One Last Breath

by Griffin, Laura

  Or who was the better shot.

  Feenie tried to think of something to do. She needed that gun. Maybe she could get a round off while Juarez steered. But that would never work unless their pursuers got really close.

  More shots rang out, from Juarez this time. Had he hit anything?

  She crouched down on the floor and tried to get some traction. The carpet felt scratchy, like Astroturf, under her knees. She scooted around on all fours, desperately searching for the Smith & Wesson. Finally, her hand fell on something hard and smooth. She had it.

  Gripping the revolver in her right hand, she reached for the handrail and tried to pull herself up. She made out Juarez’s figure at the helm.

  “Get down!” he yelled.

  “Do you need help?”

  The windshield exploded next to her right ear, and she jumped backward.

  “Are you crazy? Get below deck!”

  The boat smacked into a wave, and Feenie lost her grip on the handrail. She pitched forward, then back again, landing on her butt below deck. Miraculously, she managed to hang on to the gun this time.

  She hooked her arm around the bottom rung of the ladder. Maybe she should just stay in one place so she didn’t accidentally shoot anything. Like the captain.

  For what seemed like hours, the boat bounced and skipped over the waves. She clutched her gun and hoped for a miracle. Two huge engines powered the Grady-White. Even with Juarez’s evasive maneuvering, it would be only a matter of time before she outpaced Rum Runner.

  The boat tipped sideways, and Feenie tightened her hold. They’d made a sharp left and then tipped left again.

  Was he making a U-turn? Surely he wasn’t going back for a head-on confrontation. It would be suicide. They were outnumbered and most definitely out-gunned.

  They slowed abruptly, and the engine went from a roar to a low hum. With the noise suddenly gone, Feenie heard ringing in her ears. They motored along for a few minutes before the engine ceased.

  Why had he stopped?

  She pulled herself up and poked her head through the door. Nothing but blackness. The moon had gone behind a cloud again, and she couldn’t even see Juarez. Had he abandoned the boat? Maybe he’d been shot.

  “Juarez!” she whispered.

  No answer. He’d definitely been shot. Or he’d jumped ship. Or both. Her stomach rolled, and she felt a wave of nausea coming on.

  “Juarez?” she squeaked. “Where are you?”

  “Stay down,” he growled in her ear.

  She jumped sideways and collided with the doorjamb.

  “You scared me!” she hissed. “I thought you were gone!”

  “Where the hell would I go?” he whispered. “We’re surrounded by water.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I ducked into an estuary. I don’t think they saw me, or maybe they did but they decided to blow off the chase.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Could be they thought we were some kind of law enforcement. Or maybe they decided we were doing the same thing they were and they just wanted to get the hell out of there.”

  Feenie looked around, but she couldn’t make out anything, not even a moon. Only the relatively calm seas indicated they’d entered the maze of inlets and shallow channels along the coast. This place would prove to be either a clever hiding spot or a dead end. Literally.

  “Can anyone see us here?” she whispered.

  “I doubt it. I spotted a fishing cabin a few minutes ago and pulled up next to it. It should obscure our silhouette if the moon comes back out.”

  “Will that really work?” She gripped his arm. “What if they have night-vision goggles or something?”

  “No way we can outrun them in this thing. Our only chance is to hide.”

  She could hear the frustration in his voice. God, she’d really screwed up. He probably wanted to throw her overboard.

  She looked around but saw nothing. Even Juarez was barely a shadow. Had it not been for the warmth of his arm, she might have thought she’d been swallowed by a black hole. She tightened her grip.

  The water lapped against the side of the boat. That and their breathing were the only sounds.

  “You hear anything?” she whispered.

  “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe they’ve cut the engine, too. Maybe they’ll drift right into us.”

  Juarez eased down the ladder, brushing the length of her body with his. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “More likely, we’ll drift into a sandbar and get stuck. If that happens, I may have to get out and push us into deeper water.”

  “So…we’re just going to sit here?”

  He tightened his hold, and his warmth seeped into her. She realized she’d been shivering.

  “No choice,” he said. “If we turn on the lights or the engine, we’ll blow our cover.”

  Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped her jaw shut. It had to be eighty-five degrees out, yet she felt freezing.

  “Where’d you stow the GPS?” he asked.

  “In the cabinet in your bedroom.”

  “I’m going to check out their position and make sure they kept going.”

  He was gone for a few minutes, and by the time he came back she was shivering again.

  “Looks like they’re still headed north,” he said, Wrapping an arm around her. “We’ll wait a while longer to make sure they don’t double back.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and nestled closer. He felt warm and solid and safe. His hand closed over hers, and she remembered the gun.

  “I think I’ll take this.” He slipped the revolver out of her hand, checked the chamber, and tucked the gun into his jeans.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry.” Her teeth began to chatter again. “I don’t know what happened. It was sitting on the counter, and it just fell—”

  “I thought you were holding it.”

