vnNeSsa1 (11 page)

I’m content to watch him as he fetches a blanket and backpack from a pack on his horse and busies himself setting things up. He carefully arranges sandwiches, drinks, and napkins on the blanket, and then steps back, takes my hand, and gestures as though formally inviting me into his home. I’m touched by the amount of thought he put into this day and bring his hand to my lips. My mouth brushes across his long, beautifully shaped fingers. I take his hand in both of mine and move it across my cheek, closing my eyes to better feel the sensation.

When I open them, Victor is right in front of me and has a look so intense, it startles me. But he doesn’t move, just watches my eyes as I move his hand.
Tracing his fingers down my neck, and my shoulder, my collarbones, my neck again, back to my cheek. He doesn’t blink. It was a mistake to think his eyes are brown. They’re black; so black they’re almost blue and I’m falling into them. Down my neck, down the middle of my chest, to my diaphragm, my stomach…

He grabs me then into an embrace that crushes me, sucks the wind out of me as he kisses me with anything but his usual gentleness. His fingers are through my hair, around my back to draw me closer, back to my hair, on either side of my face. We’re both gasping for air, barely taking it in before finding each other’s mouths again.

During the breaths, he tells me in Spanish how beautiful I am, how much he wants me. I press harder against him, wanting to somehow melt into him. He groans and the sound tells me how much he wants me. I grab at his shirt and tear it up over his body, pulling away from our kiss only long enough to get it up over his head. I’m stunned for a moment by how he looks. His skin is the most perfect color brown. My fingers reach out automatically to trace the beautifully sculpted muscles. I make some small sound. My hands are all over his arms, chest, shoulders, back. His eyes close.

As though he can’t take any more, he pulls me to him, crushing me again, kissing me deeply, bruising my lips. I kiss back just as fiercely. His hands roughly try to pull me closer,
and then run down my back, and curve around my backside. My legs instinctively wrap around him, and I’m aware only of warmth, passion, and my own reckless abandon until strong arms release me abruptly.

“No, Savannah, no.
There are good reasons to go slowly. This is not slow.” Victor’s voice is hoarse and his accent very much in evidence. From the ground where I dropped, my body instinctively draws into an upright, protective ball: arms around knees, head on arms. My chest is heaving and stomach churning, stoked by emotions of hurt, anger, confusion, embarrassment.

Victor drops beside me and pulls me to him, stroking my head. “I want you so much it hurts,” he says softly, his breath a light breeze through my hair. I can feel his body trembling slightly. “But we don’t know each other. Not really. There will come a time when we do. I’m willing to wait. Are you?”

The hot mix of emotions is immediately replaced by shame. I’ve been thinking only of myself. I’ve not even thought of using protection. Plus, what is there to offer this man but a girl with no name, no history, her life all made-up, a lie? What a phony I’ve been, prancing around on stage, painted face just an illusion. My friends don’t know who I am. This man doesn’t know who I am.
I
don’t know who I am. My nose starts to feel stuffy as tears well up in my eyes and roll down my face.

“Ah, Bonita, you’re hurt,” Victor says, his voice distressed. “Forget what I said. Let me make love to you right here, right now.” He lifts my chin and kisses my wet cheeks. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” Looking into my eyes
, he starts to move his hands down my body. My resolve hangs in the balance. It takes a great effort for me to push away from him and shake my head.

“No, Victor. You’re right.” My hands scrub over my face vigorously, removing the last traces of tears. In time he will know the true me, without lies. He can have me with nothing held back.

Words from last night come back to me, perfect in the moment. My gaze lingers over the view in front of me, the mountainous terrain outlined sharply in the clear air and then shifts to Victor’s face, equally beautiful.

“I’m a patient woman. I can wait,” I say, and feel my mouth curve and eyes crinkle.

Victor’s face softens. Time slows down. The world falls away until I’m aware only of Victor’s expression of tenderness. And within that suspension of time and space, I realize I’ve fallen hopelessly, irretrievably in love with him.

Chapter 14

There’s a cold pressure at my temple that awakens me instantly.

“If you scream, you’re dead.” The voice is flat, monotone. I try to scream anyway. My muscles strain but no sound comes out.

A vicious arm yanks me out of bed. It’s black as tar in the room, making his face impossible to see. My feet drag and he shakes me, trying to get me to stand. When I’m finally upright, every muscle quivering, he shifts the gun to the middle of my back and shoves me forward.

It’s his complete silence that terrifies me the most.
I try to get a look at him and he shoves me harder. Mewling sounds come out of my mouth. We head for the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom and the light’s on somehow. Now I can sort of see his face and he has a cat-like mask on over his eyes. He looks ridiculous. And lethal.

He keeps his eyes and gun trained on me. They are both
hypnotic. I hear water running and when I twist around, the bathtub is filled to the top.

