

## Last Stop to Nowhere

Includes the short

The End of Nowhere

By P X Duke

Copyright 2016 by P X Duke

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-928161-34-9

Disclaimer

What follows is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Places mentioned by name are entirely fictitious and purely products of the author's imagination, and are not meant to bear resemblance to actual places or locations.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Read Order for Jim Nash Adventures

Pirate Cay

Thrill Kill Jill

Greetings from Key West

Lost Paradise

No Angels

Mexico Gamble

No Picnic

Fallen Angels

Vendetta

A Girl's Best Friend

Dead End

No Harbor

Dog Days

Startup Blues

Last Stop To Nowhere / End of Nowhere

Revenge Is Justice

Escape

Wedding Bell Blues

Breakdown

Little Girl Lost

Forget Me Not

All the Glitter

Mexico Time

SEASONAL

Trick or Treat

Helping Santa

OTHER

The Snap Brim Fedora Caper

### Last Stop to Nowhere

Jim Nash Adventure #15

_Jim is back, and this time he's bent on revenge for his murdered wife. With a drowned hitch-hiker in tow who manages to convince him that he should drop everything and help her find her missing brother, Jim is drawn into the woman's world of crooked friends, South American sicarios, and her innocent parents. Before he can say no, he finds her in his bed, in his life, and in no mood for him to say no as she draws him deeper into her world in the quest for her missing brother._

**Contents**

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End of Nowhere

About

More

1.

Bobbie

**I stretched. Sat up. Waited. Listened.** Water slapped at the side of the sloop. No sails flapped. No engine sounds, either. The sloop rocked, gently. Below deck the dead air was thick with humidity. It made pushing the sheet back a small pleasure.

We had to be tied up.

Still groggy, I had to force myself to roll out of the rack. I pulled on socks and pushed my feet into well-worn, low-cut boots. I slid the hatch back and climbed on deck.

—Where are we?

I brought up a hand to shield my eyes from the early-morning rising sun reflecting off the water. In the distance, low, dark clouds said rain would be coming sooner rather than later. A yacht-club flag flapped crisply in the wind.

—We're in a marina. Put some clothes on.

—In a marina where?

I wasn't about moving until I had an answer.

—Diamondhead.

The man stood up from tying off. Kennedy. We'd been together for a week. Or maybe it was ten days. The job had been so unbearable that I lost count. I crewed on his yacht into so many ports I lost track of them, too.

—Diamond Head? What the hell? Did someone drug me? Why am I in Hawaii?

Kennedy's eyes roamed over my naked body. I didn't care. For spite I arched my back and raised my arms. His eyes found mine, finally.

—Mississippi. You're in Mississippi.

I laughed and ran fingers through long, tangled hair in a futile attempt to rid myself of the bedhead that followed me topside.

—Go below and put some clothes on.

I dropped my arms, stepped down into the cabin, and disappeared from sight. I splashed water on my face before pulling on shorts and an old, ratty tee. I forced my arms into a woolen shirt to ward off the damp, early-morning chilly Gulf air. Ankle boots and rolled-down socks covered the rest. Topside, I searched my shirt pockets for the pair of cheap sunglasses.

—What's the plan?

I looked at the man. He stared back, a hard look. I didn't care what he saw this time, either.

—You packed?

I dropped the duffel at my feet and gave it a desultory kick.

—Got the phone?

I nodded, and he climbed aboard. The sailboat rocked gently with his weight. I picked up the duffel and made to climb onto the wharf. The man stepped back, making room for me to pass. He closed a fist, pulled back, and smashed me in the face. I tumbled back against the rigging. My sunglasses flew into the water.

—Bastard. What was that for?

—There'll be more if you screw up. A lot more. And because you're a bitch.

He telegraphed his second swing and I saw it coming. I swung my head and dodged. The fist missed my face and thumped hard against my chest. I went backwards a second time. The rigging saved me once more. Breathless and in pain, I kicked out. My boot connected, hard.

—Screw you, Kennedy.

I managed to spit out the weak exclamation. The man doubled over and went down clutching at his middle. He stayed that way, barely moving.

—That's because you're an asshole.

Because I could, I pulled out his wallet and collected the cash. I stuffed it into a shirt pocket and tossed the wallet on the deck. I climbed over the side of the sloop. I turned in time to see him make a grab for the rigging. Still doubled over, he struggled to pull himself up.

For good measure I gave him the finger.

—That's it, girl. Feisty and looking for trouble. Don't screw up or you're dead. Remember that. And not only you. Your family, too. All of them.

I danced around in a circle before heading down the dock towards shore. I didn't care enough to look back. I gave him double fingers before straightening and hurrying past the gate.

How stupid was my brother, though? Thanks to him, if the gravity of the situation I found myself in hadn't sunk in yet, how was it that I was responsible for him? Screw it. I had places to be if I was going to ever help him.

Would Kennedy be determined enough to kill my entire family? I heard tell of that. Mostly on news reports about the drug situation in Mexico. Did they do that in America, too? I couldn't remember anything about it on any news channels. Surely it would have made headlines over and over.

I took another look at the cash, counted it, and stuffed it into my duffel. Five hundred and change. Not so bad. I shouldered the bag and carried on down the road. From what I could recall from the map, the truck stop was due north.

The weather wasn't about to do me any favors. The storm cell was moving in thanks to the wind. I made it past the yacht club gate in time for the black sky to open up. Wind-driven rain poured down. I managed to haul out a waterlogged thumb just before the first redneck half-ton braked. It slid sideways and halted in front of me, blocking the road.

The door opened and I tossed my bag in the back. I made it clear to the driver where I needed to be.

* * *

**I FINISHED PACKING** my go-bag with the automatic and two oversize mags. Allie chose that moment to walk into the trailer. Her eyes flicked from me to the bag on the table and back.

—You're going.

—I have to. I'll not have any peace until I end it. Once and for all.

There was nothing I could say that would convince her of anything.

—That won't bring Pilar back.

I stopped what I was doing. I looked at Allie.

—No. I know that. But it's going to bring me back.

—Or you'll die trying.

—Something like that.

She leaned against the counter. Her gaze remained fixed on me. I couldn't face her. I looked away and carried on pretending to look busy.

—You're not fooling me. And after I leave, it's going to be Erica's turn, so don't think you're getting off Scott-free.

—I wouldn't have it any other way. Erica must have mellowed, though, if she's planning on trying to talk me out of anything.

—If you'd been paying attention, you'd have seen it. She forgave you a long time ago. You just don't realize it.

I found that hard to believe. Erica hated me almost from the moment I got involved with her sister, Kara. That I'd ended up married to her had sent Erica over the deep end for a while as far as I knew. It was like she knew I'd be bad for her.

And I was. Kara was dead, killed in an explosion. I'd had to see the body, for without that, who the hell knew anything for sure? The trouble with that was, there was no body. None that I could find, anyway.

—Well, if you insist. But I'll have to hear her tell me to believe it.

Allie wrapped her arms around me and hugged me hard.

—Be careful. Please.

I hugged her back, just as hard.

—I will.

—There's a place for you here. No matter what.

—I know.

But did I? I had to be the stupidest son of a bitch in the world every time I walked away from Allie and everything she had to offer. I'd done it more than once, too. In fact, I'd worn holes in my shoes walking away.

—The keys are in the car if anyone wants to use it. I'll be cabbing it to a beater I picked up.

—Then you're driving across?

—Yes. But you don't know that. No one does.

—All right. Here comes Erica with the whole family. Be nice.

—I wouldn't be any other way. You know that.

—I'll be going. Remember. It's all here. Whenever you decide what you want.

Lily and James and Zelda and Zoe bounded through the trailer's narrow door, laughing and talking a mile a minute. Erica brought up the rear as though she'd been the one herding all of them in my direction.

—Jeez you guys. Take it easy. You're like a tornado and you know how long trailers last in one of those.

—I heard you're going away again, Uncle Jim. I wanted to come and say goodbye. So did James and Zelda and Zoe. We're all going to miss you until you get back.

Even the dogs had long faces. I couldn't get away from it.

—That's nice of you to say. It means a lot to me.

Erica rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder. Her other went to James, as though protecting both of them. Just as Kara, his mother, had done on the resort's wharf the first time I saw the two of them together.

—James, what do you say to taking care of Zoe for me? Do you think you could do that until I get back?

He looked up at me, shy, awkward, still not sure where I stood in the grand scheme of his life.

—I'd like that.

—She's a good dog. She listens. She comes when she's called. But you already know that, right? She likes you, too. That's important. And you like her.

—I'll take good care of her. I promise.

—Thank you, James. Maybe Lily and Zelda can help if you need it.

The kids followed by the dogs scrambled out of the trailer. Only Erica remained.

**Allie warned me.** Still, I was surprised when Erica went to the door and closed it.

—So you're actually going through with it.

—News travels fast in this part of the wharf, doesn't it?

—You must know by now that you don't have to do it on my account. I forgave you a long time ago.

She might have, but I hadn't forgiven myself. Not yet, at least. I still had my own demons that needed chasing down. I was prepared for it to take a long time.

—The car is there. I left the keys in case you want to give Lily driving lessons.

—She gets those at school. I suppose a few lessons in someone else's beater would be a good thing.

—It's no beater-

Erica grinned and held up her hands.

—I know, Jim. I'm just trying to keep it light.

—Like your sister. In more ways than one.

—I can't talk you into changing your mind-

—If Allie couldn't, you can't. I need to do this, Erica. I'll find out who the boy's father is, too, if I can.

—That doesn't matter.

—It might not now, but one day, he'll be wondering. And asking. What will you tell him?

—You're right. I know that. But-

She halted. I went on.

—Let's just agree to disagree for now. We'll talk about it when I get back.

—We're all counting on you getting back. No matter what. Have you got everything you need?

—I think so. If not, well, I'll just have to suffer and make do.

Erica hugged me too tight, and I finally figured out for myself that she had forgiven me after all. Even so, I had a job to do. I wouldn't rest until I finished it.

—Take care of James.

—You know I will. And thank you.

I didn't ask her for what. I knew already.

**Well before first** light I threw my bag into the taxi and headed or the abandoned lot to the stashed beater. I got out a couple of blocks distant and made my way on foot. Better safe than sorry. Even though I'd never be sorry until this was over with. If I had time for it then.

I had sixty miles of slow going until I hit the 10 and turned west. I used the time to take inventory.

My automatic was stashed, along with the special mags. They'd turn up only if the car was dismantled for a drug search. I hoped a drug-sniffing dog would turn up before that happened.

I had a couple of knives with sheaths. I came up with a strap and figured I could make my way with both attached to my lower legs. The breakapart sheaths would give me a bit of an edge. If worse came to worse. Even though I knew I'd never be as proficient as Kara had been. I'd be able to make do in close quarters.

Satisfied, I turned west onto the 10.

Only a thousand miles to go. I set the cruise and readied for the long, solitary haul over the interstate.

**The storm blowing** in off the gulf was turning into more than a local event. Hope I'd drive out of it disappeared as wind-driven rain streaked across the highway. The cloud base darkened and descended. Cars swerved. Semis pulled off at exits, leaving the road to fools like me in our cars.

I switched on the radio looking for a weather report. Unintelligible voices broken by static and a fist smashing against the dash in frustration did nothing to improve my disposition. I gave up and fiddled with the weak stream emanating from the AC. It wasn't doing me any favors either. It began circulating warm air.

Before long windows started to fog. I reached across and rolled down the window on the opposite side of the car. Water soaked the seat but at least the windows cleared. If the wipers held, I'd be pulling off on the next turnout to wait out the storm.

But for one woman only, I wouldn't be making this trip. My wife. Pilar. It turned out the plane crash wasn't caused by mechanical failure. By the time the Feds tied up the loose ends in their investigation, a small amount of explosive residue had been discovered in Pilar's luggage.

That was news to me. And that was why I wasn't able to put my hands on her luggage once the investigation concluded. I wondered about that, but figured it was just a standard part of an aircraft accident investigation. Following the third degree I'd been given regarding my wife, and her ties to violent extremism, I was pretty much fed up with bureaucracy. TSA. NSA. FBI. Homeland Security.

Screw them all. They were all show and no go.

Pilar was no terrorist. Dead and buried, she'd been branded as one. The investigation stopped when they figured out they could use her as a scapegoat. No going deep into backgrounds. No wondering why or what had been placed in her luggage. It was straight out dereliction of duty on the part of everyone.

It didn't surprise me. In fact, I become accustomed to it by the end. Disgusted by the stonewalling and finally by the outright denial of any further need to investigate, my wife Pilar was tried and convicted in absentia. I was completely blindsided. Fed up with what seemed to me to be incompetence, I decided then and there that I'd have to be the one to do the investigating.

But first I had nine hundred miles to figure it out. I'd start with Kara and the old safe houses in Brownsville. If nothing turned up there, I'd continue south to Matamoros and east to the coast. Beyond that, well, beyond that was going to be all new ground.

I shook my head. I'd gone about planning on making the score even. One way or the other. Right now, it looked to be the other that would be on the receiving end of my lot in life.

I settled back in the seat. Even with the windows part-way down in the rain, I wished I hadn't cheeped out on the rental. Air that worked would be nice. And a radio. On the other had, my growing mean streak would only get worse the hotter it got. And in nine hundred miles, my mean streak would have plenty of time to fester.

The problem would be losing control. I had to stay calm. Think things through. If one course of action didn't work, I'd be forced to stop, hold up, and try another.

Piece of cake.

How often had I said those words to Kara?

**The deluge driven** by the fierce wind turned the interstate into a wind-swept, water-covered river. The green and white sign said Diamondhead. Coincidentally, a break in the weather heralded by a patch of blue most likely wouldn't last long.

I passed the massive truck lot populated by idling semis and a couple of women walking the line. Lot lizards, most likely, struggling to make their way down the long line of parked and idling semis in the wind.

Diesel fumes floated past the car's open windows, driven by the wind. Huge banners planted in cement tires flapped something about a sale that probably went on forever.

Gas and go, I figured.

I eased up to the building and a woman leaning against the downwind side. She didn't appear to be a lot lizard. More likely a hitchhiker taking shelter from the storm. She was out of the rain for now until the break closed and the storm began again. Still, she looked like a drowned rat-or whatever a drowned rat looked like. I felt sorry for her.

She turned towards me and I got a better look at part of a face turning from deep purple to almost black.

—Quite an eye you have there.

She tossed a sullen look my way and placed a foot on her duffel bag. I think she must have thought I might make an attempt to take it from her.

—You should see the other person.

I grinned.

—Yeah, I've said that a time or two myself. I never really believed it, though.

I pulled open the door into the stop'n'go, on the prowl for coffee and a burrito. Music blared out from overhead speakers. First things first, I headed past the shower rooms, on the lookout for the restroom. I splashed cold water on my face, cleaned up as best I could, and went for the counter.

I navigated my way past racks of CD movies and gift cards and candy bars and bags of potato chips. In passing someone said everything was fresh made and just put out. I picked out a burrito calling my name and a coffee to go along with it. On the spur of the moment, I doubled the order.

For luck I picked out a pair of sunglasses. With both hands full, I headed for the door. The all-black, jacked-up half-ton with shiny, thousand-dollar rims wearing oversize tires rumbled past. It disappeared around the side of the building where I last saw the girl. Tires screeched on wet pavement. A door opened and slammed.

The redneck boyfriend, probably, in a redneck town filled with redneck women all pretending to be the only toughies in town.

The scream wasn't quite blood-curdling, but it was good enough to force me back into the store. I didn't want my burritos going cold. I left them on the counter and headed out for a look-see.

I hurried around the side of the building, not sure what I'd find. The black-eyed girl struggled with a man who must have gotten out of the truck. The girl swung and missed, and then kicked and missed, and the fight looked to be over. That had to be how she got the eye in the first place.

She stomped him a good one on the instep and he yelled and she shimmied and almost slipped out of his grip. The fat one behind the wheel got out to help his friend. He got his arms around the woman and squeezed.

The yelling halted. The air blasted out of her lungs so loud and fast I could hear the wheeze. He lifted her off the ground and began carrying her to the truck. There was a last bit of struggle left in the girl, but it was only her feet kicking feebly at air. She was done for.

The look she gave me before she was forced to surrender said help. I would have moved in sooner, but she was doing such a good job until she was outmatched. That wasn't right. Two men against a lone girl. I kept my eye on stranger number two and sidled over to the fat one with his arms full of woman too limp to struggle.

Maybe I could even the odds.

—What's going on here, girl? You know these rednecks? One of them your boyfriend?

Her eyes shifted towards me. The look of panic behind them said no. As if I needed more convincing, she managed to shake her head rapidly from side to side.

—Let her go.

That was number two's clue to step up to the plate. Wanting to drop him to the ground, I kicked out with a roundhouse foot in an attempt to connect with the outside of his knee. I missed and caught the kneecap. I tried a second time and managed to connect. He dropped to the ground like a stone, almost taking the girl and his friend with him as he tumbled against them on the way down.

I owned him now. For good measure I gave him a boot to the gut. That was fat man's cue to toss the girl and start making good on his friendship with number two by taking care of me. I wasn't having any of it.

—You can turn tail and walk or you can get on the ground with your friend. Your choice.

Fat man chose to stay. His mistake. Face to face, I kicked upwards to meet his kneecap with the toe of my boot. A shocked look crossed his face and he doubled over in agony and dropped to his knees. He wailed in agony as the damaged knee landed on the asphalt.

I drove a fist into his side and it sunk in like it was quicksand. I let him have one to the side of the head and he hit the ground like a sack of flour minus the dust.

Game over.

I looked over at the girl. She was visibly shaken and pale as a sheet. The black eye stood out even more. She seemed to be all right otherwise. I remembered to shake my hand. It felt like I broke it.

—Thank you. I don't know what I'd have done-

She reached to take my hand like a mother about to comfort a child. I allowed her to touch me briefly before pulling away.

—It's fine. Don't go away.

I used the break in the action to grab the keys from the truck and toss them. I retrieved the bag of goodies I stashed in the store earlier and sat down at the picnic table. I waved for the girl to join me.

I held out the sunglasses, followed by the bag of food. She hesitated, using the opportunity for a studied stare into my eyes. She grabbed for the glasses first and propped them on her nose.

—Good choice. They suit you. Even better, they conceal the damages. Mostly.

I grinned and the light rain and the wind chose that moment to declare another truce. Blue sky broke through followed by sunshine. I squinted up at the sky. It wouldn't last long. Low, dark overcast was blowing in even now to remind me that the storm would only get worse.

—By the look of it you might want some of this, too.

I passed the bag across the table and settled in beneath the awning. She waited until I withdrew my hand and made a grab for the bag. Wary, she opened it and looked inside. She dug out the burrito and devoured it in three bites.

—I'm always on the lookout for a good story. You got one about that eye?

She stopped chewing and swallowed. She opened the bag and looked in a second time. Idle conversation wasn't the first thing on her mind.

—You gonna eat the other one or what?

Hell, she looked like she was about to devour the bag, too, and I sure didn't want to get in her way.

—It's yours.

—Thanks. The manager threw me out when he figured I was a storm refugee who wouldn't be buying anything.

She looked up from the empty bag.

—There's plenty more where that came from. What do you take in your coffee?

She looked at me through the dark glasses.

—My eye's not so bad.

From what I could tell, it was only getting blacker. I wondered if she often deluded herself.

—You might want a second look in a mirror if you believe that. I could give you an unbiased opinion. If you want one, that is

She didn't even crack a bit of a smile. I grinned anyway, just because. Breaking the ice with this one was going to be a challenge.

—Cream and sugar, please and thanks. Maybe you could pick out a cap for me, too.

I returned with the goodies. She dumped all of it into her cup and replace the lid. On the other side of the building, a black and white drove up and down the lines of semis in the huge lot. From where she sat she couldn't see it yet.

—I crewed a sloop into this dump. Nothing but old people, tennis tournaments and dog shows. When I didn't get paid, I clipped the owner and rummaged his pockets for my money.

The half-ton and its occupants were out of sight at the side of the building. The black and white started making its way towards the store. I caught the girl glancing at the reflection. In a hurry, she rummaged through her open bag. She found what she was looking for. She tugged off her top, groaning the entire time. She traded it for the other. She managed to get her arms through and pull it down. It was only a short groan, but it was a lot louder.

—It's time to go. I'll bring my car around if you want.

—That would be all right.

She pulled on the ball cap and I could almost feel her eyes burning into my back as I walked to the car. She was probably wondering if she'd need to tackle me at some point if she accepted my offer. That was all right. I'd wonder too if I were her. I reached across and opened the door.

—Thanks.

I must have passed the test. She tossed her wet bag into the back and hurried to slide in.

—I'm Jim Nash.

I didn't bother holding out my hand. Neither did she. I figured she'd talk when she wanted to. Instead I went with a little flattery.

—Those wraparounds do a good job.

She reached across for the mirror, adjusted it, and took off the dark glasses. She leaned in for a better look, brushed her fingertips across the bruise, and winced.

I took a look, too. Black eye and all, she looked pretty good. Green eyes. Long, black hair. Her skin seemed too pale to have crewed on a boat. I'd ask about that, too, but not now.

At some point in time, she must have put on a bit of lip gloss. It had to be after she decided I'd be all right for a couple of hundred miles of silence, at least.

She pushed her seat back, put her feet up on the dash, and closed her eyes. Long, dark hair flew out the window. On the inside, it flowed over her shoulder and down in front. I took a better look.

Well-worn clothes, but clean. Low-cut boots on the floor were not too new. Cared for, though. What looked like a good-sized pair of breasts hid behind a torn tee. Whatever was underneath was covered by a thick wool shirt. That was all right, too.

And she was soaking wet. I turned up the heat.

I readjusted the mirror and went back to driving. Out of the corner of my eye I caught her checking me out. I ignored her and hoped she felt safe, at least for now. I'd take my time and wait for the story I knew would come eventually.

After a few dozen miles of silence, she came around and fiddled with the radio. She must have thought listening was a better option than talking. She couldn't get it to work, either. In frustration, she thumped the dash.

—Yeah. No. That didn't work for me when I tried it more than once. There's no air, either.

She flipped her billowing hair over her shoulder and looked across the distance between us.

—I noticed. Traveling on a budget, are you?

Finally. A crack.

I smiled and stared down the rain-swept highway.

2.

Bobbie

**I turned them** all down until this one showed up humping over the flooded rain gutter and splashing into the parking lot. By the look of the sticker on the bumper, a rental, maybe. You never knew for sure these days. The door squeaked open. I let my eyes rove over the driver. Male. All by himself. Sweaty-looking, but the windows were down.

Probably no air.

I kept an eye on the man as he exited the car. He spotted me and made a smartass comment about my black eye. Typical. He had a nice smile, though.

This was the one. Had to be. I was sick of being wet. The storm wasn't going to break anytime soon, even with the blue sky overhead. The wind was too strong and everything around was low black cloud. I made a show of putting a foot on my duffel. I wanted to let him know I was traveling.

It was obvious he didn't believe me when I said I gave as good as I got with the black eye. He carried on into the store. A quick look at my reflection in the window and I knew I looked like a one-eyed, waterlogged raccoon.

My eye was turning even blacker than when I checked it out in the restroom. I tried to make up for it by rubbing on a bit of lip gloss and hoped for the best.

I recognized the same black half-ton that dropped me off. It turned into the parking lot squealing rubber on wet pavement. Before I realized what was up, the friend he picked up got out and made a grab for me. By then it was too late. He connected and his grip tightened on my arms. He forced me towards the open door.

He kept me off balance just enough. I tried a kick, and then a fist. Both connected with empty air. By then he had his arms around me. I was off the ground in a heartbeat.

I kept up the struggle, to no avail. I managed a scream and then another before arms tightened around my chest and squeezed the air out of me. I was about to be loaded into the truck when the man I thought was so shit-hot ran back into the store.

Chickenshit.

And then in what seemed like far too long, he was back. I forgave him just as slowly.

—Friends of yours?

Out of breath and unable to talk, I could only shake my head.

—Would you like some help with that?

I knew I didn't have to, but I nodded anyway and he went to work. It was like watching a movie. A single kick took one to the ground. It happened so fast I couldn't figure how he did it.

He went for number two and that seemed like it was over in a heartbeat, too, but at least I was free. I managed a kick to fat man's gut before the good Samaritan lifted me up and carried me off.

—That's only fair if you put him there. Next time, okay?

He went for the keys and heaved them across the lot.

—Want something to eat? It was an afterthought, but I picked up enough for two. That's why it took me so long. I didn't want the food to go cold.

He grinned a lopsided grin and I realized I was hungry. He came up with coffee and a paper bag. I sighed and he handed over sunglasses before passing the bag. I followed him to the picnic table at the side of the building just to see if he'd still be the one.

I dropped my soaked duffel and threw a leg over the bench. My chest was killing me, thanks to the man who'd squeezed the crap out of me. I eased down slowly and groaned. I tried not to. I couldn't help it.

I tried inhaling slowly, too. My chest was beyond aching. Beneath my shirt I had to be black and blue to match my damned eye. So much for the nice breasts underneath the camouflage.

He asked about the eye. I knew he would. He wanted to start a conversation. I gave up just enough to let him know I crewed into town on a boat.

—So you're a sailor. Got any tattoos?

He grinned. I tried to ignore him. I couldn't. The severe look I was handing him relaxed. I couldn't prevent the corners of my mouth curling up just a bit in a tiny smile.

—For me to know.

I hesitated.

—And you to find out.

_And you to find out?_ Where did that come from? I tried to cover it, though.

—Thanks for the food.

—Yeah. I could tell by the way you chewed at the tinfoil. Remind me not get between you and the kitchen if I ever get you into an actual restaurant.

The black and white turned into the parking lot and slowly walked down the lines of semis on the opposite side of the building. I tried to pretend I didn't see it before turning away from my savior. I didn't want to give him a look at the damage. I rummaged in my bag and came up with a different-colored shirt. I couldn't suppress the groans as I rushed my arms through the openings and tugged it over my head.

—Time to go, is it?

That was it. I heaved my duffel into the back through another groan and climbed in. I kicked off my boots and propped my feet against the dash. I only wanted to close my eyes, but not before I took a good look at the man.

He reached for the mirror and tilted it towards me.

—Take a look. It's not so bad.

I leaned into it and caught him checking out my chest. I was accustomed to it, but it wasn't like he was being as obvious as most. I let it go. Besides, he was good-looking in a rough and tough kind of way. Something about him. Rugged good looks.

And he needed a shave.

I wondered how much I should tell him about the black eye. I was a good liar, but there was something about this one. I stopped worrying and pretended to sleep.

Eventually, it became the real thing.

**It sounded like** a gunshot and I knew I wasn't dreaming. I made a grab for the door and the dashboard just as the radio started blaring. We swerved into the second lane. Jim wrestled with the steering wheel, working it back and forth until he got the car slowed down enough to pull onto the shoulder.

—It's a flat tire. I hope this wreck has a spare.

Oh great. I just got started and now I'm going to be held up until we can get a tow.

—Want me to check the trunk?

—It's all right. I'll do it.

Jim was right to hope. There was a spare. Minus a jack stand. He rubbed the back of his neck, obviously frustrated.

—Come in out of the rain, at least. In this fog a car might not see us.

I might have known when one went past and halted in front of us. I was worried it could be highway grifters. I needn't have. It was another kind of grifter. Kennedy. And I wasn't happy in the slightest to see him.

—You all right? You look like it's going to be a zombie horde coming to help. I'm hoping the horde has a jack.

If he only knew. My friend from the sailboat in Diamondhead walked up to the driver's side and lowered his head. He ignored me but for the quick flick of his eyes. I couldn't ignore him. My face had to go from pale to picket-fence white the second I recognized him for certain.

—We're missing a tire jack. Any chance we could borrow yours?

Kennedy popped his trunk and handed over the jack stand. Jim went to work on the rear tire. Reluctantly, I joined Kennedy at the back of his car.

—You're following me.

It wasn't a question. It was obvious.

—I'm only looking out for my interests. Now get your ass back to that car. I don't want him getting suspicious. And remember what I told you.

Not soon enough we were good to go. Jim slammed the trunk closed and climbed in. Cold and wet from the rain, nervous, shaking, my heart went into overdrive and started to pound. Even away from the boat Kennedy was keeping an eye on things. I thought getting away would cure him of that.

—You two were like a couple of gossiping friends. What were you talking about?

Kennedy was right. I had to cover it off.

—Just the usual travel stuff. Weather. Restaurants. Motels.

I was pretty sure Jim wouldn't want to hear how I'd been threatened with death if I didn't come up with my brother and the missing drugs he was supposed to have stolen. I'd more likely get left on the side of the road if I offered a half-assed explanation. Any explanation most likely.

I was being chased after. Followed. Whatever. How else would Kennedy have been so close? He didn't trust me. And it was even more obvious that no matter what happened, I'd be under scrutiny until I found my brother or came up with the drugs.

I wondered if the wanted poster had dead or alive written across the bottom.

* * *

**I PULLED OFF** the 10 into another gas'n'go and halted at the pumps. I looked at the girl through the open window. Her head tilted against the seat back. Her neck was long and slender. The long dark hair that kept it covered up to now spilled over her shoulders. She looked at peace but for the huge purple welt and the growing bruise surrounding her eye.

—You want anything?

Nothing. I opened the door and gave her shoulder a shake. I should have known better. She closed a hand on my thumb and began twisting. It was just hard enough to let me know I shouldn't do that, and then she released it.

—Point made. Sorry. Do you want anything?

I exaggerated my glance in the direction of the camera and touched my cap. She fished an elastic out of a pocket and tied her hair back in a sloppy pony tail before putting on her cap. She adjusted it low over her eyes.

—Whatever you had last time works for me. Thanks.

I made my way to the car with more coffee and burritos.

—There's a rest stop down the road a bit. We'll stop there. I could use a break.

The storm broke again and we shared the solitary table in sunshine and measured silence. She wolfed down the food, just like the first time. She finished and stood up, off to the side, on the grass. She began to work her way through a tai chi routine beside the table.

Smooth. Measured. Proficient. She was all of those. I pretended not to notice. I hurried to stand and found myself confronted by a woman in a half crouch. Hands turned into fists, at the ready.

—Take it easy, cowgirl. I'm only stretching.

She relaxed her wide eyes and they shifted to the bit of a paunch growing over my belt thanks to the soft living over the past year. Allie's cooking hadn't hurt, either.

—Looks like you could use a little exercise to go with that stretch. It's works wonders for muffin tops.

She grinned. I shook my head. I guessed it made us even, given my tattoo remark earlier.

—You want to walk? I'll toss your bag out at the crossroads.

Her smile froze. Maybe my comment was a bit much.

—No need. I'm Bobbie. With an i and an e.

It didn't look like a fake smile. Something had changed. Bobbie offered her hand and we shook.

—Jim. Pleased to meet you, Roberta.

Her eyes flickered for a split second. I knew then I had her first name nailed, at least.

—Come on. Let's get this shit show on the road before _la migra_ shows up. In a couple hundred or so I'll be getting a room. I'll try for twins at a minimum. You okay with that?

Bobbie didn't say word one.

—Traveling on a budget, remember?

—So I heard. Too bad.

Light ran accompanied by more thick gulf fog took over once more. The fog meant the wind quieted. There was no more steering-wheel wrestling to keep the car on the road. Surrounded by interminable gray fog and the constant squinting into it, the long, tired miles began piling up.

The neon said motel. I pulled into the lot, relishing the break in what was turning out to be endless highway. I was beginning to think driving might not have been such a smart move.

Bobbie had the bags out of the car and was waiting when I returned from the office. I slipped the key in the door.

—All they had was a single.

She shrugged and followed me into the room. I offered up the bed.

—No. But thanks. I'll take the floor.

She headed off to shower and I used the opportunity to look through her bag. Clothes rolled to take up a minimum of space. A couple of skirts. Shorts. Shirts. A phone. Nothing of significance showed up other than a passport in her name. At least, in Roberta's first name. Her last was simple enough, too. Dawson.

By the time the water stopped running off I had everything back the way I found it.

—Your turn.

I knew she'd be wanting to give my bag the same once-over. She was too cautious not to. I didn't have time to conceal the knives before she returned to the room wearing a towel and a very swollen black eye.

Legs. She had great legs. She caught me looking. How could I not? She seemed to know that, too, but she didn't look upset about it. In fact, she didn't look upset at all.

When I came to my turn, I let her have what I thought was plenty of warning. Even so, I was surprised to see her bent over my bag. I looked, long and hard. She knew it, too.

—Nice outfit.

Panties revealed themselves beneath a thin shirt that was just long enough until she bent over. She was bent over. She straightened slowly and turned to meet my gaze. I kept looking. Hell, I was a man. She was a woman. I knew for sure, because I already noticed more than once.

—Are you done yet?

I shifted my eyes to look into hers, straight on.

—No.

—Fair enough.

Bobbie turned back to fishing through my bag. I didn't say anything. I waited her out, and used the opportunity to look some more.

—Tanto. Good knives. You have two. Should I be worried?

—I think if you were, you'd have grabbed your bag and hightailed it out the door and down the corridor, all the while trying to dance your clothes on without falling on your ass.

She ignored me.

—You can have the bed for now. You might wake up with me beside you. Don't take it personal.

She made a show of taking one of the knives and putting it in her own bag. I didn't doubt for a minute that it would end up with her on the floor.

—If anything's going to happen, I'll let you know in plenty of time. Okay?

**I shifted on** the bed and an elbow brushed against something warm and soft. She was beside me. Wide awake, I listened while Bobbie tossed and groaned. I disentangled from a stray leg and gingerly climbed out of bed. At the window I checked the lot for the car. It was beneath the light where I parked it, undisturbed.

Headlights turned into the lot and traveled slowly back and forth along the line of parked cars. It slowed and hesitated beneath the light over our car. It was just long enough to tell me someone was checking on us. I hesitated before allowing the curtain to fall back.

Was that for me, or for Bobbie? All at once I realized I didn't know a thing about the woman. She'd taken a couple of phone calls since I picked her up. Most of her words had been single syllables. Monotoned. Guarded.

I pulled the curtain wide and headed back to bed. Light streamed into the room through the window, illuminating Bobbie's form stretched across the bed. I was trying to figure out how I'd climb in without disturbing her when she rolled onto her side. She faced me and propped her head on her hand.

—Are you done yet? Men. Can't live with 'em and a woman can't live without them. Now get back in bed. You've had your notice.

She sat up and stripped off her shirt. I saw why she was groaning. The huge black bruise on her breast stood out even in the dim light. I didn't waste time looking. Her labored breathing said it best. I stepped into my pants and pulled on a shirt.

—What's a girl have to do to get your attention?

A smartass, too. I found the key on the dresser and hurried out the door.

—Are you going to pay the bill at least?

I left it open and she mumbled something about never hitchhiking again. When I came back she seemed relieved until she saw what I had with me.

—You're more beat up than you know. Believe me when I say that, because I'd never turn you down otherwise-even if you are a bit young for my liking. Now lie back and enjoy it.

I grinned and she gave me a look that said she didn't know what to think. Which was fine by me. She seemed like the type that needed to be kept wondering.

I woke up in the morning in a bed soaked with ice water and a body snuggled against me and shivering something fierce. Goosebumps covered her body. I took a quick look and pulled the sheet up.

—It's all right. I'm awake too. I won't mind you looking any more if it'll get you to go for ice.

—Yeah. No. No problem on the ice, but first you're going to have to lay back and take it.

She gave me a look like she wanted to kill. I eased the sheet down. She moved to brush away my hand as it moved in the general direction of her injured breast.

—Alright. Well, you can pull the sheet up now. I've had my look. You're going to have to suffer though my hand, though. I'm going to check for broken bones.

She didn't replace the sheet. Her breast was almost black. Her injury was so bad I didn't want to touch her.

—You need to see a doctor.

—Not unless I need reconstructive surgery.

—Well, at least you've got a pretty nice spare. It's still in good shape, too.

Bobbie pulled the sheet up and smiled.

3.

Bobbie

**She had to** go through his bag. If she didn't, she'd worry the entire time. He appeared to be kind. He'd rescued her, after she at first thought he was a chickenshit. He shot that idea to hell in a hurry. The knives bothered her, and she almost regretted finding them. He hadn't made a pass. She wondered about that.

Whatever.

Then the water stopped running and she knew she was caught.

—Are you planning on putting everything back where you found it?

She turned back to the bag. She didn't bother pulling down her tee. For some inexplicable reason she wanted him to know her ass was first-rate to go along with the long legs he'd taken a good look at.

—Tanto. Good knives. Why two?

—Why not? One gets dull, the other isn't.

—I guess.

—So. Are you staying? Or going?

She pretended to consider for only a couple of seconds.

—I'll start out on the floor. If you wake up with me in bed beside you, don't take it personal. If anything is going to happen, it's up to me. Understood?

He nodded and she took some measure of comfort in knowing that he'd at least heard her.

Eventually, the floor became too uncomfortable. She knew it would. Her bruised chest ached. Her eye ached. Everything seemed to ache on the hard floor. Enough was enough. She was tough, but not stupid. Besides, she liked him. So far. And maybe he could get her where she wanted to go.

She opened her eyes and caught him looking.

—I see you changed your mind.

Why did he have to be so good-looking? He was a smartass, too. She felt safe with him. She never had that feeling about a man before this one. Before she knew what she was even doing, she pulled her t-shirt above her breasts. She gave up when she could only get it as far as her neck. She was about to pull her panties down when he gasped.

He pulled on his pants and left the room. She'd never had that effect on a man before. He returned in a hurry with ice and a couple of plastic bags. By then she'd managed to get the shirt off. She covered her unbruised breast with it and struggled to lean back against the headboard, waiting.

—Give me that shirt.

—You're the charmer. No small talk with you I'm guessing.

She lowered her forearm.

—Just as I thought. You're banged up pretty bad.

He sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned back and pulled down the sheet, exposing both breasts. She couldn't believe she didn't blush.

—That's what the bad one should look like.

He just looked and grinned a silly grin. Sweet. He was sweet, too.

—Well, it would, but in most cases, and in my experience, one is usually larger than the other.

—You're evil.

—And you're not?

The ice was a treat. She couldn't ignore him after that. And she didn't. He made sure to be careful not to hurt her too much when he insisted on checking her for broken bones. If she wasn't so beat up and in so much pain, she'd have allowed him to bed her.

Later, when the ice kicked in, she reached for him beneath the sheet. She let her hand linger, and when he started to laugh, she did too.

—You're shaking, and I don't think it's with desire.

—It's than damned ice that's coming between us. We're both freezing our asses off.

After they stopped laughing she checked him again.

—Oh.

Her hand lingered. He didn't complain. Neither did she. She couldn't do it. She was too banged up from the beating.

—I'm sorry for leading you on-

—It's all right.

**She woke with** a start and caught Jim at the window, looking out over the parking lot.

—What is it? Who's there?

The curtain fell back.

—Nobody. I thought I heard someone at the car. Go back to sleep.

She wanted to believe him. She stopped worrying about it after he climbed back into their shared bed and felt safe again.

She forgot about Kennedy on the boat, too.

* * *

**I FIGURED WE** looked like a couple on vacation, even if she was a little on the young side. I hoped she'd stay with me for a while, maybe even all the way to Brownsville. I didn't let on, though. She'd have to guess. I'd be able to spend the time trying to figure out what her motive was.

—You want out in Houston? I'll be passing through on my way.

—Which side?

—Sugar Land.

A vision of an old movie played, and I let it go.

—Where to from there?

I let her question slide. Instead, I tried the radio again. Music decided to blare right along with the wind whipping at her hair. It was so damned warm and humid I couldn't catch a breath of fresh air. Last night didn't help. I hated to admit it, but I was looking forward to having Bobbie along for the duration.

What sealed the deal occurred before we left, in the room. She braided her hair while I was in the shower. She asked me to fasten the bottom. Hair so dark it was almost black flowed uninterrupted in the back and forth pattern all the way down to her waist.

—Brownsville. You interested?

