Getaway (26 page)

By the time she reached the pueblo, sweat had soaked her blouse, her hair, the brim of her raffia hat. She found iced tea and a muffin at a tiny café that claimed to be an Internet bar—three aged computers on dial-up, two of which worked. The café was a U-shaped cinder-block building with a tin roof, and even with the front open to the air it was stifling hot inside.

She logged on to her e-mail account. Several from Maggie, asking how she was, when she was coming home, if she needed a ride from the airport.
“I’m fine,”
she replied.
“I’ll be home soon.”

She hesitated, wondering if she should say anything else.

No. It might not be safe.

She got out her phone and looked up the contact information for “Ted Banks.”

“Hi, Ted,”
she typed.
“Sorry to be out of touch. Am with a friend, a last-minute getaway. No cell reception. Will contact you as soon as I’m back in PV in a day or two. Lots to discuss.”

Reading it over, she felt a sudden fresh wave of heat and sweat. She’d told him something without telling him everything. Splitting the difference, as usual.

She hoped it would be enough.

She hit
SEND
, then cleared her browsing history and closed the browser.

After that
she didn’t know what to do.

Go to the beach. Read a book. Have a margarita
.

Might as well.

She went back to the hotel, changed into her bathing suit, put a few things in her tote bag. She didn’t need her wallet—she could
charge anything she wanted to the room—but was it safe to leave it behind? The cabanas didn’t seem very secure.

She carried her purse to the reception desk. “Do you have someplace I can check this?”

“Sure, I can take it for you,” the woman at the reception counter said.

“Thanks.”

Michelle grabbed a blue beach towel and chose a chair under a
palapa
at the crest of the rise of sand, so she could look down at the bay.

“Pie? Pie?”

A stout, middle-aged woman wearing a white peasant dress and a straw hat approached her. On her head she balanced a covered platter, big enough to shade her from the sun. “Pie, miss?” she asked. “Best in town.”

“Maybe later, thank you.”

Pie. It’s not just for breakfast anymore.

She tried to read her British mystery. Her eyes were sore, like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper.

She closed them. Just for a minute.

It was so quiet here. She listened to the waves.

I’m tired, she thought.

“Hey.”

Michelle opened her eyes. Daniel stood there, a shadow backlit by the sun. “Hi,” she said slowly.

What time was it?

“How was the fishing?” she asked.

“Kind of sucked. Nothing out there, and then Rick wasn’t doing too good, so we figured we might as well call it.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was okay. But no ceviche for lunch, I guess.”

“Well, there’s plenty of ceviche around,” she said. “They’ve got a great one here, everybody says.”

“There’s a place up the river I thought we could try. I’ve heard good things about it.”

She thought, First he goes fishing, now he wants to try restaurants? “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Like I told you. There’s nothing to worry about. And it’s not far.”

She hesitated. What were the odds that he’d answer her if she asked?

Not good.

“So Rick couldn’t … He didn’t have any advice for you?” she asked anyway.

He seemed to tense, like the outline of a shadow sharpening. Then relaxed. “Actually, he had a couple good things to say. I’ll tell you about it over lunch.”

She took
a few minutes to change. Put on shorts and a T-shirt and her Mephisto sandals.

“You have any aloe?” he asked. “I got a little burned out there.”

“Sure,” she said, handing him the tube from her toiletry kit. “Look, why don’t we just have lunch here?”

She didn’t like the idea of going up the river someplace, no matter how safe he claimed it was. She still didn’t know how safe she was with him.

He screwed the top on the aloe and handed the tube back to her. He wasn’t smiling. In a way that comforted her. She’d learned not to trust the smile.

“It’s a better place for us to talk. That’s what you’ve been wanting, right? And I figure I owe you.”

“I should
get my purse,” she said as they passed the office.

“Seems like a pain to carry. Anything you need in it?”

“Well, my wallet.”

