Stranger Danger (17 page)

In the large, too warm atrium Santiago
jumped into the deep end of the pool and came up laughing.
 
Sara entered the cool water with slow steps,
shivering and giggling.
 
They swam
together, splashed and played with something close to the carefree abandon
they’d had as teens.
 
When they climbed
into the hot tub, she sighed with bliss as her bones all but melted.

She glanced at Santiago.
 
His eyes were closed and he wore a sweet
half-smile.
 
She must be playing the game
well, she thought, and resolved to continue.
 
He deserved all the peace he could find.

Sara compared last Friday night to
this but despite the contrast, said nothing. If she did, it would shatter the
illusion she’d worked hard to help create. Last week, she’d come home after
delivering and placing the flowers for a wedding, alone and bone-weary.
 
She’d warmed a frozen entrée in the microwave
and turned on the television to watch mindless programming.
 
Her loneliness had surrounded her like
winter’s cold, but she’d lacked the capacity to even dream of a different
future.
 
Santiago had remained in her
heart, never forgotten but deep beneath the surface.
 
If Catie or anyone had asked her, she’d said
she had no lost loves, no broken dreams, and didn’t need a relationship.

Any suggestion Santiago might burst
back into her life or that she’d be with him in another city, in danger,
would’ve been rejected.
 
But here she was
and despite the years apart, they were in sync as much as ever, maybe more.

Whatever happened, she decided she was
where she wanted and needed to be, with Santiago.
 
If she allowed her thoughts to race, they’d
overwhelm her and she’d go crazy, so Sara yielded to the fantasy and savored
each precious moment they shared – for now.

Chapter Twelve

They continued their fantasy into
Saturday but by noon, the strain of pretending wore heavy on both Sara and
Santiago.
 
On a whim, they’d spent the
morning at the zoo, tucked away within Mohawk Park, but after hours of visiting
the exhibits and watching animals, Sara couldn’t manage to keep up the
façade.
 

“Do want to grab a burger or something
for lunch?” Santiago asked, but she shook her head.
 
When he caught sight of her expression, he
frowned.
“
Que pasa?
Don’t you feel well?”

“I’m all right.” Her headache had
returned with force and her nerves were as volatile as old dynamite. “I want to
go back to the hotel now, though.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

She wasn’t but he was so they picked
up some burgers on the way back to the room.
 
Sara nibbled at hers, but Santiago finished his.
 
Tension crackled like static electricity
between them and a hundred questions chewed holes into her consciousness.
 
“I noticed Mohawk Park closes at night,” she
said after she gave up finishing the burger. “How’s that going to work?”

“I don’t know but it will.”

“What time is it all supposed to
happen?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Enrique’s
car will pick me up at the park around ten,
then
the
meeting by the river is at eleven.
 
I
should be back by two or three at the very latest.”

Sara made no reply.
 
If she could hang on, endure for the next
fifteen hours or so, then maybe she would be able to breathe again.
 
Or she might if her head didn’t explode
first.
 
She rubbed her temples and
winced.
 

Santiago noticed.
“Te duele la cabeza?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a killer headache.”

Santiago dug out ibuprofen and
insisted she rest. He trudged down the hallway for ice and made her a cold
compress.
 
After she settled into bed, he
covered her and lay down beside her.
 

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” she
asked.

“No.
 
I should but I can’t.
 
I’ll rest
and watch you.”

“Make love to me.”

His grin lightened his serious
expression, but he shook his head. “You have a headache,
la muñequita,
so you wouldn’t enjoy it as much.
 
And I need to save my strength for whatever
happens at the meeting.
 
Afterward, I’ll
fuck you every which way but loose.”

“Is that a promise?”

“
Si.”

“
Then
I’ll hold you to it, Santiago.
 
Will you
hold me, then?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and
she relaxed as the headache ebbed.
 
She
hadn’t thought she’d be able to sleep, but she did for a long time.
 
When she woke, feeling better and stiff, it
was after five, but Santiago hadn’t moved.
 
He stared at the wall beyond the bed, mouth in a tight, grim line. When
she whispered his name, his eyes lit with pleasure. “
Hola,
Sara.”

Drowsy, head fuzzy, she stretched out
her fingers to stroke his face. “Santiago, what time is it?”

He told her and although she knew she
should get up, let him prepare for what lay ahead, she didn’t.
 
They lay facing one another, his arms holding
her close, caressing and touching for more than two hours.
 
Neither said much, but Sara’s heart brimmed
full of love despite her increasing anxiety.
 
Their quiet communion eased some of her pain for the moment.
 
The feeling would fade as the evening
unfolded, but she hoped to hold onto a small piece of the connection and peace,
enough to see her through the terrible hours ahead.

After he showered and shaved, Santiago
donned the bullet proof vest he’d acquired at a pawn shop during their Tulsa
travels on Friday. Somehow, she wasn’t sure quite how, he tucked a vial of
special effects blood into it, one which should explode on impact.
 
Before he did, she checked his healing wound
and put a new bandage over it.
 
He pulled
on a tight black t-shirt and jeans.
 