She didn't answer right away, either. She could play the game too, I was finding out. She was so much like someone else I once knew that it was scary. If I was lucky, maybe this woman would be good for my cover. Perhaps I could talk her into helping me get across the line. Once across, I couldn't risk that she might become tangled up in my deal.

I'd have to ditch her.

—Yes. Although-

She hesitated.

—There won't be a repeat of last night. Just so you know.

I waited, still surprised that there had been anything last night.

—I could go along as far as Brownsville. If that's all right. As long as you don't want gas and expenses. I'm busted, in case you didn't notice when you went through my gear.

I could have been mean. I could have told her last night was payment enough. The thought crossed my mind. A comment like that would make sure that we didn't become any more involved on a physical level than we were.

And then that damned woman crawled over the seat. I tried to keep an eye on her in the mirror, to no avail. I heard rustling, and then she crawled back. Wearing a skirt. A light, filmy, summer fling thing.

Jesus.

And perfume. Just a hint. What the hell? If I was smart, I'd dump her by the side of the road this instant.

Except, I wasn't ever known for smarts when it came to women.

4.

Bobbie

**She lay in** bed, tangled in the man's arms and legs in sweaty, messy abandon and shivering from what was left of the ice bags. Wet, cold sheets lay scattered beneath her. She tried to pull them up, and then gave up. They were even colder.

She sighed and stretched against him and then groaned as the pain returned instantly. Damn but he was so nice and warm. So why was he shivering?

He asked if she was okay to get out of bed and she almost broke out in tears at his concern. She had to turn away and then sobbed with pain and she couldn't even talk. He wanted to go to the front desk to ask for painkillers but she talked him out of it.

—We'll get something on the road. If that's okay.

Still, she wondered how far down the road she'd be able to get with this one. She'd have to find out where he was really headed. How long he'd be staying. Could she keep him with her?

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

—Tramp stamp.

He finally noticed.

—You weren't complaining last night.

—I couldn't see it last night.

In her nakedness, she took a step, meaning to distance herself. Wanting to escape.

—Wait.

She stopped and sighed, and then backed up. Still shy about turning to face him now. Even after sharing a bed, naked. She was still in a lot of pain. She knew she was showing off, probably. Wanting him to see all of her.

Christ, was she actually showing off her body for this one? The bed squeaked and he sat on the edge. His feet swung to the floor and found their way to either side of her own.

Warm hands roamed. Touched the tattoo. Goosebumps rose beneath fingertips. There was nothing she could do. She couldn't move away. She tried to. She gave up. Surrendered.

—It looks recent. Does it commemorate something?

—It does.

She managed to keep her voice flat, unlike the goosebumps he was encouraging. He didn't ask. Good thing. She didn't know what she'd be able to tell him. If she wanted to tell him. She changed the subject.

—That feels nice.

His breath was too warm against the back of her thigh. It moved up and his lips kissed her in a random dimple. Soft. Gentle. His mouth opened and his teeth bit.

—Ouch. What was that for?

She tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her.

—Just marking my spot. You know, in case you might want to remember.

She didn't want to step away from him now. It seemed like the goosebumps traveled up to her good breast and back down to other places. Was he kissing her? Damn him. He was. She turned, finally, and cradled his head in her hands.

—I'm a mess. Thanks to you. Do you want to share the shower?

—No.

—Oh.

She was disappointed, now. Wondering.

—Come back to bed. Take the top. I don't want to hurt you.

He didn't seem to notice the smile that hung on her face for what seemed like forever. He was a man. He had to be vulnerable. She finished with him and laid back and lounged longer than she wanted to.

—Where are you headed, Bobbie?

She wasn't sure she wanted to answer. She wondered if he'd told her his own truth earlier.

—South. You?

—The same. We'd better get that shower you promised and get back out on the highway.

**An overnight rain** left a soggy seat. She didn't remember leaving the window down. She slipped over the bench seat to occupy the middle. After last night she didn't mind. She was sure they must look like a couple, romantic, joined, happy. She turned to look and caught him smiling.

_Don't even_ , she'd said. But she smiled back. She couldn't help it. Didn't want to.

They barely made it out of the parking lot and five hundred feet down the road when the black and white cruised past going in the opposite direction. She looked over the seatback to follow it. Her voice turned panicky.

—It's turning into the motel. Do you think-

—I'm wondering. Is it because of me, or you?

She jumped into the back, rummaged through her bag, and came up with a dress. She figured she might as well treat the man who would end up taking her to Brownsville. Just for spite she dabbed a dash of perfume between her breasts.

The pain was so bad she almost didn't make it over the seat and back to the front. She settled in and kept an eye on the side mirror. The cop car didn't reappeared.

* * *

**THE STORM BROKE** overnight. The wind was down and slowly dying. Bits of blue broke out of the heavy overcast and the sun came through. The air went cool and fresh. Then the sky turned blue everywhere. We rolled down the windows to let fresh air circulate in the damp, humid car.

Perhaps the sunshine was the reason I was unconcerned. A car was behind us since pulling out of the motel, but I figured it to be normal traffic. Hell, the road was a busy one. Why wouldn't it be there?

I watched it pull up beside us in the side mirror. It stayed there momentarily, and then moved back and stayed in the number one lane. Pacing, I'd call it. Or following. But why?

I checked, to be sure. It wasn't the black half-ton from the gas and go.

We were in a long straight stretch. Whoever it was wanted a better look, maybe. I wanted him to go by. When he didn't, I started to worry. Eventually my concern got the better of me.

—Roberta. Can you climb into the back seat for me?

—What? Why?

—Just do it, okay? When you get there, pull the seatback forward and fish between the back and the seat. There's something I think I might need.

She did as she was told, even though she was still hurting bad. I knew by the groaning sounds she didn't hide.

—There's nothing there.

In the mirror I watched her try the other side.

—Got it.

—Stay back there and hand it over.

She ignored me and struggled to climb over the seat. She put the case on the floor at her feet.

—Is there something you need to tell me? Is someone following you? Anything? I need to know right about now, Bobbie.

I ticked a couple of miles off the cruise and slowed. The chase truck went by. It drifted across into my lane, and pulled ahead.

—No one. Why?

—Are you sure? I need to know. Please.

—Nobody. I'm not an escaped felon. Don't worry.

But I was worried. If I believed her, I'd just drawn her into my life. Not that sleeping with her last night didn't do that, too. Or maybe we were using each other.

—You know anything about firearms?

—A little. Why?

—I need you to do something. The sooner the better. I need you to load a magazine. Can you do that?

Bobbie fumbled with the steel case. She took out the automatic. She looked at me, at it, and then back at me again.

—What's with this? Who are you? A cop? A crook?

Funny that she went with cop first when there were so many other reasons for a concealed firearm these days.

—No. Not any more.

She looked at me again for an instant too long before opening the box of cartridges. She began sliding them into the magazine one at a time.

—A bad cop? Or was the yes for an even badder crook? Were you sent for me?

A strange question, to be sure. Why would she think that?

—Not that I know of.

—Well that's reassuring. This isn't a legal magazine, is it?

All the while she kept loading the oversize mag and doing a good job of it from what I could see. She finished and banged the mag into the grip with the heel of her hand. She placed the pistol between my legs.

—If I had known last night what I know now—

—You'd still be here. I can tell that about you.

The car in front chose that moment to hit the brakes. Thanks to her injuries and without a seatbelt to restrain her, she slid forward into the dash. She screamed in agony.

I steered around the brake-check in a cloud of dust and drove onto gravel-covered shoulder. Rocks and sand spit up and rattled against the undercarriage. I allowed the car to drift sideways in the dirt. I counter-steered, bleeding off speed and ended up stopped, low in the grass-covered ditch, facing straight ahead.

—Get in the back seat and get down. Now. Do it now.

Bobbie struggled over the seat, groaning the entire time. I had no sympathy for her.

—Didn't I tell you to stay there? You don't listen, do you?

I fished on the floor for my automatic. It wasn't there. Bobbie passed it over.

—It must have slipped under the seat.

I jacked one into the chamber and dialed in full auto.

—How long are we going to wait?

—Until we don't have to wait any more. Get comfortable. It could be a while.

—In that case, why don't you join me?

I shook my head and we started laughing uncontrollably.

5.

Bobbie

**I must have** forgotten to roll up the window last night. I tried to avoid the wet spot and ended up beside Jim. For a moment I fantasized about being a couple of teenagers running off on a joyride. Except it was too early in the day. And we were a little old. We'd just shared a shower to wash away the night's sins of commission.

Our eyes met and we grinned in unison. Damn but he was one good-looking man. He still needed a shave. I'd take care of that for him the next time we overnighted. If we overnighted.

—Maybe we could do that again sometime.

I was testing. He ignored me. As usual. I think there must have been something in his past. Hell, I didn't know. I had no idea. So I ignored him, too.

Until the vehicle began riding beside us. At first I thought it might be the truck from the parking lot, but I never saw it before. Neither had Jim.

It kept slightly behind, in the second lane. Pacing. Or whatever it was doing. Challenging? A teenager bent on racing? A redneck maybe, who'd seen us in the motel parking lot and was jealous.

I looked again and put that thought out of my mind. It definitely wasn't the redneck truck from the gas station.

And then Jim asked if I'd mind climbing in the back and taking a look for a small bag. It seemed a strange request, and it definitely wasn't what I wanted to do considering the pain I suffered.

I climbed over the still-wet seat anyway. I fumbled my way through the exercise, unable to find it. I rummaged some more and dropped it over the front seat. He wanted me to stay in the back, but I didn't. I regretted it the moment I started to climb over the seat to the front.

His request wasn't so strange after all. Without asking any questions, I silently loaded a magazine and slipped it into the grip with a satisfying clunk. I put it between his legs, hesitating before pulling my hand away.

By now the truck was in front and speeding away.

—What's going on?

—I have no idea. Don't you?

He looked across at me, concerned. Worried.

—Is there something you haven't told me, Bobbie? Is someone after you? Is there anything you need to tell me?

Where to start? I avoided the question. I didn't want to tell him anything. I couldn't. Not right now, at least. I couldn't look at him.

—Not that I know of.

The car slid sideways on the gravel shoulder. Jim scrambled to keep it under control. I screamed and he ordered me into the back.

—And keep down.

Despite the pain, I climbed over in a hurry and slipped to the floor. I had no idea what the hell was going on. Trying to be funny, I invited him to join me, and that's when we broke out laughing.

It broke the tension, at least.

* * *

**THE TIME FOR** laughter was over. I stuck my head up and tried to look past the ditch. I craned my neck to see down the road. My eyes flicked from one side to the other. Nothing. I checked the back seat. Bobbie was out of sight, on the floor if she bothered to listen to me.

Our chase car had disappeared. Or so I thought until something plinked against the hood. It was a familiar sound. Light caliber. Distant. I kept searching.

Then another weak plink, and I caught a glimpse of someone I took to be the shooter. I slid back in the seat, crouched, and aimed out the window. When the third round hit the tin, I was ready. I gripped with both hands and prepared to pull down as my finger went to work on the trigger and full auto took over.

Shell casings ricocheted off the windshield, danced off the roof, and landed in back. The phrase more brass than at a rifle association meeting came to mind. Bobbie screamed. Shell casings scattered over her and bounced off.

—Holy shit. Jim? What the hell? What are you doing? Who are you shooting at? Why are they shooting at us? They're shooting at us, right? Tell me you're not a crazy battling a good Samaritan stopped to help us get back on the road.

It was too late for explanations. Besides, whoever turned tail and was scattering in the wind. It wouldn't be the first time I'd seen a shooter do that when the sound of my pistol in full auto spitting lead and brass was the answerback.

—Thanks for loading that mag. You might have saved both our lives.

Bobbie crawled over the seat with her skirt yanked up, revealing more than a little leg in the process. She huffed and the groan she tried to silence went audible.

—You're welcome. I think. Now are you going to tell me what the hell you're running from? Or to?

—Can you wait a bit? I need you to drive. Just in case.

She didn't ask just in case of what. She crawled across my lap. Rubbed her breasts in my face on purpose. I caught the painful grimace as she settled in behind the wheel. She drove us out of the ditch and back onto the 10 like nothing happened.

Well, except for the white knuckles and shaking hands. The death grip she had on the steering wheel was no use in quieting them. Her elbows joined her hands, and not that long after her shoulders and the rest of her body went along for the ride.

—You need to pull over.

I held the poor girl in my arms until the shaking quieted. I stroked her hair. It felt good. I buried my face in it. Any excuse. She smelled too good.

—Are you all right now? What's the name of that perfume? I want to buy you a barrel.

—Oh god. I'm so sore. Not too tight, okay?

I relaxed a bit, but I didn't let go. I was enjoying it too much.

6.

Bobbie

**Well, this was** screwed up.

I wasn't certain if Jim noticed the truck overtaking us. The windows were tinted dark, but I was almost certain I recognized the driver through the rolled-down front. It was my neighbor, Terry, across the street from the house where I grew up. Or it was his twin.

Except, he didn't have a twin.

Then it passed us and I did a double take. If it was Terry, what was the deal with my brother? Was he a part of it? Did he have a grudge about something?

I debated telling Jim. In fact, it tore me up, and even then I decided against it. Of course, that was before we were forced off the road and after someone began taking potshots while we were stopped in the ditch.

The rat-a-tat-tat explosions of sound followed by empty casings raining down inside the car spelled trouble. I had no idea how much.

I kept biting my tongue for the rest of the day. My breast ached so bad I couldn't think straight. I wanted to get out of the heat and humidity and slather myself with ice. I wondered just what I'd gotten myself into with this man.

I was a nervous wreck. If I could just get some sleep-

And then I remembered why neither of us got any sleep.

* * *

**THE SIGN SAID** a motel was coming up. I caught Bobbie looking a bit wistful as it went by.

—Maybe we could stop for the night.

—I don't think that's a good idea. You saw what happened. We need to put some distance between us and them.

Whoever they were. I still had no idea. And Bobbie wasn't telling me anything.

—Yeah. I was there too, remember? I think I peed my pants just a little.

I wanted to cheer her up. If anyone deserved it, she did for being so cool under fire.

—That happened to me the first time, too. You get used to it-not peeing your pants, I mean. We need to ditch the car.

I said it as though it was a matter of fact. There was no sense alarming the woman more than necessary.

—In that case, I'll check us in while you do the ditching. Got any cash?

—Yeah. It's in the back, too.

She pulled to the side of the road and hiked up her skirt. She crawled over the seat again, dug around, and came up with my stash. First things first, I guess.

—You know, you could have opened the door and leaned in.

She looked at me like I was deranged.

—What, you don't like looking at my legs any more? Or anything else, for that matter?

I went on ignore.

—If you've got any dope, I recommend you smoke it now or toss it. Just in case.

—All right.

She fished around in her bag and tossed a small plastic baggie out the window. I pretended not to notice, but I caught it when I went through her bag.

—Let's go while the getting is good. And if you're sleeping in my bed tonight, you'd better do some fast talking or I'm out first thing in the morning.

I looked across the seat at her and grinned.

—Your bed? I guess that means you're buying.

In no time we were on the outskirts of Harlingen. It was almost no time because I was considering what she said about skipping. I couldn't let her go now.

—I know a place. Take the Sunset exit.

It was perfect, too. It was the kind of place you picked when you were down and out and had nowhere to go. Or maybe one where you holed up and hoped for the best when life was throwing shit in your direction.

—That's it on the left.

Withered hedges and brown flower beds made a desultory attempt at greeting visitors to the sloping flat-top, single-story motel of the no-tell variety. Stunted weeds grew up through what remained of the asphalt.

—Is this part of the budget experience?

I looked across at her.

—Smartass. Would you like to pay?

She didn't say anything, so I grinned and she got the message. We'd be invisible and unknown. Like a couple of desperadoes on the run. She slowed to turn in.

—Don't slow down. Keep going. I need to know if anyone's following us.

Bobbie did as she was told, but not before looking at me and shaking her head.

—Jesus. You are a man on the run.

Yeah, and just maybe she was a woman on the run. She cruised on by anyway. Like the perfect professional. She didn't slow. I had some questions I needed to ask, but now wasn't the time.

—I have to pick up the shell casings in this wreck. How many did you load?

—Full. I think.

Bobbi reached into her top and pulled out brass.

—Damn. That's what was making me itch.

I grinned and held out my hand. I palmed the warm brass.

—And I thought it was because of me.

She grinned right back. I put the casing in my pocket when she wasn't looking.

—Well-

Whatever was going on between us, it was working its magic. Or something like that.

—You can turn around now. I think we're okay.

The motel wasn't the most modern. Too many coats of paint peeling from the heat. All it had going was that it was out of the way on the north end of the city. I got us a room in back. Bobbie parked and we unloaded.

The door creaked on its hinges. A wall of hot, humid, fetid air slapped us in the face. A low, dirty window overlooked the lot. I flipped on the light. A stained dresser with cigarette-burned edges and a small table stared back. I knew right away the bed would be something else.

Bobbie discarded most of her clothes.

—I don't mean to be presumptuous, but it's just too hot in here.

My eyes followed her every move on the way to the shower. Another casing fell out of her bra at the door. She kneeled to pick it up and tossed it at me.

—Have a souvenir.

Too busy checking her out, I completely missed the catch.

—I thought you'd be tired of looking by now.

—Not a chance. And if you leave it off, you won't have that problem any more.

—I'll think about it. Right now I'm too sore and tired to care.

The water in the shower was loud against the cheap wall. I made sure to lock the door behind me and backtracked to a chicken place for biscuits and naked. I picked up some ice, too. There was no sense changing my modus now that Bobbie was settling in.

In fact, I was starting to like it, much as I hated to admit it.

7.

Bobbie

**My hands shook.** My swollen, black and blue breast ached like the devil. My elbows joined in with the rest of my arms and then my entire body gave it up and began trembling uncontrollably. Scared shitless, I think it's called. A delayed reaction, I guessed.

Jim was good about it. He talked me into pulling over, which was all right with me. By then my whole body was shaking. He held me in his arms until I settled down. Dammit but he felt good. Even in the middle of a highway by the side of the road.

—Not too hard. My breast is killing me.

He let up just a bit and I was still happy.

—You good now?

—I'd be a lot better if you could hold me like that for a long time.

Why had I said that? I was betting he'd be more than happy to be rid of me when the time came. Like a lot of men in my life. I eased myself out of his arms.

—I can do it. It's only driving.

He made me drive past the old, single-story motel while he checked for anyone following us. My own tail was exhausted. My breast was aching even more like the devil. I couldn't wait to get in the shower and let the cold water run.

The tiny room was empty by the time I dragged my sorry, swollen, black and blue body out of the shower. Jim was gone. I pulled on a pair of panties and a shirt before parting the curtain to look out. The car was gone, too. Shit. He wouldn't dare leave me alone after what happened. Would he? That son of a bitch. He would.

Just when I was about to start seriously cursing the man out, the key rattled and the door creaked and he appeared with a grin and a bag of chicken and biscuits. Even better, he had a bag of ice tucked under his arm.

—You're a mind reader.

I stripped off the shirt without a modicum of embarrassment. It was long past time for that. Besides, I was comfortable with him now-naked or clothed. I plopped down on the bed. I didn't bother covering anything up.

—Lie down.

I gave him a look that I didn't mean. He ignored it. I stretched out and tried to get comfortable while he dumped ice into a plastic bag. I winced at the weight of it on my breast. He took my hand and placed it on the bag.

—Your turn.

He grinned the whole time until it turned into a smile and then quickly faded.

—I'm sorry someone kicked the shit out of you. I'm sorry your eye is black and your breast is blue. It's a nice blue, though.

He smiled again and I surrendered one more time. My giving up was starting to annoy even me.

—It's a nice breast, too. Not as nice as the other one, but it will be. Eventually. If you let me take care of it for you.

I giggled and blushed and burst into laughter and blushed some more.

—Ouch. No more. Please.

He pulled the covers over my nakedness and settled in beside me.

—Let me know when you get tired of holding it.

Son of a gun but he was becoming irresistible. All of a sudden I had to have the last word. I made sure to give him the look while I brushed his cheek with the back of my hand.

—Not until you shave.

* * *

**WE HOLED UP** in the no-tell motel looking too much like a couple of hard-boiled criminals on the run. It wasn't difficult. Our car had no air outside of open windows. The motel room's desultory window-shaker was incapable of keeping anything cool. Heat and humidity forced us to strip to boxers, bra, and panties.

Perspiration pooled in places I didn't know existed.

Bobbie encouraged my tongue to bathe in her salty skin. Encouragement wasn't something I needed much of with her. We ended up wanting more. She obliged me by leading the way. The bra came off. Two pairs of underwear followed and joined the damp pile of clothes already discarded on the floor.

At the end of it we collapsed in a pile of sweaty sheets and even sweatier bodies. The air conditioner gave up and chugged to a loud-pitched, grinding halt.

—I think I saw something like this in a movie once. Refresh my memory, would you?

I forgot the pain she was in and pulled her on top of me. She groaned in agony. Perspiration flowed between her breasts and trickled down her stomach onto mine.

—I'm sorry. I forgot for a minute. It won't happen again.

—It's all right. Just this once I'll make an exception.

—If you insist.

—I do. Now get busy.

**I woke to** Bobbie's frantic shaking. Or maybe it was the thumping my chest was taking from her fist. Damn but this woman could punch. I jerked up and bumped into a firm, shapely breast.

—What? What is it?

—Someone is checking out the car. Did you get it cleaned up?

—As best I could. I counted twenty-nine, plus two in your cleavage. That's a full mag-in more ways than one.

Bobbie frowned. She didn't appreciate my humor.

It wasn't difficult to desert the damp, sticky sheets and the lumpy mattress. I cast my gaze through filthy glass past a broken screen into a dark parking lot. A door slammed and the car's interior light went out. I let the curtain fall. Already she was tossing clothes and boots and sandals into her bag.

—What the hell are you doing?

—We have to get out of here. Someone made us.

—Relax. No one made us. Someone got curious is all. That's why I left it unlocked. Now get back in bed and I'll help you relax.

She wasn't having any of it.

—Screw this. It's time to go. Now.

With her own bag packed, she started in on mine. She made an even bigger mess of it, if that was possible. She didn't appear to notice a missing key element.

—Very nice. Now are you going to put something on or are you planning on dragging a sweaty sheet with you?

She looked down at herself and began laughing uncontrollably. Maybe there was a sob somewhere in there, too.

—Jesus. I'm sorry. I'm on edge. I can't seem to calm down.

I went through my pants and came up with a handful of change.

—Are you going to flip a coin to help make the decision to keep me?

—Something like that.

I dropped a quarter into the slot on the brown box attached to the head of the bed.

She stretched out the bed just as it began to shake.

—What the hell?

I couldn't stop grinning. She pulled me down beside her and we lay there, laughing and giggling in a vibrating bed like the first experience of a couple of runaway teenagers.

—Feel any better?

—Only when I stop laughing. I was wondering what that thing was for. This isn't your first hideout, is it?

—Yeah. No. Consider it my gift to you. A trip to a spa in the no-tell motel part of town.

The ride finished and the bed quieted, I picked up what she left on the floor when she was in a hurry to share her nakedness with me. I handed it across to her.

—Finish getting dressed. I'll pull the car around.

I searched the floor for my own jeans and a still-damp shirt. I tossed underwear her way. In turn, she tossed it into her bag.

—Planning on going commando, are you?

—You're the one said I should leave the bra behind.

I didn't mind. I kind of liked the idea. I grinned like a guilty schoolboy.

We pulled out of the motel lot and managed about five hundred feet down the road towards Harlingen before the black and white passed us heading in the opposite direction. I checked the rear-view and saw brake lights just before it turned into the motel.

—You were right.

—Told ya.

Shit. How did they know? And who went through the car looking for-what?

—Roberta?

If they were on the lookout for her, I needed to know why. While all of this was running though my head, she slipped across the seat. Her head rested on my shoulder. It seemed like an awful fast reaction-unless she turned out to be a mind reader.

—Is there something you're not telling me? If there is, I need to know. The sooner the better.

—Well-

She halted. If she wasn't going to level with me, I needed to get off the well-traveled roads. There was no point in taking chances. Without a word, I followed the 77 south to the 510. I headed towards the gulf before reconsidering.

—Don't lie or in a New York minute you'll be standing by the side of the road with your thumb hanging out. And your bag will be in the ditch with you.

—I'm sorry. I should have told you before this.

I prepared for the worst. No matter, I couldn't hold it against the woman. I had my own problems, and they didn't include hers. Before she got started I pulled into a gas'n'go.

I parked in the shade at the side of the store. I took the keys. I wasn't entirely certain that Bobbie wouldn't run off, and I didn't want to end up stranded in some Texas shithole with no money, no clothes, and no gun.

I unfolded the map and headed for the car. She was going through my bag again, as if the first time wasn't good enough.

—Did you not find out enough on your first pass? You're not showing me your ass this time. I might get pissed off.

She turned to me over the seat. A tear rolled out of an eye. When it reached her upper lip, her tongue flicked and it disappeared. I knew her well enough by now.

—That's not going to cut it. Now why don't you make some shit up and tell me all about it? You've certainly had enough time.

—Well you're just harsh, aren't you?

—Remember what I told you back up the road? Talk or walk.

8.

Bobbie

**Damn this man** to hell and back. I couldn't lie to him. He'd see right through me. Of that, I had no doubt. I couldn't even take off my clothes. I already did that with abandon and loved every look the man gave me. Shit.

I couldn't be falling for him. I couldn't. We only just met. He was supposed to be my ticket out of town. Well, he was. But now look at me. I let him into my bed and loved every minute of it.

_Loved?_ Did I just think that? Shit.

—Jim?

—What's it going to be?

In that moment I surrendered. I had to. I became incapable of doing anything else. I didn't' want to-at least, not very much at first. Would he believe me? Could I go on using him to get to where I needed to be?

—It's my brother. He's in a situation with one of the cartels. He didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't help it.

—How old is he?

There was something about the tone of his voice. Skeptical, maybe. Or maybe he thought I was out and out lying.

—Thirty.

—And he didn't know what he was doing? Don't try to fling your shit onto me hoping it will stick just because you swallowed your brother's bullshit. At thirty he knows exactly what he's doing. So what's your plan?

I had to have Jim on my side, especially now that I was falling for the man. Dammit to hell. I had to make him believe me. I needed him to believe me. I had to start at the beginning.

And even more important, I was desperate for his help to find my brother. I'd get it any way I could.

* * *

**THIS WAS GETTING** better and better. I'd be able to head across the line with Bobbie in tow. She'd think I'd be doing it to help her. While I didn't discount that I would be willing to help her if I could, my own priorities were first and foremost.

Green. Her eyes were green. All this time spent looking at her in and out of bed and I just noticed. Shit. She was beginning to get to me. I'd have to be careful with this one. Everything about her was tempting, not the least of which was her personality. Long legs to go along with everything else absolutely didn't hurt, either.

Some personality.

—Goosebumps.

Did I just say that out loud?

—What the hell are you talking about?

Dammit but I did.

—Your ass turned into goosebumps the other night.

—Along with everything else. What did you expect? I wasn't exactly being shy about what you were doing with me. And to me. I'll let you do it again as soon as I can.

Christ. I was falling for her. In a big way. Even I knew it now. I wondered if she could tell. Thankfully, she changed the subject.

—About my brother-

She hesitated. I only wanted to know what was coming next.

—He ran off with a couple of hundred thousand of cartel money.

There it was. I had to find out just how dumb he was.

—Cash or drugs?

—Drugs. Why? Does it matter?

Shit. The woman had no idea. I sat her down and took the chair opposite the bed. That we were naked made it surreal, but I had to get her to pay attention any way I could.

—They'll kill him. They'll kill you. They'll kill your mother and your father. They'll shoot your dogs and set fire to your cats. They'll burn down your house and everything in it.

First-hand experience told me that, and I learned from it. It was no exaggeration.

—Now then, what was it you wanted again?

Did I even to get through to her?

—I need your help.

Well, there went that idea.

—In that case, have I got a deal for you. But first you're going to have to tell me a story.

And it had better be a good one or I'd be gone first thing in the morning.

9.

Bobbie

**I was afraid.** I didn't know where to start. Or how to start. Once it was out in the open, would Jim still want to help me find Ray? I hesitated for longer than I knew I should.

Finally, I gave in. Resigned, I sighed and took a deep breath, certain I'd lose the man once he knew the truth.

—We grew up in Brownsville for the most part. I left in my teens. I wandered around like a gypsy before I got smart. I went back to graduate high school. Ray, my brother, stayed. He was typical of the guys in a border town. He flipped back and forth with his friends to sample the clubs and the women and the drugs.

Jim waited, not saying a word. I couldn't look at him. I guess he meant it when he said he wanted my story. I drew another breath.

—Ray was never hard-core, as far as I could tell. He sampled, like his buddies. But they seemed to help each other stay on the right side of the law, mostly. He lived at home. In the basement. Then, one December when I was back home for a month, he admitted that he was hauling drugs across the river.

—In your parents' basement? Bobbie. For crying out loud.

—I don't know. Maybe Ray thought it would be a measure of safety if he got caught.

It had to sound like my brother wasn't playing with a full deck. Maybe he wasn't.

—For crying out loud, Bobbie. Your folks would lose everything if he got caught. The government would seize everything as drug proceeds. Your parents would have to go through a lengthy and costly court process to prove otherwise. If they ever could.

For sure Ray hadn't been born with all the smarts in the family, but Jim would change his mind about him once they met. I was certain.

—Yeah, well, explaining that to him didn't go so good, either. When I heard he went missing, I figured he'd been arrested. I had no idea at first that he'd actually disappeared, all right? Missing with drug cartel money. Only it was product, not money.

It seemed like he was considering. I halted. I hoped for a look that announced he'd want to help.

—He stole from a cartel. He's nuts. He has to be. That, or he's stoned out of his gourd and nuts to boot.

—He's no user. He wanted to pay off mom and dad's mortgage.

Maybe I made that part up about the mortgage on the spur of the moment. I didn't want Jim to think that my brother, Ray, was a complete dud-even if he was. But I didn't think that about him, either. He was my brother, after all. I looked up to him when I was a kid.

Why would Jim believe anything I said? Should I go with the truth about the yacht? That I allowed the owner to pound the shit out of me on purpose? It was time to dive right in. I had to put the feelings that I was allowing to develop for this man on the back burner. I needed to dedicate myself to finding my brother.

No matter what.

—Stealing cartel product isn't the way to go. It's a death sentence. For your entire family. Just so you understand, that includes the pets.

That was the second time. So maybe he knows more than me. I had to tell him about my black eye. I couldn't hold back any longer. Not after revealing everything else.

—About the bruises. My body-

—They'll heal. You'll be pink-skinned and back to normal in a week. Ten days, max. Guys will be beating a path to your door again.

The trouble was, this man was the only one I wanted beating a path anywhere. For an instant I questioned my decision to let him know. I knew he'd think I was attempting to use him.

—Yeah. About that.

I drew a breath.

—The bruises and the beating were self-inflicted.

Jim's head snapped up. Dark eyes bored into mine.

* * *

**THAT BOBBIE FINALLY** opened up was completely unexpected. I never thought she'd ever spill her guts. She must have thought that letting me share her bed allowed some leeway.

As I saw it, the problem was with her brother. He was starting to look and sound more and more like a dumbass, and I hadn't even met the man. Obviously he hadn't been born with the smarts in the family. I started hoping that his sister might have been.

As much as I hated doing it, I'd have to put the feelings that were starting to develop for this woman on the back burner. She was turning out to be pure trouble, even from the outset. Perhaps a liability, too. I just didn't realize it until now.

While our end games were different, they were linked by drugs. I could probably use that to my advantage. That we were going to end up in Brownsville by choice made things much simpler. She knew the city. She had to know something about the drug trade by virtue of her brother's shenanigans.

That her battle scars were more or less self-inflicted concerned me. Who had she allowed to do it, and why? Why did she feel a need to present the abused-woman front just to hitch a ride? She didn't. There was more going on with this one than she was letting on.

That she'd let me into her bed a little too soon either said needy, or she was hunting. I'd go with hunting, and I was just now finding out for what. She had to think I'd be the man to help find her brother. That I'd demonstrated a bit of ingenuity with a handgun and a stash of cash probably didn't hurt.

But damn, whoever laid that beating on her did a job. She was black, blue, and hurting. While I might not trust her, I felt sorry for her. I believed she didn't know what she was letting herself in for when she took the beating.

And then it occurred to me, all of a sudden. What if it wasn't her brother that was the apple of her eye? What if it was the drugs she was focused on retrieving?

—Roberta, I'm going to help you. But first, we need to make a deal. You might think you're about to make it with the devil. You might be right. But if you refuse, I'm done. Right now.

I halted to let her consider. She paced. She worried. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it too many times.

—If we find my brother, I'll help you with your deal. But I'm not sleeping with you until we do. No matter how much ice and tenderness you bring me.

I'd just been told.

—We need a car. A beater. And whoever it is you're texting, stop. Give me the phone.

I grabbed it out of her hand before she could hand it over. She made to grab it back. I turned away, and while she struggled to reach around, I pulled the battery and the SIM, and tossed the phone. She looked a little too concerned.

—No need to panic.

I went positive on her.

—We'll pick up a couple of burn phones when we get to town.

I slipped the SIM into a pocket. I'd look at it later.

10.

Bobbie

**I would have** jumped for joy if I could. And damn the man to hell. He accepted without blinking an eye. It was like he was waiting for me to step in it and ask. As though he already agreed, but he was only waiting for the inevitable invitation. Well, he had it.

Now his ass would be mine.

All I had to do was keep my own goosebump-coved ass out of his hands. We both knew by now where that would lead. I had it bad enough for this one. I didn't need any more heartache than I could handle at one time. What I couldn't understand was why I was starting to fall for him. That wasn't a part of any plan-not that I had one.

_I'm not sleeping with you again until we find my brother._

Those words coming out of my mouth surprised even me. Would it work? I didn't know, but I had to try. What else did I have to hold over him? After all, he did seem rather comfortable with me in bed. It was almost like we were lovers and partners. In a sense, we were already the first. Now we'd be the second, but not in the sense of lovers.

Or so I thought I understood-until I made the mistake of standing by the side of the bed while I searched for the clothes I'd flung on the floor in the lead-up to our fevered love-making. Before I knew what was happening, what he was doing, I literally melted beneath his hands. Putty. And more goosebumps. This time, they were everywhere in an instant.

Goddammit but would it never end with this one? I wanted to kick myself. Instead, I sat back down on the edge of the bed. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to give myself to him, to offer myself up like a virgin on her wedding night. Did anyone even do that any more? Shit. I was completely lost.

I tried to stand up. I couldn't. My legs wouldn't allow it. Instead, I just sat, trembling. Unable to move.

—Would you like more ice?

_More ice? Damn you to hell. No. I want to be in bed with you. I want to feel warm and safe and happy and secure._

I couldn't say it. No matter how much I wanted to. Reluctantly, I forced myself to push off the edge of the bed. Through watery eyes I found my clothes. Without turning I made my way to the bathroom.

I made sure to close and lock the door.

* * *

**BOBBIE EXITED THE** bathroom, dressed and sporting puffy red eyes. Either she'd just smoked a joint or she'd been crying. I went with the dope, probably because I was one. Women. I never could understand them. Even the ones I cared about. Or loved.

Same difference.

—I need a Brownsville map. And you need to get me up to speed on the lay of the land. Any ideas on where we should start?

She stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind her for effect. It was as though I didn't exist. I took it in stride and turned on the television. An all-day news channel with a blond-haired, blue-eyed reporter was in the process of wrapping up her report on the latest cartel killings across the river. It wasn't news to me.

Bobbie returned with a map and coffee for one. My expectation was that it wasn't for me. I belabored the point anyway.

—Didn't you get one for yourself?

She ignored my lame attempt at humor and busied herself clearing off the table before laying out the map. A couple of the locations were burned into my memory. They were sites I staked out during my search for Kara. Maybe they'd be a place to start for my part of the job. I didn't let on. I wanted Bobbie to think I was all hers for the duration of the hunt for her brother.

And then a nagging thought crossed my mind. It had been bubbling beneath the surface for a day. At least. Maybe more now that I realized I was going to have to commit to helping Bobbie.

She barely got the map spread out when I knew I didn't want her to start thinking that she might be in charge.

—Grab your bag. We're going. Now.

The woman didn't get a chance to object. I tossed everything into the car and slammed the door. By the time I made my way to the driver's seat, Bobbie was already up front.

—We're about a half-hour out. Pick up 14th and I'll show you where to go from there.

I didn't let on that where she was leading us was close to one of the safe houses I'd looked at so many years ago. That I'd been searching for my pretend wife. Thinking that I'd rescue her from whatever demons had taken over.

I didn't tell Bobbie because I refused to admit that I'd been an abject failure in the rescue department. I'd taken a pretty good beating at the time, too. If I admitted the failure, how could Bobbie possibly keep believing that I'd be able to help locate her brother?

Which raised another question. Would I be able to help her? I let it go. The woman was starting to get antsy.

—We're getting close. Slow down. Slow down. Keep right. We want to be on 14th East.

She looked panicked, and glanced from the street in front of us to me again and again.

—Take it easy. If we go past, we'll turn around.

—There it is. Stop. Stop here.

—Christ, woman. We're supposed to be on the lookout. If we stop in the middle of the road, we'll be giving ourselves away.

I accelerated past the dive bar and pulled into a parking lot.

—What are you doing? Turn around. Go back.

I made sure to take the keys before leaning across to open the door.

—Get out.

—Jim-

—Get out. Please. And put your jacket on. We're going for a walk.

I hurried off in the direction of the bar. She rushed to catch up.

—Where are you going? What are we doing? Aren't we going to the bar? I thought-

She was starting to annoy me. And that was only part of her problem. Too much thinking was the rest of it.

—Don't think. Follow my lead. Don't open your mouth. Nod. Say yes if it calls for it. Never say no. Understood?

Her head moved beneath the hoodie. I couldn't tell if she was sulking or nodding a response. I pulled open the door and walked into the dingy, low-ceilinged bar. No windows. Weak lights. A filthy mirror. Uneven floor. Shabby, mismatched furniture everywhere.

It was my kind of place years ago when I was solo in Mexico. I held open the door until my eyes adjusted.

—I'm going to check for an exit out back. Don't leave.

Instead of holding the door for her, I allowed it to slam shut behind me. Bobbie took one in the chest from the door and gasped. If we were going to play true to form, I'd be no gentleman.

—You bastard.

—That's it. You're doing good. Keep it up and they'll believe us.

I wanted to grin. I couldn't. At least, not right away. Instead, I hesitated, scowling at her. I made my way past the bar. I checked out a reflection in the dirty mirror and almost didn't recognize the familiar face staring back.

And then the realization struck me. It wasn't about Kara any longer. It was about Bobbie. And more importantly, when I was done with her, it would be about Pillar.

With a vengeance.

11.

Bobbie

**Maybe I shouldn't** have told him. I agonized to the point where I thought it had to be only fair, considering how he treated me. So yeah, I was feeling maybe a little guilty about my lies. But did he need to know all of it? Once my lips began moving, I couldn't shut up.

It couldn't be helped. Sort of how I'd fallen into bed with this one, and then not been able to say no ever after. Dammit to hell.

So I told him about when I was a little kid. About being raised on a farm. About strict parents who went to church regularly but weren't overly religious. How my dad taught me and my brother about handling guns and how to shoot.

About how I was a bit of a wild child, not to mention a tomboy. That I didn't fit in at school, and had few friends. Unlike my older brother, who had a lot of them. Maybe even too many.

Then the farm got sold and we moved into the big city where dad took a job and mom babysat kids while their parents worked. That my own parents still wanted to keep me down on the farm even though we were living in the city. So I packed some clothes in a bag and skipped town.

By then I already discovered short-shorts and a tube top got me pretty much anything I wanted. How anything I wanted included a ride out of town, fast. How having a body tucked into a tight top and shorts made it easy.

