Chase hands the matchbook back to me after using one to fire up the grill. “Here,” he says.
I take it and shove it in my back pocket. “Thanks.”
Allie points to a cutting board and a tackle box. I open the tackle box. It’s filled with utensils and sharp knives.
“Clever,” I say.
She shrugs. “Small spaces. You learn to be creative. Plus we move every few weeks, so…”
The back of my neck begins to tingle.
“You move every few weeks?”
All three of them suddenly look very, very uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” Chase says. He frowns and looks away. “It’s not ideal.” He seems like a man of few words.
Allie bites the inside of her cheek and inhales slowly. “We’re trying to stay under the radar.”
Mark looks pained.
“Not for much longer. Just until Galt calls off his guys and I get my director to understand that we’re so close to El Brujo. So damn close,” he says.
“How close are you?” Allie asks. The hiss of burgers on the grill and the instant scent makes my mouth water.
Mark looks at me. “Carrie. Tell them the name of the guy who was training the dogs at the dean’s house.” He looks at me pointedly.
“You mean Frenchie?”
Allie goes pale. Chase threads his arm around her waist and pulls her to him.
“That close, huh?” he says to Mark. His chest expands with the kind of righteous anger a man shows when he’s defending someone.
I sense something’s changed. They’re all so serious. “Why is Frenchie so important? He was creepy. Kept looking at me like he wanted to…” My voice fades out as Mark’s expression changes.
He looks murderous.
“He what? Like he wanted to what?”
“Nothing,” I say in a small voice.
Allie’s head is tipped down, but her eyes lift up as she looks at me. “It runs in the family,” she whispers. Chase just shakes his head and breaks away from her to tend to the grill.
“What runs in the family?” I ask.
She looks at Mark, then me. “You’ll find out.” She shakes her head.
“Carrie,” Mark growls, pinning his hands on his hips like he’s holding himself back from running away to kill someone. “What did Frenchie say to you?”
“He called me ‘Girlie Girl’, and—”
Allie drops into a chair, eyes as wide as saucers as she watches me.
“And he talked about my sweet ass.”
Now Chase looks angry and moves closer to Mark.
“And just,” I shudder. “Just looked at me like, well, like if no one else had been around….”
Allie makes a compassionate face, stands up, and gives me a hug. “Sounds like Frenchie,” she says.
“Who is he?”
“My dad’s right-hand man,” Chase says in a bitter tone. “And nothing but bad news.”
“He was also Chase’s friend,” Allie adds.
“But not any more,” Chase interjects. “No way.”
I look at Mark, who has calmed down slightly.
He stares at me. “Frenchie is the nickname for Antonio Michael Thibeau. Also goes by Lemeaux. He’s a serial killer and a coyote. We’ve been trying to get our hands on him for years.”
“A coyote?” I ask, my head hurting.
“Yeah, coyote. He smuggles people across the Mexican border,” Mark answers. “Mostly women for the sex trade. He’s also the major enforcer for Galt.”
“Your dad.”
“Yes,” Chase and Mark say in unison.
“What’s Frenchie doing with some university dean?” Allie asks. She has a huge knife in her hand and is cutting the watermelon.
Her entire forearm is one big, angry scar. It looks like someone stuck dirty pink bubble gum all over her, from wrist to elbow.
She looks up and catches me staring at her. “Oh, my scar?”
Mark and Chase immediately wince. It’s like watching twins react at the same time.
Her eyes flicker over to Chase nervously, then back to me. “I got that when Mark and Chase helped me escape from El Brujo. I fell off a moving motorcycle and my leg got caught. Burned my arm on a piece of the engine.”
“Oh, God.” I can’t help but gasp. “That must hurt so much.”
She shrugs. “It did. Not any more. Now it’s just tight and, well, ugly.” She gives a self-deprecating laugh that makes my heart hurt.
“Four skin grafts,” Chase grinds out through a clenched jaw. “Fucking Frenchie. And El Brujo. All of them. They all did that to Allie.”
