“I’ve got some friends who can put us up for the night. In the morning you’ll catch a plane back home.” Michael glanced sideways and saw Blair’s profile.
She nodded.
“Why don’t you get some rest? It’ll be a while. You might as well nap.”
When he next glanced her way, Blair was asleep.
No matter what Drew had done, Blair wasn’t now, and never had been, anything like Mary Lou Plath.
***
Dozing as they drove south, Blair couldn’t turn off her thoughts. She’d drifted through life up until she met Michael. She had known where she’d go to college, knew her role was to play hostess for the Davenports and marry the right man.
She’d gone home after the week with Michael, put on an elaborate dinner party for her father, and left the next day for her senior year of college. Feeling empty and heartbroken. Michael’s words tripped across her mind until a week later when she knew there would be no reason to contact him. No child with dark eyes for her to love.
Then she got mad. How dare he think of her a spoiled rich girl! A week of boiling anger and regret gave way to the realization that he had a right to think of her in that way. Michael had a purpose, a calling. She had nothing but the routine of obligation. She’d played it safe, avoiding the choice of something as necessary as a college major.
The sight of a dark-eyed boy of three, walking through a shop, made her choice for her. Blair’s father had told her there was no future in teaching; she wouldn’t make a quarter of what her share of the Davenport fortune brought in each year. Her mother and both grandmothers had simply asked her if she was sure.
Jim Andrews wanted her to quit teaching. He needed her to stay home, entertain his clients. After all, that was what she’d been brought up to do. Her father, already angry because Drew had failed to come in to the business, gave her a speech about duty. Blair tried again to reason with Jim. He smiled and patted her hand, telling her that if she had spare time, she could volunteer at a school.
She wasn’t sure. It had been hard. Harder than anything she’d ever done. All her illusions of how the children would hang on her every word vanished during the first five minutes of her first, carefully prepared, student teaching experience.
After that, Blair saw teaching as a challenge. It still wasn’t easy, but it was rewarding when she got it right. She learned from other teachers, found her own way, her own methods. And it still wasn’t easy. But it was a challenge with a purpose. So much more fulfilling than the life she’d been born to.
She’d made her choice, her first real, life-altering choice. She’d broken off her engagement to Jim and moved to Emerald Bay. Eventually, after all the gossip died down, her father came around.
Michael drove through another thunderstorm just as they exited the freeway.
Blair spoke over the noise of the wipers. “Are your friends expecting me?”
“They’re not expecting me.”
A few minutes later, they pulled in to the driveway of a house surrounded by a white picket fence. The storm had moved on, leaving behind a light drizzle.
“Wouldn’t it be better to go to a hotel?”
“I’d rather not be so predictable.”
“Do you think we were followed here?”
“Not to this house, no. But they’ll know I’m in Miami. They know this is where I’d come.”
“Who?”
“What do you mean who?”
“Who are ‘they’? I know the FBI is after you. Drew, to be specific. But Hector Ramos is dead. Who are Eddie and his friend? Who else could be involved?”
Michael shut off the engine. The startling quiet brought goose bumps to Blair’s arms.
“Somebody with an interest. Somebody who can hire help.”
“Could it be someone from the bank? An accomplice of Hector’s?”
Michael stared straight ahead, at the house, then back at Blair. “It’s possible. Anything’s possible.”
“Someone’s looking through the front window,” Blair said.
He reached for the door handle. “I hope they still believe I’m one of the good guys.”
Blair knew how much such an admission cost Michael. “You are one of the good guys.” She doubted Michael had heard her, since he was already out of the car when she said it.
A plump, round woman, maybe fifty years old, opened the door and came running out. “Michael!”
“Selma ¿cómo estás?” Michael hugged the little woman, lifting her off her feet.
“Bien, hijo.” She stepped back when Michael put her down and reached up to grasp his face between her hands. “You are not taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Selma.”
“I will feed you. You need frijoles negros and bistek.” She patted his cheek, then turned toward Blair.
“You bring a friend, hijo.”
“This is Blair.” Michael said. “She’s helping me.”
Selma looked from Blair to Michael and back. “Helping?” she echoed, then paused. “Oh. The trouble. Claro. But how can these people be tan estúpidos?” Selma shook her head. “Dios mío ¿qué pasa con el mundo? Come, Blair. Any friend of Michael is welcome in our home.”
Michael held his hand out to Blair and she took it.
A fact not wasted on Selma, whose dark eyes flashed a smile.
“Come in, come in. We will eat soon, no? Go talk to Chabuca and Jimmy, Michael.”
Blair took in the sight of the formal but worn furniture in the living room and the terrazzo floors polished to a high gloss. Wonderful food smells floated in through a swinging door she guessed led to the kitchen. A huge dining room table lay set, covered in a beautiful, though old, crocheted table cloth. Through a half-closed door off the living room, Blair could hear the sounds of the television. Michael stopped and bent close. “Let me do the talking.”
“Famous last words,” Blair murmured.
She saw Michael smile, his eyes bright and amused. “I won’t tell them anything you can’t keep up with.”
