CL Hart -From A Distance (18 page)

Her eyes traveled down Kenzie's body, noting what she guessed to be a healed bullet wound on the shoulder they had just relocated into its socket. There was a small red scar on Kenzie's lower back that appeared to be recent. Cori knew that the scar left behind by her stitches would not be as clean and unnoticeable. Her fingers traced the disfigured flesh of the old wound on Kenzie's shoulder. Cori had never met anyone who had been shot, at least not someone who had lived. The scar was thick and raised, and very close to one breast. Cori's eyes drifted toward the dark, erect skin of Kenzie's nipple, and she unconsciously licked her lips.

"Just what did you have in mind?"

Kenzie's mumbled words caused an instant blush on her face. She looked to see Kenzie's golden eyes were barely open. "Hi," Cori said shyly, forgetting that she had just had her hands all over this woman's body. "How are you feeling?"

Kenzie's eyes scanned the room before coming back to look at Cori's face. She blinked slowly, feeling the full effects of the tequila. "I don't know." Her tongue felt thick. "How do I feel?"

Impossibly, Cori blushed an even deeper red. "I...ah..." Her eyes traveled to Kenzie's injuries. "I was looking for more splinters. I think you had half of that trailer in your side and hands."

"Hmmm." Kenzie closed her eyes and nodded.

Cori noted the small bead of sweat on her upper lip and reached for a clean towel. Kenzie opened her eyes and gazed at her.

"I did say you had to buy me a drink before you could cop a feel."

Cori was embarrassed beyond words and she struggled for something to say. "I was not copping a feel. I was just going to..." She held up the towel. When no response came from Kenzie, she took it to mean she had permission. Leaning forward, Cori lightly patted her face. "Are you okay?"

Kenzie licked at her dry lips. "I think I'm drunk." She focused on Cori's face. "But not too drunk. Did you get kicked out of med school for groping your patients when they were unconscious?"

"No," Cori said firmly.

"Hmmm." Kenzie closed her eyes and drifted with the alcohol running through her body. After a moment, she opened her eyes again. Lifting her hand, she concentrated with all that was left of her sobriety and reached for Cori's face. "Thank you," she said softly and was instantly rewarded with a small smile.

The ache of loneliness Cori had felt for years swelled up inside of her. She leaned into Kenzie's gentle touch. This woman was a stranger who came into her life and turned it upside down. Now she felt drawn to her. For the sake of human companionship or protection - either way, it made Cori feel the safest she had since this all started.

Try as Kenzie might to keep her eyes open, they disobediently drifted closed. Somewhere in a tequila-induced fog, she basked in the memory of a look of desire and a spoken word. Cori had called her friend, something no one had called her in a very, very long time.

Cori gingerly laid the arm back onto the bed, knowing Kenzie would be feeling the pain in the morning. "Thanks for saving me," she whispered as she leaned down and kissed her forehead. With Kenzie taken care of, Cori became acutely aware of her own damp clothes. She pulled a thin blanket over Kenzie's body, gathered the supplies, and left the room.

The captain found Cori some dry clothes. They did not fit her but they were clean, and for now that would have to do. She curled up on one of the benches in the galley and fell fast asleep as the

Juanita Rose
motored its way northward. Deep in slumber, her mind tumbled with the rise and fall of the ocean waves.

Cobra was fuming. He had watched each vehicle as it disembarked from the ferry. Nothing. How could anyone lose someone who was on a ferry? There was no way he was reporting back that he, too, had failed. Moving off to the side, Cobra pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and punched in a series of numbers.

A canvas-covered cargo truck pulled over to the side of the disembarking ramp to exchange drivers. Cobra paid them little mind as he waited, his eyes glued to the small screen in his hand.

The driver of the truck got out and greeted another man that had been waiting alongside Cobra. "Lucky you even have a truck to drive, Hector," the rotund man said as he handed the keys to the other driver. "There was a fire on board, almost caught the truck on fire." He pointed up to the box of the truck and Cobra looked up to see where the flames had blackened and singed the canvas.

"Fortunately, the entire ferry didn't go up in a blaze of glory, Danny," Hector said as he examined the damage.

"It was quite a commotion, very scary."

"Excuse me." Cobra slid the Blackberry into his pocket and walked closer to the truck. "A fire, you said?"

Hector was checking the contents of the load as Danny, the driver, told the gathering tourists about the excitement on board.

"A fire!" one woman exclaimed, fearful about her impending crossing aboard the next passenger ferry.

"Did anybody die?" Cobra asked cautiously.

"No,
Senor."
Danny shook his head.

"So, no passengers were hurt?"

"There are no passengers on this ferry, only cargo, but there are a lot of dead cows floating out there." Danny quickly explained the fire and the frantic ejection of the cattle trailer, exaggerating his own part in the whole affair.

"Dead cows, huh?"
Maybe she's already dead.
The Blackberry in his pocket beeped. "So the whole trailer went into the water?" He pulled the PDA from his pocket and looked at the screen.
Son of a bitch.
His lips curled in annoyance as he read the flashing message.

The
Juanita Rose
powered through the water of the Sea of Cortez, transporting its illegal cargo. The bright rays of the sun broke over the mountains of the mainland and streaked across the gray of the morning sky. Manny was the only one awake, his calloused hand lightly holding the wheel as his boat sliced through the ocean waves. He took a sip of his strong, cold coffee and checked his navigational dials. They were making good time northward, but he had not relaxed since the women had come aboard.

