Holy shit. My eyes gape in horror. I can see that Alison, hiding behind her scorn, is shaken as well. Does she care for her ex at all? Is there a snippet of mercy in there? Anywhere? The tattooed thug, Tonio, grins in delight. The plump man, who I figure is the replacement for Andrea, looks faint at the sight of blood. The youth with the music is next to me, and for once he doesn't have his earbuds in. He inhales sharply, eyes narrowed.
Immiately, I see the dynamics of this team better. One man who rolls with it – the youth at my side. One who doesn't have a choice. A woman who seduces her way through threat. A man who loyally follows the orders of his mad leader, and relishes destruction equally. And a sadist that forces them all to obey him.
“I've been waiting a long time to deliver you your punishment for disobeying. No good subordinate would ever disobey their leader. Including a whore like you.” Chavo's eyes gleam manically. The knife strikes again and again, leaving paper cuts along all her exposed skin, and numerous marks on her cheeks. Sometimes it looks like he cuts in deep, and I wince at every stroke.
Andrea whimpers, screams, and spots out a glob of blood. “You're no criminal mastermind. You're a lowlife thug who forces people to do his bidding. You're the bully at school who beats up a kid for fifty cents. You're a puffed up idiot compensating for his tiny penis.”
Alison snorts, and I realize she's trying to suppress a laugh.
The tiny penis remark seems to have enraged Chavo further. He holds the knife against her eye. “Just you wait until you feel this 'tiny penis' sticking inside you.” The knife glints as he turns it, and I shudder at the horrific imagery presented. “Screwing you over and over again.”
“If you had any balls you wouldn't be threatening women this way!” Andrea yells. “Alison? How can you endure this piece of slime? How can you let him treat you like he does? How can any of you actually go along with him?” My heart stutters in fear. It's brave of her to be so defiant, but it's also stupid. She's already bleeding from so many places, she must be losing so much blood. I see her blink, woozy, and again, the image of that knife impaling her fills me with revulsion.
Leave her alone. Please.
“Enough,” Chavo says. “Let's ditch the cop.” He leaves Andrea and walks over to me. “You kicked me. All I was doing was asking you out, and you fucking kicked me.”
“That's not what I remember,” I say, bravado influencing my speech, even as I furiously twist at my bindings. I can't die now, now before I've truly begun my career as a cop. Not before I've had the chance to have an actual relationship with Andrea. “I remember you harassing me.”
Chavo spits in my face, and the saliva trickles down my cheek. He grabs me by my hair and forces me to stagger with him towards the cliff drop. “Look, Andrea. Your girlfriend is going to die.”
Meters from the cliff, I manage to get my hands out the bindings. He realizes in alarm what I've done, and it seems instead of throwing me off the cliff, he's decided it's easier to stab me. I deflect the blow, but I lose balance and fall backwards. I desperately grab onto his shirt and he lunges forward with me.
There's noise and cries in the background, as Chavo drunkenly lurches, takes one step off the cliff and windmills his arms furiously, before falling. “Puta!” His cry echoes and fades. I hear a distinct wet thud a few seconds later.
I blink, consternation infecting my brain. Shit.
There's a roar of hatred and incandescent rage behind me, and I see the Tonio scramble for his weapon. Without thinking, I pounce forward at a mad sprint, and manage to push his arm up as it fires off. Desperately, I try to kick him where it hurts, but he's ready to defend himself, and he forces me to the ground and slams my head against granite. His gun clatters to the side, out of reach for the both of us.
I see in the background, Alison kissing Andrea as she unties her ropes, and a sense of betrayal and confusion rocks through me, before the thug slams my head into the ground again.
Stars burst in front of my eyes. I can't fight him off. He's too strong. I keep trying, though, attempting to gouge at his eyes, but I'm pinned down good. Pain sears through my rib cage, and I hear an audible snap. Now the life is being choked out of me. I see a contorted, demonic expression snarling in my face, cursing me for killing his hermano, and I scrabble, uselessly, rasping sounds coming out the cushion of suffocation in my windpipe.
Then, his eyes glaze over. Andrea, blood oozing out of her wounds, rears above us like some primeval monster, a bloodied knife in her hands. She sticks it into the tattooed man again and again, until his grip slackens, and the light in his eyes dies.
Silence fills the clearing, as the remaining goonies seem to process the events of what has just happened. I roll onto my side, gasping and wheezing, sucking in welcome air to my ravaged throat. Andrea collapses beside me, eyes bulging in horror. She throws away the knife as if it is red hot, and starts wringing her hands.
Alison steps up beside us, places a phone in front of Andrea, then beckons to the others.
“Greg, A-Ron. We better head out. Mission is failed. Leader was emotionally compromised and K.I.A. Tragically, Tonio died as well.” She doesn't sound as though she considers Tonio's death as particularly tragic.
A-Ron places his earbuds back in, and vaults over a rock, heading down the slope. Greg gibbers nervously and follows afterwards. Alison stalks behind, but not before she gives Andrea a last, lingering glance.
