Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [137]
“Over?” I gestured to the surrounding area.
“What about the cops? Someone heard gunfire. It’s only a matter of time before it’s reported.”
“These buildings are abandoned. Jimmer uses this area as a training facility for urban warfare tactics. Anyone asks questions, or says they saw something, he’ll claim it was just another training session.”
Not implausible, knowing Jimmer, the mysterious contracts within his pawnshop business, and his purported shady dealings with off-the-books government agencies like Blackwater. No wonder Hombres security didn’t argue with him—against protocol or not—when he came up with a plan.
“Get in the car before Martinez has an aneurysm.”
By the time I opened the door, my body vibrated like an opera singer’s voice box.
Martinez said, “Where are your keys?”
“In my truck.”
He threw the SUV in reverse and we took off.
“Hey, my purse—”
“—has an electric blanket tucked inside it?”
“No.”
487
“Then I don’t care. I’m taking you home to warm you up. Again. Stupid motherfuckers. I oughta kill every goddamn one of them for putting you in the line of fire. As it is I’m gonna have to remind them just who the fuck is in charge of this club.” He ranted and I tuned him out. He noticed I hadn’t said boo before he saw the pinched look on my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m supposed to be used to people getting their brains blown out in front of me? That’s twice in three days! I’m just supposed to go ‘oh well, another one bites the dust’?”
“You telling me you’re upset that Jackal is finally dead?”
“No.”
His eyes bored into me. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
“I know you don’t. So forget it, okay?”
“Julie—”
“Drop it, Tony. Just leave it alone.”
He sighed.
The trip to my house was made in silence. I didn’t have my cigarettes, my cell phone, or my keys. Had to wait for Martinez to unlock my front door before I could get into my own damn house.
His phone rang—big surprise—I grabbed the Don 488
Julio and retreated to the bathroom. I knocked three slugs straight from the bottle while peeling off my clothes. The heat from the water warmed me. I blowdried my hair and stayed in the humidity until I was calm enough to deal with him.
But Martinez was still on the phone.
As I dressed in my pj’s, I heard the shower kick on. Mentally exhausted, I crawled in bed and willed sleep to come fast. When had it become so easy to nap during the day?
After you killed someone.
Stop. Dammit. I was tired of that single incident being the first excuse that popped into my head every time something went wrong.
The bedroom door banged open. “We need a bigger water heater. I’m sick of cold showers.”
The old me would’ve said, “So take a shower at your place if you don’t like it.” The new, mooningaround-in-love me felt guilty and said, “Sorry.”
The bed shifted and he slid under the covers, wrapping himself around me like a cocoon.
Maybe it was selfish, but I wanted to hide under the covers with him and pretend everything was hunkydory. No dead bodies, no business secrets between us. Just us. Just for a little while.
Finally, Martinez sighed. “I am trying.”
“Try harder.”
His soft laughter was the last thing I heard before I drifted off.
489
Two hours later the bedside phone rang. Sheriff Richards was on his way over to talk to me. He didn’t mention about what.
Martinez wasn’t happy. Neither was the Hombres security team. They opted to chill in the bedroom. Tony refused.
When the sheriff arrived, he shook Martinez’s hand, which shocked the hell out of me. Then I remembered they’d worked together last fall to track me down at Bear Butte. I filled cups and pretended a coffee klatch with my former cop boss and my current criminal lover was an everyday occurrence.
Tony and I sat side by side on the couch. He kept his hand on my thigh.
Sheriff Richards scrutinized me from the easy chair.
“Collins, you look terrible. What happened to you?”
490
“Skiing accident.”
He frowned. “Since when do you ski?”
“I don’t. I’m learning.