Stranger Danger (12 page)

“I thought you
weren’t telling any names.”

He glared and
shook his head. “It slipped out.
 
The
meeting went down at an old bar, a real roadhouse that probably dates back to
the 1940’s.
 
Hell, it might’ve even been
a speakeasy in the Roaring Twenties.
 
It
was somewhere between Springdale and Fayetteville, back off the road a little.
You know the kind of place, like your
Tio
ran.”

She did. Her
Uncle Pete owned Buddy’s, what her dad had always called a dive, an old bar in
a blue collar neighborhood.
 
As teens,
she and Santiago loved to stop by, hang out awhile even though they were
underage.
 
Pete never let them drink, but
he gave them popcorn, chips, and peanuts, bar snacks.
 
Buddy’s always smelled of stale beer, old
cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and the faint hint of vomit.
 
The floors were sticky underfoot and the
restrooms, especially the men’s, reeked of piss.
 
Sara smiled, remembering. “You mean it was a
real dump.”

“
Si,”
he said, smiling back at her.
 
“It was.
 
The meeting went down in the back room, away from nosy people, although
I doubt most of the people hanging out would notice much short of an execution
or police raid.
 
Forty gang members met
in a room big enough for maybe twenty, so we were packed tight.
 
Javier knew all of them, including another
dude working undercover, an FBI agent out of the Fayetteville office.
 
He’d been out in LA, too, and knew me. I
thought I could depend on him for backup, but I was wrong.”

Santiago
fumbled for another smoke and lit it, his normally laid back poise
compromised.
 
His expression reflected
his obvious emotion and continuing concern. “What happened?” she asked.

He grimaced.
“
C
hingado
!
The top rank decided there was an informant somewhere.
 
Drug busts were happening more often, members
were being picked up by the cops, plans were being compromised.”

Sara
understood. “And it was you.”

“
Si,
it was. I’d done it all along, but
someone got wise. I didn’t think anyone knew who.
 
Plus, I gathered all kinds of information in
my head, enough to send some of the leaders to prison for a long time, some for
life.
 
I was careful, but the discussion
got hot.
 
Accusations started flying and
Special Agent shit-for-brains
ponerle
el
dedo
fucked up
.
 
The
carbon
fingered me in front of the local
Mara
Salvatrucha
.
 
He stood up, pointed at
me, and said, “It’s Javier. He’s a fuckin’ cop named Santiago.”

After a pause and a long drag on the cigarillo,
Santiago continued. “Heads turned, mouths dropped open, and everyone
stared.
 
A few shouted that I was Javier
Morales, but he shouted them down and said, no, I was Santiago Ruiz, a police
officer from Los Angeles.”

The blatant betrayal flavored his voice with
bitterness tinged with sadness.
 
“Why?”
Sara asked. “Why did he out you?”

He blew out a long stream of smoke and shrugged. “I
don’t know.
 
I wonder if he’d been doing
the same as me and was afraid they’d single him out.
 
Or maybe he was jealous.
 
I blended as Javier in a way he never did and
they trusted me until then.
 
He
introduced doubt and all hell broke loose.
 
I had stood near the back of the room, near
the door opening into the hallway between the bar and bathrooms.
 
When the mood turned ugly, I ducked through
it and then outside. I ran as if all the devils in hell were chasing me and
considering M13, I’d been better off if they were.”

His tone, cool as a winter dawn, revealed more of
his emotions than a raised or heated voice could.
 
He sounded very matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t they chase you?”

“Oh,
si,
”
he replied. “They came after me, but I vanished into the brush.
 
They’d met there before and I’d studied the
land, planned an escape route if I ever needed one.
 
An old farm and orchards were not far, so I
ducked into them.
 
I ran through the
trees and into a small wooded area.”

“At night?”
Sara struggled to
imagine his wild dash, his hectic thoughts as his life hung in the balance.

Santiago nodded. “The night was black and away from
the road, there weren’t any streetlights.
 
At dawn, I hid in an abandoned barn and slept a little.
 
The next day, I backtracked to the highway,
the business one leading into Springdale.
 
I traveled slow, always wary, always looking behind me.
 
After I reached Rogers, I stole the pickup on
the outskirts of town from an old woman, a widow.
 
I think it had been her husband’s, I don’t
know.
 
Then I changed license plates
twice and came to Bentonville.
 
I think
it was the third morning after my cover was blown I came to you.
 
More than once, I saw gang members hunting
me.
 
By the time I knocked on your door,
I was tired, hungry, and out of options.
 
I didn’t want to involve you,
chica,
but I had nothing else left.”

A ball of tears formed in her throat. “I’m glad you
did, Santiago and I’m glad we’re here, no matter what happens.”

“If they find me, they will kill me.” He spoke
without doubt, his voice as even as
a yard stick
. “The
first thing is to survive,
then
I’ll sort out the
rest.”

“Can’t you call someone?”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow.
“Who,
la muñequita?
My local FBI contact fingered me to the
gang bangers.
 
I’ve been in deep cover so
long, I don’t know who I can trust, who I can’t. I know too much, which is why
M13 will make sure I’m dead if they can.”

“What about after?” Sara
asked,
her throat dry.
 
She’d never thought
about anything but the immediate future. “If you know so much about M13, how
can you ever be safe?”