“Get in,” the man orders without any inflection.
My feet have grown roots through the linoleum, down to the concrete foundation, into the core of the earth. He throws me into the tub as if I’m a worn-out Raggedy Ann doll. Water sloshes everywhere. Hysteria bubbles in me but my throat, like my body, is frozen.

He carefully sets the gun next to him on the floor and kneels, looming over me.
The mask comes closer and closer. I can smell his breath. And then I’m under water. I should have known. But somehow didn’t anticipate it. And stupidly take a deep breath. But there’s no air. Only water. And now I’m drowning. He drags me up and my chest muscles nearly crack my ribs, straining to suck in the sweet air.

“Tell me where it is.” He sounds bored
, as though he drowns someone daily.

“What are you talking about?” I gasp out and he’s got me under water before the sentence is out of my mouth. This time it’s longer and my ears feel
as if they’ve exploded; my lungs have collapsed—there’s nothing left.

“Tell me where it is.”

“I’ve buried all but thirty thousand of it in the desert. I’ll take you to it.” It takes everything in me to work these sounds out of my throat. He stares. His eyes are the strangest color amber. Or are they green?

“Stop playing me. Where’s the evidence?”

“What evidence?” He pushes me back under and holds me there. And holds me there. And holds me there. My lungs burn, ignite, and then I breathe in water. It hurts so much and then it doesn’t hurt at all.

I float. It isn’t
a bathtub anymore. It’s a river flowing to rapids.

vnN
eSsa1. Me, reading these black letters scrawled on a white scrap of paper. vnNeSsa1. The letters formed by a familiar hand, on the edges of my mind, slipping away.

A password.
That’s what the man wanted. Not the money at all. It’s funny, really. Too late. I’m dead now. My dead eyes open and see the sky, smoky blue above. My long blonde hair floats around my body in the river. How can that be? I cut and dyed my hair.

A woman’s face appears when my eyes close. She’s beautiful. Black hair and
shiny eyes. She smiles and speaks lovingly to me in Spanish. Her face changes to Victor’s. I feel a love so strong it’s painful. The pain grows in my chest and changes. There’s a compression there far worse than drowning. My heart feels like it’s being crushed. This heart has known loss and grief.

There’s no
release when my eyes fly open to take in my familiar bedroom and I realize it was all a nightmare. The pillow is drenched with sweat and tears. My breathing sounds overly loud in the silent room. What was all that about a password? Does hunting me have nothing to do with money? My mind reels with confusion. But one thing stands in clear relief against the chaos: Victor must not be in the middle of this dangerous mess I’m in.

The lobby of the hotel is too bright and Victor is late taking his break. My plan is to have as short amount of time as possible with him so he won’t get suspicious and I won’t weaken. His break from work seems perfect. My morning has been spent running to the desert, digging up the money, and throwing my few belongings into my case. I’ve had to shut down my heart against the pain slowly building about leaving my job, friends, and Victor behind.

My heart leaps because I spot him rushing out of one of the employee entrances. His hair is mes
sed up and he’s smiling. His eyes light up when he sees me. It’s like a knife in my gut.

Before he can say a word, I grab his hand and
squeeze us into the huge revolving doors, cursing their slowness. The heat hits me, but it’s not quite as intense as before. Gas fumes from cars at the entrance assault my nose. There’s a nook under a bridge that crosses the Strip and I pull him into it. As soon as we’re hidden from view, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, hoping it tells him everything in my heart.

“
What was that about?” he says breathlessly when the kiss is over.

“Just trying to send you a message.”

“Message received.” He pulls me closer then and looks into my eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just looks.

“Message received,” I say. He smiles and his expression
shifts. He studies my face.

“You have the most beautiful eyes. The
y change colors. Today, when you’re wearing green, your eyes are green. Other days, they’re—what’s the color—amber? Bonita, what is it?”

“Nothing, Victor, nothing.
Maybe I’m not good with compliments. Maybe I’m a little nervous because I have a gift for you and I don’t know if you’ll like it.” Maybe I’m lying and feel terrible about it. Maybe I’m scared because you’re describing the eyes of the man in my nightmare.

Victor
says nothing but looks worried. He doesn’t look convinced. But after a moment, his face brightens and he says, “A gift, for me?” Then he tilts his head to the side and smiles shyly. My heart melts and tears come to my eyes. My fingers stab fiercely through my purse, digging for his present, my face hidden from view. Anger covers my emotion, grumbling erupting from my mouth, nonsense about big purses, stupid disposable cell phones, missing keys. Victor laughs softly.

He
gently takes the purse from me, sets it on the ground, and takes me in his arms. When he kisses me, I go calm inside. The two of us are all that matters. When it’s over, he keeps looking at me as he lifts my bag, reaches inside, and pulls out the small box that contains his gift.

“May I?”

I make a “go ahead” gesture and he takes off the ribbon. Inside the box, there’s a keychain made of leather and lapis lazuli. The loop holding the keys attaches to braided leather and hanging from the leather is a small hand-carved lapis horse. After a desperate search this morning, this keychain caught my eye in the display case of a jewelry store. It reminded me so much of Victor—his ease on a horse, his grace. My nerves hit full force. What if he doesn’t like it?

