An Ill Wind

by Monette Michaels

  “Hola, Fee. You will have fresh squeezed orange juice also,” the older woman informed her then turned to her daughter. “Hola, hija preciosa. What do you want to eat?”

  “Huevos rancheros, mamá.” Pia got up and hugged her mother, then sat back down. “Mamá, what’s this?” She traced an ugly, dark bruise around her mother’s wrist.

  “Nothing, mi hija. Let me get your order.” Pia’s mother scurried off.

  “Not nothing,” a man with a raspy voice uttered.

  Fee and Pia turned as one. An attractive older man with the deportment of a former soldier, someone Fee had seen frequently in the restaurant, had spoken. His light eyes held a glint of anger.

  “Who hurt Carmela…” What was the guy’s name? Matty? Macky? “…Manny?” Fee asked in a low voice so it wouldn’t carry back to the kitchen where Pia’s mother was cooking.

  “Ernesto.” Manny spat the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “He was in earlier. Argued with Carmela. Didn’t catch all of it, because they were arguing in Spanish … but I did hear her mention the cartel. She was angry—and scared. That’s when Ernesto grabbed her and shook her. I shouted at the worthless piece of shit to stop and headed over to make him. But—”

  Manny clenched his hands at his sides. “The little bastard cursed me, then flung Carmela aside and ran out of here.” He fixed his worried gaze on Fee. “Dr. Teague, please check Carmela over. She hit the edge of the counter and then the floor really hard.”

  “I will.” Fee stood and headed for the kitchen area.

  Pia muttered “thanks, Manny” and followed her.

  “Carmela—” Fee walked behind the counter and entered the small galley kitchen. She then gently pulled the older woman away from the stove. “Leave the food for now. Let me check your hip and side.” She yelled over her shoulder to where Manny now stood at the end of the counter and had a view of them. “Which side, Manny?”

  “Same side as her wrist. The little bastard jerked her toward him then whipped her to the side and let her go.” Manny’s face was red with anger. He blew out a harsh breath. “I couldn’t get to her in time to keep her from being hurt.”

  Manny’s guilt at failing Carmela radiated in every line and angle of his body. He obviously had strong, deep feelings for Pia’s mother.

  Carmela protested, “Manny, why did you…”

  “Hush, mamá. Ernesto is a pig. Let Fee check you over.” Pia’s tone was filled with a simmering anger that would certainly boil over once she found her brother. “Manny, please make sure we aren’t interrupted.”

  “You got it, Pia.” The older man turned his back and stood guard.

  Fee gently pulled Carmela’s blouse from the waistband of her jeans and then lowered her pants to expose her upper hip. Pia’s sharp inhale said it all.

  “Some really nice bruising going on here.” Fee lightly traced the ugly blue-red markings while watching Carmela’s reactions. “Did you hit anything else on the way down? Your ribs? Your stomach?”

  “No, no.” Carmela shoved gently at Fee. “I am fine. It was nothing.”

  “Check her ribs,” Manny put in loudly. “She wouldn’t let me take her to the emergency clinic. She grimaces when she takes a deep breath and fucking limps when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking.”

  “Manny!” Carmela yelled.

  And the man was correct—Carmela was wincing and gasping.

  “Dammit, woman. I’m worried about you,” he yelled back.

  Even though the situation with Ernesto and his mother wasn’t even a little bit amusing, Fee had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the byplay between Pia’s mother and Manny. “Carmela, let’s go to the clinic and get an X-ray just to make sure your hip and ribs aren’t fractured.”

  “Fee…” Carmela began to refuse.

  “You’re going, mamá.” Pia had a mulish look on her face. “I’ll cook. Manny can help me by taking orders.”

  “Damn straight, she’s going.” Manny came to stand by them. His worried glance zeroing in on the bruising. Sparks flashed in his eyes and he muttered, “I’ll fucking gut that little bastard.”

  “Manny,” Carmela whispered, tears in her eyes. “He is mi hijo.”

  “He sure doesn’t act like a good son should.” Manny turned to Fee. “Me and Pia can cover the diner until the other servers come in for the lunch crowd. Don’t let Carmela give you any crap. Better to be safe than sorry, I always say.”

