by Eden Butler
The laugh died a slow death and I let my shoulders fall, feeling good for half a second, feeling proud for longer than that. “I just...really love Ophelia Baptiste. That woman is a badass.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her how you feel,” Miller said, moving his chin at Nelson, a silent command to finish me off. “After you’re dead.”
Nelson aimed, and I held my breath, the laugh gone now, replaced with a wild, angry noise of hatred as Lia shot up from behind Miller, clubbing him in the back of the head with a thick tree branch, her gritted teeth letting a whoosh of a grunt escape as she hit hard, sending the old Marine to the ground. In the same instant Miller fell, I jumped, leaping on top of Nelson, the air rushing from him and his gun falling on the ground as we landed in a lump of flaying bodies and swinging fists.
“Cruz!” Lia called, her voice shaky, terrified as I punched Nelson, pummeling his smug face over and over again.
“Check...” I grunted, wincing when Nelson’s right hook landed against my cheek. “Check...Phil...and take off.” I managed, redoubling my effort to get this asshole knocked out.
“I can’t just...”
“Damn it, Lia, fucking get out of here!” I yelled, paying for the distraction she caused when Nelson came at me like a linebacker, knocking me off my feet with his shoulder against my stomach.
That asshole had a hard head and harder jaw, so I rolled when Lia ran to Phil, helping the wounded agent stagger to his feet. The branch lay next to Miller’s unconscious body and I gripped it, landing one whack of that wood against Nelson’s ribs then two, three more to his face. He barely stood straight, but still kept himself guarded and what seemed like the burn of pure stubbornness keeping his fists up as he directed several missed lunges at my head.
I could only make out the pants Nelson and I traded and the low mutter of Phil trying to convince Lia to leave this place and take her chances in the darkening night.
She wouldn’t listen, but then I knew that about her.
It was when their lowered voices went silent and I managed a heavy jab of the branch against Nelson’s jaw that the bastard finally went down and the quiet, the eerie silence made me straighten, fists curled at my sides as I waited for the threat that loomed.
Then Miller woke up. I turned, but too late, holding my hands up when I spotted him.
“That’s enough,” he said, his control uneasy as he backed away, dragging Lia with him. “No one is leaving here but me. That leak is history.” Every time he moved his gun closer to Lia’s face, I challenged him with a half-step, my insides like fire now from the urge to kill him with my bare hands. “I’ve got ten men destroying your server, Solano. In an hour, there won’t even be a Cruz Solano mentioned anywhere on the net and damn sure not any records sent to you about the president’s ties to...anything.”
“Worthless piece of,” Lia started, her words breathy, hoarse.
“Call me whatever the fuck you want, lady. I’m the one walking out of here.”
When I moved closer, Miller pulled back the hammer. “I hate to do this,” he said, nudging Lia’s face toward me. “Such a waste, messing up this pretty face, but I got no sympathy for some bitch who married the asshole who ran the country.” He looked me over, head shaking. “Or the bastard she likes to fuck.” He motioned with his gun, pulling his arm around Lia’s neck so tight that she clawed at his wrist and elbow, trying to get it away from her neck. “You and Michaels, Solano, get on your knees, hands behind your head.”
It took effort and I went slow, watching the hold Miller had on Lia, forcing myself not to give that bastard a reason to break her neck. Phil was bleeding everywhere, but he managed to move up when I tugged on his arm, draping his left arm over my shoulder.
Miller didn’t move much, not until Phil wobbled, then shot me a grin that was pleased, amused.
“Think dying is funny?” Miller asked, clearly not liking how Phil didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of our situation.
“I told you,” the agent said, his breaths threaded and weak. “There is a plan...a plan in play to get us out of here.”
“Yeah,” Miller said, waving the tip of his gun against Lia’s neck. “I’m activating the plan. Didn’t say you’d be part of it.”
“Yeah, well, asshole...did say I included you in my “us” now did I?”
The confession held a little too much confidence for me, but I still glanced at Phil, unable to keep myself from laughing when he nodded, his amusement returning.
