Had This Handled
Emma
When I woke the next morning, light streamed in through the windows. I was momentarily disoriented, thinking myself back in my condo and wondering who had changed the decor. Then I remembered.
My recollection of the day before should have thrown me, filled me with terror, or at least anxiety. That would have been a natural reaction to an attempted kidnapping, betrayal by my protectors, and frantic run around the city. But that wasn’t the part of the day I thought about. I thought about the night before, and Ryan, and his sexy body on top of mine.
I stretched, feeling relaxed and, oddly, happy for the first time in months. It had felt so good to share a connection with another human being. A real connection, an honest one. The sex had been great. But even better than that had been being able to share my story with him, to get everything out in the open.
He knew my real name now, and that was maybe more important than anything else.
I could stop pretending.
The shower was going in the bathroom, and steam boiled out through the door. I thought about joining him, but lying here in bed, being myself, felt so good. By the time I rolled from between the sheets the water stopped. Somewhat disappointed, I lay back down on the bed.
Ryan emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair tousled, a white hotel towel draped around him. He caught sight of me lying naked on the bed and smiled.
“You just don’t want to get anything at all done today, do you?”
I stretched again and his hungry eyes roved over my body. “Couldn’t we just stay here?”
He pursed his lips, considering. “Maybe.” Then he shook his head. “But probably not. It’s hard to tell how much time we have before Marconi’s friends find us.” He let the towel drop and I couldn’t help but stare at what was revealed. He climbed on the bed next to me and lay with his skin touching mine. “But I promise that after today we’ll have plenty of time to do,” he inhaled a sharp breath as I wrapped my fingers around his cock and gave it a squeeze, “whatever we want to do.” He sounded as if someone was strangling him. Which, I guess, I kind of was.
I crawled out of bed and got cleaned up myself. When I came out of the bathroom, Ryan said, “Heads up!” and tossed something to me. I squeaked and reached to catch it and the towel I had wrapped around myself fell off. He laughed and waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively.
It was a flip phone. “Where did you get this?” I said.
“At Walmart last night while you were shopping for clothes. It’s a burner. Pre-paid minutes, not traceable.”
“What do I use it for?”
“Call your Marshal. Let’s set up a final meeting.”
Alarms went off in my head. If Marshal Castillo was compromised, he was the last person I wanted to tell where to find me.
Ryan could tell from the look on my face that I was worried. So he told me his plan. And when he was done talking…I was even more scared.
“So where the hell are we again?” I asked for probably the fifth time. I asked—again—because where we were didn’t seem to be anywhere at all.
Ryan looked at me patiently. “This is the great city of Weatherford, TX.”
I looked around. “Um. Okay. Where is the city part of this city?”
We stood in a field. It was open for maybe two hundred feet in every direction, and was bordered by trees on all sides. A dirt road—more of a goat track, if you asked me—led through it. Rosa Linda was parked, proud and bright red, in the middle of the field next to us.
On the phone earlier, Castillo had asked me, “Why a field?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting paranoid. Every time I try to meet you Marconi’s men show up. I’m starting to think they’re using the cameras on traffic lights, like in the movies.”
He had sighed into the phone. “That’s silly. But if it makes you comfortable, that’s what we’ll do.”
And so now we waited.
It wasn’t a long wait. We got there early, and had been there maybe twenty minutes when Ryan pointed back down the dirt road. “There.”
Dust billowed up over the trees. My stomach flip-flopped. I was certain it was a black Lexus kicking up all that dust. A few seconds later, a car came into view.
It was Castillo’s silver Dodge Charger. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he hadn’t turned on me. Maybe it was a coincidence that Martel and Bassett had been showing up when I tried to meet with him. I didn’t voice those thoughts to Ryan, because they sounded silly even to me.
Instead, I nodded. “That’s him.”
He kept looking at the car. “Then your other friends are behind us.”
I started to turn, even more alarmed. “What?”
He grabbed my arm. “Don’t look. Just watch the car.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged, his eyes tracking the charger as it approached. “It’s where I’d be.”
The Charger pulled up behind the Camaro, and Castillo got out. He was a trim man, sharp as always in his suit and fresh haircut. Sun glinted off his glasses and his brilliant smile. He hurried over, his arms extended.
“Miriam, I’ve been worried about you.” I hadn’t expected a hug from him, but before I knew it his arms were wrapping around me. “I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you.”
I went to hug him back, but his contact was brief. He dropped his arms and turned to Ryan. “And you are?”
Ryan half-smiled, but his eyes were cold. He looked Castillo up and down, and then wrinkled his brow as if to say, “I expected more.” Instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own. “Where are your friends?”
