I floated, happy in the knowledge that the angel was guarding me. He was there all the time, holding me, giving me delicious things to eat and keeping the constant bright light flowing over me.
I know, I was nuts. Maybe it was my brain fooling me so I wouldn’t worry. If I’d known the truth, I might not have made it.
But evil reached out and sent me a terrifying dream. My angel was standing in the Garden of Eden when a dark devil came raging. He was screaming in tongues, but my angel twisted and turned. There was a shot, a cry from the stricken dark one, and a spray of blood.
As I hid away, terrified by the invasion of paradise, I was hurtling back into space. Suddenly, Mitch was holding me while Neto leaned in to punch me. Both of them were laughing and wearing devil horns.
“Hold her up!”
“Loba!”
“Your turn.”
Trapped in my hell, I was screaming.
I opened my eyes and found myself lying on a lawn. There were birds singing, and the sun was shining. In the background, a wide brown river flowed, sunlight dancing over its ripples. I breathed again; I was still in heaven.
I sat there, wondering where my angel was. Then there was a buzzing sound followed by a ring tone. It was a mobile ringing. Why would an angel need a phone?
It was as if a veil lifted from my eyes. The world shimmered and shifted, moving me from my dream state into reality. This wasn’t heaven. I came back to planet earth with a bump.
I looked around, seeing the river, the wild garden, and then the pool and the house. It was a beautiful place, a Garden of Eden. But there was a streak of wetness on the grass. It was red, turning black. I leaned over to look at it. It was blood.
I sat back, wondering about that terrifying nightmare. Had it been real?
“Arturo. Good to hear from you.” It was his voice, the angel’s. I recognised the light, clipped tone instantly. It was coming from the house behind me. “Yes, we’re both fine. Don’t apologise! How could you have guessed the idiot would try and kill me?”
Kill? I sat up and listened, my heart pounding.
“I shot him in the ribs. He should be fine.”
Some angel. He’d shot a man and he was sounding happy about it.
“Yes, I must say, it was a close thing. Luckily I didn’t break our agreement.”
Another listening silence.
“Yes, that would be better. After all, if they come for me, they only get what they deserve. Thanks, Arturo. You’ve set my mind at rest.”
He had enemies, and from the sound of it, they were the killing kind. Arturo must be a boss, if the angel was asking permission to kill his attackers. I decided right there and then, I would not want to meet this Arturo.
“I’m working my way through the files,” the light, clipped voice was saying. “I can take down the targets any time you like. I was just wondering, would you like me to link the bodies or not? If you’re after news value, it helps to have a signature.”
Targets. Cold sweat was running down my back. My angel was a hit man. Dear lord, where the hell had I ended up?
“Sure, think it over and let me know.”
Maybe I should run. But where?
“Yes, she did speak but it was one word, angel. Right, yes, in English. Or rather, American. Hopefully she’ll come out of it now, and then we’ll find out who she is.”
He was talking about me.
“We can decide what to do about her as soon as she talks.”
And do what? Shoot me? Or use my murder to get TV time? I had no idea what was going on, but the fear was throttling through me.
“You’re awake.” It was him, the sun bouncing off his blond hair, giving him a halo. Not a guardian angel. A man. I felt dizzy and sick. My stomach was twisting with nerves.
He was leaning over me, examining me. “Well now,” he said. “You’re back.”
I found myself acting on instinct, putting my arms around him.
“Hello, Morgan.” His voice was calm and soothing as he hugged me. He smelled clean and fresh, like newly mown grass. I pressed my face into his neck, feeling the softness of his skin over hard muscle. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”
He carried me into the shade, settling in a chair. I’m a grown woman, but sitting in his lap seemed perfectly natural. I was cocooned in his warmth and scent. I’d done this before; this was my safe spot.
But as he held me, I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. They were deep blue, the colour of the summer sky, and there was nothing in them. No feeling, no anger, just a watchful gaze. They were like coloured ice.
“Who are you?” I felt as if I hadn’t spoken in eons, but my voice sounded perfectly fine.
“My name’s Rip.”
It was strange, but it suited him. He was strong, and it wasn’t just the way I could feel his muscles flex as he held me. I could sense the fierce intelligence of his mind. This man was sharp as a razor.
As he gazed at me I felt he was sizing me up, seeing exactly who and what I was. It confused me. My thoughts were sluggish, and I felt disconnected from myself.
Rip seemed to understand. He nodded and smiled. “You’re still coming out of it. You need to just sit for a while.” The emotion didn’t reach the soulless eyes, but the light, clipped voice sounded friendly. “I’ll make tea.”
He vanished, leaving me sitting quietly, looking around. It was all familiar yet strange. I stared into the pool, tiled in blue so that the water looked turquoise, and the wide, slow-flowing river seemed to stretch for miles.