I caught his meaning with a single glance at his face. “You didn’t.”
“I did, kid,” Phil said, leaning closer. “You know I did.”
“My man...” It took a half a second to appreciate the job and how Phil had managed to pull it off.
“Tell me,” Miller said, dragging Lia toward us, the barrel of his gun now under her chin. “What the hell have you done?”
Phil could barely keep upright but he still maintained that amused sneer. “I delivered the package, asshole, before I even walked out of the woods.”
“No...that’s not possible,” Miller said, the tension in his arms easing. “You couldn’t have...”
“I know how to wipe a message before it’s traced.”
“That’s fucking it,” Miller said, waving the gun from Lia, right at Phil. My hand was already at the agent’s back. The old Marine must be slipping because he hadn’t checked Phil or Lia for weapons. He hadn’t prepared and soon he’d pay for it. “Stand up,” he demanded, gun back facing Lia. “Right fucking now!”
“Easy,” Phil said, but I knew he wasn’t talking to Miller.
“Always,” I managed, keeping the word under my breath as I gripped Phil’s gun shoved in his waistband. I spared one look at Lia, offering a half grin that she returned, then shooting my gaze downward, hoping she caught my meaning.
She did, and those self-defense classes her father made her take decades ago in New Orleans paid off. Just as I withdrew Phil’s gun and pointed it at Miller, Lia dropped and twisted, ducking out of the way for me to get one final shot off.
It landed without fanfare, without a single moment’s hesitation straight between Miller’s eyes.
The seconds lingered after the shot and three things happened in that death-silence: Miller’s body hit the ground, just as Lia crashed into the dead leaves and sandy dirt. Next to me, Phil rolled to his side, landing in a thump.
“Lia,” I said, motioning her over. She obliged, slipping off her jacket to get at the hoodie underneath. She pulled the thing off, stuffing the thick sleeves underneath Phil’s clothes. “You good?” I asked the man, holding Lia’s hand still over his chest.
“Golden,” Phil answered, his voice gruff and low. He managed a look at Miller, then to Nelson who still lay like a corpse on the ground. “These assholes should have brought more men.”
“Dumbasses,” I offered, earning a nod from my friend. His skin was pale, and he’d begun sweating, never a good sign. “I’ll text Johnson for backup. Might take a minute.”
“Don’t worry about me, kid.” He reached up, holding Lia’s hand against his chest. “I’m good for now.”
“Phil,” she whispered, holding a low sob in her throat when I looked up at her. “He can’t...”
“He won’t,” I promised her, delivering the text to Johnson before I tucked away my phone. I reached for her, brushing the hair out of her eyes. It took me several seconds for the relaxed expression on my face to disappear. I knew what would come next. She should be away from this. She didn’t deserve to be in the center of more drama. Drama I created. “I bought a place in Canada for you. It’s stocked and ready.”
“For me?” Lia asked, moving closer to Phil when the man’s exhales turned into a groan. She watched over him, folding the sleeve until the clean side pressed against his wound. She didn’t seem to like my nod or how I couldn’t quite seem to make my gaze stay locked on her face. “Why not for us?”
That was an invitation I hadn’t expected. This time, when I
watched her, it was to drink in her features, commit them to memory because I knew it might be the last time.
“I broke the law.” She frowned, and I nodded, driving home the point. “I had full knowledge of a threat to a sitting president. I told no one about the threat before it came. In order to keep you safe...I sat on that info. I...even told Gable I’d do the job.”
I tried to ignore the way Lia’s chin wobbled, but it was impossible. The truth was never pretty, no matter how many ways you tried to gussy it up. The truth was an ugly, brittle mess that must be shown to light.
“But they didn’t believe you? I mean, obviously they didn’t believe you if someone else did the job?”
“I guess that’s true,” I told her, gaze flashing to Nelson’s unconscious form laying a dozen feet or so behind Lia. “He did it. I saw him throw down the gun and run from the rafters just as I approached. By then, Harris was down and you...”
