Running Wild (17 page)

“I’m still not used to the way the time here is divided into equal hours of day and night,” he said as they walked toward the cantina they’d decided on earlier. “That, give or take a few minutes, it never varies—you still get twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of dark. In Seattle in the summertime it doesn’t get truly dark until ten o’clock at night, but in the dead of winter it’s full dark by four in the afternoon.”

“I know what you mean.” she agreed. “We don’t have the kind of long twilights in LA that you get up north, but when I was first sent to the States I was amazed at the way the seasons affected the number of daylight hours. Up until then I’d spent my entire life down here where, as you said, the light and night hours are divided into twelve hours each no matter what time of the year it is. I’d just assumed that was true everywhere.”

Rich aromas, laughter, and the clink and clatter of cutlery and crockery reached them before they arrived at the cantina, making Mags turn a delighted smile in his direction. “Omigawd. Will you let me know if I start to drool?”

“I will if you will. God, I’m hungry.”

They entered a room that was crowded but not, thank God, entirely full and wove their way between tables to an empty narrow booth against the far wall. There were two handwritten menus atop its table and they both snatched one up the instant they slid in, even though Finn could only figure out a few of the dishes offered when he looked at his. He looked across the table at Magdalene. “What’s
sancocho
?”

“It’s a soup that, depending on the cook, is either stewlike or more brothy. Both varieties usually have lots of corn on the cob that’s sliced into narrow rounds.”

He made a face. “Today’s been stressful enough—I’m not in the mood for soup with stuff I have to fish out to eat with my fingers.” He looked down at the menu again. “So, how about this
asado
?”

“That’s basically barbecue—it refers to both the technique and the social event. In this case it looks like beef alongside other meats, which are likely to be either pork, chicken or alpaca.”

“Meat,”
he said reverently and closed his menu. “That’s what I want.”

She laughed and tossed her own menu atop his in the middle of the table. “Works for me. Protein sounds divine right about now.”

The waitress showed up a minute later and Mags ordered for them, starting with a beer for him and a margarita for her. The waitress chatted at her in rapid-fire Spanish, then reached out to touch Mags’s hair.

“Bella, bella,”
she murmured before whirling away in a swirl of brightly colored skirt.

Finn watched her departing back as she dodged through the room, then turned his attention on Mags’s flushed cheeks. “I’m guessing she hasn’t seen many blondes.”

“Apparently not. Oh, please don’t let this be the day Joaquin or his goons show up, because clearly I stand out.” She blinked. “Oh, God, Finn. I forgot all about the goon squad for a while. It’s all wrong that I’m enjoying myself like this when my parents are probably lucky if they get rice and beans, isn’t it?”

“Oh,
hell
to the no.” A fierce wrinkle gathered Finn’s brows above his nose. “What does one thing have to do with the other? You’re knocking yourself out and putting yourself in a lot of danger to get to them. You don’t think you deserve to grab your moments of enjoyment where you can?”

“I—” She shook her head. “I actually thought something very like that when we were at the festival in La Plata—that being able to occasionally relax helped me feel stronger for the challenges to come.” She straightened in her seat. “So, okay. I’ll try to stop feeling guilty during these rare happy moments.” A small, self-deprecatory smile tugged up one corner of her pretty lips. “I can’t promise it’ll stick with any kind of consistency, but I will try.” Then she full-out grinned at him. “I ordered you a fancy potato to go with your red meat.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Define fancy.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“O-o-kay,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “What’s the worst they can do to a potato?”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Shit.”

She laughed again. “No, you’ll like it. Tru-u-ust me.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday? Everyone knows never to trust someone who says trust me.”

She merely smiled innocently.

He found himself enjoying her enjoying herself. He’d never seen her this relaxed, never mind feeling lighthearted enough to tease.

Then their drinks arrived and he discovered that a margarita on an empty stomach made Magdalene downright chatty.

She told him a little about how she’d envisioned some of the creatures in the space-epic gig she’d had to give up. She was amazingly descriptive and made them come alive in his mind’s eye.

“I’m sure they had detailed drawings of what they actually wanted,” she admitted. “But it’s fun to envision what my creations would have looked like.” She leaned into the table, planting her elbow on its scarred top and her chin in her palm. “But enough about me. Tell me about your family. I know you have a brother named Dev and sisters named Kate and Hannah.”

