I probably could’ve taken offense that nobody thought I was so hot I’d distract the mercs from conversation, but I decided to let it go. I did okay, after all. Some guys dug the long hair and hippie chic.
Eva’s bean soup had been simmering for hours, so we ate supper before getting ready to go out. I had a feeling La Rosa Negra would be a dive, so I dressed accordingly: worn jeans, peasant blouse, sweater in my bag just in case. I was glad I’d managed to squeeze in some laundry.
“We set?” Chuch asked when we’d dropped the last bowl in the sink. I felt a little bad about sticking Eva with the dishes, but not enough to put off our errand.
“Yeah.” I answered for Chance and me.
The mechanic fixed a narrow stare on Kel, who’d gone back to watching TV Azteca after the meal. “Anything happens to her, I hold you personally responsible, primo.”
“I’ll guard her with my life.” Funny, when Kel said such things they carried the weight of a vow writ in blood on the pages of some holy book.
Butch yapped, but I shook my head. “No way,” I told him as we went out the door.
Because he knew where we were going, it made sense for Chuch to drive. The Mustang was parked behind the Maverick, so Chance tossed him the keys. Like any conscientious short person, I crawled in back.
“How far are we going?” Chance wanted to know.
Chuch got us on the highway before he answered. “Near downtown. ’Bout twenty minutes, I guess.”
I leaned forward. “Anything we should know?”
“It’s best if you let me do the talking. Chance is here for obvious reasons.” Yeah, I knew why—to make it more likely we’d run across someone willing to part with information on Montoya and to pay the bribe when we found the guy. “I think maybe we should’ve left you at home with Eva.”
I snorted. Like I’d have gone along with that. I had too big a stake in this to permit them to form a boys’ club at this juncture. Plus, you never knew when my gift might come in handy.
Before I could bitch, Chance shifted, elbow on the back of the seat, and put in, “Yeah. Those jeans are a felony.”
“That bad, huh?” I glanced down at the worn denim. Chance never appreciated my sense of style.
A slow smile curved his beautiful mouth. “That good. Do you know there’s a rip on the back of your left thigh?”
“Ah, no.” Great. Now I’d worry all night whether my ass was hanging out.
“Sexy,” he told me. “Shows just a hint of skin.”
I quirked a brow. “I thought you wanted me in suits from Lord and Taylor.”
“Once I did. Now I just want you.” Beneath the rumble of the motor and the rush of the tires against the pavement, his words crushed me with their candor. Need laced his tone, shot straight into my nervous system.
God, I hated that he could move me like this. My chest hurt, so I rubbed it, and then cursed silently when I saw his gaze tracking the movement like he’d kill to touch me again. For Christ’s sake, why me?
My pained bewilderment must’ve shown because Chance turned around without another word. I stifled a sigh. Like too many dark chocolate truffles, he was rich, sinfully delicious, and bad for me. . . . His gift might kill me. I knew that, but I couldn’t quell my longing altogether.
“We’re almost there.” Cutting in when he did, Chuch did me a favor.
I sat quiet as we drove the last few blocks and found a place to park. Even in the dark, La Rosa Negra didn’t look promising. It appeared to be a crumbling stucco building painted an unlikely shade of green. To my surprise, shiny new cars lined the curb outside.
This wasn’t just any seedy little corner bar stashed beyond a warren of one-way streets and seemingly pointless construction. The men who congregated inside had money to burn; they just didn’t want to do it conspicuously. Our cherry Mustang looked right at home alongside the other sports and muscle cars.
I could guess what it was like inside. I’d been inside a dozen cantinas like this in Mexico City. Sometimes, on nights when dreams kept me awake, I wandered out into the neighborhood to nurse a beer, letting the susurration of other people’s lives wash over me.
“Let’s do this.” Chance climbed out of the car and offered his hand, which I took.
He pulled me from the back seat easily. Whipcord built as he was, I didn’t doubt he could carry me off like a Sabine woman, should he take a mind. I exhaled and took a long look at the Corona neon sign flickering in the window before calling myself ready.
Chuch was already headed for the door, paying us no attention. This appeared to be familiar ground for him. Maybe he even hung out here on his own when Eva let him.
To my surprise, the strains of Reik’s “Invierno” greeted me when we walked through the door, a more soulful song than I expected to hear in such a place. Three couples danced to it in the small space before the bar. Not a boys’ club.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I took stock of my surroundings. Low ceilings were hung with amber paper lanterns, giving the room a warm glow. Scarred tables had clearly seen better days, and countless high heels had left their marks on the wood floor. None of the chairs matched, and the decor consisted of various neon signs. Apart from the painting of the maiden holding a black rose between her teeth, La Rosa Negra could’ve been transplanted to any border town.
Chuch was calling the play, so we followed him to a table. He signaled the waitress for a round while the regulars studied us. Guys dressed in black sat in groups of three or four; they didn’t look likely to strike up a conversation.