“And us,” Mark adds, quiet. “If we’d been more careful—”
“No!” Allie insists. “You two saved me. By the time you got me out of the motorcycle club compound, it was almost too late.” She looks at me with troubled eyes. “My stepdad and Mark and Chase’s dad were rival drug dealers. My stepdad sold me to El Brujo to pay off a drug debt. Frenchie and Galt were about to deliver me to El Brujo when Mark and Chase saved me.”
“And your mom,” Mark adds with a tight smile. “She’s pretty amazing. She helped, too.”
“Yeah,” Allie adds with her own smile.
“It sounds like there’s a huge story behind all this,” I say, sitting down. I’m suddenly exhausted.
“Isn’t there always? Most of us live lives that are way more complex than they appear from the outside,” Mark says, popping open another beer.
Chase snorts.
Allie giggles.
I just steal the beer out of Mark’s hand and start drinking. He’s right, but that’s a truth that takes a lot out of you.
Fifteen minutes later we’re digging in to a great, simple meal. Chase and Allie are clearly in love. Mark’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him in a while. As we eat, I think about all the unresolved issues between us.
I was talking to Eric by the side of the road.
I went to the Landau house alone.
And yet…we’re fine. He giving me these little looks that make it clear. We are fine. We may have some issues between us, but in the end, everything is okay.
Everything between us is better than okay, even if the rest of our world is falling apart.
I just got fired. I’ve been accused of nearly killing a dog that had illegal drugs in it. Mark’s under suspicion for Eric’s mysterious disappearance. His director at the DEA is about to take him off this deep undercover case he’s worked on for four years.
Dean Landau may be El Brujo and he just lied about me to the chief of police.
Who believed him.
The bite of burger in my mouth suddenly tastes like dirt. I feel the blood run down, down, down, my body moving slowly. Allie and Chase are telling Mark some story about Chase’s nursing classes. Something about learning Spanish so he can work in hospitals.
It feels like they’re talking underwater.
“What’s wrong?” Allie asks. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“I just—I’m realizing how much trouble we’re in.” I give Mark a helpless look.
“We’ll be okay,” he says, putting his arm around me. I lean into him, wanting his words to be true.
“I can’t believe he set me up for what happened with Wizard,” I say, turning my face into his shoulder. He’s so warm and big.
“Wizard?” Chase asks, popping a piece of watermelon in Allie’s mouth. She giggles. Some of the juice runs down her chin and he licks it off. She giggles even harder. They share a look that makes me snuggle even more with Mark.
“Wizard’s the name of the dog that the dean adopted from the shelter where I volunteer,” I explain.
Chase freezes and gives Mark a pointed look.
“You’re joking.”
Mark frowns. “No, she’s not. Why?”
“You speak Spanish?” Chase’s entire body is rigid. He’s rising off his seat, like he’s about to dash off into battle.
We both shake our heads.
Allie clears her throat. I lo
ok at her. She’s gone white.
“Um, guys. The word ‘wizard’ in Spanish is brujo. El Brujo.”
Chapter Fifty
“Oh, my God.” My stomach squeezes. Claudia’s words come to me.
“Wizard. It’s Papa’s nickname.”
“Carrie, you look like you’re about to throw up,” Mark declares, caressing my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Claudia said that’s the dean’s nickname.”
Mark goes rigid and pulls away from me. “What?”
“When I told her the pit bull’s name, she said ‘Wizard. It’s Papa’s nickname.’”
“Fuck,” Chase says, the word coming out of him like a tire with a slow leak.
“I suspected it for a long time, but…” Mark reaches for the phone he uses for DEA business and stands. “Excuse me. Allie, can you help Carrie?”
No one says a word. We all understand as he walks away, tapping his phone furiously. I imagine his director’s going to hear a few F-bombs herself shortly.
“Carrie, what do you need?” Allie asks.
