DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,) (10 page)

“When you
talked at the cliff about the real Mexico, you made it sound dark and sinister.”

“Well, that’s
real enough, but so is this. It’s the bright Mexico. Shame you can’t stay and see more of it.”

“I can come back. I
will
. Not just to help you get your motorcycle but to spend more time in that Mexico.” I nuzzled against his chest. “Will you show it to me?”

“
Sería un placer.
It would be my pleasure.”

The
television was tuned to something that looked like a Mexican version of
American Idol
. A young man dressed in a wide sombrero and colorful
caballero
outfit was strumming the guitar and singing a melancholy tune. 

“What’s he singing?”

“It’s an oldies number. This guy is dressed up like a
ranchera
singer from the Fifties or Sixties. The song’s a classic by Cuco Sanchez, who was sort of a Mexican Sinatra and Hank Williams combined. It’s called ‘
La Cama de Piedra
,’ which means ‘Bed of Stone.’” 

Rock provided a running translation of the lyrics. “Let my bed
and headboard be made of stone.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!”

He turned and looked at me with those intense blue eyes. “I went to court and asked the judge if loving you is a crime.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!”

His arm around my shoulders pulled me tight against him. “
He sentenced me to death. To death for loving you.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!
”

I sighed blissfully as he
softly stroked my hair with his free hand. “Gladly will I die if it is in your arms.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!
”

He cupped my chin
and tipped my head up, his eyes boring into mine. “My serape will be my casket. My crossed ammo belt will be my crucifix.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!
”

The singer’s wail
swelled to a crescendo. “And shoot a thousand bullets in my grave.” Under Rock’s fierce gaze, I closed my eyes in surrender and listened to the rumbly baritone of his voice. “Or I will rise from the earth to seek you. So strong, so strong is my love.
Ay-yay-yay-yay!
”

I felt Rock’s lip
s against mine, soft and gentle. I pressed my own to his and opened my mouth for his invading tongue. The stubble of his beard tickled me. He crushed me to him.
“Bella criatura,”
he murmured, sliding his hand down my shoulder and along my spine.

The feel of his hand sent an electric charge through me,
and I arched my back in bliss. “What does that mean?”

“Beautiful creature.”

“
Hmmm
,” I purred. “Say it again.”

“Bella criatura
.”

When linguists call Spanish a Romance Language, they don’t have its
musical, seductive power in mind. Even so, as the song goes, “Spanish is a loving tongue,” and I couldn’t help falling under its romantic sway as Rock murmured in my ear.

“Usted es tan suave.”
This time I didn’t ask what he meant. I didn’t need to know, didn’t
want
to know, only wanted to be carried along by the lovely lilt of the language and his deep, husky voice.

“Estoy borracho con su pelo.”
I felt like a señorita in a mantilla on a moonlit balcony, serenaded by a dashing, guitar-strumming lover.

“El toque de su piel me vuelve salvaje.”
What woman could resist such a sound? Not this one. I sighed and stroked the taut cords of his neck. He slipped off the sofa and onto his knees. He knelt before me and lifted my dress. I felt his hands on my panties. As he slipped them down, I suddenly remembered the hell I’d caught from my mother the morning after a particularly hot make-out session with my boyfriend on a vintage sofa in our living room.

“No,” I protested. “Not here! We’ll stain the sofa.”

“I don’t care.”

“Carmen does and I
bet she’s not someone to cross.”

He sighed.
“No, she’s not.” He got to his feet.

“And
I don’t want to stain this dress. It’s Christina’s.”

“All right, all right.”
He bent down, slipped his arms under me and scooped me up, making me squeal with surprise and delight.

“Where are you taking me, you… you
animal?
” I said in my best lady-protests-too-much voice.

“Upstairs to my bedroom, me proud beauty.”

“Ohhhh!”
I pretended to faint, letting my arms go limp and my head droop so that my mass of curly red hair hung downward, causing him to chortle. I didn’t have to pretend too hard. Being carried upstairs by a muscular Aztec god who’d saved me from slavers was wilder than any fantasy I’d ever entertained.

He
carried me through the living room to the staircase, both of us giggling. His laugh now wasn’t the short, bitter bark that I’d heard on the road but the same as when he was among the García family, hearty and happy. It occurred to me that in all the time we’d spent together, we’d never had the leisure to be playful with each other, to just have fun.

We were only halfway up the stairs when he suddenly froze.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Shhh!”
he ordered. After a moment, he set me on my feet. “Car. Someone’s coming.”