I ended up on the northern Gulf coast and took a liking to the marina bars for the moneyed boat owners. My wardrobe improved. I learned to sail. Eventually I gained enough confidence that I began crewing on yachts. After a few years of experience, I taught rich owners how to sail their boats.

So what did it all teach me? That a little makeup, nice clothes, and a pair of high-heeled sandals could get me pretty much what I wanted, until one day it didn't. That day occurred when I learned my brother had gone on the run with stolen cartel drugs.

What it didn't teach me was that I was going to become a pawn in the search for brother Ray.

I halted. I didn't want Jim to know about how I led him on from the first moment I saw him and his junker rattling over the curb into the gas station.

Maybe I'd tell him later. Or maybe not at all.

* * *

**I DIDN'T KNOW** the name of the man sitting at the bar. We'd never been formally introduced beyond a black hood and a couple of roundhouse punches once he and his partner dragged me inside the safe house and removed the hood. Were it not for Kara coming to my rescue, I'm sure they'd have had some fun.

Consumed by memories, I slipped up. I blanched. Before I could turn around to leave, Bobbie caught me out.

—What is it? What did you see? Was it someone you know?

I made a show of rough-housing the woman towards the door.

—Do you have to follow me everywhere, bitch? Go home and make dinner. Pick up some beer on the way. I'll be home later.

No one batted an eye. Outside I grabbed her arm hard and dragged her in the direction of the car.

—What's going on? What are you doing?

She managed to shake free of my grip.

—Can I get an answer out of you for a change?

I was completely blindsided by the man in the bar. I needed to buy some time.

—Get in and I'll tell you.

But I didn't. Instead, I u-turned the car and backed into the alley across from the bar.

—I'm sorry about the door. I wanted to set us up as an unhappy couple fighting.

I kept an eye on the bar, using it as an excuse not to look at Bobbie. I already knew she was angry.

—And that's how you chose to do it? You might have told me. I could have faked it, you know.

I didn't. Maybe next time.

—You recognized someone, didn't you? Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to wait a day for you to wake up?

The woman could be brutal when she wanted to be. I ignored her and let her think she was winning. Winning what, I didn't know. I'd put her problem on the back burner for now-at least until I figured out where Kara's contact would lead me when he decided he'd had enough to drink.

My mind was wandering again, thanks to the self-imposed stakeout. I'd already decided to forget about Kara. So what the hell was I doing? Did I really believe that the man who'd hijacked me into the safe house would have anything to do with Bobbie's brother?

It was a tense twenty minutes with Bobbie in the car. She refused to stop haranguing me about what I'd seen. I caught a break when the man walked out the door and headed up 14th. He turned off, traveled another couple of blocks, and walked into the same safe house I'd been in so many years ago. It looked to me like these people were in snooze mode, too.

Now that I knew what I'd be doing later, I turned my attention to Bobbie.

—All right. We're good to go. Back to the bar.

—Do I need to dodge the door this time?

—Probably. And no backtalk, woman.

This time I grinned. She didn't take it well. By the look of it, Bobbie wasn't accustomed to being on the receiving end of backtalk from her men. All the better to play-act. If I could keep her uneven, it would make us look more realistic.

We ended up wasting our time. The man behind the bar didn't seem to mind that I ignored the woman I was with. He made a play, and it looked like I'd be going home without her. Except, I didn't have a home. We never checked into a motel.

—We'll be staying with my parents. I haven't seen them in years.

—So the bartender is out of the picture?

She gave me the look. By now I was accustomed to it.

—How are you going to explain me?

It was her turn to grin.

—I'll figure something out.

—When you do, it would be nice if you'd let me know what it might be.

She ignored me. Nothing new there.

—Let's get out of this shithole. And welcome to Browntown. Home of impromptu car shows in closed mall parking lots, dog shows, and shady bars.

12.

Bobbie

**I had no idea** how I'd introduce Jim to my parents. He was older. Probably by ten years, at least. I knew they wouldn't care for that. I'd dated an older man before I moved out. When he showed up to take me on a date, he got dirty looks, and when I got home I found myself on the receiving end of a stern lecture every time.

By the end of the relationship they'd mellowed a bit, but by then I moved on and moved out, fast. After that, I never mentioned the men in my life. It was no use. None had been any good anyway.

And then this one showed up in a gas bar. I glommed onto him like a lot lizard looking for a ride to the next truck stop. I got the free ride, all right. In more ways than one.

—You're going to be my partner. Considering, it shouldn't be that difficult. They'll cluck and you'll probably get side-eye from my mother checking you out, but you'll pass. She always had a soft spot for the good men in my life.

I couldn't help the grin I aimed at her.

—So then, I'm the good one?

—Don't push it, okay?

Yeah. We'd done enough of that already.

—There's a walkup over the garage. They'll put you up there. It has an outside staircase.

Jim didn't seem to mind. And he didn't object. All was good. I hoped that I'd be able to find something, anything, in Ray's room. I needed to get the show on the road. Without a clue, I'd be lost. And there was no telling how much longer Jim would hang around if I had nothing.

—That's the place. You can park in the driveway.

—Should I collect the bags and follow you in?

—We can do that later. I want to get the formalities over with. They're going to have way too many questions.

What I wasn't prepared for was my neighbor, Terry. We'd no sooner pulled into the drive than the man rushed across the street, almost running. He asked too many questions. They came at me rapid-fire and non-stop.

Was he the one driving the vehicle that overtook us? I couldn't be sure, even with him right in front of me.

Jim seemed to take it in stride, though. That is, until he pulled me aside. He didn't mince his words, either.

—You need to shut up about us to Terry.

He only confirmed my own suspicions.

—He's looking like a puppy happy to see anyone home and he's asking too many questions. Was he always like this?

I had to tell him no.

—Then just shut up. He's fishing. Someone has him on watch. That's why he ran across the street. He wants to collect. I'll handle him. Just be ready.

She nodded, uncomprehending.

—And don't let him know his cover is blown.

* * *

**THERE WAS SOMETHING** wrong. The minute we pulled into Bobbie's driveway, the neighbor's door slammed with harsh crack. He hurried across the street with a smile too big. The questions came fast. Who, why, what, when, where, in a blurred rush of words and sentences as though he had to have the information all at once. It was too pat. And he was too friendly. Not to her. To me, when he finally noticed me.

Bobbie was glad to see him, though. I stood back and took it all in.

The whole thing set the bells to ringing. Not too loud, but they were beginning to tingle. It was the smile. Too much. He wanted to know things. Way too many things. And the fawning.

Bobbie didn't seem to notice, but then, why would she? She'd just arrived and the guy probably wanted an update on where she'd been and why she was home. Neighbors were like that. Especially the ones that stayed behind, too scared to make a move and take a chance.

That. And former boyfriends.

—Did you two ever date?

I got it out of the way first thing. I already guessed the answer was no. It was all happening too fast. And there was no way I could separate the two of them to warn her. She gave me the look as they hugged.

Terry. That was his name. It was her father who introduced me. Like it was nothing. Of course it was nothing-to him. Terry chased after us into the house and I knew for sure there was something else going on.

I let Bobbie do the formal introductions and followed her lead. I shook hands and smiled and nodded and smiled some more. Her mother didn't seem to be as bad as she made her out to be. But then it was still early in the grand scheme of introducing a strange man she was supposedly dating. And sleeping with.

It wasn't long before the sleeping arrangements came up. Her mother seemed pleased when Bobbie's father led me in the direction of the walk-up suite above the garage. He used the time and the conversation to size me up. I must have passed, because I ended up getting invited to the patio for a beer after I settled in.

—Terry will be there. He comes over quite often asking about Roberta. It'll be his chance to get it straight from her.

—That's nice.

For him. For me, it was concern enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck.

—Yes. He used to be a pretty good friend of Ray's.

It was starting to come together. Why he'd been watching for something-anything-going on across the street. I figured Terry for a paid watchman. Or maybe someone who owed and this was his way of making good on a debt. I couldn't know for certain, of course. But if he was, I knew who'd be doing the paying.

This deal I entered into with Roberta was beginning to look in the short term like it would be taking over my life more and more.

By the time I picked up my bag from the back of the car and hauled it upstairs, Terry was already waiting for me. He was at the table, like an old friend, waiting for the coffee he thought I might make and whatever he could find out about missed adventures.

He pasted a crooked smile on his face. Insincere. Shady. Nervous. All of those and more. Yes, Terry. I already know all about you.

I went to work with a vengeance. I didn't give him time to react. I forced his arms behind him and taped his wrists. When I finished, his shoes were off and his ankles ended up taped to a kitchen chair.

He had to have it figured out. I pulled the black bag out of my suitcase, held it up, and yanked it down over his head, and he knew for sure. It took a few desultory shakes of his head before he seemed resigned that something bad was about to happen. I went for a towel and put it under the back legs of the chair before towing him into the bathroom.

I left him alone and went to check the small kitchen for anything left behind. There was one text on his phone.

_they're here_

There was no reply.

I closed the bathroom door and prepared to go to work.

13.

Bobbie

**I couldn't find** Jim. Knowing him as I did, I figured he skipped out on the family stuff with the neighbor and headed to his room over the garage. I walked in through the upstairs door. Water running in the bathroom gave him up. I knocked, hard.

—You want some company in there?

I could use a shower too, especially if he was going to be in it.

—You told me you were holding out, remember?

Was he trying to get rid of me? I twisted the doorknob and grinned like the devil. For only a split second did I think I might be pushing it with the friendly banter. My smile froze. My eyes turned into saucers. Even then they weren't big enough to take it all in.

—What the hell are you doing?

Terry struggled against the tape holding him down in the chair, twisting and turning. Fingers wiggled. A wet black hood covered his head. He gasped for air. Every desperate breath sucked at the bag. When he exhaled it forced it off his face until the next breath.

Who in his right mind travels with a black hood? That's the only thing I could think of to ask. I didn't think it safe to ask out loud. Jim was too busy.

He checked the drawstring and tipped the chair back. He released it to balance perfectly against the edge of the tub. Terry's hood-covered head flopped backwards under the running water. He struggled, shaking his head from side to side, desperately trying to take in air. The hood darkened as the water soaked through.

—What the hell? Jim?

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

—He's tattling on us. Take a look.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a phone. He handed it to me and went back to working on Terry.

—There's no way to tell who he's reporting to for sure, but I've already got a pretty good idea.

I looked at the number. I didn't say anything. How could I?

—Stop. You'll kill him.

At last Terry recognized my voice. His shook his head trying to escape the water. His feet twitched. He strained to sit up in the chair. All the while, Jim shook his head and mouthed one word: No.

The chair tipped forward and thumped onto all four legs. Terry sputtered and began sobbing. His body shook uncontrollably. I could sympathize. Mine had done the same thing when I took over driving duties to allow Jim to ride shotgun. I wasn't being waterboarded at the time.

—Are you going to get anything useful, or are you only making him pay for some unconfessed sin?

I read somewhere that torture rarely, if ever, worked.

—He's an amateur. He'll talk. He already believes he's going to drown.

Jim tipped the chair back. Terry's hood-covered head tipped beneath the shower. He sputtered and continued to strain against his bindings.

—You didn't ask him anything.

Jim looked at me like I was crazy, yet he was the one waterboarding my neighbor with a hood over his head.

—Of course not. I'm making sure he's warmed up first. You should get back downstairs before someone comes looking.

Horrified, I backed out of the cramped bathroom and slammed the door. I stopped to inhale half a dozen times. It was a challenge to work up enough nerve to go down and pretend to chat amiably with my mom and dad while a man upstairs tortured my neighbor.

Maybe Jim was right. Maybe he would learn something we could use to locate my brother. And then there was that phone number.

I recognized it, all right. It belonged to the man on the yacht. Kennedy. The man who blackened my eye. He programmed the same number into the burn phone I carried until Jim tossed it.

Would I have to come clean with Jim? Or was it already too late?

* * *

**ONCE SHE CALMED** down, I was able to talk Bobbie into hustling Terry across the street. Her instructions were to convince him to leave town. The faster, the better. In the meantime, I tried to relax and attempt to convince mom and dad that I wasn't too old for their daughter. I had no idea how I was doing.

Bobbie's folks were in their early sixties-too old to be involved in the drug trade as far as I was concerned. They didn't know anything about their involvement through their son. If Ray got caught out, by the Feds or by the cartel, they'd be in deep shit. No amount of paddling would be capable of getting them to shore.

Bobbie returned, not soon enough as far as I was concerned. She took one look and knew I was a nervous wreck. It didn't have anything to do with Terry. It was about dealing with her mother and father and fielding what seemed to me like a hundred questions launched at me in scattergun fashion. I wasn't accustomed to family dynamics. In fact, I was a real dope as far as that went.

It was a welcome relief to have her back. She drew me aside and I lowered my voice.

—Did you do what I asked? Did you dump him across the street? Can you get me out of here?

I was a nervous wreck from the grilling. She only grinned.

—As we speak, he's packing a bag. I suggested it might be a good idea if he left town for a while.

—Good. I wouldn't feel comfortable with him around here after we leave.

—He'll be fine. I parked his phone beneath the back seat of his car. He should have a nice trip.

And he would. Until the cartel got on his ass with tracking software and figured out he was on the run. Then, who knows? It wouldn't be our problem.

—All right. You did good.

Good? Hell, so far, she was spot on. I ought to pat her on the back and congratulate the woman on being a star. I probably wouldn't have taken the time to do the phone thing, even if I'd thought of it. I would have been happy just having our spy traveling on down the road and away from here. She was thorough. I'd pat her on the back later.

Bobbie was good at explaining to her folks that she had to leave. She hugged and kissed and cried and generally made mom and dad feel as though she'd been here a week and didn't want to go away again. Even I believed her.

She dragged herself out to the car. I didn't ask. I had to admit, I was worried, too.

—That was tough.

—Yeah. I noticed. You did good with your neighbor. I half expected you to start screaming at me upstairs in the bathroom.

And I had, too.

—I know. I'm sorry. It took a while to process everything. When I finally realized we were into it, it helped a lot.

—Good.

—I'm still processing, Jim. It's difficult. It's my brother.

I sent her back inside to be alone with her parents. She had some convincing to do if they were going to be leaving town until we got Ray back. I figured she could handle it on her own without me around to complicate the discussion.

I drove solo to the bar on 14th. I hoped I'd be encountering my old friend once more. I had plenty of questions for him, too. Who did he work for? Had Kara been his boss, or was she only a drone? And who gave the order for her to be killed?

So far, I hadn't gotten to the part where I'd be dealing with what happened to Pilar, my wife. Christ but it would never end for me. I couldn't even keep thoughts of Kara out of it, though I'd promised myself I'd forget about her.

Perhaps Bobbie's problem with her brother was a part of it. Just maybe, two sets of problems could become one. I wasn't holding my breath.

Bobbie proved herself more than capable of handling the details. If I could accept her as being on my side, perhaps we'd be able to accomplish a lot more together.

14.

Bobbie

**It took a** while to settle down once I waved farewell to Terry and sent him on his way. I patted myself on the back for thinking to stash the cell phone in the car. If anyone was looking-and after listening to Jim's explanation, I knew they would be-they'd be on him in no time.

Convinced that Terry was with the bad guys, I was happy. He'd been removed from the neighborhood and sent packing, far from my parents. Quite possibly he'd be seen by the cartel as a coward on the run. I almost danced my way across the street, just as I danced my way down the dock to the mainland only a couple of days ago.

Except now, I had to accept whatever it was that I was into. What we were into. I knew it couldn't be good.

It took Jim a while, but he finally admitted that I'd done all right. I don't think he had a hard time admitting it. It seemed as though he finally realized that he wasn't alone. Whether he'd like to admit it-

I hoped this man knew I was capable of helping with his problem, as he'd just helped with mine. Exactly what his problem was, I had yet to learn. As for my own circumstance concerning my brother, I was no farther ahead. It more than likely wasn't going to be pretty.

—Where are we headed?

Jim was waiting in the car.

—I want to take another look at that bar. And the safe house where my ex was taken is just around the corner.

I opened the door to get in.

—You can't, Bobbie. You have to convince your folks to get out of town until we find Ray.

I wanted so much to ask him about all of it. Who was she? Where was she? Ex-wife? Ex-girlfriend? I decided to wait him out. I think he was doing the same. Maybe we were in standoff territory. Maybe we weren't.

Just the same, I'd thank him when I thought the time was right, even if I was no closer to finding my brother.

In record time I managed to convince mom and dad of the folly of staying home when Ray hadn't been found yet. Mom took it in stride when I told her about his drug dealings. Even she got it about having the house under threat. Dad, not so much. He wanted to keep believing his son could do no wrong. It finally took mom dragging him out of the house after she'd packed a couple of bags.

Even then, the man was reluctant to leave.

* * *

**I CHECKED THE** text and ended up picking up sandwiches and coffee before doubling back for Bobbie. I guessed her folks hadn't been so difficult to convince to get out of Dodge after all.

—Are we going to be camping out?

—It's a diet change with sandwiches. Prepare yourself for a day of boredom. There's two of us. We'll take turns sleeping and dozing and sweating and cursing each other after a couple of hours. If no nosy neighbors come out to ask questions, that's a bonus.

—Whatever you say.

In half an hour, Bobbie's head was leaning back against the seat and she was quietly snoring. I let her be. In another couple of hours, I'd be doing the same. The nice thing about having her along would be letting her take her turn to try and keep awake while I counted sheep. Or maybe cartel coca.

**My head banged** against the door post and I came to with start. I opened my eyes and looked at the empty seat beside me. Shit. Where had that woman gotten to now? Before I could get out for a look the door opened and she climbed in.

I sent a fierce look in her direction. She looked back entirely too pleased with herself. So angry I could barely speak, I waited before I said something I'd regret later.

—Yeah. I know. I couldn't help it. I had to pee. I took a leisurely stroll and circled back along the alley behind the house. There's a garage. I looked through a window. It looks like my brother's beater is in it.

My face softened listening to her explanation. My dismay at her disappearance turned to admiration for her initiative.

—Are you sure?

—Pretty much. The window doesn't let in much light, but it sure looks like it.

I started the car and drove down the street, searching for a new location for our stakeout. I pulled into a spot shaded by a tree. It would keep us a bit cooler in the noonday sun.

—Did you see anyone going into the house?

Bobbie shook her head.

—Neither did I. Maybe we should check it out.

Around the back I tried the door. Unlocked. It opened, almost too easily. The whole scene was a bit of a puzzle. Something wasn't right. Why would a car belonging to a drug smuggler be stashed out back of a safe house didn't make sense. Unless-

I was beginning to think that the safe house was no longer so safe. More likely, it had been dropped from the list and was being used for something more sinister. Storing drugs, maybe. Or cash. Perhaps both. I sniffed the air. No lingering smell from what I could tell.

We closed the door and made our way to the back of the lot and the beat-up garage. I took a look through the filthy window into the dark interior.

—Is it your brother's car?

—Yes. I'm certain.

I considered for a moment.

—Come on. There's something we need to do.

I took us back to our car and positioned it in the alley next to the garage. I looked across at Bobbie.

—Go get your brother's car.

She looked at me like I was crazy.

—I don't have the keys.

—They're in the ignition. Do I have to do everything for you?

It was a long shot, I knew. But if I guessed right, we'd be on easy street. She punched me in the shoulder. Hard.

—You've got a brother all right. I'm thinking you gave as good as you got.

She grinned. I rubbed at my shoulder.

—Maybe I'll console you later if it hurt that much. With ice, even.

—Promises. And one more thing-

—Yes?

—If the keys aren't in the ignition, check the sunshade. Don't forget the ashtray, either. Look beneath the floor mats on the driver's side.

—I thought you said-

I got a dirty look for my trouble. In less time than it took to unload our bags, Bobbie reversed the car out of the garage.

—Where were they?

She ignored me. I backfilled with our car and forced the door closed over the uneven ground. She loaded the bags into the trunk of her brother's wreck and slammed it shut.

—Now what?

—Our bags are packed. Let's head to Mexico.

—What about-

I already knew she wanted to ask about my handgun. I didn't give her the chance.

—Did you bring your bikini?

—As if.

She handed me another dirty look. I pulled over to the side of the road and popped the trunk. I put my pistol beneath the spare tire while Bobbie rummaged in her bag. She got back in the front with her top and some concealer.

How could I not look? Hell, I stared, open mouthed, as she pulled off her shirt and began spreading concealer over her bruised breast. She made it even more difficult when she arched her back to don the bikini top. She caught me out in the mirror.

—Would you like to pull over and help? You know you want to.

I grinned evilly.

—Why would I? I've seen it all before.

I should have known better. I rubbed my shoulder even longer this time. There'd be another bruise for my troubles. Damn but the woman could throw a punch.

—What are you doing? You're not really pulling over.

I was in the middle of a u-turn, heading back to the alley and the garage.

—Did you look beneath those blue tarps? What's under them?

—I didn't even think about it. I was in too big of a hurry.

I stopped at the garage entrance. It was an older building. The door swung open on rusty hinges. The floor was dirt. The tiny window hadn't been cleaned since it was built. From what I could tell in the dim light, it hadn't been used for anything other than a car. The walls were bare.

I lifted the corner of a tarp for a quick look and hurried back to the car.

—Got a match?

—Not since I met you. Why?

—Funny. Push the lighter in, would you?

—The lighter?

—For crying out loud. How old are you again? Push in that thing sticking out from the power outlet in the dash. When it pops out, hand it to me. Carefully.

—You reek of gasoline. What did you do?

—Wait and see, kiddo. Wait and see.

—Don't call me kiddo.

I caught a whiff of fumes. The tiny hole I managed to inflict on the car's plastic gas tank was doing a yeoman's job of spilling fuel inside the small building. Bobbie handed me the lighter. I tossed it beneath the car and separated myself from the conflagration as fast as I could. On the way I caught hold of Bobbie's arm and dragged her with me.

The garage went up with a loud whump. The door flew open and then banged shut as air rushed in to feed the flames. We watched from inside her brother's car until the heat became too much. Growing orange flames and screaming sirens finally chased us away.

The car eased out of the alley and turned onto 14th.

**I felt compelled** to give Bobbie a sign of some sort. Even if she broke the rules.

—You did good when you abandoned the stakeout and took a walk. I would never have thought to do that.

In fact, it was a no-no I learned the hard way a long time ago.

—Maybe, but I got lucky. Who would have known that my brother's car would be there?

The house didn't appear to be lived-in. Bobbie was right. Even I would never have thought a car would be stored in a garage at a safe house. Someone must have figured it would be a good place for it.

—We need to take a better look at your brother's junker.

I parked by the side of the road and did a walk-around. Mexican plates. Tamaulipas state. Just across the border.

—Any reason he'd put those plates on this thing?

I popped the trunk and shifted our bags. I came up with Texas plates tucked under a rag.

—Well, that explains things a bit more.

It couldn't be that simple. Surely the border checks would catch a car and driver swapping out plates. Unless. Unless the fix was in. And that would mean crossing at times of the day when certain guards were on duty. Shit.

—Roberta. Are any of your brother's friends border guards?

—A couple. Why?

I walked her through what I was thinking. The brother driving north, returning from a night of partying. A Mexican national to drive the car back with Mexican plates in place. She refused to consider any of it.

—His friends were like brothers to mom and dad. To all of us. They came to our place to eat and sleep over and mom treated them like they were her own. There's no way. No way in hell.

—Are you sure? Look at what was going on with Terry. He was on the lookout, photographing everyone coming and going from across the street and sending the images to his cartel friends. He even sent a text when you arrived with me in tow.

Bobbie turned away to avoid my gaze.

Why was this woman still in denial? I made sure to show her the text on Terry's phone right after I discovered it. How long was it going to take her to wake up?

What else was going on that I didn't know about?

I was starting to think that Bobbie was working at cross-purposes with me. Sure, she said she'd come along for the ride once we located her brother. She was all smiles and yapping a mile a minute when things were going her way.

The instant I came up with something obvious, she shut me down and wouldn't believe me. The text had been obvious. She knew that number. I could tell by the way she avoided looking at me then, too.

I needed to keep my eyes open with this one, or I could end up _desaparecido_ in Mexico.

15.

Bobbie

**Surely my own** brother wouldn't be dumb enough to end up colluding with some of his friends to transport cartel drugs across the river. It wasn't unheard of, but even so. His two friends in on the deal? And if it was true, no one had been caught out. Wouldn't I have heard about it if they had?

Jim had to be wrong. He had to be. Except-

Somehow, the cartel found me. On pain of death they forced me to find my brother, or else. So I went along. And ended up beaten and bruised for my trouble.

Sure, maybe I'd brought that on myself. I wasn't exactly enamored of Kennedy on the yacht. He was a bit of an asshole, to say the least. And I wouldn't sleep with him.

And then I met Jim. He seemed to be a nice guy. One of the good ones. But there was something. I couldn't put my finger on it right this minute. Possibly he was on the lookout, too. For what, I didn't yet know. But I'd find out. If curiosity didn't kill the cat.

So I asked.

—Are you ever going to tell me what your deal is down here? It can't be to help out a hitch-hiker just because she invited you into her bed.

He looked at me like I was nuts. It wasn't the first time.

—Are you sure you want to know?

I waited, afraid that he might turn away from me yet again. He pursed his lips and shook his head, as though resolved and yet fearful.

—I'm an ex-cop. I picked up some government work to help pay the bills after I decided I didn't want to be a big-city cop any more.

He hesitated, probably wondering how much he should tell me. Maybe wondering if I could be trusted.

—I got tangled up in this one deal. Fell in love with the agent. Got tasked to do a couple more assignments with her, probably because I was led to believe she loved me.

A fairy tale love story. This was starting to get interesting. I waited for him to go on.

—We got married in Todos.

The way he said it sounded Mexican. I interrupted.

—Todos?

—On the Baja. Todos Santos. She told me she was pregnant. Our boat exploded. She was killed. So was our baby.

Wait. What? His expectant wife was killed? He's a sailor? He owned a boat. That exploded? Where the hell was he and what was he up to when all this was going on? I feared if I interrupted he'd stop. I'd never get him to talk about it again.

—I went ashore offering a _mordida_ -a bribe-to buy a berth in the harbor. I picked up food and was headed back when our boat disintegrated in front of me. Everything I thought I knew and believed in was taken away in that instant.

The man wouldn't stop. He just kept on going, like a windup toy that had been converted to batteries. Maybe I should have stopped him. I couldn't.

—I stayed drunk for months. And searched. And went broke. I finally gave up. It took me years to get over it. I remarried. To a wonderful woman. Who was pregnant when the plane she was on exploded in mid-air.

Holy shit. I thought I had problems.

—The feds investigating found explosive residue in Pilar's luggage. They were convinced she was a bomber on a mission. The trouble with that was that it was a small plane, a charter. Not an airliner.

Wide-eyed, I kept looking at him, wanting him to go on. At the same time, afraid that he would.

—The investigation finally ended with no resolution that would ever satisfy me. It only made me more angry.

I couldn't look at him any longer. I turned away. Then, like passing a car wreck on the highway, I turned back.

—I'm going to find the sons of bitches and kill every last living one of them. Then I'm going to kill their families. And their dogs. And burn down their homes. I'll poison their cropland and kill their livestock, if they have any.

My eyes filled with tears.

—All of them?

I couldn't stop sobbing. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and sniffled like a kid.

—Maybe we can get going on finding my brother.

Had I just said that? It had to sound ridiculous. I didn't know what else to do. I had no experience with any of it.

—The sooner we're done with that, the sooner we can get to tracking down the killers you're looking for.

I looked at him. Still not believing. Wondering if I could help. If he'd let me. Wanting to believe.

—You're sweet, Roberta. But I think what I have to do is beyond your pay grade. Do you have any sisters?

What? Sisters?

—No. Why?

What the hell?

—Just wondering. I'll let you know.

He'll let me know. He just spilled his guts. Two women he once loved are dead. Now he wants to know if I have a sister.

Damn but this man was frustrating to the nth degree.

* * *

**I WAS INCAPABLE** of knowing why I was in such a hurry to tell Bobbie about my predicament. I hadn't meant to. I wanted her around only as long as she could be a means to my own end. I figured that finding her brother and discovering his connections to the local cartel might speed up my own quest.

I began to think that the delay her missing brother would cause could turn out to be a lot longer than I figured on. His was more than a simple missing person case. While he was parading back and forth across the border in a car set up to smuggle drugs, I was out looking for him.

Had Bobbie even thought to stake out the border as a part of her own deal?

So be it. I shut out my problems and began an attempt at looking at hers from a new angle. The trouble was, I liked her. Maybe a little too much for my own good.

—Have you got a plan?

I dropped the question on her like I knew what I was asking. Hell, even I didn't have a plan.

—I was hoping you might have one.

Just as I thought.

—We've got a car all set up to smuggle. What do you say we do some smuggling?

Bobbie grinned. She hitched her thumbs through her belt loops and flapped her elbows.

—If I didn't know better, I'd say that kinda sounds like you want to do dirty things. With me, maybe?

Hell yeah. I couldn't help smiling. What I wanted to do with her didn't involve smuggling.

—We don't have time. Maybe later.

Promises. I'd been good at that with Allie. Now I was on the other end and not too happy about it.

—Come on, Roberta. It's time.

We climbed into the beater and headed towards the river.

—Wait a minute.

I pulled the car over and stopped.

—There's something I think we should try.

It was something simple. Something we should have tried when she told me who her brother's friends were.

—You want me to take my top off again?

I ignored the woman's grin.

—What if we left this wreck near the border station parking lot? In plain sight where those two have to walk past it to get to work. Or off shift.

Maybe we could scare up some action. Or at least put the fear of being outed into them. Could it scare them into making a mistake.

—What do we have to lose? Let's do it.

The lot would be full of cameras. What border lot wouldn't these days? I stopped for caps and dark glasses and hoodies. Gangsta style. It might look suspicious, but if we got away with it, no one would find us through facial recognition.

—Check the parked cars. We need something to sit in while we keep an eye open.

I drove up and down row after row of cars baking in the heat. Bobbie pointed out a space close to the walkway. Coming or going, they'd have to go right past it.

—That was too easy. Now all we have to do is watch. And no sneaking off when I fall asleep.

—You keeping late hours I don't know about?

—Not since you won't share a bed with me. I've taken to sleeping with you in public on our stakeouts.

She grinned and I smiled.

—I'll have to see what I can do about that.

I left it alone.

—Will you be able to recognize these guys? It's been a while.

—No problem. I'll wake you gently.

I parked Ray's car in plain view near the lot entrance and we strolled nonchalantly towards the watch car. Waves of heat reflected off the dark asphalt. Unable to power down the windows, we cracked the doors and left them open.

With nothing else to do, I slipped the seat back and settled in down low. I dropped the sun visor and pulled the cap over my eyes.

**An excited elbow** dug a fresh hole in my side. So much for being gentle. My head snapped up.

—Stay down, Jim. They're fifty or sixty feet away. Pretending to talk. But they've been giving Ray's car the stink-eye.

—You sure it's them?

Being on the receiving end of a dirty look from Bobbie wasn't high on my list of favorites.

—Of course I'm sure. I've known those two all my life. Now what?

—We wait. Just to see what they do. If they do anything. I don't think they'll do it here, but you never know. They could be that stupid.

The two friends continued standing around, hands in pockets. Heads turned nonchalantly, searching. They looked like a couple of guys just off shift trying to decide whether to stop on the way home for a beer.

They strolled closer to the car, wanting to get a better look. One checked the plate and nodded. They weren't trying to hide their curiosity any longer. What I didn't want was for them to call in reinforcements and seize the wreck.

—They know it's the one.

They continued towards the lot, not looking back.

—Now we know they're involved up to their eyeballs. We got lucky, Bobbie.

The question was, what do we do about it?

We didn't have time to figure it out. They parted company all of a sudden. One headed in our direction, double-timing it all the way. Bobbie jumped out of the car and ran towards him. Bobbie's shouting moved on to shoving. I thought world war three was about to unfold when she started yelling loud enough to wake the dead.

I used the diversion to crawl out of the car on my hands and knees. I made my way back a couple of cars and sat on the curb while I waited on Bobbie to calm down. She walked calmly past the drug car to meet up with me. She sat down on the curb.

—Well?

—He denied everything. He's not happy about it, though. I think he wanted to take me in. The only thing stopping him was fear of being discovered if I talked. He'd better know that I'd talk.

—You did a job convincing him from what I could see. What do you want to do now?

—We'll wait. When has anyone with a job like this hesitated to get in touch with their guilty friends? Especially when they're crooked.

She was right. Eventually we moved off the lot like we owned the place. I wanted a place to stay, to use as our base. I wanted to figure out which way we'd be headed. It didn't help that I had no clue. My own problems were once again on the back burner for the time being.

It was obvious that Ray's two friends were involved up to their ears. Now that I had something to work with, I'd help Bobbie find her brother. When she was satisfied, it would be my turn to make a move. I'd solve the problem I'd set out to solve before I picked her up at the gas station.

Come hell or high water.

16.

Bobbie

**I was clueless.** I was feeling pretty good about it, though. Sure I knew Jim had it all figured out. Maybe I'd been a bit reluctant to disclose everything I knew. But the more time I spent with him, the more I believed in him. He was competent. He knew things. Sure, he was older. But that didn't detract from any of it.

And he still needed a shave. I'd forgotten about that.

I was still a neophyte. At all of it. Except the falling in love part. How can someone end up with feelings so intense about someone after only a few days? What was going on in my life that I had allowed these feelings to develop virtually overnight?

And how was I going to ever tell him the truth about what was going on in my life?

—Jim?

I scraped my fingers along the line of his jaw.

—You need a shave.

He gave me the look that said it wasn't the most important thing in his life right about now. I gave him one back that said I love you and left it unspoken. He ignored me, as usual.

But that was all right. I was getting accustomed to it. And that would have to change-his ignoring me, that is-or else.

* * *

**BOBBIE WASN'T GOING** to be satisfied until we put our hands on her brother, and I couldn't blame her. Just knowing that two of his friends, both border guards, could be a part of the problem, wouldn't help. She needed a lot more.

—We need to regroup.

I turned the car around and headed back to 14th.

—We need a base. Know any decent motels?

As usual. She ignored me.

—We have a perfectly good place to stay. I used to live there, remember? It's called home. Why do we need a seedy motel room? Are you still traveling on a budget?

Bobbie wiggled a hand into a pocket and ended up fishing a handful of cash out of it. She counted up to five hundred and halted. She waved it in front of me.

—It's courtesy of my yachting friend. The one who beat me up.

I didn't know if she was trying to convince me we were broke, or if she was going to volunteer to buy us a room for the night.

—Stop and think about it for just a minute, okay?

But I didn't let her.

—You want to take us back to your home. Where there was a lookout just across the street. What if he's been replaced? What's the plan then?

She tucked the wad of cash back in her pocket and grabbed at her flying hair.

—Christ. Can we get something with air next time? I don't know, Jim. I'm trying. I really am. I'm new at all of this. In case you haven't noticed.

—Look. We need to stop and regroup. We're already steps ahead of where we were yesterday. That has to be obvious. We know Ray is hooked up with those two. The way they checked out the car made it plain.

—You're right. I know. But-

—We need to catch our breath and work on a strategy for what we'll do to hook up with them. They have to know where Ray is. Otherwise, why the concern about the car?

I passed a motel and turned around.

—You want your own room?

—I feel safe with you. Is that all right?

I signed up for the room with the biggest bed. Bobbie made for the shower. I stripped the automatic and made sure the magazines were properly loaded. An obsession with things like that paid for itself more than a few times in my past.

I felt Bobbie's presence over my shoulder. Her warmth from the hot shower. The slight scent of the perfume she put on.

—I like that on you. It's nice. So is the perfume.

I turned. Her robe opened. Inviting. Her eyes sparkled. Long, damp hair combed close. Lip gloss. She'd put on lip gloss. A hand caressed my chin.

—About that shave-

She kissed me. I kissed back. I stood up. She wrapped her legs around me.

—I think we should call for a chambermaid.

—Why? The room will be in ruins again in a bit anyway.

—You're pretty confident in your abilities.

—And you aren't?

**I left her** to head for the shower. She joined me and then hurried out before I had a chance to encourage more. By the time I finished, she'd slipped into a brightly colored skirt and sandals. Damn but the woman looked good with her clothes on, too.

—What are you looking at, mister?

Bobbie did a twirl. The loose, filmy skirt flared and exposed just enough thigh to get me interested all over again.

—Not a chance. I can tell by the look on your face. I didn't put this on just to take it off right away. We're going out. And you're buying.

—You're the one with all the cash.

—Maybe. But it's the reserve fund. I reserve it for the men I care about.

—So then-

—I'm not talking. Change the subject if you know what's good for you.

Bobbie led us up the street to a honky-tonk place she knew. We walked through a parking populated by half-tons into a place with too many long bars, plenty of men for too few women, and a huge dance floor filled with sweaty people in a row all kicking their feet.

More than a few seemed to know her. She answered plenty of questions about her brother and his whereabouts. She avoided the obvious and told everyone who asked that he was off traveling. Judging by the questions, she didn't need to explain to me that Ray was a popular one with the ladies.

Bobbie caught up on the local gossip and traded stories about some of her friends. I went with it and let her have her evening. Too many drinks turned into more of the same. We called it quits and strolled our way back to the motel, arm in arm. Her head rested on my shoulder the entire way.

My senses filled to overflowing with this woman. The way her hair and other parts swayed when she walked. The slightest wisp of perfume. The way she held my hand and bumped against me, hip to hip. The rhythm and flow of footsteps that matched mine.

We stopped to kiss, and stopped again. The motel loomed. I picked her up and carried her to the door. Bobbie fished for the key card in her bag.

—Be careful. This could turn into habit.

I thought we were headed for bed. My mistake.

Bobbie walked out of the bathroom and headed for the door. I hesitated for a second before wising up and following her into the parking lot.

17.

Bobbie

**I was able** to convince Jim to go along to another road house a couple of blocks away. He lagged behind and I knew what he was doing. I'd stayed in the bathroom to dress, surprising him with the skirt and blouse. I already knew I looked good. Maybe too good. I knew I was in trouble, too.

Did he know?

—Is there some reason you're bringing up the rear, mister? This is Texas. A girl expects her man to keep up, or else. In fact, I insist on it.

I twirled for him and kept going. He gave me a smack that had me rubbing my rear all the way to the traffic light on the corner.

—You know you're not going to get to see that, right? You're cut off.

The hang-dog look didn't do any good, and I made sure he knew it. I smiled angelically all the way into the copy-cat bar, almost indistinguishable from the one we were in earlier. Back when, we'd all traipse back and forth. I expected that it was no different now.

I drew the attention of a good number of singles and a few not so single. Jim noticed, too. I grabbed his hand and hung on.

—You must be used to it by now.

He didn't seem like he was the jealous type.

—No. Not really. In a place like this I want them to know I'm yours.

—So I'm not cut off?

—We'll see.

Which was as good an answer as he had forthcoming for the rest of the evening. _Keep 'em wondering_ , I always said, and not out loud.

I showed my heavy-footed, clumsy oaf of a boyfriend a Texas two-step and we laughed and hugged and slow danced and had a great time. I liked the slow dancing best of all. Jim said he was scared of hurting me if he hugged me too close.

I told him I'd let him know.

He hugged some more, and I kept quiet. I allowed him to keep our sweaty bodies in close contact. I figured he couldn't see me wincing with my head on his shoulder. It gave me a chance to wonder what I was up to with the boyfriend part of the night.

Browntown being what it is, I ran into more friends from the old days. They wondered and I tried to explain over the music and the dancing. I ended up inviting them to join us at our stand-up table.

Conversation, dancing, and beer flowed into the wee hours as we caught up on old times. Jim left for a bathroom break while we girls scurried outside to cool off and trade stories without a man around.

* * *

**I WAS ZIPPING** up over the porcelain when the waitress banged on the door and barged in.

—Your girls are being hassled out in the parking lot.

—My girls? What?