That she remembered reinforced in his mind how family happy she was. He swallowed a smile. “The girls and I are the only ones still single in the family. My married sibs are Maureen and my brothers Bren and David. And Dev, of course.”

“And grandmothers and aunts and girl cousins?”

He nodded. “Both my grandmas are still alive and one of my grandpas. Then there are two uncles, four aunts—and their spouses—and too damn many first cousins and
their
kids to name.”

She looked at him with big wistful eyes. “You are so lucky.”

“I know.”

She gawked. “You do?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I feel crowded sometimes and definitely maneuvered—if you met my aunt Eileen, you’d understand what I’m talking about. She makes our generation want to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.”

“Oh, I’m sure—”

“No, you’re not, because you’ve never met her. At the same time, I love my family and I appreciate how lucky I am to be part of a loving, functional tribe. It doesn’t make them perfect, though, Magdalene. Family relationships are messy.”

“Tell me about it.” But she gave him a little self-deprecating smile. “Mine is certainly messed up. And I know I romanticize the whole idea of family.” She shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “It’s just... I was part of that once upon a time and I loved it. I’ve always wished I could re-create it.” Her shoulder twitched. “Though I guess for now I should just focus on saving the family I’ve got.”

“And cut yourself some slack while you’re doing it.” He studied her for a moment, then felt a sardonic smile tug at his lips. “That re-creating thing must be hard to do when you pull in people with one hand, then hold them at arm’s length with the other.”

She looked away to watch their waitress come toward them with two loaded plates. Just before she got there, Mags looked at him across the table, her face serious. “Yeah. Then there’s that.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“A
BOUT
DAMN
TIME
you checked in!” Joaquin snapped into his cell phone, having snatched it up the moment he recognized the caller’s number. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, Boss,” said one of his enforcers, and for a brief instant Joaquin was placated. He loved it when they called him
boss
. It made him feel almost as all-powerful as
his
boss, Victor. Then he realized he hadn’t heard what his man was saying and tuned back in.

“—sight of the Deluca woman in La Plata, but she disappeared on us again. The chick is fuckin’
smoke
. So we tracked down the town’s only car-rental agency.”

There was a pause and Joaquin snapped his fingers impatiently. This was the trouble with working with American mercenaries—all their idioms aside, which made Joaquin wonder half the time what the hell they were talking about,
yanquis
as a whole loved stretching out the drama of every damn situation. “And? Spit it out, Palmer!”

“And we discovered she and the man she’s traveling with turned in their car. But—get this—they didn’t rent a replacement car.”

Another silence settled over the line and he felt his blood pressure climbing into the red zone. “If you drag this out one more time, I will make you pay.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Palmer said again. “This whole business has been a case of one strange-ass thing after the other goin’ wrong. Me and Vasquez learned that Deluca and her guy rented a boat, so we rented one, too—only ours has a faster motor. We figured they’d have to pull over for the night, which would allow us to catch up with them wherever they parked their butts and bring ’em back to you. We had no real way of knowin’ how far behind we were, but figured it couldn’t be more than a couple-a hours at most. But here’s the bizarre part.” His exhale rode the radio waves. “Vasquez and me, we were jumped down on the docks by a gang of pissed-off...hell, I’m not even sure what they were. But these guys were just standing around, talking quietly to each other and not payin’ us any mind at all as we walked by, then—bam! They fuckin’ ambush us from behind.”

“You’re armed to the teeth—and you let a group of amateurs
ambush
you?”
Dios mío
. What were they paying these morons for?

“How the hell was we supposeta know they’d go ape shit on us? I mean that’s fucking suicidal, right? Because we
were
armed to the teeth and in that neighborhood we were lettin’ it show. They kept their eyes lowered and talked strictly to each other—until we passed them. Then suddenly there’s like a dozen of the crazy fuckers knockin’ us on our face, holding us down and stripping us of our weapons. Once we were trussed up like a couple-a Thanksgiving turkeys, they kicked the shit outta us. It was during the beat down we learned they were still all jacked up on rage because Deluca and her man had somehow gotten the best of them maybe a half hour before.”

“You were only a half an hour behind them?”
¡Dios!
The gods were just shitting on them left and right.

