by Logan Fox
“Coffee,” he said.
Cora didn’t look up from her inspection of the menu. “Black, no sugar. Some dry toast on the side?”
He grunted, and went to the other corner of the small restaurant, leaning his hip against the wall as he stared out the window and dialed Lars. It would be too risky to try to phone Swan; if he’d somehow been compromised then whoever had his cell phone would be able to track Kristen’s number.
But Swan might be back on US soil by now. Which meant he could be rid of Cora today still. Rid of her smell, rid of the taste that persisted in his mouth.
“Hello?” Lars answered warily.
“It’s me.”
“Milo, my man,” came Lars’s cheery response. “Happy birthday, old man.”
“Old man? I’m a year older than you.”
Lars chuckled and then cut off abruptly. “Hey, I thought you were going off grid?”
“I was hoping you’d gotten hold of Swan so I can arrange a drop-off.”
“No luck,” Lars said. “But I’ll keep trying, of course.”
“Fuck,” Finn muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
“Everything okay?”
“No. She’s…” Finn heard footsteps and turned to watch the waitress approaching their table. Cora leaned forward and asked the waitress something, and then pointed at the menu.
Jesus, the girl was obsessed with food.
“When I took this gig,” Finn said, “I thought it would just be escorting a soft target for a shifty businessman.”
“Sounds like our thing.”
“Right? But it’s not. This is way above our league.”
“What do you mean?” Alarm tightened Lars’s voice. “You got someone following you or something?”
“Have a feeling I do, but if so, then they’re good. Also, Cora saw someone in a red cap more than once, but could have been—”
“Cora?” Lars asked slowly.
“The girl. The soft target.”
“The girl Cora,” Lars repeated. “Why am I suddenly getting a fuckton of strange vibes from you, Milo?”
“Because you’re full of shit,” Finn snapped.
“Am I?” Lars asked with a laugh in his voice. “You sound tense. I don’t like it when you sound tense. People die when you get tense. You’re not having flashbacks or anything, are you?”
Finn let out a long breath, tightening his grip on the phone until it creaked. “There’s something about her you don’t know.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about this girl Cora,” Lars replied dryly. “Care to fill me in?”
“Not on this line.”
“Jesus,” Lars said, sounding frustrated. “Well, get to the safe house then, and you can tell me in person.”
“You’re coming through? When?”
“Ah, you miss me,” Lars said through a laugh. “Sunday, probably. This babysitting gig just turned into a weekend affair, no pun intended. This guy has more mistresses than I have fingers and toes.”
“Sunday?” Finn licked his lips and glanced at Cora over his shoulder. The waitress took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Cora. Head tilted up, she listened as the waitress chatted animatedly about something. There was no fear in her eyes, no frown on her face. She laughed and happened to look across at him. Her laugh faded into a smile. Then she frowned. Finn looked away.
He couldn’t have her until Sunday. “Why can’t you be there tomorrow?”
“Listen, birthday boy—”
“Fuck my birthday,” Finn cut in. “We need to get this gig done. I need her gone.”
“So take her to the guy you were supposed to take her to,” Lars said. “I mean, fuck, Milo…what do you want me to say?”
Finn gave his head a shake and pressed his fist against the window, leaning against it. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until Sunday until we can uncomplicate it together.” Lars let out a noisy breath. “Look, I’ll try and get there sooner if I can, okay? Just…just don’t kill anyone before then, all right? Go to your happy place.”
Lars ended the call.
Finn sank into the booth across from Cora, took out the cell phone’s battery, and then tossed its pieces back into his pocket. Cora’s hand had started to shake, so he took the folded paper she’d been holding and smoothed it open on the table.
Turkey Creek Hot Springs
Indulge your senses at our geothermal hot springs
* Guided day-hikes
* Pre-packed picnic baskets
* Tent rentals
There was a number and an address at the bottom.
“Everything okay?” Cora asked quietly, setting her menu down.
He looked down, tapped the pamphlet, and then leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. “No. But I’m assuming you’re used to that by now.”
18
Fucking Roses
Before Cora could ask Finn what the hell kind of a statement that had been, the waitress turned up the sound on the television bolted to the wall above the register.
“…brutal attack is the latest in a string of targeted hits that have taken place the past few days across Sinaloa.”
Cora’s head swung like it was attached to invisible strings that someone else was pulling. It didn’t look like the same news channel as before — at least, this presenter was a man. The byline read:
Cartel violence claims eleven at funeral
Her stomach twisted so tight, saliva rushed hot and bitter into her mouth. She was vaguely aware of something gripping her wrist — the fact that she’d rushed to her feet — but sensation, thought, anything except that television screen was as insubstantial as coffee froth.
“Witness reports claim that twenty men armed with assault rifles and machine guns stormed the funeral of Benito Casimiro Rivera and fired indiscriminately into the crowd of mourners. While many were injured, we can confirm only eleven fatalities as of this time.”