“Come on, you don’t need that,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “You can treat me next time.”

• • •

They walked
up the trail on the north side of the river, winding past shacks and makeshift corrals where horses grazed and stamped at flies. Cicadas rasped, so loudly that they took on the quality of machinery. The heat in the late afternoon was as oppressive as ever, and with the dirt from the trail powdering her feet and calves she longed for an ocean wave to wash her clean.

“How long do you want to stay here?” she asked.

“Maybe another day.”

“Do you think … Is it safe back in Vallarta?”

“Yeah. I mean, look … Whatever’s going on up there, with … with the guys competing, it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

That stopped her in her tracks.

“How can you say that? After last night—”

“He wanted to get my attention,” he said quietly. “Well, he’s got it. But it’s their fight. Let them have it.”

“And you don’t care who wins?”

“Can’t afford to.”

Chaos will only benefit the most wicked
.

Up ahead was a skinny trail that curled into a thicket of banana trees and out of sight. A hand-painted sign for “Casita Alma” hung crookedly on a fence pole, strung up with wire.

“Here,” he said.

The path led to a clearing by the river: a cracked cement patio and two tiny buildings made of wood and tin. No one was there. Padlocked wooden shutters covered the windows. Daniel stood behind her, at the entrance to the path.

“Looks closed,” she said, turning to him.

Daniel nodded.

He’d known that all along, she realized.

He reached into his pocket. “What are you doing with this?”

She saw what he held in his hand.

Gary’s watch.

[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX]

She thought about running
. Or nearly bolted before she thought again. Where could she run? Daniel blocked the path. Trees and banana plants surrounded the little clearing. The river? Maybe. Over the rail, into the shallows …

But if she tried it and he caught her, then what?

“It’s not—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what it’s not.” He gripped the watch like he’d crush it if he could. “Tell me what it is. Why do you have this?”

It was a gift. From my nephew. So I can take pictures without people seeing me. I promised him I’d …

She thought all that. Maybe she could sell it. Maybe he’d buy the lie. Maybe he wouldn’t.

“Gary,” she said.

He didn’t say anything right away. She couldn’t read his expression clearly, behind the sunglasses. She had the impression that he was looking at her but not seeing her. That he was thinking it through.

“Fucking Gary,” he finally said.

He stood there, staring at the watch. “You really had me going, you know? You’re a real fucking pro.”

“I’m not,” she said. “That’s not it at all. I didn’t want to—”

“But the way you kept turning up, I had to be sure.” He tossed the watch around in his hand. “How much did he pay you? Or are you a regular?”

“There’s hardly anything on it. If you looked, you saw—”

“How long have you been working for him?”

“I—”

His fists clenched, and he took a step toward her, and then he threw the watch to the ground.

“If that asshole thinks a dick move like this is what’s gonna keep me in line, he just fucking screwed the pooch, because I am
done
with this bullshit job.”

“Please,” she said. “Please let me explain. I didn’t want to do this.”

“You know, I should fucking kill you.”

She stared at him.

If he takes another step, a single step, run
.

“Can we talk?”

He stared back, light reflecting off his sunglasses, making them a mask.

“Please,” she said. “After everything we … You said we’d talk. That’s all I’m asking. Just … Don’t you want to know?”

He swallowed. She could see the bulge of his throat move, and then he gestured at one of the tables. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

She told
him everything, all of it. She’d heard about people confessing things, to police or interrogators, and she got it now, how releasing the tension of keeping the guilty secret felt something like joy, regardless of the consequences.

When she finished, he sat there, the muscles in his jaw working.

“I’m sorry,” Michelle said.

Something seemed to break in him. His expression cracked. He looked away.

“Yeah, aren’t we all?”

He reached down, scooped up the watch and put it back in his pocket. Stood. “Come on.”

“Where—” Her voice caught. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Jesus. I’m not …” He ground the heel of his hand into his forehead. “Just forget it.”