“I'm sorry,” she says, before her blonde hair vanishes out of sight.
Andrea and I lay there for a moment. I can see her focus is draining, just like her blood, and I reach for the phone, to call 911. To get my chief over here, and an ambulance. The operator on the other side barely understands me, because I have to force my words out of a compressed throat. We manage to reach a compromise, however.
Then, waiting for help to arrive, I help cover up the worst of Andrea's wounds. Most are superficial, some are not.
“I k-killed someone,” Andrea says, clutching my shirt tight. “I didn't want to kill anyone. Are you ok? Are...” I see she's going into shock. Her eyes are fully dilated, and her words are trailing off.
“Ssh. It's okay. It's okay.”
I can't wait to explain this shit to the chief, though.
I groggily shake my head. I think I'm concussed. I'm not sure, but I'm struggling to punch through the fog in my brain to form coherent thoughts.
I think... I might just be...
Blackness rushes to meet me.
Final Chapter
It's a week later since the death of Chavo and the nameless tattooed man. The police had turned up, along with medical assistance about twenty minutes after the call, because we were too far removed from regular routes.
A week of concern, worry, and disapproval. My parents flew in from Venezuela to see me in hospital, as it turned out that I had sustained two broken ribs, a concussion from having my head smashed against the rocks, contusions and an aggravated windpipe. Andrea needed a blood transfusion to survive, and stitches to her arms and neck. I shudder, thinking how close she must have been to death. If he had run his blade over her jugular, she wouldn't be here.
And I'd have no one to share the experience with except myself.
After our subsequent recovery, chief Excelsior arranges to meet us both in his office at the precinct. My colleagues give me wary glances, all aware of my lie by now, and scowl at Andrea who glides behind me in all her glory, stitches protruding out of her short sleeved top and circling her neck.
“I'm not happy with you,” Excelsior says. His bushy eyebrows knit together, and I quiver at the squint in his eyes. I wonder if I'm about to be fired. If Andrea's involvement in this debacle is clear, and she'll be arrested. I glance over to her, resisting the urge to reach for her hand, knowing affection does not have a place in this office. “You deliberately lied to us about your emergency leave. You lied to my face, so you could delve into a crime yourself without the legal authority to back it up. You had no gun, and you foolishly risked your life b
y playing the hero. What were you thinking?”
Shame pulses inside. Andrea stares at me, stricken. She's at least semi-aware of how important this job is to me. The job that I so frivolously disregarded in order to pursue my own notions of heroism and bravery.
He's right. I'm a fool. And there's only one way out of here, one way to make sure Excelsior might give me a chance.
It's to tell the truth. Or as much of it as I can.
“Andrea used to work for the bad guys,” I say, and her expression freezes. Excelsior's features remain neutral, fathomless. “She finally escaped that lifestyle to live her days clean and unfettered by the past. Except, the past wanted to kill her. And I didn't want her to die. She didn't want to go to the police because they would start digging too closely into her past. The only person she could go to for help was me.”
I take a deep breath. Excelsior betrays nothing, not even a flinch of muscle in his arms. He simply waits, patient for me to continue. I can't help but feel I'm walking into the jaws of a bear as I do so.
“I admit my judgement was erred. I let my emotions get in the way, because I had affection for her... sir.” I bite on the word, aware that it makes me sound like a lovestruck fool, and not a professional cop. Andrea has by now let her face relax, realizing what I'm trying to do. There's a softness there when I mention affection. “My original intentions to track down the operation using Andrea's intel fell sadly short when we were caught unprepared, in the open.”
In our bed, more like.
Excelsior nods, sensing I have no more words to say for now. His gruff voice tumbles out. “You have a good instinct to contact us. I caught some of the conversation between you and Chavo. Enough to know he planned to head to the mountains. It also appears that despite being tied and outnumbered, you two somehow managed to kill two people and force the rest to run away. I find this interesting.” He leans forward, his hands steepling together. He takes a long, studious examination of Andrea.
“You're a criminal.”
“Former,” Andrea corrects faintly.
His lips twitch upward. “By all rights, I can detain you, since it appears that some of the things you've been formerly connected in are rather... noticeable. That's several lifetimes in prison, at least. Some impressive heists.”
Andrea's face drains of all color. “Yes, sir..” I notice how she's adopted the “sir” as well, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I can't help but smile.
“There is one condition where I may turn the other eye. For your transgression, Jennifer Garcia, and for your implicit involvement, Andrea Jones.” He taps his fingers on the desk, creating a reassuring drumming sound. I see his knee is jigging from whatever thoughts are racing in his head.
“Chief?” I say, flabbergasted, but hopeful at the same time.
“Tell me, Andrea Jones. How much do you know about your former... associates?”
Her mouth drops open in an o of revelation. “A lot, sir. I know how they work, what they do, and several of the linchpins in over fourteen states. It's a big network.”
