Blue Diablo

enemies behind me.

Shit, now I felt almost as low as Chance. I didn’t usually let it get to me. Done was done, and unless it was a slight you could avenge right then, it did no good to dwell on it.

All my aches came back tenfold, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to lose myself for a few hours. We couldn’t do anything until daylight anyway.

“Well,” Chuch said from the doorway. “I sent an e-mail to Booke, but it’s four in the morning there.” He peered at us. “You guys look like shit.”

I wondered how he’d look if he’d been in Mexico City just two days ago, innocently examining Dutch miniatures. By some miracle I held my tongue, as he was helping us.

“It’s been a long day,” Chance said quietly.

If there were a candle I could burn to make me forget how it felt to touch him, I think I would have lit it. Right then, I felt empty and broken, missing the way we used to be. His hand in mine wasn’t enough, but then I’d always needed more than he could give. Chance reacted on me like a drug, and I jonesed for him in ways that weren’t safe or sane. Quietly I withdrew my hand.

Chuch nodded. “How ’bout I get you bedded down? You still sleepin’ together?”

I answered, “No,” as Chance said, “Yes.” We exchanged a look, and then I added firmly, “He should have his own bed. I’m afraid I’ll hurt his back.”

Our host shrugged and set me up on the couch with plenty of pillows and a sheet to pull over me, as it was a warm night. “Sorry,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I turned the third bedroom into a home office.”

“It’s fine, thanks.”

I hoped I wouldn’t dream tonight.

Wicked Game

I dreamed of fire.

As on the worst occasions, I woke with the sheets sodden from terror sweat. The sky glimmered with pearly, predawn light, dispelling some of the gloom. I lay there, clammy, my heart thudding like I’d been running. For a moment I couldn’t get my breath and the shaking wouldn’t stop. Chance used to get up and make me hot chocolate whenever this happened, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. He wouldn’t speak, just deliver the drink in a ritual that let me know I wasn’t alone. I have no idea why, but cupping the mug between my hands always made me feel better.

You’d think it’d go away for good after so many years, but the nightmare always comes back in times of trouble, like a reminder. Things always get worse when the dream returns; it’s a reliable foretelling device in its own way. If I could be sure it was my mother, trying to reach me somehow, I wouldn’t mind as much. I don’t have much faith there’s anything left of her, though, and I’ve tried several speakers for the dead. They always claim there’s interference, a bad connection between this world and the next. I don’t try to reach her anymore. Like I said, I have the feeling she gave everything she was to me, and then just floated away in wisps of smoke, not even a ghost.

Still unsteady, I crawled out of my sweaty nest and headed for the kitchen. I’d make my own cocoa, dammit. If I could find it. Rummaging around in Chuch’s kitchen, I unearthed a box of instant. That’ll work.

As I filled a cup from the tap, a click made me spin around, sloshing water on my thighs. A tall, dark-haired woman stood glaring at me from the doorway that led in from the garage. “Who the hell are you?”

“Corine,” I said, wondering whether lukewarm tap water and a heavy mug would offer any real defense. She looked ready to claw my eyes out.

But her wrath went another way. “I’ll kill him,” she bit out. “No, I’ll cut his thing off. I’m gone four days and here you are in your underwear. Pendejo!” She stormed down the hall toward Chuch’s room.

“It’s not underwear,” I said, glancing down at my shorts. She wasn’t listening. With a shrug, I popped my mug into the microwave.

Within thirty seconds—and the microwave timed it—I heard, “Eva, corazon, I— ow!” Chuch emerged in a pair of pajama pants, heading for the kitchen at a dead run. Eva followed, steely-eyed and ready to castrate. “Corine, tell her it isn’t how it looks.”

“What isn’t?” Yeah, I played dumb as I mixed the chocolate powder into the hot water. Stirred, watching his agitation increase.

“You slept on my couch!”

He’d thank me for this later. “You said she left you. What business is it of hers?”

“Dios, I only went to my mama’s house to think about things. We’re still married, Jesus Maria Ortiz Obregón! You’re going to hell!”

Oops. Maybe I wasn’t helping. “You never mentioned you were married.”

Chuch eyed me with dislike as I brought the spoon to my mouth, tasting the cocoa. “It wasn’t important! You—”

That was the wrong thing to say. “Wasn’t important! Five years and it wasn’t important. Just like I don’t matter to you as much as your precious cars.”

She seemed like she was building up a head of steam so I interjected, “I did sleep on the couch and it isn’t how it looks. Chuch is helping us out for a day or two.”

“Us?” Eva looked oddly crestfallen. Maybe she enjoyed yelling at him, and if what she’d thought was true, she would’ve had a lifetime supply of ammunition.

“Yeah, us.” Sleep rumpled, a red T-shirt hiding the worst of the damage, Chance rubbed his eyes as he came into the kitchen. He looked for me, found me, and offered a half smile. It was an I’m glad you didn’t leave me in the night sort of look. I didn’t blame Eva for checking him out, even with her estranged husband standing right there. My ex just has that effect on women.

“Is there coffee?” Chance asked.

“I’ll make some,” Eva said, sounding subdued.

I had a residual headache from the dream but at least the shakes were gone. If Eva hadn’t turned up, I would have offered to cook breakfast. My scrambled eggs are great. They’re also the extent of my kitchen skills, unless you count quesadillas, salsa, or microwaving stuff other people have made.

Over huevos rancheros, we filled her in. On my own, I don’t know whether I would have trusted her, but Chuch did, of course, and when you’re staying in a woman’s home, you owe her some respect. Turned out she came from a long and distinguished line of curanderas, but she didn’t have the don. That’s Spanish for gift. We heard all about it, and by the time the meal was over, I felt sorry for Chuch. The woman was a talker.

While they spoke, I washed the dishes. It’s polite to clean up when someone else cooks for you. I remember that from my mother’s upbringing.

“So are you home for good, mi corazon? I missed you.” The mood turned a little squishy for my taste and I braced for some canoodling. While I’m all for sex, preferably lots of it, I don’t enjoy watching other people have it.

“If you promise to pay some attention to me. No more spending all your time under those cars, okay?”

I could see he wanted to protest that was how he made their living but evidently decided that discussion would keep. Silently I commended his common sense when he simply nodded and changed the subject.

“I’m gonna go see if Booke’s gotten back to me. Thanks for breakfast.” Chuch kissed his wife on the cheek.

That left the three of us in the kitchen, but I didn’t want to hear any more stories about how Eva’s abuela could cast out evil spirits by rubbing an egg all over someone’s naked body. It might well be true but I needed a shower just thinking about it. As I headed for the bathroom, I heard her say, “You’re hurt, pobrecito. Let me look at your bandages.”

My jaw clenched, and my step stuttered. I made myself continue. It didn’t matter who changed the dressings