  “I won’t.” Fee helped rearrange the older woman’s clothing and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go. I’ll take the X-rays myself. If there’s only bruising, we’ll be back before you know it.” If there was a hip fracture, and depending on the severity, Carmela would be in an ambulance to the county hospital in Deming, the Luna County seat.

  Pia brought Fee a foil-wrapped bundle that smelled heavenly. “Take this. It’s a breakfast burrito. It’ll tide you over until you return.” Her friend turned toward her mother and hugged her gently. “Behave, mamá. Do what Fee says. Manny and I can handle the restaurante.”

  “Gracias, mi hija.” Carmela stroked her daughter’s face. “Do not confront Ernesto. He was not himself.”

  Fee took that to mean the idiot had been jacked up on some drug. She hoped it wasn’t the meth and heroin combo. The locals had taken to speedballing, and she’d seen a lot of overdoses in the ER and more than a few deaths. The next time, Ernesto’s violent behavior could easily escalate and result in a more serious injury or even death, maybe even his own.

  If Pia’s mother refused to file a complaint with the Sheriff’s Office, Fee would call Levi and suggest he talk to Manny about the altercation in Mamacitas.

  As Fee walked Carmela toward the exit, Pia’s words to Manny followed them out the door, “Just what are you doing with mi mamá? And what exactly did Ernesto say to her? And don’t tell me you didn’t understand, old man, because I know you speak fluent border Spanglish.”

  ****

  9:30 am, Fee’s place

  “Pia, you don’t need to stick around. I can pick out a date night outfit.” As soon as they entered the cozy adobe, Fee turned on the chiller unit. The ceiling fan had lost the battle against the morning heat. “You need to go and ride herd on your mother. Even with cracked ribs and a severely bruised hip, we both know she won’t rest when she has a business to run even with your Aunt Ingreta there to help her.”

  “Tía Ingreta is the meaner older sister,” Pia said. “Mamá will listen to her. Plus Manny is there. He has promised to care for mi mamá.” Her friend giggled. “He’s courting her and she’s letting him. This is good. Ernesto always takes advantage of mamá. Manny will stop that.”

  Fee frowned and turned to look at Pia. “Ernesto has already shown he can be violent. What’s to keep him from going in there and using a gun next time?”

  Pia’s lips thinned. “Nothing. This is why Manny will begin to wear his gun on his hip. Mi mamá’s new man is retired Army and still a virile man. He will do what is needed to protect his woman.”

  Hell, this sounded like the wild west circa the 21st century. Someone could get killed if the situation wasn’t nipped in the bud. So she was glad she’d—“I called Levi.”

  “Why did you do that? My family and Manny can handle Ernesto. Did mi mamá hear you?” Pia looked worried—and scared. But for whom—her mother or her brother?

  “Your mother asked me to.” Fee hugged her friend. “Your brother threatened your mother if she didn’t stop insulting his friends by asking them to leave the restaurant. Pia, your brother and his home boys had previously shot up drugs when there were families present with small children.” Pia gasped. “Levi will have a word with your brother.”

  More than a word. The normally taciturn sheriff had exploded when he’d heard what Ernesto had done to Carmela. Levi had come to the emergency room and taken a statement from Pia’s mother, who’d cried, but had done the right thing. Carmela had admitted she was afraid her son would die doing favors with his f
riends for the cartel—just as her husband had. Ernesto’s blatant disrespect had been ongoing for a long time, but when he’d turned violent with her … that had been the last straw. She wanted her only son scared straight.

  “Santo infierno,” Pia muttered. She wiped away a tear that had leaked from her eye. “Ernesto is in deeper with the cartel than my father had been. This is very bad.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Fee rubbed Pia’s back. “Let Levi handle it. Let Manny protect your mother. Ernesto has chosen the wrong path and the law will have to handle it now.”

  Pia nodded and sniffled, then straightened her shoulders. “Mamá is fine for now. I want … no, I need, to help you pick out your outfit. If I leave the choice up to you, you will wear something boring.” Her friend entered Fee’s bedroom and walked into the one feature which had sold Fee on the tiny house—the master bathroom with a large walk-in closet off to the side. “You need to show some skin so your man will see your glowing New Mexico tan.”