“It’s perfect.”

He wraps me in his arms as though he can’t pull me close enough. My chest feels as if it’s being stepped on by an elephant. It’s not Victor’s embrace—my heart is breaking. If this goes on longer, my determination will dissolve, so my hands move around to his chest and push him away.

“I hate to leave you so much”
—damn, my voice is cracking—“but I don’t want to make you late for work.”

Victor
’s doing that thing he does with his face when his brain is going faster than subatomic particles. “OK, Bonita, I will see you later. Definitely.” He says this slowly, keeping his eyes on my face. What’s he thinking? He doesn’t say more, just picks up my purse, takes my hand, and begins walking back toward the hotel entrance.

We almost reach the revolving doors
, but a dread so powerful grips me that I make up some weak excuse and flee. Literally run flat out, until my feet are punching the pedals of my Z4 and tears are streaming down my face, dripping on to my lap.

I speed
on 95 South for an hour blinded by crying, rage, loss, grief, and turmoil that finally makes me pull over to the side of the highway and rest my aching head on the steering wheel. My new life had just started. New job. New friends. New love. It’s so hard to give up. Maybe I could stay and tell Victor…But my mind has turned this over more than a hundred times. If he got hurt on my account, I would never forgive myself.

The car seems to drive itself from this point
on the highway to Barstow. Everything’s a blur. Even though it’s been only a couple of hours, my headache won’t let me go any farther. This hideous Motel 6 will be ideal. It reminds me of the Lucky 7, my first Las Vegas motel. I should feel right at home, especially if it smells.

My head is pounding so hard I don’t know
whether I can drag it out of the car to the front desk. It takes me time to focus enough to fill out the guest card. The clerk probably thinks I’m drunk, but hands me a key anyway. I don’t care; just get me to a bed. The clerk’s droning on about something that no one is listening to.

One hand is holding my head, the other is pushing open the door. The light hurts my eyes. Victor is leaning against my car
, looking stunning. I shake my head, sure my headache is causing me to hallucinate. No, sure enough, there’s Victor, arms crossed, looking dead serious.

“I have
ibuprofen for your headache, Bonita.”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Yes.”

We keep staring at each other in the Motel 6 parking lot. I try narrowing my eyes. I really give it my best shot. But the light’s too bright, my head hurts, and I’m so happy to see him, I
’ve completely given up by the time he crosses over to me and takes me by the shoulders.

“You can’t just leave.
I will follow you like I did today, whatever it takes. Trust me, I will find you.” He takes the key from my hand, asks the room number and then leads me down a corridor and up some steps to the motel door.

“What are you going to do?”

He turns and smiles at the trepidation in my voice. “Not that. Not in this place. I want you to talk to me, Bonita.” He pushes open the door, lifts me on to the bed, and commands, “Wait here.” He’s back within two minutes with bottled water and ibuprofen. He watches me swallow it and then settles himself behind me on the bed, wraps his arms around me and says, “Talk to me, Bonita.”

“Victor, I don’t know. I had a nightmare last night. I’m so confused. I’m running away from something. That’s all I can tell you.”

Maybe if he sees my face, he’ll see the truth there. See, Victor, do you see? And he must because he turns me to face him and holds me, strokes me, comforts me.

My headache fades. My fears fade. The pain and aching in my chest fades and are replaced with quiet.
I can wrap myself up in him and get lost for a while without feeling worried or sad or panicked. So I do. He smells and feels so good. My home.

After a while, he says,
“Bonita, I’m going to follow you back to the hotel. You’ll just make your early show. You can’t afford to miss work at this point.” His face is set. There’s no point arguing. I open my mouth to argue anyway. He cuts me off. “Bonita, I know you’re not ready to tell me everything. It’s all right. You have to be ready. But I feel you’re safer with me, especially if you’re running from some
body
and not just some
thing
.”

His perceptiveness leaves me shaken and I don’t
say another word as he walks me to my car. He doesn’t say anything either, just kisses me. Victor seems to read my moods so well. He tells me not to worry about his missing work, but I do anyway. The drive back seems so long. My headache never comes back but exhaustion takes its place and I wonder how I’m going to make it through the shows.

Two shows, one automatic drive home, and a hot shower later
, I’m crawling into bed when the doorbell rings. I swear in Spanish all the way to the door and look through the spyhole. It’s Victor.

“I heard that,” he says, laughing as I open the door.

“It was meant for you.”

“
Come on.” Silent, he leads me to the bedroom, slips off his shoes and gets into bed with me. On any other night, it would have been red-hot danger to have this man in my bed in my apartment. I would have torn him apart. But the last two days have chewed me up.

He curls himself around me
, pulling my back to his front and kisses my hair.

“Go to sleep, Bonita. There will be no nightmares for you tonight.”

And there aren’t.