Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [83]
“A: I was drunk. B: without being crude, Tony and I didn’t do a whole lotta talking that night.” Despite his bevy of bodyguards, Martinez made sure our sex life was a hundred percent private. “Oh, and C: Tony and I haven’t spent time together at all recently so it hasn’t come up. Why does it matter?”
Big Mike sighed. “Now that I know she was at your local bar, I wonder who else was there. I thought that fight seemed a little . . . staged.”
“Staged? Umm. Hello? That woman actually punched me in the face.”
“No, staged as in someone putting that woman up to starting the fight, someone watching to see how well you fought, and to see how quickly Martinez showed up. Or if at all.”
“Oh.” Come to think of it, even under the alcohol veil that feeling of being watched had bugged me the entire night. I’d attributed it to Martinez and his bodyguards. “Does Martinez know Jackal was involved tonight?”
He nodded.
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“Who else knows?”
“On our end? Cal, Bucket, Buzz, me, the doc, and you. And the shooter.”
“Jackal wasn’t the shooter?”
“No.”
“Then you know who the shooter was?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
He threw back a shot of Mexico’s finest and didn’t answer.
“What’s this about? Jackal’s vengeance for the humiliating incident at the clubhouse?” A few months back Martinez had made a very public mess of Jackal’s face when he’d stripped him of his Hombres position.
“Partially.”
I waited for him to elaborate.
Tequila swilling silence ensued.
“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on, are you?”
“Not all of it. But we do need your help.”
I studied him through the thin line of smoke rising from my cigarette. “Exactly what kind of help would that be? Since I can’t know the pertinent details and all that shit.”
Big Mike paused, nervous, which made no sense, unless he planned on asking me to find the shooter. Or hunt down Jackal so they could kill him.
I’d do either without hesitation. I’d stepped over the line of ethical behavior so many times in recent 296
months it was faded and damn near invisible in spots. That made some decisions easier than others. “Do you want me to track Jackal?”
“Martinez would have my head on a spike for suggesting it, never mind actually putting you within a thousand feet of that sadistic bastard.”
But Big Mike hadn’t automatically said no. “Then why do you need my help?”
“Right now? We need you to lie low with him for a couple of days until he recovers. We’ll tell everyone the two of you are out of town for the weekend.”
On the practical side, Martinez couldn’t show weakness in front of his Hombres brothers or his business competition. On the personal side, I wouldn’t leave his side even if his bodyguards attempted to throw me out the third floor window.
“Won’t employees get suspicious if they see the doctor going upstairs with medical supplies?”
“Doc brought the stuff I can’t buy. He made me a list of what we need. I’ll get it at Wal-Mart after the bar closes. He won’t be checking on him every day.”
“Why not? I don’t know how to clean wounds or replace his IV—”
“I do,” Big Mike said.
“You? How?”
“Army medic during Desert Storm. Trust me. If something happens I can’t handle, I’ll be the first one on the phone to the doc.”
“Good.” That made me feel better. I crushed out 297
my cigarette. “I’ll make a grocery list. How many of you guys will be on guard?”
“Two. Me round the clock in here. Cal and Bucket will take turns outside.” Big Mike slowly pushed to his feet. “Thanks for doing this for us.”
I looked up at him. “It’s for me as much as it is for him. I can’t believe . . .” My gaze wandered to the bedroom door. Knowing what lay behind it, I closed my eyes against a tidal wave of tears. I drew my knees up to my chest and sank my teeth into my kneecaps to keep from sobbing hysterically.
Be strong. No crybabies allowed. You can do this. You have to do this. For him. For you.
When I lifted my head, Big Mike recognized my hard-won emotional battle and awkwardly patted my shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, Julie.