  Fee laughed and followed her friend. “He’ll see my freckles. I don’t burn. I don’t tan. I get spots.”

  Pia glanced at Fee as she stripped to her lacy peach-colored bra and panties, her one concession to femininity under her work clothes. “He’ll adore your spots since you’ll be exposing lots of skin along with them. Try this.” Pia shoved an aqua chiffon sleeveless dress with a built-in, silky slip underneath. “It matches your eyes. Do you have any silver and turquoise jewelry?”

  Fee took the dress and pulled it on over her head, then shimmied until it settled over her hips. “Damn, I can’t wear a bra with this.” She unclipped the bra, slipped it off one arm, then the other, and pulled it out through the armhole. “Yes, in the top drawer of the chest. Pia, this dress is far too fancy for any of the restaurants in Deming.”

  The nicest sit-down restaurant in the county seat was a chain steak restaurant in a strip mall. The last time she’d worn this particular dress it had been to a three-star Michelin restaurant in New York where she’d attended an AMA meeting.

  “It’ll be fine.” Pia eyed Fee’s hips. “Lose the undies. The fabric clings. You have a pronounced panty line.”

  “I refuse to go without undies.” Fee’s face flushed at the thought of sitting across from Trey with no underwear. The man would definitely notice, since he scanned her body with an intense, laser-like regard each and every time he’d seen her.

  “You must have a pair of thong panties. Wear those.”

  “I don’t.” Fee had tossed out all her thongs after Adam-fucking-Stall had raped her. She’d worn a pair of lacy thong panties that night. She could still hear Stall leeringly comment on them as he’d ripped them off her nearly unconscious body.

  “Then lose the panties,” Pia ordered and then smiled as Fee slipped the undies off and tugged the dress back into place. “Much better. Trey will be much envied since he’ll be the one dining with you.”

  “I agree with the lady … no panties is much better.” The words uttered in an accented, harsh male growl came from behind her.

  CHAPTER 3

  Fee and Pia gasped and turned.

  A man dressed in designer jeans and what looked to be a silk golf shirt stood in Fee’s bedroom, just outside the master bath doorway. He was dark-haired and swarthy-skinned, and definitely of Hispanic lineage with maybe a bit of Spanish European blood mixed in, but his accent was pure Mexican.

  What might have normally been an attractive package was spoiled by the fact his pale yellow gaze was feral, he had a big, ugly gun pointed at them, and he had lots of blood on his shirt.

  After a swift examination, she determined it wasn’t his blood, and his eyes showed no pain, merely the promise of giving it. His expression was all too familiar. It was the same rapacious look Stall had worn each time he’d approached her … had stalked her like an animal.

  Icy dread raised goose bumps over Fee’s skin. Her heart pounded as adrenaline poured into her bloodstream and every primitive instinct told her to run or hide.

  Evil stood in her bedroom, and there was no escaping him.

  She clenched her jaw and forced herself to breathe slowly. The mere threat of him had thrust her back into the dark place she’d recently begun to emerge from.

  Focus.

  A loud, pained groan sounded from behind the man blocking the bathroom doorway. The noise startled Fee out of her momentary paralysis and helped her find the control of the ER physician she’d trained to be.

  She shot a sharp glance at the gunman. “Who’s hurt? Did you shoot someone? And why in the hell did you bring him here?”

  Before she’d finished speaking, the man had crossed the few feet between them and back-handed her across the face with his free hand. “Silence, puta.”

  Eyes watering from the vicious hit, Fee stumbled back a few steps and covered the side of her face with a shaky hand.

  “Fee…” Pia’s voice was thready with shock. “That’s Raimundo Chavez.” Utter fear colored her friend’s tone. “He’s Jaime Aznar’s segundo.”

  The acting head of the Sinaloa cartel, Jaime Aznar a.k.a. El Hacha—the Ax—had gotten his nickname as a result of how he dealt with those who crossed him—he dismembered them with an ax.

  Fee swallowed hard as dread slithered down her spine. She’d also heard of Chavez. El Halcón. The Hawk. Rumors along the border had painted him as even more deadly than his boss. Eyeing Chavez, it was easy to believe the stories. The cold yellow gleam of his eyes resembled that of the predatory bird he was named after.

