Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

~Creedence Clearwater Revival

Bud White sat in the rental car and looked at the house. Beside him, Lonnie shifted restlessly.

"Well? Are you gonna sit here and watch the door all day? I say we go up and knock."

"Might as well, nothin’s shakin’ out here. Let’s go." He opened the car door and got out, started up the driveway with Lonnie walking flank. The garage door was blind, no windows, no way to know if her car was inside. He went directly to the front door and rang the bell.

Cops get an instinct about things after years on the job, and both Bud and Lonnie sensed there was nobody at home. Cops are also thorough, so they waited in silence and after a minute or so, Bud pressed the button again. Muted chimes echoing through an empty space devoid of life told them what they already knew.

"She’s not at home."

The voice came from behind them and they turned to see a young woman in running gear standing on the sidewalk. She jerked her chin in the direction of the house. "The woman who lives there...she’s gone. Been away a couple of days now. My husband and I have been keeping an eye on the house."

‘Yeah, and you just told two complete strangers that the house is ripe for the taking,’ Bud thought, staring at her stone-faced. He started down the walk, Lonnie at his heels, his left hand already reaching for his shield.

"LAPD, ma’am. You sure the lady is away?"

"I’m sure. She left here last Friday with a man and her dog. Had luggage with her, so I guess she took a trip or something."

Bud nodded. "You ever see the man before then?"

The woman wiped sweat from her forehead. "Once. He came on a motorcycle. My husband has one, and you know bike guys..." She rolled her eyes to deprecate her husband’s obsession. "He called me to look out the window when the guy rode up. Rick said it was a custom Harley. He was practically drooling."

"Anyone else been around since she left?" Bud pressed.

The woman shook her head. "She doesn’t get many visitors. Nobody’s been here since she took off." She raised an eyebrow, obviously greedy for gossip. "Is she in trouble?"

Bud shook his head. "No, no trouble. Thanks for the info. And ma’am? I wouldn’t tell anyone else she’s away. If I was a crook wanting to rob this house, you would have just told me all I needed to know."

The woman frowned. It was obvious she hadn’t thought of that and now she was irritated at being told she’d screwed up. Lonnie jerked Bud by the elbow and said, "Let’s go, Bud," before the woman could say something to piss him off.

Back in the car, he turned the key in the ignition and hit the AC. "Fucking place is hotter than LA," he groused, and threw a disgruntled glance at Blanche Donovan’s house. "Fuck."

"You gonna let this go now? You scared her off. She’s gone, and only God knows where." Lonnie shifted on the seat to face him. "But if it still bothers you, I’ll make a deal, officer. You give me the next two days...all your attention for the next two days...and I’ll come out here with you to see if she’s back before we go home. Sound fair?"

He looked across at her, a wry twist to his mouth. "No point, Lon. If she’s gone, she’s gone." He dropped the gear shift into drive, pulled away from the curb. "Fuck it. She’ll turn up sooner or later. The shitbirds always do."

* * *

Cort leaned on the fender of the Avalanche and lit a cigarette. He’d told Paco he’d meet him outside the American Airlines arrivals at 2:30, and he still had a half hour to go. From where he stood on the upper deck of short term parking, he could see Paco leaning against a concrete wall, his eyes hidden by Ray Bans, his head swiveling left and right as he searched the crowd for his boss. He had a manila envelope striped with red tape tucked under his black leather-clad arm.

"Damn jackass," Cort muttered, eyeing his very conspicuous employee. "Ninety-eight fucking degrees in the shade, and he’s got that goddamn jacket on." He took one last drag of his cigarette, threw it to the pavement and ground it out with his boot before walking to the stairs that would take him down to street level.

Paco saw him coming and heaved his body off the wall, waited until Cort got close enough. "Hey boss. How they hanging?"

Cort ignored him, answered with a curt question of his own. "What’s going on in Vegas?"

Paco shrugged. "It’s quiet. Nothing shakin’ but the JTC deal. You talked to Spelling?"

His voice cold, Cort said, "I’m on vacation. It’s your job to talk to him if he needs anything."

