Texas Kissing (14 page)

Shut up!

I staggered to a stop and bent over, huffing for breath. It was impossible. I couldn’t get him out of my head—the more I tried, the more he was there, strong and arrogant and larger than life. And it wasn’t just the sex. There was something even more disturbing, underneath that. The memory of that horse ride and the way he’d looked at me a few times, especially as the sun had gone down. A different kind of intimacy, one that maybe I needed even more.

That
was the real reason I couldn’t be with him. Even if I could somehow enjoy a one-time roll in the hay and then walk away—and I wasn’t sure I could—it already felt like more than that. Which was nuts, because if there was one thing I’d learned from seeing him in Lucky Pete’s and reading his Facebook page, it was that Bull didn’t fall for anyone—he was a rutting, pumping sex machine, and that was it. Why on earth would I think he might develop feelings for me? Because I liked him in that way myself? A thousand slimmer, prettier girls probably thought the same thing.
I’ll be the one he falls for.

I snorted in contempt at myself. And then gave a hard little laugh. Looking down at myself, all sweat and curves, the idea was ridiculous.

I forced myself forward, jogging the rest of the way back to the bus. I’d spectacularly failed to get Bull out of my head, but at least I’d decided that I’d done the right thing, the night before. Now I had to focus on the meeting. In my line of work, acting like a lovesick fool is a good way to get killed.

***

The meet was at Momma B’s, a diner not far from the arena. It was actually a pretty nice place, all done out in shades of blue and white that made it feel pleasantly cool, and with a lot of polished wood. The morning rush of workers was just dying down and the families on holiday, stopping in for a relaxed breakfast, were just starting to arrive. The menu was good, too. I’d been living in Gold Lake for two years—
why have I never been in here, before?

Oh yeah. Because I have no one to have breakfast with.

I was nervous, so I arrived even earlier than usual. That left me with a full half hour to kill, so I made the most of it and had juice and coffee and waffles with strawberries and maple syrup.

When the guy and his two heavies strolled in, I was just pushing my sticky plate aside and finishing up my coffee. I sized them up as they approached. Blond hair, expensively styled. Nice suit. His two heavies were typical hired muscle: no neck and carefully blank expressions.

What interested me about the guy was that he wasn’t from one of the usual customer bases—not Russian or American or Mexican or even Colombian. He’d flown in from Europe, although he was vague as to exactly where and insisted I call him simply
Carl.

I’d guessed at Austrian or German. From his accent, as he said my name and sat down, I was spot-on. He smiled and told me how pleased he was to finally meet me. He was charming, in a way—even sort of good looking, but...

Something was off. However much he smiled, I still felt my stomach knotting. It was like a spider asking you to stroke it. Then the two heavies slid into the booth as well—one beside Carl and one beside me. Now I couldn’t easily get out, if I needed to run.
Shit.

“So,” Carl said enthusiastically. “To business.” He leaned in. “I need European passports. I’m told you can do those.”

I nodded. “Which countries?”

“Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria, about thirteen United Kingdom—“

“Thirteen
UK?”
My eyes bulged. “Wait, how many are we talking about in total?!”

“Eighty-seven.”

I felt my jaw drop. I’d been expecting five or ten.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, losing his smile.

I swallowed. “Not at all.” It would mean a lot of late nights, but it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. And it would take my mind off a certain cowboy.

“Good.” His smile returned. It was in contrast to the two heavies, neither of whom had smiled at all. He popped the catches on his briefcase and took out a ring binder.
“Here are the details,” he said, tossing it to me.

Making sure that no one at the other tables could see, I cracked it open and looked at the first page. There was a passport-sized photo, ten neat fingerprints on a card, a name, date of birth, eye and hair color...everything I’d need. The only unusual thing was that the photo was of a woman—a pretty young thing with glossy black hair. Her date of birth was only three days after mine. Normally, in the criminal world, it’s all men. Maybe she was someone’s girlfriend.

A lot of the people I work with aren’t good at organization but this perfect—it would make my job a breeze. “Fine,” I said. “Depending on the exact mix of countries, figure three a day, so twenty-nine days. Let’s meet one month from now.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “You work weekends? When do you have fun?”

I gave him a polite smile and started to shove the file into my shoulder bag, but the corner caught on the fabric. I had to pull it out and shove it in again, which was when the thing flopped open. I saw another page, about halfway through. Also with a woman’s photo. I blinked and, out of some deeply-ingrained paranoia, turned the page.

Another woman.

They were all women. Every single one. All my age...or younger. Eighty-seven women, all needing passports so that they could be sent—
shipped—
all over Europe.

I tossed the file back to Carl. My fingers tingled, as if I’d been tainted just by touching it. “No.”

He leaned forward. “Is there a problem?”