Castillo’s lips peeled back, and his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his slacks. “I could ask the same of you.”
"Why did you do it? I asked. "Why did you sell me out?”
There was a rustling in the grass behind us, and a smooth, deep voice said, "Because Marshal Castillo has a gambling problem."
For a moment, I thought my heart froze in my chest. It certainly skipped a beat, and for one instant that stretched on into something like eternity, I thought it would never beat again. That I would just fall over and die in that field. Make everything easier for everybody. I shifted my gaze from Castillo to Ryan. He nodded, as if this will the most normal thing in the world.
"You guys are pretty good," he said.
They made no effort to conceal their noises now, and I heard sets of heavy footsteps as they tread toward us. "I told you, my friend," Martel said. "I told you we’d find you." The footsteps stopped a few feet away from us. Ryan and I turned around to see Martel and Bassett standing behind us, somehow impeccable in their suits. Bassett wore a cast on his right arm, but didn't appear to be uncomfortable holding the gun in his left. Martel, despite the battering I had given him with a heavy pan, didn't seem any worse for wear. "You should've just handed her over."
“It didn’t seem like a good idea," Ryan said. "Still doesn't."
The corners of Bassett’s mouth were drawn down in irritation. He had a pinched face like an accountant; an accountant who wouldn't mind shooting the both of us. Martel said, "Regardless, that ship has sailed. She's coming with us, and you are a liability that we can't afford to leave behind. I'm sure you understand."
Ryan nodded at the same time I said, "What does that mean?"
Ryan said, “That means they intend to take you and shoot me."
It wasn't until that moment that it sunk into my head that these men really would shoot Ryan and leave him here in this field. After everything we'd been through. After I discovered that he wasn't just good-looking guy, that he was a good person, as well.
After I discovered that I loved him.
"No," I whispered.
"It’s nothing personal," Martel said. He glanced over at his partner, a half smile working across his lips. "Well, maybe for Bassett. You did break his arm."
Bassett’s face suggested this was, indeed, personal for him. Ryan shrugged. "Get on with it, then."
"No!" I shouted
Then the tall grass behind Bassett and Martel started to move. At first I thought that perhaps it was the wind. Then I noticed it wasn't moving swaying side to side. The grass was moving up. Behind the two mobster enforcers, what I thought was a flat patch of earth humped up into small hills. Then, the hills broke away from the ground entirely, and what I thought were two patches of grass, instead, turned out to be two men in camouflage that was made from patches of grass. I gasped and put my hands to my mouth as the two men rose silently from the ground behind Bassett and Martel. The two men turned, but they were too late.
The two camouflaged men did not rush the enforcers, as I had thought they might. Instead, they lifted automatic weapons and leveled them at the two thugs. Laser sights painted red dots on both their chests.
The two camouflaged men wore black paint on their faces. I thought for one crazy moment that these were just more bad guys, or maybe rival bad guys, or perhaps even paint-ballers in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then I heard Reggie’s voice come out of one black-painted face, saying, "Drop the guns and get on the fucking ground!" His voice was sharp, crisp, confident. Like it was just another day.
Martel’s eyes moved from Reggie to his partner, measuring the distance, weighing his chances.
Ryan said, “After all this, did you think I wouldn’t bring backup?”
Martel shot him a furious look. Then he smiled, a big, toothy, shit-eating grin. “Did you think I wouldn’t, as well?” Even as he lowered his gun, he waved with his other hand.
A split second later, dirt kicked up beside Ryan’s foot and the report of a gunshot reverberated across the field from the tree line.
Everything froze. Reggie and his partner held their guns trained on Martel and Bassett, but didn’t make any move to disarm them or force them to the ground. Ryan scanned the tree line with his eyes, his body stock-still.
Only Martel and Bassett seemed to feel free to move around. Martel said, “Of course, the next one of you that moves, my sniper is going to put a bullet in you.” He turned to me and wrapped his giant hand around my arm. “Come along now. You don’t want to see what happens next.” Bassett grinned. It was obvious he was excited about what would happen next.
Ryan tensed next to me.
“I thought you said you had this handled,” he hissed at Reggie.
The walkie-talkie at Reggie’s hip chirped, and a static-y voice said, “Perimeter clear.”
Reggie cocked an eyebrow at Ryan. “I do have it handled, junior.” He took two steps forward and drove the butt of his rifle across Bassett’s face. Bassett, for the second time in as many days, collapsed to the ground.
That had to get old.
Martel raised his own gun to point at Reggie, snarling, “That’s it, you fucker—” but another shot rang out from the tree line. This time, instead of kicking up dirt, the bullet plowed into Martel’s shoulder. Suddenly, his hand was no longer on my arm and he was spinning, falling, the gun flying out of his hand.