  Just look at him. He’s eyeballing you as if you were a tasty mouse he wanted to gut.

  Fee froze in place just as prey did when being hunted and not wanting to draw the hungry hunter’s attention. She wanted to pull her gaze from his—to back away, to escape—but couldn’t. She was afraid he’d swoop in and attack once more. Her throbbing cheek was evidence of his short fuse.

  “Mi jefe has been shot.” His relentless stare fixed on her, Chavez stepped aside to reveal through the doorway a short, swarthy-skinned, and very bloody male lying on her ivory linen bedspread. A hulking brute leaned over the body, applying pressure in two places on the victim’s torso. The hulk’s hands and forearms were covered in blood.

  “We are here, because I have been told you are an emergency doctor. So, Dr. Fiona Teague, you will do what is needed to help El Hacha … now.”

  It scared the ever-loving shit out of her that this man knew even that much about her.

  Fee somehow found the strength to tear her gaze away from Chavez’s calculating look and to focus on the critically wounded man. She winced and swore silently. Even this far away, she could tell the man needed to be in a surgical suite in Deming, at the main hospital, and not lying on her bed. The victim’s dark skin was gray-tinged. There was too much fresh blood.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to confront Chavez. “He’ll die if you don’t get him to a hospital.” She used her best don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-a-doctor voice even as her knees shook like jelly.

  When Chavez raised his arm, his eyes lit with rage, she held up her hand and moved back a few steps. “I’m giving you my honest medical opinion here. Even without examining him, I can see he needs a trauma surgeon and blood.”

  “Lopez said you have much experience.”

  Damn, Ernesto. If she survived this, she’d happily skewer the bastard.

  “Señor Chavez,” she held her hands out in a placating manner, “no matter what my emergency experience is, treating this man under these conditions is consigning him to die. The room, the bedding … nothing is sterile. I don’t have X-rays to see how much internal damage there is and where any bullet fragments might be lodged. I can’t type and match his blood … never mind I don’t have any blood…”

  Chavez grabbed her arm hard enough that she’d have bruises to match the one on her face. He pulled her into his body and lowered his voice. “Stop telling me what you can’t do, puta, and take care of mi jefe or…”

  “Or what?”
Fee whispered as she tried to shrink away from Chavez’s cruel touch and coldly menacing voice.

  Chavez leaned into her and said, “Or Ernesto’s lovely sister will die a horrible death in front of you.” Then he dragged Fee toward the doorway and shoved her toward the bedroom. She stumbled, but managed to latch onto the door frame to keep from falling to her knees.

  Fee glanced over her shoulder at Pia whose face was whiter than the lace curtains covering the bedroom window. Another thug had stepped past Fee and entered the bathroom. He now held her friend against him, a gun pointed at the side of Pia’s forehead.

  “I don’t have any surgical tools. No pain medication. No IV solution. Nothing.” Fee looked back at Chavez who’d followed her so closely he could’ve have been her shadow.

  “We have two field medical kits,” he said. “One is similar to what the U.S. Special Forces use. I think you will find one or both will have all you need to stabilize him. After you do, I will take him to his personal surgeon in Mexico.”

  “Fee—” Pia’s voice hitched as the man holding her forced her into the bedroom. The thug traced the barrel of his gun down the side of her friend’s face then back up again. “You can do it … please…”

  Fee had no choice. If she did nothing, she and Pia would surely die. If she stabilized the cartel leader, Chavez might let them live.

  All she could do was her best. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d operated on a criminal under less than ideal conditions. Her previous hospital in Detroit had often seemed like a battlefield MASH unit during the all-too-frequent inner city gang violence.

  “Where are these kits?” Fee walked to the dresser and pulled a clean scrub top out of a drawer and tugged it over her head to cover most of her dress. Then she moved to go by Chavez and back into the bathroom to wash her hands. He didn’t step aside. Instead, he forced her to slide past him in the narrow space he’d left. His lips curved upward in a cruelly taunting smile as she tried to touch as little of him as possible.

  “You are so tiny,” he murmured and stopped her forward movement by grabbing her chin and forcing her face toward his. “A beauty with spirit.” His eyes gleamed with twisted interest. “I wonder how long it would take for me to break you?”