Now it all began to make sense. I’d landed in that river when escaping from Neto. I remembered the cuffs biting into my wrists. It was a miracle that I hadn’t drowned.
I must have floated ashore here. But thanks to the beating, I’d been delirious, thinking I’d sunk to the river bottom and died. It had been this wonderful garden and seeing the sun shining on his hair that had suggested the idea of the afterlife.
I looked down at myself. I was wearing pink PJs with a unicorn printed on the front, Barbie-doll style. Pushing up the sleeves, I saw that my arms had a few patches of light yellow, but the cigarette burns had healed. My wrists had pink, new skin too. I touched my sides, remembering the agony of the boots breaking my ribs. They had healed as well.
I must have been out of it for weeks. An image rushed back, “Soup or smoothie?” Rip, giving me lunch. All this time he’d been watching over me. It seemed incredible.
I reached back, thinking of that moment I’d stepped out of Mitch’s truck when I’d spotted Neto. Instantly the rage, pain and despair, ending in the blackness devouring me came rushing back. I shivered, grateful to be in the sun.
“Let me have a look at you.”
Rip was back, putting down a tray of teacups and teapot before sitting next to me. He was wearing jeans and a beautifully cut blue and white striped shirt. They highlighted the sky-blue eyes, shining short blond hair, and muscular body.
I drank in the smooth skin, lean angular face, high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and chiselled lips. No wonder I’d thought he was an angel! He really was beautiful. Except for those soulless eyes.
“You’re healing well.” He was looking underneath my top and pulling aside the bottoms, examining my body as if he owned it. I didn’t resist, didn’t even think of it. It was too familiar. He’d done this often, when I thought he was my guardian angel.
He stroked my hair briefly. “You’re coming along nicely.”
Without thinking about it, I leaned against him. His scent, earthy and clean, like grass after rain, swirled around me. It was familiar, as if a memory from a dream, but it settled me. I closed my eyes and forced my brain to work.
What was going on? Was Rip my rescuer? Somehow it didn’t seem likely. That phone conversation argued Rip was more dangerous than Mitch and Neto. So why was I hugging him? Had I gone completely insane? And why was he calling me Morgan?
I sat back a little and looked at Rip. He really was good looking, if you didn’t look at his eyes. He was English, I recognised the accent, so why was he here? And where was here?
“Sugar and milk?” Rip was pouring tea, just like in the movies. “We don’t have a milk jug.”
I gazed at the blood blackening on the grass. He’d shot a man, and he was worrying about milk jugs. He was picking up the carton, and that’s when I saw the label, ‘leche’. Spanish milk.
My mind flashed back to that dark night. “I’m going to put you in a whorehouse,” Neto had said. And then there had been that call about ICE dumping illegals over the border. I knew where I was: in Nuevo Laredo, the Mexican border town. The name was familiar, it could hardly not be. Nuevo Laredo was Zeta territory.
“Are you okay?” Rip asked.
Oh dear God, I was in enemy central. These people had once been part of the Gulf cartel. But they had split away, formed their own organisation, and in the war that followed, the Zetas had waged a vicious campaign. Images of the Zeta execution squads ran through my mind. The mountain of heads, the public hangings, the landfills stuffed with burnt bodies—my stomach was heaving.
The moment Rip figured out my name, I was dead. Never mind he’d spent weeks patching me up, I’d be boiled alive or crucified if he learned of my Gulf heritage.
“You’re frightened,” Rip was reading my mind. “What are you thinking, Morgan?”
“I just feel sick,” I lied.
“No, that’s not it,” he said.
The eyes were piercing. It was as if I were standing under a spotlight. Unable to stop myself, I glanced at the bloodstain.
Rip was looking right along with me. “Cousin Eduardo is fine. You must have seen him leave,” he was thinking aloud.
The fight had been real, then. Rip had been ambushed, and he’d shot his attacker. I’d seen it and in my delirium had put my own spin on it. I was wishing fervently I was insane again. This reality was scaring the fuck out of me.
“Now what are you thinking, Morgan?” The pale eyes were intent. I could feel him thinking. Rip seemed to fade a little, as if he were falling asleep. Then he snapped back, fully alert. “Ah, the phone call from Arturo.”
Oh hell.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“N-nothing.”
“All of it,” he concluded. The eyes shimmered, piercing in their intensity. I felt as if he were reaching into my soul. “Who are you?”
The memory of Mitch, handing me over to Neto flashed into mind. “A gift from Don Valentine.” Los Osos wanted me dead, and the Gulf were eager to help. If I went back, I wouldn’t last a day.
I had nobody to turn to either. Don Valentine had betrayed me, and he’d want that secret buried forever. If I called Roberto or the others, the boss would kill them in order to protect himself. To keep them safe, I had to disappear.