"Hey, easy. I just wondered is all," Paco backpedaled. "Here’s your package." He held out the envelope, relieved that his boss gave it only a cursory glance. "Hope it was worth the price of a first class ticket, but at least it won’t cost you for a hotel room. Figured I’d stay at your place until my flight leaves tomorrow."

Cort took a step closer, leaned in until his breath ghosted across Paco’s face and said in a voice that let him know he was dead serious: "You figured wrong, friend. Your carcass is gonna be on that turnaround flight. I left you in charge. That means you’ve got the watch, it don’t mean you get to spend a long layover in Mexico."

Paco bit back his anger, deliberately kept his expression neutral. "All right, then I’ll go back." He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Just thought this would be a good time to check out your crib since I ain’t ever been there."

Cort straightened and took off his shades so Paco could see his eyes. He said softly, menacingly, "Go buy a ticket, Paco. The plane to Vegas leaves at five o’clock."

He started away down the wide sidewalk toward the US Airways arrivals. "And this time, you fly coach."

.* * *

He waited in line for a ticket, only to learn there were no direct flights departing that night. Swearing under his breath, Paco bought a seat on the five o’clock to Vegas, via Dallas. A flight that should only have taken an hour was going to keep him in the air until midnight. He turned away from the counter and tucked his boarding pass inside his jacket. What the fuck was he going to tell Rocky? He’d promised to find out if Blanche Donovan was in Mexico with his boss. He hadn’t come close to getting any info, hadn’t had the balls to straight out ask Cort Davis if the woman was with him. Maybe he should try to find Cort’s place on his own. Rent a car, cross the border, head south. Hide in the bushes and see if he could spot her. How hard could it be?

But he couldn’t forget Cort’s eyes, the cold anger, the contempt he’d seen in them. If he fucked up now, it was all over. Davis would fire him, kick him out of the organization. He’d be back on the street with nothing, just like he’d been when he’d come to Vegas in the beginning. On the other hand, fucking Rocky over wasn’t a good idea either. Either way, he was screwed.

Frustrated, pissed that he’d been steamrollered into a complicated position, Paco rolled his neck and looked around for a place to drink away his seething resentment. There was a map posted on the wall, and a name caught his eye...the Top Gun Bar. It was right there in Terminal Two, just down the wide mezzanine. Good enough. A couple of Jacks and he’d be ready to deal.

He sat alone at a table near the front window, one empty glass already on its way back with the waitress, the fresh one half gone. He distracted his mind by weaving fantasies about the women who passed by on their way to and from the gates.

‘Like that one...love to slip the bone to her...’

Paco’s eyes, hidden behind his dark glasses, followed a redhead dressed in a black business suit. The jacket was form-fitting, her cleavage deep, and the skirt hugged her ass like it was made of Saran Wrap. Long legs in high heels tempted his eyes, and his breath came faster. God-damn, the bitch was hot.

She wheeled a suitcase behind her, had a bag and a briefcase slung over her shoulder. On impulse, Paco threw a twenty down on the table and left the bar.

He came up alongside, gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Help you with that, ma’am? You look like you’re having a hard time with all your stuff." He smiled, nodded to the heavy case trailing behind.

The woman gave him a considering look and must have decided he was no threat. "Thanks." She smiled, let go of the handle as he took hold of it.

"Where you headed today?" Paco began as they started toward the gates. He wanted to keep his eyes on her...that cleavage, jiggling with every step she took, was a sight no man should miss...but the crowd was so thick he had to watch where he was going. A minute later he was thankful. Just outside of Starbucks he saw Cort Davis go up to a woman with long brown hair, hug her, then lean to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled up at him, took his arm, and together they turned toward baggage claim.

The lady beside him was talking, but Paco didn’t listen. His eyes were on Cort Davis and the woman who was definitely not Blanche Donovan. His mouth stretched in a relieved grin. Looked like the tall blonde was yesterday’s news, already replaced by another sweet piece of tail. From where Paco stood, it was plain Cort Davis wouldn’t give a fart in hell if his old squeeze suddenly disappeared. Fuck, he might even be glad about it.

