.

  Carl shook his head, tired of waiting. He scooped up the ring binder and envelope and dropped them into his briefcase. “Let’s all go for a drive,” he said to his heavies.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

  Lily

  “Pay for your meal,” Carl told me, nodding at my plate. “It’s not nice to run out without paying.”

  I pulled out a couple of bills and tossed them on the table, because that gave me time to think. But no matter how fast my brain raced, it wasn’t coming up with anything. If I screamed or tried to run, Carl would probably pull a gun—I didn’t doubt that he had one, somewhere on him. His heavies certainly would. And if people tried to help, someone was going to get killed.

  I couldn’t have that on my conscience. Not again.

  I stood on shaking legs. The waffles and coffee were churning in my stomach. They were going to take me outside to their car and then...they could take me anywhere they wanted. Out into the desert, most likely. And this was a guy who sold women for a living.

  Nobody would miss me. Not one single person. I could be gone for days—hell, I could be gone forever. That knowledge was almost worse than the fear.

  We trooped through the diner, Carl leading the way, one heavy in front of me and one behind. If anyone noticed how pale my face was, they didn’t think anything of it. Mamma B’s was a nice, respectable establishment, which made anything bad that happened in it effectively invisible.

  We emerged into blinding sunlight and oven-hot air, the sort of weather the locals all thought was normal. The sort I still hadn’t acclimatized to, even after two years. The heat surged down my throat and oozed under my clothes, soaking me in sweat almost instantly.

  I saw the car we were heading for—a big four door sedan hire car. I faltered a little, slowing my pace as I thought about what they were going to do to me. The heavy pushed me from behind. How could I have been so stupid? How could I forget
my gun?

  I knew exactly why. My mind had been full of Bull.

  My Toyota was down at the end of the parking lot. I glanced towards it, knowing there was no way I could get there before one of the heavies grabbed me.

  Something was wrong. I shielded my eyes from the sun to get a better look. There was something...someone sitting on the hood. A big enough someone that the front suspension was dipped under his weight—

  Oh, shit. My panic took on a whole new dimension. A battle started inside me: fear for him, fear for myself. I didn’t want him to get involved but a traitorous part of me soared with the possibility of rescue.

  Carl opened the rear door of the car and nodded me inside.

  From the other end of the parking lot, I heard my Toyota’s suspension creak as the weight was lifted off of it.

  “Get in,” Carl said tersely. The debate was raging in my head, now: let them take me quickly, before Bull could get involved, or hold out for a few seconds and hope he could help?

  No. It was no decision at all and I cursed myself for even hesitating. This was my problem and no one else’s.

  I could hear footsteps approaching, but I didn’t dare look in Bull’s direction. I got into the car. One of the heavies climbed in beside me, the other got in the passenger seat, and Carl got behind the wheel. We’d been so quick, in the diner, that the car was still cool. My sweat started to go clammy on my skin. I’d been doing this for two years and I’d never, ever fucked up and got myself into a situation like this. Would they kill me? Or torture me to make me do the job? There were plenty of ways they could hurt me while leaving my hands and eyes intact.

  Carl put the car into gear and we moved off.

  Lily

  There was a violent jolt as Carl stamped on the brake, cursing.

  I’d been staring down at my lap, imagining my fate. Now I looked up, between the front seats and through the windshield.

  Bull was standing in front of the car, his hands planted on the hood. His cowboy hat was pulled low against the sun, throwing his eyes into shadow. But I could sense those bright blue orbs staring right at me.

  “Who’s this?” asked Carl.

  I didn’t say anything. I was too busy staring back at Bull. Willing him to run. Willing him not to.

  “Get out of the way,” called Carl through the windshield.

  Bull kept his hands planted on the hood. “Right after I speak to my girl there.”

  I expected the icy wave of dread. This was exactly what I’d been worried about. What I didn’t expect was the swell of emotion, right in my chest, at those two little words: my girl.

  Carl muttered something and put his foot back on the gas. I guess he figured that he’d inch forward and force Bull to get out of the way.

  What he actually did was remove any doubt, in Bull’s mind, that I was in trouble. The car crept forward maybe half an inch. And then Bull growled and leaned forward, muscles bunching...

  ...and pushed. The car stopped moving.

  Carl cursed again and pressed harder on the gas. The engine roared and we edged forward.

  Bull frowned. I saw his massive shoulders tense. And then he pushed again and I heard the rear wheels slip and kick up dirt.

  Carl cursed and put his foot to the floor. The rear wheels spun in place. Bull grunted as he took the strain. “You know why they call me Bull?” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “‘Cause I’m built like one. I can do this all day!”

  Carl took his foot off the gas and started to get out of the car, cursing. Before the heavy in the back could stop me, I threw open the door on my side and jumped out.

  “You okay?” asked Bull as he straightened up.

  I stared at him, still torn. I was debating whether to lie in order to get him out of there safely. But it was too late—the look on my face was enough. Bull’s eyes narrowed.

  Carl was still getting out. Bull stepped forward and pushed his door closed with one hand, trapping his neck between the door and the car. “Are you crazy?” spluttered Carl.

