Think Before You Speak (17 page)

Did I also mention the ambassador is a member
of the Juarez family drug cartel? Actually more of a silent partner
– and working covertly with drug enforcement on this side of the
border to bring his family down.

But you didn’t hear that from me.

I only wanted to know three things as I
glanced around my apartment at the tightly closed drapes. One, what
was he doing in my apartment cuddling my traitorous cat? Two, how
had he gotten past all of the new-fangled security my mom had
ordered installed? And three, would he mind if I stepped away real
quick to take care of nature’s unexpected call?

On second thought, maybe I could hold it.

“Ambassador Juarez?” I finally spit out.
“This is an unexpected…um…pleasure.”

More like shock, startle, panic, and plain
old
what the hell
in my dictionary, but I didn’t want to be
rude.

“It is a pleasure to see you again also,
Senorita
,” Juarez said, scritching behind Slinky’s ears.
Thus the loud purring.

No gun in his hands to use against me or my
cat. Point in my favor. Though on second thought, he could hold my
baby hostage and just as easily wring Slinky’s neck – though
sometimes I wanted to do that on occasion too. Still, point in his
favor. He’d been kind and appreciative on our initial meeting. At
the governor’s ball. In a very public setting. This time we were in
my apartment. My closed off and very private apartment.

Which returned me to my original conundrum –
how he had gotten by my security system without Jimmy-the-Super and
all the forces in Dallas descending on him. I really needed to
exercise care in how I phrased the next question, just in case
something pungent was about to hit the proverbial fan.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Okay, not a great opening question, but a
reasonable one – considering.

“Your Congress is still in its summer recess,
so there’s very little happening in D.C. at present,” Juarez said.
“After returning from a visit with
mi familia,
I found I had
business to attend to here before heading north.”

It didn’t require too much thought to
determine what kind of business he stopped over in Texas to attend
to. And there’d be no getting detailed information out of one
tight-lipped Texas Ranger either. Uh-oh – what if Juarez was a
double agent?

“No,” I said. “What the hell are you doing
here
? In my apartment? At three in the morning?”

So much for careful. That dreaded
foot-in-mouth disease struck before I could rein it in. Hey, don’t
fault a girl for being distracted with thoughts of an upcoming
date, surprised by an intruder, and a little tipsy after a full
night at the bar – not to mention a growing need to visit the
ladies room.

The hint of a smile curled the edges of his
thick mustache, reminding me a little of my boss. Juarez settled
Slinky to the floor and returned to sit on the couch. I shoveled
the spilled contents of my purse where they belonged and clutched
it like a desperate housewife on Black Friday as I sat beside the
ambassador.

“It has come to my attention,” Juarez
started, “that you seek to help a friend.”

“That Ranger has some nerve…,” I
sputtered.

“
And,
” he interrupted with a raised
brow, “though I am usually hesitant to use names…ahem…in this case
it seems you are seeking someone specific.”

Yeah, right about now that would be a Texas
Ranger known as Big Z – big as in Big Mouth. But I kept that name
to myself, seeing as the ambassador was trying not to be
obvious.

“Why would you get involved?” I asked.

A momentary flicker of sorrow creased his
brow. “To return the favor when you helped me.”

Well, actually I’d been helping Bobby, but
apples and oranges. The ambassador didn’t have to say another word
to clarify his meaning about the specific name he inferred – I’d
caught that Hail Mary on the first toss. Even when suffering under
effects of full-blown inebriation, I’d never been
that
dense.

Oh, shut up.

I took a deep breath to calm my galloping
heart and clear my mind. I was doing this for Reggie. “I’m looking
for a guy who used to be in charge of a gang called the
Switchblades.”

“Ah, yes. Nasty group.”

“They’re still around then?” Even after
facing the ones Zeke had rescued me from, I still didn’t want to
assume those guys were affiliated with the Switchblades. I mean,
with all of the various gangs running around these days, what were
the chances I’d actually run into members of that particular
group?

“Very active among certain circles.” With his
fingers, the ambassador mimed holding a cigarette or pipe to his
mouth, drawing in and blowing out.