A moment later I heard the sound of a vehicle on gravel.
Headlights came through the window. He set me down and ran down the stairs. “Get upstairs,” he ordered. I went on up and looked down from the gallery. The car was still approaching. Rock had vanished, only to appear a few moments later with a shotgun. On any other occasion, I would think a man who got a gun to greet a late visitor was a maniac, but I knew Rock was only taking a precaution for that one-in-twenty chance. Still, I was scared.

“
It’s probably just Christina,” I called down.

He
broke the gun and loaded it. “No, Carmen said she’s not coming back tonight.”

“Well, may
be Tío Luis forgot something.”

“He
’d call first.” Through the windows, I could see the headlights had reached the courtyard. The vehicle stopped and a moment later went out. A car door opened and closed.

Rock
glanced up at me. “Go to your room,” he said curtly. “Stay out of sight.”

“Will you stop treating me like your teenage daughter?” I snapped.

“Sorry but I don’t have time to be polite. Go!”

I thought about repeating a favorite phrase of my grandmother
’s, who used to primly remind me that
“There’s always time for good manners.”
I resisted the impulse and headed toward my room.

“Wait,” Rock
called. I turned back to him. “Your room overlooks the back entrance. Watch that and yell if you see anyone.”

“All right,” I replied, glad for the chance to do something.
Inside my room, I was about to close the door when I heard a loud knocking. Rock stepped into the hallway, gun leveled. He turned for one last glance in my direction and scowled when he said me standing in the open doorway. He angrily gestured for me to shut the door and returned his attention to the knocking.

I closed
it most of the way, leaving enough of a crack to hear what went on below. I went to the window and looked through the blinds on the back courtyard, brightly lit by security lights. I saw no one.

“Who’s there?” Rock yelled.

“Looking for Miguel Roca,” called a man’s voice.

“
Who’re you?”

“Is this Miguel Roca?”

“Who wants him?”

“
My name is Walt Turner. I’m with…” I didn’t catch the last word, but it sounded like he said
“dark.”

“Never heard of you.”

“I’m new. Been with the agency a little over a year. Can I come in?”

“
No. What do you want?”

“I’ve been sent to bring you back.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know
.”

“Who sent you?”

“Zookeeper.”

“What?” I heard surprise in Rock’s voice.

“I said Zookeeper sent me.”

“I heard you. Wh
y didn’t he send someone I know?”

“Shorthanded, I guess. He doesn’t confide in me.”

“Well, go back and tell him whatever he wants me for, I’m not interested.”

“Can’t do that. He said not to come back without Raptor.”

“He said that?”

“His very words.
Now will you open the door?”

“
No. I'm still not interested.’”

“
Raptor, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Roca, I’ve got a small jet less than thirty klicks from here. We can be in Washington before morning. I’ll take you back the same way.”

“I’ll telling you for the last time,
I’m not
…
” There was a long pause. “A jet, you said?”

“Yeah
, a Learjet 85.”

“Bullshit. The agency doesn’t have
its own planes. Where would Zookeeper get a jet?”

“Like I said,
he doesn’t confide in me. Elevator chatter is it’s on loan from the DEA.”

There was another silence. “Hold on a minute,” Rock finally said.

“All right.”

A moment later I heard
him calling softly up the stairs. ”Rory, can you hear me?”

I went to the door. He was standing at the foot
of the stairs. “I hear you,”

“See anything?”

“No, nothing.”

“All right. You don’t have to play sentry anymore. I need to talk to this guy. Stay in your room.” He turned to go back to the front door, then turned back to me. “And close your door.
All
the way.”

I glared at him but he didn’t turn
away and I knew he’d stand there until I obeyed. The only man I knew as bossy as Rock was Richard, and he at least had a hand in bringing me up. I stuck my tongue at him and shut the door. Then I put my ear to it.

R
ock
went back to the front door. “Turner?”

“
Yeah,” said the voice on the other side.

“Anyone out there besides you?”

“No. I came alone.”

“
I’m holding a Remington 12 Gauge and if
you’re
holding anything but your agency ID when I open the door, I intend to fire both barrels. Got me?”

“Got you.”

Rock held the shotgun at his hip with his right hand. With his left, he unlocked the door. The man outside was stocky and muscled, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He held out a plastic card with his photo on it. Rock took it. The face on the card was clearly the man at the door: receding brown hair, intelligent eyes, mouth with the suggestion of a smile. Rock handed the card back but didn’t move from the doorway. “Guess you’re with DARC all right. So is Inez still putting out for anyone who asks nice?”

“Who?”

Rock’s eyes narrowed. “Inez. Don’t tell me you don’t know who Inez is.”

“Well, I don’t. Maybe you mean Erica.”

“Never mind. There’s a portrait on the wall in Zookeeper’s office. Who is it?”

“I don’t know that either but I can describe the painting.”

“Go ahead.”

