by Karin Story
Yeah, that's what she thought, no doubt. She had no way of knowing he'd stolen the bike up in northern Mexico several days ago. So maybe she hadn't been following him after all.
But how the hell else would she have known exactly where he was going to be tonight? And she hadn't even given a flicker of surprise at seeing him when she'd turned around. Almost as if she'd known it was him.
A strange feeling crept up his spine.
He was suspicious of her again, and he hated it. His gut churned with a sickening intensity.
Still, he had no choice but to be cautious with her. Maris could certainly be dangerous to him. Whether she was a part of what was going on, or truly an innocent, her reckless heart could be his downfall. He had to find out what she knew. Then he'd figure out how to deal with her.
Yeah, right. It was all well and good to think about her so rationally, but her presence, exuding heat against his back, enflamed him.
After they'd gotten away from the men back there, and he'd finally relaxed, he'd felt the tension in her body ease also. She'd rested her head against his back and snuggled her arms around him, and he'd had a memory of the night she'd gotten him off the roof and had collapsed into bed with him. That night he'd felt her strength wash through him. He'd found peace.
It was the same tonight. He'd had a moment of peace, like everything was the way it should be. They were back together and it was right.
But then she'd stiffened and withdrawn to a neutral distance. There was no mistaking the coolness in her touch. Her hands barely rested on his sides now, as if he were a total stranger to her.
The pain started in his heart and slowly radiated outward. The same pain he'd been fighting off for the past week. The pain, that when he let it have its way, paralyzed him.
And he couldn't afford to be paralyzed right now. There was too much at stake. His life, for one thing. And now, once again, Maris's life as well.
What in God's name was she doing here?
The thought gnawed away at him as the motorcycle tore along the empty blacktop highway, taking them closer and closer to the epicenter of the upheaval.
PART III
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.
—T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Chapter 20
* * *
They'd been traveling a half-hour when Tom stopped the motorcycle at the top of a rise.
"What are you do—"
"Look over there," he said over his shoulder.
She turned to where he pointed, and saw the light of a helicopter in the air.
He parked the bike in a tight clump of trees off the road, jumped off it and began yanking branches on top of it.
Maris read his urgency and helped. They tossed enough cover over the bike to help it blend in with the local vegetation. Then Tom ran out with another branch and obliterated the bike track leading from the road to the trees.
The sound of the helicopter grew closer, and now she could see a spotlight shining down from it, trained on the ground, swinging in a wide arc back and forth across the road.
Low bushes mixed with the trees, and Tom pulled her into a particularly dense bunch of them. Thank goodness most of the leaves hadn't fallen yet and were still on the branches although it was autumn.
"Get your jacket off. Now!" he ordered, and began jerking it down her arms.
Maris realized the red color would be a homing beacon for the helicopter. She tore off the coat and turned it inside out, exposing the gray lining. After wadding it beneath her, she dropped to the ground. "Damn, that was close," she muttered, seriously glad the sweatshirt she wore was navy blue.
They lay on their stomachs, side by side. Through a small opening in the leaves, she had an almost unfettered view of the soft white glow on the horizon—the lights of the metropolis of Mexico City reflected off the clouds.
Tom pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head, hiding his blond hair, and also blocking her view of his face. She didn't need to see it, though, to know he was tense. The tightly wound feel of his body pressed next to hers was a dead giveaway.
They watched in silence as the thump thump of the helicopter grew close, the light never ceasing its search. It was like watching an old black and white movie where the person controlling the spotlight up in the rafters couldn't find his actor.
The helicopter flew low to the ground, and the wind it created stirred up dust devils, whipping them through the air.
Fighting back the urge to sneeze, Maris closed her eyes and silently prayed.
Whoever was after them—and there wasn't any doubt in her mind that she and Tom were the target of the search—certainly had plenty of resources available to them to be using a helicopter. It was nearly over them now. Even through closed eyelids, she saw the bright light pass over the bushes they were under. Unable to resist her morbid curiosity, she pried her eyes open and peered out.
The light swept over the bushes again, and her heart pounded so hard she was afraid she'd have a heart attack right here and die.
When the bushes grew dark again, she must have let out a vocal sigh of relief, because Tom draped his arm over her and leaned close.
"Pray," he whispered into her ear.
He had no way of knowing she already had been praying. Still, it wasn't particularly comforting to hear him suggest it.
Why wasn't the damn thing going away? Why was it still hovering up there?
"They may have spotted us on the road with binoculars and know we disappeared somewhere around here."
What was he doing tonight, reading her mind?
Again, the spotlight. And this time, it lingered.
"Damn, damn, damn," she chanted softly.
"Shh."
Time slowed to a crawl. Seconds felt like hours, and the whole world moved in slow motion. Or so it seemed anyway. Her heart raced a marathon inside her, the dry, ticklish scent of dust hung heavy in her nostrils, and she was acutely aware of the strong arm draped over her upper body, pinning her to the ground so she wouldn't move.
