Stranger Danger

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Sara said nothing. Then she sighed. “Okay,” she told him but with regret. Surely one call wouldn’t be so bad or easy to track, but she’d do what he asked. She wouldn’t even turn it on, she thought, to avoid temptation.

  “Gracias,” he said, accepting her answer as agreement.

  “Is your arm sore?” she asked, eager to switch the subject. “You said you’re not in shape to fight yet.”

  “It hurts, yes,” he said. “It’s not as sore as it, was but I’m not at my best. Give me at least two days and I will be.”

  “How long do you think we have until they come after us?”

  He shrugged. “Not long, probably. As soon as they can find us, they’ll hit us and if they can, they’ll kill us.”

  Such a dire prediction disturbed her. “But you won’t let that happen, right?”

  Santiago offered a lethal smile. “Not if I can help it, no. Do you want the rest of the story, why I showed up at your door?”

  Sara nodded, a breath caught like a fish bone in her throat. “Yes. Tell me.”

  And so as time moved forward, from the late hours of night into the early morning of another day, he did. He wove his words together one by one, each embroidered with emotion as she moved from chair to floor to sit cross-legged facing him. Her attention never wavered as she listened, chest tight and heart pounding with anxiety, intent on what he told.

  Chapter Eight

  “When I was summoned by a Capitan, high up in the M13 ranks, I had no idea what would go down,” he said. “I thought then maybe my cover had been blown. After all, although LA is a big place, a lot of people know who I am and would know I wasn’t Javier. But it was home turf for me, and I figured I could get lost if they found out I was a cop. Instead, they said I would be sent to Arkansas, as muscle here. I wasn’t very happy about it, querida, because I knew nothing about the state. I thought it would be all hillbillies like the Clampett clan or else like Mayberry from those old Andy Griffith television shows.”

  Sara nodded. She’d thought the same until she met Erik. “Did you know I lived here, in Bentonville?”

  Santiago shook his head. “No. All I remembered was University of Arkansas at Fayetteville.”

  “You could’ve asked my mom or someone.”

  “De ninguna manera,” he replied. “Remember, I’d been undercover, living as Javier for two years. I was in deep. I haven’t seen my mama or Luis or Gabi for a long time. And when I did, it required some major planning.”

  “Wait a minute. You haven’t seen or talked to your family in over two years?” The Ruiz family had always been closer than most, so she found it difficult to imagine.

  “I didn’t say that, la muñequita. It’d been awhile, though. Sometimes Luis drove down to San Diego and so did I to meet on the pier there. Gabi brought Mama to Las Vegas for a long weekend and I met them, but I had to be very careful. They don’t even know I’m in Arkansas.”

  “Or in danger.”

  “Si,” he said. “And the less they know the better.”

  “What about me?”

  Santiago rolled his eyes. “When you didn’t know, you were safe, chica. Not long after I arrived here, I saw you and figured out you lived in town. I kept my distance, for your sake, not mine.”

  He’d reached the first part she didn’t like. “But you watched me like a stalker. You could’ve said ‘hi’ or something.”

  Before she’d finished, he was shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t. I wanted you safe. Besides, you know me, not Javier.”

  Point taken and understood. “Okay, that’s true, but you must’ve followed me around to find out where I lived, about Pretties and Posies.”

  Strange to think he’d been in town for six months before she knew it. He’d inhabited the same space and she hadn’t been aware. I should have known, suspected, felt something. But she hadn’t as she plodded through her routines.

  “I did,” he said in a soft voice. “And you never noticed.”

  Sadness tinged his voice and she wondered if he’d hoped she would. “I didn’t, though...” Her voice trailed into silence as invisible fingers crawled up her spine. Until now, she’d thought little about it, but there had been two incidents, moments when she sensed someone watching. “Santiago, did you trail me to Crystal Bridge?”

  The world class art gallery, a gem tucked away in the wooded hills on the edge of Bentonville, ranked high on her list of favorites. She remembered one bitter winter afternoon when cabin fever drove her from the confines of her apartment to wander through the exhibits. A sense of being watched haunted her from gallery to gallery. More than once, she’d whirled around, certain to find someone she knew. She recalled the familiarity of the unseen gaze, and when he flushed, she smiled. “It was you! I should’ve known.”

