“Okay, so I killed Bradford. You don’t know what an annoying asshole he was, mister FBI man. Bitch, gripe, whine and moan, that’s all he did, him with all his money, his business, his jewels, and bitch eyes. Yet he wanted to bitch. He had everything I’d want, all of it, and he didn’t fucking deserve anything. So I shot him, took the money and the jewels. I’d have taken the bitch too, but she ran off to hillbilly land. So I figured I’d just drop a hint or two in the right ears, let her take the rap for it. Bitch eyes never liked me anyway. She’s too damn good to throw me a kind word or a kiss or a fuck once in a while.”
From her hiding spot, Cecily watched Daniel stiffen his spine, ramrod straight. “So did you use the Glock 17 you’ve got there for the job?”
Johnson stared and shook his head. Cecily guessed he must be stoned out of his head, maybe on meth. “You’re one dumb mother fucker,” he said. “Yeah, I did and I’m going to use it to kill you, too. Can’t let you live now that you know the truth, man, so you gotta die. You should’ve let the bitch show up. She ain’t worth it and you’d walk away from this mess. It ain’t happening now. I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to fuck this bitch here ‘cause I can’t get ahold of the real deal. Then I’ll send her on to hell, too. I’ll turn up evidence so bitch eyes goes to jail for murder. Think maybe I’ll make it look like she shot the two of you, maybe found out you were two-timing her with this cunt. Three murder raps, she’ll go down.”
Daniel shifted position and something red flickered in his hand. Cecily gasped without noise, mouth wide open, when she realized it was a digital recorder. She’d thought he held a gun but it wasn’t. Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning, he’s going to get himself killed.
When Johnson’s lips twisted into a horrible grimace, she realized he’d seen the recorder, too. “You’ve been recording me! You bastard, it’s no fun and no fair.”
He raised the Glock, aimed and fired. Daniel’s face never changed, even when the bullet struck his left shoulder high and crimson exploded in a huge splatter out of the tattered remnants of his shirt. Daniel held his feet but from where she stood, closer to him than to Nia and Johnson, Cecily watched fine pain lines form like cobwebs around his mouth.
She didn’t think about what she would do next or plan what to say, just did it.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything shifted in seconds from tense to intense. The bullet slammed into his shoulder with the force of a sledgehammer. As it tore through tissue, pain erupted with fierce fire and radiated outward, but Daniel managed to remain standing. He wasn’t sure how. Although he’d been shot before and should know what to expect, it hurt enough to momentarily cripple his senses. He stood in place, stunned, aware he should react but unable to focus. A nasty burst of laughter from Johnson filtered through his momentary stupor. If he didn’t move, the bastard might shoot him again and impact greater damage. A flesh wound might be a literal pain, but it wouldn’t kill him. A hit somewhere vital might.
“Gotcha!” Johnson brayed like a jackass. “Now give me the recorder, man.”
“iChíngate,” Daniel said, then repeated in English. “Fuck you.”
He thrust the device deep into his front jeans pocket and reached for his weapon in a back holster. As Daniel pulled out the pistol, two things happened. Johnson fired again and something vicious ripped hard into his left side, low. It burned deep into his flesh and hurt like a mother fucker. Almost before he could take in the fact he’d been shot a second time, Daniel stared in shock as Cecily burst into the room and approached Johnson.
“All right, asshole,” she said in a wild voice. “You wanted me, you got me. Now just what the hell are you gonna do with me?”
“I’m going to kill you, bitch eyes,” Johnson said. “And watch you die.”
“Uh-uh,” she said. “Change of plan, mother fucker. You don’t mess with my people.”
She brought up a knife and he must be out of his fucking mind, because he’d swear it was the old Comanche knife, the one his great-grandmother handed down through the generations. But it couldn’t be so he must be delirious or dreaming. Maybe Cecily wasn’t even really here, although she appeared very real as she wielded the knife with a warrior’s intent. Like a trained assassin, she thrust the knife under Johnson’s ribs and diagonally up into his chest. Johnson cried out, a wordless and terrible noise of surprise and pain before he lifted his weapon up one more time and pointed it in Cecily’s face.