“I don’t understand...” Lia used her free hand to wipe the moving hair from her forehead as a small draft of wind blew around us. “Why the hell would Gable...”
“Power makes you crazy, mami, and Gable didn’t have enough of it. Neither did his wife. They wanted the big office and you and Harris out of the way. She had an in when she found out about what happened between us.”
“Unbelievable.”
Lia went silent on me, but I caught the tears welling in her eyes until they shined. I had no idea what she thought or what she mourned just then. Our truth wasn’t pretty. It had been once before, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted even if we both could walk away from this. I knew that wasn’t going to happen for me.
Phil winced again, and I grabbed his shoulder, holding my own breath when the sirens sounded in the distance. “They’re coming, man. You hang in there.”
“Don’t...tell me what to do.”
“I’m in charge,” I told him, praying my voice didn’t sound as panicked as I felt. “You suck it up and hold out for the medics.”
He brushed my hand from his shoulder, closing his eyes as his breathing got steady. Lia’s fingers looked so small resting on his chest and I was reminded of how delicate she was, how perfect even her mannerisms were. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that about her.
“Mami,” I said, looking straight at her face. She didn’t blink or look away. Lia didn’t seem at all worried that I geared up for something she probably wasn’t expecting to hear.
“Cruz?”
“I love you,” I said, the words coming out simply, likely because I’d never said anything truer in my life. Behind us, the sirens roared louder and louder and I knew I had to hurry. Soon there would be chaos and activity, none of which I could stop, no matter how badly I’d want to go on spending the rest of my life in a little place with a big love I had only for the woman sitting across from me. “I never loved anything or anyone more.” Lia froze, mouth slipping open when I held her hand, pulling her closer to me as she kept pressure on Phil’s wound. The man was sleeping now, but still breathing.
I only had attention enough for the shape of Lia’s mouth and the breathy, sweet smell of her pants against my face as I kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “Listen to what I have to say,” I told her, low enough Phil couldn’t hear me. “You’re my heart, mami. My wrecked soul. You fill up the broken pieces.” Then I kissed her long, hard, and perfect enough that she moaned against my mouth.
The sirens had stopped and now there was only the low calls of the medics and cops around us and the clatter of activity they made as they came closer to us. I blocked out everything but the chill on Lia’s skin as I kissed her forehead.
“I don’t expect you to wait for me. Not this time. You did that already for me and I messed it up.”
“You didn’t,” she said, voice colored with the heartache I guessed she felt.
“Doesn’t matter now,” I told her, thumbs rubbing along her cheeks as I looked down at her. “In another world, we had our whole lives to get it right.”
She sniffled, the tears thickening the closer the federal marshals came to us. “Did we get it right, in that other life?” she asked.
I kissed her, my breath shaking into a pant. “Yeah, mami. Every damn time.”
THE GOVERNMENT DOESN’T explain much. It was a buy-or-leave thing that they got to dictate, but hell, I wasn’t complaining. Late last night, after nearly a month holed up in a federal prison, all on my own, surrounded by two-way windows and stark, empty walls, Agent Fernandez, as he’d introduced himself, a stone-faced young man with brown skin like J-Lo and hair the color of black sand, slapped a file in front of me, glaring as he watched me open the folder to look inside.
“You serious?” I’d asked, getting only a cursory nod in response.
Now I was leaving on a bus, on the corner of a small intersection I know I’d seen before. Wreaths bearing scripted letters in various fonts read “Welcome!” hung on storefronts decorated with pre-lit garland. It seemed this town enjoyed winter and the post-holiday feel more than Christmas. The buildings housed all manner of shops—from candy confectioners to a small deli and each were all connected. The red brick leaning into gray, the brick against white shiplap with double balconies. The sidewalks were paved, because it seemed the norm for quaint small-town places like this, and at each storefront, guarding the doors’ topiaries with massive ice blue bows on the surface of small, whiskey-barrel inspired planters.