  “I thought I was invisible.”

  Other incidents leapt from memory. “And you were at War Eagle, too.”

  He grimaced at her mention of the mega arts and crafts fair held at a working water mill each fall. “Si, I didn’t like that one, much. It’s not my thing – too country, too Ozarks for me.”

  Sara laughed. “Some of the crafts are cute and besides, the War Eagle bread mixes are good.”

  “So maybe you did notice, a little.” Little lines at the corners of his eyes, ones he’d gained during their time apart, crinkled and a light in his eyes kindled her inner fire. As much as she wanted him, though, Sara needed to hear the rest of his story.

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re stalling. Just tell me.”

  Santiago shrugged and spread his hands apart. “Whatever. So I was here for six months, living in a crappy old mobile home with six other Hispanic guys. Two of them were involved in the gang, too, but the others worked at some chicken plant.”

  Her curiosity prompted her to ask. “Where was the trailer?”

  “Over at Pea Ridge,” he said. “It was in the old part of town – if you can call the place a town out toward the battlefield. All the video stores, the sub shops, the fast food, and discount stores were on the other end where all the Yuppies live. Anyway, everything went south a couple of days before I came to your apartment. I had made my bones, so to speak, and followed orders so they trusted me. The local lieutenant called a meeting with a lot of players to talk about getting all the local drug traffic, not just a piece of it. I was there as muscle and as a bodyguard for Enrique.”

  “I thought you weren’t telling any names.”

  He glared and shook his head. “It slipped out. The meeting went down at an old bar, a real roadhouse that probably dates back to the 1940’s. Hell, it might’ve even been a speakeasy in the Roaring Twenties. It was somewhere between Springdale and Fayetteville, back off the road a little. You know the kind of place, like your Tio ran.”

  She did. Her Uncle Pete owned Buddy’s, what her dad had always called a dive, an old bar in a blue collar neighborhood. As teens, she and Santiago loved to stop by, hang out awhile even though they were underage. Pete never let them drink, but he gave them popcorn, chips, and peanuts, bar snacks. Buddy’s always smelled of stale beer, old cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and the faint hint of vomit. The floors were sticky underfoot and the restrooms, especially the men’s, reeked of piss. Sara smiled, remembering. “You mean it was a real dump.”

  “Si,” he said, smiling back at her. “It was. The meeting went down in the back room, away from nosy people, although I doubt most of the people hanging out would notice much short of an execution or police raid. Forty gang members met in a room big enough for maybe twenty, so we were packed tight. Javier knew all of them, including another dude working undercover, an FBI agent out of the Fayetteville office. He’d been out in LA, too, and knew me. I thought I could depend on him for backup, but I was wrong.”

  Santiago fumbled for another smoke and lit it, his normally laid back poise compromised. His expression reflected his obvious emotion and continuing concern. “What happened?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Chingado! The top rank
decided there was an informant somewhere. Drug busts were happening more often, members were being picked up by the cops, plans were being compromised.”

  Sara understood. “And it was you.”

  “Si, it was. I’d done it all along, but someone got wise. I didn’t think anyone knew who. Plus, I gathered all kinds of information in my head, enough to send some of the leaders to prison for a long time, some for life. I was careful, but the discussion got hot. Accusations started flying and Special Agent shit-for-brains ponerle el dedo fucked up. The carbon fingered me in front of the local Mara Salvatrucha. He stood up, pointed at me, and said, “It’s Javier. He’s a fuckin’ cop named Santiago.”

  After a pause and a long drag on the cigarillo, Santiago continued. “Heads turned, mouths dropped open, and everyone stared. A few shouted that I was Javier Morales, but he shouted them down and said, no, I was Santiago Ruiz, a police officer from Los Angeles.”

  The blatant betrayal flavored his voice with bitterness tinged with sadness. “Why?” Sara asked. “Why did he out you?”