Reggie knelt next to him on the ground, his rifle trained on Martel’s face. “Your sniper,” he said. “What was he? S.E.A.L.? Or just one of your home-grown spook operatives?”
Martel, not even wincing from the pain in his shoulder, said, “Army Ranger.”
Reggie shook his head. “You should find yourself some better help. Never send a Ranger to do a Marine’s job.”
I thought they would have a long, tough-guy glaring contest, but instead Reggie stood up. His partner covered the two fallen bad guys with his rifle. Reggie turned on Castillo.
“These guys, I can almost forgive. You get too deep in the intelligence shit and you can’t tell right from wrong any longer. But you.” He shook his head. “You’re supposed to be a good guy. What the fuck?”
Castillo looked as if he had just been punched in the gut. His shoulders slumped, and suddenly he looked like a dumpy man in an expensive suit. “He was right,” he said. “I gamble. I got in too deep with some bad people. They said all my problems would go away if I just…” He ran a hand over his face. “If I just called a number and let someone know where they could find Em—Miriam. They were going to kill me.” He finished in a whisper.
Reggie grunted. “You should have let them kill you, then. Better than becoming—” He motioned up and down Castillo’s body, which looks particularly menacing when you do it with a rifle, “Whatever the fuck you are now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Martel growled from the ground. “Marconi has a dozen guys like us. They’re going to keep coming after her.” He looked at me, his grin feral. “They’ll get you s—”
Ryan scooped Martel’s gun from the ground. Growling low in his throat, he took two steps toward the fallen thug, then jammed the barrel into his mouth as he spoke. This time, Martel yelled in pain. I heard teeth break.
Ryan’s face was a twisted mask. That dangerous man I had sensed below his surface had come out completely. His blue eyes blazed, and his fingers around the grip of the gun were white. “Time to die,” he said. As casually as if he was saying, “Good morning.” He pulled the hammer back with his thumb.
“No,” I said. Ryan didn’t remove the gun, just pushed it deeper into Martel’s throat. I saw the big man gag. I glanced at Reggie, hoping he would do something, but he just looked on, his eyes intense. He would just let Ryan kill this guy right now.
I put my hand on Ryan’s shoulder. The muscles were wire-tight. I leaned into him until I could smell his sweat. “No,” I whispered in his ear. “You’re not like him.”
Ryan’s mouth worked, and he shook his head slightly. “You’re better than this,” I said.
Martel’s eyes were wide, focused on the gun jammed in his mouth. He made a soft mewling sound around the barrel.
“I love you,” I said. “Don’t do this. I love you.”
Martel blinked. Ryan blinked, his head jerking a bit to the side.
“What?” he said, his voice still strained.
I knelt next to him and put my arms around his waist. His muscles relaxed just the slightest amount under my touch. I put my lips next to his ear. “I love you.”
He drew in a long, deep breath. The barrel of the gun was still deep in Martel’s mouth, and I knew that the slightest twitch of Ryan’s finger would blow his head off. I leaned over and put my thumb between the hammer of the gun and the firing pin. I wrapped my other fingers around his and slowly pulled the gun out of Martel’s mouth. When it was safely pointed away from him, he let out a sound that could have been a laugh and could have been a sob. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
Ryan leaned back against me until he was sitting on the ground between my legs. I handed the gun to Reggie.
“I guess this is the weirdest place you’ve ever seen someone profess their love,” I said. The combined tension and absurdity of the situation washed over me, and I giggled. There was an undertone to my laughter and I knew I was one false move away from bursting into tears.
Reggie cocked his head to the side. “No.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen weirder.” He smiled. “A story for another time, maybe.”
That touched me somehow. Got through to me. Maybe because I realized there would be “another time.”
I started bawling. Ryan turned and held me.
Eventually, we heard sirens.
“Oh, shit,” Castillo muttered.
I turned to him, and saw that he was backing away, inching toward his car. His eyes were on the dirt road.
“Reggie,” I said.
But by the time Reggie turned to see him, Castillo was closing his car door and turning the ignition. Behind him, law enforcement was raising dust on the road. He threw the Charger in drive. He cut the wheel hard left to get a clear path, but he was too close and plowed into Rosa Linda with a crash.
Steam erupted from the Charger’s hood. Reggie screamed, “No!” his eyes bulging from their sockets.
Castillo jumped out of the disabled car and sprinted for the trees. He was out of shape, though, and Reggie caught him before he made it fifty yards. He took Castillo down in a flying tackle, and then all I saw was Reggie’s back as he straddled the Marshal, his arms pistoning up and down.