Revenge (14 page)

The share a laugh. The tension in the room recedes.

My shoulders relax. Good. We’re all on the same team now.

Team Joe
. Let’s vindicate my dad.

Effie points with one wrinkle
d
, twisted finger. Her knuckles are bulbous, like small peas stuck under the skin. She traces the blueprints again, then looks at me. Her eyes are bloodshot, but determi
n
ed.

“Figure out what that line is. Once you do, I think you’ll have more answers.”

Mark’s walkie-talkie screeches. He stands, walks outside, and talks into it.

My phone buzzes again.

Turn on the televis
i
on
, the text from Elaine says.

“Turn on the TV,” Mark says suddenly.

Effie reaches for the remote control, pushes some buttons. A cable news channel comes on.

Helicopters.
T
he desert. A van.

Then the words underneath the scene hit my brain before I hear the announcer.

“Two more bodies found. Missing women confirmed among the dead.” I don’t want to hear the names. I don’t want to hear the names. I don’t want to hear the—

“Aureliana Diaz and Juana Part
a
n are confirmed dead in a—”

Mark jabs the Power button to turn it off.

I reach for my coffee and drink it, cold and nasty with gin. I need it.

“Fuck,” Mark mutters under his breath.

“Motherfuckers,” Effie adds.

We both look at her in shock.

“What? Your generation thinks it invented profanity.
P
lease,” she says with a dismissive wrist flick.

“Let’s go,” Mark says. “You okay to drive?”

I nod. “You?”

He looks at his di
s
carded coffee. “Yeah. Fine.”

Bzzzzz.

His phone. He reads the text.

“FUCK!” he says, loud. “Gotta report to the station. Big meeting. So much for
us and
tonight,” he says qu
ie
tly, giving me a meaningful look filled with regret.

“
I
t’s okay,” I say. I mean it. “This is more important.”

“
Do you mind?” Effie mutters. “I haven’t had sex in twelve years, since my Milton died. I don’t need to watch you two schedule it in my own house.” She gives me a pat on the arm and shuffles toward the front door.
 

M
ark blushes. Blushes! I’ve never seen that before.

We make our exit. Effie shoves the bluep
rints
in my hands. “
B
e careful with these.” She looks at Mark. “You have a week or so of lead time on this. The entire water rights committee will know about it soon.”

We leave. Effie shuts the door and spends the next two minutes locking so many locks it sounds like someone’s tap dancing on her door.

“
What a strange old bat,” Mark says. There’s a tone of admiration there.
 

I punch him lightly. “Don’t ca
l
l her that! Effie’s great.”

“She sure does love her gin.” He makes a face and shakes his head. “There’s a taste I can’t get out of my mouth.”

I stand on tiptoes and give him a kiss.
H
e turns the light peck into a deep, soulful French kiss. He leaves me breathless when he finally pulls away.

“Ah. Much better. Now I just taste you.”

“Get a room!” Effie’s muffled shout startles us. We look up to see her behind the window, the curtains pulled back. She’s frowning and shaking her head.

M
ark bursts into deep laughter. I join him as we walk to our respective cars.
I wonder what it’s like to love someone and be married to them for most of your life, then lose them? Losing Mark three years ago was hard enough. I can’t imagine spending four or five decades with him and having him die.
 

Then again, that’s life. If you’re lucky that’s how it goes, right? I hope Effie and Milton had lots of love while he w
a
s still alive.

“Hey,” Mark says with a sigh as we get to my car.
I
t’s full nighttime now, the moon hiding behind a thin layer of clouds. The moonlight that shines on us is gauzy, a haze that’s
a
s unclear as my mind.

I lean against the driver’s door. He presses against me. The heat of his body makes me go weak.

“I want you to sleep in my cottage tonight,” he says, fishing in his pocket for a key that he hands me.

Dumbfounded, I look up at him. The metal is warm to the touch as he places it in my palm.

“Huh?”

