by Alice Orr
“Where’s that Mercurochrome?” Slater asked.
He’d put the gun away, and that was another source of relief for Phoenix.
“On the bathroom shelf,” she said. “In my toiletry bag.”
He went into the bathroom. She could hear him rummaging around in there as she sat down on the bed and contemplated what to do next.
“I found it,” he called. She could hear the water running.
“You should really come in here where I can wash those cuts out better.”
Phoenix tried to answer but found herself suddenly lightheaded.
“You’re white as a ghost.”
He’d come out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth in one hand and her bottle of Mercurochrome in the other. He put both down on the dresser then hurried to her side.
“Lean your head down between your knees,” he said.
He pushed her body gently forward, and she complied. She was feeling queasy and was grateful for any help he could give.
“You’re having a delayed reaction to what happened out there,” he said.
Just as she’d noticed before, he acted as if being shot at was old hat to him. Well, he might feel that way, but she was scared. She was especially scared for him.
“We have to get out of here,” she muttered with her head still between her knees.
“What did you say?”
She straightened up a little too rapidly and saw pinpricks of light darting in front of her eyes for a moment.
“We have to get out of here,” she said in a voice she wished she could make stronger. She anticipated that he would need some convincing. “We have to go somewhere safe.”
“Did you have any place specific in mind?” He actually sounded as if he were considering her suggestion.
“I do know a place,” she said.
She also knew she would do whatever was necessary to get Slater to go there.
PHOENIX ALREADY had a hideout in mind. The implication wasn’t lost on Slater. Only somebody on the run would bother to think out an escape route ahead of time. That would have turned him totally against her two days ago, but he’d changed since then, at least where she was concerned. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how she’d reacted to the shooting incident, or more significantly how she’d failed to react. She didn’t appear particularly surprised to have somebody after her with a gun. She never mentioned going to the police, either. Instead, she’d swung directly into her escape plan smooth as clockwork.
She insisted they take nothing with them because leaving the hotel with bags would attract too much attention. She suggested stopping for a few things on the road, and Slater went along with her. Meanwhile, he’d have to be careful they weren’t followed wherever it was they were going. Phoenix wouldn’t tell him their exact destination. She would only say that they were headed out of town and she’d give him directions along the way. She obviously knew what she was doing. After that moment of faintness back in her room, she’d turned cool as a cucumber. She’d even thought out that they should stop at an open-air market on their way out of town to pick up the things she’d mentioned back at the hotel. Slater wasn’t surprised when those purchases turned out to be the basics of a disguise—very dark glasses, large hats, oversize shirts that would conceal body shape.
Slater watched the street while she shopped. No sign of SideMan or the kind of ride he’d most likely drive. It was still early in the day. There weren’t many non-Mexicans out and about as yet. SideMan’s pasty paleness would be very noticeable in this crowd. He wouldn’t actually want to kill Phoenix, of course, not before Laurent’s money was located. Still, Slater wanted to get her out of circulation. There was no telling what SideMan did have in mind next, except that it probably involved some tightening of the screws very soon. Out of town was the place to be when that happened.
PORFIRO COULD SEE the big guy clear. He was checking out the street as if he had his head on a swivel, but he didn’t see Porfiro. That made him smile. If he’d brought the town car, it would be a different story. He’d stick out like a red thumb in that big, fancy car here by the market at the corner of La Costera this early in the morning. His Chevy was so old and ordinary nobody would notice it, but it was good enough to get him wherever the big guy and the señorita might be headed today. Then Porfiro would call the number in his pocket and report where they were, just like he was being very well paid to do. This wasn’t all about money, though. Porfiro didn’t like the way the big guy had treated him that morning outside the Princess. Porfiro deserved respect. When he didn’t get it, he did not forget. He was happy to help the gringo Sax even though Porfiro could tell Sax was as loco as they come. He was down on the big guy, and that was okay with Porfiro. Besides, the pay was good.
“ARE YOU SURE you know where we’re going?” Slater asked.
“I’m sure.”
Phoenix had been out this way before on one of those days when she’d rented a car. Very few Europeans and almost no Americans came out here, especially this early in the day. The familiar streets of Acapulco, with two-story buildings side by side along every block had given way to shabby houses canted off hillsides. The ocean sparkled off to the left, but the rest was fairly barren except for clumps of vegetation and trees.
“We don’t have much farther to go,” she said, “and it’s very different from this where we’re headed.”
She directed Slater down a road to the left off the main highway, and almost immediately the landscape changed. Small, mostly single-story buildings lined both sides of the road, some with colorfully painted signs and illustrations on their adobe walls. Bowers of vines and bright blossoms formed archways toward the sea which was briefly visible at a distance between the buildings.
“Are these all hotels?” Slater asked.
“Mostly, with some cantinas and shops in between.”
The usual flock of young boys wasn’t yet on duty along the road to beckon them toward the various establishments. Tourists didn’t generally arrive this early. Pie de la Cuesta was popular mostly for its fabulous sunsets. Even then, it was Europeans more than Americans who ventured out here from the city. Whoever was after Slater wouldn’t be likely to think of looking for him here.