The moment Michael pushed the door open, a stunning dark-haired girl bounced off a well-used couch and threw herself at him, holding on so tight Blair wondered how he could breath.
“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming!” The girl, perhaps sixteen, pulled away and held one of his hands. She pulled down the legs of her too short shorts, then ran her fingers through long thick hair in a move calculated to be seductive.
“I didn’t know I was coming, Chabuca,” Michael replied, smiling and trying to disentangle himself from the girl.
Chabuca pouted, straightening the blouse she wore in an apparent attempt to draw Michael’s attention to her chest.
“Jimmy, how’s it going?” Michael looked around Chabuca at the handsome man standing behind her. Chabuca relinquished her hold.
“Great, Michael. I’m leaving in a week.” Jimmy hugged Michael, then indicated they should sit.
Chabuca pulled Michael down beside her on the couch. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“This is Blair,” he replied and, to Blair’s amusement, tried to scoot away from the girl. Blair felt the compulsion to squeeze between them.
“Chabuca, leave him alone.” Jimmy glared. “He’s too old for you.”
“Papi is fifteen years older than Mami.” Chabuca crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest and, mouth set, flopped back against the couch, and turned her attention to the soccer match on television.
Jimmy rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I heard you got the job,” Michael said.
“Yeah. Couldn’t believe it. My mother is wringing her hands, but my father is strutting like a rooster.”
Michael laughed. “I bet he’s proud. Your mother will come around.”
“Did yours?”
“It took a while, but, yes. Now, well…”
“Your mother will have her vindication.” Jimmy leaned forward, hands together between his knees. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Michael! I know this town. I can help.”
“Not without risk to your new job. If I’d known you were here I wouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can still be anyone I want to be. You need it, I can get it.”
Blair couldn’t stop herself any longer. “What do you do, Jimmy?”
“I was with the local police. I just got a job with the State Department. I’m in Diplomatic Security.”
“Helping me could land you in a heap of trouble.”
A smile cut across Jimmy’s face. “I’m good, man. Nobody better.”
“Then let’s keep you that way, okay?”
***
Somehow, Michael managed not to strangle young Chabuca. Some poor guy was going to have to deal with her when she worked the kinks out of her siren routine. He could see how uncomfortable Selma was, how Blair watched the girl, not sure whether to be amused or jealous.
“Michael, how long will you stay?” Selma asked as she cleared the table with Blair’s help.
“We’ll leave tomorrow early. Blair has a flight to catch.”
“Blair is leaving?” Chabuca’s best breathy voice drew everyone’s attention.
Selma glared at her daughter.
“Michael is leaving, too,” Jimmy interjected.
“I will bring sheets and blankets for you. One of you can sleep in John’s big chair, the other on the couch.” Selma patted Michael’s shoulder.
“But, Mami, Michael can sleep in my room.” At her mother’s and brother’s gasp, Chabuca hurried to add, “I have twin beds, Mami. He’s too tall for the couch.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the chair.” Michael hoped that would end the uncomfortable ordeal.
Chabuca flounced from the dining room.
Blair’s lips quivered with suppressed laughter. She patted him on the shoulder, too, before taking a serving bowl into the kitchen.
Michael caught her hand and stopped her. “I’m going out for little while.”
She froze at his words.
“I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
She nodded, her eyes locked to his. He wanted to reassure her, tell her everything would be okay.
“Be careful.” She said the words so quietly, with so much meaning, he had to force himself to stay in his seat or he’d pull her in to his arms and crush her to himself.
He nodded and she walked into the kitchen.
“Telephone?” Jimmy asked into the silence.
“Yeah.”
“There’s one outside the old bodega.”
Michael pulled out of the driveway, knowing he didn’t want to contact anyone. But he had no choice. Blair had to get a plane back and she couldn’t do it as herself. It wouldn’t do for her to be caught helping him. She would be in danger because she could prove he didn’t kill Hector Ramos. A quickly placed phone call would get her fake documentation and a plane ticket.
***
She was asleep when Michael got back, curled up on the couch, a light blanket covering her. When he walked down the hall to the bathroom, Jimmy came out of his room.
“Go okay?”
“Yeah.” As okay as he could hope.
Jimmy nodded.
“This shouldn’t touch you.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Michael couldn’t help it. He looked back into the den where Blair slept. She was what he’d done wrong.
At Michael’s silence, Jimmy continued. “Don’t blow it, Michael. She’s worth the fight.”
“The fight’s hopeless. Either way it goes, she gets burned.”
Jimmy paused, his hand on the door handle. “You’ll take care of it. I’m here if you need me.” Then he quietly closed his door, leaving Michael to wonder if he really could take care of it.
Minutes later, after a quick shower, he walked back into the living room. Blair was awake, sitting on the couch, the blanket tossed aside. “Where did you go?”
“I’ve arranged for another ID and a plane ticket for you.”
She plucked at the blanket, looking down. “I’d rather stay.” She didn’t look up.
The sight of her, head bent, her hair a curtain around her face, made Michael’s heart ache. He squatted down before her. She still didn’t look up. “It can’t be, niña. Things are in too big a mess.”