His expression is so serious. “I don’t like the idea of you alone in that trailer. All it took was a pair of bolt cutters for me to be able to break in that night when you were screaming in your sleep. That means anyone could break in before you realized it.” His nostrils flare and fists tighten. “And I won’t allow that.”

“But that’s where I live!”

“I know,” he says in a soothing voice. “And I’m not trying to change that.”

I can feel the word
yet
hanging in the air between us.

My heart speeds up.

“Just for tonight.” He’s not asking. There is no plea in his voice. He’s not even trying to persuade me. This is just being laid out as something he wants.

I slide my fingers and thumb along both sides of the key. His hands rest on my shoulders now. Mark’s bent down
a
little, protective and curled around me.

I look up.

“Okay. Fine. I will.”

His face breaks into a relieved grin.

“Good. I’m glad you agreed,” he says as he gives me a quick kiss and begins to walk away.

“What if I hadn’t?” I call out as he closes his door, his arm resting against the open-windowed door.

He
grin
s. “I’d have had to learn what it’s like to unlock my own front door while carrying you, kicking and screaming, into my house.”

Mark’s
p
alm thumps the outside of his car door and he drives off, laughing.

“
Help me! Help! Carrie!” Amy’s cries for help sound faint, like a trickle of water down a long, tall mountain. I can hear her desperation, the cries making my heart explode in my chest. Electric shocks pump through my veins.
 

“
Where are you?” Amy calls out. I follow the sound of her voice. I’m in a tunnel, one that narrows as I continue down it. The insides are slick with slime and wetness. As I continue, I have to duck. The tunnel is a pipe, and it’s getting narrower and narrower. The sound of water rushes everywhere.
 

I hear a squeak and see a rat at my feet. My scream dies in my throat. The light fades more and more as I move toward the sound of Amy’s voice.

“Quickly! He’s coming!” she begs.

“Who?” I ask.

But she doesn’t answer.

Now I am hunched over, crawling on hands and knees.
T
he muck is half a foot deep. Everything smells like burning metal.

I see the outline of a door, far in the distance.

“Help! Hurry, Carrie!” Amy shouts.

“Crawl to me!” I
plead
as I get close to the door. She sounds like she’s on the other side. All the edges are shining, like there’s a bright light behind it.

I try to open it. The doorknob twists easily.

And when I pry it open, I find Amy.

Armless and legless.

Hanging from the end of a magician’s wand, choking.

“Carrie! Carrie!” Strong hands, warm and powerful, are pushing my shoulders. I open my eyes and sit up, scrabbling across the bed backwards like a crab. My hand goes back for one more movement to get away and finds empty air.

I pitch backward, falling off the bed and onto my shoulder, then head, then hip.
The three-part pain jolts me, and I groan, rolling onto my side.
 

The room is dark, stuffy and frightening.

And I swear I hear Amy’s voice,
still
calling my name.

“You were dreaming again,” Mark says, climbing off the bed. Gentle hands touch my neck and back. “Are you okay? That sounded like it hurt.”

“Amy,” I groan. “Where is she? Where are her arms and legs?”

I’m pulled up and my face is in Mark’s chest suddenly.
H
e’s shirtless, and my cheek presses against his pec.
H
e b
e
gins to rock me like one would a small child.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” he croons.

“But Amy?”

He sighs. “
W
e still haven’t found her.”

“I did.
I
n my dream. But then when I got to her it was t-t-t-ooo l-l-l-ate,” I sob.
I snake my arms around his waist and hold on. Mark is so warm, his body hard and cut. He cradles me. My head pounds from the fall, and my shoulder feels twisted. I squirm, finally finding a comfortable spot.
 

“I’m okay,” I say, my tears thick in the back of my throat. “
I
t was just a dream.”

“You have a lot of nightmares,” Mark says softly.

“I have a lot of them, yes,” I say, nodding. “My roommates in Oklahoma used to just bang on the door with a shoe to wake me up when I screamed.”

“Oof,” he says, stroking my hair. “I wish I could have been with you, in Oklahoma. I would have helped you.”