“That’s the place,” she said, pointing to a low, long white building on the bay side of the road.
She’d stopped at Las Tres Marias on her first visit to Pie de la Cuesta. The attitude toward foreigners was generally polite but indifferent. Mostly Mexican families came here to eat at the open-air cantina with the immaculate, red-tiled patio floor. Of the small staff, only one woman at a serving window spoke enough English to be understood. Phoenix figured that any inquiries, even photographs, would be met with “Yo no comprendo” and a noncommittal shrug.
Slater parked in the sandy lot fronting the hotel patio. All that distinguished his Jeep from the other nondescript vehicles there was the top wrapped around the roll bar at the rear. Phoenix had packed her purchases into the colorful woven carry bags she’d bought at the market back in the city—everything they needed to look like just another pair of sun-seekers out here to relax and be left alone.
Between her meager Spanish and the halting English spoken by the woman at the serving window, Phoenix managed to get them a room. Slater stood guard meanwhile, squinting through his new dark glasses into the already bright sun along the vast, empty beach to one side of the hotel and the sandy road to the other. Phoenix might have told him he could relax out here so far from town, but she didn’t. Maybe relaxing wasn’t what Slater should do if he was to stay alive, and that was what she wanted more desperately than she had ever wanted anything in her life.
PORFIRO HAD DRIVEN PAST Las Tres Marias and parked in front of a small tienda further down the road and on the opposite side. He was surprised that the two Americanos knew about this out-of-the-way place, though he had observed her to be smart for a gringa. Smart or not, she wouldn’t be likely to recognize Porfiro even if she looked straight at him. In his camp
esino clothes—loose white shirt and trousers, huaraches and straw hat—he bore little resemblance to the slicked-up tour driver she’d met at La Escarpadura.
Porfiro watched from across the road as the gringa arranged for a room. He picked up a broom and pretended to sweep the roadside as he made his observations. Even in his peasant disguise, Porfiro was wary of the eagle eye of the big guy, who was keeping a close lookout while she gestured and talked. Finally, the two of them followed a woman up a stairway into the hotel. Porfiro made his phone call then from a cantina next to the grocery where he’d parked the Chevy.
“Wait till they’re out of the way, and take off with their car,” the gringo Sax said over the phone. “I’ll be out there soon. Wait for me at the turnoff to the highway.”
Porfiro thought about protesting. He didn’t want to get involved with stealing a car, though he’d done it before and he could hot-wire the rental Jeep fast. The patio at Las Tres Marias was just about deserted also, and even if somebody saw him they’d say nothing. He’d rather not do it all the same, but the money the mean gringo paid was good, more than enough to buy another Chevy if Porfiro couldn’t get back here to pick up this one. The man on the phone was very bad, un hombre muy malo. Porfiro could tell that the first time he saw him.
“No problema,” Porfiro said. They were the words he knew gringos most loved to hear.
Chapter Twelve
Phoenix could hardly wait to get Slater out onto the beach. She knew it was wide-open there and maybe not the best place for a guy on the run. Still, he kept insisting they hadn’t been followed, and he seemed to be well versed in such matters. Phoenix understood that, generally, there are only two types of people who specialize in that kind of knowledge—criminals and the police. She couldn’t really picture Slater as the latter, and she didn’t want to think any more right now about him being the former. She preferred the illusion that they were nothing more or less than a young couple who’d met on vacation in Mexico and were now spending a day at the beach.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she called over the sound of the surf rolling in.
She’d put on the thong sandals, halter top and wrapped skirt she’d picked up at the street market. The filmy, printed skirt material swirled around her hips and caught between her legs in the stiff breeze that blew off the Pacific Ocean. Her sandals sank into the soft sand as she turned and ran back to Slater as fast as she could manage and threw her arms around his neck. His arms folded around her, and she pressed close to the solid wall of his chest. His fingers were in her hair, stroking, soothing. She knew she should be the one comforting him, but she didn’t move. She let herself bask in the sheltering safety of his arms while the wind swirled around them and blew away all thoughts of anything but this perfect moment.
“We have to talk about what’s really going on here,” he began, but she covered his lips with her fingers.
“Not yet,” she said. “Please, let us enjoy this beautiful place just a little longer.”
He sighed and gave her a resigned smile. He kissed her fingers before she moved them away.
“Look who’s here,” he said.
He’d spoken too calmly to be referring to anyone dangerous, but Phoenix jumped back all the same with her heart beating suddenly fast. She breathed a deep sigh of relief to see a vendor approaching them. He was wearing the traditional Mexican loose, white shirt and trousers that were just right for a breezy day at the beach and a straw sombrero to protect his head against the hot sun. On his shoulder he balanced a shallow box.
“¿Fruta fresca?” he asked and lowered the box for Phoenix and Slater to see.
He was selling plastic cups filled with fruit—pineapple, citrus and melon in large, inviting chunks that looked as fresh as he proclaimed them to be. Phoenix could smell the pineapple, making her newly aware of how hungry she was. They never got the breakfast they’d been headed for earlier.