“That’s what it sounded like from what the goombahs kept ranting about. Then, to add insult to injury, the fuckers tossed us in a storeroom and didn’t let us out until about a half hour ago. Vasquez is still in bad shape. They broke one-a his ribs and it punctured a lung. I think his breathing problems were the only reason they cut us loose at all—they were afraid they’d have a murder rap hanging over their heads if they didn’t. I took him to the hospital and the doctors inflated the lung and say he’s gonna be okay. But he’s out of commission for now and I need to know what you want me to do.”

“Where are you now and what’s the name of the river?” As soon as Palmer told him, Joaquin ordered, “Wait while I pull up a map on my computer.” He looked up the river and followed it toward the Amazon from La Plata. “Okay. It looks like the only town anywhere near your location is Rio de Villanueva. Are you familiar with river travel?”

“Hell, yeah. I grew up on the Mississippi.”

So maybe this would actually work out—something he’d been seeing damn little of these days while Victor breathed more and more heavily down his neck. “All right, then. I’m counting on you to bring them to me. Same rules apply—the woman doesn’t get hurt. And Palmer?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

He stroked his thumb over the finely honed blade of the knife he’d gotten to replace the one stolen from him by the
americano
. “You do not want to let me down.”

* * *

O
N
THEIR
WALK
back to the hotel, Mags thought about Finn’s singing earlier in their room. “So, what
is
the name of this lonesome ol’ town?” She lurched a little over nothing that she could see. It made her laugh.

“You a little lit, Deluca?”

She smiled at him companionably. “I may be the tiniest bit tipsy, although all that wonderful barbecue soaked up quite a bit of the tequila from my margarita.”

“Tiniest bit tipsy looks good on you.” He stopped and looked around. “And where are we is a good question. I haven’t seen any kind of a sign. If this was small-town America I’d look for the water tower. But I’m not seeing one of those. Senor!” he called to a man smoking outside a bodega near the corner.
“Que es tu nombre—”
He turned to her. “How do you say town?”

“Pueblo.”

“Pueblo,”
he raised his voice to say to the man. He gave her a crooked smile. “I know that’s not quite right, but it’s the best I’ve got. Hopefully—”

“Rio de Villanueva,” the man called back.

A big grin that did something to Mags’s insides split Finn’s face.
“Gracias!”
he yelled, then turned to her and crowed, “An-n-nd...he shoots, he scores!”

And just like that something cracked open in her heart. God, she liked this guy. She’d been assuring herself he was an idiot, partly, she admitted, as self-preservation. She was attracted to him in a way so mammoth, it was ridiculous—and she wasn’t afraid to admit it scared the bejesus out of her. In her defense, she’d thought the label applied if for no other reason than how unappreciative he’d seemed of his family. Since it was something she’d give a bundle to have for herself, anyone who had a loving family and didn’t recognize the value of the gift he’d been given
was
an idiot.

Except it turned out he appreciated them just fine. He was merely fed up with the way they stuck their noses in his private business. And while she personally believed being surrounded by people who cared enough to show an interest in the things you did was pretty damn close to heaven on earth, she supposed she could also understand his desire to carve out some space for himself.

When they arrived back at their no-name hotel, Finn looked around the minuscule lobby and said drily, “Deserted as usual, I see.” They climbed the staircase in silence, but she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking looks at him when she was reasonably certain his attention was focused elsewhere.

Because...oh, God.

It didn’t make sense and she couldn’t say what made her do so, but she found she’d changed her mind about sleeping with him again.

Of course it would be better not to act on it, she sternly, if silently, lectured herself and ticked off the various reasons why on her fingers.

She’d consumed booze on an empty stomach—even if she no longer felt particularly impaired.

They had to live too closely to each other as it was. Too intimately.

Then there was the fact that the few times she’d allowed herself to get even the tiniest bit involved with someone, it had always ended badly.

With all those cautions front and center in her head, she headed straight for her bed behind the still-dropped bedspread. She shimmied out of her outer clothing, peeled off her bra and panties and donned the boy shorts and tank she’d adopted as sleepwear. Hearing Finn rustling around on the other side of the curtain, she gathered her washcloth and facial cleanser, along with her toothbrush and toothpaste, and took them into the bathroom, using her bare foot to close the door. The soft click it made behind her was the sound of privacy, something that had been scarce since arriving in South America.