“No, querida, no,” Daniel said, but his voice came out so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it and he didn’t think she did. A roaring sound filled his ears, but he still heard the gunshot echo with incredible volume. He tried to reach for her as a blood red haze filtered his vision. Through it, he watched Cecily put a hand to her head and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Someone screamed, maybe Nia, maybe him and then darkness enveloped him, thick and unforgiving and total.
****
Darkness yielded to night and he grew aware of thousands of stars lighting up the sky. Daniel gazed upward with wonder. He knew this place, remembered it well although he hadn’t set foot here in decades. The Lyndon B. Johnson National Grasslands, acres and acres of open country, plains and prairie, lakes and water, all beneath a Texas sky bigger than God almighty to a little kid from Fort Worth. He inhaled a fresh outdoors scent and another familiar aroma. Whatever reason he’d come here, he wasn’t alone. The aromatic, powerful smell of unfiltered Lucky Strikes brought back memories and a sense of security. Daniel turned around toward the aroma and saw his dad.
Manuel Padilla smiled and patted the earth beside him. “Mi hijo, come sit awhile.”
Daniel sat down, cross-legged and touched his father’s arm. Beneath his fingers, it was solid and real. A deep abiding peace surrounded him and he let it wash over him as the tension, the anxiety, and cares of life ebbed away. “Papa, it’s good to see you.”
His father nodded and smoked. He offered Daniel a cigarette, but he shook his head. He’d never smoked, but his dad wouldn’t know, he guessed. They sat in comfortable camaraderie for a long time. Daniel felt all his burdens lift, he noticed something on the horizon. He squinted and tried to make it out. Something very familiar about it niggled in his mind. He thought it mattered very much, but he couldn’t remember why. He struggled until the image became clear—Cecily’s shop on the Branson Strip, the name lighting up the night sky, brilliant and as pink as the name—Pink Neon.
Cecily. Memory poured into his soul and flooded his senses. Her very essence flowed into his body and he recalled everything, the way her nose turned up at the end, her sassy mouth, her tender hands, and the way she made love with him. Thinking of her made him very happy, but it brought back the things which bound him. Daniel stared at the shop and thought it must be a mirage, here.
“It’s real,” his father said. “Or real for you, anyway.”
“What does it mean? Why am I here?”
Manuel placed his hand over his son’s. “You’re here because your body was very hurt. You came to a place you once knew and loved. You came to me so I could guide you.”
An idea dawned, one Daniel didn’t like. “Am I dead?”
“No,” his papa said. “You could have been, but she pulls you back, the woman. This is your past, but that is your future.”
He pointed at the image of Pink Neon on the horizon and Daniel sensed a tugging, a need somewhere in his midsection. Power drew him with a sense of rightness, something similar to the way the tide came to shore or some animals mated for life. In the rushing wind sweeping across the open country, he heard what he’d missed before—the sound of Cecily’s weeping.
“Go to her,” his father said. “Vaya con Dios, mi hijo. Your time will come someday, but this is not the day.”
Daniel shut his eyes and everything around him shifted. A sensation of hurtling through time and space seized him and he yielded to its’ pull. The stars vanished and although he experienced a profound sense of loss, Daniel launche
d into the darkness from which he’d emerged.
One moment he soared weightless and with joy, the next he crashed hard into the confines of a body. Pain returned, dulled but undeniable. Awareness came in slow stages and with every detail, he gained knowledge of his surroundings. Daniel ticked them off on a mental list—a bed where he laid prone, an uncomfortable tube in his nose, needles attached to his arm, intermittent beeps in the background—and realized hospital. Vague medicinal smells assaulted his senses and a sharp discomfort in his groin made him aware of a catheter. Someone spoke to him, urgent and very soft. With stubborn will, he forced his eyes open and saw her. Cecily, alive and apparently well, something which made him exhale hard. Last he remembered, he heard a shot and then she fell. Something tight in his chest eased with the knowledge she remained alive and unharmed. Damn, she’s pretty.