Down below, near the bow of the boat, heavy eyes opened with a subtle groan.
What happened to my head?
Kenzie attempted to lift her right arm, but the ache in her shoulder made her think otherwise. Surveying her surroundings, she recalled the last few days in an instant, but where she was at that precise moment was a little foggy. Tequila. That much she remembered. She repeatedly opened and closed her swollen hands, working out the stiffness as she recalled each and every sliver that had been embedded in them. Her left hand brushed through her curls, the pain in her scalp reminding her that she had drunk too much of the liquid painkiller. Kenzie was not much of a drinker and now she remembered why. Sliding her hand down over her face, she lightly touched the spot where the bullet had grazed her head. She'd had worse. Moving her fingers downward, she felt for her stitches. Her eyes widened as she realized the sutures were gone.

Images broke through her hazy fog and she sat up with a muffled moan as she looked around the small cabin.
Cori.
There was no sign of her, and for a moment, Kenzie was grateful.
What are you doing, LeGault?
She leaned back in the bed and recalled the caring eyes and the warmth of being called "friend". Several long moments passed as she recalled more of what had happened, and only then did she remember the tender touch of Cori's lips on her forehead. A long forgotten feeling flooded her body and Kenzie was not sure if that was a good thing.

She pulled back the blanket and was a little surprised to see she was completely naked.
Where the hell are my clothes?
Looking around the small cot, she saw nothing that resembled what she had been wearing. Glancing down at her side, she noted the stitches knotted asymmetrically along her wound. She ran her fingers over them, stirring up warm, comforting memories of small hands against her skin. The ache between her legs unnerved her.

There was a pair of old coveralls hanging on the back of the small door, and she put them on. Zipping up the front, she patted the pocket out of habit. She turned and looked back at the cot.
Forget my clothes...where the hell is my gun! Son-of-a-bitch, get your shit together, girl!
Searching the small room to no avail, she left the room feeling naked and unsettled.

Kenzie moved past the sleeping crew in their bunks and found Cori curled up on a bench in the galley, asleep.
She called me "friend".
The thought felt uncomfortable as she studied Cori's relaxed features.
She looked so innocent - too innocent to be involved in all of this.
Looking back toward the captain's quarters, Kenzie made a decision. When she lifted the small woman, her shoulder and side screamed in protest but she ignored them as she relocated Cori to the captain's cabin. Cori never stirred, not even as Kenzie gently placed her onto the cot. Pulling the thin blanket over Cori, Kenzie realized that she liked the feeling of being a protector far more than she had ever liked being a terminator.
If things were different...
but they weren't and they never would be. Kenzie leaned down and placed a tender kiss on Cori's forehead. Her mind awhirl with "if onlys", she silently left the room.

Moving back through the galley, she spotted her 9mm tucked under the pillow Cori had been using. She instantly felt better as she collected the weapon and dropped it into one of the deep pockets in the coveralls.

Up on the deck, in the wheelhouse, Manny saw a shadow pass over the window in front of him. He knew without looking, the dangerous one was on the prowl. He returned his attention to the sea, knowing that eventually, she would seek him out.

Kenzie licked at her dry lips as she looked over the ocean beyond the boat. The wind whipped her curls and the cool spray felt good on her face, but it did nothing for the throbbing in her head. That ache was more from the hangover than the swirl of questions in her mind. Stiff and sore, her body ached all over and she gave in to it for moment, taking in all the fresh air she could inhale. A while later, she went in search of the captain. She stepped into the wheelhouse and was taken aback by the strong smell of grease, diesel, and fish.

"Buenos dias, Senorita,"
Manny said without turning around.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Feeling better?"

Taking her eyes off the distant shores of the Baja peninsula, Kenzie looked at him without changing expressions. "Feeling like shit, actually."

He nodded with a smile as Kenzie moved inside the wheelhouse. "Nice outfit," he commented. He watched her slow and halting movement. She was sore. "How's the shoulder?"

Standing next to him, her gaze automatically went to the ocean before them. "Better." She considered for a long moment. "I assume I have you to thank for that."

"I looked after your shoulder," he said. "Your friend looked after the rest."

Silence fell between them as Kenzie contemplated his description of Cori. "Either way...thanks," she said as she looked down at his thick, black coffee. "Got any more of that?"

"Last cup, sorry. But," he reached over to a cupboard next to him and pulled out a small bottle of what appeared to be more tequila, "this might take the edge off."

"No, thanks." Kenzie looked at the bottle and her unsettled stomach churned. "I ah...I actually don't drink."

Manny chuckled as he put the bottle back. "Could've fooled me,
Sefiorita." That explains the green around her gills this morning.

She managed a weak smile, but that was about it. "What do you have for ship-to-shore communications on this boat?" He pointed a thick finger at the radio above his head. "And when you're out fishing at night?" Her eyebrows rose in question as she watched his face.

There was a moment's hesitation, but he knew he wasn't fooling her. He slid back the door under the wheel and reached up inside, his hand searching for something his eyes could not see. He smiled at her as he pulled a satellite phone from its hiding spot. It was an old phone, and that was being polite. It was larger than a masonry brick and weighed about the same.