Getaway (13 page)

What kind of woman all this added up to.

“So you’re a friend of Danny’s,” María said. “He hasn’t introduced many friends to us before.”

What did that mean? Michelle wondered. “Friends” as in “dates”? “Oh. Really. I would have thought … He’s a social sort of person.”

“Perhaps he likes to keep his business separate from his pleasure,” María said.

Over María’s shoulder Michelle could see Carlos and Daniel by the balcony, Carlos saying something, laying a thick hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

“How do you know Daniel?” Michelle asked.

“He does some work for my family. Private charters. Transportation and … logistical arrangements.” María gave her another measuring look. “But surely you know something about his business.”

“Only a little,” Michelle said, meeting her eyes. “We haven’t known each other long.”

“I see.” María smiled. “Are you staying in Vallarta for a while?”

“Just for a few weeks.”

“Probably for the best,” María said. “It is much too hot this time of year.”

There was
a restroom at the back of the hall, between two pillars. Michelle made her way there. She felt dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the encounter with María.

Surely you know something about his business
.

Once inside the stall, she sat on the toilet for a minute or two, staring at the weathered wooden door. Her head throbbed.

It’s just a party, she thought. Wasn’t it? All kinds of parties had bouncers, or bodyguards, or whatever they were. Daniel just wanted a date to come with him so they could go out afterward. Have some fun.

Perhaps he likes to keep his business separate from his pleasure
.

Which one am I? Michelle wondered.

Maybe I should take some notes, she thought. Write down some of the names. In case she needed something to tell Gary.

She found a scrap of paper in her purse—the receipt for the purse, actually—and made a few quick notes. Tucked it into her wallet, behind her driver’s license.

When she came out of the restroom, she didn’t see Daniel or Carlos. They must have gone somewhere more private to talk.

She’d abandoned her wine; it hadn’t been very good. Maybe I’ll get another glass of white, she thought. Open as the space was, the heat was still oppressive. She was sweating—she could feel her dress sticking to her back and thighs.

“You’re Danny’s friend.”

It was a woman who spoke. American, from her accent. She leaned against the wall close to the bathroom, a margarita in hand.

“I’m sorry?” Michelle said. “I don’t …”

“I saw you two come in.” She extended her hand, in a way that suggested she almost expected Michelle to kiss it.

Michelle didn’t. She clasped the hand briefly.

“Michelle.”

“I’m Emma.”

In her late twenties, Michelle thought. She had a voluptuous look, almost as if she were imitating a 1940s pinup—round cheeks, thick black hair worn loose in spite of the heat, bright red lipstick. The neckline of her off-the-shoulder blouse gathered just above her breasts. The dark line of a tattoo peeked out above the right shoulder.

“Enjoying the party?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s a … a nice setting.”

Emma snorted. “I saw you talking to María. Is she a friend of yours?”

“No. We just met.”

“She’s a pretentious bitch, isn’t she?”

Either she was drunk or she liked to play the provocateur. Looking at the way she leaned against the wall, one stiletto-clad foot pressed against it, Michelle thought maybe both.

“Well, I don’t really know her,” she said.

“I guess you have to give her credit—it’s a ballsy way to launder the family money. For the children!” Emma laughed.

Michelle took a quick look around. That couple standing close by, the man staring at them—had he overheard?

If María and her family actually were some kind of criminals, maybe it wasn’t a great idea to have this conversation surrounded by their friends and business associates.

“Do you want to go out on the balcony?” Michelle asked. “Get some air?”

Emma peeled herself off the wall. “If we can stop for drinks first.”

It was still hot out on the balcony, but at least there were breezes. Michelle led Emma to a corner table, away from other guests.

“So you’re seeing Danny,” Emma said. “That’s interesting.”

“It is? I’m not sure why you say that.”

Emma laughed. “It’s just something to say.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Michelle said. “A lot of fun.”

Emma laughed again. “Our Danny always brings the fun.”

“How do you know him?”