Her cornrows dangled as Cecily bent forward, face in both hands, with a look of despair. Although Daniel lacked much strength, he summoned up enough to touch her hand. She glanced up, startled, eyes wide, and gasped. She took his hand and held it tight as she came to her feet. Cecily stroked his face with her left hand, standing beside the bed, leaning over him. A few soft snuffles escaped from her mouth, the kind of sound someone who cried for a long time will make. A stray tear leaked and rolled down her cheek in slow motion.
“Sugar?” she said as she lifted his right hand to her cheek. The cool of her hand, her skin soothed his own heat and he realized he must be running a fever. “Oh, sugar, you scared me.”
Daniel struggled to find his voice, to dredge up enough energy to speak. “Don’t cry, querida,” he said. “I came back.”
Her red-rimmed eyes clouded and he realized she didn’t understand. Explaining required too much effort so he didn’t try. He’d tell her later about his experience.
“Hush,” she said. “I don’t know how much talking you should be doing. You’ve only been out of ICU for a few hours.”
He recognized he’d been hospitalized, but ICU put a more serious spin on things. Daniel wondered how bad he’d been hit, worse than he’d thought. “Why was I in ICU?” he croaked.
Some water would help his dry throat. Hell, he could drink a full pitcher.
Cecily kissed his hand, the one she still held. Her face crumpled up and he thought she would start bawling again. “You were shot, twice,” she said. “Your shoulder wasn’t too bad, a flesh wound and the bullet went through although it tore you up. The second one didn’t exit and they did surgery to remove it. You almost bled out before the ambulance came and even here at the hospital, they weren’t sure you’d make it.”
Jesus, he knew it must’ve been dire if he almost died and visited his dad in some heavenly version of the grasslands, but Daniel hadn’t expected a close call. Although curious how long he’d been in the hospital and where, he had priorities. “Yo soy sediento,” he said, forgetting she lacked much Spanish. “Aqua, por favor.”
“You want some water, sugar?” Cecily asked. “I know that much Spanish, learned it on Sesame Street.”
She poured water into a foam cup, inserted a bendable straw, and then held it to his lips. Daniel sucked the cool liquid into his mouth with pleasure. “Gracias,” he whispered.
“De nada,” she said. “Try to sleep, sugar. You need lots of rest.”
Fatigue drifted over him, heavy and pervasive. Their short exchange wore him out and his eyelids became heavy. He wanted to remain alert, to talk to Cecily and enjoy her tender little caresses, but he couldn’t. “Are you staying, querida?” he managed to ask. “I want to see you when I wake up.”
“Daniel,” she said with the first flicker of a smile he’d seen on her face since he woke. “Ain’t nothing big enough to drag me away. Trust me, they tried. I’ll be here, I promise.”
Before he could try to say anything else, she put one finger across his lips then bent over and kissed his mouth, soft and light. “I love you, sugar,” she whispered.
He surrendered to the weariness and let sleep wipe out everything else. When he woke again, he came around easier and it took far less effort to open his eyes. Sunshine streamed into the room from the window. Until he saw it, he hadn’t realized it’d been night before. Daniel drew a deep breath and realized the canula wasn’t in his nose. Although he hurt, the pain no longer had as much edge, but he knew when he began to move, he’d be very sore. Still thirsty, he thought he possessed more strength until he struggled to sit up. He waited until the wave of weak dizziness passed to focus on whether or not Cecily remained in the room.
She stood with her back to him, gazing out of the window. He noticed she’d pulled her cornrows back and tied them with a ribbon in a modified sort of ponytail. Daniel watched her for a few moments and then said, “Querida.”
Cecily turned and rocketed to his side. “Hey, sugar,” she said. “You look better, a little.”
“I feel better,” he said, but he winced as he shifted position. “What’s the doctor say?”
Her grin lit the room brighter than the sunlight. “He says you’ll recover just fine. Soon as you feel up to it, there’s a long line of people waiting to see you. Your boss from Kansas City, he’s one of them.”
In a bright pink blouse, Cecily sparkled. Her eyes shone bright as she gazed down at him and her hand wrapped in his gave him comfort. “Did he come to fire me or arrest you?” he asked, hoping neither one would happen.