“A time machine?”
She gives me a wry grin. “We could all use one of those.”
“How about a beer?” Chase offers.
“I could drink a case or ten.”
He pops another one open and hands it to me. “Mark said he needed to borrow our tent. I’m guessing you don’t need to drive anywhere.” He winks at Allie. “And neither do we.”
Color comes back to her face at that comment.
I drink deeply, enjoying the slightly uncomfortable feel of the carbonated beer going in me. Mark’s back is to us and he paces in front of his car. He’s clearly arguing, but quietly. He runs his hand through his hair. He’s tense, but firm.
Dusk is coming soon. The day feels so long. It feels like I just woke up.
I still can’t believe that in two weeks I’ve managed to get fired from the job that brought me home. The job that was supposed to give me stability. A degree. A future.
The job that was supposed to give me answers.
And closure.
I stand, suddenly loose. My skin feels like there are fire ants under it. Chase and Allie are nice, but I need a few minutes to myself. Alone.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announce.
They nod, and soon I’m running on the sand, my tennis shoes filling with grit. I don’t care. I reach the wet sand and kick off my shoes, peel off my socks, and wade in to my ankles. The water feels like a mother’s kiss.
I breathe in deeply and let time disappear.
I have no idea how long I’m here. Too long, yet not long enough.
Mark appears. I feel him behind me. I’m watching the sun set. A blood-red orb is half gone on the horizon. The sky has an eerie, dove-grey shade to it.
“Hi,” he says softly against my shoulder. A gentle kiss punctuates the greeting.
I inhale again and breathe out. The saltwater scent and the crashing sound of waves fueled by the tides feels like a womb.
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Me neither.”
“We can be not-okay together.”
“Sounds good to me, Carrie.” He pulls me back against his chest and I sink into it. His arms wrap around me. We stand there, facing the ocean. Facing our past. Facing the demons that threaten everything.
The red sun disappears, a final wink its goodbye.
The wind picks up. I start to shiver. He tightens his hot grip around me. How can he be so warm all the time?
Mark spins me around and gives me a sweet kiss. “This is how I imagined us. When I learned you were coming home. I want more of this, Carrie. I want a normal life with you. Barbecues and walks on the beach. I want to settle down and create a home. A family. A life. A real one.”
I look up, startled.
“Not a life where I have to lie for a living. And certainly not a life where we’re set up for crimes we didn’t commit by men like El Brujo.”
He pulls back and wraps one arm around my waist, guiding me away from shore. “I set up the tent.”
A zing of thrill runs from my belly down. “You did?”
“Chase showed me a little alcove where no one will bother us. They probably can’t even see us, it’s so well hidden. He said we’ll have plenty of privacy.” His implication is clear.
Privacy is really a code word for intimacy.
When we get to the tent I start giggling.
It’s literally the size of two sleeping bags with a tiny roof.
“Is this a tent or a kid’s toy?” I joke.
“It’s a two-person pup tent. Only the best for my honey,” he teases.
“It’s the Ritz-Carlton of tents,” I answer. The wind kicks up and I shudder.
“C’mon. Crawl in,” he urges. “It’s warm in here. I’ll heat you up.”
Oh, he just did.
By the time I’m snuggled in next to him, his hands are everywhere. Our mouths tangle in a kind of desperate passion that strips away any tentativeness. We know exactly what we want. Mark knows exactly how to touch me.
The first time we made love he was tender. Careful. A gentleman with a healthy appreciation for my innocence.
The second time we made love we just had fun.
This time, it’s all about the passion. Tenderness and gentility be damned.
It’s time to get hot, bothered, and funky. His hands come as close as possible to ripping my clothes off me, the gentle snap of my bra and the sound of it pinging against the tent flap making me laugh.
I can’t laugh, though—not really. My mouth is too occupied by his tongue, his lips, the not-so-soft bites of my lower lip and his groans making me wet and ready.