  “I was. But then I put it on the counter, and—”

  “Forget it.”

  “But I nearly got us killed! We could still get killed!”

  He didn’t say anything. How could he be so calm?

  “Juarez? Aren’t you mad?”

  “What’s the point? What’s done is done. And I think we may have gotten lucky.”

  “Juarez…” She gulped. “Did you know about the girls?”

  He didn’t say anything, and her chest tightened. Surely he wouldn’t have kept something so important from her.

  “No,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Do you think they’re prostitutes?” Just saying it made her queasy.

  “That’s probably what they’re headed for. I’d heard something about Garland smuggling muñecas, but I didn’t put it together until now.”

  “Muñecas?”

  “Dolls. I thought some of the drugs were being smuggled in plastic toys. Now it looks like the dolls themselves are the contraband.”

  His face lit up in an orange glow as he checked his sports watch. It was bulky and digital, with lots of gadgets.

  “It’s been twenty minutes,” he said. The orange light illuminated the hard planes of his face. Sweat beaded at his temples, but that was the only sign of stress. He appeared more or less at ease, while she quivered like a snared rabbit. “I’ll check the GPS again. If they’re still heading north, we’ll get moving.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “We’re going to be fine.”

  She nodded again, feeling even colder than she had before. She felt lightheaded, too, and slid down onto the floor.

  “You okay?”

  “I just need to sit down.” She felt the scratchy waterproof carpeting under her hands and rested her head against the ladder. Her cheek throbbed, and her forehead stung. She touched the skin above her eyebrow. It felt sticky. She curled into a fetal position and hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn’t get warm, and she couldn’t muster the effo
rt to sit up, either.

  “Take it easy,” he said, and disappeared.

  Feenie closed her eyes and tried to fight off the wave of nausea. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and it took every ounce of will she had not to bolt up the ladder and get sick over the side. But she couldn’t. She had to stay down. She had to keep quiet. Josh and his father might find her.

  Josh and his boatload of children.

  Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She couldn’t think about it. Not now. She couldn’t think about how the man she’d lived with, the man she’d slept with, was trafficking children. All those years, she’d been eager to make a baby, and now he was exploiting babies, unfortunate little girls who’d somehow fallen into his hands.

  The boat began to move, and she gratefully turned her thoughts to the immediate future. They needed to get back. If they could make it safely back to Mayfield, she could go to the police. This wasn’t just about Josh anymore. Or drugs. Kids were getting hurt, and she couldn’t sit back and let it happen.

  The police would help. If they wouldn’t, she’d try the FBI. Or the DEA. Or Immigration. Someone somewhere would listen to her. Someone somewhere would care that children were being shuttled over the border for other people’s recreation.

  Those poor young girls. What did he do to them?

  Feenie raced up the ladder and vomited over the side. When the spasms ceased, she sank to her knees and rested her head on a vinyl seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Juarez watching her from the helm.

  “We’re about fifteen minutes out,” he said. “Think you can make it to the marina?”

  She rolled her head in his direction, barely nodding. Her skin felt cold and wet. She tucked her knees into her sweatshirt and tried to make a cocoon.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the boat slowed and turned into the marina. She watched, dazed, as Juarez maneuvered into the boat slip and tied up. When the ropes were securely fastened, he put the .38 on the floor next to her and hopped onto the pier.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded. All she wanted was to curl into a ball and let reality slip away. She rested her face against the boat’s hard deck. It was wet and cool from the briny spray.

  She closed her eyes.

  Moments later, she was pulled to her feet by a pair of strong hands. Juarez scooped her up and carried her down the ladder. He eased her through the door to his bedroom and gently deposited her on the bed.

  “Drink this,” he said, unscrewing the cap off a bottle of Sprite and putting it in her hands.

  She drank, grateful for something wet on her throat. He flipped on the light beside his bed and produced a small first-aid kit. He tore open an antiseptic towelette and dabbed at her forehead.

  “Ouch!” she said, jerking her head back.

  He continued dabbing even as she tried to pull away. “Hold still. I’ve got to clean this.”

  The towelette in his hand was scarlet with blood.

  “How—”

  “Windshield,” he said. “You caught some flying glass.”

  She remembered the windshield exploding like a firecracker. The bullet must have been inches from her head.

  “You nearly gave me a heart attack tonight,” he said gruffly.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t do it again.” He dabbed her cheek. “You’ve got a bruise here, too. What’d you do, bang your head on the wall?”

  “I guess so.”

  He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, and she pulled away. Shaking his head, he took out some Band-Aids and taped them to her forehead. Then he eased her back against the pillow.

  “You gonna heave again?”

  She shuddered. “I don’t think so. I’m just cold mainly.”

  He lifted her legs and pulled the comforter down, then spread it over her, tucking the edge around her neck. “I’ll bring a bucket, just in case.”

  “Are we safe now?” she asked, shuddering again. “You lost them, didn’t you?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I lost them. We’re safe for now.”