“
It’s historical, some time in the 1800’s, I’d say. Young fellow, blonde hair, pretty lips, chin like a Mountie. Could have been a movie star if they’d had movies back then.”

“Joseph Smith.”

“Who?”

“Founder of the Mormon Church. Wh
at’s DARC’s unofficial motto?”

Turned sighed and said in a flat voice, “To
serve and protect all—“

“Not that horseshit. The
unofficial
motto.”

“Oh.” Turned smiled.
“’You don’t have to be crazy to work here but it helps.’ You want me to give you the secret handshake?”

“Not necessary,” said Rock with a thin smile, stepping aside. “Come in.”

He led Turner through the main room into a smaller, den-like room. It had a gun rack and a sofa and armchairs arranged around a large television where he and Tío Luis drank beer and watched soccer. Rock unloaded the shotgun and returned it to the gun rack. “Sorry about the welcome but you came late at night and unannounced.”

“That’s all right. I was told to expect something like that.”

“Were you now? Did they tell you I was paranoid?”

“No one said you were crazy, if that’s what you mean. Just that you were very, very careful.
As to being unannounced, if you’d known I was coming, you’d be gone by the time I got here.”

“
Sounds like you’ve been researching me.”

“All I know is that when you left DARC, you made it clear you were never coming back. Nobody had a clue where you were. More than
one person thought you were likely dead.”

“
That so? Want something to drink?”

“Got any orange juice?”

“In the kitchen. This way.”

Lucia’s kitchen was a mix
of old-fashioned and modern. The appliances were new and gleaming. The counter was stacked with neatly labeled spice jars. Part of one wall was taken up with shelves full of dozens of clay cooking pots Tin tiles painted with saints hung everywhere. The room smelled of garlic and bread and freshly cooked tomatoes.

Rock opened a huge double-doored refrigerator. Inside, a pig’s hea
d stared mournfully out. He found a bottle of orange juice and poured two large glasses. He handed Turner a glass and indicated a small wooden table, brightly painted with pictures of dancing animals. “Let’s talk in here. The walls have ears.”

Turner looked perplexed but said nothing.
They sat on sisal chairs. Turner swallowed a large gulp of juice. “This is the real thing,” he said appreciatively.

“Yeah, squeezed this morning.”

Turner smiled at the table. “Cute.”

“The kids eat breakfast in here.”

“Your kids?”

“The help’s
children. How’d you find me?”

“I bribed a clerk where you have your mail drop. He phoned when you came in
and I had you tailed.”

“No you didn’t. A tail’s easy to spot on
these rural roads.” Turner shrugged, uninclined to explain further.

“So how did you know I was back?” resumed Rock. “
Your watcher at Ciudad Flores?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Art García spotted your boys.”

Turned
frowned. “Advantage of local talent is it’s local. Disadvantage is it’s amateur. No, if you were there recently they missed you.”

“How then?”

“Classified.”

Rock rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

“I’m serious. It’s need-to-know and you’re not even in the agency anymore.”

“I’m serious too, Turner. If I’ve got a hole in my security set-up, I’ve got a real need-to-know for my own sake.”

Turned drank some juice and eyed him closely. “Are you coming back with me?”

“Possibly.”

“All right. We’ve got a drone keeping an eye on the causeway.”

“
Bullshit.”

“Not it’s not. That’s how we tailed you to Parajito.”

“How high?”

“Now that
is
classified.”

“You’re making this up. A jet
and
a drone? This isn’t the CIA. Zookeeper doesn’t have that kind of budget.”

“DEA again.”

“Why would DEA do DARC any favors? They’ve got no use for us.”

“
All I know is what I hear on the elevator, so to speak. None of it’s official. And you didn’t hear any of it from me.”

“All right.”

“A few months back, we busted a kiddie porn operation. Very sophisticated. Too sophisticated for the cretins that usually run those things. Turned out the Sinoloa cartel was, you know, diversifying. Exploring other income opportunities. Guy running the kiddie show was pretty high up in the Sinoloa organization chart and he was ready to play footsie with us.”

“
He was? I’d rather be in an American prison than on the wrong side of the Sinoloas.”

“It was
all about
macho
. A trial would have exposed him, you see. A cold-blooded killer is still a man. Pervert is something else.”

“Was he?”

“The guy loved his work, would have done it for free just to get first look at all the preteens. But as a matter of fact, he didn’t give us anything on the Sinoloas.”

“
What then?”

“The Sinoloas ow
n somebody high up in the Zeta cartel who keeps them informed on what the Zetas are up to. We had no use for it of course, so Zookeeper cut a deal with DEA. Well, the intel was
premium
. DEA scored a major bust. Made the New York Times
and
Fox News.”