“I’ve always been very clear about what I will and won’t do,” I said. I glanced around. All around us, families were chowing down on eggs and hash browns, while the moms checked their Facebook feeds and the dads checked out the waitresses. I lowered my voice until he almost had to read my lips. “And I don’t do trafficked women.”

Carl shook his head. “Mine is a very old, established business. Rich clients. Very discreet. There won’t be any problems. Nothing to blow back on you.”

I frowned. “I said no.”

He opened his briefcase again and took out a thick envelope, put it on top of the ring binder and shoved both across the table towards me. “Half now, as agreed,” he said. “Half on delivery.” He smiled at me, as if to show how reasonable he was being.

I charge three thousand dollars for a European passport and all the back-end hacking that goes with getting the false name onto the right databases. There was a little over a hundred and thirty thousand dollars in that envelope. All I had to do was reach out and take it.

I pushed the ring binder and envelope back across the table.

Carl stared at me coldly. And pushed it back to me.

I put my hand out to push it back again but, this time, the heavy next to me put his big paw on top of it, weighing it down. He scowled at me.

“Take the money,” said Carl sadly.

“Get that thing the fuck away from me,” I said in a low, dangerous voice. This had gone south, badly, and it was time to get out. I always keep my purse on my knee during meets. Now I slid my hand inside it, feeling for the glossy touch of mother-of-pearl under my fingers. I wouldn’t actually pull the gun out—not yet. I’d just let him know it was pointing at him under the table and—

Where was my gun?

I’d packed it. Of course I’d packed it. I always packed it. I’d have to be really fucking dumb to not pack my gun. I’d gone for my run and showered and dried off, dressed and— And—

I could almost see the gun, sitting neatly in its holster under my bed, miles away.

Carl shook his head, tired of waiting. He scooped up the ring binder and envelope and dropped them into his briefcase. “Let’s all go for a drive,” he said to his heavies.

Shit. Shit, shit,
shit!

Lily

“Pay for your meal,” Carl told me, nodding at my plate. “It’s not nice to run out without paying.”

I pulled out a couple of bills and tossed them on the table, because that gave me time to think. But no matter how fast my brain raced, it wasn’t coming up with anything. If I screamed or tried to run, Carl would probably pull a gun—I didn’t doubt that he had one, somewhere on him. His heavies certainly would. And if people tried to help, someone was going to get killed.

I couldn’t have that on my conscience. Not again.

I stood on shaking legs. The waffles and coffee were churning in my stomach. They were going to take me outside to their car and then...they could take me anywhere they wanted. Out into the desert, most likely. And this was a guy who sold women for a living.

Nobody would miss me. Not one single person. I could be gone for days—hell, I could be gone
forever.
That knowledge was almost worse than the fear.

We trooped through the diner, Carl leading the way, one heavy in front of me and one behind. If anyone noticed how pale my face was, they didn’t think anything of it. Mamma B’s was a nice, respectable establishment, which made anything bad that happened in it effectively invisible.

We emerged into blinding sunlight and oven-hot air, the sort of weather the locals all thought was normal. The sort I still hadn’t acclimatized to, even after two years. The heat surged down my throat and oozed under my clothes, soaking me in sweat almost instantly.

I saw the car we were heading for—a big four door sedan hire car. I faltered a little, slowing my pace as I thought about what they were going to do to me. The heavy pushed me from behind.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I forget my gun?

I knew exactly why. My mind had been full of Bull.

My Toyota was down at the end of the parking lot. I glanced towards it, knowing there was no way I could get there before one of the heavies grabbed me.

Something was wrong. I shielded my eyes from the sun to get a better look. There was something...some
one
sitting on the hood. A big enough someone that the front suspension was dipped under his weight—

Oh, shit.
My panic took on a whole new dimension. A battle started inside me: fear for him, fear for myself. I didn’t want him to get involved but a traitorous part of me soared with the possibility of rescue.

Carl opened the rear door of the car and nodded me inside.

From the other end of the parking lot, I heard my Toyota’s suspension creak as the weight was lifted off of it.

“Get in,” Carl said tersely. The debate was raging in my head, now: let them take me quickly, before Bull could get involved, or hold out for a few seconds and hope he could help?

No. It was no decision at all and I cursed myself for even hesitating. This was my problem and no one else’s.

I could hear footsteps approaching, but I didn’t dare look in Bull’s direction. I got into the car. One of the heavies climbed in beside me, the other got in the passenger seat
,
and Carl got behind the wheel. We’d been so quick, in the diner, that the car was still cool. My sweat started to go clammy on my skin. I’d been doing this for two years and I’d never, ever fucked up and got myself into a situation like this. Would they kill me? Or torture me to make me do the job? There were plenty of ways they could hurt me while leaving my hands and eyes intact.

Carl put the car into gear and we moved off.