The tension was gone, and so was the guilt. Paco Benning felt like a load had been lifted from his shoulders. When he got back to Vegas he’d call Rocky Chavez and tell him everything that was in the report on Blanche Donovan. It didn’t matter anymore, he didn’t have to protect her. And he didn’t have to choose between Cort Davis and the Mongols.

Grinning, he turned to glance down at the pouting flesh that drew his eyes like a magnet, and put on the Cort Davis drawl he liked to affect: "What did you say your name was, darlin’?"

It was back to the good stuff...drinking, gambling, chasing women...doing just enough to get by. He was off the hook.

* * *

From the time it had taken him to get to San Diego, Blanche calculated Cort would be back with her sister by 4:30. She had two and half hours to kill. Whistling to Sport, she left the house through the French doors and went down to the beach for a walk. A brisk walk, no strolling today. Maybe even a run to get the blood pumping. She’d been shamefully lazy since coming to Mexico. The most exercise she got was in bed with Cort, though she had to admit it was often, and it was sure as hell strenuous.

"Come on, boy..."

Blanche took off at a trot, her dog loping beside her. She ran as far as she could, at least two miles, before turning back. She walked this time. The sun was hot overhead and she slogged through the surf, welcoming the spray of salt water that cooled her flushed skin. As usual, Sport chased seagulls and sandpipers, barking resentfully when they took flight to elude him.

"So beautiful here..."

She said it aloud as her eyes traveled over the beach and up the rocky path that led to the house. Was Cort serious about staying here, making this their home, their world? Could she stay, or would she get bored eventually, tired of what was essentially a rural existence? Suddenly Blanche laughed. Living here didn’t mean they had to stay at home all the time. There was a great big world out there, and Cort was a wealthy man. They could travel, go anywhere they pleased, anywhere in the world. And when they were tired of it, they could come back to paradise.

She wondered if he would ask her to marry him someday. Blanche had a feeling that was what was behind his vague question this morning.

Would she? Maybe...probably. Blanche knew she’d never find another man like him, she didn’t even want to look. Cort made her happy, he made her feel safe. She loved waking in the morning to those soft licking kisses attacking the mole on her shoulder. Loved his sensuality, his sense of humor, the air of cool competence deliciously spiced with danger and testosterone. Cortland Davis had presence...an asset not many men could claim. Even Bud White hadn’t scared him off, and Blanche had to admit, White was a formidable man. She’d seen that day with White that Cort was fearless. Something told her he’d faced hard men down enough times to know how to handle himself in dicey situations. His confidence gave her a sense of security that she had never felt with any man, not even her father.

He was easy...so damn easy to love. Blanche loved his intensity, the expression in his eyes when he looked at her. He said he would, but he’d never explained those scars on his wrists, or mentioned why he always wore the wooden cross at his throat. She knew there were secrets in his past...he hadn’t told her much, but it would come. They were still a new couple, still exploring and learning and just plain getting used to each other.

Sport nudged her hand, and she saw that his tongue lolled between his lips.

"You done for the day, buddy?" She caressed the dog’s head and crooned, "Well sure you are...a two mile run is a lot for a guy your age." Blanche turned toward the path to the house, calling to the dog to come on. Energized, he bounded up the stairs ahead of her, and she laughed. A glance at her watch told her she had plenty of time. She’d take a shower, do her hair, slap on a little makeup. Make herself pretty, ‘cause her man was coming home, and he was bringing her sister with him.

* * *

He groaned and pretended astonishment as she pointed out her bags at the carousel. By the time he’d caught them all from the huge revolving wheel, there were two big cases, a carry on, another smaller bag she said held only shoes waiting to be carried to the truck.

"You plan on staying long, honey?" Cort teased. "Or are you just moving in now?"

She blushed pink from embarrassment, even though it was obvious he was teasing. "I guess I went a little overboard, huh? But I didn’t know what to expect, so I brought a little of everything."

Cort dropped the carryon over the extended handle of the biggest case, hooked her shoe bag over the second. "You’re gonna have to help me out here, missy. You take the little one." He caught the handle of the big case and started toward the exit. "The car’s this way, parked on the top floor. Thank Christ there’s an elevator."