Beneath the shirt, the vest was almost invisible.
 
Sara watched as he tucked a lethal looking
knife into one boot and strapped on a shoulder holster with Glock.
 
Then he added a faded denim jacket and glanced
at her. “How do I look?”

“Dangerous,” she said.
“But sexy as hell, too.
 
You look like one bad
hombre.”

Despite his rigid stance, he grinned,
the old devil-may-care, wicked, wonderful smile she adored. “That’ll do, then.”

He opened a new bottle of tequila and
poured a shot, then shuddered.
 
“Is that
a good idea?” Sara asked. “I’d want to be unimpaired.”

He snorted. “I don’t plan to get
drunk,
querida.
 
Afterward, I might. Want some?”

If she started drinking, she wouldn’t
stop until she passed out.
 
“No, thanks.”

The last hour before time to leave,
the strain began to manifest.
 
Her
headache threatened to surge back with force, and her nervous tummy rolled with
queasy waves.
 
Their interaction petered
out to the necessary.
 
“It’s time to go,”
Santiago said.

Sara picked up keys and purse with a
nod.
 
They walked out into the humid
night without speaking.
 
To the west,
lightening flickered deep within the approaching clouds.
 
“It looks like it’ll storm before long,” she
said.

“
Si,”
he answered. “It does a lot, here.”

His cell phone rang as they climbed
into the Lincoln and when his expression soured, Sara guessed the caller was
Enrique.
 
After a short, terse
conversation, Santiago unleashed a chain of oaths.
“
Bueno pa nada pedasa de mierda!
Chinga tu madre
!”

“What is it?”

“Change of fuckin’ plan,” he said
through gritted teeth. “Now they’ll pick me up at the Greyhound bus station,
downtown.
 
Can you find your way back
here?”

The prospect of navigating the
unfamiliar streets at night terrified her, but Sara nodded. “I think so,
Santiago.
 
But, why?”

“Enrique’s
bullshit, to keep me guessing and make me uneasy.
 
God-damn son of a bitch!”

Uneasiness prickled the back of her
neck. “I don’t like this, Santiago. How can you trust him now?”

“I can’t.
 
I never could, but I don’t have a
choice.
 
He says we’re still on down by
the river. We’ll see.
 
Pay attention and
come back this same way, Sara.”

He provided directions to reach
downtown,
then
insisted she drop him a few blocks away
from the terminal.
 
Santiago handed her a
small pistol. “Don’t use it unless you need it. Go back to the hotel and stay
there.
 
Don’t let anyone but me in,
Sarita. I’ll be back as soon as this is done.”

She pulled the car over to the curb.
He’d shifted into gang, bad mother fucker mode, and despite his instructions,
he’d become remote and cold.
 
Sara had so
many things she wanted to say.
I love
you, be careful, come back to me unhurt, don’t go,
watch
your back
. Yet, in the few remaining moments, all she said was, “Santiago,
I love you.
 
You’re my life and my
heart.
 
You always were and will always
be.”

“
Eres el amor de mi vida.
Cada
día
te
quiero
más
que
ayer
y
menos
que
mañana
,” he
said, his voice breaking with emotion.
“
Adios, amiga.”

She answered him with the old
response.
“
Adios,
hombre.
Muchas
te amo.”
 
Then he vanished,
gone into the night, and she watched him until she lost sight of him.
 

Sara drove back to the hotel and once
there, she sat down in the room’s one chair to wait.
 
Television failed to entertain her or hold
her interest.
 
Her attempt to read failed
too.
 
She considered taking a long, hot
bath but rejected the idea.
 
If Santiago
needed her for any reason, she wanted to be ready to go.
 
One hour passed, then two.
 
Sara stared at the green numerals on the
digital clock beside the bed as the numbers became straight up twelve.
 
Midnight.
 
Maybe
he’ll be back in
a
hour or two.
 
Maybe.

Anxiety crawled through her
consciousness with the intensity of fire ants.
 
A little after twelve, the room remained so quiet she heard her breath
and footsteps outside the door.
 
She
tensed when someone pounded on the door with force.
 

A Latino flavored voice called, “
Abra
la
puerte
!
Andale!
Andale!”

Santiago warned her not to open the
door to anyone else, but she thought she recognized his voice. Sara rushed over
and undid the locks.
 
She swung it wide
and stopped. “Santiago?” she said, even though she knew it wasn’t him.
 
The man who stood there resembled him very
much, but he was older, a little heavier, and his features were less fine. “
Hola,
Luis.”

“Sara,” he said. “Where’s my brother?
Tell me he’s still here,
por favor.”

“He’s not. He went to the arranged
meeting with M13.”

“
Chingao!”
 
Luis moved past her into
the room. “Do you know where?”

“Unless they changed it, yes, I do,”
she told him. “How did you get here? What are you doing?”

“I flew in from LA,
chica.
 
And, I’m trying to save Santiago’s life.
 
Mara
Salvatrucha
, they plan to kill him, for real.
 
It’s a double cross, a trick.
 
I had a bad feeling about it when he called.”

“He said you were angry.”