He turned and headed to the path that led out of the clearing. She got up and followed him.

They walked back to the hotel in silence. Questions pinballed in her mind, but she wasn’t about to ask them.

“Pack your stuff,” he said when they reached the cabana. He pulled the door open, hard enough that it banged into the wall, and went inside.

The room smelled like heated dust.

“Where are we going?”

“
You’re
getting on the next water taxi out of here. It’s none of your fucking business where
I’m
going.”

For a moment she was speechless with rage.
This isn’t my fault!
she wanted to scream.
I’m not the criminal here
—you
are!

And then she thought, What’s wrong with you? He’s letting you go. Just get out.

She nodded and went into the bathroom and packed up her toiletry kit. Grabbed her bathing suit and sarong.

When she came out, he was sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped, hands resting slack on his lap. He didn’t look up.

“I’ll talk to Gary,” he said. “I’ll tell him to lay off you.”

She almost laughed. “You think he’ll listen?”

“He should. This is between him and me anyway. He didn’t have any business bringing you into it.”

“So who is he, Danny? Is he your boss? Who does he work for?”

“I can’t talk about that.”

“Give me a break.”

She gathered up the rest of her clothes and stuffed them into her tote bag. Daniel still sat on the bed, staring at his hands.

“Look,” he finally said. “You don’t have to go.”

“You know what? Fuck you.”

Just say something, she thought as she walked toward the door. Say one thing, to stop me.

He didn’t.

She walked outside. Clouds had started to pile up over the bay.

It looked to be another beautiful fucking sunset.

[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN]

Michelle sat in the water taxi
, toward the back, against the side of the boat. Felt the ocean spray hit her face, the hull of the
panga
lap against the waves, a rhythmic series of thumps. And wondered what the fuck she was going to do now.

It was stupid to have hoped that Daniel would be her way out of this; she’d known that all along, but a part of her had still hoped it. Because he’d been nice. Because she’d liked sleeping with him.

Because in spite of everything that had happened, she’d still wanted some guy to rescue her.

Stupid, she told herself, you really are stupid.

By the time she stepped onto the cement pier at Los Muertos, she realized that her options had narrowed down to one.

Get out of town. Just get on the next bus, going anywhere. To Guadalajara or Mexico City. To someplace far away from here. As far from Gary as she could get.

She couldn’t trust that Daniel would intercede with him on her behalf. Didn’t know that it would do any good if he did. Whatever this thing between Gary and Daniel was about, people were
getting killed over it, and she was pretty sure that Gary didn’t care if she lived or died.

Maybe Daniel cared, a little, but not enough to do anything about it.

She walked up to the street that ended at the pier and ran up to Olas Altas, paused for a moment by the shop that sold the Frida and Che tote bags and cheap inflatable water toys that smelled of sticky plastic, scanning the street for a cab.

Then she remembered the money.

Gary’s money.

She had about seven hundred dollars with her. The rest of it, more than three thousand dollars, sat in the safe of her room at Hacienda Carmen.

“Shit,” she muttered. Sure, she had her credit cards, some of which were paid off now, thanks to Gary. But if he could pay them off that easily, couldn’t he just max them out again? Even put out a fraud alert or something.

She didn’t want to go back there. Didn’t want to risk it. But the money. She needed the money if she was going to run.

You couldn’t get very far without money.

Just go
inside, grab the money, and get out, she told herself, as she unlatched the heavy wrought-iron gate that barred Hacienda Carmen’s driveway.

“Hello, Señora Mason!” Paloma called out from her station at the front desk. “Did you have a nice time?”

“It was great,” she said, mustering a smile. “Really nice, thanks.”

Walk upstairs, she told herself. Just walk upstairs and get the money. Even if Paloma was Gary’s spy, she wasn’t doing anything suspicious. She wasn’t going to look like she was running. She was going to get the money and walk out with her tote bag and her hobo, and that was all.