With nowhere to go, and not a shred of clothing or even a dollar in my pocket, I was trapped in the lion’s den. Rip was a Zeta hit man, there was no doubt in my mind. One who chatted lightly of themes for his kills.
“Your name?” Rip asked again.
My silence wasn’t getting me anywhere. Rip was a fiend from hell and now he was sensing my secret. “Who are you? Where’s home?” I was in deadly danger.
“I’m Morgan,” I heard myself say.
Rip frowned. “That’s what I call you. I meant your real name.”
Walking on a knife-edge, I picked my words carefully. “I can’t go home. My ex will kill me if he catches me.” All true; I had the faded bruises to prove it.
His eyes were watchful. “Is that so?”
I knew he’d sensed I was hiding something. “I can’t go back. From now on, I’ll be Morgan.” Maybe distracting him would work. “I’m very grateful. You saved my life.”
To hide my fear, I shut my eyes and leaned into him. Rip’s arms came up and held me. “Well now, isn’t that sweet?”
The hands were running lightly over my back. The gentle touch, hard body, and earthy scent rolled over my fear, bringing comfort. It was insane, but my gut told me I was safe with my guardian angel even though my head was screaming that I was deluded.
We sat there, with Rip thinking. I couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in his head. He might be considering whether killing me would help his themed murders or where to buy a milk jug. I really didn’t know.
“I can’t go back,” I whispered. “I want to forget the past.”
“Is that so?” Rip said thoughtfully. “As it happens I’m looking for a girl.”
“W-what?”
“A nice, quiet girl,” Rip said. “You’ll do very nicely.”
“M-me?”
“Precisely.” The soulless eyes were staring at me. “You want a new life, don’t you?”
A life with Rip? Knowing the second the Zetas discovered my identity I’d be dead? It would be a living torture. There was no way I could stay. I’d go insane.
“It would solve the security problem,” Rip murmured.
“S-security problem?” My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“You listening in to my calls,” Rip reminded me. “It really was unfortunate.”
I just stared at him. He was telling me I was a witness. The kind that hit men get rid of.
“You’ll stay then, Morgan.” Rip’s voice was final. “It’s so much safer.”
Safer. Dear lord. I was quaking again.
His phone rang again. It was a jaunty tune that I half-recognised. Rip pulled it out of his pocket, casually spilling me into his lap. This was familiar too. I’d sat here with him, imagining a chorus of angels. I must have been mad.
“Kyle, hello.” Rip sounded happy, but his body was tense.
Sitting on top of him, the odd word drifted through from the other side. “Sokolov... Flight... Confirmed.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Rip said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“...speak?”
Rip was looking at me speculatively. “She’s come out of it, but we’re only just getting to the details.”
I was holding my breath, wishing I could disappear in a puff of smoke.
Rip was gazing at me intensely, then his eyes blurred a moment, as if he were about to zone out. For a moment I wondered if I should run. But Rip snapped back, saying, “If you think she’s a threat, I’d be happy to hand her over. You could come and debrief her.”
At that, the world swam before my eyes. Debrief meant water boarding, electric shocks, and God knows what else. I’d seen it on 24, NCIS and Homeland.
Maybe I should have been brave, but I wasn’t. Ten seconds of torture, just the threat of it, and I’d be spilling my guts. Then they’d kill me or maybe toss me to Los Osos, seeing they were associates.
Rip knew I was scared. I could see it in his eyes. He held on to me as Kyle the debriefer was asking questions.
“She says her ex tried to kill her, and that she can’t go back,” Rip had a sparkle in his eye. For some reason that was good news. “She’s so afraid of him that she won’t say her name.”
There was a murmur.
“I could probably worm it out of her,” Rip agreed. “But this is your area of expertise, isn’t it? I have some experience but I’ve a distressing tendency to kill my subjects. Now you, as I understand it, have a gift for causing endless pain. Some say your mere presence is enough.”
The world was swirling around me. My stomach was churning, and I couldn’t breathe. Spots danced in front of my eyes.
In the distance, I heard Rip say, “It probably won’t need much. After all, she’s just a girl. It would be crushing a fly with a hammer.”
My breath was rasping in my chest, trapped there as my throat squeezed shut. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Rip or one of his twisted Zeta friends would make me talk, and then I’d be dead.
I was so scared, that I finally worked right through my fear, coming out the other side. My courage flared, and I was shoving at the hard chest, on my feet and running.
However, I got to my feet so fast that I crashed into a table, ricocheted into a parasol, went flying through the air, hit the side of the pool and landed in the water.
I knew I had to swim, but the bang on the head was making me see spots. I moved without seeing, making for the surface. Somehow though I was going down instead of up. I hit tile.
That did it; water ran into my mouth and nose. I was drowning.