Shady Lady

“I was afraid of that. It’s why I didn’t stop when they wanted me to.”

“And that’s when they shot at you, which proves you were right to be scared.” He leveled a serious look on me. “Those men are no joke. At this point, I have no choice but to hide you along with Saldana until we get Montoya.”

Oh, no, no, no, no. I oversold it, or made the charm too strong. Stupid penny. A reasonable person wouldn’t fight that offer, given the circumstances. But it would lock me up and take me out of Escobar’s sphere. He might even see it as a deal breaker, so then I’d have two cartel bosses after me. I had to get word to him somehow, and I had to be free to participate in the last stage of the plan . . . when Montoya snapped. This screwed everything up—I might be a witch now, but clearly I wasn’t a good one.

My smile felt sickly. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Do you need to stop somewhere to pick up some things?”

“No, sir. We had all our stuff in the SUV.”

“Then I’ll drive you out there myself. Don’t worry. We’ll get Montoya soon, and you’ll be able to get back to your life.”

Right. What life?

“Can Shannon come?”

“Ordinarily I’d say no, but since she was in the vehicle with you, that makes her a target as well. They might recognize her. I’ll have to take your cell phones, and if you have a computer, I need that too. I can’t risk your calling somebody and letting slip something crucial about where we’re keeping you.” He gave us what I’m sure was meant to be a reassuring look. “I know it sounds scary to be cut off like that, but you’ll be under twenty-four-hour protection, and there are books and magazines and DVDs in the house. Maybe you could look on it as a vacation.”

“I sure appreciate this.” There was simply no way out. I’d talked myself right into protective custody. Damn it all. “Here are Jesse’s keys.”

“Let me just tell the desk sergeant I’m leaving, and then we’ll be on our way. Come on back in for a few minutes. I’ll feel better if you stay inside.”

“Me too,” Shannon muttered. The turn of her mouth reflected disappointment that instead of fifteen minutes of fame, we were getting hidden.

“Can you hide your cell phone anywhere?” I whispered. Mine was too big, or I’d shove it someplace unspeakable.

“Maybe.” And that was the only hope we had.

Miserably, I followed Glencannon.

Safe as Houses

We drove out to a defunct ranch in the middle of nowhere. The place was a little run-down, and there were no cows or horses. It was dark by the time Glencannon delivered us to the officers in charge of keeping Jesse out of trouble. Now they’d added us to their burdens, and neither of them looked particularly happy about it. Still, they didn’t argue with the lieutenant.

The first cop was a big buzz-cut-wearing bruiser named Clemsen. He looked like he had been military before going into local law enforcement; it almost always showed in stance and bearing. A guy named Rudd completed the detail; he was shorter and more easygoing. In some cases the duty cops rotated, but since Glencannon wanted as few as possible to know Jesse’s location, Clemsen and Rudd would be here for the duration of our protective custody.

I took careful note of everything as we passed through the kitchen: old red and white linoleum floor, worn countertops. The windows were all covered, but not with blackout shades like at the cartel safe house, which I found slightly amusing. These were standard venetian blinds. The worn shag carpet started in the hall and continued into the living room, which held sagging yellow furniture.

The two cops went back into the kitchen to talk to Glencannon. Low murmurs reached us, the unmistakable cadence of argument. I paid them no mind. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I had been. But Jesse was sitting up in an easy chair, watching network TV on an old set using a pair of rabbit ears.

Shannon went on into the bathroom. I didn’t blame her. After what we’d been through, a shower sounded heavenly. But I had other business first.

“Corine,” Jesse breathed.

He started to get up and then clamped a hand to his side. Still, he was stubborn enough to bust his stitches, so I went to him instead. Perching on the arm of his chair, I gave him a careful hug and rested my head against the top of his head; his hair smelled clean and lemony. He wound his arms around my waist, and a tremor shook through him.

“You’re looking better,” I said softly.

He raised his face, bitter-chocolate eyes searching mine. “I don’t much like wondering what’s happening with you. This emotional-silence thing sucks.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Well, maybe I did. We’d fought about it in Kilmer, how I didn’t like him to be able to have insight about me that I hadn’t shared. How I needed privacy. And now we stood on equal ground. I couldn’t pretend to be sorry about that, only that he’d been hurt trying to protect me. I couldn’t let that happen again, no matter what.

“I know.” Lacing his hands in my hair, he tugged my head down for a kiss. I fell into it, appreciating his warmth and gentleness. I might not love him yet, but there was something sweet and delicious like hot homemade apple pie. “So you met my mama and my dad. What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Well, I’m going to look an awful lot like him in thirty years. You’ve just glimpsed the future.”

“He was weathered and handsome. Just like you’ll be.”

It was certainly true. Some men got doughy as they aged; others acquired a distinguished patina of interesting lines that only made them more appealing. Jesse Saldana would fall into the latter category.

“Hearing that, I could almost forgive what you’ve put me through.”

“Almost.” I stood up and paced a couple steps away.

Glencannon left; I heard the unmistakable slam of the back door. The other two cops remained in the kitchen, talking in low voices. Maybe I was just paranoid but I didn’t like the whisper of collusion.

He smiled at me. “Joking. I’m happy you’re all right, though I’m wondering how you got the lieutenant to bring you here.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” I muttered. “And that’s the thing. . . .” In one quick rush, I explained the events leading up to our inclusion in his protective-custody detail. I finished with, “Jesse, I’m so sorry about your ride. The apartment was bad enough, but damn, I wreck everything of yours I touch.”

“Come here.”

A touch reluctant, I resumed my seat on the arm of his chair. “Okay.”

He tilted my chin down with his fingertips so he could look me in the eyes. “The only thing that matters—the only thing—is that you’re safe, sugar. But I wish I could’ve seen some of your fancy driving. You must’ve been magnificent.”

Right then, it caught up with me, and a shiver of reaction set in. “I don’t know about that. I just had to protect Shannon and Butch.”

“You did great. And you did right in going to Glencannon.”

“Well, I didn’t want this.”

“This is probably best,” Jesse said. “The police department will handle Montoya.”

If they did, at the very least, Escobar would refuse to pay me, despite all my time and trouble, and Montoya wouldn’t spend long enough in prison to end this mess. He’d just get out, madder and more determined than ever. Men like him almost never did hard time; they found some sucker to sacrifice and walked away clean. So if Jesse