—The women you were with. You better get your ass out there in a hurry. It looks like some of the locals are taking exception to you having three all to yourself.

It couldn't be. We walked from the hotel.

I made for our table. It was filled with empty glasses. The girls were nowhere in sight. I took the waitress at her word and scrambled to dodge bodies on the crowded dance floor on the way to the door and the parking lot.

A jumble of jacked-up half- —You're right, Jim. My car is this way.

I thanked my lucky stars and grabbed Bobbie's hand. Sally tucked the pistol in her purse and held out her own.

—You want to take mine too, Jim?

Bobbie gave me the look as Sally grabbed onto me and we stumbled our way to an immaculately restored bright-orange Judge. I pulled at the seatback and Bobbie and I crawled into the back. Sally stomped on the pedal and the car guzzled gas as she laid rubber all the way out of the parking lot. She spotted me looking over her prized possession in the rearview.

—You like it?

—Nice car. Who did the work?

—I did. All by my lonesome. If you weren't attached, I'd let you drive it sometimes.

I about had the hugest grin ever. For a minute I thought I should open my mouth and firmly insert my foot. Then Bobbie looked over and caught me out. She dug an elbow into my ribs. Hard.

—Just like old times. He's taken, Sally. Take us back to the motel. By the look of it, he needs to know he's taken.

—Well, well, stranger. Your girl hasn't changed in the slightest.

My grin went even bigger at the prospect. By the time Sally dropped us at the motel, Bobbie had a grip on my hand that wasn't about letting go until she dragged me safely back to the room.

—The couple that goes together, and leaves together, stays together. Is that what you're trying to tell me?

—Something like that.

Bobbie shimmied out of the important stuff in plain view.

—Good to know.

She switched off the desk lamp and moved closer in the darkened room. There was enough electricity between us that I didn't need any light.

I knew I was taken.

**I woke with** a start and opened my eyes. Still night. I focused on the clock's flashing digits. I reached behind and slipped a hand beneath the sheets, searching. Bobbie's side of the bed was stone cold.

—Bobbie?

No answer. Where had that woman gotten to this time? I gave up and dozed off, warm beneath the sheets even though I was alone. Content knowing that she must have disappeared for more ice. I didn't give it another thought.

A blood-curdling scream assaulted my ears through the open window. I sat bolt-upright. I kicked off the sheets and scrambled to find my pants in the pitch-black room. I tugged on a shirt and found my bag. I kicked at the screen and put a leg through the first-floor window. Barefoot, I stepped out onto cool, damp grass.

There were no lights anywhere. The power had to be out. I made my way cautiously to where I remembered the ice machine was located between buildings. Heavy boots scratched on gravel and pavement. I followed the sounds and ended up peering around the corner into a darkened alley between two buildings. A trouble light flicked on.

The feeble glow was enough to illuminate the man bent over Bobbie's back. His weight pushed her over the ice machine. She struggled to escape the grip of a second man grabbing at her wrists. She managed to get one free and slapped and scratched until her arms ended up completely subdued.

The man behind her pulled at her pants in an effort to force them down. The second man covered her mouth and pushed her face against the wall. Bobbie's head twisted and turned beneath his grip as she struggled to call out.

A loud grunt escaped as Bobbie bit into a hand. A fist came up and smashed into the back of her head. She banged against the cooler. She collapsed and went limp and silent. The battery light flickered and died in the same instant.

The knife slipped out of its sheath. It fit my hand perfectly. In half a dozen silent steps I was at the assailant's back. I smashed him in the head with the butt of the knife. He didn't drop. He didn't let go, either.

For good measure I gave him a solid blow to the temple. He thumped onto the asphalt. His partner didn't notice the commotion. He was too engaged in trying to force Bobbie's shorts below her knees.

It was already too late by the time he realized I was there. He released Bobbie to give me his undivided attention. At the same time, she slipped from his grip and planted herself on the ground.

I twisted and drew back and then extended the arm holding the blade. It plunged into the man's side. Somehow, I managed to hold off thrusting it all the way to the hilt. A groan, and then another and he collapsed beside his partner. I gave them both a kick in the head for spite.

I pulled Bobbie up off her knees and held her in my arms.

—Come on, sunshine. It's time for bed. The next time you want to go for a walk in the middle of the night, wake me first. I'll write you a note, okay?

—Not in your lifetime.

—Of course not. And look where it got you. If I hadn't heard-

—You don't seem to appreciate my methods. I had everything under control. I was biding my time to make my move.

—So that's why you're leaning on me shaking so bad you can barely stand on your own?

—Pretty much. Can you help me back to the room?

The trouble light flicked on for an instant, illuminating a faint smile. I shook my head, figuring that was all the surrender I'd get. My arm circled her waist. At the door, she halted, waiting.

Women. A man can't live without them. I picked her up and carried her through the door.

—Are you going to call an ambulance?

—Why? He only got your shorts to your knees. Are you trying to tell me he got to home base?

—You knifed him.

—Nah. I only stuck it in part way. And you seem to be doing all right. No sense circling the wagons for anyone to spot.

—You're a good man. Now set me down. I need to shower.

I went back to bed. This time, when I woke, Bobbie was beside me, clinging and snoring peacefully. Damn but I wish I had a camera phone. I'd play the video after she declared that she didn't snore.

Which was probably a bad idea, but I lived through worse. I moved a hand to my shoulder and rubbed at the bruise remaining from one of Bobbie's punches.

18.

Bobbie

**Damn it to** hell. I only meant to get some ice. How was I to know a motel pervert would be on the lookout for someone like me? And there were two of them. They moved so fast I barely had time to react. I tried, though.

I swung too late. My fist had no travel as my arms were forced down. I tried a kick. I couldn't get leverage. Already the men had me off balance. I couldn't get my foot back far enough to do any real damage. I reached for the knife before remembering I left it in the room.

All my struggling was in vain. I twisted and managed to get my mouth open far enough to bite the shit out of the finger that slipped into it. The hand pulled back and I screamed and had my head bashed against the ice machine for my trouble.

My ass would be up for grabs in another minute if it took even that long in the dark. Damn the power failure, too.

And then Jim stormed the hill. He kicked ass and took names and it was over before I knew it had even begun. The only thing is, he stuck a knife into one of them. If he bled out, we'd be in deep shit. Then I remembered the power was out and there'd be no CCTV film on the news at eleven.

I shook so bad he had to help me to the room. I made him pay for being late. I forced him to carry me through the door.

—We need to check into a better class of motel.

—No prob. You pay next time.

Point made. And I was just happy to be here.

I headed for the shower. When I came out, I collapsed on the bed in nervous exhaustion and fell asleep snuggled against my savior. Warm and safe.

Damn him to hell, too.

* * *

**I DIDN'T WANT** to push Bobbie. I pushed anyway. I needed to know.

—His friends. Who are they?

She pulled at the sheet to cover her naked breasts and sat up. It was as though she was attempting to shield herself from the interrogation she knew was coming.

—All our friends were neighborhood kids. We hung out at one time or another with everyone. Some moved apart as we got older. Ray kept up with the two who ended up taking government jobs and the guaranteed security for their families. My brother didn't want that. He wanted something better for himself.

—Did he ever stop to figure out just how he'd do that?

—I don't think he did. That's why he was still living in my parents' basement. Maybe his two friends figured out a way to feed him a line crap about having money to do all the things he wanted. They probably told him all he'd have to do is make a few trips across the river.

—Yeah. I think we know how that goes long-term. I'm thinking they'd eventually get gold stars for busting a supply chain. Whether it was a friend or a cartel.

Bobbie looked at me like I was a traitor for even suggesting it. For her own good I went on.

—Ray is taking all the risk. Whether he got discovered by his friends, or by a drug-sniffing dog, he'd be done. He might have leverage if he turned in his border-guard friends. Maybe not.

—He's loyal. He'd never do something like ratting out friends.

—In that case he'd do serious time. And your parents would lose everything they ever worked for as proceeds of crime. It would take too much money and time to get it all back.

—Well you're a Mr. Negative.

She patted the bed beside her.

—There's room for you here, you know. You don't have to sit all alone way over there.

I wanted to get away. And I wanted Bobbie to at least take some time to consider what I said.

—There's a little takeout place next door. I won't be long.

She smiled and wriggled beneath the sheets.

—I'll be here keeping everything warm.

**I was gone** for twenty minutes, max. The room was empty.

—Bobbie? You here?

Damn the woman and her disappearing act. I'd only been half-serious about writing notes for her. I pushed open the bathroom door to check.

Someone had to know where we were. Or where she was. I don't know if I fit into their equation or not. Probably not, since I was left behind to try and figure it out.

It looking more and more like last night's attack had been a prelude to today's kidnapping. If I hadn't heard her scream-

It didn't matter. She was still gone.

I wolfed down the food and burned my mouth with too-hot coffee while I shoveled clothes into our bags. On the way to the car I stopped at the front desk. The clerk hadn't seen anything. If he had, I figured he wasn't about telling me what he knew. I could tell by the empty, shifty eyes staring back.

I was on my own.

Before stepping out I took a studied look over the lot before making my way to the car. I drove in circles, waiting to find a tail. Hoping I would. It would give me somewhere to start, at least, if I could put the finger on him.

Where would Bobbie end up?

The safe house turned into a money and drug drop was a good bet. While I sat, I wracked my brain. Friends. Neighbors. Buddies. Could it be that obvious? I quit the stakeout and headed for what I thought just might be a better opportunity.

I pulled the car in back. Bobbie's parents were long gone. I loaded up with my handgun and a knife. I jimmied the door and locked it behind me. In the living room, the curtains covered the huge window. I dragged a chair into position, lifted a corner, and settled back to watch and learn. If I was any more comfortable-

My chin banged onto my chest and I woke with a start. I peered out the window in the dark. Across the street, two coverall-clad men resembling yesterday's border guards walked out of the house. They were definitely the two Bobbie helped me scope out in the parking lot.

I waited for them to depart and began following on the off chance they might not be going to or coming from work. I ended up tailing them to something called Dos Amigos. It turned out to be a sketchy-looking storage facility not far from the Express Bridge. They disappeared through the door, most likely on their way to an inside unit.

My problem became one of finding out where it was and what might be in it.

While I was trying to figure out how I'd accomplish that, I realized I needed to return to Bobbie's place. It dawned on me that Bobbie just might be sitting inside Terry's lookout house across the street. If that turned out to be true, I'd slap myself for being so stupid as to not consider it in the first place. Besides, the house was a lot easier to get inside than an unknown storage building.

I stepped out of Bobbie's place looking like I was taking a nighttime stroll. I angled across the street and ducked into the back yard. I tried the door. The handle opened without a struggle. The place had to be abandoned. Bobbie couldn't possibly be inside.

I took a chance and flipped on the lights. I wandered room to room. There was no sign of her. I closed and locked the door and crossed the street. I leaned back on the sofa kindly provided by Mr. and Mrs. Dawson and closed my eyes. In no time I slumped over and dreamed of lakes and forests and chopping wood.

Bobbie wasn't in the dream.

**Trying to figure** out what Bobbie was becoming to me was an impossibility. I only knew I cared for her too much to leave her out in the cold.

Her kidnapping had to mean that she'd become too close when we took a look at the border parking lot. Now that we knew who was involved, it had to be a straight shot to locating her brother.

The problem was, I had absolutely no idea where to start. And now with both Bobbie and her brother missing, I was in the midst of double trouble. My feelings for her made it all the more urgent that I find a solution. I made my way to the Dawson living room and the view across the road.

Every room in the downstairs was lit up like a bowling alley. I was certain I turned out the lights when I left. I tucked my automatic into my belt and strapped on the knives. Being prepared was something I believed in long before I got myself into whatever I was into with Bobbie.

I put on my best smile, knocked on the door, and waited. I knocked again. The woman who opened it was gorgeous. Dark-skinned, with black hair. Mexican by the look of it. I blinked, stuttered, and introduced myself.

—I'm a friend of Bobbie's from across the street. Have you seen her around recently?

Lame-ass, probably, but it seemed to work. The woman opened the door wide. I managed to get a quick look. Everything appeared to be as I left it earlier.

—If you're staying at her place, why don't you know where she is?

She had me there. She must have been watching, too.

—We had a fight and she stomped off into the night. I thought-

—Welcome to my world. I've been keeping an eye on this place waiting for my ex to leave. By the look of it, he's gone. Thank goodness.

—Yeah. Well, if Bobbie should show up-

—I'll let you know.

She closed the door in my face. Before I made it to the end of the walkway, the door opened again.

—Why don't you come in? Maybe we can help each other.

Since waterboarding her partner out of town, I didn't think so, but why not? I might learn something.

—Where did your ex take off for?

—I don't know and I don't care. Now then, let's talk about you.

The handgun leveled at my chest was an eight-shot hammerless. It was used mostly for close-in, quiet work. As in putting one in the back of a head up close and personal, quickly followed by a second to back up the first. I didn't like it in the slightest, especially if it was going to be my head in the close-up part of personal.

I kept to the doorway, unsure of what might be waiting inside besides one in the back of the head. If she wanted me in there, she'd have to drag me.

**I was out** of options. I kept my eyes riveted to the hand holding the pistol. I eased past her, careful not to make any sudden moves. That this woman knew I was across the street said she had at least one dog in the race.

—You go first.

I thought I'd get an argument from the woman. Instead, she confirmed something for me. Ray wasn't only missing. He had been killed. Mexican style. Cut up and parted out to places unknown. There was no doubt. The woman witnessed it. I couldn't be sure she wasn't lying, but for now, I took her at her word.

—What about Bobbie?

—We're still looking for her.

The glance she gave me said something else. Still looking? Just who was this woman?

—So then, the cartel hasn't found the drugs yet. Do they think Bobbie might have them?

It was a gamble, but I just shot my wad. If she took me at face value, maybe she'd think I knew more than she did. Maybe she'd hand me something on a platter. Hell, I'd take anything just about now.

I threw one last line out of my sinking boat.

—What about those two border guards? They're in this up to their necks.

The woman's eyes widened for an instant and there it was. I had something. I was certain. But what? I threw out another morsel for luck. It couldn't hurt.

—They've got a storage unit over by the _puente viejo_.

I held out hope. The woman didn't know where Bobbie was. Maybe she'd run off, thinking she could do better on her own. And maybe she could. But if Bobbie was about taking on a cartel all by her lonesome, she was in for an education that she wasn't prepared to get.

—Will you take us there?

Us? So now we were supposed to be a team? I considered for an instant-not long enough to think it through, but at this point, I didn't care and I didn't have time. I was desperate to find Bobbie.

—We'll go in my car.

But not right away. I headed down the alley behind Bobbie's place and drove straight to the old safe house. It wasn't hard to talk the sicario into backing me up. She had the gun.

I kicked the door open. Nothing. It was abandoned. I did a desultory rummage through a couple of cabinets and came up empty-handed.

—Your car is the drug car. The one from which the drugs were taken.

Someone in the know had filled the woman in for sure. If she knew everything, then Ray had escaped with a boatload of coke. No wonder he'd been parted out so fast upon his discovery. The cartel had to send a message. Part two of the message was family next. I hoped I'd be able to do something about that.

I pleaded ignorance and let her go on.

—Ray was an amateur as a smuggler. He only wanted to make money and then quit. He was an amateur as a thief, too. He approached his two border-guard friends about doing one run and then cashing in. Unfortunately for Ray, the guards are on our payroll.

So that was it. Simple yet effective. They were greedy bastards to boot. And I was proved right. They kept an eye on the product when it crossed the river. Ray hadn't known that. So maybe Ray wasn't the drug thief after all. Maybe it was the guards who used Ray to throw off suspicion.

I pulled into the storage unit lot and we headed for the tiny office. The woman said something in rapid-fire Spanish I couldn't understand. She caught the key the attendant threw. We headed down a dimly lit corridor. I wanted to bring up the rear. She wouldn't allow it.

We stopped at the door and she handed me the key. I wasn't prepared for what I saw next.

—Jim. You found me.

The voice was the last thing I heard. The stars came out and the pain started as I collapsed in a heap on the cement floor. Before my eyes closed for good I recognized a tub full of water and a bench seat. It wasn't rocket science to know what had been going on in my absence. Now that I was present and accounted for, I'd probably get the same treatment.

I came to tied to a chair. A sliver of light coming through a crack in the cheap siding revealed Bobbie in the same situation. Wet leather bindings. They would shrink and tighten as the leather dried. It could be a long, slow torture if it ended up around a neck. I tried moving mine and couldn't.

—Is she gone?

—As soon as she tied you. Where have you been?

—Looking for you. Mostly.

—Mostly? I'm not a priority in your life any more?

—Pretty much. In between looking for your brother I kept an eye out.

She struggled in her chair.

—You bastard. I knew I should never have slept with you.

—Oh, I don't know. Do you have any sisters?

—What? No. Sisters? What the hell? I already told you that.

—Then you're probably good. You'll live a long time even if you spend any more of it with me.

Maybe in a cabin in the woods. If we were both lucky and got the hell out of here, that is.

—I don't mean to change the subject, but can you wiggle your ass over to that tub of water? We need to tip it over.

We did better than that. My chair tipped in. Bobbie screamed. Somehow, I ended up on my back, submerged in five inches of water. That was all right, though. As long as I didn't open my mouth, I could keep my nose where it needed to be.

That didn't stop Bobbie. She kept right on calling me every name in the book. With my ears below the water line I could only pick out the occasional word. She had to be happy I couldn't talk back.

I struggled to work at my hands and wrists submerged in the water. I twisted and turned at the leather bindings. I managed to work a hand free. Numb and weak, my fingers went to work on the knots keeping my ankles bound to the chair.

In the dark I went to work on Bobbie and had her free in minutes.

—Are you happy now? You can slug me if you want.

She drove a good one into my shoulder.

—That's for taking so long to find me. And if you hadn't been listening to me while you were in that tub, I'd give you one for the other shoulder.

I flicked on the light and she let me have it with another one for good measure.

—That's for the silly grin on your face. Now let's get out of this bachelor suite.

I chose not to let Bobbie know that her brother had probably been killed in the room we'd just escaped. I couldn't help the sin of omission. I wanted to let her keep a measure of hope, at least for now.

—Wait here. I'll be right back.

—Not a chance, cowboy. I go where you go.

I cajoled the car keys from the desk man and three of us marched to the room we just vacated.

—It'll only be for a little while, friend. I'm sure one of your many compadres will be along in a bit to let you out. In the meantime there's plenty of water if you get dehydrated.

I grabbed Bobbie's arm, pulled her out of the room, and locked the door.

—We can't leave him in there. What if nobody comes?

I gave her the evil eye. She gave it back just as hard.

—Look. We could still be in there. As it is now, we're out here. Doesn't that make you even a little happy? Don't thank me right away. Think about it for a bit first.

I thought her look softened just a little.

—Well-

—All right then. Now come on. We don't have all day.

We suited up in the lobby with the handgun I discovered beneath the front desk. I offered Bobbie the baseball bat. She declined. In any case, we were ready for bear.

All we had to do was find one.

19.

Bobbie

**I didn't realize** it, but I wasn't thinking about anything but my brother. He was all I cared about. He just had to be alive. It never occurred to me that Jim could be lying. Why would he?

Sure I was upset about locking the manager in the storage unit. What if no one else knew? What if no one came back? Jim didn't appear to be all that concerned.

And then I remembered. Jim hadn't started on his own mission to find the killers of the women that had been taken from him. Perhaps that was why. I'd not given him a chance. Or a choice. Instead I'd coerced him into helping me.

That he might see me as dragging him down only made me feel worse about stealing his time. If I had it to do all over again, would I do it the same way? Probably. It was about my brother. I was selfish that way. If we found Ray, I'd be able to dedicate time to Jim's search. But not before.

I turned down the baseball bat he offered after a search of the office for weapons.

—I'm clumsy that way.

As usual he ignored me and we got in the car. The bat ended up in the back seat.

* * *

**—WE NEED TO** talk, Bobbie.

She waited, an expectant look on her face. I didn't want to do this. Her reaction wouldn't be good. In fact, I wondered if it might jeopardize everything.

—It's about your brother.

I steeled myself for what I had to tell her. I couldn't keep it from her any longer.

—What about him? Did you find him? Where is he?

I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eye. I think she probably knew why. It still wouldn't be easy.

—They found him, didn't they?

I nodded. I still couldn't bring myself to look at her.

—Is he dead?

I said it anyway.

—Yes. He's dead.

Who was I trying to convince?

—Do you know where he is?

—No. Are you sure you want to find out?

Bobbie didn't hesitate.

—Yes.

But did she really? Even while I was crawling through a lime pit in Mexico filled with bodies, I prayed I'd never see anything like it again. And I didn't want Bobbie to experience anything like it. I cared too much for her.

—One more thing. Your parents can't come home until you let them know it's safe. Did you tell them?

—Not directly. Should I?

—Yes. There's a sicario-

—A sicario?

—A hit man. Or woman. She's across the street in Terry's house. Waiting. She told me Terry was her husband. That he'd taken a trip. By the sound of that, I'd say he's dead, too.

—We need to find Ray's two friends. Maybe they know something.

—Bobbie-

I hesitated. This was becoming more difficult the longer it went on.

—They're part of it, too. The sicario-the woman who brought me out to join you in the storage unit-told me about them.

She sighed. I thought she was going to cry. Instead she asked me for a knife.

—I thought you didn't want one.

—I changed my mind.

We backtracked to the motel. She tucked the knife into the small of her back, just as Kara had done so many times. She pulled her shirt out to conceal it.

—The sicario keeping an eye on your place has to know more than she admitted. I'll start with her. That we escaped her jail cell should be worth a surprise or two.

—Then what are we waiting for? Let's go.

—You're not going. You'll be busy convincing your parents to stay away.

—Like hell. Take me or we're done.

Bobbie's steely-eyed glare said I'd better pay attention.

—All right, but you need to know-

—I don't need to know anything. I've got it figured out. Now are we going or do I have to do it alone?

I knew she was bluffing, but hell, she was doing a good job of it.

Bobbie went in through the back of Terry's house. I picked the front, just because. I should have known better. It took me two kicks before Bobbie swung the door wide from the inside.

—You need a stronger leg.

—Where is she?

—While you were leaning on the door making all the noise, I came up behind her and cold-cocked her. One punch.

Now I knew why my shoulders were black and blue. My eyes wandered around the room.

—Don't worry. I used duct tape. She's sleeping it off in the kitchen.

—Did you search her?

Bobbie beat me to the kitchen. Her sparring partner on the floor was cutting at the tape on her ankles with a small knife. Blood streamed from her nose. Her shirt was ripped open. Just as she looked up, Bobbie dispatched her for the second time with a rap on the head. The woman slithered on the floor before going into a deep sleep.

—First thing you do is search. Where's her hardware?

—I'm sorry. I'll know for next time. Hardware?

—Firearms. Hand grenades. Knives. AKs. Anything.

—Her phone's over there. I don't know about the rest of it.

—Then go look.

There was no way I wanted this one to get away.

—I'll keep an eye on our prize.

Metal scraped as Bobbie rounded up the firearms in a blanket.

—Way to go, girl. Now load all of it into the car.

I handed over the keys.

—Who'll be your slave when I leave you?

—Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone.

More evil eye came my way.

—Fine.

She gathered an armload of weaponry and carted it out the back door to the alley. I found a duffel and stuffed it with the rest.

—All right. We're done. How do you want to work this?

—What do you mean?

Our prisoner moaned and began a weak struggle.

—Who's driving? Who's keeping an eye on little miss muffin?

Bobbie kicked the woman unconscious and used the opportunity to wrap her in more tape.

—I guess that answers that.

She picked up the woman's feet and dragged her out the back door. The sicario's head sounded like an out of control watermelon rolling down the concrete steps.

—Keep her alive, will you? We need her for just a bit longer.

I went back inside, searching. I located a cooler and filled it with water. I added a towel and hauled it to the car. Bobbie's head shook in disbelief.

—You raided the place for beer?

—Sort of.

20.

Bobbie

**It was starting** to dawn on me that I didn't know anything. Jim wasn't talking. This woman-this sicario-who seemed to me to be the cause of it all wasn't talking. She was busy in the kitchen trying to get out of my tape job.

Recognizing that I was completely clueless when it came to whatever the hell we were doing, I gave her a kick, and then another one to be sure. I wrapped her in more tape and prepared to drag her out to the car. She was sure to remain silent and secure now.

Jim asked me to collect the woman's weapons. I didn't even know she'd have more than one or two. It shocked me when I collected an armload. I had no idea what some of them were.

I palmed the phone and slipped it into my pocket.

I picked up our prisoner's feet and struggled to drag her out the door and down the steps to the car. Jim was no help until her head started bouncing down the steps. All he had to offer was an admonition not to kill her.

When he finally came out of the house carting a heavy cooler, I didn't know what to think.

Why would he want to bring beer?

* * *

**TO OUR ADVANTAGE,** dos amigos appeared to be still missing from the storage building's small office. We had the clerk tucked away. Together we dragged the sicario out of the car and into the empty office. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights for the long hallway.

I left Bobbie to return to the car for the bag of weapons. I took another trip to retrieve the cooler. I locked the office door and hung out the closed sign. Unless someone had a key, we'd be alone.

Bobbie yanked the tape from the sicario's mouth. The woman didn't appear too happy at the prospect of being within the same tin walls and ceiling where she'd left us to rot. Perhaps she could take some comfort from the presence of her amigo, still alive, on the floor.

—He was talking to her in Spanish so I cold-cocked him and taped his mouth.

—So he's not dead?

—Not yet.

She pointed at the woman.

—Her name is Yesenia.

—South American.

—I guess.

I looked at her. She stared back, her face cold and blank. There was no doubt. She definitely didn't want to be here.

—Si. Colombia.

Two words so far. Maybe she thought she'd be able to talk her way out of whatever it was she found herself in.

—It looks like we've got us a real live Colombian hit-woman, Bobbie.

Bobbie's duct-tape job kept her subdued. Sweat covered what the tape didn't.

—We need to cut some slack in the tape. I want to put her in the chair.

Bobbie went to work with the knife, slicing through the tape at the knees and waist. By the time she finished, the woman was turning a deep red in places. It wasn't enough to concern me. A little blood went a long way.

—So. Yesenia. I'm Jim. Your captor is Bobbie. She did one hell of a job, didn't she? Maybe you know her brother.

Yesenia looked at Bobbie and lobbed spit at her feet. Bobbie raised a fist. To say she was pissed would be putting it mildly. I grabbed her arm and spun her around. Her eyes bored into mine.

—Not yet. In a bit. I promise.

I dragged the cooler closer and popped the top. Water sloshed.

—Water. I thought you brought beer.

Without hesitating I dipped the thick towel in the water. It came out dripping wet and a lot heavier than when it went in. Yesenia's eyes grew large. I pressed it again for effect. Water streamed from the towel into the cooler.

—Okay. It's time.

I dropped the wet towel over the woman's head. I kept it away from her face.

—Punch her in the gut.

Bobbie drove her a good one. The sicario gasped and I let go of the towel. It dropped against her face.

—You complained about how I treated Terry. Isn't this more humane? She's nowhere near the water.

—You're not asking any questions.

—Never satisfied, are you?

I pulled the towel off. Yesenia gulped fresh air. I made sure she could see me dunking the towel a second time.

—Punch her again.

Bobbie laid another one into the sicario's gut. The woman managed to draw two good breaths before I draped the towel over her head.

—You're getting good at this.

I pressed the sopping wet towel to Yesenia's face. I let her suffer for a little longer before pulling it off, with the same results.

—Once more.

We went through the exercise again. Yesenia sputtered through the soaked towel.

— _No mas. No mas_.

—Third time's the charm.

I didn't pull the towel off right away. I wanted the woman to have some time to think in between her attempt to draw in panicked breaths of air.

—One down, one to go.

I looked over at the storage facility's front-desk jockey, huddled in the corner. He was wide awake now. I think his eyes were even wider. I pointed.

— _El siguiente_. Number two. Next!

It was all the encouragement the poor soul needed. He began shaking like a man who needed a drink. He started to sing like a long-vanished canary in a coal mine. Yesenia didn't appear to be so happy, but she was in no position to complain. Although she tried. Finally, her threats worked and she managed to cow the man into silence.

Then it was Bobbie's turn.

She taped Yesenia's mouth and gave her one in the gut. For good measure, she made sure the woman caught one on the nose, too. Wheezing and twitching, she tried to catch her breath through a bloody nose.

The desk jockey didn't know a lot, but his song was good enough. I was happy that I didn't have to apply any pressure. I'm not so sure about Bobbie. I think she wanted him in the dunk tank just because.

I wanted to find out who owned the unit. I left Bobbie with the prisoners. Neither of them were in any condition to do any damage. I know, because I checked before I left. I headed for the office to grab the records.

I flipped through a few pages before heading back to ask Bobbie if she recognized any of the names. I wasn't gone long. In fact, I remember looking at the clock on the office wall.

By the time I made it back to the storage room, it was too late.

21.

Bobbie

**I thought I'd** help Jim out while he went to the office. It wasn't anything more than that, I swear. At least, that's what I wanted to believe. It's what I ended up telling myself.

He went to retrieve the register, thinking I'd be able to recognize the names if the unit belonged to Ray's friends. If we could tie them to the unit, it would go a long way to setting them up for a fall. And just maybe we could find out about my brother by threatening them with being revealed as drug dealers.

I only wanted to speed up the process so we could get out of here in a hurry if we had to. I tipped Yesenia's chair and forced her head into the cooler of water. Then something distracted me.

The desk clerk, maybe. Or the sound of Jim's steps echoing off the tin walls as he walked away. Wondering if he was going to come back.

I remember saying something to the man on the floor. The desk jockey. Shut up, I said, or be quiet. Maybe I went over and kicked him. Or all three. I couldn't remember.

By the time I turned back to Yesenia, it was already too late. I didn't do it on purpose. I swear. At least I didn't think I did. Jim wasn't so happy. Or so convinced.

—Jesus, Bobbie. I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up missing, kidnapped, or you kill someone.

He certainly had a way with words. It was making me feel even more guilty.

—I pulled her head up. I swear I did. I didn't want her to drown. It wasn't on purpose. I wanted to find out if she knew anything about my brother. I looked away for a minute. Maybe two at the most.

Okay, so maybe five. I wasn't counting.

I'd have to deal with Jim later. That, and probably a lot more I didn't know anything about.

* * *

**I OPENED THE** door to the unit. Bobbie froze in mid-step and stared at me, wild-eyed. She buried her face in her hands and bowed her head and began sobbing in between the shakes.

I couldn't have been gone more than a few minutes, yet Bobbie was in a state of near panic. Yesenia was on her knees, bent over the cooler.

—Jesus, Bobbie. What the hell did you do?

Yesenia's head was face-down in the cooler. Bobbie looked crazed. She began pacing back and forth from wall to wall. Hyperventilating. Sobbing.

—What does it look like? I asked her if she killed my brother.

So she didn't believe me when I gave her the same news.

—Why didn't you pull her head out of it? You didn't have to leave her like that. Jesus.

—Yes I did. I asked. She couldn't wait to tell me.

So now she had the truth from the person who'd killed him. By the look of her, she wasn't handling it so well.

—And I couldn't wait to make her pay. In fact, I made her pay and pay and pay.

Yesenia wasn't moving. She'd paid, all right. I pulled her head up. I already knew there was nothing to be done.

—What are you going to do about desk-boy over there?

He groaned and began to twitch.

—I made sure I didn't have a witness. I cold-cocked him.

We were deep in the shit now. A dead sicario would probably be replaced by a team of two, or even four. Bobbie had no idea. Could I blame her? I was hell-bent on my own search for the killers of my unborn child and two wives.

Still, where would we go from here? Would she still want to help me with my own search? Or would she disappear by hitchhiking to nowhere on a lonely road?

—I'm not done yet, Jim.

The determined look that crossed her face spelled trouble in all caps.

—The son of a bitch that put me up to this is going to pay, too.

Sailboat guy. I didn't tell her I'd once owned a sailboat. Hell, I couldn't even swim. She probably wouldn't believe me anyway.

—How do you intend to track him down?

If sailboat guy was the one who put the sicario on her brother-

And if he had ears on the ground and-

He'd be finding out soon enough something was up. Would he still be waiting for Bobbie? Or would he be searching for her, intent on eliminating her?

—You need to tell me about him, Bobbie. What were you thinking?

—I was thinking like you, probably before I even met you. I wanted to find out what happened to my brother. Now I know.

—But are you sure?

I knew I had to be sure.

—Remember when you showed me Terry's phone with that text message?

I did, but it didn't seem important at the time.

—I recognized the number. It was the same number programmed into the phone I had. That is, until you forced me to toss it.

So she was being tracked. That's why we were followed after I picked her up at the gas bar. It didn't explain why we'd been so suddenly attacked on that same road.

—We have to get out of here. Right now. We're ditching the car, too.

I already knew she'd be heading north to her friend's boat.

—It's a red flag that those two border guards could use against us. If we have to go through one of those extended checkpoints that the government has so proudly allowed sixty miles inland from the border, we're in even more shit.

—So what are we going to do with the guy in the corner?

—For starters, we're not going to kill him. We might be home free on the sicario. Fake travel documents and all, she'll never be traced or identified.

Her hands went to her hips, still shaking, and obviously exasperated.

—Look. You've grown up a lot in the past two days. Two much, if I know a thing or two. It hasn't set in yet, but you're going to collapse. It's only a matter of time. And you can damned well trust me on that.

The look of sorrow that crossed her face disheartened me even more.

—So that's one reason we're not killing him.

—Fine. What are we going to do?

—We're getting out of Dodge. We need a new car. What do you say to cruising the parking lot at the border and looking for keys?

We ditched our car. I let her do the search. She came up with a brand new sports car. I transferred the bags to the small trunk.

—What the hell took you so long?

—I wanted air.

—Woman, you're going to be the death of me yet.

—I hope not. I was just thinking of changing into something light and frivolous that would show off for you. Pull over.

We weren't even a mile from the _puente viejo_. Crazy is as crazy does. I did as I was told. She jumped out of the confines of the small car, changed by the side of the road, and got back in.

She lifted the skirt to her thighs and smoothed it.

—There. This ought to take the collective minds of the border patrol off of anything that matters.

She was right, too. The tops of Bobbie's perky breasts peeked out from a sheer blouse. Not to mention what her nipples were doing. I grinned and shook my head. She did what only a woman could do. She grinned right back, not shy in the slightest.

—Are you happy?

—Yes. For now.

—Typical man.

Drive, she said. So I drove.

We stopped for the checkpoint. Leering eyes of the green-clad male leaning in through the window distracted him from anything beyond a cursory question. He waved us through. In the mirror his female partner's lips moved furiously, wasting her breath to give him shit.

—See? Nothing to it. Told ya.

22.

Bobbie

**It came on** all of a sudden, like the flu, maybe. Or like I'd eaten something bad. The one time I needed a window down and I almost didn't make it. I jumped up on the seat on my knees and hung out the window. I threw up and then threw up again.

Jim pulled over to the side of the road, all concerned, like he cared. He probably thought I was pregnant, except we hadn't been together long enough for that part of it. Maybe in a month.

I gagged and coughed and spit and heaved until I had nothing left to give up. He moved the car forward a bit and got out. He walked over to my side.

—I was wondering when it would happen.

I dry heaved again, just because I couldn't stop. A long string of saliva hung out of my open mouth. He poured water on a t-shirt, bent down, and gently wiped my face.

—Shit. That's one of my good shirts.

For some reason I was concerned about a cheap shirt. I had no idea why, because it didn't seem all that important. Then I remembered what he said.

—When what would happen?

I heaved one more time for good measure. I sucked for air and breathed in, almost panting.

—Your delayed reaction to what happened back in the storage shed.

I looked up at him. I guessed he was trying to look concerned. He was certainly anxious.

—Don't stop breathing. Keep them deep.

He handed me the bottle. I rinsed and spit and rinsed again. I chugged the water before gagging again. Somehow I managed not to throw up through hiccupping. I kept the water down, too.

—It was an accident. I didn't mean for anything to happen to her. I got distracted and I never noticed-

—I believe you, Bobbie. It's normal.

I looked at the man like he was crazy.

—Normal?

—Yeah. It's normal. The reaction, I mean. That's what's normal.

—Well thank god for that. How would I sleep at night otherwise?

His look changed instantly once again to one of concern.

—You're going to have problems. I can guarantee that. Fortunately-

I interrupted him again.

—Fortunately? What's fortunate about it?

He clamped a hand over my mouth to shut me up. I choked and almost gagged before he pulled it away.

—I was going to say that it's fortunate that you have me to comfort you and explain how it's going to go. Eventually you'll dream and scream and wake up and dream again and wake up again. In a cold sweat. In a warm sweat. In the summer. In the winter. To say you're going to need some counseling would be an understatement.

Oh great.

—How's it going to go when I admit to a psychiatrist that I murdered someone?

—If I have anything to do with it, you won't have to. It could be a car accident, or someone falling off a balcony while you were there. You'll figure it out.

Or I could just ignore it all.

—The one thing you can't do is ignore it.

There went that idea.

I got out of the car and walked around, swigging water and spitting bile. When I was satisfied I was done with throwing up, I got in. I left the window down just in case.

—I hope you know that I'm worried about you.

Yeah. And I was worried, too. What the hell was happening to me?

* * *

**BOBBIE REACHED FOR** the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair. Her fingertips traced the outline of the dark circles beneath her eyes. To say I was worried about her would be an understatement. Now that the delayed reaction was over, it would continue to be a struggle for her going forward. And like a woman, she went for the makeup to cover her pale face and the dark circles.

—Damn the wind and the heat and the humidity.

She rustled through her bag, took another look in the mirror, and put it all back. Hell, to my thinking, she didn't need makeup. Ever. So I had to open my big mouth.

—All you need is a little lip gloss.

For my trouble I got the look that women hand out when they think they have all the answers. And then she must have changed her mind. She went back to work with the makeup. I went back to paying attention to the road.

I also went back to worrying about the woman. She'd puked her guts up, but it was only a symptom of what would be coming. When we stopped, I'd try again to explain it all. Would she listen?

PTSD. Bobbie was no killer. She knew what happened in the storage unit was an accident. So did I. Unfortunately, it didn't mean that she wouldn't continue to be affected by it. I could do all the talking in the world, but it wouldn't help her. She had to help herself.

Would she? I hoped so, but only time would tell now.

23.

Bobbie

**I looked across** at Jim. There was no way in hell he would want anything to do with me now. How could he? I'd been responsible for a death. Yes, the woman was a killer. And yes, she'd been sent to locate and kill my brother, Ray. And yes, she'd been working up an appetite to kill Jim, too, and maybe even me.

So what was the big deal about it?

All right, maybe I should have been paying more attention in the storage unit. Maybe Jim shouldn't have brought the cooler of water. I knew what he was planning. I should have put a stop to it.

Did I really believe he was bringing a cooler full of beer with us? For real? Sure, he put Terry through the shower in the apartment above our garage. But I walked away then, too.

I couldn't put any of the blame on Jim. Could I? I'd been the one who had stopped paying attention in the storage unit. And someone died because of it. How could I possibly live that down in Jim's eyes? He had to be disgusted with my lack of attention. It had ended in death. And it was all my fault because I wasn't up to the task.

How would I ever live it down? I loved Jim, but there was no justification for what I let happen to that woman. It was all on me. All of it.

And now I was forced to live with it.

I pretended I had to go to the bathroom. I asked him to pull over in a rest area and made for the facilities. I pulled out the phone I pocketed at Terry's place. I flipped it open and knew right away it belonged to Yesenia, the sicario.

I punched the button and waited. It went to voicemail.

—Kennedy. I'm coming for you. And I'm bringing help.

Hesitating, only for a moment. Wondering. And then, finally, knowing.

—I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill anyone associated with you. I'm going to kill your wife. I'm going to kill your children. I'm going to kill your pets. When I'm done killing, I'm going to burn down your house and everything in it.