I glanced down at the paper in my hand, spotting the neat print of a blue ink pen, reading 5448 North Main Street across the lined, yellow paper. My address, apparently, though I had no idea how that was remotely possible. I had a little cash, but most of that went into outfitting the cottage I’d bought in Canada.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Phil had said when I called him this morning to let him know where I’d be heading. “Call it your severance pay.”
He’d recovered from the shooting and now was completely retired from the agency, an idea I didn’t think I’d get the chance to entertain.
After crossing four more intersections and stopping only twice to get directions from the friendly folks stocking wreaths at a flower shop on the far end of the main square, I came to a street where the storefronts gave way to bookshops, then municipal buildings until finally a row of residences came into view.
There were yellow Victorians next to blue/gray Craftsmans, all with decent lots and white, picket fences lining the properties. On the corner of the street, set further apart than the other houses came 5448, the scrolling script painted on the mailbox at the front gate and against one of the large columns on the porch. It was a nice place, outfitted with the same fencing, and a neat red brick lined walkway leading from the sidewalk to the front door. It wasn’t a big place but looked comfortable and well cared for. There was a sizeable porch along one side of the small house, with square columns and wide brick steps flanking the sides. The front door had glass panels and the white siding looked older, but well maintained.
By the time I’d made it to the corner of the lot, passing the familiar streets, I realized where I was—the same small Texas town I’d bunked in years back on leave. Now, it seemed, the trip was permanent and if that permeance was here, in a place I’d mentioned only to one person in my life, then I suspected what waited for me on the other side of that wooden door.
I walked inside, and a wave of nostalgia hit me that had nothing to do with the pictures lining the front entrance walls—all of my sister’s kids. It was the rich, tempting smell of something delicious frying in the kitchen just beyond the entry. It reminded me of New Orleans and the French Quarter fest, the Red Dress Run, and all the second lines I’d ever participated in. Each of those events led to me and my sisters, or my childhood friends eating something fried and delicious.
A few more steps in and I smiled at more pictures, some of me and my Ranger buddies stationed in the desert, some with Chris, the closest thing to a brother I’d ever have and finally, several sm
all-framed pictures of me and Lia at Loyola on the table leading to the den.
I followed the smell, stopping short, my chest aching when I spotted her in the kitchen, her hair stuck up in a messy bun, flour clinging to her fingers and swiped across her forehead. She wore dark jeans and a Loyola tee and what looked like a wet dishtowel that she draped around her waist. Fried chicken sat in a pile on a large plate next to the stove where a large cast iron bubbled with hot grease. On the island and around the countertops, Lia had cooked mac-n-cheese and potato salad, deviled eggs and large pots of green beans and black-eyed peas simmered on the stove.
I didn’t care about any of the food, no matter how delicious it smelled. I only cared that Lia turned, wiping her hands clean of flour flakes, not seeing me as I leaned against the doorframe. Her expression transformed when her gaze caught mine, moving from shock and worry, right to astonishment, then pure, blissful joy.
“Cruz,” she muttered, voice sounding awed before she ran straight for me.
“Mami,” I said, catching her in my arms, taking the kiss she gave me before I could move us from the doorway into the small eat-in kitchen. We kissed and hugged as I walked us past the stove, pausing when Lia reached down to lower the flame on the grease.
“I’ve missed, oh, God, baby,” she said, holding my face still as she rubbed against me, ankles locked together. “Hold me tight.”
I obliged, forgetting about how many things I needed to say to her or how we’d work out the questions I had. She’d sacrificed so much getting free from the spotlight surrounding her. Surely, a small town like this would be easy for the paparazzi to infiltrate. Or the enemies I’d made releasing the info I’d discovered on Gable and Miller.
But that could wait, all of it. The immediate need got met quick and eager and wild as Lia unlatched her ankles, pulling the dishtowel from her waist as she stepped down, her mouth not leaving mine for more than a handful of seconds while she kissed me hard and sucked my bottom lip between her teeth.