  Through the haze of sleep, Feenie felt the mattress move. She bolted upright.

  “What—”

  “You were dreaming.” Juarez was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her arms.

  She glanced around. She was in the familiar cramped bedroom. The clock on the shelf said one twenty-two. Her body was soaking wet, and she still wore the heavy sweatshirt she’d put on hours ago. Her mouth tasted sour, and her head throbbed.

  She’d had the fire dream again.

  “I need to use your bathroom,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed. Her stomach muscles contracted painfully.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Her gaze flicked to the spot above the bedroom door, the place where she kept her smoke detector at home.

  A red light blinked back at her.

  “You got a smoke detector?” How had she not noticed it before?

  He followed her gaze. “I told you I would.”

  “I can’t believe you did that.” Her voice sounded shaky, and she suddenly needed to get away from him.

  But he was right there. Next to her. Looking worried and sitting so close she could feel his breath against her hair.

  “Feenie…are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She remembered the vomiting. “Sorry about earlier.”

  She wobbled to the tiny bathroom and shut the door. A fluorescent fixture glowed above the mirror, giving her face a greenish pallor. Or maybe her face really was green. She pulled back several Band-Aids to reveal a labyrinth of cuts. A purple bruise decorated her cheekbone.

  She turned on the faucet and brushed her teeth for an eternity. Then she undressed and stood under the showerhead, letting the hot water pour over her until she felt human again. The shampoo burned her cuts, but she needed to wash the blood from her hair.

  When she finished, she wrapped a towel around her body and went back into the bedroom, which was empty now. A T-shirt from her overnight bag sat folded on the side of the bed. She felt like hell. Her head throbbed, and her cuts stung, but at least she was clean. She tiptoed to the door and saw a pair of boots propped on the bench just beyond the galley.

  She crept through the tiny kitchen and stood next to him. He lay stretched out on the seat, but he wasn’t sleeping as she’d expected. His eyes were open, watching her.

  “Marco…you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  She took a deep breath and dropped the towel.

  Chapter

  14

  S he held her breath, waiting for his reaction, but he didn’t move. God, what had she done? He was probably lying there laughing at her. Or worse, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

  She took a step back, and he sat up.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice rough from sleep or…something. He took her wrist and pulled her closer, resting his forehead against her rib cage and his hands on her hips. She knelt down. The carpet felt scratchy under her knees as she slid her arms around his neck and looked up into his face in the near-darkness. As usual, she couldn’t read his expression.

  “I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” she said.

  “Then don’t.”

  A little rush of excitement coursed through her, and she thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, his warm hands slid up to cup her breasts, and he rubbed his thumbs gently over the tips until her entire body tingled right down to the soles of her feet. Then he eased her back and let his gaze travel over her, making her feel pretty and self-conscious and impatient all at the same time. She was grateful for the dim lighting—just a shaft of gray coming through the porthole. She wondered what he thought of her. His hands moved slowly, almost reverently, over her, like he wanted to learn all the curves, even the ones she didn’t much care for. His palms felt rough against her smooth skin, and she shivered at the
contrast.

  Why didn’t he kiss her?

  She inched closer. She was naked, but he wasn’t, and his jeans chafed her skin. He closed his legs against her, pinning her there while he tangled his fingers in her curls and—finally—brought his mouth down to hers.

  His kiss was hot and insistent, melting her from the inside out. A heady combination of lust and nerves swirled through her body, and she couldn’t believe this was finally happening. She’d dropped all her defenses. A faint voice in the back of her head told her she was going to regret it, but she shut it out so she could concentrate on just him and the way he was making her feel.

  His muscles bunched as she gripped his thighs through the denim. He eased off the bench and kneeled in front of her and his hair felt thick and coarse between her fingers as she pulled his head down to hers for another kiss. She pressed herself into him, taking in the musky taste of his mouth, the faint scrape of his chin against hers, the cool softness of his T-shirt. She reached down to tug it from his jeans, but it caught on something.

  “Wait,” he said, and for the first time, she noticed the holster. He removed it and laid it aside. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, and she immediately reached out to touch the chest she’d been dying to feel since that day he’d cut up her tree. She loved the hard contours of him, the way his pulse hammered against her palms. Even if he didn’t say it, she could tell he wanted this just as much as she did. The pounding of his heart was proof; the rigid bulge in his jeans was proof.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. His kisses were hungry, fierce, totally different from Josh’s. She wondered what else would be different, and her pulse skittered.

  Then he surprised her by standing up.

  “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet. “We’ll get rug burn out here.”

  Rug burn. How romantic.

  She stared at his bare back as he pulled her by the hand into the bedroom, and suddenly it was all very real. Her nerves threatened to bubble over, so she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to get a grip. He watched her watching him take off his boots and jeans. It occurred to her that she should be doing something right now, something sensual and alluring, but her mind drew a complete blank. All she could do was stare at him and feel her blood rush.