“I can’t believe I went all those years without having sex,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“I can’t believe I went twenty-two years without it,” I reply.
He laughs, the sound a low rumble that makes my breasts bounce. He’s pressed so hard against me that any time he moves, I do, too.
“How did you manage?” I ask as I reach down and stroke him.
His answer comes out in a sharp inhale. “Have you seen my right hand? I could arm wrestle a cow and win.”
And those are the last words we say, thank goodness.
He bends down, taking one nipple between his lips and nipping just hard enough to make me plume with arousal. All the blood in me rushes between my legs. The air is cool. Mark has sleeping bags under us. We’re a tumbling pile of naked limbs, his body a dim outline as the fading light makes it hard to see.
I don’t need to see him as long as I can feel him.
My hand strokes him, enjoying the reaction of his thick shaft, growing from my attentions. My other hand reaches down to appreciate the fine lines of his muscled ass. I am bold, enjoying the exploration. No more shy Carrie. I’m primal, nude and enflamed, ready to match his touch, his kiss, his lick, his moan.
We’re equals in every way.
I kiss his neck, then make a trail down his breast bone, pausing at the spot beneath his navel where his hair begins to thicken. His abs tighten and go concave. His hisses, then groans as I go lower.
“Oh, God, Carrie,” he murmurs as my hand continues to stroke him. My mouth seeks to replace my hand. I’ve never done this. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I am driven to try. To give him pleasure. To make him lose control.
To have him feel as good as he makes me feel.
Following instinct, I take him gently in my mouth, careful to avoid my teeth. He’s rock-hard, yet soft at the same time. He groans. I take him in deeper, my hands focused on holding him steady, my mouth unsure but determined.
“This is…oh, man,” he whispers, his body stretched out beneath me, all muscle, bone, and pure power.
He arches as I pull up, then move down, the motion wet and wild. And then suddenly he’s moving me, twisting me, positioning me so I’m over his face, his mouth rising up to�
�
“Oh, Mark,” I moan, his tongue touching me where I’m pulsing. We’re giving each other pleasure, our bodies twinned, mouths giving as we each take. It feels equal and awkward. I try to give and accept at the same time, but I feel like I’m failing at both. I wriggle to move away from his mouth, wanting only one feeling at a time.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up, caressing my shoulder and back.
“It’s, um…too much. Too much sensation. I want to make you feel.”
“Oh, no worries, Carrie,” he says with an impassioned look. “We’re about to feel more than enough.”
I’m suddenly on my back, Mark over me, his mouth on mine. I taste my own musk, his tongue eager and filling, his hands claiming me.
I open my legs to welcome him, wanting this now. The sense of urgency is so overwhelming. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t have him in me.
“Already?” he asks, poised at the brink, ready to enter me and make this divine.
“Yes,” I whisper, arching up, guiding him in. The rush of skin against skin, of the soft and the wet and the hot and the hard, all blend into one sensation.
“But I want you to come,” he says against my earlobe, the words a demand.
“I will,” I say, uncertain. As he moves slowly, then faster, something begins to build deep inside me. It’s both part of me and something outside myself. When he thrusts, it’s like he’s pulling the world into me.
The flow of our skin against skin, our blood pulsing to find each other, our mouths kissing sweet and hard, all makes this feeling grow. I become nothing but glorious light, the pleasure infusing every cell of my body. I feel everything. The brush of his thighs against my inner knee. The touch of his fingers against my cheek bone. The push of his ass as he clenches and presses me into the soft blankets beneath us.
The slick of sweat against sweat. How my breasts are flattened against his pecs. The sense of belly against belly, of bodies struggling to touch at every point possible.
The rhythmic movement of his body within mine begins to mimic the ocean’s waves. I feel it, this communion. We become part of nature, the earth our guide to divine love. All of the love within me for Mark becomes a part of my body.
And we use our bodies to show this love.
His neck tenses, his words tight as he moans my name. “Are you close?” he asks.
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