Shady Lady cs-3

by Ann Aguirre

Her lips firmed. “But you’ll risk ours?”

  I hid a wince. Yeah, the game plan for taking out Montoya permanently wasn’t going to make anyone happy tonight. Unfortunately, I was committed.

  As we approached the mall, I said, “Keep going on San Dario.”

  If memory served, there was a Goodwill store farther down. I did need to augment my meager belongings, but I didn’t see why I should pay mall prices. I hadn’t grown up roaming consumer megaplexes as a kid, so there was no nostalgia in it for me, only expensive merchandise. And while I had a small wad of money from Escobar that added up to nearly a thousand bucks, along with the fifteen hundred pesos in my purse, I didn’t know how long that would have to last. I’d been broke and starving before; I didn’t intend to let it happen again.

  I saw the sign ahead. “Turn there.”

  For the first time since we’d gotten the car, Shannon smiled. “Okay, I’ll stop being mad at you. This is very cool.”

  Whoa, she was more like me than I’d realized. We parked and got out; the lot was nearly empty. I wore a bemused expression as I followed her toward the building. Most people thought thrift stores were all seedy and disorganized, but I’d been in some that were better maintained than Wal-Mart. This was a nice one with the racks of clothing sorted by sex and size. I liked these places because you never knew what you might find; the treasure hunt appealed to the pawnshop owner in me.

  I quickly located a couple of pairs of jeans, some tank tops, and a few pretty Mexican peasant blouses. Shopping in Texas meant I could satisfy my quirky sense of style. I found a retro blue cardigan to replace my old green one. I’d miss that sweater. Like nearly everything else I owned—and a few items were irreplaceable—it had been destroyed in the blast.

  They had a small fitting room where I could make sure everything worked. While I was in there, Shannon convinced me to add a wide leather belt with some interesting stitchery on it. “I’ve seen the look in magazines. It’s kind of like yours, only—no, not like that.”

  I stood patient while she untucked my blouse and fastened the belt on top of the fabric. Okay, I liked it. With a nod, I handed it to her and she put it in our basket. Pretty soon I had a basic wardrobe. Nothing fancy, but for fancy occasions I already had the white dress. I just didn’t know if I could wear it without remembering the look of admiration in Kel’s eyes. He’d lived so damn long and seen so many women. If he saw something in me to appreciate, then it carried weight.

  She also brought me a plain black vest. I was convinced it would make me look like a valet or a waitress, but she paired it with old ratty jeans and a white tank. With a strand of chunky beads, I found the look suited me.

  “Wow, you’re good at this. You should go into business.”

  Enthusiasm lit her expression. “You know, while you were gone, I was thinking . . . we should go into business together. Like partners? You could sell your treasures, and I could do vintage clothing.”

  “You mean a thrift shop, instead of a pawnshop. We’d buy on consignment instead of paying cash.” That would mean looking at lots of old clothes, of course, but from Shannon’s expression, she’d be happy to handle that part.

  If I lived, if Escobar paid out, I’d have enough to rebuild. I owned the property where my shop stood through a fideicomiso , which meant through the good offices of the Mexican bank acting as trustee on my behalf. I had all the benefits of being a direct title holder, and the contract lasted for fifty years, renewable for another fifty, and I could transfer ownership anytime I wanted.

  Belatedly I realized I’d kept Shannon waiting too long; the light started to die in her eyes. I answered quickly, “That sounds great. Kind of a spooky vintage place.”

  “I know how we can attract the college crowd too.” As we walked, she outlined her ideas, and they were good, though I wasn’t sure we should display our gifts.

  “No,” she insisted. “They’ll think it’s fake. That’s the cool part. But they’ll want to hear the stories of whatever we’re selling too. They’ll come for the entertainment and you’ll be able to tell which ones should buy what.”

  That was true enough. “I like it. Start thinking about a name, okay?”