She wondered if that might be the last time she ever felt it, ever felt Tom next to her. She wanted so badly to look at him, to burn every last detail of him into her mind, so that when the helicopter landed and the people inside killed them both, she'd be able to take his image with her to the afterlife.
Suddenly it was dark again.
She closed her eyes and prayed like crazy that she'd live to see the sun come up in a few hours.
The thrum of the helicopter grew slowly fainter. The dust bowl around them settled. Eventually, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears, and Tom's breathing next to her.
"Are you comfy?" he asked softly. She felt his warm breath against her cheek.
"Hmm?"
"I asked if you were comfortable. I hope so, because we're not going anywhere for a while. Just because the air crew is gone doesn't mean they don't have a ground crew cruising the road looking for us. I would."
If he hadn't mentioned her comfort she would have been fine. But the moment he said it, the prickle of dead leaves and rough dirt against her hands and face became unpleasant. A sharp stick jabbed her in the ribs. She shifted slightly to ease the stabbing nuisance, but it didn't work.
"Quit twitching." His voice was laced with annoyance.
She shot him a venomous look. Then instructed her muscles to relax, forced herself to take deep, even breaths, and did her best to ignore the tall, larger-than-life figure lying next to her.
An hour passed, during which time several vehicles drove slowly past on the road. Finally, Tom eased himself out of the bushes. He held a hand out to her as she dragged herself out after him.
However, instead of going back to the motorcycle, he started off through the field, away from the bike and the road, without a word of explanation.
She kept pace with him. But she'd had all she could take of being in the dark. Literally and figuratively. "Why are we going awa
y from the motorcycle and the road?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Because they might still be watching the road and they know we were on the bike. That's what they'll be looking for. So we're not going to give them what they want. We're walking."
"Were those friends of yours in the helicopter?" Her voice sounded more snide than she'd really meant it to be, but the bad mood that had been building in her for a week had settled firmly into place.
He didn't bother to respond, which only served to irritate her further.
"I wouldn't want you to answer."
He stopped short and turned to her, his face a study in vexation. "You know," he said evenly, "you've been mighty nasty to me tonight. But you're not the only with questions, Miss High and Mighty." He leaned closer to her, until his face was only inches from hers. "I have a pretty damn big one to ask you. What the hell are you doing here, Maris?"
He towered over her, suddenly appearing taller than she'd ever remembered him. Her throat chose that moment to close up tight.
"I asked you a question. What are you doing in Mexico?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you were in such an all-fired hurry to leave me in Colorado that you didn't bother to find out what else Sarah had to say the next morning."
He winced slightly and she knew she'd hit a nerve. He didn't like being reminded that he'd left her up there in that lonely cabin, huh?
"So I figured you might like the information she had. But if I'd known you were going to be so excited about it, I wouldn't have bothered."
He stepped closer and she could see his face had softened. He took a deep breath. "I'm not even going to touch that comment about my leaving. I had very good reasons for doing that—"
"Yeah, because Sarah told you that you were a DEA agent gone bad? Because you were supposed to have connections to a Mexican drug cartel? Yeah, great reasons, Tom. Outstanding reasons. Particularly since only twenty-four hours before that you'd promised you wouldn't leave me. But I can see I was a damn fool about that."
She turned her back on him and walked a few steps away. "I was a damn fool about a lot of things."
Hearing his footfalls in the dirt, she quickly spun around and held up a hand. "Stay away from me." Her voice sliced through the chilly night air
He stopped, but was too far away for her to see his face. She had no idea what he was thinking, and didn't really care. All she knew was that a huge, aching hole was eating away at her insides, and the fountainhead of that hole stood only a few feet away. "Do you want to know about Sarah's information or not?"
He studied her for a long moment. "If you can tell me as we walk. I sure as hell don't want to get caught out here in the open while we have a cozy little chat." He turned on his heel and started walking again.
Maris wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Now who was being nasty?
She had the urge to stage a sit-down strike right here to see if it would snap him out of his tough-guy attitude. But she realized she'd be cutting off her own nose to spite her face. He was right. They didn't need to be standing out here in the open. That was just plain stupid.
Before she could run to catch up, he stopped. Turning, he held out his hand to her. "Mare, I'm sorry. It's been a long night."
Not wanting to give in to the urge to throw herself into his arms, she forced herself to slowly catch up to him. She stared at him for a moment before she finally took his hand.
He looked sincere. But why did he have to be so damned complicated? If he were a good guy, why couldn't he just be good all the time? If he were a bad guy, why couldn't he always be bad instead of confusing her with his sweet looks and gentle words?
She wasn't sure how to start telling him the story that she needed to tell him, so she decided to wait until he prompted her again.
He didn't. Instead, he said quietly, "Well, will you look at that?"
She saw the old farmstead at the same time. Did he think this was a good thing or a bad thing?
