Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [84]
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, especially now that you’re here.”
“Did he doubt I’d show?”
“Not for a single second.”
That made me want to start crying all over again. 298
We were on Day Three of fussing over Martinez and everyone’s patience was wearing thin.
I made myself scarce while Big Mike and No-neck herded Martinez into the shower. It was pointless to get upset over Tony not wanting my help. I understood his pride even when it stung mine. Being stuck in these windowless rooms was taking a toll on me. I’d watched the third season of Dead- wood. I napped. I cooked but couldn’t eat much. I smoked. I obsessively checked on Martinez. Probably good he slept a lot. My fretting would set him on edge.
One thing I hadn’t done was cry.
The bathroom door opened and I heard the
clatter of metal crutches. Low male voices. Tony’s snappish response. I hadn’t asked how they’d explain 299
Martinez’s injury after our supposed return from the long weekend. He wasn’t healed. But if anyone could will himself to heal faster, it’d be him.
After the bedroom door closed, I trudged to the shower. The scent of Tony’s woodsy shampoo and lime shaving cream lingered in the humid air. An odd sense of longing swamped me as I stripped. Although I’d scarcely left his side, it seemed I hadn’t seen him for a week.
Had Tony felt that way during my stay in the hospital after the showdown with Leticia? It’d taken me weeks to find my balance.
Unfortunately, hot water didn’t turn my restlessness into lethargy. I exited the bathroom in Martinez’s oversized silk robe, expecting to hear the TV blaring as Hombres security killed time in the living room. But the suite was unexpectedly empty. The doors were locked with a note from Big Mike asking me to engage the dead bolts.
Huh.
I crept inside the darkened bedroom. A barechested Martinez sprawled in the middle of the mattress, a plain white sheet covering the lower half of his body. He’d shoved the pile of pillows over to my side of the bed. Typical. He hated pillows; he preferred to use me. I watched him sleeping. Part of me didn’t want to disturb him; part of me couldn’t stomach twiddling my thumbs in the living room, especially if we were 300
alone for the first time in days. Truth was, I needed to be near him. I tried not to jiggle the bed as I crawled on and tossed the pillows to the floor.
Martinez automatically tucked my body against his, twining his fingers in my hair so we were touching from head to toe. I finally relaxed.
“So damn tired,” he mumbled.
“I know.”
“Stay.”
“I am.” I kissed a tattoo-free section of bronze skin above his nipple and closed my eyes.
A series of gunshots woke me.
Terror beat from every pore; my heart thumped like a subwoofer. Where was I?
I caught a whiff of antiseptic. Then I remembered. I was in the suite above Bare Assets, not in a dirty alley in Sturgis surrounded by the putrid scents of restaurant grease and vomit.
But where was Martinez? I shifted and my hand smoothed down a muscled torso I knew as well as my own.
The skin was slick with sweat, not blood. No holes in his gut. I squinted at him. His brown eyes weren’t open and vacant with death. His lips weren’t bloodless and parted in a final parody of surprise.
Squeezing my eyes shut didn’t block the nightmare image: Jackal brandishing an old-fashioned pistol, laughing at my anguished shrieks as he emptied 301
the cylinder into Martinez’s chest. Laughing at my hair, my clothes, my skin, my soul, all awash in blood. Tony’s blood.
The unshed tears poured out, grief so raw, so real, I was living that alternate universe. Even when Martinez’s heart beat strong and steady beneath my ear, and his chest rose and fell beneath my palm, I couldn’t make the dream fade.
Get control of yourself, Julie.
My tenuous hold on my emotions snapped like a cheap rubber band. I cried in silent misery, half-crazy with fear, half-dizzy with relief.
I couldn’t fathom going through gut-wrenching pain again. How would I survive another loss in my life? Especially him? I couldn’t. I’d break. I was damn close now.
Martinez’s fingers