  I had to think positive: new beginnings and happy endings. Since I had only my small gray duffel, the rest of these clothes needed somewhere to live. A little while later, I found the perfect suitcase, probably from the sixties or seventies. When I picked it up, it wanted to show me where it had been . . . and I let it. There came a minor burn, but no trauma in this bag—only the happy excitement of a girl going away to college. She used it in the early seventies and then tucked it away, forgot about it as the loud flowered fabric fell out of style. But I loved the crazy floral print and the red plastic handle with matched binding. The thing carried a price tag of three dollars.

  Shannon sighed when she saw what I had. “You are so not decorating our new place by yourself.”

  I grinned at her, leading the way up front. A few knickknacks distracted me, but I didn’t let them keep me long. I had no business buying anything until I knew where I was setting up home base. I didn’t let myself consider the alternative: that I had no future and Montoya won.

  Another reason I loved thrift stores? My total purchases when the cashier rang me out came to less than fifty bucks. I paid with one of Escobar’s hundreds, and the clerk narrowed her eyes at me. Damn, I hoped it was clean. The way I was dressed, she doubtless thought I was up to something, shopping at Goodwill and dropping big bills.

  “I got mugged,” I offered. By a firebomb. It was almost true. “So a friend wired me some money. I need clothes but I didn’t want to spend a fortune.”

  Her distrust softened into sympathy as she saw the few pesos in my wallet. “Oh, honey, stay away from the border. They’re mean as snakes around there.”

  “Do you mind if I change out of this dress into something casual?” I lifted the bag and tilted my head toward the fitting room.

  “Not at all.”

  Because it made Shannon happy, I put on the jeans, white tank, and black vest, along with the necklace—the exact outfit she’d recommended. The good leather sandals Escobar had bought me were stamped, MADE IN SPAIN, and they went with anything.

  Shan popped the trunk and I folded my clothes in my obnoxiously floral suitcase. There was room for the stuff I’d taken to Catemaco too, and I could probably roll up my duffel bag. It would fit in the corner there. Staring down, I saw the remnants of my broken life, and it saddened me.

  “It’ll be okay,” Shannon said quietly.

  I gave her an impulsive hug around the shoulders. “I know. I got you, babe.”

  “Please tell me you’re not gonna sing.”

  “How do you even know that one, anyway?”

  “Oldies radio,” she said with an exaggerated shudder.

  “Sonny and Cher were before my time too.” I got in the Charger. “Let’s go to Target. There’s one a mile and a half up the road.”

  “What else can you possibly need?”

  I sighed. One thing I never bought used. “Underwear.”

  “Right.”

  We didn’t linger. I hated big stores with fluorescent lighting and people wandering around who seemed angry to answer your questions. Sometimes dealing with customers could be nightmarish, but I loved helping people find stuff.

  My phone rang on the way out of the store. I peered at the caller ID—unknown number. With some trepidation, I answered, “Hello?”

  “¿Bueno?” I’d recognize Tia’s voice anywhere.

  “Sí, bueno. ¿Como está usted?”

  “No hay mucho tiempo, pero estoy feliz que estás a salvo.” Not much time, but I’m glad you’re safe, I translated mentally. She went on in Spanish. “I’ve called before, but I got voice mail. I have a metal box from your house. It was all I could save from the thieves looting the place.”

  Oh, my God. My mother’s grimoires. Even if I couldn’t use them, it would mean everything to touch them again.r />
  “¿Puede enviarmela por FedEx?” I asked.

  I agreed to wire her some money via Western Union. There was a place she could pick up the cash near her home. Shan and I took care of that, and then I called back with Chuch and Eva’s address; Tia agreed to send the books overnight. I thanked her profusely and hung up, relieved beyond words.

  The day was half gone by that point, so we stopped for barbecue at a little dive on Lafayette that Chuch liked. I fed Butch tidbits from my plate, and he showed his appreciation by licking my fingers. I gave him a drink in the ladies’ room and then we paused for him to do business on the scrubby trees that landscaped the place.

  I sent a text message to Booke, letting him know I was all right and in Texas. Shannon started the car and backed out of the restaurant lot. I was glad we’d been able to eat our sandwiches without the car exploding, like it had with Chance and me the last time I was in Texas. I didn’t know about going back to Chuch and Eva’s place, but maybe I could use the grimoires to set rune wards, not just herbal ones.