  Bull jerked his head, nodding me over to him. I ran around the car to stand beside him. Meanwhile, the two heavies were looking helplessly at Carl. Every time they started towards him to help, Bull squeezed the door against Carl’s neck in warning and they stopped again.

  “You have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Carl croaked, struggling to get free.

  “Do you?” rumbled Bull.

  Carl glared at him. He wasn’t a small man but Bull was a full head taller and much, much bigger. He stopped struggling.

  “Now me and Lily,” said Bull, “are walking out of here. You got any sort of problem with that...I don’t much care.”

  Carl glared at me and started to say something. But he glanced at Bull’s face and bit it back at the last minute.

  Bull let go of the door and slid his arm around my waist. He stepped out of the path of the car and, as soon as Carl and his heavies were back inside, it roared off in a cloud of dust and muffled cursing.

  When I looked around at Bull, he was staring straight down at me. I stepped back—only an inch or so, just so that I could have enough room to talk to him. But he used the arm around my waist to pull me in tight against him.

  “No,” he growled. “Not this fucking time. This is the part where you tell me everything.”

  Lily

  I bit my lip as I stared up at him. Part of me was already sliding, instinctually, into full-on denial mode. It’s nothing! A misunderstanding. Goodbye, Bull.

  Except...now that the danger was over, I was shaking from how close I’d come to being badly beaten or even killed. Really shaking. I shook my head to indicate that I couldn’t speak, turning from him, my lip trembling. Shit, I was going to—

  And suddenly, he was gathering me into his arms, turning me back to face him and wrapping me against his chest. I gave a sort of hiccupping groan and then the tears started. Shit! I didn’t want to cry, not about business. That’s so goddamn weak! Don’t let him think you’re weak! But I kept thinking of Carl’s fake smile and being driven out somewhere lonely by him and no one looking for me—

  “Shh,” said Bull, almost as if speaking to a timid animal. “Shh—shh.”

  I tried to speak but still couldn’t. Eventually, I just pressed my face to his shirt and clutched at the warm, solid muscle of his sides with both hands. I needed something strong and stable and he was the strongest thing I’d ever felt. I sobbed but, instead of spilling down my cheeks, my tears soaked into his shirt. That made me feel better, as if I wasn’t on my own.

  When I was all cried out, I gently moved back and looked up into his eyes. The look of concern I saw there almost started me crying all over again.

  I knew he’d still want an explanation and that any lie I told wasn’t going to convince him. Not after what he’d seen. And the relationship between us had changed again. Just like when he’d saved my life from the bull, I felt that I owed him.

  I hesitated for another moment. I’d kept my work a secret for two long years. Telling Bull was like taking a willing step over the edge of a precipice.

  I nodded to my car. “Get in.”

  ***

  Bull looked ridiculous with his massive body folded into the passenger seat of my little Toyota, but he didn’t complain. Nor did he badger me with questions on the short drive out to the bus, which gave me time to compose myself.

  When we arrived, he spent a moment just staring at my home. Inside, he eyed the improvements—the kitchen, the stairs down to the bathroom...the bed. Particularly the bed.

  To say I hadn’t been expecting guests was an understatement. No one had set foot in the place but me for two years. I kept it pretty clean, but maybe my norms were all off, after two years alone.

  “You did all this yourself?” he asked at last. He didn’t sound surprised that I’d managed it; he sounded impressed.

  “Yeah,” I said shyly. Then, “I had some time on my hands.”

  He nodded slowly, still gazing
around. “So what do you do, Lily, that involves assholes like those guys?”

  I took a deep breath. I was way past lying, now. Opening up, after so long, was intoxicating. I folded back the bed and revealed my desk.

  Bull took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he stared. He stepped forward and brushed his fingers across the partially-completed passports, fingering the covers, examining the bundles of special plastics and the strips of holograms I used. He gave a long, low whistle. “Holy shit.”

  “Holy shit,” I agreed.

  Bull picked up one of the finished passports at random. The gold letters on the dark red cover were in Cyrillic. He opened it. “Grigori Arsenyev,” he read.

  “His real name’s Yuri. Bodyguard of a Russian arms dealer—Luka Malakov. Yuri managed to get himself on a watch list so now he needs a little help getting into the country.”

  Bull turned and stared at me.

  “What?” Then I realized I’d said it sort of nonchalantly. This stuff was just normal, to me.

  “Just…” he shook his head. “I thought you were all done surprising me.”

  I allowed myself a little smile.

  He opened another passport. “Mexican. I guess the drug cartels?”

  I nodded.

  “And Russian arms dealers...” he mused.

  “Also the Yakuza, sometimes.” I said helpfully. “The Colombians. I don’t discriminate.” I was smiling. But then the mood changed.

  “So you do passports for anyone?!”

  I crossed my arms. “Of course not anyone. I check my clients out. Personal recommendations. No one I think is a terrorist. I’ve even tipped off the FBI a few times. Anonymously, of course. And that German asshole today was selling women.” I shuddered. “That’s why I said ‘no’.”

  Bull shook his head again. “Jesus, Lily….”