“…Cora!”
She jerked and tugged her wrist free where Finn had been holding it. “Papá—”
“We don’t know that,” Finn said, standing. Trying to block out the television, and succeeding. But he couldn’t block out the sound.
“This comes after months of tense rivalry between the three largest cartels in Mexico—”
“Cora.”
She blinked hard. What were the chances this was a random attack? Zero.
She could see confusion in Finn’s eyes.
“…the Plata o Plomo cartel, El Calacas Vivo cartel, and the Sinaloa cartel, all of—”
“We have to go,” Finn said quietly. “Grab your bag.”
“I’ve ordered already,” she said woodenly.
“…five cartel members that were killed in last month’s shootout at a local—”
Finn made to grab her. Cora grabbed his wrist and then immediately released him.
Muscles moved along his jaw as he clenched his teeth and looked away from her. Why was he so angry? No… it wasn’t anger. Energy poured from him, something jittery and strong. Anxiety?
She couldn’t imagine him being anxious. He oozed confidence from every pore. He turned and left the diner, and she had no choice but to hurry after him. The waitress came out of the kitchen as they reached the exit and her permanent smile flashed away. “Hey! Where are you going?”
Finn moved faster. Cora threw the woman an apologetic look as she hurried after him.
“Hey!”
She pressed her lips into a line, throwing a quick look over her shoulder as Finn guided her away from the diner. The waitress had decided not to follow them, standing at the restaurant’s door and staring after them with a deep frown on her face. Cora caught movement from the corner of her eye. Someone was getting out of a dark car parked about a hundred feet away from the cafe.
A man with a red cap.
She grabbed the front of Finn’s shirt, twisting the fabric in her fist. He made a surprised soun
d and looked down at her, slowing.
“He’s here, Finn.” Her voice sounded thick and unnatural to her ears. “The guy from the inn.”
His head whipped around. “Fuck.” The sound vibrated through her hand.
Finn turned, dodging through a gap in a wire link fence tracing the perimeter of the cafe. Cora barely caught his hand in time, but then held on with all her might. Finn ran them through dust and scree, and behind a flat-roofed barn partially in the shadow of a pair of pine trees.
When Cora turned her head, she couldn’t see anyone following.
They emerged on a single-lane dirt road, sunlight blazing down on them. Finn paused for a second, ducking to look back through the trees.
She leaned against the side of a pale brick building, trying to catch her breath. Her nose ached, and her legs felt wobbly.
From the run… or from fear?
How had he found them? It was like he’d been waiting for them to leave the restaurant. Which meant he’d probably followed them all the way and seen them go inside. The skin between her shoulders crawled. How long had he been watching them?
“We have to lose our tail.”
She turned and looked at Finn as he walked up to her. “What?”
He tilted his head, looking at a sign a few feet away.
Turkey Creek Rentals.
His eyes were on something behind her; when she turned, she saw he was looking through the window of the shop she was leaning against. She straightened, frowned at him. Finn walked closer, eyes narrowed. One hand hung by his side, drawing into a fist, releasing, closing again. The other was still on his shoulder.
“Think you can hike in those boots?” he asked.
* * *
Turkey Creek Rentals had everything he needed; a tent, hiking gear, supplies. All unaffordable. He’d spent almost all the money he’d taken from those old folks in their motorhome. There was no time to pick-pocket someone, either. Drawing cash would be too risky; if the cartel had law enforcement in their pocket — which the news report announcing Cora’s disappearance proved they did — what was to say they didn’t have a Fed or two? Someone capable of tracking his bank account, getting a notification if he drew money, getting his exact location.
He strode through the two aisles fitted in the middle of the shop. Just the essentials then. Waterproof matches. A small stainless steel pot. Food.
“You headed up to the hot springs?” the store owner called out.
Finn nodded at the man across the top of the aisle.
“Been there before?”
He shook his head. The store owner beckoned him, his oily smile taking in Cora’s back as she amused herself in front of the aisle holding the sleeping bags and tents. “You want some alone time with your girl?” the man said in a stage whisper that was anything but.
How the fuck was he supposed to answer that? He settled for silence.
“Got a picnic basket that’ll have her panties off in three seconds flat. Champagne, chocolates—” the man waggled his eyebrows and leaned in close. “Even some roses to scatter about, real romantic like.”
Finn gritted his teeth. “Had enough of fucking roses, thanks.”
“Sure? Just a bottle of champagne, then?”
“Don’t drink.”
The man’s frown made it clear what he thought about Finn’s chances without alcohol. “Okay, just thought I’d mention it.”
“Thanks,” Finn muttered.
“Not gonna get a lot of privacy up there today, though,” the man said, starting to ring up Finn’s purchases.
“Yeah?”
“Creek gets real crowded in the afternoons. The main hot springs, too.” The man leaned forward, elbows on the table again and beckoned Finn.
Finn stayed where he was, and cocked an eyebrow at the shop owner.