It was a rare luxury not only to have an indoor toilet, and hot and cold running water, but to also have it en suite rather than in a room down the hall they had to share with the other occupants on their floor. Running lukewarm water in the sink, she held her cloth under the stream, wrung the excess water from it, then applied the damp cloth to her face, pressing it against her closed eyelids.

And sighed with pleasure. Perhaps even moaned a little. She grimaced, however, when she lowered the cloth and saw it generously smeared with her eye makeup. She had an excellent bottle of remover and her favorite ultrasoft cotton pads in her tote for the express purpose of taking this stuff off before she washed, but had she remembered? Oh, no. She squirted her skin cleanser on the cloth now, however, and managed to scrub it almost clean of the makeup before returning her attention to washing her face.

She thought she was pretty relaxed when she returned to her bed and put away all the toiletries except the washcloth, which she’d left hung over the edge of the sink to dry. She lowered herself onto the mattress and sighed with the pure pleasure of having something this soft and giving beneath her.

But after the first few moments spent reveling in the unaccustomed luxury of sprawling upon a real bed, she started thinking once more about having sex with Finn. And unfortunately once the thought entered her mind that was all she wrote, for she couldn’t seem to expel it. She sat up, punched her pillow into shape, then lay back down, this time on her right side, which left her looking at the wall rather than the lightweight spread separating their beds.

A few minutes later, she flopped onto her back again and lifted up enough to flip the pillow to its cooler side and stuff it back under her head. Her feet started tapping air.

She tried slow, deep breathing.

Mentally listed all the movies she would adore to do makeup on.

Tried to calculate how much longer it would take them to get to Munoz’s grow farm.

Nothing helped and she jerked upright and swung around until she was sitting cross-legged, staring at the colorless-in-the-dark spread. And demanded, “You still want to have sex with me?”

There was dead silence on the other side of the blanket and she waited one moment. Two. Then blew out a disgruntled breath. “Crap,” she groused. “You’re asleep. Doesn’t that just figure? I’m lying here all horny and you’re sleeping like a baby.”

“I am not effin’ sleeping,” his low voice snapped, sounding thoroughly bad tempered.

“But you’re cranky.” Catching herself reaching a hand toward the blanket, she let it drop to her lap. “Sex would probably improve your mood.”

“I’m not sleeping with you while you’re drunk, only to have you turn around and be pissed at me in the morning for taking advantage.”

“Please.” She made a rude noise. “I said I was slightly tipsy, not drunk. Shoot, I’m probably not even that now. Want to watch me walk a straight line? Tip my head back, close my eyes and touch alternate fingertips to my nose?”

“No. I want you to go to sleep and ask me again in the morning.”

“But I’m horny
now
.”

“And a few hours ago you were never sleeping with me again.”

She shrugged even though he couldn’t see her. “So I changed my mind. Woman’s prerogative.” She wistfully patted the mattress next to her hip. “I’d sure like to do it in a bed.” She smoothed the sheet with long sweeps of her hand and didn’t even notice that its thread count was a fair distance from silky smooth. “It’s a very nice bed.”

He groaned and whispered a short, succinct swearword. She heard a rustling on his side of the blanket and smiled at the thought of what he could do for her. What she could do to him. They should probably have a discussion about the rules for a sexual relationship, but at the moment she was simply happy knowing he was about to make her feel. So. Good.

Instead of coming around the edge of the hanging curtain, however, she heard him walking in the direction of the door and shot to her feet. “Hey!” She jerked aside the blanket.

Just in time to hear him say, “I’m going out,” as the door closed between them.

She threw herself on her back on the bed. Clenched fistfuls of her hair and tugged. “Well, crap,” she said to the ceiling. “Just...crap.”

* * *

“S
HIT
. S
HIT
,
SHIT
,
SHIT
!”
Eyebrows clenched over his nose, hands fisted in the pockets of his khakis, Finn strode down the sidewalk, barely registering a couple around his parents’ age skittering out of his way. “What the hell’s the matter with you, boyo? You shoulda jumped all over that offer.”

He laughed sourly.
Yeah, right
. Da had drummed certain codes into Finn and his brothers’ heads when it came to dealing with what he’d loved to call the fairer sex. And one of the biggies was that you never, but never, took advantage of a woman who’d had too much to drink. Not even if that possibility was only bastard stepchild to a “might have.”