Turner finished his orange juice and set the glass down. “Great OJ. I’m a new man. And now we really need to get going if we’re going to make Washington before the morning jam.”

“You’re worried about DC traffic?” said Rock, perplexed.

“I’m worried about the
air
traffic. You have no idea how crowded Capitol airspace is these days. Throw some things in your overnight bag and let’s go.”

“I didn’t say I was going. I said ‘possibly.’”

“What will turn ‘maybe’ into ‘absolutely?’”

“There’s a condition.”

“There always is. The blonde by any chance?”

“She’s not a blonde.
”

“Well, I saw somebody with long blonde hair get out of the truck with you and go into the house. Admittedly, I only saw her from above but the image was very high resolution.”

“Shit! You
do
have a drone!”

“
Look, I don’t blame you for wanting to take your girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend or not, blonde or brunette, I’m not authorized to take anyone but you.”

“
I won’t go without her. Mexico’s not safe for her, not alone. Her ID and passport have been stolen. I was planning to take her to the consulate but this is better.”

“You want me to transport someone without
papers across the border? How many laws does that break?”

“How many have you already broken?
Did you ask the Mexican Air Force if they mind you flying a drone in their country?”

“I’m talking about American laws. Homeland Security would have a fit if they find out.”

“So don’t tell them. Does this plane come with a DEA pilot?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet he’s done black missions before. The feds have a landing strip set up just to avoid all that nasty red tape.”

“
I know about it. It’s also a hundred and fifty miles from DC.”

“Then we’ll avoid that Capitol traffic jam, won’t we?
Turner, she’s just a kid, nineteen or twenty. I’m not leaving her behind.”

“How do you know this
stolen passport story is true?”

“
Two guys grabbed her in Tuláz and tied her up, apparently not for themselves. I spoiled the party but when I took her back to the hotel, her stuff was gone.”

“
Holy shit. Are you making this up?”

“You can look at her wrists if you want. She still has ligatures.”

“What did the cops say?”

“Didn’t report it. The bad guys
were
cops.”

“Were?”

“They’re dead.”

“Dead? Wait a minute, there’s a manhunt going on in north central Mexico for—
”

“I know.”

Turner looked sick. “God almighty, Rock. I was
told
you’re trouble. You’ve got to get out of the country.”

“Not without the girl.”

Turner threw up his arms. “Oh hell, compared to transporting an alleged murderer, transporting someone without papers is nothing! Go tell Miss-Not-a-Blonde to pack her stuff and let’s go.”

H
alf
an hour later they were moving through the night in Turner’s SUV. The jet, a sleek metal bird that that seated six, was waiting for them in a small airport that serviced the wealthier tourist trade. Rory was clearly pleased that that she’d be back in the US by morning, only a short hop from her home. Not to Rock’s surprise, she’d flown in private jets before and found nothing special at traveling in one now, though her pesky curiosity was thoroughly aroused.

Rock managed to dodge
her questions until they were airborne. “I used to work for a government agency,” he finally said. “The plane’s courtesy of them.”

“Which agency?”

“Small one. You haven’t heard of it.”

“What does it do?”

“This and that, dull stuff.”

“If it’s a government plane, why does it say ‘Thor
nton Industries’ on the side?”

“Does it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“So some dinky agency that nobody’s heard of has sent a plane to Mexico to take you back to Washington DC. Is this why we had to leave Ciudad Flores all of a sudden?”

He sighed. “Ye
s.”

“And you were
hiding
from them?”

“I told you. I left that line of work b
ehind. I’m not going back to it.”

“Must h
ave been pretty dull all right. So just who is Zookeeper?”

Rock looked at her sharply. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“The two of you were shouting it through the door.”

“
It’s just a nickname.”

“Weird nickname.” Rock didn’t respond.
She looked at Turner, who was busy with his phone, then back at Rock. “Are you guys spies?”

Rock and Turner burst into laughter. “Thank God,
no!
” said Turner. “All the Company guys I know are nervous wrecks. CIA has the highest alcoholism rate in the entire government.”

Eventually Rory tired of getting non-answers and curled up to go to sleep.
For a while Rock stared out the window at the dark land below, occasionally interrupted by the clustered lights of a town. He’d do Hamilton Oaks the courtesy of hearing whatever crisis had prompted the director to bring him back, then politely but firmly decline. Tomorrow he’d rent a car and drive Rory to Boston since without an ID she couldn’t fly commercial. Once he had her safely home, Turner would fly him back to Mexico. With luck, he’d be at Casa Paradiso in time for supper with Carmen and Lucia and their children. Afterwards he and Tío Luis would play dominoes and he could readjust to the rhythm of life of Parajito, as regular as the surf: no excitement, no surprises, no sudden danger.