Obviously not too bad, since he started jogging toward it. God, she wished she could follow his thought processes.
Grumbling under her breath, she ran after him.
The old place was falling apart. The dilapidated wooden house sagged off to one side, and there were hints of a front porch that must have existed once upon a time, but had rotted away long ago. Two broken windows, like dark eyes, stared at them on the side of the house she could see.
Tom hoisted himself up to one of the window sills and peered inside. He shook his head and whistled under his breath.
"What?" she whispered.
He jumped down, head still shaking. "It looks like someone might still be trying to live here."
"Are you joking?" Of course he wasn't. She'd lived all over the world and knew that in many places, this ramshackle farmhouse would be considered a fine dwelling.
"Stay put. I'm going to check out the other side and make sure no one's here."
He disappeared around the corner, leaving her to steam at his command to wait. But before she had time to string him up in her mind, he reappeared.
"No one's home."
"So what do you want to do? Camp out here?"
"Nope. I have another plan." He gestured her to follow him around the house from where he'd just come.
"You know, it'd be real nice if you could start sharing these plans of yours with me," she muttered.
"I'd be happy to. We're going for a ride."
A large, rusted-out sedan of dubious make and model sat parked in the weeds. It was in worse shape than the house. Surely he didn't think that was going to run. It looked like it had been sitting in that same spot since Cortez first came to Mexico.
Tom opened the driver's side door, which squeaked loudly in protest.
One thing was for sure, if someone was home, they certainly weren't sleeping after that racket.
He ushered her in first, then slid behind the wheel. Maris tried to pick a spot on the cracked vinyl seat that didn't look too detrimental to her health. She pulled off her backpack and used it to gingerly shove a pile of something that looked suspiciously like rodent droppings onto the floor.
"I hate to tell you this, but this thing's never gonna start, much less move. I'd bet my last pair of clean underwear on that," she told him matter-of-factly.
He turned to her with a grin. "Make that those silky blue, sexy-as-hell bikinis and you've got yourself a deal."
She gaped at him, but before she could say anything, she discovered that there were, indeed, people in real life who could hot-wire cars.
When the huge old beast rattled to life, his grin grew even wider. "Do you happen to have those with you, or am I going to have to wait for my payment?"
She was speechless. Both about the car starting, and Tom's flirting.
"Well, it'll never have enough gas to get anywhere," she said with asperity.
"I imagine it'll have enough to get us into the city."
He pulled the old thing onto the dirt road, more of a track really, and they bumped along until she thought her teeth would rattle out of her head. There would be no talking in this contraption. He followed the track until it picked up a true dirt road, which eventually meandered into a blacktop highway.
They left the car in a junkyard somewhere in the depths of the city, and he led her on foot through a maze of streets until she had no idea where they were. Finally, he took her up a flight of rickety metal stairs on the back side of a dark brick building, and to her astonishment, pulled out a key to the door.
When he flipped on a small table lamp, she found herself inside a small but livable apartment.
The kitchen, bedroom and living room were all in one area. A door on the far side of the room opened into a bathroom. A brightly colored Mexican blanket covered the bed, and a carved wooden crucifix adorned the wall over the dark headboard. There was a plump white armchair in the middle of the room, and next to it, a table that held the lamp Tom had turned on. The kitchen was tiny, but fr
om where she stood, she could see it was spotless. A large window in the living area faced the front of the building and a pillowed window seat stretched across the front of it.
"This is…"
"Homey? Yeah, I know. It was a sheer bit of luck."
He yanked off his jacket, but didn't remove the shoulder holster and gun that were a glaring reminder of everything that had happened tonight. This was not the same the gun he'd taken from Bob Hope in the morgue.
"You must have friends in high places." She was referring to both the apartment and the upgraded weapon.
Tom took her comment to mean the apartment. "Not exactly. This place belongs to the lady who owns the restaurant below us. That's where I'm working. The apartment is part of my pay."
She stared at him. "You're working in a restaurant?" She'd expected to hear that he'd been slinking around dark alleys, not working a real job.
"Yeah, breakfast and lunch shift cook." He opened the small refrigerator, pulled out two bottles and uncapped them swiftly. In a couple of strides he crossed the room and handed her one of them. Beer. Corona.
"Why don't you sit down so we can talk." There was a directness in his gaze that didn't invite her to choose another option.
She dropped into the chair and let her pack fall to the floor next to her. As she took several swallows of the brew, her only complaint was that it wasn't something stronger.
A good stiff shot of tequila was what she needed right now.
* * *
Seating himself on the window seat, Tom gave her a few seconds before he started pressing her for answers to the questions that burned inside him. He didn't let the time go to waste, though. Now, in the light, he could really look at her for the first time.
Amazing. You'd think someone who'd been traveling for a week, who'd just witnessed a murder in cold blood, had been chased by motorcycles and a helicopter would be…frazzled? A nervous wreck? A quivering mass of hysterics?