My heart feels like he’s squeezing it. “
O
h.” I don’t know what to say.

I would have loved that. To have a friend there. Someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be all right. I never had that. For three years I was all alon
e
, scrambling to figure out how to help my dad. How would li
f
e have been different if Mark had been there? A DEA agent fighting for Dad might have made all the difference in the world.

Dad might still be alive.

I sniff and run the heel of my hand up my nose. “I need a tissue,” I say, standing awkwardly. My hip’s going to hurt tomorrow, and my shoulder will ache, but otherwise, I’m fine. The nightmare won’t leave my head, though. I look at the bedroom door, which is closed. A cold wave of na
u
s
e
a pours through me.

Mark walks across the room and comes back with a box of tissues. “Here.”

“Tha
n
ks.” I blow my nose. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“I live here,” he says slowly, a half-grin dancing on his lips.

I make a low chuckle, surprised by my own stupidity. “Right. Duh.” My eyes comb over him. “And you’re half naked because...”

“Because you interrupted me from becoming naked
all the way
,” he says, leaning against his dresser and folding his arms across his chest.

My eyes dart to the waistband of his uniform pants.

T
hey’re unbuttoned.

Ah. I see.

“You were crawling into bed?”

“No. I was about to take a shower and then crawl into bed.” He walks across the room. “Care to join me in the shower?”

“That shower isn’t big enough for
two platypuses, much less two humans,” I joke. The eerie feeling from the dream is fading, thank goodness.
 

Mark’s undressed body is making my heart skip beats for decidedly more delicious reasons.

“
We could try...” he says, stripping naked in one swift move.
 

“Oh, God,” I say without realizing it, the words out before I can think. He’s unbelievably built, muscled and tall, so beautiful he makes me forget the horrors of the day.

“Besides, I have a bone to pick with you,” Mark says.

I look down. “I think you mean you have a boner to—”

I’m in his arms and his mouth is on mine before I can say the next syllable.
I drag my hands across the thick expanse of his back. It’s like stroking granite covered in tanned silk. His mouth is hot and he tastes like coffee and spice, his tongue teasing, willing me to plead for more.
 

I’m wet in seconds, throbbing and wanting him, me, a bed, and the next twelve hours.

What we get, instead, is a text.

His phone buzzes in his pants on the floo
r
and he groans.

“Damn it!” he says, looking at me with more lust in his eyes than I’ve ever seen. “Fuck it. I’m ignoring it.” He cups my ass and pulls me up against him. I feel his hardness against my thigh as he reaches for the waistband of my pants and begins pulling them off. I fell asleep in his bed after taking a quick shower and I’m wearing his pajamas.

They pool at my feet with one light tug from him.

Bzzzzzz.

“NO!” he shouts, pulling back, hot and pacing like a frustrated animal.

“You have to answer it,” I say sadly. Every cell in me pulses for him. “It could be another woman.”

H
e gives me a sharp look.

“No, no, I mean another kidnapped woman. Not another
woman
woman.”

We both snicker.

“I hate being responsible sometimes,” he says with a sigh. As he bends down, the full power of his thighs is on display, flexing and tight.

H
e looks at his phone and freezes.

“
I
t’s my director.”

“Director?”

“At the DEA. Something big’s happened.” He
yank
s open a dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of khakis. Mark starts to get dressed.

“What?”

That uncertain look passes over his face.

“Don’t lie to me,” I insist.

“Sometimes I
tru
ly can’t tell you information, Carrie,” he says, almost apologetic. “I
am
a federal agent. Information that is classified can’t be shared.”

H
e has a point. I don’t like it, but the man has a point.

“Fine. Then tell me what you
can
share.”

“
More information on the logistics of how El Brujo is smuggling women across the border. That’s all the text says. If we can figure out the route, we can cut it off. I gotta go.”
 

“Where?”

“To D.C.”

“D.C.? As in
Washington
, D.C.?”

He just nods, grabbing clothes and throwing them in a small travel bag.