“I’ll have two,” she said eagerly.
Slater laughed. “Is that two just for you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Two just for me.”
Slater laughed again, and she was also newly aware of being hungry for that sound as well.
“Cuatro, por favor,” he said to the vendor.
Slater gave the vendor what looked like too many pesos and indicated that he didn’t want change.
The vendor smiled wide. “Muchas gracias,” he said.
Phoenix could have told Slater this meant the vendor would be sending his colleagues around to plague el americano rico and that he probably would be back several times himself, but she didn’t. Instead, she took her two cups of fruit and smiled just as widely herself.
“Let’s sit down over there,” she said, pointing toward the open-sided, thatch-roofed palapas nearby.
Weathered wooden beach chairs were lined up in the shade under the thatch. The sun was too hot to stand around in for very long, especially for Slater. His skin was a healthy, natural bronze-gold color, but he didn’t yet have a base tan strong enough to tolerate the tropical sun. Phoenix could tell that he hadn’t spent much time outdoors here in the daytime. She didn’t care to think about what might have kept him inside except at night.
They’d reached the palapas. A short, stocky woman wearing an apron was beside them before they’d had time to sit down.
“Diez pesos,” she said pointing at the chairs.
She meant that they had to rent the chairs for the day. She was carrying a towel and a small tray and most likely worked at Las Tres Marias. Phoenix was trying to put together enough fractured Spanish in her head to convey that she and Slater were guests at the hotel and the price of the chairs should go with that Before she could formulate anything even close to that message, Slater had handed the woman a ten-peso note and three ones as a tip.
“We shouldn’t have to pay to sit here,” Phoenix said. “We’re staying at the hotel.”
The woman in the apron had already grabbed the money, said “Gracias, señor,” and was shuffling away.
“Cheap at twice the price,” Slater said and settled into the chair with a sigh.
“You should at least have bargained with her,” Phoenix said. “Five pesos would have been plenty.”
“I don’t feel like being anything but very agreeable at the moment,” he said. “How’s your fruit?”
“I haven’t tasted it yet.”
She put one cup down on the small, wooden table that Slater’s pesos had apparently rented along with the chairs. A long, wooden toothpick was stuck.in a piece of pineapple as an eating utensil. She took a bite of the juicy, fragrant fruit and was immediately as transfixed as Slater had been a while ago on the beach. She couldn’t think of another flavor in the world to compare with the taste of this pineapple. The fruit she bought at her corner bodega back in Manhattan could hardly claim to be from the same plant family as this. The sweetness burst on her tongue so vividly that, for a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to chew. Then, her hunger reminded her that her stomach was waiting none too patiently to be fed.
“This is good,” Slater commented around a mouthful of his own.
Phoenix nodded. She was too busy gobbling the contents of first one cup, then the other, to speak. She’d emptied both before she turned to find Slater looking at her with a soft smile on his face. She was lifting the white paper napkin the vendor had given her to dab the juice from the corner of her mouth when Slater stopped her hand with his.
“Let me do that,” he said.
He drew her toward him as he leaned over the space between their beach chairs. Before she could prepare herself for his lips, they were on hers, but only for a second. He slid his tongue along her lower lip to the corner of her mouth and licked at the juice. The sensation aroused by that touch of the tip of his tongue to the sensitive corner of her mouth shot through her with a thrust as hot as the sun-baked sand. She couldn’t stop the moan that rolled out of her throat. His tongue slipped back between her lips and across to the opposite corner of her mout
h to lick there, too.
“Oh, no,” she breathed against his lips, barely hearing what she’d said.
“Do you mean that?” he whispered as his mouth trailed downward to her chin then downward farther still onto her neck. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured.
“No, please, no,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.”
She felt his hands on her shoulders drawing her up out of her chair. His lips moved along her neck toward her ear, and she was grateful to have him holding her up because her knees had gone suddenly weak. His mouth reached her earlobe and nuzzled as he spoke.
“Let’s go back to the room,” he said.
Phoenix nodded once and leaned against him as his arm circled her waist and he guided her out from beneath the thatch and over the hot sand toward the rough wooden steps from the beach to the hotel patio. It occurred to her that they were wasting the ten pesos he’d paid for the chair rental. She let the thought drift away on the wind and the waves of her desire.
SLATER HAD WANTED TO swoop her up and carry her off the beach in his arms, but they were attracting enough attention already. He could see the lust burning in the eyes of the two Mexican men who were lounging on the patio drinking cerveza. Slater glared back at them until they looked away. He didn’t intend to let any man look at Phoenix that way. She was for his eyes only.
Gazing down at her, he could understand why other men would want her. The white cloth of her halter top covered only part of the roundness of her breasts. The rest mounded golden and tempting and waiting to be touched. Any red-blooded man would be aroused just looking at her. Slater himself could resist the temptation only as far as the deserted stairwell. As they climbed the stairs, he pressed her against his side with one hand while the other reached for the bare skin above the waist of her skirt then roamed up over the white halter. His palm touched the hard bud of her nipple, and he heard himself moan the same way she had back on the beach.