  He blew out a long stream of smoke and shrugged. “I don’t know. I wonder if he’d been doing the same as me and was afraid they’d single him out. Or maybe he was jealous. I blended as Javier in a way he never did and they trusted me until then. He introduced doubt and all hell broke loose. I had stood near the back of the room, near the door opening into the hallway between the bar and bathrooms. When the mood turned ugly, I ducked through it and then outside. I ran as if all the devils in hell were chasing me and considering M13, I’d been better off if they were.”

  His tone, cool as a winter dawn, revealed more of his emotions than a raised or heated voice could. He sounded very matter-of-fact.

  “Didn’t they chase you?”

  “Oh, si,” he replied. “They came after me, but I vanished into the brush. They’d met there before and I’d studied the land, planned an escape route if I ever needed one. An old farm and orchards were not far, so I ducked into them. I ran through the trees and into a small wooded area.”

  “At night?” Sara struggled to imagine his wild dash, his hectic thoughts as his life hung in the balance.

  Santiago nodded. “The night was black and away from the road, there weren’t any streetlights. At dawn, I hid in an abandoned barn and slept a little. The next day, I backtracked to the highway, the business one leading into Springdale. I traveled slow, always wary, always looking behind me. After I reached Rogers, I stole the pickup on the outskirts of town from an old woman, a widow. I think it had been her husband’s, I don’t know. Then I changed license plates twice and came to Bentonville. I think it was the third morning after my cover was blown I came to you. More than once, I saw gang members hunting me. By the time I knocked on your door, I was tired, hungry, and out of options. I didn’t want to involve you, chica, but I had nothing else left.”

  A ball of tears formed in her throat. “I’m glad you did, Santiago and I’m glad we’re here, no matter what happens.”

  “If they find me, they will kill me.” He spoke without doubt, his voice as even as a yard stick. “The first thing is to survive, then I’ll sort out the rest.”

  “Can’t you call someone?”

  He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Who, la muñequita? My local FBI contact fingered me to the gang bangers. I’ve been in deep cover so long, I don’t know who I can trust, who I can’t. I know too much, which is why M13 will make sure I’m dead if they can.”

  “What about after?” Sara asked, her throat dry. She’d never thought about anything but the immediate future. “If you know so much about M13, how can you ever be safe?”

  Santiago spread his hands wide and shrugged. “I can’t. Mara Salvatrucha has long arms, Sara. If the situation is contained locally, here, I might have a shot. If we live and Dios! I want us to live, very much – I don’t know what will happen. First, we survive. Then I figure out the rest somehow.”

  Sara attempted a smile, meant to reassure, but her stomach churned. Call it short-sighted but she’d never thought past the current crisis. Until now, she failed to consider the future, but she realized there would be a reckoning. She’d worked hard to build Pretties and Posies into a viable florist shop, but she wanted Santiago in her life more. Choosing between would be hard, almost impossible, but it might become necessary. “All right, later,” she said with more bravado than bravery. “So, it’s late. Are you tired?”

  He crushed out his cigarillo and nodded. “Si, I’m beat, but I can’t sleep yet. I need you, Sarita, to make me forget my demons and the danger.”

  His dark eyes stared into hers and she gazed back, almost mesmerized. When he let his guard down, with her, the raw emotion held incredible power. “I will,” she said, her voice husky with a rush of desire. “But I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

  Santiago stood and extended her his hand. She grasped it and he pulled her upright.

  “You won’t, querida,” he said in a voice as ragged as hers. “I want you to ride me, slow and gentle.”

  “Si, lo haré, hombre.” Sara replied in Spanish, his milk tongue.

  Without words, he pulled her to him and kissed her, his mouth warm and tasting of smoke. His lips burned against hers with incredible heat, more than enough to jump start her passion. Sara rested one hand on his uninjured shoulder and put the other behind his head, fingers raking through his hair.

  His tongue snaked into her mouth, greedy and needy. He leaned forward and pressed his crotch against hers. His cock moved beyond the denim and her cunt almost purred in response. The feverish heat shifted from her mouth, tingling down her spine and through her belly to her pussy.