  “We should get the decals now,” Shannon said.

  I nodded agreement.

  After that, I had only one thing left to do now: explain the devil’s bargain I had made with Escobar. I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

  Dark Tides Rising

  By the time we got back, everyone sat waiting for us, including Jesse. Chuch swept me into a big bear hug, nearly crushing Butch, who gave an indignant yap. The mechanic held me at arm’s length to get a better look at me, but there was no masculine awareness in his gaze; for Chuch, the sun rose and set with Eva. He was like a big brother, and God knew I could use his uncomplicated affection right then. Then he hugged me a second time for good measure.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, prima. Heard from Chance?” That was Chuch at his most subtle.

  “Not since we left Kilmer.” At first, I’d been crushed that he wouldn’t even try to prove himself, that he offered only empty words. But I’d had months of silence to come to terms with it. Kel had proved a remarkable help in that regard. At least now I had someone new to miss—depressing thought.

  “Well, he’s working on it. Trust me on that.”

  On what? Before I could ask, Shannon handed Eva the Disney decals, and then she got shanghaied into hanging them in the baby’s room, where she was sleeping. Since the Ortizes had a three-bedroom house—and one had been turned into an office—it meant the nursery had to do double duty. They’d put in a daybed, along with the crib, when they swapped out the full bed. Since he was a smart guy, Chuch glanced between the cop and me, and then decided he had business in the office.

  Jesse’s sun-streaked hair was disheveled, his jaw unshaven. In faded Levi’s and a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt, he looked weary and rumpled. I didn’t know whether I’d contributed to that, or if it had just been a bad day at work. God knew his job wasn’t easy on the best of days.

  “I didn’t want to get into it on the phone,” he said, “but I lost you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t feel you anymore. Last week, you went quiet.”

  Strange. In the jungle, I remembered telling myself I needed to block better and not broadcast my feelings. Looks like it worked. That meant I didn’t have him reading my moods anymore, no special advantage on his part. I had to admit that made him more attractive to me.

  “You must’ve been worried.”

  He closed his eyes, and his lashes curled up against his cheeks, shining gold in the lamplight. “Until you answered the phone this morning, I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words seemed pitiful and inadequate.

  Only then did he move, sweeping me up into a bonecrushing embrace. Jesse buried his face in my hair, and I could feel him shaking. This wasn’t my need or my desire influencing him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rubbed his back.

  “God, I’m glad to see you.” The low fervency in his voice touched me.

  Before, I’d always possessed a kernel of doubt about him, suspecting he wouldn’t be attracted to me if we hadn’t shared a weak moment where my sex drive got the better of me. I’d always secretly supposed he’d lose interest in me without my emotions for feedback. More telling, he didn’t even comment on the fact that I was thinner. I’m not sure he even noticed.

  Despite my distrust, this was real. And I could build a life with Jesse Saldana. Maybe he didn’t have to give up everything to prove he wanted to be with me. I doubted I would’ve moved of my own volition, but since I had no shop in Mexico, Shannon and I could rebuild here. She’d said she didn’t want to settle down in Texas, but once we got the thrift store going, we could travel.

  I knew the score. I could spend my life alone, pining for the impossible. Nothing would ever change as long as I clung to unattainable dreams and distant memories. It was ridiculous to think my life would alter in any meaningful way when I kept making the same mistakes. I was familiar enough with my own weaknesses to realize that if I let myself, I’d fall in love with Kel, given the least encouragement. Or I could wise up, face the facts, and make a different choice—a conscious one this time, not left to messy, desperate impulses.

  You’ve been saying you want a normal life, a normal guy. Here he is. Time to put your money where your mouth is. Love wasn’t magickal; I could finally accept that. There would be no Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet. Deep down, I always hoped for perfection to balance the terrible decisions I’d made when I was younger. But the best I could hope for was a man who offered a reasonable fit, one who cared. Jesse did. It wasn’t contingent on my gift, what I did for him, or even how I looked.

  “I’m glad to see you too,” I managed to say.