Santiago spread his hands wide and shrugged. “I
can’t.
 
Mara Salvatrucha
has long arms, Sara.
 
If the situation is contained locally, here,
I might have a shot. If we live and
Dios!
I want us to live, very much – I don’t know what will happen. First, we
survive. Then I figure out the rest somehow.”

Sara attempted a smile, meant to reassure, but her
stomach churned.
 
Call it short-sighted
but she’d never thought past the current crisis.
 
Until now, she failed to consider the future,
but she realized there would be a reckoning. She’d worked hard to build
Pretties and Posies into a viable florist shop, but she wanted Santiago in her
life more.
 
Choosing between would be
hard, almost impossible, but it might become necessary.
 
“All right, later,” she said with more
bravado than bravery. “So, it’s late. Are you tired?”

He crushed out his cigarillo and nodded. “
Si,
I’m beat, but I can’t sleep
yet.
 
I need you, Sarita, to make me
forget my demons and the danger.”

His dark eyes stared into hers and she gazed back,
almost mesmerized.
 
When he let his guard
down, with her, the raw emotion held incredible power.
 
“I will,” she said, her voice husky with a
rush of desire. “But I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

Santiago stood and extended her his hand.
 
She grasped it and he pulled her upright.

“You won’t,
querida,
”
he said in a voice as ragged as hers. “I want you to ride me, slow and gentle.”

“
Si, lo haré, hombre.”
Sara replied in Spanish, his milk tongue.

Without words, he pulled her to him and
kissed her, his mouth warm and tasting of smoke.
 
His lips burned against hers with incredible
heat, more than enough to jump start her passion.
 
Sara rested one hand on his uninjured
shoulder and put the other behind his head, fingers raking through his
hair.
 

His tongue snaked into her mouth, greedy
and needy.
 
He leaned forward and pressed
his crotch against hers.
 
His cock moved
beyond the denim and her cunt almost purred in response.
 
The feverish heat shifted from her mouth, tingling
down her spine and through her belly to her pussy.

He led her to the tiny bedroom and they
stripped with wild abandon.
 
He wore
nothing besides the jeans and t-shirt. She pulled her blouse over her head and
stepped out of her jeans in one swift move.
 
Santiago let his fingers play over her breasts, the fingertips stroking
and teasing the nipples.
 
His cock stood
at full attention, erect and rock hard.
 
“Mount me,” he said as he lay down on the unmade bed, so Sara did.
 
She threaded her pussy onto his dick with slow,
careful precision, loving the small noises of pleasure he made as she found her
place.
 
When she had his length encased
in her flesh, Sara moved a little, enough to tantalize.
 

Santiago’s eyes shut with delight as a
look of rapture spread across his features.
 
He tipped his head back and moaned, low in his throat.
“¡Qué chido!
¡Ándale
¡Ándale
!”

He asked, so she delivered and picked up
her rhythm.
 
Sara kept it as consistent
as she could, although with his cock deep into her, she ached to go faster, to
bring orgasm.
 
She rocked at a steady
pace and wiggled her butt for emphasis. The gyrations, meant to bring him
pleasure, worked, but her breath caught short as delicious waves of physical
delight spasmed through her body.
 
She
rode him hard,
then
increased her speed until he came,
shouting out in both Spanish and English, his body bucking with the same
tempo.
 
Sara held her orgasm as long as
possible,
then
came in a blinding rush of pure
sensation intensified with powerful love.
 
She cried out, voice warbling in a wordless cry bordering on a
scream.
 
Good thing they were way out in
the country.
 
After the dizzy spirals
eased to a halt, her body tingled, charged with sensual electricity. Sara eased
off Santiago and curled up beside him.

Santiago stretched out an arm and
cradled her close.
“Te amo, la
muñequita,”
he said on a whisper.
 
She sighed
with the contentment of
a milk
fed kitten. “I love
you, too,” she murmured. “Did you forget?”

Without hesitation, he nodded.
“
Si, mucho.
You did well, Sara, very well.”

“Good.”

“
Buenas noches
,”
he told her. “Let’s sleep awhile, okay?”

With a soft sigh, body boneless and sated, Sara
agreed. “Sure.
 
Good night, Santiago,
mi corazon.”

Sara savored a brief span of drowsiness then drifted
into sleep.
 
She dreamed of the pasts, of
walking along the beach hand in hand with Santiago, then lying together on a
blanket in a quiet cove.
 
The peaceful
sound of the surf lulled her into peace until music cut into her consciousness,
familiar but unwanted.
 
She tried to
ignore it without success until realization jolted her wide awake.
 
The haunting strains of Jim Croce’s classic
Time
In A
Bottle
weren’t
part of the dream but her ring tone.

Heart pounding, half awake, she stumbled into the
other room to answer it.
 
Sara picked up
her phone from the kitchen counter as Santiago dashed into the room.
 
“Hello,” she said. At the same moment, he
cried, “No, don’t.” But she already had and although he wrenched the phone from
her hand and tossed it down with force, too late Sara remembered his warning.

If she used the phone at all, even answered it, M13
could find them.
“Oh, fuck,” she said. Sara didn’t dare look at him, afraid she’d see his anger.
She turned away and stared out the window into the morning sunlight. “Santiago,
I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t think.”