“You’ll be wanting to head up the eastern slope,” the shop owner murmured. “It’s quite a hike. Gonna take you three, four hours. Then you go off trail for about ten minutes, and you’ll see a little hidey-hole.”
Finn leaned in. “Gotta map?”
“Yeah, sure. Got something to write on?”
Finn handed him the folded-up pamphlet. The man turned it over and scrawled a quick map on the back.
“Can’t miss it.”
“Not much of a secret then.”
“No, you see, you gotta climb through this crack in the rocks.” The store owner sized him up. “You should fit.”
Finn’s stomach went tight. He wasn’t any good with small spaces. But it might be the best option for him and Cora.
He forced out a rough, “Then?”
“You come out in a cave. A few feet up, you have your own private hot pool. Ain’t big enough for a crowd, so it’s real quiet there.”
Finn straightened and cast Cora a quick sidelong glance. She’d moved on to the hiking poles. They seemed to fascinate her almost as much as the sleeping bags had.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. That all?”
Finn looked down at the items the owner had rung up. Fuck it, it was all he could afford.
“It’s gonna be cold up there, come night,” the store owner said matter-of-factly. “Sure you don’t want to take a sleeping bag?”
“Low on cash,” Finn murmured.
The man looked over his shoulder and then leaned over the counter. “I’ve got a spare in the back. Smells like moth balls, but I’ll let you have it.”
Finn dipped his head.
“Just bring it back.”
But they both knew he wouldn’t. Whether it was the tension in his eyes, or the state of his and Cora’s clothes — rumpled, sweat-stained — the man would have to be blind not to see they were in some kind of trouble.
“Thanks.”
The man waved away Finn’s thanks and disappeared through the door behind the counter.
As much as he wanted to get to the safe house, he had to make sure no one was following them. The man in the red cap would expect them to leave Cliff as soon as possible, so he’d be watching the road — there was only one — that cut through Cliff. But if they could stay out of sight until the morning, he might think they’d gotten away and leave Cliff in pursuit. That would give them a chance to make their move and find a way to Silver City without being tailed.
The owner came back with a sleeping that bag did, in fact, smell like mothballs. Strongly so. The owner rang up Finn’s purchases and put everything in a plastic bag.
He accepted Finn’s fifty with a twitch of his eyebrow.
“You kids have fun now,” he called out as Finn herded Cora out the door. He cocked his head, watching her for a second, and then called her name.
She looked up. Sunlight drew a bright stripe over her black hair. “What?”
“Stick out your thumb.”
She went to the side of the road and stuck out her thumb. He hung back, watching her as she straightened when a car came toward them. The car hesitated, but then drove past. Perhaps they’d seen him standing in the shadow of the rental shop. Or maybe they weren’t in the Good Samaritan mood today.
The next car stopped.
19
Spaghetti & Hot Springs
As the car pulled to a stop, Cora turned and gave Finn a small, tight smile. His face — as always — was unreadable. The inside of the car reeked of stale French fries. She took a seat in the front as Finn emerged from the shadows like a day-time assassin.
“He with you?” the man asked, his voice a touch unsteady.
“Yeah. That’s okay, right?”
The driver shifted in his chair. His floppy cowboy hat had seen better days, as had his beer gut. But at least he wasn’t leering at her anymore. Finn opened the back door by the driver’s side of the car and got in. The car dipped with his weight, something creaking ominously in the back.
“Where you headed?” the driver asked, eyes straight ahead with barely a glance at her or Finn.
“Turkey Creek,” Finn said in his rough voice.<
br />
“Gotcha.” He drove recklessly, cannoning around a pickup that might have been driven by Jimmy judging by how slow it was going.
“Is it far, Turkey Creek?” she asked the driver.
Only his eyes moved to look at her. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
Cora zipped open her jacket. The driver flinched, maybe expecting her to pull out a shotgun and hijack the car or something. His relief when she pulled out a protein bar was palpable. She offered one to Finn. His eyes flickered to her hand, to her jacket, back to her eyes. He knew she’d stolen it from the hiking gear shop. And he was pissed about it. She could see it in the way his eyes narrowed, and the creases by his mouth deepened.
She yanked away the bar and held it out to the driver. He lifted a polite — if unsteady — hand without taking his eyes from the road. She settled back in her seat, watching whatever the hell this town was called flashing by as the driver tried his best to get them to Turkey Creek — and out of his car — as fast as his car could manage. She’d lost her appetite after that news report, but if they were hiking somewhere, she’d need the energy. As it was, she felt all trembly and unsteady.
Why the hell was Finn angry? She’d heard him speaking to the store owner. She’d seen his money diminishing every time he opened that wad of cash to pay for something. From the looks of things, he was down to whatever the change had been from the stuff he’d bought at the rental shop. She was sure he could get more money — money was something the Swans never, ever had to worry about — but for some reason, he didn’t.
…fired indiscriminately into the crowd…