  “I feel like I’ve gone blind,” he said softly. “I don’t know whether you want me to kiss you or let you go.”

  Part of me still mourned what I’d lost in the jungle, while the rest of me accepted the impossibility of it. I had to stop myself from wanting what I couldn’t have. I wondered if that made Jesse “good enough”? Somebody I could have without wishing for the moon. Maybe that was all anyone could hope.

  “Maybe you’d better wait to hear what I have to say before we start kissing.” You may not want to afterward, went unspoken but he got the message and stepped back.

  As if they had been waiting for the cue—and they probably had been—Chuch, Eva, and Shannon came back into the living room. Chuch settled in his armchair, and the sight hurt, because in my mind’s eye I saw Kel there, watching TV Azteca and petting Butch. I hadn’t known him at all then.

  Once everyone settled, I summarized my situation. I expected the outcry that followed. To my shock, Shannon and Eva were most vociferous in telling me why I couldn’t use myself as bait. Chuch shared Escobar’s opinion that it was the most efficient way to draw Montoya out. Jesse sat silent with his jaw clenched.

  “I’m having my mother’s grimoires sent here,” I went on. “For obvious reasons, I can’t stay until I put some proper wards on the place.”

  Eva raised a brow. “I thought they didn’t work for you.”

  “They didn’t before. They might now.” I didn’t elaborate. “I’ve probably been here too long as it is. I’m putting too much faith in Escobar’s amulet, when I really don’t know the man. He might think nothing of having a shoot-out here—without warning me first. Which means I need to keep moving.” I turned to Shannon. “Could you run me over to—”

  “Get your bag. And your dog.” Jesse pushed to his feet. “As I’m sure you understand, Corine and I have things to discuss. I’ll take her home with me tonight.”

  I’d never heard that tone before; he was worrying me a little. He seemed like an easygoing guy, but like most, he had limits. It appeared I’d found them.

  “Will you be okay?” I asked Shannon.

  She grinned at me. “I should be asking you that. But yeah, I’m fine.”

  While Shannon gathered up Butch’s food and water dish, along wi
th enough kibble to last a couple of days, I grabbed my suitcase. Jesse’s bitter chocolate eyes narrowed as he watched me, and then with a muttered farewell, he towed me by hand out to the Forester. He bodily boosted me inside and then peeled out of Chuch’s driveway in a squeal of tires.

  We drove at least halfway back to town in seething silence before he spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re working for Ramiro Escobar.”

  So maybe I wouldn’t put it like that, but in essence, yes.

  “Who else was I gonna call, Ghostbusters?”

  He didn’t take the sarcasm well. “Christ almighty, Corine, bad as Montoya is, Escobar is worse, because he’s not crazy. If he decides to have someone killed, he’s weighed the P and L of it. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

  Of course it did. But he didn’t have the right to judge me. “You can never understand,” I said softly. “Your history makes you strong and centered and certain you’re always on the side of right.”

  “Not always. But I damn well know you don’t dine with the devil to kill a demon.” He slammed his fist against the dash. “Vigilante justice is against the law. I crossed the line once. Since it happened in Mexico, I tell myself it doesn’t count, but it does, and anything else is self-deception. How many times are you going to ask me to look the other way? When you know where Montoya will be, let the law handle him. I can contact federal agents who would love to lock him up.”

  “You think that will stop it? Even if Montoya’s lawyers didn’t get him out on a loophole, he could still send people after me from prison. You know that. This only ends Wild West style—him or me.”

  A fulminating silence followed my words, and it lasted until he slammed his car into the parking lot where he presumably lived. I’d been to Laredo twice, and Jesse had always just picked me up at Chuch and Eva’s, or we met somewhere else. Which meant I’d never seen his home.

  He lived in a three-story brick building. It wasn’t part of a complex, but there was a small lot attached with a security camera on a light pole. I put Butch down in case our fighting had given him a nervous bladder; it had. Jesse let himself in the front door with a key, and jogged up two flights. It was a testament to his anger that he let me carry my own suitcase. I went up with less alacrity. I had a feeling the scrap wasn’t over; this was just the intermission.