The sun was setting by that point, blazing fire over the Sierra Madre. Slate and charcoal clouds gathered over the mountains in the distance. The highway uncoiled before us like a dark, patient snake. We had another four hours to go, and most of the driving would be after dark. I considered offering to spell him, but he’d just sigh and shift in the passenger seat. Chance didn’t like being driven—another control issue.
The vastness between towns had a way of making me feel small, like nobody would notice anything that went down out here except to hose off the road. Headlights shining in the rearview mirror made me feel uneasy. The feeling passed, but the car never did. It kept pace with us for miles.
I tried to dismiss it as paranoia, but I still remembered the way Kel Ferguson had stared at me as the bailiffs led him away. Unlike other cons, he hadn’t sworn vengeance or screamed that he knew people on the outside. His eyes did all the talking, and what they said still woke me up at night.
“Do you ever think about them?” I asked after the silence started to get to me.
“About who?” He didn’t look at me.
I traced a protective symbol against the car window, like that would help. “The guys we put away.”
“I’m glad they’re off the street,” he said. “And no, I don’t worry about them getting out. We have enough law abiding citizens after us to make me wary of borrowed trouble.”
We’d run afoul of lawmen more than once. In Terre Haute, they’d all but run us out of town on a rail. I sighed. “You got that right.”
After that, we didn’t talk much as we headed north along 57. If we were so inclined, we could follow the highway all the way to Piedras Negras, Coahuila, but our business took us onto 40 instead, marking the last miles to Monterrey. Over nine hours in the car so far, not counting the time we spent waiting for rescue.
Since November ranged toward the end of rainy season, the sky didn’t open up until well after full dark. The rain splattered on the windshield as if by the bucket, and Chance leaned forward, slowing to a crawl as we approached the lights of Monterrey. After replaying what he’d said about needing money, it occurred to me then that maybe he knew more than he’d told me, but I wasn’t dumb enough to pick a fight in the middle of a storm.
He had to be tense, worrying about his mother, and this marked our tenth hour in a car. More like fourteen since we left my apartment this morning, so it was a wonder we hadn’t killed each other yet. Unerringly, I found the spot at the base of his skull with my thumb and forefinger, pressed so that he let out a moan.
“Christ, that’s good. Stop while I’m driving, though. I don’t want to run off the road.”
Funny how he had the power to take me back in time with a handful of words. In my mind’s eye, I saw all the other occasions where he’d tipped his head back in bliss beneath my hand. My chest felt tight; I didn’t want to remember the good times. I’d blocked them because it’s next to impossible to leave someone you really like.
“Head for Diego Rivera,” I said as we came into the city. The buildings took some force out of the rain, though the other cars made driving difficult. Here, the streets flooded easily, and some wiseass in a taxi tried to splash standing water through my cracked window. “It’s in the financial district.”
So maybe I wanted to show off. I’d spent one night at the gorgeous Quinta Real, a colonial hotel of marble sandstone that looked like a palace. Inside it was more of the same, impossibly sumptuous with a staff that knew service. No pool, but the in-room Jacuzzi more than made up for it—and Tanya’s check said he could afford a grand class suite. I sighed, remembering that I’d stayed there alone. Still, a room that contained fine tapestries and sculptures, beautiful paintings with lavish gilt frames, decorative inlaid marble in the baths, and an imperial bed with golden columns could make anyone feel like royalty for a night. There were advantages to knowing a man’s weaknesses.
I was desperate to avoid driving farther tonight.
Chasing Geese
I’d like to claim that Chance took one look at the hotel and fell upon his knees, declaring his undying devotion. I’d like to say he apologized for everything that went wrong between us and promised he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to me. But if I did, you probably wouldn’t believe another word I said, especially with regard to Chance.
Instead he offered a smoldering look. “Trying to tempt me?”
“Absolutely. The weather is rotten and we won’t be able to see anyone about the purse until morning anyway.”
He sighed and tapped the steering wheel. His answer came when he swung into the well-manicured drive and gave the keys over to the valet attendant. We stepped out of the driving rain and into another world, one filled with lavish service and utter opulence. Assessing the foyer in a glance, he said softly, “It’s like one of the grand old hotels in Europe. Can I get a masseuse in the room?”
“I expect so. You can get just about anything here, as long as you can pay for it. They’ll even do your shopping, although the mall across the street is closed right now.”
He nodded like that was good to know, and I helped him with check-in. I’ve noticed most service people speak enough English to do business in major commercial cities, but they think better of you if you speak enough Spanish to do it that way; it’s an almost intangible shift, a near smile and a lightening in the eyes.
Once upstairs, I left Chance in the hands of a masseuse who looked as though she wouldn’t mind relaxing him in ways that were only permitted in the
As I turned, I heard him whisper, “No, don’t go.”
I didn’t hesitate because he wasn’t alive in the moment with me but remembering in dreams, perhaps remembering someone else as well. In a remote corner of my mind, I wondered whether he had spoken those words aloud as the door closed behind me. Could I believe he’d loved me once?
I couldn’t answer that as I lay down on the couch, wrapping myself up in spare blankets. However, I did know it would be a bad idea to sleep with Chance again, even to lay in the same bed, because I had a history of finding it hard to tell him no. I didn’t want to repeat old mistakes, just get through the search with as much grace as possible.
We breakfasted en suite, fruit and yogurt for him,
I put on a long skirt and a peasant blouse and kept a green cardigan out just in case it turned cool, one of those long retro sweaters with a belt. All told, I possessed a delightful hippie chic, and I took pleasure in the way Chance squinched up his eyes.
Three hours later, after a painless border crossing, we arrived in Laredo. I had left the U.S. before they changed passport requirements, but they don’t look too hard at red-haired women at the border. Chance called the cop in charge from the car, who agreed to make himself available at ten a.m. I wasn’t looking forward to it because cops typically got that look when Chance said a victim’s family wanted me to examine the personal effects. I preferred private consultations, as life hadn’t left me any love for local law enforcement.
By the time we parked outside the station house, I’d worked up a nice set of nerves. “Is he going to give me a hard time?”
“I don’t think so. He’s not your typical asshole.”
As we walked into police headquarters, a sandstone municipal building that could have doubled as a mental institution, I rubbed my fingertips back and forth over the new scabs on my palm. In response, he brushed his hand across my shoulder, the sort of thing he’d done eighteen months ago. I used to take heart from his touch. Now I merely hunched my shoulders, glad I didn’t have to deal with Laredo in summer. I thought we’d have to wade through a lot of bureaucratic bullshit, but a detective stood waiting for us at the desk.
“Thanks for making time.” Chance shook hands with him, and they exchanged polite words.
My hormones gave a little skip as I gave him the once-over: an intriguing mix of long, tall Texan in battered boots, touched with Latin heat. He had legs that stretched forever in jeans faded almost to white, not the kind