“He works for my father,” Emma said, sipping her fresh margarita.

“Oh.”

Who’s your daddy? Michelle thought, but of course she wasn’t going to say that. “Private charters?” she asked.

Emma laughed again. “That’s right,” she said. “He’s Daddy’s little bagman.”

Great, Michelle thought. How am I supposed to respond to that?

“I don’t know that much about Danny’s business,” she said. “We just started seeing each other.”

“Really?” Emma leaned over the small table. “I could tell you a few things about Danny.” She fumbled with the clasp of her tiny beaded purse and got out a cell phone. “Why don’t you give me your number?”

Michelle hesitated. Was this some kind of setup?

“Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town,” she said. “But maybe we can meet for drinks.”

“I know some fun places,” Emma said with a sly smile. She slid the phone across the table. “Here. You can put the number in for me.”

Michelle thought about entering a wrong number. Emma was trouble, she was pretty sure. But she was also information.

She punched in her number.

“You should call me,” Michelle said, handing the phone back. “That way I’ll have yours.”

“Hey.”

It was Daniel. He stood there frowning. “Emma, what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Danny,” Emma said, straightening up. “I heard it was gonna be a good party.”

“It’s not your kind of thing.” He turned to Michelle. “Sorry that took so long.”

“That’s okay. It’s a nice night.”

“It sure is,” Emma said, giggling. She hopped off the stool.

“Emma, you should get home,” Daniel said.

She stood toe to toe with him.

“And if I don’t, what? You’ll call my father?”

“You want me to?”

Emma hesitated. “No need,” she finally said. “It’s boring here anyway.” She leaned over and kissed Michelle on the cheek. “I’ll see you.”

“Sorry about that,” Daniel said after Emma tottered off.

“That’s okay.” Michelle smiled at him. Keep it light. “She was kind of entertaining.”

“She’s not somebody you want to get involved with.” Daniel stared off into the main room, where Emma had gone. “What did she tell you?”

There was an edge to his voice, and she thought of the day he’d caught her in his apartment, his hand gripping her arm.

She thought about lying. But she was afraid to risk it. She didn’t know what the relationships were between these people, what they might hide, what they might share.

It’s easier to keep track of the truth than a lie
.

“Mmm, let’s see. That our hostess is pretentious, and she’s involved in some sketchy business activities.” She smiled, like it was all a joke.

“Oh, man.” Now Daniel grinned back, and she wondered if his smile was any more sincere than hers. “Emma is such a drama queen.”

“So it’s not true?”

He shrugged. “You know, this isn’t the U.S. Some of the business practices here
are
kind of sketchy.
Mordidas
and all. That’s just how it is.”

“She also said that you work for her father.”

“Yeah. True.” He sighed a little. “He’s kind of high-maintenance, too.”

He put down his beer.

“Let’s get out of here.”

• • •

They walked
through the main room of the party, Daniel nodding now and then at people he knew, and when they were in sight of the door, he circled his arm around her waist, let his hand rest just above her hip. For a moment she leaned against him, her own hand sliding down the curve of his butt, and she thought about when she was in high school, walking through the quad with her boyfriend, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“I never bring anyone to these things,” he whispered in her ear. “Everyone’s looking at you. Wondering who you are.”

She almost
said something on the ride back. Opened her mouth at one point to ask the question, except she couldn’t decide what the question should even be.

Maybe, what exactly does a bagman
do
anyway?

As they crossed the river, heading back into Old Town, Daniel sighed through gritted teeth. “I’m going to have to call this early,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Something’s come up. Work.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “That’s … that’s too bad.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He fell silent.

They’d almost reached Hacienda Carmen when he said, “I’m sorry how things worked out tonight.”

“Me, too,” she said. And she meant it. She was sorry that the party had raised more questions about him than it answered. Sorry that she couldn’t trust him. Sorry that for whatever reason she had the distinct impression she was getting dumped.

What the fuck was she going to say to Gary?