I hung up and tossed the phone into the shitter. No doubt it would end up wherever shit ended up, downhill and far from where it was launched.

I wanted Jim to be proud of me. I didn't tell him what I did, but still-

Satisfied, I settled back in the seat, put my feet up on the dash, and tried not to think any more. I flipped on the radio, dialed up some rock and roll, and cranked up the volume.

It didn't do any good. Trying was not doing, and my brain was going a mile a minute, filled with disgust and disappointment in myself for being so naive that I thought I'd be able to find and rescue my brother on my own.

I needed Jim. He didn't need me. And he sure didn't need a wild card that he couldn't depend on or control. The sooner I got myself away from everything, the sooner he could get back to solving his problems.

I said a silent prayer. I already knew it wouldn't do any good.

And what the hell were the blinking lights behind us?

* * *

**I CAUGHT BOBBIE** looking from the side mirror to me and back.

—It looks like _la migra_ is on our tail. You better let them pass.

I slowed and eased onto the shoulder of the two-lane highway. I stuck an arm out and waved them by. The green and white jimmy slowed and stayed even with us. An arm hung out the open window. An automatic leveled. A big, round muzzle pointed in my direction. My eyes widened to match.

I didn't need to be told twice. I slowed and stopped on the side of the road and turned to Bobbie.

—The bastards were too lazy to use the siren. It's like they wanted to make it look like we were running.

—Shit. It's Ray's two border guard friends.

The duo rushed the passenger door in a noisy scramble of boots on pavement, weapons drawn. The door opened and two pairs of hands yanked Bobbie out. The door slammed and they dragged her, kicking and punching, to the jimmy. She fought hard, to no avail, before ending up in the back.

Two gunshots and two flat tires later, I was left to rot on the side of the road. Stranded and without water, I rummaged through the trunk and dumped Bobbie's bag. I hastily threw her clothes in with mine. I figured on an AK and a couple of mags for backup to go along with my automatic and the knives. Better safe than sorry.

I waited in heat and humidity and hot sun beating down. No one stopped. It was only an hour. It seemed a lot longer before the passing bus heeded my thumb and growled to a halt. I shouldered the bag and climbed aboard. The bus took off and I shuffled unsteadily to the empty back of the bus.

I settled in for the long haul in the noisy, hot, and dusty bus. The humid air had so many different smells I was almost afraid to inhale. I stayed with my bag rather than take a chance on carrying it into the coffee shops during stops.

As we got farther north I approached the driver and made inquiries about Diamondhead.

—You change buses in Houston. It's a regular stop. Just been added if I remember right. You can check at the counter.

Nice. I was about to retrace my steps. If only I'd taken Bobbie back to the sailboat when I learned about it, we might have made more progress.

Would she be there? Were the two border guards so stupid that they thought they could confront her by returning the woman to her tormentor? Was it Kennedy?

Was he the man in charge of the whole thing?

I had no idea. I only knew one thing.

I needed a drink. Bobbie was going to have to wait.

In Houston I checked into a motel on the seedy side of the strip. I strolled across the street to the liquor store and rescued a bottle of Crown Royal. If I was going to drown my sorrows, I wanted to be sure my sorrows enjoyed the best.

Alone in the room, missing Bobbie, I unloaded the duffel of its contents and went through everything. Bobbie's clothes went back in, neatly folded in the plastic bags I picked up at the liquor store. I discovered she still had one colorful, filmy skirt that she hadn't worn yet. I hoped I'd see her in it soon enough.

At this point, I wasn't counting on it.

By the time I got to the rest of it, I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I rinsed a glass and polished it with a thin, gray towel laundered too many times. I filled it with three fingers of rye and leaned back against the pillows.

A million thoughts, most of them about Bobbie, circulated through my head. Could I find her? How? Would she be at the marina in Diamondhead? Why would the border guards have kidnapped her in the first place? Did they suspect her of having the drugs? If she did, was finding her brother only a ruse until she could make good her escape? Was she in a partnership with the guards?

Or maybe she was partnered up with her brother

**My eyes opened** to focus on the glass parked on the night table. Three fingers of whiskey stared back. That had to be a good start to the day.

I field stripped the firearms I'd accumulated, including the AK, and promptly pinched my thumb on that damned receiver button. Obviously I hadn't been doing it often enough-which was probably a good thing.

I reassembled it all and I was good to go. I stepped out into the early morning's cool, humid air. It would turn to hot and humid by noon, but I'd be out of here by then and well on the way to Diamondhead. I closed the door behind me, shouldered the bag, and headed out on foot.

An ambulance screamed by on its way to a hospital. I watched it slow and turn several blocks down. By the time I caught up, I knew where I'd find my new truck. I cruised the lot, on the lookout for unlocked doors and keys stashed behind visors or floor mats.

By the time I pulled out of the lot, the sun was over the horizon and I was the proud possessor of a three-door half-ton built in the late '90s.

I squinted into the sun until I hit the east end of Houston and a gas 'n' go for a bag of burritos and two pairs of sunglasses. I added a couple of ball caps and dark gray hoodies for good measure.

Steady driving would get me to Diamondhead in eight or so.

I had a look in the truck for a GPS and came up with an older model stashed in the jockey box. The charge looked to be good. I pinched and trolled until I spied Diamondhead, about four hundred miles away. Satisfied, I reached into the bag and attacked a still-hot burrito. It was the most I'd eaten in a while.

My stomach began rocking and rolling a couple of hours in. I pulled over and purged and rinsed with water. I splashed some on my face for good luck, and climbed back in. I one-handed the paper bag over the side onto a breakwater. Fish food at high tide.

As much as I wanted to push it, the speed limit whispered my name. I was in a stolen truck. I wanted to lessen the odds as best I could. Mostly I kept to a couple over and I must have been a good boy. No cops. No roadblocks.

My guts settled down and I was looking forward to recognizing the green and white sign announcing Diamondhead. I left the off-ramp and exited right onto a road headed to a yacht club. I did another right from a roundabout and found myself driving towards a small airport.

A private jet appeared through the trees on the tarmac. A cartel plane, perhaps. Whoever owned it had to be a cheap bastard. It looked like you couldn't stand tall and upright in it.

I doubled back. On the way I eyeballed the harbor. It was small. Plenty of vacant trailer pads. A couple of parked cars. But no sloop. The yacht club parking lot had a few cars. I figured on scoping out the place from the inside.

I turned back to the deserted mini-mall. A small gas bar at one end was all it had to offer. I parked the truck out of sight and stashed the keys for an out, just in case. I pulled a blanket over the duffel in the back seat after donning a fresh shirt.

I humped it to a sign at the yacht club advertising a restaurant. I wouldn't look the part of a moneyed member, but I might buy enough time to learn something. No way in hell did I want to mistakenly storm grandma and grandpa's pride and joy with an AK in one hand and a bag of burritos in the other.

By the time I got around to looking, the yacht, if it had ever been here, was gone.

**It took a** minute for my eyes to adjust to the bar's subdued lighting. A handful of customers occupied the tables. Rivers of water from icy drinks dribbled onto tabletops. The bar appeared to be disturbingly unpopular with so few customers.

It was disturbing because the woman behind the bar was a real looker. Long and leggy, with a skirt that must have been spray-painted on before she left for work in the morning. I paid attention to the eye-pleasing sway as lengthy legs and a quick stride caused her shoes to clickety-clack across the tile floor on her way to a table.

On her way back, she caught me looking and smiled. Breasts threatened to break free of buttons restraining them behind her blouse. Once behind the bar, she turned with a willing smile and looked across the room with a come hither look. I took a look at her clientele and knew right off not a one was under seventy.

She came hither instead, smiling like there was no tomorrow.

—What'll it be, stranger?

I grinned like a kid in a candy store. It was all I could do to wait until she looked away so I could get a better look at the goods.

—I'll have a sweaty Sol.

She nodded and bent to retrieve one from the cooler. I leaned over just a bit to better my view. There were no lines beneath the tight blue skirt. She slammed my beer down on top of the bar and popped the top. Foam ran over her hand and down the bottle. A measured shove sent it in my direction.

—Would you like anything else with that?

I looked just long enough to read the woman's name tag. It was a perfect excuse to check out her breasts now that they were closer. I don't expect she was fooled by the old trick. She looked too experienced for that.

—How about a little conversation, Diana?

She looked over the almost empty room.

—I'll be back in a minute. Don't go away.

She strode off purposefully, rolling her hips with each measured step. She had to know I was looking. She circulated around the tables, filling a tray with half a dozen empty glasses and bottles while collecting the cash.

The woman wasted no time getting back to the bar. She deposited her tray and took a seat beside me. She made sure I was looking before crossing long, shapely legs. She swiveled back and forth on the bar stool, hitting my shin with a rhythmic foot. She took her time uncrossing her legs for effect.

I took a quick glance in the appropriate direction. It seemed to please her. It surely pleased me.

—Are you comfortable now?

—I am. Are you?

She did it again for good measure. Damn but she had some legs. I was almost forced to forget why I was here.

I took a swig of the Sol, and then another. I drained it and she went behind the bar. She returned with another and sat back down. This time, her legs stayed put, but I didn't mind. I already had my look, and she knew it.

—I was wondering about a sloop that might have been parked next to one of the pads. The one where the cars are parked.

—I remember it. They untied late in the morning.

—Today?

—Yes. I think I overheard them talking. They were expecting another crew member to arrive at some point. Would that be you?

I took my cue.

—It is. I hope I haven't missed out.

—They'll be back first thing tomorrow, if I recall. You can probably sign on then. Have you got a room somewhere?

At that exact moment, three men walked through the door. They scoped out the room, eyes hesitating when they caught sight of Diana. Or maybe they were on the lookout for me. I couldn't be sure, given how I'd been drawn to the woman as they must have been.

—Excuse me. Customers.

She smiled and stood up. In turn, both breasts brushed against my arm just long enough to let me know it was no accident. Perhaps I had a place to stay after all.

—Don't go away.

Diana smiled and I didn't go away. She halted at the table with the new customers. Lips moved, but I couldn't make out a word with the air conditioner humming in the background. Three pairs of eyes looked over at me and I made up my mind to turn around and concentrate on the mirror behind the bar.

I didn't see Diana approach. Her lips moved against my ear.

—It sounds like they're looking for you.

I didn't have time to avoid the two men holding my hands to the bar. Someone drove a fist into a kidney. I squirmed and tried to topple to the floor. An arm went around my neck, holding me in place. They coordinated enough to force me in the direction of the door.

Outside, one locked arms around me from behind. The other two rained down blows hard enough to put me on the ground. Boots kicked, connected to bone, and withdrew.

Car doors slammed and tires pealed on asphalt as they departed in a hurry. In a daze, I let a sympathetic Diana help me up. I leaned into her and steadied myself against a wall.

—You're a mess.

I leaned a little too hard. We almost toppled to the ground.

—I'll take you to my car.

She checked her phone.

—I'll be off in half an hour if you can wait.

—I don't think I have a choice.

She surrounded me with an arm and I leaned against her on the way to the back seat. She eased me down and I groaned.

—You should see the other guy.

—Yeah. I was there, remember? You didn't get in a single blow.

—Next time. Be there or be square.

I think Diana chuckled before rolling down the windows and heading across the pavement to the bar. I was so out of it I forgot all about watching the woman walk away.

The last thing I remember was the odd man out. He was the one who offered up the jack stand while I sat on the side of the road with a flat tire. It was the same man Bobbie had been chatting up while I changed the tire.

Kennedy. Was he the one Terry texted? Was he the man who assaulted Bobbie before sending her out on her mission to recover her brother or the drugs, or both?

Too late. I passed out and only came around when Diana gently shook a shoulder.

—Wake up. We're home. Five steps and we're there.

It was easy for her to say. She didn't tell me they were five steps almost straight up. I groaned and let her help me. Her breasts felt just as fine as they did in the bar. I couldn't avoid them.

I decided I didn't want to.

**Hot water was** already filling the tub. She unbuttoned my shirt, went to her knees, and unfastened my belt. She tugged down my pants. Her eyes hovered before finally looking up.

—Well that's encouraging. Now get in.

She struggled to pull her shirt past sizable breasts, not bothering to unbutton it. Her skirt dropped next. Commando. I knew why there was no line.

Diana stepped into the tub, not shy in the slightest. I was unsure where to park my eyes. There were too many possibilities.

She eased down to share the water. She soaked a sponge and squeezed hot water over me. I only groaned and sat back. Her breasts weren't quite covered by the soapy water. They bobbed and weaved with every motion.

—Nice.

She smiled and reached between my legs.

—You're not so bad either.

Both hands went to work. She was enthusiastic, to say the least.

—Stand up.

I was already standing up and she knew it. Not wanting to disappoint, I did as I was told. She reached with both of hers, using them to encourage the reaction she seemed to need.

—Even better.

Outside the tub, she dried me off and led me to the bedroom. The rest of her body was a match for the legs that so enamored me at first. It wasn't a gentle push that had me flat on my back on the bed. I groaned anyway, and it wasn't for effect.

She threw a leg over and without hesitating, guided me between her legs. I settled back for the ride. She hovered over me and I was forced to enjoy hard-tipped breasts pressing against my face. My mouth opened and immediately filled with warm, swollen nipple.

I woke to the smells of breakfast. She forced me to wait when we discovered we hadn't finished with each other. Long legs surrounded me and she allowed me to become lost in her once more.

—Jim? It's time. Eat it and beat it. House rules.

Her house, her rules.

Diana didn't bother turning on the lights. Perhaps she didn't want to encourage either of us any more than she already had.

24.

Bobbie

**I already knew** the green and white immigration jimmy was going to be trouble. Ray's border guard friends must have switched it out for their own. It would make it easier for them to be so far from the border.

I warned Jim about the approaching vehicle and who was inside. It continued pacing us for quite a while before suddenly pulling up beside us on the two-lane highway. Jim slowed and pulled over. I'm sure he thought they only wanted to pass.

The jimmy slowed and kept even. The handgun out the window was aimed right at him. I screamed, terrified that he was in the line of fire and what might happen if the trigger finger slipped and the gun went off.

He hit the brakes and screeched to a halt. Jim sat still, hands on the steering wheel. I mimicked him with mine on the dashboard. The passenger covered him off. The driver got out and walked around behind our car. He flung open my door, grabbed me by the hair, and I ended up on the ground. The punch in the gut made sure I didn't scream a second time.

He dragged me around to the jimmy on my ass. Frightened and off balance, I couldn't manage to get in a kick or a punch. I managed another weak scream before a fist to the back of my head knocked me unconscious.

My attacker must have thought he had me under control. He leaned over and looked into the back. He was about to say something when I saw my chance. The back of my head rammed his jaw. His teeth slammed shut with a satisfying clunk. Pissed off as he was, I managed to get in a punch and a kick before he smacked me in the gut with a roundhouse.

Still trying to take a breath, it was all I could do to stay upright. He made sure my head banged the door when he closed it.

Now I knew for sure that these two friends of my brother's were part of Ray's problem. They had to be if they were going to this much trouble to find us. Trapped and scared, I looked for a door handle. There was no way out. I wouldn't be getting away by slipping out the opposite side any time soon.

The gunshots sealed my fate. Stunned, I crawled to the window. I knew Jim had to be on the ground, dead or bleeding out. I wanted him to be bleeding if that would be the least of it. I begged for it to be only that.

I raised my head over the door, afraid. Jim wasn't on the ground. He was still standing. I almost cheered. No blood. At least he hadn't been the target. Then I saw the tires the shooter had been aiming for. With no way to be chased or followed, I was definitely in more than ankle-deep crap.

Where would these two end up taking me? Would Jim ever find me? Would he have even a clue where to begin looking? Had I told him about Diamondhead and the sailboat when we first met? Would that be where I'd end up? I couldn't remember any of it.

It was a long drive for a couple of former friends to haul someone who threatened their discovery and their drug dealings. Perhaps they thought I knew where the drugs had gotten to. Maybe they knew what happened to my brother.

Or just maybe they thought I had the drugs.

If I could convince them, we could exchange information. I couldn't trust them, but maybe I could bluff them. And I tried. I really did. It didn't do any good. The more I talked, the more they kept silent. Maybe I was telling them too much. I wanted them to think they were on the verge of being discovered.

Nothing I said got a reaction. Eventually, I gave up.

I dozed fitfully off and on in the back of the hot, dusty jimmy. I daydreamed of Jim and burritos and the kindness he'd shown me when I first met him. I'd have done anything for a burrito, starved as I was. I woke up shaking my head at the crazy dream. Food and Jim, not necessarily in that order. The man and his favorite road food was on my mind even when my life was in danger.

Damn him. How could I still be thinking of him after everything that happened? Would he be coming for me now that we were separated? I'd screwed up monumentally in the storage unit. He probably thought I wasn't worth the effort now that I was out of sight. Out of mind.

And I was out of my mind worrying about my fate with these two.

After what seemed like forever in the back of the jimmy in the heat and sticky plastic seats, it slowed. I looked out the window. The bay stared back, stretching out to infinity. They pulled me out of the jimmy and pushed me towards the sloop still tied off on the finger where I deserted it.

They dragged me to the yacht and tossed me below. The hatch slammed shut and I was in complete darkness. Ropes hit the deck. The engine fired up. We were headed somewhere. After about an hour the engine halted. The anchor rattled and splashed.

I curled up on a berth and tried to sleep.

The sound of a powerboat on a fast approach interrupted my nap time. A boat bumped, and then it tipped as at least two men stepped on board. Voices argued and the hatch slid open. A body bounced down the steps, grunting loudly all the way. The hatch slammed shut and I was in darkness. Even the portholes were covered.

I stumbled out of the berth, hands outstretched, searching for the table. Someone's labored breathing kept me alert. Something moved. Whoever had been tossed down the stairs was conscious.

—Who's here? Jim?

It couldn't be. He'd given up on me for sure when we were separated. He had to. Even if he hadn't, how could he have gotten here so fast? Impossible. Was I starting to go crazy?

—Bobbie?

I recognized the all too familiar voice immediately.

—Ray! Are you all right? I thought you were dead. Where have you been? How did you get here? What's going on? You're not dead.

In the dark Ray threw his arms around me and lifted me off my feet. He hugged me so hard I couldn't draw a breath until he set me down.

—I've been looking for you for days. Are you all right? They told me you were dead. What happened?

I talked non-stop. I told him about Jim and how we met and searched and about Terry across the street from our house being an informant paid by the cartel and our parents having to leave and the sicario. I left out the part where I let her die.

—Sis. Slow down. You're talking a mile a minute, as usual.

—I know. I know. I'm just so happy that I finally found you. Are you all right?

Would Jim ever find us? Would he go back to his own problems and leave me behind? I couldn't blame him if he started hitch-hiking in the opposite direction just to be rid of me. Tears began rolling down my face and I started sniffling.

—All right, sis. Calm down. We're safe for now. You better make sure to tell me all about it this time. And who's this Jim again? You've been talking so fast it's all I can do to understand you.

As usual, my older brother was willing to listen. Did I want to start from the beginning? Just how much time did we have?

* * *

**DIANA COULDN'T WAIT** to drop me at the gas bar. I knew by the deafening silence in the car. She didn't ask if I had a way of getting around. Obviously she wasn't interested past last night's debauchery. I thought about thanking for the good sex to break the ice. Instead, I thanked her for rescuing me.

She didn't bat an eye.

—One time only, Jim. Thanks for the good time.

Okay. So she thanked me for the good sex. At least, that's the way I heard it. She drove off without looking back. I know, because I checked.

I limped my way to the truck, opened the door, and struggled to raise the armrest. I eased onto the front seat and stretched out. I didn't bother to close the door. I couldn't anyway. I was too stiff and sore. I allowed my eyes to close and I slept the sleep of the dead.

It was almost mid-day when I was forced to vacate the truck and the sweltering heat and humidity. I limped my way into the restroom. I splashed water on my face and then made my way to the counter and a lukewarm burrito. I choked it down with bad coffee while I considered my next step.

Did I want to hunker down and keep watch for the missing sloop? The cars on the pad told me it would be back. The question was, when?

I groaned and manhandled the duffel over my shoulder. I wasn't sure if it was because of the beating, or punishment for satisfying Diana's needs and a few of my own. I made my way in the direction of the yacht club. Before long, I had the gate house in sight. Flags flapped and snapped in the strong, gusty wind blowing ashore.

The unoccupied building presented no obstacle. I made my way towards a small, fenced boat storage area I scouted out the day before. Trees and low scrub facing the concrete pad would provide good cover while I kept watch. I stayed alert and angled towards it. It wasn't so thick that I had to fight my way through to the fence. I made my nest, settled in, and sat.

The burritos did their thing and forced my eyes closed. I needed the sleep. I needed to keep an eye out for the sloop, too. Every so often my head snapped to attention and I looked around. When swatting flies became boring, I busied myself by taking inventory.

Plenty of firepower. Plenty of nerve. Plenty of damage left over from yesterday's beating, too. Needing to know if Bobbie was aboard the sloop. Not wanting to be here if she wasn't. I faked a couple of desultory swats at the flies and settled in for the long haul.

It was a good spot. The location gave me a clear view of the only pad in the marina with cars. It didn't occur to me that it might not be Bobbie's yacht. I was beginning to grow impatient, concentrated as I was on finding her.

I had to be more in need of sleep than I realized. When I woke up, a nice-looking sloop was tied off in a finger. It looked lonely all by itself. It had to be the one. Isolated. Just far enough from the main building and just about right.

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe Bobbie on deck, waving frantically. Impossible, though. How could she possibly know I was here? Was she even here?

Two parked cars commanded the concrete pad where a trailer and snowbirds would sit in the winter. Beyond that, there was nothing but the wind rustling leaves and flapping flags.

Fed up with the lack of action, I changed my shirt and made my way to the yacht club lounge. I checked before entering. There was no one from yesterday's one-sided boxing. Diana looked up and smiled from behind the bar.

—You don't look so bad. I could dim the lights and you'd look pretty good.

—From what I remember about last night, you look too good in any light.

She blushed a bright pink. Maybe the veneer of toughness she presented wasn't so thick after all.

—Keep it up and I might invite you back.

Absentmindedly, my hand moved to a shoulder and rubbed. My subconscious knew what would happen if I got involved with this one and Bobbie ever found out.

—That's a sweet-looking sloop tied off in the finger. Any idea who owns it?

It didn't make me feel any less guilty to change the subject.

—Yeah. I noticed it when it first came in a few days ago. A man and a woman. The man was a lot older. I think she jumped ship. He's been here ever since, all by his lonesome. He eats here. If he wasn't so old-

She looked into my eyes and her face softened.

—You aren't so old.

Judging by the yacht club's aging customer base and Diana's hustle, I figured my chances were pretty good. I returned her gaze rather wistfully, until I was forced to remember her words from this morning and why I was here.

—So what's up with it? Has the guy mentioned how long he'll be staying?

Diana cast a roving eye before replying. I felt like a side of beef hanging on a hook, waiting for a buyer to nod approval. She nodded.

—The same cars come and go. It looks like he's having meetings with someone. More than that, I don't know. He doesn't say much when he's here. He tips well, though.

I thanked her and fished for a twenty. I pushed it across the bar.

—Why? You going to blow up this one, too?

Diana's face turned pale before reaching to palm the twenty. I attributed it to a lack of sleep we shared the night before. She reached into the top of her blouse and tucked the twenty into the bra I watched her put on this morning. She didn't need a bra. She probably didn't need the twenty, either.

She regained her composure and it was time for me to go before I got myself into more trouble than it was worth. I pushed off the barstool and headed for the door.

—Come back any time. I'll be here.

_But not for long_ , I thought to myself.

I definitely wasn't looking forward to swatting more flies. I'd rather be swatting Diana.

If it weren't for Bobbie, that is.

**I wasn't too** busy killing time with Diana to not notice the single car rolling onto the concrete pad adjacent to the sloop. I left the bar in time to see another screech to a stop beside it. A tall, gray-haired man got out and stretched. I recognized him from yesterday. Kennedy. It had to be. He hesitated, looked around, and headed for the boat.

A third vehicle approached. Still in their coveralls, I recognized the border guards instantly. They must have ditched the government jimmy. Too bad. I'd set fire to it just for spite if I could find it.

There was no sign of Bobbie. They must have ditched her. I wanted her to be only as far away as the sloop.

The older man took his time with the two men. In an obvious fit of temper he began pointing and gesticulating wildly. He had to be pissed off about something. Maybe he was handing out shit for the screwup the two left behind in Brownsville.

By the time I made my hiding spot I was too far away to make sense of anything. The words didn't carry in the wind and I couldn't make any sense of what was happening.

Maybe they were taking shit for bringing the girl back to the scene of the crime. According to Bobbie, this was where she took a beating and handed somebody's balls to them on the toe of her boot. I wondered if the balls might belong to the gray-haired man.

A bit to the north was where I first picked Bobbie up, only a few days ago. It seemed longer than that. We'd been tested and survived. When it seemed like we might have a chance, she was taken from me. Yet another woman destined to enter my life, linger for what seemed like an eternity, and then disappear without a trace. At least this one hadn't been killed.

Or had she?

If she was alive, she had to be in trouble, else why would they have taken her? Did they think she knew where the drugs were? Did they think she might have them? Had they found out that she'd left a dead sicario back in Brownsville?

Maybe the desk-clerk witness we left behind spilled his guts. Bobbie's days would be numbered if she gave up what they wanted to know.

But did she have the drugs? I didn't want to think so. Still, I couldn't be certain. I didn't know if she was even on board the yacht.

While I contemplated all of that, the hatch door banged open. A flash of light shattered my daydreaming. I waited, impatient. A woman stepped onto the deck. I recognized her instantly. There was no mistake, even from this distance.

Bobbie had on the same clothes she changed into before she was hauled out of our car and forced into the jimmy. From what I could tell, she didn't look happy to be here. We were even, though.

Neither was I.

A man came up from below and joined her on deck. He didn't look familiar from this distance. They hugged for a moment. Both squinted over the water. Friends? Lovers? Someone she was working for?

The situation on board the yacht proved to be too much. I'd shared that woman's bed. It didn't mean that I owned her. Or that she owed me anything. But I felt something more than lust when we were together. Although, the lust wasn't so bad, either.

I tried putting it out of my mind and for the most part, I succeeded. I sat back and waited for the cars to disappear.

Bobbie remained below with the stranger, keeping out of sight. I wondered if she thought I might be close. Or if I was still searching. And if she thought I was, could she be hiding out on me?

I hesitated long enough. It was go time. If I wasted any more time my doubts would only grow.

I unzipped the duffel and retrieved a knife. I strapped it to my ankle. I tucked my automatic into the small of my back beneath a sweaty shirt and shouldered the bag. I made my way nonchalantly in the direction of the moored yacht. I wanted to look like a crewman who'd been on a bender and was showing up for work late, as usual.

Gulls swooped and screeched. The yacht club flag flapped in the stiff breeze blowing in off the gulf. Water lapped at the sides of the yacht, another familiar sound from my past. The sloop rocked naturally in the swell making it's way into the finger of water.

It was a pretty sweet yacht. One day I'd like to own something like this. Inexperienced sailor that I was, I knew I'd never be able to sail on my own.

My daydreaming halted the instant I stepped aboard. The yacht eased over slowly and righted. Water continued slapping gently against the sides.

—Hello?

I recognized the voice immediately.

—Is anyone out there?

Below someone moved and the hatch slid open. Bobbie stepped up and looked right into my eyes.

—Jim! What are you doing? How did you find me? How did you get here? I thought I'd never see you again. You have to get away. They'll be back soon.

I took her in my arms and she relaxed against me, shaking uncontrollably and sobbing. I held on tight. She tried to quiet her sobbing, but it only contributed to the shaking.

—Whoa. Slow down, woman. You must know by now sniffling isn't allowed.

She punched me in the shoulder because she could, but it was gentle for once. Maybe she mellowed since we lost one another. I dumped the duffel below deck and jumped ashore to untie. I turned on the fans to rid the engine compartment of fumes. We drifted free in the finger's calm waters.

—What are you doing? You can't steal it. They'll find us again.

—Why not? Who's going to stop us?

I looked around for vehicles, all the while hoping no one was on the way.

—I brought you a change of clothes. There's some slightly warm burritos in the bag if you're so inclined.

Bobbie only shook her head.

—At a time like this and you think of food?

She hesitated.

—Sunglasses too?

—You betcha, baby.

She dived below and came back with a handful of clothes.

—Nice hoodie. You planning on going gangsta on me?

—I thought once we got out to sea I might have some time, yes.

Already it was too late. Cars raced onto the pad beside the yacht. A familiar figure standing in the doorway to the clubhouse watched it all go down. Diana must have made the call. Perhaps she already had her ride out of town lined up.

Three men jumped out of the cars. They didn't bother slamming doors before heading towards the sloop in a hurry. All three were reaching around for whatever was tucked into their belts.

—Throw up the duffel, baby. I need to find something in it.

She did better than that. She carried the heavy bag over to me and unzipped. I pulled out the AK, slammed home a _cuerno de chivo_ , and racked.

—Now get below. There's going to be trouble in paradise.

25.

Bobbie

**The sloop rocked** gently in the sheltered finger of water. Mooring lines tightened and went slack. Faint steps began at the bow and traversed the deck. I hoped it was Kennedy. I sailed into port with him. I could deal with the man. He was a lot easier on me than the others. Maybe he'd be able to tell me what was going on.

I slid open the hatch. Blinding sunlight assaulted my eyes. I blinked and squinted. Suddenly I realized I was face-to-face with another human being. It was him! In that instant of recognition I grinned like a woman saying yes to a marriage proposal.

—How? When? Where were you?

It was all I could do to stop with the questions as a huge smile looked back at me.

—Jim is back in town, baby. That's all you need to know.

He took me in his arms and I started to feel safe all over again. He gestured to the bag.

—Stow that below deck and I'll release the lines.

He picked up the heavy duffel and tossed it at my feet. I didn't ask what was inside. If I knew him, it was an armory. It almost slipped from my grip as I hauled it below.

Topside he had the fans going and we were drifting free in the finger. Cars braked to a screeching halt on the concrete pad beside the yacht. It looked like there was going to be danger in Diamondhead, and I wouldn't be hitchhiking out of it this time.

I alerted Jim, busy with the helm.

—They're back.

The men realized all at once that the yacht was floating free. Their pace quickened as they attempted to catch up before the yacht cleared the dock. Jim didn't appear the slightest bit troubled. He carried on like it was nothing.

—Can you get the duffel for me? There's something I'm going to need.

I flew down the stairs and struggled to haul it topside. I went through it frantically, searching for the automatic I knew would be there. Jim went for the AK and a couple of mags. Someone on the receiving end would be in for a surprise.

—You're not leaving my sight ever again, woman. Never ever.

I gave him the look and he grinned like a fool. Come to think of it, so did I. This time, I let him give the orders while I listened.

—What you're looking for is tucked into my belt.

I did as I was told. No way was I going to screw it up now that this man was back in my life. While I busied myself trying to yank the pistol from his belt without shooting him, Jim went to work and the AK began to do what it did best

Jim fired in short bursts. Brass clattered onto the deck. Some of it splashed into the water. Ashore, lead kicked up shards of cement and ricocheted. The gunfire forced the armed men back to their vehicles. We had a standoff going on, and judging by their shouts, they weren't happy about it.

I thought we were doing pretty good. Jim went back to handling the yacht, making way out of the finger and into open water. Then my brother came topside. Without hesitating, he rapped Jim on the back of the head. He fell onto the deck like a collapsed sail boom and stayed there.

—Ray! It's Jim. Damn you to hell. Why did you do that?

The guilty look on his face said he was ten years old all over again.

—How was I to know? You didn't take time to tell me about him.

—Now you know. Take over piloting this thing while I try to talk him out of killing you when he comes to.

* * *

**TYPICAL WOMAN. BOBBIE** just wouldn't listen. Instead, in the thick of things, she flipped up the back of my shirt and tugged at the automatic tucked into my belt. It was a miracle she didn't shoot me. I was impressed when she checked the magazine.

—We're a team or we're nothing. Don't ever order me around again.

I couldn't disagree. She had a loaded pistol filling her hand. While it wasn't pointed in my direction, it could have been. I grinned a shit-eating grin.

—Yes, dear. Anything you say.

I aimed in the direction of the advancing attackers and pulled the trigger, forcing a short burst from the AK. Flying lead kicked up cement and put the fear of the rifle known as the African credit card into them. They scattered in the direction of the cars and halted their retreat once they took shelter behind them.

—Can you back this thing up and get us out to sea? I'll hold them off as best I can.

A shadow appeared in the corner of my eye. It was too late to do anything.

—Ray! No!

Bobbie screamed. The AK slipped out of my hands and clattered to the deck. I thumped down beside it like a side of beef.

I came to with my head resting against Bobbie's familiar bosom. Her arms were around me, too, but I didn't notice right away. I nuzzled comfortably against both breasts and grinned. She almost dropped me.

—You're faking it. You are a bad man.

—Not entirely.

She allowed me to continue play-acting. Maybe she was enjoying it, too. Then she pushed me away.

—You're sure you're all right? Ray gave you a nasty wallop.

—Ray? Your brother? I thought-

So they brought them both here. They had to be thinking that brother and sister were a team working to steal the drugs.

—So did I. Until we discovered each other on board the yacht. We were just waiting for the right time.

—The right time to do what?

—I don't know. We didn't have any weapons until you showed up.

—Lucky for you. I didn't think I'd find you.

I pressed my head against her and waited. This time, she didn't push me away. The sound of the engine convinced me were away from the wharf and headed for the breakwater.

—Who's driving this tub?

I struggled to stand. Ray's wallop was worse than I thought. Unsteady on my feet, I made a grab for Bobbie and then the jackline to keep from going overboard. She grabbed and hung on, steadying me.

—Ray. He's a professional sailor.

—Good to know. Can he teach me to swim, too?

Bobbie helped me below and convinced me to climb into a berth. I closed my eyes and she went topside. It was pitch black when I came around. The rap on the side of my head did more damage than I suspected.

I struggled up the stairs. The wind howled and the sails flapped. Still wobbly and barely oriented, I kept a hand on the jackline for support. The sloop charged through the waves, drenching me in the spray. I leaned tentatively against the rigging for support.

—You'd better strap in. It's going to get a lot rougher.

As far as I was concerned, it was a lot rougher already. I ended up tossed from one side of the yacht to the other. I managed to hang on, only barely. Bobbie helped me into the straps and fastened me in.

—Where are we headed?

—We're going to moor her off Playa Bagdad.

—Playa Bagdad? Why there?

—We heard that's where you need to be.

—Well yeah. Maybe. But you don't have to hole up there on my account.

—Yes. We do. There's a few things we're not telling you.

I took a chance.

—What about Brownsville?

I already knew that would be a no. After what we left behind in Browntown, I didn't think there was a chance in hell any of us would be welcome back there.

—We burned that bridge too well.

It took me a minute.

—Yesenia.

—Yes. Definitely. And Terry, too.

At least they realized it. I was the one needed convincing.

—Well-

I let it rest. I had nothing.

Playa Bagdad wasn't far. Still, it had nothing resembling a harbor. A sand beach and a collection of bodegas for sunbathers and locals who wanted to do some beach shopping was about it. At one time, the place figured in one of my escapades with just about all the women in my life. Whether I considered that operation a success was another matter.

I had to admit that I was happy Bobbie had found her brother alive. That he'd given me a good one on the side of the head didn't bother me any more than the pain and suffering. How was he to know I was the good guy? I showed up out of the blue, after all.

Now with her brother in tow, we were headed for Mexico. By boat. By sailboat. Was this taking the slow train or what?

I headed below to make sandwiches in the well-equipped galley. It would give me a chance to think things through without the distraction of having Bobbie around.

Tampico owed me. Our old operation went south in a hurry. Two close friends had been killed. One betrayed; the other, my lover, ambushed and killed. Corrupt and dangerous as the city was, it looked like it was the place I needed to be. The trouble was, I knew nobody. I had no connections.

As far as I knew, the place had been taken over by warring cartels. Chances were that it was still going on, hot and heavy as ever. America hadn't stopped buying drugs or supplying the cartels with weapons.

Did I want to take Bobbie and Ray into something like that? I already knew the answer. If we went, they'd be my only allies. I didn't think either of them-inexperienced as they were-would be up to the monumental task.

The only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that Bobbie's brother had finally showed up. It was time to confront her before it became too late for any of us.

And it was time to start thinking about my own reasons for the vendetta I was convinced would solve all of my problems concerning my own past. I couldn't possibly allow Bobbie and her brother to shoulder the burden for anything I had to do.

That was for me alone.

If I was successful, maybe Bobbie would be waiting. If I wasn't, my feelings for her wouldn't matter in the slightest. Even so, I had to set her straight. I had to get her to understand that my fight wasn't her fight.

If anything happened to her, I'd never forgive myself.

26.

Bobbie

**Jim went full** perv on me-not that I minded. It was relief coupled with joy at having him with me, finally. I ended up cradling him in my arms waiting for him to come around after Ray rapped him on the side of the head. Instead, I was subjected to his face tucked into my breasts. He nuzzled and sighed and I grinned like a woman on her wedding night.

I tugged his head away and began chastising him anyway. He squinted up at me with a forlorn look and I had to give up when his grin mirrored my own.

—You're incorrigible. What's a girl to do?

I shook my head and gave him another chance. To no avail.

—That bump on the head can't have been so bad.

I helped him stand. He was still dizzy, and not in a good way. He made a grab for the jackline, attempting to steady himself. At the same time he let go of me and for a split second I thought he was on his way overboard.

—You need to strap in or go below, Jim. Now.

He wasn't having any of it.

—I'll be all right. I just need another minute.

I gave him more than a few, but I didn't leave him until he put on a life jacket. How could I let the man who rescued me fall overboard, even if he could be frustratingly stubborn? When I was satisfied, I went back to my brother and lit into him like there was no tomorrow. Ray held up his hands in surrender.

—You're in love with that man.

I mumbled and went beet-red and mumbled some more.

—All right, sis. It's your funeral.

That was the final straw.

—My funeral? What are you talking about? You're the dim bulb that came up with the idea to steal cartel drugs for a payday. What did you think would happen? Even if you never saw another news headline in this part of the world, surely you had to know what would happen. You put our entire family in jeopardy. And now you're telling me that Jim is bad for me?

I caught Ray looking at Jim. I wheeled and gave him a look that could have felled a lesser man. He just grinned and shook his head and knew better than to utter word one. I might have tossed the man overboard if he had.

—You want me to do some sailing so the happy family can continue with this line of discussion?

My brother looked impressed.

—He can sail? You should have told me.

That left me feeling pretty good, until Bobbie let the wind out of my sail.

—For all I know, he can sail just well enough to run us aground.

—Oh come on now. I'm not that bad. You have to give me some credit. I tracked you down to where I first picked you up.

Like that had anything to do with sailing. I wouldn't be giving him the credit he deserved in the company of my brother.

—If you know what's good for you, you'd better zip it.

—That's it. No more burritos for you. We're done.

I burst into tears and began sobbing, and it wasn't for effect. Maybe Jim was right. Maybe I was starting to act out a reaction I'd been suppressing. When this was over, I had to get somewhere far away. If Jim loved me, he'd wait. If I loved him, I had to do it for my own good before we hooked up again.

Why was my life never simple since meeting this man?

* * *

**I REALLY DID** try. I cajoled. I begged. When none of that worked, I told the woman I loved her. It did no good. Bobbie wouldn't listen. She wouldn't try to understand. She threatened to throw me overboard without a life jacket knowing that I'd sink like a stone. Finally, I had enough.

—Just because you've racked up a body count of one doesn't mean you're capable of adding to it. Have you had a reaction yet?

I already knew the answer to that. I needed to know if she did.

—What do you mean?

—Waking up with the sweats. Talking in your sleep. Screaming. Crying. Uncontrollable trembling. Begging for forgiveness. Oh, I almost forgot. One more. Puking over the side of our car.