“Drugs,” I stated.

Juarez nodded.

“Okay then,” I said. “This group was started
by a guy who’d be somewhere in his sixties. That is, unless he
discovered the wrong end of a gun, or in his case, a
switchblade.”

“Always a high probability in such
circles.”

“He went by the name of…” I couldn’t help the
chuckle that escaped. Blame it on nerves as well as the name.
“…Switch.”

No surprise registered on the ambassador’s
face. After a lifetime involvement in politics, he’d probably
become an expert at keeping true thoughts and feelings hidden
behind the smile. Perhaps the heavy mustache helped further that
purpose. Instead he slipped a card from his jacket pocket and wrote
something before handing it to me.

“When you call that number, ask for Tomas
Ricardo,” Juarez said as he stood and moved toward the front door.
“Tell him Benny gave it to you.”

In the blink of an eye, Juarez blew out the
candle then opened and closed my door in the accompanying darkness.
It took a few beats before my brain caught up to my body. Then I
jumped up, wrenched open the door and stared down an empty hall
before moving to the vacant stairwell.

It was like he’d never even been there. If I
didn’t have the card in my buzzed little hands, I’d have thought
I’d dreamed up the whole encounter.

Had I blacked out for a moment or two after
he blew out the candle? Or three? Had the candle had a
hallucinogenic effect? I stared again into my darkened apartment.
The lights weren’t on, but this girl was home.

And I wasn’t so sure that was an entirely
safe idea.

A good night’s sleep is next to...

Well, I guess my mom always said something
more along the lines of
cleanliness is next to Godliness
–
but sleep worked best for me in this case. After the strange
encounter with the Godfather-like ambassador, I didn’t get much
until the lights flickered on about the time dawn peeked through
the blinds.

The card was still in my hand when I woke up
later that afternoon, a reminder the events of early morning were
more than a dream. I did a quick check to insure I still possessed
all ten fingers and toes for my date with Radioman, ‘cause I
definitely didn’t plan on getting much sleep tonight. I hoped.

Hey, I needed something to get my mind off of
gangs and godfathers.

Don’t judge.

Promptly at seven my doorbell buzzed and sent
a shot of adrenaline south. I just love new relationships, don’t
you? Exploring attributes and what makes someone tick made for
sparkling exchanges. Conversation could be good too – unless you
were a male model named Nick.

Thoughts of Nick fell to the wayside when I
finished clattering through the myriad door locks and dragged the
thing open to greet Radioman. Amber hair sported a softer but
perpetual dent from headphones but the leather jacket over a
button-up was new. It all graduated to dark blue jeans that hung
low on his hips and fit snug in all the right places. His scent hit
me between the thighs. Musky. Manly. Just perfect.

I grinned. “A jacket? In this heat?”

“I wasn’t sure how dressed up you’d be,” he
said as his gaze traveled up and down my little cranberry-red
halter dress. Adam’s apple bobbed as his warmth penetrated my
clingy number with a hug and his hand feathered the bare skin on my
back. “I could always take the jacket off.”

The breathy whisper so near my ear made me
want to do just that – and more. Bad Vicki. So very bad. We hadn’t
even eaten dinner yet. Did the waiting at least an hour after
eating apply to any other activities besides swimming?

I barely had the presence of mind to grab my
purse and lock the door before I further contemplated dragging him
to my bed – er, mattress. I really needed that stupid bedroom set
to arrive ASAP.

Like a gentleman, he escorted me to his
black-patent Honda Accord and opened the passenger door for me
before climbing into the driver’s seat. Then with a grin and a
squeal of tires, he showed me there was much more under the hood of
his straight-off-the-showroom-floor car. The scent of hot rubber
sent my brain to wondering what other surprises he had for the
night.

“Nice car,” I said.

“Brand new,” Radioman bragged with pride.
“Got a sweet deal on her and couldn’t resist.”

“A
her
, huh?”

“Always,” he said with a wink. “The curves of
a car can’t help but make me picture a voluptuous woman.”