“Do your thing,” he murmured to Chance.
I had no idea what I should be doing, if anything, so I took my beer with a nod of thanks and waited for some sign from Chuch. He merely sat there, quiet, drinking, and looking watchful. I guessed you couldn’t hurry something like this. Chance, on the other hand, fairly crackled with purpose. What must it be like to be able to focus your will and shake whatever you needed from the cosmos?
I listened to the music purring from the vintage-style Crosley CD player. As we waited, a mellow Franco De Vita ballad melted into Shakira singing “Ojos Así.” I’d never been able to resist its rhythm, but I tried to keep my butt-shaking to a minimum. The dancers broke apart and started gyrations that suited the tympanic melody.
Chance touched me on the arm. “I can do this and dance at the same time,” he whispered. “You want to?” I must’ve looked astounded because he added, “I can, you know. I just never did. Not with you.”
From his expression, he regretted it, but back then, he didn’t want to lose control. After his lover died, he probably hadn’t wanted to yield me that much, as if hiding emotion prevented it from being true. “You really think we should?” I asked.
It seemed a little unprofessional somehow. But maybe it would make us seem innocuous, as if we’d heard this place was a quiet place to dance, nothing more.
“Taking out the warlock gave us some breathing room. It will take his boss a good long while to find someone to replace Nathan Moon. We’re better off now than we’ve been since I first picked you up. So, yeah, if you want to dance, we should.”
Given this opportunity to see another side of him, I couldn’t resist, not when the lyrics could’ve been written about Chance. I took his hand—five steps to the dance floor, and the world went away. There was just the rhythm and desperate longing in the singer’s voice. To my surprise, he matched me with feline grace, moving in sensual lockstep. His hands framed my h*ps as our shoulders worked, our bodies a breath away from full contact.
Back and forth, eyes on mine, he showed me he could cut loose. How fitting he’d chosen this song since I’d never in my life seen eyes like his. Tiger eyes, tawny, striated, and—right now—burning with heat, even though I wasn’t wearing a tailored suit or expensive shoes. I was still Corine Solomon in ratty jeans, but have mercy, his look—
Ah, action. A guy who had been drinking alone shoved away from his table and made his way toward ours, where Chuch sat. This guy was small and thin, but I didn’t make the mistake of judging him harmless. The man radiated coiled readiness.
Chance spun me out and back toward him. His arms came around me and I wound mine about his neck, undulating in tight metric shifts. I forgot why we were there. When he leaned down to kiss me, I forgot my own name.
Thankfully I did remember kissing him was a bad idea, so I danced away, shoulders rolling. I twirled in his arms and writhed with my back to him. That seemed safer for about thirty seconds—until he drew me to him and ran his hands down my sides. His h*ps cradling mine, he left me in no doubt how much he wanted me.
Jesus, who could’ve ever guessed Chance had this level of exhibitionism in him? He’d always been so tightly wound. By the time the song ended, I needed a cold shower.
I didn’t ask for an encore, practically staggered back to my seat. We’d probably melted the polar ice caps. My ex followed, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
“I know you,” the guy was saying to Chuch. “Managua, wasn’t it? Been a long time, and I wasn’t sure when you first came in, but . . . we did business.”
And there it was—the fruit of Chance’s luck. I supposed it made sense not to go poking around; Chuch had said these guys didn’t like that. Instead, we’d get our information in a subtle way.
“Sí.” The arms dealer-turned-mechanic jerked his head at the vacant seat. “Esteban, right? You brokered a deal for me, I think.” I had no way of knowing whether Chuch remembered him, or if he was making an educated guess. “I’m out of the business now, but I don’t mind buying you a drink for old time’s sake.”
The merc grinned as he sat, showing a gap between his front teeth. “If you’re buying, I’ll take a shot of Gran Patrón.”
Nice. Esteban’s taste in tequila impressed me. Since she was eavesdropping, the waitress went to get it without being asked. The rest of the patrons seemed to relax, losing interest when they realized we were a known quantity. I let out a slow breath.
“So what you doing now?” Chuch made the question casual.
The guy shrugged. “Whatever, you know? Mostly private security.”
I could fill in the blanks.
The waitress delivered the tequila, Chance bought another round of beer for the rest of us, and the two across the table from us renewed their acquaintance. Casual stuff, guy talk, but I saw how Chuch was maneuvering the conversation. Damn clever.
“You know,” the mechanic said at last, “I’m retired. But if a personal situation came up, if somebody crossed the line and messed with your family, what would you do, mano?”
A sharklike smile twisted Esteban’s mouth. “First, I’d kill the guy who did it. Then I’d find the one who gave the order and make him scream.”
Into the Breach
The CD ended, and the dancers went to order drinks.
Into the relative silence, Chuch muttered, “That sounds about right. I already got the hired gun. Now I’m looking for his boss.”