—I had all of that, all right. I thought it was because of my feelings for you.

—Very funny. I ought to put you over my knee and spank you right here.

—Then you will end up walking the plank after I stop rubbing my ass.

A familiar image of this woman rubbing a pink rear end came to mind, but my mind was made up. I didn't wait to announce the decision.

—We're heading to Brownsville.

The safe house had to be a good beginning. With Bobbie's problem solved and her bother found-was he ever lost?-I was ready for some me time. It was the only way I knew to pick up the pieces of my personal war.

A lot of yelling and shouting and pointing and pushing and punches thrown and taken by both Bobbie and her brother and I knew why she had such a devastating fist. When the shadow boxing and the dust settled, Ray and Bobbie came to an understanding.

I didn't ask.

She nodded in my direction and I went below. I turned on as many lights as I could find and began field stripping and re-assembling the weapons.

It gave me something to do as I mumbled and stumbled and tried to convince myself that having Bobbie and her brother along wouldn't drag me into the depths of the gulf of Mexico. I completed my self-imposed exile from topside and called out to Bobbie to join me.

—This is an AK magazine. Some call it a clip, but it's not. It's a magazine. A mag. Across the Rio Grande, it's cuerno de chivo-slang for _goat's horn_.

I handed it to her.

—Get familiar with it. Know it. Know how to load it. Start now.

I handed over the bag of ammo, and she did pretty good. She muttered and broke nails and didn't seem bothered by it. I was impressed.

—You did good. Now here's another.

She looked at me like I was crazy but that was all right with me. I was accustomed to those looks by now.

—How many of these are you going to need?

She had the me part of that question right. No way would I include her once my own adventure began. I couldn't take the chance. I cared for her too much. There was no way I was about it admit to her, either. Then I remembered I already had.

I picked up the rifle.

—This is an AK47. In some parts of the world it's known as an African credit card. The best part of it is that it just works. In the swamp. Desert. Jungle. Mud. Sand. Dirt. It never fails.

She took it with both hands and hefted it.

—It's heavy.

—Even heavier with a jungle mag.

—What's a jungle mag? I just loaded a magazine for you.

— _Dos cuernos_ taped together. Double the action. Double the fun.

She picked up the second mag and reached into the bag for more ammo.

—Wait. Don't start loading that one just yet. There's something I want to show you.

She placed it on the table. Her hands went to her lap, waiting, like a patient schoolgirl-something I knew she wasn't. She looked up at me.

Did I really want to get into this with her? Could I put Bobbie intentionally in harm's way? I didn't consider it for long. If it was bound to happen, I wanted her prepared. Decision made. She was the only backup strategy I had.

—It goes into the underside like this.

I held the AK47 by the fore end, tipped it sideways, and slipped the front edge of the empty mag into the notch on the receiver. I rotated the mag back until it engaged the rear stop with a loud click.

—Did you see that?

She nodded. I pressed the catch in front of the finger guard and rotated the mag forward. I removed the mag from where it slid into its front receiver.

—I'll do it again.

I repeated the motion and handed over the rifle.

—Now it's your turn.

I left to go topside. I wanted to confer with Ray. I had to know if he was planning on staying or going. I had no need for him, and I doubted if he wanted to help me anyway. I was relieved when I learned he'd be leaving us in Brownsville. Satisfied, I returned to Bobbie's side.

—How's it going?

—All right.

She performed twice for me.

—Leave the mag in. Hold the AK and pull back the slide.

I crooked her index finger on it and covered it with my own. I pulled the slide back until it locked.

—Now look inside. Is it clear?

She maneuvered the rifle sideways for a good look.

—There's nothing. No bullet. It must be clear.

—And that's how we know you won't be shooting at your friends. Well, that, and don't show the muzzle to anything you don't intend to kill.

Her eyes moved to the loaded mag on the table. She was aching to try it. I wasn't so sure.

—Take a break. Go visit with your brother for a bit. I'll still be here when you get back.

She gave me the look and left to go topside.

The yelling started while I was making sandwiches. Bits and pieces drifted past the open hatch. I didn't venture out to investigate. The way she threw a punch, she'd be a match for her brother, whatever was going on.

The hatch opened wide and Ray dragged his sister, struggling and making her discontent known, down the hatchway.

—Bobbie tells me you've been showing her how to handle an AK-47. Is that true?

No way was she about letting up. I didn't get a chance to answer. The argument went on and on, like things do between brother and sister when neither is willing to give ground. I waited patiently until both tired of it.

—Why would I lie, Ray? You think I'm making shit up? You, who stole a car loaded with frigging cartel cocaine? Yeah, I'm the one with the problems, all right. Lying would be the least of them, don't you think?

Bobbie twisted free and sat down in front of the rifle. She picked up a sandwich and began chewing.

—Mmm. You're a good cook, too. I might just have to marry you.

She gave her brother the stink eye as the words tumbled out. I didn't utter word one. I knew better. I cracked a Sol and took a swallow.

—Anyone else want one?

Nobody said a word. I leaned back and enjoyed the beer, hoping for peace and quiet. Ray refused to give up. He wouldn't shut up, either.

—Bobbie, I'm warning you-

—No. You're not. You're making a mountain out of a molehill. And only thinking about yourself. As usual.

She eyed me, expecting something. I only sighed and shook my head and kept on with the sandwiches. My ears were wide open, though.

—I'm jumping ship in Brownsville. You two are free to do whatever you want.

—Fine.

There was that word again. I'd heard it a few times, too. There's be no going against her now. I wondered if her brother knew that about her.

—You won't change my mind, Ray. You might as well go back to the wheel.

Ray climbed the stairs. I gave Bobbie the once-over.

—What was that about?

—He thinks you're leading me somewhere I don't need to be. Now that he's back, he wants to return to the way things were. You know, before the cartel started looking for him.

—That's a way to certain death. Does he have any idea-

—I know. That's what we were fighting about topside. Well, that, and having you in my life. He thinks you're bad for me.

I had no idea. Perhaps I was.

—Yeah. So. Am I?

—Are you going to make more sandwiches, or do I have to do it myself?

—I take it that's a no. And take some to your brother as a peace offering. I don't want to have to force you to walk the plank.

Bobbie leaned in and kissed me. Before I could react, she grabbed the sandwiches and rushed topside. She was turning out to be a handful, all right.

I already knew that from the very beginning when I crossed paths with the woman hitchhiking at a gas bar.

**Sitting below deck** alone and in the dim light, I made up my mind. I was convinced.

—I have to go back to the stash house.

I made the announcement to nobody. What I didn't say out loud was that I'd have to leave Bobbie behind when we docked in Brownsville. I had to. She'd object if I told her. I wouldn't be telling her. It wasn't something I wanted to experience after being witness to the blowup with her brother.

At that instant, as though to confirm my decision, the yacht heeled over as it changed direction. Someone topside must have read my mind.

—If there's anything left, it will be in Brownsville.

The lights flicked on. Bobbie pursed her lips and looked at me like I was nuts. So far, I figured I was ahead. She wasn't glaring.

—Are you sure? Won't that be dangerous? Surely they'll be watching for us there.

It was true. After setting fire to their cache of drugs and money in the stash house, they'd be on the lookout all right. Security would be a concern.

But why, if the house was no longer a safe house for the feds? If it was compromised, and it looked like it was, who had abandoned it? Why had it been abandoned in the first place? And who turned it over to the cartel to be used as a stash house for drugs and cash?

I'd heard of them, of course. Usually, every nook and cranny in the place would be filled with plastic-wrapped bales of cash. Sometimes a family of relatives would be left behind. Making the place look occupied would keep away neighborhood inquiring eyes and give it that lived-in look.

**There wasn't a** soul in the Brownsville marina when I crept silently off the sloop in the dark. Ray was long gone. I tried my best not to make a sound for fear of disturbing Bobbie. I didn't want to make excuses. I didn't want to dwell on saying goodbye.

All that was a lie. Hell, I knew I wouldn't be able to talk her out of accompanying me. I was certain I'd succeeded, too, until Bobbie tapped me on the shoulder in the stash house.

—Jesus, woman. Do you want to get shot?

—Judging by the way you so elegantly deserted ship in the dark, I figured this was where you'd be. Trying to ditch me, were you?

She had me there. I decided to go with the truth.

—Yes. Are you satisfied now?

—Not so much. Why?

Damn but this woman could be annoying with the questions.

—Because I didn't want to put you in danger.

—Why not?

I shook my head and rolled my eyes and I could have done at least another couple of things to keep me from answering the obvious. Instead, I gave in.

—Because I love you. Now are you satisfied?

—Yes.

Exasperated, I waited, but there was only silence.

—Yes? That's it? Only yes?

—For now. We have too much to do.

She explained her plan and I took to it right away. An hour later, with Bobbie driving, we were on the road, headed for the Brownsville marina and the sailboat. It gave me plenty of time to think.

I was no closer to solving what happened with Kara. Maybe I never would. Maybe having Bobbie enter my life meant that I needed to put the relationship behind me and move on with life. Maybe it was karma, meant to kick me out of my search for vengeance.

For now, it would have to do. We had bigger problems in the present that could prove to be insurmountable. Missing cartel cash, if it was even noticeable in the mountain contained within the old stash house, was a more pressing problem.

We spent hours walking from the car to the sailboat's mooring and back. Finally, it was time. Bobbie fired up the engine and got us underway, taking us out of the harbor and past the breakwater.

Under sail, we headed into the Gulf. Bobbie proved to be just as adept at sailing as her brother. Hell, with my limited abilities in the sailing department, she could take the sloop anywhere she wanted.

Had I let myself down by allowing her to convince me we could steal the cash and make a new life for ourselves? Yes. But not all the way. On the drive to the marina, I decided for the last time that everything about Kara was a lost cause. I didn't need to be letting her back into my life after her death. It was over, finally.

Pilar, however, was another matter. I needed closure. I had no idea where that ride would end up taking me. Right now, I didn't want to know.

—Where are we headed, sailor?

North was all I managed to get out of her. When she stripped down to her bikini, that was enough. For now.

—The coast guard has to think I'm out with my sugar daddy.

Where had I heard that before?

I went along with Bobbie and smiled anyway. Her plan worked, too. On our journey north, they came alongside a couple of times, and then waved and slipped away after a quick look. Maybe the radio waves telegraphed a good-looking topless woman in a bikini bottom who wasn't shy in the slightest. It was all good.

—Where are we going to put in?

—Somewhere with a bank and a dry dock, at least. A storage unit wouldn't hurt, either. We need to stash the cash we borrowed, the sooner the better.

—Yeah, well, I'm on board with that.

And I was, too, until a white, foamy wake telegraphed its arrival on the distant horizon behind us. I didn't say anything to Bobbie. I wanted her kept busy while I went below to check the firepower.

The powerboat was holding off, matching us in the speed department. I was pretty sure it would make its appearance after dark when it would come abeam. Right now all it was managing to do was keep me on edge. It became impossible to keep it from Bobbie any longer. I pointed him out to her.

—He's been following us for a while. He's probably going to pace us until dark. He'll try to board then.

I was concerned. I went below a second time to prep the AK and check the load. I made sure to bring up a pistol for Bobbie. I tucked it into the seat beside her along with a second mag.

—Just in case.

She only nodded. A hard look crossed her face for an instant and disappeared in one of the fake smiles she was beginning to generate on a regular basis. I wondered if the sicario's death at her hands was beginning to catch up to her.

—Remember to breathe.

She had no experience with this.

—Don't do anything crazy, okay? We need to know who it is first. If they try to board, that's our clue. Only then do we act. Understood?

She nodded again. I wasn't reassured. She had become too withdrawn since our paths crossed again in Diamondhead. The episode with the sicario was definitely catching up to her, slowly but surely.

Now wasn't the time to tell her that if it was the coast guard, they'd be on us like flies. No way would they hold off until dark.

**Night overtook us** too fast for my liking. The boat following never displayed any markers. I lost sight of it but for the white, foamy wake surrounded by darker water.

—You should probably switch off our markers, Bobbie.

We had no radar to monitor, but they most likely did. The sound of the engine at full throttle grew stronger, overpowering the rush of wind in our sails. The distance closed.

—They're coming.

Bobbie rushed below to change. She returned dressed in long pants and a wool pea jacket. She left it unbuttoned. She pulled a watch cap down above her eyes. She looked like an old salt. It would be difficult for anyone to know if she was man or woman.

She checked the automatic and returned it to the seat. The knife hung from her belt.

—Ready as we'll ever be. Now sit and keep a low profile until we know whether they're going to ram us first or shoot.

She tied off the wheel. I placed the AK at my feet. I wanted it accessible when I hit the deck. I joined her on the seat.

—Remember to breathe. We don't know what's going to happen. It might only be coast guard with an unmarked boat.

I willed myself to believe it. Could we be that lucky? I rubbed her back and smiled. As best as I could tell in the dark, she smiled back.

—The wind is steady. That's a plus. The sail will stay trimmed.

She no sooner said the words when a single boom echoed over the water.

—Keep down. They mean business.

If they had automatics, they were holding fire. I hoped they'd think we had no firearms of our own. I waited for the powerboat to ease closer. Bobbie fidgeted beside me.

—Wait. It's too soon. Wait for me.

The powerboat bumped against us. Something bounced forward along the deck. An explosion accompanied by a flash of bright light left us blinded. The mast groaned. A loud cracking sound split the air as the mast faltered and leaned. It began slowly tipping over the side and disappeared into the water. The sail caught. We slowed and turned into the powerboat thanks to the sail dragging at us in the water.

—Now, Bobbie. Now.

My ears rang deaf from the explosion. I dived to the deck and struggled to raise the AK into firing position behind the gunnel. I raked the powerboat's cockpit with automatic fire. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bobbie raising the pistol. I waited.

Nothing.

Whoever was on board was unprepared for the firepower. Panicked yelling and screaming accompanied by shadowy movement subsided. The empty mag clattered onto the deck. I slammed home a second. I made sure my aim was more discrete. I used short, controlled bursts. The muzzle moved fore and aft and then side to side as the second mag emptied into the powerboat.

There was no sound beyond the idling engine. No yelling. Nothing. I pulled the third mag out of the duffel and slipped it into the AK.

—Hold your fire. I'm going aboard.

I held up my hand as though Bobbie might be paying attention. I looked back at her. Still clutching the handgun, she appeared frozen in position.

—Did you hear me?

I waited. Finally, she lowered the pistol. I tossed a rope and climbed aboard to secure it. Nothing moved in the darkness. There wasn't a sound beyond the whistling wind and the waves slapping against the hull. I tied us off and waved Bobbie aboard.

—Bring a light.

I went through pockets and bags and collected what I could. No IDs. Nothing. One at a time I illuminated the faces to give Bobbie a look.

—Do you recognize any of them?

She shook her head.

—Not a one. What are we going to do? It's going to take hours to offload our cargo.

—Losing the sail won't stop us. The sloop can power on with the engine. Where will we put in?

She didn't hesitate.

—I was planning on Lake Charles. There are plenty of places for the cargo and dry docks if we want to keep her for a while.

I went forward and began cutting at the collapsed mast and its rigging. It broke free of the yacht and drifted off to sink. Bobbie turned on the fan in the engine compartment.

—There's one more thing that needs doing. Don't go away.

I made for the powerboat and searched for what I knew to be there. I tossed the grenades to Bobbie, one at a time. She blanched but managed to catch them all. I climbed over the rail to join her on our sloop.

—What are you going to do with them?

I pulled three pins on the grenades in quick succession and hurriedly tossed each one into the powerboat. Bobbie advanced the throttle, putting us fifty feet away when the explosions came. We delayed getting under way, waiting for the inevitable sinking. Twenty minutes later, only an oily slick remained as the sun began rising over the horizon.

—Take us to Lake Charles, sailor.

I went below and grabbed a blanket. We huddled in the cool morning air. In time I dragged myself away from Bobbie to cover over the hole in the deck where the grenade exploded.

—Do you think it will be repairable?

Bobbie looked at me like I was crazy.

—Who cares? We have enough hard cash to buy a new one if we want to.

At that moment, I didn't know what I wanted.

27.

Bobbie

**I knew the** powerboat would be trouble as soon as Jim pointed it out. My stomach began rocking and rolling almost immediately. I was unsteady on my feet. I held off just long enough for Jim to go below, then I rushed to get my head over the side. I gagged and threw up. Panicking, I sucked in air and threw up again.

My hands shook so bad I could barely hang onto the jackline.

I didn't want Jim to know. Not now. Not ever. Especially not in the middle of whatever it was we were in the middle of. He returned topside, but he was concentrating on the powerboat behinds us, too preoccupied to notice my shortcomings. If he did, he didn't say anything. I was just as glad.

The explosion took down the mast and the sail with it, and I knew we were in even worse trouble. I held the handgun the way my father showed me. I even managed to get it pointed in the right direction. I couldn't pull the trigger. I tried. More than once.

I watched and listened and stood there like I knew what I was doing. Oh, I looked good. I held the automatic out with both hands, the way I'd been shown. I made sure to have my feet in the correct position. I even dressed the part with the jacket and the watch cap.

But I wasn't prepared for anything. How was I supposed to know someone would be tossing grenades? At least, that's what I thought it was. The explosion and the bright light put me in panic mode. Certainly shock, too. My heart beat so fast it felt like it would explode. The light blinded me. A cold sweat began to run down my back. And it all happened over what seemed like an eternity, in slow motion.

Then it was over. I sat down and bent over my knees while Jim jumped aboard the powerboat. I guess he was looking for survivors. I had to get up to puke over the side again. It was all I could do to climb aboard behind him. If it wasn't for Jim-

I was right back in the storage unit. Except it wasn't the sicario. It wasn't Yesenia. It was three men I didn't recognize.

—Here. Take these with you.

Jim started tossing grenades at me, shocking me out of my ugly reverie. Somehow, I caught them all. When he came aboard our yacht, he pulled the pins on three and tossed them into the powerboat. By the time I steered the yacht clear, the grenades were going off. In minutes, the boat was taking on water and already sinking.

Jim went forward and fought with the lines on the mast, finally succeeding in cutting it free. We waited for the rest of the boat to disappear in an oily foam. When it went under, I fired up the engine and got us under way. It wasn't long after that the uncontrollable trembling began. I couldn't stop it, try as I might.

I did something like this before. It was after our highway encounter and shootout with the bad guys. This time, I let Jim think it was because I was cold. I didn't dare tell him the truth. He must have figured it out when I froze at the sound of his rifle.

He brought me a blanket. It covered up the obvious. So did his arm when it went around me. Even so, I felt like I'd been destroyed. If I ever got out of this, I was going to get far away from the gulf and boats or die trying.

I didn't dare let on to Jim. I figured he already gave up on me for being a failure as his backup. He knew now that he couldn't depend on me. I had no idea what I would have done if anyone had been left alive to shoot back at us.

In the dark I began to cry. Jim tightened his grip and I blocked all of it out as best I could. How long that would last-

Finally, I decided to tell him the truth-or at least the part of it I wanted him to know.

* * *

**I LOOKED OVER** at Bobbie, huddled beneath the blanket. She had it over her shoulders as though seeking a measure of protection from the gale force winds we faced on our way north.

—Jim? There's something you need to know.

There was more than one thing, I was certain. For now, I'd take them from this woman one at a time.

—Remember when you picked me up at the gas bar?

I did. I pulled in to take a break for gas and food. The gas station's short-lived welcome breath of cold air gave some respite from the broken-down air conditioner in the rental.

—Yeah. The clouds parted, the sun came out, and there you were looking a bit like an angel the worse for wear.

She did, too.

—Something like a drowned rat with a shiner looking for a place to hang out after the store manager threw you out.

—You don't have to sound so happy about it.

—I felt sorry for you. Plus I wanted to hear the story about how you got the shiner. Are you ever going to spill?

I hesitated. Bobbie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

—Well-

She avoided looking at me and instead stared out across the gulf.

—Remember when I told you I crewed on a yacht? The owner refused to pay me so I jumped ship. Remember that?

I nodded and wondered what would come next.

—It was a setup.

My ears perked up. If I wasn't already, I was paying attention now.

—I agreed to take a punch on the face. On purpose. I didn't bargain on a second one. I managed a dodge but he caught me in the chest. You got to see the results of that, too.

She absent-mindedly rubbed herself through the blanket.

—I ended up booting him between the legs. I took his money for payment. That text message you showed me on Terry's phone went to his phone.

—The man who beat you for the setup?

—Yes. Kennedy. He forced me to search for my brother. If I didn't, he said he'd kill me.

He was using the phone to track her. Of course. That's why we ended up in a gunfight on the side of the road. He must have thought she'd found her brother.

—What about the calls you took? You wouldn't talk much past mumbles, remember?

—That was him. He was asking all sorts of questions that I couldn't answer with you listening. I tried to put him off when I realized you were one of the good guys.

All this was news to me. I waited for her to go on.

—Maybe that was why the car caught up to us on the highway. I don't know. But it seemed like it was. I regretted it by the time I calmed down after you emptied your gun at them and they ran off.

So that was it. I was being led on. The tracking ended when I convinced her to toss the phone.

—Do you think Yesenia thought Terry might be your brother? It wasn't very smart of her if she did, but I suppose they weren't paying her for smarts.

—She could have, I guess. He shouldn't have come back.

—He ended up dead because he did.

I didn't bring up Yesenia's death in the storage unit. Bobbie would discover she'd have a hard enough time without me stepping in it on her behalf. She kept looking at me, and looking away. It was as though she didn't know what might be coming next. To be honest, neither did I.

Half of my demons had been slain when I made the decision that Kara was dead and gone. That there was nothing I could do to avenge it. At least I'd gotten that smart.

—What are we doing?

Still, there was Pilar. I'd not forgotten. Nor would I. Ever.

—I don't know, Bobbie. I'm not done with what happened to my wife on board that charter flight. As far as I'm concerned, it's unsolved.

—And you're going to be the one to solve it.

—That's right. I won't be able to do that from here. I need to be someplace else. If you want to come with me, you can.

I waited, already knowing what her answer would be.

—I can't do that.

—All right. Well, we have a pretty big task ahead of us. We have to get rid of all the cash. But first we have to figure out a way to retrieve it when it's going to be needed.

Bobbie was the one to broach the subject.

—How about fifty-fifty?

—Sounds good. Let's get counting.

We didn't fight. We didn't argue. We counted. And counted. And then we counted some more. By the end of it, we were fed up and glad to be putting in at Lake Charles. It had the banks and the storage units. It meant multiple trips from the yacht to banks and credit unions with their safe deposit boxes. We followed up with small storage units, paid in advance.

By the end of it, Bobbie was having a hard time looking at me. I had a hundred questions. I left them unasked. She'd left me with enough clues over the past week. I knew what was coming.

—I guess this is it. I don't want you to go. I want you to stay with me.

—I can't. Not now. Maybe not ever. I have to figure it out on my own. I need to get away. I'm grateful for what you did for me and for Ray. I can never thank you enough.

—You don't have to keep thanking me. What's done is done. It worked out.

—I guess so. Jim-

It was all she could do to look at me.

—Bobbie. Wait.

—Goodbye.

Over the years I had too many goodbyes in my life.

—So long.

I desperately wanted more hellos. By the look of it, they weren't going to be coming from Bobbie.

28.

Bobbie

**I couldn't win** with Jim. It broke my heart, but I had to leave him. I had to leave it all behind. I cried. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't stop thinking and agonizing and dreaming and having nightmares. I couldn't think of anything else. Night after night I woke up again and again in cold sweats, shivering and shaking and sobbing.

And so it was time to go. I didn't look back. I couldn't. I knew I'd be spending enough time examining my motives once we separated. I even kicked myself. It seemed like the thing for my subconscious to do at my stupidity.

The sicario's death was still making me crazy by the time I smartened up and found a psychologist. I made up a story about a hit-and-run and he seemed to believe me. While I was going for my twice-weekly confessions, I started working on a commercial pilot's license.

At roughly the same time, my conscience and my ability to fly met and I was the proud possessor of a shiny new pilot's license and an ability to kill myself depending on how forgiving my flying mistakes would be.

Maybe I had a death wish.

I wanted to earn a float endorsement. I promptly boarded a commercial flight to Alaska. By the time I finished with the endorsement, I ended up impressing the company with my abilities. They followed up on the endorsement with a recommendation for a flying job.

A small charter outfit showed some pity by hiring me. I ended up flying out to minnow traps. I retrieved the contents, re-set the traps, and flew back with the results stored away in a freshwater tank on board the Cub.

By the end of the day I ended up smelling like fish, but that's what showers and laundry were for.

Before long, I used up some of the money I rescued from the stash house to purchase a small plane with an improved engine. I began by building my business among the chauvinist, macho males that populated the fishing lodges, the bars, and the restaurants.

In due time I found a capable air engineer. He was a little younger and a little smarter than I liked them, but after Jim he was just what I needed. Or so it seemed.

I turned myself into a damned fine pilot by learning not to push the weather right off. I listened to the wisdom of others far more experienced. I had my own plane and business. I was making money. I even had a boyfriend.

We worked well together in the business.

Until we didn't.

He seemed to think that sleeping with me entitled him to a fair share of the profits and a business and an aircraft he hadn't invested dime one in. Never mind that I'd been paying him for his work.

Maybe he thought I was paying him to sleep with me while he worked on my plane for free. I let it slide. I was happy.

Until I wasn't.

I always tried to mind my own business. I don't know how it came about, but when it happened, it shocked the hell out of me. I heard rumors, of course. And I knew a couple of pilots who took the chance with their employers' planes.

One day I found myself approached by a couple of men, strangers both, keen to talk me into flying booze into northern communities. I said no to that. Next it was drugs. I said no to that, too, until I caught my partner stashing what I discovered to be drugs in the float compartments.

I guess there wasn't room for a six-pack.

Which was all the more reason why I ended up jolted back into someone else's reality when I read the email.

When it feels like it's time to go, it usually is. I began packing-not that I had a whole lot to put away. My boyfriend caught me out trying to slip off before daylight. The same two who offered me the opportunity to be an airborne drug runner dragged me off into the bush. I ended up tied to a tree while they insisted on painting me pictures of how it would go from now on.

I agreed. I wasn't stupid. Why wouldn't I see the light? Why threaten my livelihood by refusing to fly drug runs into small, isolated communities with no road access until winter set in?

I was scared. When the finished with me, I was beaten, both physically and mentally. The men helped me back to the trailer. I collapsed on the floor. I struggled to pack a duffel with enough winter gear to survive in the cold winter if my plane went down.

It was past time to leave the far north for warmer climes.

I threw in enough prescription pain killers to sedate a moose.

* * *

**BURNED OUT. EXHAUSTED.** Worn out and fed up. I needed something. I didn't know what. Or where. Or who. The only thing I wasn't, was broke. It took a while. It took mail. And courier. And suitcases. And overnight bags. And multiple trips. And rental cars. Motorcycle trips. Whatever it took, I did it.

If I drove or rode, I made sure I switched out the border crossings often enough that I didn't draw suspicion. They were all linked by computer. It was a chance I had to take. Rarely would I encounter the same guard twice. If I did, and if I remembered, I made a point of mentioning that I didn't learn the first time.

I used the ruse of pushing the sunglasses up on my forehead and looking at the border guard straight on. Right in the eyes. While I pretended to fish for my passport, I'd shake my head, all the while complaining about a bad stomach or bathroom breaks or food and water and women. I'd get a knowing grin. A head nodding in agreement.

Finally, a wave through.

Never did I get pulled over.

Eventually, over time and chance and circumstance, I managed to get the remainder of the cash stashed in Cabo into the country. I became a currency smuggler to do it. I felt like I was smuggling drugs. I left some of it behind, in case I ever needed a vacation.

**I paid cash** for another old beater. The heater barely worked. I didn't stop until I hit Michigan. I angled a job interview as a live-in estate watchman for some rich guy and his family while they were away in Europe or South America or Africa.

It didn't hurt that I was a former cop. Following a reference check, I moved in. Dude left behind a book bigger than a bible on how to run the place.

I settled in to walking morning, noon, and night. I discovered a jazz bar, a coffee shop, a pastry place, and nurses from the nearby hospital, not necessarily in that order. I found a library with friendly librarians to help me with research.

A pretty research assistant didn't hurt. I offered to pay her, but she refused, so instead I let her sleep in my bed from time to time. Sometimes, I ended up in her bed.

In six months, with a lot of help and a lot of searching and reading old newspapers and studying, I found everything I needed. I developed a paper trail pointing in the direction of dissidents living and working in Miami. They brought down Pilar's plane. Some were known to harbor a serious grudge with the country they'd been permitted to live in.

None in the group were happy with the country's recently adopted position on the state of affairs. In other words, the group didn't want anything to do with warming relations with the island's dictatorship, nor with loosening travel restriction after decades of forced isolation.

They demonstrated and waved flags and screamed and yelled ineffectively against the government's latest stand on Cuban relations. They stupidly condemned America for its revamped position that travel should be allowed. And local politicians went along for the ride.

How a tiny cork bobbing in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico could have such an effect on a nation as large as ours and its Cuban refugees never ceased to amaze me. For decades Cuba had been embargoed. Even so, it continued to thrive, albeit with dependence on communist-leaning nations. Now, all of a sudden, America had awakened to the prospect that the fifty-year-old position was outdated.

The group had blown up a few mailboxes. The guilty parties had been jailed, thanks to infiltration by one or another three-letter failures: DHS, TSA, FBI, Customs and Immigration. It was never made clear. I read what I could find about what had brought down Pilar's charter aircraft en route to the resort hotel.

There wasn't a lot, as though much of the proceedings had been behind closed doors with limited or no press access. Not surprising, given the political strength of the local dissidents.

And then, _Bingo!_ I had my answer.

Pilar's killer disapproved of the latest attempts at a growing positive relationship with Cuba. It took a while to sink it. That a Cuban dissident had planted a bomb on board the small plane had never been investigated. The likelihood that the investigation might lead to Cuban nationals based in Florida was never investigated. Too many voters might have made erroneous conclusions about their government.

Rather than risk voter revolution, all investigations had been dead-ended and halted. On whose orders, I had yet to learn.

Further still, I learned that seaplane bases weren't subject to the same security scrutiny as airports. I was convinced that a dissident had planted the bomb on board Pilar's flight in an attempt to force the government into delaying or canceling its developing rapport with the government of the island to the south.

Finally, I had my answers. Or, at least I had answers that began making some sense. It would have happened a lot sooner, but I found a real estate agent with a pipeline to Canada.

She took months to find the right place. That was probably because we ended up sleeping together. Neither of us turned out to be in much of a rush to not sleep together. The relationship helped take the edge off of what I was in the process of discovering.

Eventually, I made a decision on an isolated cabin in the Canadian woods, mostly because it was turning out to be too easy to continue the way I had been. That, and I discovered my realtor's growing sense of ennui with our relationship. Obviously she started it to ensure a quick sale. I turned out not to be so quick off the mark.

She was fun and made me laugh and we spent money on each other. Which, come to think of it, was probably a very good reason to finally move on.

The agency made it easy to pay in cash on the U.S. side of the border. I made it easy by declaring a bit of cash when I crossed. No problem. All signed, sealed, and stamped. By the time we parted company, I was the brand new owner of a home in the middle of nowhere.

Bobcaygeon. It wasn't even nowhere. It was worse than that. Cedar Lake. A thin sliver of a shallow lake running roughly north-south. Not much wave action. A corduroy road over the swamps made sure only the hardy would make an attempt to see where the road ended.

I outfitted the site with a generator to supplement the solar panels already installed. I thought about adding a small windmill, but nixed the idea. The winds weren't so strong as I hoped.

Settled, isolated, and alone, I set out to put the facts of Pilar's death together. During my research phase, I gathered enough material to keep me busy reviewing and organizing for at least several months. I didn't want to wear out my welcome in my new abode. Nor did I want to experience a cold and snowy Canadian winter alone in the bush.

When I tired of paperwork, I chopped wood and repaired the corduroy road. I bumped up and down on the restored trail to the main highway into the small, isolated town once or twice a month for supplies and a visit to a cafe with wireless.

I never lingered. I beat a hasty retreat back to the cabin. No one asked. I didn't care. I liked it that way.

The living was easy.

**Slowly I began** getting back in shape. The wood chopping, the runs to the main road and back, the swimming, all helped to wear away the paunch that good living encouraged. Bobbie would be pleased with the disappearing muffin top that she teased me about when we first met.

I tried not to think about her too much. It helped that I had a homestead to build. Most nights I fell into bed too exhausted to think of anything but what had to be done the next day, and sleep.

I split my time between construction projects and working on discovering who caused Pilar's death. By mid-summer I had the walls covered with maps and charts and characters and rap sheets. By mid-August, I had everything planned. I spent another month going over it all. Checking. Verifying. Checking again. I wasn't wrong. I couldn't be.

It was all hanging on the wall, in black and white and color. Ready.

I was, too.

So I took some time off and just for the hell of it drove a long way to a town with a library and a computer desk. I checked my email and got caught up. I visited web sites and checked out photos of a proud, smiling woman in winter gear standing beside a small single-engine plane on wheel-skis.

Sure enough. Bobbie had traveled to Alaska. She got her pilot's license and a job flying for a small charter outfit. It sounded mostly like she trapped minnows and hauled them to the bait shops in the back of the plane she'd bought for herself.

During the off season, she chartered for hunters and loggers and ran emergency flights into isolated communities for those not so sick wanting to get medical attention in a major center.

I took a chance and sent her the lat and long of the place. I didn't say anything else. I figured if she wanted to, she'd show up on her own. My name was a part of the email address. She'd have to be blind not to see.

I didn't hold out much hope for anything more than that. Why would I? At the end of it all, we'd parted on good terms. There was nothing more than that.

I was so certain that I completely put it out of my mind. I never went back to check for more email. As much as I cared for the woman, she had her own life to live. She already made it more than plain in Lake Charles that it didn't include spending time with me.

The second thing I accomplished was a final read-through of the report I prepared on why, who, and how the destruction of Pilar's return flight to the resort was initiated. I called in every favor I had left in the world and some I didn't. There weren't many. Most of them were from people in police departments I worked with in previous lives.

I named names. I named acronyms. I enclosed CCTV copies of video of a male seen placing something into a piece of luggage before loading it onto a charter flight. It was the same flight that Pillar ended up boarding. I included the bullshit reports that managed to deflect attention from the group that caused the explosion.

Just for spite, I made three more copies. I debated over a cup of coffee in a small diner in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. I passed that copy on to a major paper in D.C. It had just been bought out by another hardass. I didn't think anything would result from that rash decision, though.

And so I prepared to move back to the southern states for the real, live Canadian winter I didn't want any part of.

29.

Bobbie

**I had an** ace in my pocket. It was the email I received and printed out and carefully tucked away. I looked at it only days before. It consisted of two short and lonely lines of letters and numbers. In turn I recognized them for what they were. I didn't send a response at the time. There was no need. Only now, there was no computer terminal I could crawl to on my belly.

My pride and joy was fueled and ready to go. The floats had been pumped in the early morning before my first flight. I did the DI then, too. I had charts. I had a functioning GPS. The biggest obstacle would be the snow-covered mountains to the south.

Struggling and in almost unbearable pain all the way, I crawled, inching my way down the dock on my hands and knees. I dragged my bag behind me. I grunted and bent reached and untied. I climbed aboard huffing and puffing and groaning all the way. I agonized over pulling the duffel aboard.

The Cub began to slowly drift away from the dock. I searched through my small bag for the painkillers I took from the cabin. Not wanting to delay further, I started the Cub, dropped the water rudders, and steered with my knees and feet to taxi into the breakwater.

I choked down the painkillers, adjusted the mixture and firewalled the throttle. I waited patiently for some speed to build. I worked my magic on the stick until the floats climbed onto the step and I became airborne moments later.

There was plenty of snow left in the mountain passes. At altitude, it was cold in the small Cub. I gathered up what I could of warmer clothes and a blanket. Thankfully, the painkillers hauled ass by then. Even so, I was still achy and exhausted.

To say it was a tortured flight into the unknown of a foreign country would be the least of my problems. I landed and slept when I felt like it. I didn't fly at night, even with the GPS. Single-engine VFR along mountain passes on the way into northern Alberta wasn't the place to be in the dark.

Stops for fuel were the biggest problem. By the second day, I was so stiff I could barely move. Painkillers didn't help with that. Sometimes a stray wharf rat would take pity on me and pump the floats when I asked.

He'd fuel the Cub while casting a wary eye in my direction. I always handed over a wad of cash hoping for silence with any authorities that might come calling to ask about a beat-up woman flying cross-border without a flight plan.

My last overnight ended up with the plane parked on a lake somewhere in Northwestern Ontario. I woke up with pain like I never felt before in my life. The previous days had been no picnic, but now it was so much worse. I checked the painkillers. Two day, max.

I popped two, made the sign of the cross, and fired up the Cub. There was nowhere for me to go but the destination marked by the GPS. I took off for what I hoped would be the last time in more than a little while.

If I was lucky, my demons would be behind me. What I needed to do now was to heal my physical self.

Just maybe I'd find the man I loved in the process.

* * *

**THE ROAD INTO** my paradise consisted of a number of corduroy sections over low, swampy ground. Noise and a cloud of oily blue exhaust from the chainsaw proved more acceptable than the manual labor I'd have to do with an axe.

I took my time, realizing that I couldn't do it all at once. Besides, there was no rush. This year, or next. It didn't matter. I had six months at a time to make the place even more habitable than when I bought it.

I never came up in the winter.

Thus it was one summer, towards the end of June, when the sound of a light airplane drew me out into the warmth of the early-morning sun rising over the forest of trees. I shaded my eyes and squinted, scanning what little horizon I could, surrounded as I was by thick Canadian bush.

Nothing. I waited for the sound to diminish.

It didn't.

Finally, the small, float-equipped two-seater cruised slowly into view. The pilot throttled back the Piper Cub and made a slow pass, flying in front of the cabin in parallel with the small lake. He had to be checking for shoals and submerged logs and whether the craft would be able to clear the trees on departure if he chose to land.

The power came back on and the wings leveled. The downwind leg began and he turned onto base and then final.

Again the throttle came off and the Cub drifted leisurely just above stall in a glassy water landing. The craft settled slowly onto the mirror-smooth surface.

The pilot pulled back on the stick and the nose of the floats angled up out of the water and mushed back down, allowing the speed to bleed off as the wing stalled out. Well before the narrows, he had the craft turned and was taxiing towards my small dock.

I ambled down to see what might be happening. It turned out, not too much. When the engine stopped, I waited until the nose of the floats bumped the dock. Whoever was doing the flying knew what they were up to. Water rudders came up. I dropped a tire and turned the plane. I secured the back of a float to the dock and waited.

The bottom half of the door swung down.

I couldn't get a good look at the pilot. A cap, dark sunglasses, and a tweed shirt over cargo pants tucked into bush boots hid him too well. Concern mounted. I hadn't prepared for trouble.

Why would I?

No one knew I was here.

30.

Bobbie

**I must have** been airborne for a couple of hours. Too many hours, probably. The last of my painkillers wore off long ago and I was fast descending into a maelstrom of hurt and agony and more pain and realizing that I was about at the end of my fuel.

Nervously, I checked my course against the GPS. I was still on target for a noon arrival. There was nothing to port or starboard for hour after hour. Nothing but endless lakes and swamps and rivers, all surrounded by green. Plenty of lakes.

I wiped cold perspiration from my brow, swatted at the tears streaming down my face, and resigned myself to running low on fuel before I made my spot. I'd have to land.

A wisp of white smoke rising over the trees at twelve o'clock signaled civilization. I checked port and starboard. Still only green trees and lakes. Most now were too small for landing.

I punched a button on the GPS. It showed I was receiving all the satellites. The wisp of smoke grew closer.

I came in low, with the Cub's engine roaring, on a wingover off to the side of the small lake. My inspection run said the lake looked good for a landing. The water was clear, too. No sandbars. No submerged logs. Long enough for a landing. More importantly, it appeared to be just the right length for a takeoff if I had the wrong spot locked into the GPS.