It might be hot outside, but the interior
suddenly warmed even with the air conditioner blowing on max.
“Uh…she had some pretty nice torque back there.”

“It’s nothing like what you’re used to, I’m
sure. She’s only a V-6.”

“Shhh,” I cautioned. “You might hurt her
feelings.”

Even his throaty laugh was smooth and sexy
like his voice. “Two-hundred and fifty-two pounds of torque isn’t
shabby for a four-door sedan, I guess.”

Now this was the kind of conversation I’d
hoped to have with Nick. The dichotomy between the two was stark –
and a reminder to contact Nick to insure he understood things were
really over between us. This time I meant it too.

“What’s her horsepower?” I asked.

“Two-seventy-eight.” A curious
cornflower-blue glance slid my way as we stopped at a red light.
“This is an interesting conversation I never expected to have
tonight.”

I shrugged. “I like cars.”

“Obviously. Shoulda known with the one you
have.” Silence until the light changed to green and he took a
right. “Do you like football?”

“Does a bear crap in the woods?” My crude
humor didn’t even faze him.

“Cowboys?”

“I bleed blue and silver.”

“Have you ever been to a game at the new
stadium?”

The question stopped me for a second. When
Zeke and I had dated, he loved football but hated the stadium
crowds. Plus, he’d never known when he’d have to step out for an
emergency on a case, so he’d just DVR’d the games instead. But the
Bohanans and the De’Laruses have shared a private box in both the
old and new stadiums for longer than Janine and I have been alive.
My formative years were spent in that luxurious suite, staring down
through the big Plexiglas window at the action taking place on the
turf while snarfing down five-star snacks.

The thoughts made me realize that Radioman
knew virtually nothing about me – about the family name and
enterprise – except that I worked at a bar and liked cars and now
Dallas Cowboy football. If he knew more, he didn’t show it.

And I found comfort in the anonymity.

“I haven’t been for a few years,” I
responded.

“Well, I’ve got tickets to the preseason
opener…
if
you’re interested.”

“It’s a date,” I exclaimed as we pulled into
the parking lot of my favorite restaurant.

La Buona Cibo Vino
served the best
Italian food this side of the Mississippi. What it lacked in
ambience it made up for in spice and flavor to zing the palate.
Tonight I was definitely feeling – or smelling – a deep dish
sausage pizza with fresh tomatoes and melting mozzarella all
nestled in a yeasty yummy crust. My stomach seconded the vote the
moment we sat down in what was once mine and Zeke’s special
hangout. I quelled all thoughts of what the Ranger and I had once
shared and determined to enjoy the night with someone new.

“So do you prefer I call you Bruce or keep
addressing you as Radioman?” I asked, swirling red wine in my
glass.

“I kinda like the moniker,” Radioman
returned. “I even mentioned it to the producer at the station, and
he wants to see about working it into my call sign.”

“Really?”

“The station just has to make sure it doesn’t
violate any FCC regs or copyrights first.”

“Well here’s to helping further your career,”
I said, raising my glass and plinking it with his across the table.
“So you talk about me at work, huh?”

A grin. “Maybe. I haven’t been exactly subtle
about wanting to take you on a date.”

“I’m glad you finally succeeded.”

Salad and breadsticks arrived but didn’t
create more than a hiccup in our conversation. Yeah, this was a far
cry from being with Nick. Definite improvement in the
conversational compartment. I had high hopes for what lingered on
the horizon.

Emphasis on the
linger
.

“So,” Radioman started, “how did an
intelligent woman like you end up tending bar?”

I batted mascaraed lashes like a world-class
ditz. “Who says I’m intelligent?”

“Come on. I’ll never forget that little
guessing game you played when we first met. Guessing one of our
careers correctly…fine. But all three? That was uncanny.”

I remembered clearly that night two months
ago when the three musketeers had strolled up to the bar and about
fell off their stools when I pegged them within minutes. Since then
I’d enjoyed the slow rise in temperature their presence at the bar
brought, well except for Banker Boy. His rare presence only made me
itch to bathe – and I’m not talking the bathing in alcohol variety
either.