“Do you want to have drinks Friday night?” he asked abruptly. “Maybe meet at El Tiburón?”

It was stupid, the relief that washed over her like cool water.

“I’d like that,” she said.

[CHAPTER THIRTEEN]

She’d turned off her phone
.

More than anything else, she’d needed to sleep. That was the best thing about having her night with Daniel end early—she could just brush her teeth, wash her face, change into her nightclothes, and go to sleep.

She didn’t need Gary waking her up at the crack of dawn playing one of his games, and the iPhone needed to be recharged anyway. She wasn’t getting the battery life out of it that she should.

She still woke up earlier than she would have liked. It was the donkeys again, and an old woman, one of the hotel guests, yelling out to someone that she’d take her coffee in the patio, should she bring up a Danish?

Michelle sighed and lay in bed a while longer. Eventually she would have to get up. Do something.

Turn on her phone. Call Gary.

She didn’t know what she was going to say to him.

Maybe things weren’t the way they seemed to be at the party. Maybe Daniel’s business was completely legitimate.

It sure didn’t look like it.

Even so, she wondered if it still might not have been better to take the risk, to tell him what was going on.

I need more time with him, she thought. More time to decide.

She wasn’t seeing Daniel until tomorrow night. What was she supposed to do in the meantime? Play tourist? Or, more accurately, play “woman who was trying to figure out her next step in life,” since that seemed to be the role she’d adopted now.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. She could feel the pull of despair, like a physical weight dragging her down, and she just wanted to surrender to it.

Not an option, she told herself.

Maybe go to the beach. Call Gary from there. The beach felt more private than Hacienda Carmen.

She did some yoga. Took a shower. Put on a pair of shorts and a blouse over her bathing suit and went downstairs. Paused at the gate, looking up and down the street, in case the policeman was waiting for her there.

No police car in sight.

She went
to a restaurant on the beach, one that was unattached to a hotel. The Beach Club, it was called. You could have a drink and a snack and sit there all day if you wanted.

She had her choice of the beige beach chairs. She picked a lounger under an umbrella that sat at the edge of the rise of soft sand, so she could look at the ocean unimpeded.

She ordered a coffee, some yogurt and fruit, and a bottle of water, then got out her book and pretended to read. She’d swapped her bread-baking book at the front desk of Hacienda Carmen for this one, a British mystery set in Cornwall. Better that than the romance novel featuring vampires.

She couldn’t read it. There was no point even pretending to try.

You have to call him, she told herself.

Finally she powered up her phone.

Three messages from “Ted Banks,” her fake attorney. One from her actual attorney. A couple from friends. And a string of messages from her sister.

Call Gary, she told herself. Get it over with.

Instead she watched the waves and sipped her coffee.

Five minutes later her phone rang.

Ted Banks. Of course.

“Hey there, Michelle! I was getting a little worried.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot to charge my phone.”

“Look, it’s real important that you stay in close contact. Guys like Danny, I told you, you don’t want to take any chances.”

“I thought you told me I didn’t have anything to worry about. That it was safe.”

“That’s right. If you do exactly what I tell you to do.” A pause. “Have you been doing what I told you to do, Michelle?”

“I …” She closed her eyes. “I’m trying. I’m spending time with him. Isn’t that what you want?”

“So tell me about it.”

“We went to a cocktail party downtown. I met a bunch of people.”

“Did you get pictures?”

“No, it wasn’t—”

“You have some problem with the camera?”

She swallowed. “No, I just didn’t … I didn’t have a chance to use it.”

She heard him sigh. Once. Then again.

“I think we need to have a talk.”

A talk
. What did that mean? He’d just hung up after he said it. Hadn’t set a time or a place to meet.

She stayed at the beach a while longer. The beach felt safe. Away from Hacienda Carmen, where Gary had installed her, where there might be people watching her. Away from the streets, where the police car was.

“Señorita? Jewelry?”

A vendor had approached her chair—a young man a with a wooden display case.