I made a stab at blinking away the drug-induced perspiration running down my forehead into my eyes. I swiped at the tears streaming down my face.

Lining up on final, I reduced throttle just enough. I powered onto the glassy water. I eased back on the stick to raise the nose of the floats in a braking action. The Cub mushed into the water with a minimum of landing run.

Fate. Luck. Prayer. Whatever it was. I was here. I checked the GPS a final time. According to the coordinates, I was in the right place. I taxied towards a small clearing on the shoreline.

A log cabin came into view. It turned into more than a cabin as I drifted closer. It resembled a lodge.

I shut down and waited for the nose of the floats to bump the crude wooden dock. I pulled up and secured the water rudders. Someone grabbed the tail and positioned the Cub nose-out.

I made a stab at wiping away the tears a final time. I didn't do so good. I popped open the door halves and stepped onto the float. I almost slipped into the water. A voice called out. I threw my cap and sunglasses into the plane. I knew I was a sight for sore eyes. I hoped the eyes I was counting on weren't so sore as mine.

My heart could have skipped more than a few beats as I struggled through the growing pain to make my way onto the dock. It was pounding in my chest far too hard.

It was all I could do to breathe.

* * *

**A HUGE BLACK** and bloodshot eye revealed itself. So did a bruised cheek. It was all partially hidden by long, dark hair. I couldn't begin to guess what the rest of her might look like beneath the baggy clothes.

—Would you like some ice to go with that?

—If you have a tub of it, I'll climb in. You're going to have to help me get there, though. If you don't mind, that is.

Bobbie held out her hand and collapsed to her knees accompanied by a loud groan. She almost slipped off the float into the lake. I made a grab for her and began to ease her in the direction of the cabin. At the door, I picked her up. A loud groan warned me I shouldn't be trying so hard. I moved to set her down.

—No. Don't. Maybe I can stay for a while. I always did feel safe with you.

Exhausted and weak, Bobbie aimed a feeble kick at the door. I carried her the rest of the way into our cabin.

I helped her undress. Shocked by what I witnessed, I couldn't speak. It was all I could do to take in what I was seeing. There was hardly a square inch of her upper body that wasn't covered in bruises and cuts. Her thighs were black and blue.

—You can't stay here, Bobbie.

She went even paler than she was before I got her clothes off. Her eyes rolled up and I thought she was going to pass out.

—Please, Jim. You're-

Bobbie began sobbing uncontrollably.

—I can't let you stay here for even a single hour looking the way you do. You're too beat up. I'm getting you to a hospital.

—There is a god. I thought you were going to force me to leave.

I couldn't allow myself to keep her at the cabin.

—I am going to make you leave. I'm going to force you into my four-by-four.

Don't ask me how, but I managed to argue and cajole the stubborn woman into the back seat. I laid her back on a collection of pillows and blankets. I propped her up in preparation for the long, rough ride to the main road and the hospital.

—You only want me in the back to seduce me.

She regarded me sheepishly. Her weak smile convinced me I was doing the right thing. In fact, it was the only thing I could do once I got a look at her.

—How the hell did you get here from Alaska?

—Illegal painkillers, mostly.

—Remind me not to fly with you for a while, all right?

I closed the door and listened to her moans and groans as I proceeded carefully down the road.

—You should have been here when I was cutting the logs to make this road. You'd have been proud of me. I worked off that paunch you made fun of when we first met.

All she could do was groan louder.

—We're on a road? Hell of a job you did.

Same old Bobbie even if she was damaged goods. I managed to haul her sweet but extremely bruised ass to the hospital without doing any more damage. She made a feeble attempt to discourage the medics from loading her onto the gurney.

—I'm not some nobody headed to the morgue. I want to walk in under my own steam.

The EMTs glanced at me, rolled their eyes, and told her to shut up and take her medicine. They loaded her onto the gurney. She stopped talking just long enough to grin past the pain.

—I'm tired of taking my own meds. I've been doing it for three thousand miles.

They looked at me. Heads shook in amazement that she'd made it as far as she had. I didn't tell them she just flew in.

—Yeah. I know. She's always been that way. I knew it even before she fell in love with me.

—Jim-

—Yes dear?

—Don't be telling these cute boys all our secrets, okay?

I followed behind the gurney on its way to emerg. With no health card in a country with health care, I wasn't sure how she'd be treated. Or even if they would treat her.

I needn't have worried.

After describing the injuries, Bobbie ended up being admitted in a hurry. I insisted her records had been delayed by the fires out west in Alberta. I told them the file was in the mail and would be along shortly. I promised to bring it in as soon as I could.

All my promises notwithstanding, I think they knew I was lying my ass off. Bobbie was in such bad shape that without her self-administered meds she was beginning to groan. I think that was mostly why she was admitted.

I settled in for a long wait, drinking bad coffee and dozing fitfully off and on. Finally a doctor found me in the waiting room.

—She says you're a relative.

—By all means. I'm her older brother.

He didn't believe me for a minute.

—If I didn't know better, I'd say she's been tortured. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?

—Do you think I'd still be here if I did?

—Probably not. She'll live. She's going to be in a lot pain. She's taken quite a beating. Part of the problem is the pain meds she's been taking on her own. We have to let her come down and dry out before we can do much more than a CAT scan and take a couple of x-rays. Fortunately she's young. She'll recover with nary a scar. Well, no more than the ones she already has.

—Thanks, doc. I'm worried sick about her.

—She's been asking for you. I told her I needed to talk to you first. About those medical records. Don't worry about them. By the time they get here she'll be gone. In the meantime, see if you can convince her to stay at least for four or five days. We have to know if there's any clotting we should to be concerned about.

—She'll be staying here if I have to set up a cot in her room.

—That probably wouldn't be a bad idea. You can help her in and out of bed. From what I can tell, she'll piss off the nurses in about a day, if it takes her that long. Not a good idea.

—Gotcha, doc. She's a real ball of fire.

—Yeah. And you're not her brother, either.

—Maybe not. But I'm the closest thing she has right now and it's important to me that she knows it.

He nodded, as though in agreement.

—210. Down the hall and to your right. I'll check in later.

Against the white of the hospital sheets Bobbie looked even more a mess. She dragged them up to cover everything but her bruised face.

—No sense hiding. I've already seen all there is to see of you. Front and back.

—Oh god. You didn't.

—Self-prescribed painkillers are a hell of a deal, aren't they? You'd have done anything I asked. Are you going to tell me how you flew that thing from Alaska, or do I have to figure it out for myself?

—Jim-

—And I can't wait to see you healed and fresh and pink and white in all the right places, back and front.

Bobbie blushed. The nurse behind me tsked-tsked. I hadn't heard the woman follow me into the room.

—That's no way to speak about your sister.

It was my turn to blush.

—Jim. You didn't. Nurse, he's my lover, not my brother. Let's get at least that one thing straight right away.

Bobbie's eyes fluttered closed as she slipped into the oblivion of sleep. I bugged out and rounded up a cot and a sleeping bag. I didn't want her waking up all alone in the room. She didn't mind the flowers I brought, either.

—Who's paying the rent, partner? I managed to escape with nary a dime to spare.

—Don't worry about it. You can owe me. And I plan on collecting.

I helped her out of bed and walked with her around the ward. The male patients were happy to see her going by, smiling and waving every time. Bobbie smiled and waved back.

—These people are so friendly, aren't they?

I couldn't hide the shit-eating grin, but I tried.

—What? What is it?

—I think it's because your fine, pink little ass is in the breeze beneath the hospital gown.

She turned to make a desultory attempt at checking out her own ass. She was too stiff and sore to get a good look. Instead, she gathered the open-backed hospital gown and pulled it tight.

—You bastard. I'll get you for this.

—You made a lot of old men happy. You should be proud.

—And you should be ashamed.

—What? Why would I be ashamed of your ass? Are you?

—Well, no.

—It's all good then. Even your ass.

She clenched a fist and drove me a good one in the shoulder and I knew she was on the way to healing just fine.

By day four it was all I could do to convince her to stay one more night. Come morning of day five, she was dressed and waiting for the coffee and breakfast burrito. She wolfed it down like she always did, even when she didn't need it.

—Strange, isn't it? These things are a staple the world over.

—Good to know, sunshine. You won't be complaining about my cooking then, will you? I think the nurses are lined up at the exit. They're waiting to shower you with confetti and rocks.

Somehow I convinced her to climb into the wheelchair for the ride in the elevator. The hospital wasn't so big that a couple of the nurses weren't waiting. They joined two of the old men from Bobbie's floor who were more than a little sad and wistful to see her ass departing.

—See what I mean? You've still got it.

—You say that to all the girls.

—No I don't. Only to this one girl I know.

###

The End of Nowhere

1.

**BOBBIE'S BADLY BEATEN** and bruised body repaired itself, thanks to her stubborn resilience and a foreign country's medical care. I knew she was well on her way to recovery when she gave me a good one in the shoulder for allowing her to walk around the floor with her ass hanging out of her hospital gown.

I only considered it my daily good deed. After all, it raised the spirits of all the men on the ward to a new level. Every time she walked past an open door, she was greeted enthusiastically. All the smiles and waves made her feel good, too.

It was definitely a win-win for everyone.

The honeymoon had to come to an end, of course. A cold, snowy Canadian winter was about to descend with a vengeance. I started making preparations to shut down the cabin. Bobbie prepared her small plane to spend another winter in a cold climate.

She gave me directions on how to construct a tripod using rope and trees. I helped her dig a ditch for the floats. We used a block and tackle to lift the plane. We ended up lowering it on logs laid across the ditches.

We spent a lot of time talking about how we'd handle the questioning at the land border. When that went without incident for both of us, I made certain she took a taxi to the airport well in advance of my arrival at Detroit Metropolitan.

I dispatched more packages filled with research to the newspapers. My hope was that they'd get approval to do a story since nothing happened the first time.

Like I said, I hoped, but I doubted, too.

More than likely, the packages had been sent on, all right. Once the conclusions had been read, if nothing else, I'd be put on some watch lists. Not enough of a list to get me banned from flying. Only enough to let me know I was being tracked.

In any case, I must have struck a chord when the TSA handler at Metro insisted I proceed to a room for further inspection. I requested a supervisor. Two showed up, with the FBI suits in tow. The only thing missing was Mulder's dark glasses.

That, and the fact that I had nothing to do with UFOs.

The FBI had a lot of questions. Most were related to information contained in the reports I submitted to newspapers where I hoped to get some appreciation and follow-up. My report into the plane crash was meticulously detailed, and I ended by naming the perpetrator.

Alas, I was finding out first-hand that nothing would ever happen.

So much for a free and unencumbered press post-9/11. It had turned into toadies, note-takers told by unnamed or anonymous sources what to write. With that in mind, I couched my responses as delicately as I could. It was good enough. I made the flight, but only barely.

If nothing else, I learned I wouldn't be unable to travel freely and anonymously by staying on the grid. Call me stupid, but I try not to make the same mistakes more than a few times before I learn.

My flight arrived in Miami on time. In arrivals I picked up a hotel house phone and pretended to talk while I looked around. There were too many people to even begin to get a handle on whether I was being tailed.

At the last minute, I jumped aboard a random hotel bus headed downtown. I made sure the door closed behind me. No one else attempted to get on. I walked into the high-class hotel and went through the lobby to the back door.

Down the street I hailed a cab. I checked for vehicles that might be tailing me. There were too many cars to know for certain. I asked about fleabag hotels, and the driver came up with a couple. I made sure he dropped me in between and waited until he left before making my way.

I looked up some old contacts in Miami and discussed my need for counterfeit IDs for two and a sense of accomplishment. I handed over our photos. The new IDs took a week. The feeling of accomplishment took over when I ended up a new man with a new name. I made up some back-story history to go with it, and then checked out of the fleabag.

Jim Nash disappeared-temporarily, at least.

Next on the agenda I'd need a couple of burn phones. I threw them into my bag and went in search of used car lots with a love of cash and a beater with air.

Bobbie would be proud.

If you're going to play the game, you have to jump in with arms and feet flailing. Perhaps I should have used the time up north to teach myself to swim in my own private hell after all.

A full gas tank and a gas-station burrito later, I headed out to hook up with Bobbie at our no-tell motel.

**The retro motel** Bobbie chose to hole up in didn't look so seedy after all. The older building was renovated by owners intent on capturing the look as it was constructed back in the '60s. The colorful exterior and flashing neon must have been meticulously matched to an early postcard picture.

I didn't bother checking in. Instead, I left my bags in the car. I knew Bobbie too well. I followed the arrow pointing to the pool out back. I paused at the building's edge and squinted into the sun.

Bobbie looked pretty good in the bikini and sarong she had to have paid top dollar for. Evidence of the beating she took was long gone. If I knew her at all, I figured her for two or three more tucked neatly into her bag.

The audience of laughing teenage boys scattered as I approached. All but one ended up belly-flopping into the pool on purpose. Water splashed onto my shoes and pants. The one holding back was older. More sure of himself.

He gave off an aura of one who was accustomed to women coming out of his ass. There was only one girl by the pool. She didn't look like she was coming out of his ass, but she was definitely interested. It wasn't my first day at a pool to be able to recognize that.

Whatever it was Bobbie said to get them laughing was lost to the sound of splashing. She must have heard my steps. She turned and looked up behind dark glasses. Her forehead wrinkled under the beach hat's floppy brim as she recognized me.

—You sure know how to ruin a good party. You'll be the talk of the crowd as soon as you turn your back.

I looked out over the pool at the youngsters in the water. There couldn't have been one over twenty. And they weren't waiting until I turned my back. Dirty looks were definitely floating my way.

—It can't be spring break. Your college boys are sober.

Bobbie collected her bag and joined me on the walk past the ice machine to the small office.

—It's nice not to have to reach in and load up for you.

She ignored me. Nothing new there.

—I spent the last week fending off boys who wanted me to buy beer. Once they figured out I wouldn't be doing that, they started showing off. At first I kind of liked it. Now it's tiring. Get me the hell out of here, please.

I pretended I was interested and nodded my head.

—Then this older one shows up. It looks like he's the one buying the beer for them. Jim-

This was no time for poolside gossip. I got right to the point.

—I got pulled out of the line in Detroit. They knew I was coming. I ended up with my own personal interview room courtesy of the TSA and the FBI. As far as I know they followed me on the flight into Miami.

—What are we going to do now?

—I'm late because I stopped off for a week while I waited for a shady former acquaintance to make up a package for us. I got one for you, too, thanks to the head shots.

—So what you're telling me is that we're strangers to one another all over again. I'm going to have to think about this. When it starts raining can you drop me at a gas bar?

—Very funny. I'm not checking in. I think we need to find another no-tell and shack up under our new names.

—Damn you and your friends. I was just getting used to my new pool buddies.

—Don't be such a Miss Negative. I managed to get a car with air this time.

—Yeah, but does it do the job? I remember how you like to work your budget.

I handed Bobbie her half of the burn phones, already programmed with numbers. She was such an old hand by now that she didn't even ask. We dumped her car at a hospital lot and headed for the strip. By now we were so accustomed to one another that it was more like old home week than a search for a killer.

—While I waited I was able to track down a couple of swamp boat operators. I don't know if they'll be any good. The kids at the pool wanted to take me out on a tour of the swamps-

—It was the bikini, wasn't it?

—Maybe. But there's this one-

I sent her some of the side eye I was so accustomed to getting from her.

—It's none of my business. I don't want to know.

—Jim. Don't be an ass.

She slammed me in the shoulder with a good one. I figured I deserved it.

—Remember the older boy clinging to me?

—You mean the one you went all google-eyed over?

I got the look anyway, even though I didn't deserve it. She was definitely all eyes for him when she didn't see me looking.

—Yeah. That one. You'll never guess what his name is.

I waited, wondering how many ways I'd be disappointed.

—Yup. Nicolas junior.

The woman had horseshoes falling out of her ass. Fortunately, it was an ass so fresh and firm it didn't leave any lumps. It was going to take time to digest this new information. A lot of time. Because it couldn't be. Could it?

—While I was waiting in Miami I had plenty of time to scope out the seaplane base. It has a flight school. There's a glider training facility as well. I didn't spot the old man, but I wasn't really looking for him. I only took a look around the facilities.

—It sounds like we can find reasons to be there, don't you think?

—I do. And we do. Now let's get the shit-show on the road before your pool buddies out back decide they want to take me out of your life. And by the way-

—Yes?

—You look pretty good in that bikini.

A warm smile rewarded me.

—I missed you. And I should look good. You helped me pick out three of them, remember?

Women and clothes. I didn't remember. But then, what man would?

—Of course I remember.

**I continued filling** Bobbie in on why I was late for our meetup.

—I called in a favor and asked an old friend to find out anything he could about this Nicolas character. It seems he has quite a rap sheet. He's not only involved in the anti-Cuba movement. He's a petty thief and a con man, too.

And Bobbie was right. He did have a son.

—Were you able to come up with an address?

—That I did. In fact, he's not so far from here. What do you say to a drive-by.

I tossed her the keys.

—I might be too noticeable if the house is under surveillance.

She looked at me, warily.

—Do you think?

—I think anything is possible. Since they don't seem to have ID'd you so far, you're it.

It took fifteen minutes to get to the house. I used the time to talk to Bobbie about an empty office space I walked by while killing time in Miami.

—It's in a good location. Retro building. Refurbished on the outside. Second floor. I only checked from the sidewalk, but it looks like it has windows on both corners. Lots of light in that case.

She might have been pretending to ignore me. I couldn't tell.

—I talked to someone who lives in the building. It's well kept up. Refurbished on the inside, too. No shady characters hanging out. The landlord takes good care of it. The girl said-

I knew right away it was the wrong thing to say because Bobbie's ears perked up. It was always over the last thing I said.

—The girl? What girl?

Why did the woman have to choose just that moment to start paying attention? She had all the boys hanging off of her by the pool, but I couldn't talk to a girl in the middle of the street.

—Andrea. She lives in the building. I bumped into her while I was taking a look. I asked her about it.

I was saved by our arrival at the house. I ducked down to let Bobbie do her thing.

—The house has a for sale sign on the lawn. What do you say I get out and take a picture for old time's sake? It could be useful if we need to have a look. All it would take would be a call to the realtor.

—That's a good idea.

She gave me the look.

—And maybe you know her.

Damn the woman. She had to get back at me. When we were up north I told her about how I searched for the cabin in the Canadian wilderness. I figured it was her way of getting even for my comments about the teenagers crowding her at the pool.

—Are you sure it's a woman?

She looked at me like I was some kind of dimwit. The woman's picture was plain as day on the sign. I was going to have to start paying attention.

—Well then, what are you waiting for? I can't take the picture from back here.

She tossed her phone at me.

—Why don't you call while I'm checking the place out. If we can get a tour we might learn something. If Nicolas senior finds out about us and decides to move out of state while we're still positioning, it could mean a much longer time line.

Bobbie was right. I got on the phone intending to make an appointment.

—You're coming with me.

—You're darned right I am. I heard all about how you treat real estate people.

The agent turned out to be talkative. She let me know the family was going through a breakup. The husband worked at the local airport and would be moving to a small apartment nearby. He hoped for a quick sale.

Bobbie looked over the seatback.

—No. We are not buying it. When I'm done with this I don't plan on returning. Neither of us will want to live anywhere near here.

Was she talking about Nick's place, or the office space in Miami I told her about? I liked the Miami area now that I'd seen a little of it. If I was going to start a business, it would be the place.

—I think you're going to have to take that tour after all. I need to know if there's an alarm system in the house.

—I didn't notice anything. What do the photos show?

I flipped through the pics and zoomed. I couldn't see anything resembling an alarm sign in any of the windows.

—Even so. You need to do it.

—You're not coming?

—No thanks. I've had my fill of real estate agents, thank you very much.

—I'm pretty certain she must have had her fill of her client, too.

—Bobbie-

—Yes?

—I'll spank you.

Not so innocent dark eyes went all wide.

—You planning on marking your spot, or what?

—The way you were letting those boys crowd you, it might not be a bad idea.

She gave me a dirty look for my trouble, but she already marked my spot with the butterfly tattoo on her hip. The one time I kissed her in that exact place I raised so many goosebumps I thought she was going to shed her skin.

Instead, she got the tattoo to mark my spot.

—Didn't you already do something like that?

She sighed and I was happy. For now.

2.

**I SETTLED IN** at the motel, waiting for Bobbie to return from her house inspection. It was an easy job, one she needed to do on her own. I didn't want to give myself away by having Nicolas senior recognize me in any future dealings we might have. It would scare him away. Besides, she was getting antsy. It gave her a chance to play dress-up.

She returned so high on life that I took her to a nice restaurant for dinner. With a little wine added to the mix, by the time we were ready to head back to the room, she was sitting close and resting her head on my shoulder. I ended the evening by picking her up and carrying her through the door to our room.

—Have you put on weight?

—Way to ruin a nice romantic evening. Now come to bed before you ruin that, too.

I set her down and took a rap on the back of the head for good measure. Bobbie screamed and I went down as far as my knees. Another blow made sure I ended up sleeping on the floor. When I came around, the room was dark and Bobbie was gone.

It was turning out to be just like old times.

I managed to work myself into a standing position before sinking into a chair and collapsing again. When the dizzy spells stopped, I headed for the front desk and the clerk. According to him, no one had made any inquiries. In any case, the man working the desk had come on less than an hour ago. He hadn't been there long enough to register anything.

Did I go to the police, or keep it in the family? For sure I was at a disadvantage. I knew no one but for where Nicolas lived. It couldn't be possible that someone had taken her to his place. Surely the feds weren't so stupid as to tell him about us. They weren't even aware of Bobbie's relationship with me.

I took a chance and headed for the car while I rubbed some sense into the back of my head. Bobbie could learn a thing or two from whoever had sucker-punched me. I headed straight for the motel and the pool where I first encountered a bikini-clad Bobbie and the friend she collected.

Around back a pool party was in full swing. Over the fence I recognized the older boy at Bobbie's earlier party. It was Nicolas junior, and he and Bobbie appeared to have kissed and made up.

It couldn't be. Could it?

I looked again. Kids, mostly, but for the older Nick. No one else. I hopped she short fence and approached the boy. Bobbie screamed.

—Don't hurt him, Jim.

I grabbed Nicolas by the scruff of the neck and pushed him into the pool house. Bobbie got another scream out before I closed the door. She grabbed my arm and dragged me away. It was just enough to explain that she told him I was beating her.

—Jesus, woman. Why didn't you tell me?

—I figured it would go better if you didn't know.

Well that was sure as hell true. Or so it seemed now that I knew about it. Judging by the lump on the back of my head, she sold Nicolas junior lock, stock and barrel.

—What the hell? You've got to stop it with these impromptu pool parties, dear. I'm starting to wonder about your intentions.

—Yes, well, if you know what's good for you, you'll get me back to our motel and pick up from where you left off before we were so rudely interrupted.

**This was getting** stranger and stranger. Bobbie accidentally rubbed elbows with Nicolas senior's son at her motel's pool. She told him we weren't happy as a couple, and he somehow managed to find out where I was staying. He cold-cocked me in order to haul her back to her motel.

—How can we use this to our advantage?

The kid had obviously taken a liking to Bobbie. His methods of seduction left something to be desired. We had to find a way.

—Do you think you can get lover-boy to forgive me for beating you up? Maybe you could convince him we're breaking up because I'm an abusive male who won't let you go.

—Are you telling me you have a plan?

—Well-

—All right, then. I might as well let you in on something else. While I was eye candy in back of the motel, I kind of let it slip that you laid your hands on me from time to time, and not in a good way.

—Was that before, or after you found out who the boy was?

She looked at me like I was a fool. It was a convincing look.

—What do you think?

I held up my hands.

—Okay. I surrender. But this is all new information. I need some time to process it, Bobbie.

It might not be a plan yet, but whatever it was, it was beginning to form. Would it work? I knew for sure the plan needed a lot more thought. And we'd both have to agree to go along for the ride.

Judging by the way she was enjoying the kid when his eyes were glued to her, it should be a walk in the park.

**I happened across** a diner not far from the motel. We walked for breakfast in the cool Florida morning. It was humid, though, and we were grateful for the relaxed comfort of the air-conditioned restaurant.

An older woman promptly dropped off coffee and waited while we ordered. Through it all she didn't appear impatient when we couldn't decide on tomato or potatoes. She seemed happy when we decided, though.

—Did you get a look at her name tag? Mabel. Now where else but in an old diner would you get a kindly, gray-haired waitress with a name like that?

Bobbie slid the old-style coffee mug around on the table. The fat round handle had room for a single finger.

—Where do they come up with these mugs? I've never seen anything like it, have you?

Mabel dropped off our orders, departed for the coffee pot, and returned with a refill.

—If you need anything else, just wave or holler. I'm not far.

I waited until she left.

—Bobbie-

I hesitated. Already I could see the wheels start to turn.

—I need your help.

There was an uncomfortable silence while she waited for me to go on. She toyed with the food left on her plate. She waved for more coffee. She left for the washroom, and for an instant I wondered if she'd come back. I almost sighed with gratitude when she returned, looking wonderfully refreshed with a bit of lip gloss and the slight scent of a perfume I recognized from our past.

—On one condition and one only.

I didn't even stop to think.

—Of course. Just name it and it's yours.

—If I'm pregnant, we're getting married.

She didn't take her eyes off of me for an instant. I blinked. I'm sure I went pale as a ghost, too.

—What?

My hands shook enough to cause ripples to form on the coffee. I set the mug down and hoped Bobbie didn't notice.

—You heard me. When I was going through your bag back in Texas, I noticed a private eye license in your wallet. That's one of the reasons I never deserted you when I discovered the knives and the handgun. I figured you for a good guy who knew what you were doing. Tell me I was right about that.

I figured one word would do it for her. After all, she'd used one word to answer me more than a time or two and I'd accepted it.

Grudgingly.

—Yes.

—Yes what?

—Yes what? What do you mean, yes what?

The light went on in my thick male brain.

—Yes I'll marry you. I'll marry you even if you're not pregnant.

A shocked expression crossed her face, and then turned into a smug look. She was forced to look away.

—I only asked for a yes on the good guy thing, remember?.

I opened my mouth and shut it instantly. I knew when I was beat.

—But we're going to have to work on that second one. If I'm not pregnant, I just might not want to marry you when I find out how much money Nicolas junior is worth.

—He's the son of a Cuban airport worker. How much can he be worth?

And then I added an afterthought, knowing it had to be impossible.

—Did you run through all that cash already?

I looked at her, waiting, while she looked absently out the window.

—That's for me to know and you to find out.

Bobbie's admission came as quite a shock. I never considered for a minute that she'd want anything more to do with me beyond helping me out after I helped her locate her brother. Who, it turned out, wasn't really lost when he showed up on board the sloop with Bobbie.

Of course she could be pregnant. We hadn't actually been counting days or using birth control. In fact, we never discussed it. Typical male that I am, I held the expectation that she was on something.

Now I knew for sure-she wasn't. I had a lot to think about. I'd convinced Bobbie to help me with Nicolas junior to get to the old man. I hoped through my own ignorance and stupidity that I wasn't about to place her in a situation that neither of us were capable of handling.

I had to reconsider. My problem now became one of how to talk her out of what I had already convinced her to do.

**It started simple** enough when we were finally back in our room at the motel. I only asked the woman not to go through with our plan. Since learning she was pregnant, everything changed-at least, as far as I was concerned. How could I possibly put her in harm's way now?

I couldn't.

—I'm going through with it, Jim. You're not going to talk me out of it. I owe you and I'm going to pay up.

—I won't allow it. I refuse. No way. Never.

She held up a hand and looked at me like I was a fool.

—Are you finished? For your own good, you'd better be. Now here's how it's going to go.

I listened. I wasn't happy. When she finished, I stormed out of the room without saying a word. In case there was any doubt on her part, I slammed the door and headed off in the car. I only wanted to know if she was really pregnant. I didn't think it would be a big deal.

When I came back, I handed her the bag.

—What's this?

Bobbie opened the bag and looked inside. Apparently, it was entirely the wrong thing to do.

—You shit. No damned way.

—Why not?

—You don't trust me.

It wasn't even a question.

—Of course I trust you.

—You don't believe me.

—I believe you enough that I want to know if you're pregnant. If you are, I refuse to let you do what I asked you to. It's not right. And you need to know, too.

—You're not telling me what to do. I refuse to allow it. And one more thing. Nicolas will be here shortly to pick me up. When you were out I called and told him I was leaving you. I have to finish packing my bag.

So she was going through with it after all. Damn the woman to hell.

—Bobbie-

—Don't even try.

—But-

Exasperated, her hands went to her hips. She looked like she was about to fly off. In truth, she was. With Nicolas, thanks to the plan we hatched together.

—I won't be able to protect you. If you're pregnant you can't-

—I can't what? Stop trying to baby me. I'm an adult, dammit. I'm a bush pilot. I'm I'm-

Sobs wracked her body. I held her in my arms.

—All right. I'll let you go. But you'd better know-

—Speaking of knowing-maybe I already know.

A knock on the door halted all discussion. Bobbie opened it and grinned like the sun had just come out. Actor that she was, she wiped the tears away for effect.

—I'm ready. Let's go.

She picked up her bag, winked at me, and walked out of the room behind Nick. I stood in the doorway, watching, as the woman I loved headed off with another man. She threw her bag into the back and opened the door. She climbed into Nicolas junior's convertible, slid across the seat, and ended up pasted to his side.

If she got any closer, he'd have to open the door and drive from the outside.

She looked to me to be awfully chummy with the son of the man who had killed my pregnant wife, Pilar, by placing a bomb in her luggage.

What could possibly go wrong?

**Still in its infancy,** the plan appeared to be working. Even so, I wasn't pleased with the affection Bobbie ended up showing for Nicolas junior. I had to go along. I agreed to it, after all. So why did I want to kick myself in the ass, hard?

_in my room unpacking now i'll be fine don't worry_

Bobbie's text didn't alleviate my concerns. I worried. And then worried some more. If I was going to play the aggrieved lover, I figured I might as well put myself in the proper frame of mind. I walked to a bar down the street and bellied up.

The antsy waitress from the Diamondhead yacht club greeted me from the opposite side of the bar. Diana. The familiar face with the leggy body attached remembered me with a wide smile.

—Hello, stranger. It's been a while.

After I was mauled by three of Bobbie's tormentors, Diana made sure I got home safe and sound. I ended up in her bathtub, soothing my aching body. She managed to sooth just about everything else, too.

Twice.

Her legs were still long. And the too-tight blouse hadn't been replaced, either. What were the chances of this?

I smiled back.

—Small world. Been here long?

She came around the edge of the bar to stand beside me. I couldn't resist casting my eyes downward to hell while enjoying the legs all over again.

—A while. And you're still looking at me like you want to take me home.

—Can I get to know you first? I'm a little old fashioned that way.

—I get off at three.

**I showed up** early and re-introduced myself to Diana. I didn't want to take a chance that her legs would go short on me. At quitting time, we headed off.

—I have a place just around the corner. I smell like beer and cigarettes. I need to get out of these clothes. You can come up and wait. I trust you.

I wondered who she trusted to get her out of Diamondhead and into Miami, but I knew better than to ask. I knew better than to look, too, when she left the door to her bedroom open. Diana came out wearing a robe and not much else. My eyes wandered but my mind didn't.

—I need a shower. Smoke and all. Don't go anywhere.

I busied myself wondering how I could fit Diana into the plan Bobbie and I hatched. Could I be so stupid as to haul her off to the pool behind Nicolas' house and hope for a party? Bobbie would be certain to be pissed off if she saw me with this one for sure.

I wondered how she would look in a bathing suit-Diana, that is, not Bobbie. I already knew what Bobbie looked like. We spent more time naked and sweaty than clothed when we were on the run.

—How do you feel about a pool party?

—I'm already changed. Now you want me to pack a bag? Who are you and where have you been lately?

Something was nagging at me, and it concerned my last encounter with this woman. It was in Diamondhead, where she ended up taking me home from that bar, too, after I suffered through a beating at the hands of Bobbie's friend, Kennedy. It was the comment she made when I left her place. It was something about blowing something up.

—You don't want to know where I've been, but I'm here now. Are you coming or not?

We walked to the car and I drove us to a restaurant with small tables and huge tablecloths. She rubbed her foot along my leg for most of the meal. By the time dinner was done, I was ready for Bobbie. Unfortunately, she couldn't be here, but I'd be seeing her soon enough.

I opened the car door for Diana and she slithered across the seat, mirroring the position Bobbie took up next to Nicolas junior, her latest conquest. Her hand wandered my thigh until I parked beside Nick's convertible in the circular driveway.

We walked arm in arm past the side of the house into the back. I recognized Bobbie's laughter. She wasn't too busy frolicking in the pool with junior to give my date the look. I only winked and asked about the change room.

The look started all over again when Diana walked out of the cabana at my side. The woman was taller than Bobbie by a couple of inches. She knew how to fill out a not-so-simple one-piece bathing suit to make it look like skin. If it was any more sheer, she'd get arrested just for being here, and she wasn't even in the water yet.

—Bobbie, this is Diana. We met back in Diamondhead a while ago. She bartended in the clubhouse.

The women traded looks and I was thinking world war three would be breaking out if the lights ever went out later. Diana sensed something was going on. She just didn't know what.

Poor junior had a look on his face like he thought I might beat him up, but I shook his hand and thanked him for inviting us. The questioning look disappeared and he went to nodding and grinning like a baboon with a rock to throw. He must have thought he might get a chance at Diana, too. If I remembered anything about her, he just might if he played his cards right.

The party ended too soon. Bobbie made excuses that it was getting late. Diana agreed, and we headed back to town. I was stuck to come up with an excuse to dump Diana at her apartment. She solved the problem by letting me know she had a date for later.

—That's too bad. I was looking forward to spending more time with you.

It was a lie. I did my job. If Bobbie didn't kick me the next time she saw me, I'd be happy.

—You know where I am. Don't be a stranger, stranger.

She didn't offer her number. I took that to mean I was delegated to be a drop-in at the bar. It was fine by me. She squeezed my thigh and got out of the car.

I pinched myself and headed back to the hotel to wait for a text from Bobbie. While I waited, I rehashed what Diana said to me in her apartment back in Diamondhead. At least, as best as I could remember it.

Perhaps it should have registered at the time, but the woman was playing hell on my eyes and my beat up body. I was too enthralled to notice.

3.

**BOBBIE WAS ALL** about the damned plan. If I'd known how I felt about the woman, I'd never have allowed her to do it. Worrying now, I couldn't allow myself to spend another minute in the motel room. It was too small. Too hot. Too lonely. There was no room to pace. A walk to the diner solved that problem.

I strolled past the empty booths and settled at the end of the counter. I could put my back to the wall and look out over the street. The waitress dropped a menu and a napkin surrounding the tools of the trade. I looked over the pie menu. She returned with coffee.

—The Key Lime pie. What color is it?

She harrumphed, frowned, turned on her heel, and stopped at the pie cooler. She slid a slice in my direction, half-way down the long countertop. It had to be a practiced move. The pie halted in front of me and I heartily dug in with a bent fork.

Before I finished taking up the crumbs, she ambled back with the coffee pot.

—I don't think I need to ask if the color was the one you were looking for.

—Then you know why I asked.

—We don't get a lot of questions like that. You're new here.

I took another look. She was pushing forty. No wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty, though. My eyes flicked to her left hand.

—No. I'm single. Got rid of the bum two years ago. All my stress and wrinkles disappeared almost overnight.

—Almost?

—Yeah, well, that's what I say. It took longer than that, actually. You married?

—No. Never had time to make it fit with my job. Ex-cop. I know you're going to ask.

—Good ex, or bad?

—Probably somewhere on the high end of in-between.

She smiled and didn't ask which end to measure against. I didn't mind. She had a nice smile.

—What do you do now?

What's to tell? I thought about it for too long.

—Contract work with the government, mostly.

My phone pinged, and Rhonda wandered off to talk to the cook. I looked at the time. Past one a.m.

_where are you?_

_i'm sitting in an all-night diner pining away_

_you'd better be pining alone and it better be for me, mister_

_just because I love you doesn't mean you can pick on me. how did it go with junior_

_senior owns a tour boat outfit in the swamps_

The new information gave me pause. I wasn't expecting anything like that.

_it's where he spends his weekends_

_you didn't answer my question_

_if I see you with that woman again you'll never get an answer. you're grinning aren't you_

_pretty much. i need to think about the swamp boat info. could mean a change in the plan_

_in that case keep me posted. i have to go now and wash the wine glasses_

Damn the woman to hell. It seemed to me she was having too much of a good time as far as I was concerned. I turned down a coffee refill and stopped at the till. Rhonda kept talking and I kept listening. Finally I paid.

—Come back again.

I hesitated at the door. Finally, I pushed through and walked back to the motel.

**I hit the sheets** and slept on what Bobbie told me about the swamp boat. Nicolas senior's business in the everglades could be a definite bonus. It might mean I'd have to change the plan I'd spent so much time working out these past months. It could also mean that the changes might be a lot easier to implement than the original.

Knowing that I didn't have anything remotely resembling a new plan, I got out of bed and headed for the diner. The shift had changed. Mabel brought breakfast and I ate like it was my last meal. I thought about how I could fit Diana into this thing. Bobbie had warned me not to see her again. Maybe she wouldn't be so stuffy about it if I came up with a reason for using the woman.

Suddenly it dawned on me. I remembered how Diana had impressed me as being a social climber back in Diamondhead. I was almost certain she'd clawed her way on top of, or quite possibly through someone in order to get to Miami. Perhaps she'd like to meet Nicolas senior, newly separated and a business owner.

If only I could come up with an excuse to get Diana out to the everglades and introduce her. Surely Bobbie wouldn't mind that I was still seeing her if that was the case. I was sure of it.

My phone pinged and Bobbie's text appeared.

_just out of the shower how are you doing_

_i miss you_

I did, too. I missed her a lot.

_even with Diana for company_

Damn the woman, but she never missed out on taking a shot.

_you told me I couldn't see her any more_

I regretted the text as soon as I pressed send.

_and you listened. must be a first_

_well_

Here we go. I stepped in it again.

_don't well me. SPILL_

I almost waited too long.

_i figure we can use her now that i know senior has a business_

_you'd better not use her any other way or there'll be BIG trouble when i get out of here_

It was my turn to twist the screw.

_so then you are coming back_

I closed the burn phone. I knew she wouldn't respond.

We traded texts for another day. The time allowed me to think through the new plan. Bobbie agreed that we should go out to take a look at senior's business. She didn't think it would be a problem convincing junior to take us for a boat ride. After all, he was that eager to show her off to his father.

She started to tell me she should have brought more clothes. I was tempted to ask why, and then I threw caution to the winds.

_you're spending all your time in the bikinis I helped you pick out. why would you want more clothes? maybe you can find someone there to do laundry_

I knew before I pressed send. It was the end of that conversation. Obviously I'd been misinformed. Bobbie had chosen the bathing suits for some unforeseen event in our lives that included Nicolas junior and his father.

Somehow, for the first time in my life, I knew I had to let it go. She was in the position thanks to the plan. The woman would end up killing me when this was over. Okay, maybe she wouldn't kill me right off. She'd stick the knife in from the front, rather than the back.

She'd want me to see it coming.

**It wasn't difficult** to talk Diana into coming along for a drive to the everglades. She appeared happy I asked. She made arrangements to take the time off, and the next day I picked her up at her small apartment.

—How do I look?

There was no replay of the open bedroom door. She was ready when I arrived. She looked stunning in her white blouse and tan shorts. The straw hat was cute, but I didn't say anything. She'd only toss it.

—Well, your legs are still looking pretty fine. And I think you made every woman jealous the other day.

She couldn't possibly toss her legs, although I'd sure like to.

—Yes. I remember how much you enjoyed the view in Diamondhead. And that wasn't all. Who was that woman at the pool again?

With a woman it always the question at the end of things that needed answering. I ignored it.