“Huh-uh,” she replied. “I’m cleared of any suspicion and I think he wants to give you some award or commendation or something. You should’ve told me you had back up when I went in there with your great-grandma’s Comanche knife, sugar. I could’ve got my ass shot.”
The last moments before everything went dark played across his mind and he shuddered. “I thought you did, querida. I saw you fall over after I heard a shot. But unless I’m crazy, I thought you knifed the bastard first.”
She smiled. “I did. Then I fainted, nerves and not eating all day can cause that, I hear. But I wasn’t out more than a minute or two. The shot took down Johnson before he had a chance to kill me or shoot you again, but the dude who fired it told me I probably killed the asshole—he just hadn’t died yet.”
“Who fired?”
“That Martin, your boss,” Cecily said. “He was almost as upset as me when you were lying in your own blood on the floor. And the guy you didn’t like, the one treated me so mean in Springfield, Tillman?”
“Yeah?”
“He showed up after everything went down and tried to put me in handcuffs, the son of a bitch,” Cecily said with a little laugh. “I heard he got his ass canned for it, too. Seems like the FBI has a job opening to head up the Springfield satellite office too or so I hear.”
Maybe because he remained physically weak or perhaps because he loved this damn woman so much, tears came into his eyes. What she didn’t say loomed big and important. He’d wondered how their relationship would be, after, if they both lived. Now they were here, on the other side of it, and Cecily mentioned a job, one which could put him within easy commuting distance of Branson. She wants a future together as much as I do. Although he hadn’t doubt it, the reality evoked raw, powerful emotion, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he said, with what he hoped was a casual tone, “You hear a lot, querida.”
“Don’t I?” she said. “Before I heard about the job opening, I’d come across some mention of space for rent in Country Club Plaza up in Kansas City, too. And rental openings in somewhere called Zona Rosa, more at Bannister Mall and the Blue Ridge Mall. Who knows? I might just relocate or open a second store, give this one to Nia.”
He asked, although he thought he knew the answer. “She’s okay, right, Nia?”
Cecily nodded. “She’s good. Thinks you’re some kind of hero now. I’m gonna have to watch her around you, I think.”
Then she winked and he grinned. “You have nothing to worry about, mi corazon. I guess the only question is whether we stay here or end up in Kansas City. Where do you want to be?�
��
Her expression shifted to a sober one and her eyes met his, open and unafraid. “There’s only one place I want to be, sugar,” she said. “I want to be where you are, where you come home at the end of the day. I don’t care where.”
Joy filled his soul and expanded outward. “Then we’ll see what happens,” he replied. “It’s what I want, too, querida.” Their hands clung and he wished he could hold her in his arms. Soon, he would. After a few minutes, he said, “You said a long line of people. Who else is out there besides Martin?”
“I think you’d better just see them,” Cecily said. “Do you feel strong enough for more company?” Her brow furrowed as she asked and he nodded, touched by her concern.
“I think so. They don’t have to stay long, do they?” he asked. Who could it be, anyway, except maybe Cecily’s cousin and some fellow FBI agents—he didn’t know anyone else here.
Her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “No more than you want, sugar. I’ll go get them.”
Daniel watched her leave the room and then used the automatic controls to raise the bed so he wasn’t prone. Cecily came back within minutes, grinning wide and stepped aside so someone else could enter first. He’d prepared a stern look to greet Martin, but his mother walked into his hospital room and to his bedside. Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tear, but her voice was calm as she said, “Mi hijo, it’s good to see you. How do you feel?”
“I hurt,” he said, his voice choked with emotion, moved she’d come so far to see how he fared. “But I’m alive and that’s all that matters. I’ll heal.”
“Si,” Luz replied. “I prayed to God, to all the angels and saints, and to the dead.”
She leaned over to kiss his forehead and moved away. Michael stood behind her, his grin more than a little shaky, but he gripped Daniel’s hand and greeted him. “Sara and Anna wanted to come, too,” Michael said. “Mama said ‘no’, you would be all right. She was sure—I wasn’t, so I’m glad you’ve improved. I didn’t want to bury my brother.”
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