She lifted her head, her eyes even with his. “We could try.”
He pushed her hair behind her ears and let his hands rest on her shoulders. “Now’s not the time.” He struggled for words to explain without explaining. He hadn’t noticed that his thumbs were gently rubbing circles on her collarbones. He stopped when he did.
“I was afraid.” Blair’s eyes shone gold. “Before, more than this time.” With one hand she touched his stomach, where he’d been cut. “I should be more scared now, but I know you can fix this. You will make it right again.”
Michael shivered at her soft caress. He would get Drew Davenport. And damn himself to a life without her because of it.
“When it’s over, I’ll be waiting.” That gentle hand skimmed across his chest to his face. She used her fingers to trace his lips.
To love me or curse me? The question burned through him, but her hands seduced him in to planting a soft kiss in her palm, their eyes locked together.
Her eyes blazed hot, her breath caught. Michael saw the flare of passion and groaned. “We can’t. Not here.”
“I know.” She ran one hand down his chest. When he closed his eyes to her touch, she added. “Chabuca might walk in and find me touching what’s hers.”
Through helpless shivers of desire, Michael laughed. But common sense prevailed. He pulled her hand away, wishing he could love Blair one last time. One time to hold him. “Sleep with me, Blair. I want to feel you against me.”
They accommodated themselves on the couch, back to front, adjusting their bodies for maximum comfort. Blair wiggled against him, her behind in his lap. And Michael wished they were somewhere else, some place that would give him the freedom to love her again.
***
Blair woke with a crick in her neck. The only pleasant sensation was the feel of Michael, his body solid and radiating heat, behind her. She blinked at the dim light of early dawn and tried to move her head to adjust her position. Michael tightened his arm, which lay relaxed and heavy across her ribs, and pressed his hand against her stomach.
“Don’t move.” The soft rumble of his voice sent shivers up her spine. His exploring hand sent shivers to other parts of her body. “I need a cold shower.”
“Mmhm.” Blair scooted closer.
She felt his hand cup her breast, his beard roughened cheek rubbing against the back of her neck.
“Get up, Blair, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
She rolled her head to one side, wincing at sore muscles, and sat up.
“Sit on the floor. I’ll rub your neck.”
That was how Selma found them. Blair, with her head forward, eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Michael’s fingers working the kinks from her abused muscles.
“Buenos días,” the older woman said, smiling.
Blair thanked heaven she hadn’t pushed Michael harder, tempted him more.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.” Blair put her hand over Michael’s to still his movements.
“But that old couch hurt your back. I am sorry.” Selma winked, to Blair’s amusement. Did the older woman think more had gone on in her homey den?
Michael cleared his throat and stood. “I’m going to shower. We need to get to the airport by eight.” He stepped over Blair and made his way up the hall.
Blair watched him walk away, wondering what she would do while she waited for him to come back to her.
“Michael’s father is a friend of my husband,” Selma said when the bathroom door shut. “I have known them since they came to America when Michael was fifteen.” She touched Blair’s arm lightly.
“He is a good boy. You know your heart ¿no?”
Before Blair could answer, Selma nodded, turned, and walked away.
***
Michael watched for the intersection where he would meet Manuel Gomez. Beside him, Blair took in the sights of the Cuban business district, already busy with people walking up and down the street. He wondered what she thought of this place, so foreign to her, not only in language and culture, but also so different from her heritage in Virginia society.
He found a parking spot on the street and finally caught sight of his informant. Manuel was Colombian. He had worked for Michael in exchange for leniency for some petty crimes and had proven loyal because Michael made an effort to treat him fairly. Other agents, both the Anglos and those of Cuban descent, tended to lord it over the scrawny Colombian, acting as if they were doing the man a favor by using him. Michael knew human nature well enough to know he’d do better without that attitude.
That attitude. He had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Blair wouldn’t marry him because he wasn’t rich and he was Latino. Now he saw it as some remnant of the boy he’d been, thrust into a place where heritage defined so much of a person. It was what made him treat the Manuels of the world with more fairness than they often deserved.
It had also made him a sitting duck for Drew Davenport.
***
Blair thought about Selma’s question as she watched Michael get out of the car to talk to a really disreputable looking man. Yes, she knew her heart, but she wasn’t sure what it meant to give her heart to Michael.
All around the parked car, predominantly Spanish language signs advertised American products. Rolling down the window, Blair heard nothing but Spanish spoken on the street. Spanish she couldn’t keep up with, having taken only three years of the language in high school.
As Michael turned his back to the car and spoke earnestly to the scruffy looking man, Blair understood her feelings, clearly, for the first time. She trusted Michael. She believed in him. She loved him. But she’d spent very little time with him. Yes, she had been frightened of giving up her dreams, but she’d also been afraid of her ability to cope should anything happen to him. And behind those two fears loomed an ugly truth.
She’d also been afraid of this—this difference in them. It made her feel small because the differences were what Michael thought had made her say no. Only he thought it was snobbishness on her part. Her wealth and social standing in contrast to his life.
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