—How could I not? You were showing off, if I remember.

I remembered all too well. She wanted out of that place so bad I could taste it, too. I wanted to ask how she did it, but I thought better. I figured I already knew.

Diana slipped across the seat and put her hand back where it was on our first ride to the glades. I couldn't get to junior's place and Bobbie fast enough. The love of my life would kill me by the time I dragged her out of the everglades if this how it was going to go with this one.

I was right, too. The crowd greeted me as I parked. We traded cars for junior's convertible. I opened the door and shifted the split-back. Diana climbed in and dragged me into the back beside her. Immediately I found her feet in my lap. She handed out a bottle of oil and I had my orders. I already made it more than plain I was a leg man. I didn't feel so bad when I finished with that exercise.

Then she shifted her shoulders to allow me to do her back.

I sensed some reluctance on the part of Bobbie to cut me any slack, even though the new plan was beginning to come together quite nicely. Of course, I couldn't tell her that. My hands were too full of Diana. She leaned back and crossed her ankles on my lap. I took my mind off of things by tickling her toes. I managed to get her giggling.

Bobbie, not so much.

She didn't seem to think it was amusing in the slightest.

**Following introductions, Nick** senior and Diana began their dance, and it was better than I hoped. They started with furtive glances, morphed into outright stares, and progressed to unsubtle touching. I knew I'd set a hook that I soon wouldn't be able to pull out. Before long they were throwing subtlety to the winds as their mutual seduction continued.

Diana happily submitted to senior's fawning compliments with smiles and touching and doe-eyed looks that left nothing to anyone's imagination. Bobbie went for Nick junior like she used to go after me. I knew she was only pretending, but even so-

It didn't bother the old man that Diana came with me. It didn't bother Diana, either. Bobbie appeared more than happy when she witnessed how well the two were getting along. If Bobbie was happy about it, who was I to complain?

The old man was only too eager to show us around. He took Diana's arm, and that left Bobbie and junior to do the same. It seemed to me the odd man out vibe was becoming a permanent part of my life.

Bobbie didn't mind, though. On the drive from the city, she had to suffer through the indignity of my hands wandering all over Diana's legs in the back seat. Following the mindless giggling, I figured I deserved what she was dishing.

A staff of two oversaw the souvenir shack and the dock. Living quarters consisted of two small trailers, separated by about a hundred feet. Palms and mangoes towered over the property, creating plenty of shade. Plenty of flies, too, that only drifted away when the wind came up. It didn't seem like it came up a lot in the shelter provided by the huge overhanging trees.

Frogs croaked like there was no tomorrow. Birds screeched and called. The odor of decay and rot permeated throughout, thanks in no small measure to the humidity.

An expanse of shallow swampland covered in tall, thick grasses stretched out from the dock. The occasional clump of trees rose over the endless horizon. It didn't appear as though any of it was high enough to be dry land. I'd have to wait for the swamp boat tour I suspected would be forthcoming before long.

Senior directed us to a pair of tables shaded by low, stubby palms. The liquor cart was already waiting. He quickly whipped up Cuba Libres for the women in sweaty glasses. The rest of us settled for beer with a breath of humidity running down the sides.

Noisy air boats powered by aircraft engines left on schedule for their fifty-minute runs. They were mostly filled with adults and children and grandchildren eager to experience the swamp and discover alligators and manatees and birds native to the everglades. Almost everyone came back with happy smiles. Excited kids tugged adults in the direction of the souvenir shack to drop money on things that would end up tossed out in six months or a year.

Following one of the runs, I excused myself to check out the souvenir shop. Some audibly tsk-tsked over the alligator parts on display in the small store. Some wondered how they had been harvested. Some picked them up and put them back. Only a child's demands caused shrugs before heading to the cash register, alligator part in hand. A souvenir is a souvenir.

We talked and drank and laughed and enjoyed the pleasantly warm and humid afternoon in the shade. Diana hovered over senior, but she didn't completely ignore junior. It seemed that Junior had come to the realization that Bobbie just might be out of his league.

It was subtle at first, but he was beginning to transfer his affections. Bobbie appeared to be happy with the change now that junior's inclinations towards her were deflected to another woman. I'm sure she wasn't displeased that Diana was ignoring me. I know I sure as hell wasn't disappointed that Nick junior was giving Diana the once-over with his fresh set of eyes.

The women left for a bathroom break, one following the other. The sound of an argument between familiar voices floated into the room. They were soon drowned out by a noisy engine idling at the dock, waiting for passengers to board.

Things settled down and Bobbie took the seat between junior and me. Diana's oily legs graced the view of the old man. She made sure to take a seat directly opposite. Old Nick's eyes roamed over her shapely legs exposed by the slit in the sarong.

I had no right to be jealous. As close as Bobbie was in the chair next to me, I knew she could do nothing to ease my apprehension. After all, this is what we decided on. Anything to cause alarm or doubt had to be ignored. And I was jealous as hell, not only of Bobbie. While I trusted her, I was physically drawn to Diana.

Old habits die hard when the woman you love is so immersed in the plan that she is blind to the dual temptations of lust and love. And now even that was gone with Diana's obsession with the old man.

I drowned my sorrows in beer and turned a blind eye to both women. I concentrated on old Nick. He was a drinker. He bullied his son into bringing him drinks and food. He belittled him in front of us. It became obvious that Bobbie had taken it upon herself to referee between junior and senior.

I sensed an understanding develop between the old man and Diana. She moved to sit on the arm of his chair, waving a leg, her foot brushing against his. It became even more than obvious she was done with me.

I couldn't ignore Bobbie, although she was gone, too, deep into our plan as it was working so far. I excused myself a second time and jumped on one of the tour boats. The operator handed me ear protectors and we headed off, two or three short of a full load of passengers.

We zipped and zagged along the watercourse. Grasses and swamp surrounded the well-worn, open water trail through the expanse. It had to have been used hundreds-maybe thousands-of times. The trail was kept clear of everything by the constant back and forth of the flat-bottomed boats and their powerful and noisy converted aircraft engines.

**Eventually we docked** and I headed back to the party. It had moved to the cool interior of the chickee. It was an impressive sight. Huge logs of cypress supported palmetto thatch. The interior was open. A fresh breeze floated through the window openings, keeping the house cool in the humid late afternoon heat.

Diana was curled up on the sofa beside Nicolas senior. Her long legs stretched out for what seemed like miles. Junior in a huge chair. Bobbie sat at his feet, looking attentive and very friendly. I took another glance at all of them and knew I was the fifth wheel.

—Nick. I'm taking your car into town. I'll bring it back tomorrow.

I caught Bobbie's panicked glance. Immediately it was replaced with a weak smile. Well, woman, you asked for it. Now you'll have to decide whether it's worth it to keep fighting him off.

Diana appeared happy at the prospect of spending the night. She was so pleased with herself that she didn't bother asking for a ride back to the city. With me happily out of the way, she'd be able to consummate the deal-no matter what the deal was that she worked out with herself.

Nick junior tossed me the keys. I thanked senior for his hospitality and headed for town. I didn't waste time, since I was burning the kid's gas.

I parked and walked to a second small deco bar I passed by on the way to the hotel. It looked quaint from the outside. Hipster interior, probably. I was mildly surprised when the a/c wasn't blasting from the ceiling, freezing out the customers. Maybe they only switched on when they wanted to trade the senior citizens for the younger crowd in the evenings.

I bellied up to the bar and faced the day's first major decision. I went with Crown Royal, my old favorite. I lost track of time by my fifth shot glass. The pretty bartender's attempts at getting me to cut it with a beer back went for naught.

It was Andrea who recognized me. She went on break and sat and reminded me that we met while I was admiring the second-story office in her building. Now I was paying attention. She liked to talk. I liked to listen. She was about Bobbie's age. Maybe a little younger. Working the bar to pay off her college loans.

She had to go back to work, but in due time I had the woman's family history, her history, and the history of every one of her favorite customers of all time. At closing time, I dutifully slipped off my barstool and headed for the door. Miss Tenderbar helped me stumble along until I bumped into two lugs trying to get past the door at the same time.

They took me off of Miss Tenderbar's hands until she figured out they planned on laying a beating on me. All by herself she managed to drag me back inside, lock the door, and sit me down on the floor while she closed.

The woman slapping my face was pretty. I could tell, because she was on the floor with me, struggling to get me to stand up. A patient, girl, too, if I knew anything about women.

—All right, big guy. It's time for you to go.

—Just help me to my car. I can drive the rest of the way.

—Fine.

A word I was familiar with. I heard it more than a time or two from someone else.

—Give me your keys and I'll unlock the door for you.

Fat chance. She packed them away in her back pocket and half carried me down the street. I leaned heavily on her all the way.

—You know, those keys in your back pocket make it look all lumpy.

—Make what look all lumpy?

Already I was ahead of the game. I knew what to say.

—Your ass.

Andrea sighed and ignored me. I was used to that, too.

—I'm up on the third floor. Think you can make it, Jimbo?

Jimbo. I hadn't heard that for a good long while. Which was probably why I meekly followed the girl up the stairs. Three stories wasn't all that difficult. Except I was shitfaced drunk times three.

—Andrea.

—Yes, Jimbo?

—Just leave me.

I figured I was as far as the second level.

—You have a way with women and words, don't you?

How difficult could it be to travel back down a landing or two?

—All right. We're here. Welcome home.

Andrea led me to her sofa. The last thing I remember was collapsing on it.

**I woke up** on a strange sofa in a strange room with daylight flooding into it. I squinted past a hangover and a headache like none I'd ever known. Someone had thoughtfully placed a bucket near my head. I groaned and took a look. It was empty. I mumbled incoherently.

—So far, so good.

Footsteps. Who could it be?

—You're awake. What took you so long?

A pale-skinned vision of a woman appeared with soaking wet hair and long legs tucked beneath a short bathrobe. Even hung over, I had to admit I noticed what was falling out of the short robe all the way to the ground she walked on. Tiny feet. Great legs. I had an overabundance lately.

—Did you fall into the pool?

—No, goofy. I'm fresh out of the shower. How are you feeling?

—Don't take the bucket away just yet.

I rolled onto my back. In seconds I returned to my side, just in case. The move made the bucket closer, too.

—That good, huh? You wanted to drive home last night. I wouldn't let you. Well, okay, there's that, and you got in a fight with two of my regulars. To get them off of you I had to tell them you were my father and that my mom had just died.

I looked at Andrea in wonderment.

—Yes, really. The only thing that saved your drunken ass was that we chatted all night. You told me stories that made me laugh, and you didn't make a single pass. I was wondering how unlucky a girl could get until you ended up shitfaced. Still, I got the feeling you don't do that often.

I sat up and groaned.

—About that father thing. We need to talk. So you're saying I should have asked you out. I'll remember for next time.

—I have to get to work. You can crawl into my bed for the day. It's obvious to me you're in no shape to go anywhere. I hope it's obvious to you, too. I'm still not comfortable giving you your keys. Come on.

I followed her into the bedroom and fell back on the bed.

—Sorry about that lumpy ass thing. I can see now that it's perfect.

It was, too. I had a good look when her robe crept up above her ass when she turned away. She looked over her shoulder with an impish grin.

—Perfectly lumpy?

She turned away and opened her dresser.

—Don't you know the way to a girl's heart and mind. You must be a real charmer with the ladies. Take off your shirt and pants. I'm not letting you sleep in my bed in that mess you're wearing.

She began digging into drawers and moved on to the closet.

—What are you doing?

—You're a complete stranger. I'm not getting dressed in front of you just because I let you into my bed. Maybe a bit later when I get to know you better.

I didn't hear the last part. I pulled the sheets up and died in some strange woman's sweet-smelling bed.

By late afternoon I was feeling pretty good. I dragged my hungover ass into the kitchen and checked the fridge. A six-pack of water and a pregnancy test kit blinked back at me. I guessed a bottle or two of the former would be necessary before accomplishing the latter.

I still didn't have my keys.

I made a grab for a water and gently hot-footed it down the stairs in search of a market. I stocked up on eggs, bacon, bread, and orange juice. I added a tomato for luck and stopped to pick up flowers to dress the place up.

On my way into the lobby using the key I pilfered from Andrea's apartment I noticed the office for rent sign hanging on a door. I opened it and looked in. It looked even better than it did from the street.

I carried on up the stairs, dropped off the goodies, and went in search of Andrea's place of employment. A bit of the hair of the dog that bit me definitely couldn't hurt.

—Well hello, stranger. I see you survived. How are you doing?

—Thanks to you, I'm doing just fine. By the way, I borrowed the spare key for your place.

I pushed it across the bar. She didn't look at it.

—What time do you get off?

Andrea raised her eyebrows. I think she must have thought I was a stalker. Even though she was the one who let me into her apartment.

—Why? What are you planning? Should I be worried? You're not a stalker, are you?

There it was.

—On the prowl for something to eat I happened to check your fridge. Imagine that. I can tell you don't have a lot of company staying over by the water six-pack and the pee stick. You planning on taking the test when you get home?

She blushed. I grinned.

—You're down a water.

I held up my hands.

—All right. I'll stop now. I'm inviting you over for dinner at your place. Don't expect much. It's only my way of thanking you.

—Take it.

She pushed at the key.

—I'll be home at nine.

She pushed a drink in my direction, too. I shook my head and thanked her before pushing it back. She looked at me and grinned.

—Don't go all pouty on me. It's a Virgin Mary.

I made the sign of the cross, got a laugh for my effort, and retreated out the door carrying the glass all the way back to Andrea's. I phoned the number for the rental office scrawled on the sign taped in the window. I chased down the building manager and talked him into showing the space.

It was even better than I remembered. It overlooked the street in both directions. Corner windows on both sides allowed plenty of light. A fresh coat of paint wouldn't hurt.

I took it on the spot. Bobbie would have to choose the furniture. It was a good place for the P.I. business I thought I should start with her. I silently thanked her for reminding me about the license I forgot about.

The key would show up in a couple of hours. I gave out Andrea's address and settled in for the wait.

4.

**BEFORE I REALIZED** what I was doing, I invited Andrea to tour the everglades. She must have been feeling magnanimous when she said yes. Why else would she agree to accompany a too drunk customer she felt obligated to rescue from her bar patrons as well as himself?

While I waited in her small apartment, she changed into a short, filmy skirt that came halfway up tanned thighs. High-heeled sandals put shapely legs to work. Intriguing bare thighs peeked out from beneath the hem of the short dress.

—I don't mind if you look forever. In fact, I'm flattered. But when you've had enough you can catch up and walk beside me. You're blushing, aren't you?

Could she read me or what?

—No. Well. Maybe. Yeah. But-

—Never mind my butt. All you get for now is legs.

—Promises.

—Perhaps. We'll see what happens when we get back.

She gently refused to accompany me into the hotel and instead chose to stay in the car and wait.

—I'm not trying to get you up to my room.

—You're darned right you aren't. It's too soon for that.

—You'll like the lobby. Plenty of people watching.

I convinced her, and we walked together into the hotel. She picked out a chair in full view of everyone, sat, and crossed her shapely legs. She smiled up at me.

—There. You've seen them from both sides. Are you happy now?

In twenty minutes I appeared downstairs hoping I looked like a new man.

—You clean up pretty good for a stranger.

Her eyes wandered over me. To my credit, I showered and shaved and changed wrinkled clothes for fresh and pressed. My own eyes wandered down and then back up. Slowly.

—You're not so bad yourself.

The back of her hand brushed softly against my face.

—Good job shaving. I wondered if you would.

I opened the door and she slid into the seat, all the while adjusting her skirt as best she could. I was enjoying her company far too much already.

—Eyes on the road, Jimbo.

She was smiling. It was a smile I liked. Andrea slipped closer. She took my hand and allowed it to rest beneath her own on a warm, generous thigh showing no tan line.

—You never wear shorts. Perhaps you should-

—We're not going back to my place or yours. We're in enough trouble already.

I ignored her comment and managed to keep an eye on the road for a mile or two. And admitted to myself that she was right.

—Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or do I have to imagine it as we get closer to wherever it is we're going?

I told her about my partner, Bobbie, and how she became trapped in the everglades through no fault of her own. I even told her about Diana. The car might have come up, too, so I explained that it wasn't mine.

—So basically you brought me along to get your business partner-who you're romantically involved with-away from the clutches of some random guy?

She removed my hand from her thigh, and placed it on my own, and released it.

—Guys. Plural. But I'd say you pretty much nailed it. Would you like a part-time job?

—You rented the office space below my place, didn't you? You brought me flowers. You cooked me breakfast at nine at night. Are you nuts? I'm this far from sleeping with you and you're bringing me along to rescue a woman who loves you. What could possibly go wrong?

Andrea sighed and took my hand in hers again and kept it there. She appeared resigned to the outcome, whatever it would be.

—Yeah, but are you pregnant, and do you have any sisters?

Andrea sighed again and shook her head and settled back in the seat. I think she even started to relax. Even so, I was pretty sure she thought I was nuts. Maybe she was just a bit, too.

My phone rang. I handed it to Andrea.

—Answer that for me, would you? You can listen if you want.

She put it on speaker and held it between us. Her head rested on my shoulder. I had to admit, I liked the way she answered a phone. I thanked the other party and Andrea hung up. Her head stayed on my shoulder.

I liked that, too.

—I made some calls to a couple of connections while I was upstairs. That's why I took so long. As you heard, Diana has a rap sheet and a penchant for older men. She likes to empty their bank accounts. I'm counting on this to get Bobbie out of there.

—Diana? Who the hell is this Diana? Tell me again, how many women do you have stacked up out there, exactly? You didn't tell me what I'd be letting myself in for.

I wasn't surprised by her reluctance to get involved now that she knew more.

—Promise me you won't change your mind after I explain everything.

—Yeah, maybe. Promises are hard to keep.

—So then, you'll be staying. I met Diana when I rescued Bobbie and her brother from a drug cartel.

—Wait. What? Drug cartel?

—It's a long story. Short version. Bobbie badly beat up and hitchhiking by the side of the road. Rain. Thunder. More rain. Sketchy motel room. Plenty of humidity. Sweaty sex. Missing cartel drugs. Crooked border guards. A rescue aboard a yacht. Brother found. Case solved and case closed.

—Okay, so why do you need me again?

—Well, I need someone to answer phones and take messages.

She looked skeptical. I couldn't blame her.

—That isn't what I meant, but I'll run with it for now. That's what cell phones are for. And texting. Before I forget, and in case Bobbie checks your phone, I'm in it.

—Perfect. You can text both of us when you take a call from someone with a case that needs solving.

I separated my hand from hers and reluctantly withdrew it from her warm, wonderful thigh. She ruffled her skirt and smoothed it.

—You were right about the humidity.

—Yes.

I turned off the highway onto a smooth dirt road surrounded on both sides by tall trees. The odor of swampy marshland surrounded us, replacing the fresh air of the clear blue sky in the open convertible.

—We're here. Follow my lead.

—If I was following your lead, right now we'd be parked by the side of a road somewhere. The top on this convertible wouldn't be the only thing that was going down.

It was hardly noon, but Andrea pretty much made my day.

**The fog left** over from last night's rain began to lift, chased by the slight breeze. Water dripped from overhanging trees and splashed onto the ground. The stench of decay coming off of the fetid swamp water was overpowering.

I held the door open. Andrea slipped across the seat, obviously not worrying any longer about the skirt that so wonderfully revealed her tanned thighs. She almost fell into my arms. She caught herself at the last second. I smiled. She blushed.

—For some reason, I can't help doing things like that around you.

Which was all right with me. She looked in the direction of the laughter coming from the patio and back at me.

—Which one is your girl?

She didn't give me a chance to reply. The four were gathered on the patio. Loud voices and laughter drifted across the parking lot. Senior had to be mixing the drinks on the strong side for the better part of the morning. His words slurred.

—It's about time you made it. I think you had good reasons for being a day late, though. The woman is beautiful.

The old man slumped in his chair. Andrea almost began pawing the ground in her haste. She blushed brighter than a teenager in a too-short prom dress. Bobbie looked from the woman to me and back. She didn't appear to be so happy.

—Who's your company, Jim?

—Everyone. Meet Andrea. She's my new secretary.

It was beyond me how she knew, but Andrea was already striding purposefully in Bobbie's direction. She held out her hand and the women shook. They stood, toe to toe, each eying the other. I wasn't certain I liked that, unsure as I was of what might come next.

—And that's Diana. Meet Andrea.

Andrea turned to face me.

—You know the most beautiful women. How long have you been in town?

Bobbie smiled regretfully.

—Far too long, I'm beginning to think.

Andrea's wide smile totally disarmed Bobbie.

—Would you show me the lady's, please, Bobbie? It was a long ride.

Bobbie took her arm and they headed of in the direction the bathroom. Voices muffled by laughter spelled trouble. The two women who I absolutely didn't want to get together right this instant were on their way to the restroom. Trouble was sure to follow if I knew anything about women. Most of the time, I had to admit I didn't. Sometimes, I only pretended.

My troubled heart wasn't becalmed by the sight of Andrea's long, slender legs in step with Bobbie's, just as long and perfectly matched. I hated getting down to business, but sometimes it was necessary. I tore my eyes away and concentrated on the old man.

—So. Nicolas.

Senior and junior turned.

—When are you taking us out on the swamp? I think we'd enjoy seeing the everglades with an expert guide.

An obviously inebriated Diana leaned on Nicolas senior, hoping for a helping hand. Unbalanced, either by lust or plain old alcohol or a combination of both, she stumbled against the old man. Her words slurred.

—Yes. I'd like to go, too.

He caught her and eased her down into the lounge chair.

—Behave or you'll be staying by yourself.

Nicolas' eyes roamed over the reclining Diana. It didn't help that her half-open blouse exposed an ample part of a tanned breast. Somehow, she managed to keep what was left together.

—I'll stay with her, dad. We don't want her falling into the swamp with the gators.

And pigs could fly. If I knew anything, it wasn't the swamp gators Diana needed to watch out for.

Right then I'd have given my eye teeth to be a fly on the wall in the restroom where Bobbie and Andrea disappeared. It seemed like it was taking them an especially long time to return.

How much longer could they be? What could Bobbie and Andrea possibly have so much to talk about?

**Nick senior stood** up and made his way to the dock. I used the distraction to knock on the bathroom door. Unsure what to expect, I waited. Andrea poked her head out.

—Oh. It's Jim. Yes? What would you like?

The sweet, innocent look said I shouldn't dally. I took a chance anyway.

—Nick is going to start the tour in a minute. Are you two coming or are you going to stay behind to compare notes while I'm gone?

I closed the door and beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the dock. The noisy air-cooled aircraft engine fired up, emitting a cloud of blue smoke from the exhaust. It blew away in the light breeze and the engine settled into a noisy, steady idle.

Bobbie and Andrea hurried to join us. At the last minute, Nick junior and Diana announced they would be staying behind. Bobbie took it in stride. She answered Andrea's puzzled look with an explanation of her own.

—She's doing both of them. After she puts the old man to sleep, she tiptoes down the hall and literally bangs on junior's door. I think he keeps it locked just for spite. He always seems to open it wide, though. Just as wide as she does.

Bobbie and Andrea must have come to some sort of an understanding during their extended time in the bathroom. I wondered what they might have concluded, but I knew better than to ask. Besides, it was time to climb aboard for the grand tour.

—Andrea, you might want to put on a pair of shorts. You look to be about the same size as Bobbie.

Bobbie threw me the look. I wasn't certain whether it was the one approving of my choice, or the I'll kill you later look that I seemed to be getting more and more lately. She gave in, though.

—He's right. I have an extra pair. The wind on the boat will make short work of what you're wearing.

—She's right, Andrea. I'll get Nicolas to wait.

The women hurried off. More time to tell stories, I feared. I was beginning to think it might have been a lot smarter to have left Andrea back in the city. Presupposing I had any smarts about things like that-which apparently I didn't.

Four departed in the boat. It was a perfect day. Not too hot. We passed through wisps of fog to be scattered in the wind created by the huge propeller. Light cloud cover kept the sun from frying us.

The old man expertly guided the boat through the swamp, steering and slowing here and there and shutting down occasionally to coast and point out birds and snakes and the overgrown mango trees housing them. Occasionally an alligator made its presence known, all eyes and bumpy snout moving silently in the water.

Finally, Nicolas senior slowed and pointed the boat towards a point of dry land. The engine accelerated quickly and the flat-bottomed boat bumped against the shore. The nose halted on dry ground surrounded by tall green grass. The much heavier stern remained over the water.

Satisfied, the old man's expert touch silenced the powerful aircraft engine. We clambered ashore, happy the noisy engine was silent, even if only for a short time.

Trees on three sides surrounded the watery island. Water dripped from the overhanging branches. In the humidity, perspiration streamed down faces. In minutes our clothes were soaked by the uncomfortable humidity.

—Here's the land you wanted to see, Jim. There should be alligators close by. Be careful. Don't get too close. Despite appearances, alligators are quite capable of traveling fast for short distances on dry land.

The women wandered off, carefully checking every step. Out of the relative safety of the boat, they weren't so eager to see a live alligator. I stepped out behind them. The old man stayed behind. Bobbie called out.

There's an old cabin beneath the trees. We're going to take a look.

—Jim. Wait a minute. I want to talk to you.

He eased a concealed pistol from behind his back. He leveled it at me with a drunken man's trembling hand. Even so, I felt fairly certain I wouldn't be able to dodge whatever he was about to throw at me. Given a drunk's propensity to act in an alcoholic fog, I didn't chance moving even so much as a muscle.

—I have many friends. One told me you submitted your report to the government. Did you think you'd get away with it

So he knew. Someone sold me out. Who could it have been?

—Someone in the press?

His eyes narrowed. Something told me he never considered that I might send the press copies of the report, too.

—I can't tell you who it was.

It had to be someone with the feds.

—What are you going to do, kill all of us out here in the middle of nowhere?

It would be easy. He'd leave us with the gators and we'd end up nothing but bad-smelling meat until they had their fill. What the hell had I done? I'd gotten two innocent women involved in my business and now we were all going to pay the price. It would never end.

Bobbie and Andrea appeared out of nowhere, giggling.

—I think we just made our day. We managed to pee without getting chewed up by alligators. We're ready to go now.

Nick's handgun wavered between Jim and the girls.

—Not quite. Get over by Jim.

Happy smiles turned instantly to looks of surprise and fear. Bobbie, knowing what was up, was more restrained. Andrea was genuinely shocked, a look of terror on her face.

—What's going on? Why the gun? What the hell? Jim?

Old Nick looked at us like he wanted to shoot sooner rather than later. My mind raced, trying to figure a way out.

—I found out all about your cop friend and his vendetta. He wants to put me in jail. He thinks I'm responsible for killing his wife.

A smug look crossed his face. He figured it out all by himself. More likely, his informant told him about me.

—I saw the CCTV footage, Nick. You're the one who placed the bomb in Pilar's luggage. It was plain as day. Why you're not rotting away in a federal prison is something I haven't been able to figure out. But I will.

—You don't have time left to figure anything out. You dragged two women into your scheme. They're going to die along with you. How does it feel? From what I've seen, I'd say they've taken quite a liking to you. You'll never live to reap the rewards.

Bobbie and Andrea began slowly backing away from the flat-bottomed boat beached on the small point.

—Not so fast, ladies. You're not going anywhere. Get back here.

He waved the muzzle in my direction. They halted beside me. I had to find a way to try and delay the inevitable.

—So who kept you in the loop? It wasn't the press. I could tell by the look on your face when I told you I sent them a copy. Who is it, Nick?

He appeared to be considering.

—If we're going to die, don't you think we deserve to know who's responsible? We'll take it to our graves. I promise.

That wasn't a stretch. Nor was it imagination. If Nicolas got his way, we'd be dead in a heartbeat. If that didn't scare the shit out of the girls, it scared it out of me. I'd gone and done a foolish thing. I'd placed Bobbie in the lion's den, and then I'd added Andrea into the mix for good measure.

I had to admit, I didn't think it would come to this, or I'd never have done any of it.

**Bobbie and Andrea** were beginning to get more than just antsy. Behind me, feet shifted nervously and worried whispering and gasps filled the thick, humidity-laden air. Bobbie moved closer and whispered.

—Jim. Don't look. You have to get us away from the water and close to the trees.

I didn't know what the girls managed to work out. I bet my life they were trying to keep themselves alive as long as they could.

—Nick. Let's all get in the shade and talk about this some more. All right? The women are getting sunburned, and you know how a girl feels about that when she wants to go shopping and try things on.

—It's no use. But all right. I'll let them have that for now.

He kept the gun leveled, herding us in the direction of the trees. By the time we made it beneath the canopy of thick branches, Nick's back was to the water.

—Stop whispering or I'll shoot all of you right now.

He couldn't stop their scared shaking. They already knew how it was going to go. It was my fault for dragging them into this. Although Bobbie had come willingly, Andrea was something else. All she did was let me spend a drunken, hungover night in her apartment. I'd taken it upon myself to bring her along because she was so likable.

Well, we were all in a swamp with no paddle now, thanks to yours truly.

Suddenly there was more whispering from the girls.

—Holy shit. Look.

A huge black shape crawled quietly out of the swamp and made its way silently towards Nick. Jaws opened wide, displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth. They closed on Nick with a satisfying snap. Part of the sound had to be Nick's breaking leg as he toppled to the ground with a blood-curdling yell.

Nick's yell turned into a scream. The gun went off. A bullet grazed my arm. In agony, the old man struggled to get the muzzle pointed in the direction of the razor blades clamped to his leg. The huge alligator began backing towards the water's edge with Nick in tow.

Arms flailed. His good leg kicked. His torso bucked and he tried to hang onto handfuls of long grass that pulled out of the ground. It was all to no avail. The gator's jaws opened and snapped shut a second time. The alligator doubled down on his grip, knowing he had a tasty morsel once he got it into the water where he could really go to work.

The gun went off again. Nick thrashed and yelled in agony. The gun flew into the grass. He clawed at the ground and discarded more clumps of grass to dig up fresh ones as the huge alligator inexorably made its way towards its natural habitat.

The gator made good progress in its struggle to force its prey into the water in order for it to do what it was born to do. Nick's struggles continued in vain. He yelled and screamed and begged for help.

It was to no avail. Unlike the alligator who had Nick in its death grip, we were relegated to be observers, frozen by shock and fear. We watched the jaws open and close in a flash. Both of Nick's legs were now trapped in the powerful jaws.

—Get into the boat. Give those two a wide berth. Hurry.

I picked up Nick's gun. I didn't offer help. It was too late for that. If I shot, I'd hit him, and I didn't want to answer for that. It would be useless anyway. The alligator had him in the water and was wrestling and thrashing and rolling and chomping in a feeding frenzy of blood-red, watery foam.

—Jim-

I looked up.

—Can you start it?

The women looked at me.

—All right. I'll be there in a minute. I have to make sure of this.

I made my way cautiously to the boat, careful not to disturb the alligator intent on its meal. I think I was even more shaken by the animal's base instincts. My arm ached. Blood covered my sleeve and streamed down my hand from the errant bullet. I wanted to keep an eye on the deadly progress the gator was making.

Finally at the boat, I came up with a story.

—Here's the way you're going to see it.

I pointed.

—Look over there. See the flamingos? You're watching them. Waiting for the group to take off and fly low over the water. You've never seen it before. Maybe on TV. But not in real life.

They looked at me like I was crazy.

—I'm going to have to report Nick's disappearance. Trust me on this-you don't want to be involved. Understood?

—He's right, Andrea. I'll explain later.

Andrea picked it up and ran with it.

—Bobbie, look over there. Flamingos. I've never seen anything like it. Have you?

—I think Andrea is going to make it after all, Jim.

I put my arms around them and hugged.

—That's my girls.

Andrea cried out.

—Jim. You're bleeding.

—Who's got a shirt to loan me?

Andrea immediately began unbuttoning. She had it wide open before Bobbie caught her.

—Wait just a minute, girl. That's my job around here. And don't you forget it.

Andrea ignored Bobbie and passed me her shirt. I wiped my prints off the gun and then wrapped it around my upper arm.

—I'll break up the the gun and toss it on the way back to the dock. Sorry, girl, but you don't get your shirt back just yet.

Bobbie gave me the look I was so accustomed to by now.

—Wounded or not, I'm telling you two. If I ever-

—You don't have to worry, Bobbie. Now that I know you, I'd never do anything with Jim. Just don't die.

Their eyes wandered in my direction. I grinned back and shrugged.

—It's only a flesh wound. I'll be fine. It's time we got out of here.

I turned my attention over to the swamp boat's controls. They didn't appear so different from a powerboat. The small panel was clearly labeled. I pushed the starter on the warm engine and allowed it to settle into an easy idle. I played with the throttle handle, moving it forward slightly to familiarize myself. The engine speed increased, along with the wind through the blades. I pulled back to idle.

Next I tested the left-side steering handle. Easing it forward directed the fins to move for a right-hand turn. Pulling back positioned the fins to turn the boat to the left.

Twin arrows pointing forward and backward on the panel clearly indicated propeller pitch. Still at idle, I moved the lever from neutral to reverse. The engine faltered momentarily while the blades grabbed for air.

I called out to warn the girls.

—Brace yourselves. Better yet, sit down. I'm going to try backing us up off this island.

I slowly advanced the throttle. The engine screamed on its way to full power. The flat-bottomed boat bumped and jerked and reversed off the island. It finally floated free in a giant rush of air.

Immediately I released the spring-loaded throttle handle and the engine went to idle automatically. I moved the propeller selector through neutral to forward pitch. The propeller engaged, and we idled forward, inching over the water. I wrestled the boat into position and slowly eased the throttle forward.

I tested the steering handle on the left side of the boat. Forward, go left; backward, go right. I increased throttle and went through the motions again. I was no expert, but reassured, I figured I could get us home. At half—throttle it wouldn't be fast, and it wouldn't be smooth, but it would be safe. We'd get there eventually.

The GPS would help.

I struggled to keep the flat-bottomed boat with its square bow straight and level. Every turn at half-throttle felt like we'd all fall out as the boat tipped precipitously. I wasn't confident enough to go any faster. Thus we mushed along. I slowed in the tight corners.

Occasionally I'd dodge what looked to be logs in the water. Or alligators. I couldn't tell the difference. Sometimes, the swamp grass would whack the aluminum, but it was a familiar sound I'd heard on the ride to the island. It didn't cause any panic now.

Following a couple of wrong turns, I made sure to consult with the women and caught flak in spite of it. I just shrugged and carried on, glad that we were making headway back to Nick's.

I remembered to toss the handgun after wiping it again. I returned Andrea's blood-stained shirt when the bleeding halted. She only looked at me with a ##What the hell am I supposed to do with this? expression. Bobbie shook her head and shrugged.

The women stayed silent until I shut down and bumped hard into the dock. I'd never make it as an operator. I helped the women ashore and tied the boat off. Andrea donned her bloodstained shirt.

There was no time for us to have any further discussion about how Nick senior met his end.

**The cooling engine** tick-ticked. No one rushed to greet us. Surely the sound of the powerful engine must have alerted someone. I joined with the girls on their way to the chickee. We walked into the living room and discovered Nick junior making his own way between Diana's long legs. They were naked and very sweaty and pointed at the sky. Just how long they shared the position would be a guess.

—I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not sitting on that thing ever again.

—You two get your asses out to the car. I'll get your things. Now go.

I pulled Nick off of Diana. The disappointed grunt and the squeal from Diana when she realized what was going on gave me great pleasure for some reason. I told him what happened to his father. Neither appeared so concerned, yet Diana was only too eager to comfort him.

Certainly she must have been busy imagining life insurance and dollar signs falling off of young Nick. He'd probably slip and fall any number of times. There was no doubt in my mind that Diana would be only too eager to catch him between her legs in the coming days and weeks.

—Call the cops. I'll do damage control. Bobbie and Andrea are in shock. I already sent them back to town.

The last I heard was the convertible's tires spinning on the gravel drive. I wanted them to have at least a few hours to rehearse their stories before the police showed up.

**From the sidewalk** across the street I stared up at the office window.

—Dawson & Nash Investigators. It has a nice ring to it. What do my two favorite girls think?

Bobbie and Andrea looked up and regarded the neon hanging in the main window.

—I don't know about you, Bobbie, but I'm keeping my day job. I figure all I need to answer the phone is a pen and some paper. Or maybe I could just let the calls go to voice mail. Our new boss should be able to handle them.

—Come on now. Is that any way to treat a brand new small business owner? Which one of you is going to be the first one to pass the P.I. exams?

—Don't be so sure of yourself, Jimbo. Bobbie and I still have some fast talking to do before we make our final decisions.

—What? Why? Bobbie? Andrea? Come on.

—She's right. And once we're done talking, it's going to be time for two of us to lay down the rules. I think you already know which two that will be.

I knew what it meant, all right. Fond memories resurfaced of my hand in Andrea's, resting on her smooth, bare, and extremely warm thigh. I knew I'd be the one who ended up with the list. I was certain it would be do or die if Bobbie had anything to do with it.

I wondered if it would ever happen again before putting it out of my mind for now. I needed to know the rules first.

—Just so you both know, my arms are around both of you.

—If you're looking for sympathy for that bullet wound you so proudly show off, you're looking in the wrong places. And don't be so smug. Just so you know, Andrea and I are holding hands behind your back.

I sighed and wondered where it all went wrong.

###

About the author

Aviator. Motorcycle rider. Vagabond. Drifter. Trouble-maker. Jack of all trades and master of none. I've been riding and writing about the places I've been and the people I've seen for a few years now. Some of my writing is factual; some of it isn't. I'll leave it up to you to decide for yourself which lies are the truth.

http://pxduke.com

author@pxduke.com

More by P X Duke

Twisted Sisters

Detective Jim Nash has a problem. He has a murder victim in an alley and a dead woman in his bed. His own homicide division wants to charge him with murder. To say he's got serious commitment problems would be an understatement. He's on the lookout for twins, but he doesn't want to date them. He wants to know who murdered them. A modern pulp short story.

Dreams Die Fast

Frank is headed home after spending a long winter on the Baja. When his motorcycle breaks down, he's trapped in an old ghost town on the west side of the Salton Sea. A woman takes pity on Frank and invites him over for a home-cooked meal. Before he knows it, Frank is knee-deep in cartel drugs with a woman itching to pull the trigger on the gun she's pointing at his back.

Dreams Die Hard

Frank is back on the road with a reformed junkie on the run from a cartel hit squad riding bitch on the back of his motorcycle. When the duo end up working at a strip club, the seedy edge of the city finally catches up, forcing Frank to dig deep within to triumph over drugs, greed, arson and murder. Some adult content.

Fast Food Slow Waitress

A biker hits all the high spots (or the low spots, depending on your point of view). These short stories find him at a peeler bar off the 15 in Montana; encountering a hitch-hiker off the 10 in New Mexico; being sweet-talked by his landlady; romancing a truck-driving sweetheart in a sleeper at a California truck stop; flirting with a waitress in a restaurant in the high desert. This is an updated and revised version of First Time and other stories previously published.

Dead Reckoning

During a well-deserved R&R on mainland Mexico, Harry picks up something he doesn't own that forces him to flee across the Sea of Cortez to the Baja. While hiding out on an isolated beach, two mysterious gringas show up to complicate Harry's life by attempting to implicate him in their own scheme, resulting in a mad dash up the Baja to escape the consequences of their actions.

Long Way Home

When Harry's ex-wife, Sasha, and their daughter accompany her oil-company boyfriend on a working vacation to Africa, the trio goes missing. They get out a call for help that will lead Harry on an air and ground chase across the Horn of Africa to rescue his family before kidnappers can move them to their den on the Indian Ocean.

Out of the Past

Harry's comfortable family life is turned upside down when he gets a phone call from a former comrade he thought long dead. When the second call comes in an hour later, the caller asks for his help. He knows his life will never be the same until he can learn what happened to the woman who launched a rescue mission to save his life after his plane was destroyed during a firefight on a bush landing strip in East Africa. Third short novel in a series.