“I'm aware. The government loses millions each year to business and bank heists. Monies being drained out of accounts by cyberhackers, physical robberies... it's a nightmare.” Excelsior clicks his fingers together. “If you're willing to help us tip the lid on these activities, you'll become a consultant to our precinct. And you'll work with Jennifer, who, despite her newbie status, does show moral fiber and promise. Since the alternative is life imprisonment, I imagine you will much prefer the former.”
Andrew lets out a nervous giggle. “Yes, sir. I might just.”
“Then we're sorted.”
I stare incredulously at the chief. “That's it? You're not gonna fire me?”
“Not yet,” he replies, with a faint smile. “You have, naturally, been docked pay for your emergency leave. I suggest you take your actual leave now to recover.” He gives me a sly glance, and my cheeks flush crimson.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, sincere. He gives me a grunt of acknowledgment and dismisses us both from his office.
***
Andrea and I are stunned.
I don't know what we expected, but that definitely wasn't on the list.
“Your boss is kind of cool,” Andrea says.
“Yeah,” I agree, staring off into space, beyond the scrawl of traffic, honking horns and pedestrians swarming over the sidewalks. I see the Wichita Mountains in the distance, where two people lost their lives. I see those bank robberies, where innocents had died in unnecessary, bloody ways.
I see Chavo's scornful face, and those eyes popping in rage and disbelief, cursing me as he falls from the edge to his doom. I remember the weight crushing me from above, as Tonio sought revenge.
Then I look at Andrea, and a shiver of something ripples through. A trickle of sunlight peeks through the obscuring clouds, illuminating her perfect, rounded cheekbones. And then, I smile wickedly, realizing that I have a former criminal as my new consultant.
“You can be my Patrick Jane,” I say, reaching over to hold her warm hand in mine. She raises one inquisitive eyebrow.
“Please. I'm totally Castle.”
“In your dreams.”
“Peter Bishop, then?”
We grin at each other, seeing a whole new future unfold in front of us. “You're free,” I say. “You'll never be chased by him again.”
“Yeah.” She stares up at the sky, focusing on a pigeon as it flutters overhead. “I'm just trying to wrap my head around that now.”
I lift a finger to stroke the stitches on her neck. People are walking past us, curious, because we do look like a couple of war-torn survivors. “Why did Alison help you?”
Andrea sighs. Her vibrant blue eyes fix on mine, making my heart stop for an instant. “Because she felt guilty. Not because she cared. Because she felt bad. Alison only cares about Alison.”
“She did seem truly... regretful, though.” I decide to not mention the kiss that I saw. I don't think there's a point in it right now. Not when we're both together, holding hands, coming to terms with our new future.
“Maybe. I doubt it, though. I really doubt it. But I'm glad she helped.”
We reach the traffic lights, and wait for the signal to start walking across. “Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, leaning on her shoulder, a strange rush of affection tackling me. I'm enamored by the idea of her being my perky sidekick, of the notion that we can solve crimes together.
And possibly romp under the sheets at night.
“Yes. Though I was planning to stay in a hotel tonight. I don't feel so safe there. Even though I know he's gone.”
“The hotel wasn't safe either,” I point out. I squeeze her hand. “How about you come over to mine? Plenty of room there for two.”
“Hmm,” she replies, a mischievous grin eating up her face.
I know exactly what that grin entails. Images of her on top of me flash through my mind, along with the memory of how she feels wrapped around my fingers, as she shudders underneath me to an orgasm.
Suddenly, we can't move fast enough to get back home.
I smile all the way back. Whatever happens, it looks like our futures are entwined together. Metaphorically and literally. Since I plan to do a lot of physical, erm, entwining tonight.
Indeed, we barely make it past the front door of my little apartment before she's upon me, gasping into my mouth with hot lips, her palms burning a trail over my clothes. She clutches me tight, squashing our bodies together, and I can't stand the intensity that zips between us. I think if she keeps touching me like this, I'm going to explode into a million bliss-riddled pieces – and if I'm honest, that wouldn't be a bad way to die.
Maybe it's the stress of the last week, of mending in hospital, and having to deal with the fear of being fired by Excelsior. Maybe it comes from seeing the stitches upon her face and neck, and knowing how close she was to death. How close I was. It's easy, to see Chavo's frothing mad face, his eyes bugging out a
s I somehow pull my hands out of those bindings, stop him from sending me to become a pile of broken bones and dreams on the ground. It hurts to remember Andrea's complete shock as she lay there in the granite beside me, hands trembling from the life she had taken. No longer a friendly Robin Hood, but a murderer, with blood spilled.
She kisses me with fierce intensity and longing, as if by pushing her lips against mine hard enough, we can merge together and become one person, and forget everything else that exists, or perhaps forget we exist.
I like the idea as well, and my tongue leaps out to brush hers, to galvanize us into erotic action. We're still wearing our full clothes, and we still haven't progressed much further beyond the front door of my apartment.
“I can't wait to taste you,” she whispers into my mouth, eliciting a groan from my throat. Out of all the things she could have said, that ranks high on the list of holy shit that's hot. It helps as well that in her body and looks, she's everything I could ever want – and together, we've managed to battle past an ordeal that neither of us ever anticipated.
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