  He led her to the tiny bedroom and they stripped with wild abandon. He wore nothing besides the jeans and t-shirt. She pulled her blouse over her head and stepped out of her jeans in one swift move. Santiago let his fingers play over her breasts, the fingertips stroking and teasing the nipples. His cock stood at full attention, erect and rock hard. “Mount me,” he said as he lay down on the unmade bed, so Sara did. She threaded her pussy onto his dick with slow, careful precision, loving the small noises of pleasure he made as she found her place. When she had his length encased in her flesh, Sara moved a little, enough to tantalize.

  Santiago’s eyes shut with delight as a look of rapture spread across his features. He tipped his head back and moaned, low in his throat. “¡Qué chido! ¡Ándale ¡Ándale!”

  He asked, so she delivered and picked up her rhythm. Sara kept it as consistent as she could, although with his cock deep into her, she ached to go faster, to bring orgasm. She rocked at a steady pace and wiggled her butt for emphasis. The gyrations, meant to bring him pleasure, worked, but her breath caught short as delicious waves of physical delight spasmed through her body. She rode him hard, then increased her speed until he came, shouting out in both Spanish and English, his body bucking with the same tempo. Sara held her orgasm as long as possible, then came in a blinding rush of pure sensation intensified with powerful love. She cried out, voice warbling in a wordless cry bordering on a scream. Good thing they were way out in the country. After the dizzy spirals eased to a halt, her body tingled, charged with sensual electricity. Sara eased off Santiago and curled up beside him.

  Santiago stretched out an arm and cradled her close. “Te amo, la muñequita,” he said on a whisper. She sighed with the contentment of a milk fed kitten. “I love you, too,” she murmured. “Did you forget?”

  Without hesitation, he nodded. “Si, mucho. You did well, Sara, very well.”

  “Good.”

  “Buenas noches,” he told her. “Let’s sleep awhile, okay?”

  With a soft sigh, body boneless and sated, Sara agreed. “Sure. Good night, Santiago, mi corazon.”

  Sara savored a brief span of drowsiness then drifted into sleep. She dreamed of the pasts, of walking along the beach hand in hand with Santiago, then lying together on a blanket in a quiet cove. The peaceful sound of the surf lulled her into peace until music
cut into her consciousness, familiar but unwanted. She tried to ignore it without success until realization jolted her wide awake. The haunting strains of Jim Croce’s classic Time In A Bottle weren’t part of the dream but her ring tone.

  Heart pounding, half awake, she stumbled into the other room to answer it. Sara picked up her phone from the kitchen counter as Santiago dashed into the room. “Hello,” she said. At the same moment, he cried, “No, don’t.” But she already had and although he wrenched the phone from her hand and tossed it down with force, too late Sara remembered his warning.

  If she used the phone at all, even answered it, M13 could find them.

  “Oh, fuck,” she said. Sara didn’t dare look at him, afraid she’d see his anger. She turned away and stared out the window into the morning sunlight. “Santiago, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  He touched her shoulder and nudged until she faced him. His expression might have been set in stone, grim and serious, but his eyes were sad. “Caca pasa,” he said. “Get dressed, grab your stuff. Leave the phone and let’s get the hell out of here while we can.”

  Shit happens, he’d said and Sara agreed. It did.

  Chapter Nine

  Santiago gunned the old truck down the road with speed, the tires singing against the pavement. When he wheeled from the back road onto the two-lane highway, the truck rocked. Sara grabbed the dash with one hand, afraid they might crash. “Do you have to drive this fast?” she asked.

  “Unless you want them to catch up to us, yeah, I do,” he replied. “We don’t have a lot of time, querida.”

  “How long?”

  He took a long swig from the Corona he’d pulled from the fridge before they hauled ass. She’d been tempted but settled for a bottle of Pepsi for a much needed caffeine fix. Under normal circumstances she would’ve screamed like a banshee over starting the day with a beer but considering what they faced, she opted not to protest. “Thirty minutes, maybe. Less than an hour, without any doubt.”