Knight in a Mercedes
Guero sat up, the silence of the suite filling him with dread.
“No,” he said aloud, looking to the table for his keys. “No!”
Rising, he ran into the bedroom. Flipping on the lights, he saw only rumpled sheets.
“Fuck!” he cried, his voice echoing back at him.
He had only intended to sleep for a bit before taking care of the job himself. He needed to shake off the booze, to get his mind right. Never in his wildest dreams would he think she would disobey him.
Turning, he grabbed his phone and another set of car keys.
Who was he kidding? Of course, she would.
He dialed Leigh’s number, the ringing phone going straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” he screamed again, continuing to redial, while hastily dressing. Exiting the casita, he rushed toward one of the resort cars.
Fumbling with the keys, he slammed them into the ignition, turning them with such force that the engine rolled over with a screech. Guero didn’t care who saw him or what kind of scene he made. He had to get Leigh out of there.
He took the most direct route, blowing past checkpoints and gunning the engine. He made it there in minutes—desperate to prevent Leigh from doing something stupid. All the while he drove, he admonished himself, furious that it had gotten to this point.
It was a mistake—all of it. From start to finish. How could he think this was anything other than a disaster? Bringing his beloved into this den of villains? It had only been a matter of time before Leigh got over her skis.
She was good, he’ll give her that. A child of trauma who learned she could kill ruthlessly and effectively. But Guero knew intimately what that lifestyle did to a person, even if she did not—her phantom pains that seemed to hit her out of nowhere; flashes of irrational anger. It wasn’t right to keep her going; he had to pull the plug. Why hadn’t he done it sooner? Perhaps all of this could have been avoided.
He slammed his fist onto the wheel, the surge of pain grounding him. He would charge into the club and throw her over his shoulder. He would lock her on bread and water until she listened, would spank her into submission if he had to. It was vital that Leigh be removed from this job and any after it. Guero had let it all go on far too long; it was time to pay the piper.
The lights of Cancun came into focus as he sped towards the club. It was tourist season on the peninsula—music hummed from overflowing bars, and he had to swerve to avoid drunker revelers. Pulling the car to a halt, his phone chirped with an incoming call. Hoping against hope, it was his girlfriend; his heart fell when he recognized the number.
Eva Hernández—Leigh’s best friend.
“Sí?” he answered tersely.
“Guero? Thank God! I have to talk to Leigh.”
“I need to call you back,” he shot back, moving to exit.
“It’s about Rachel.”
“What about her?” Guero asked, slamming the car door shut, he turned towards the entrance of Señor Sapos.
“I don’t know what woman that guy rustled up, but it’s not Leigh’s sister.”
“What do you mean?” Guero asked, pausing as he processed the information.
“You’ll have to tell her. I’m not sure if I can.”
“How do you know this?” Guero asked, watching as the bouncers eyed him keenly.
Pausing, he belatedly wondered at his hastiness. He doubted he could get them out of there without some serious shit going down. But that was infinitely better than Leigh trying to kill DJ Chac in her current state.
Eva’s response stopped him cold.
“Because they found Rachel’s remains in the desert near Tucson..”
Guero held himself still, his body turning to ice.
“She’s dead, Guero—has been for a really long time. Probably right after she went missing, they found her clothes, backpack . . . ”
“What?” Guero said, his heart racing. “Why the fuck would Cavanaugh make this up?”
“I’m sure you know more about that than I do,” Eva cautioned. “My husband is on the police force—he told Leigh’s dad today. They matched her dental records and everything.”
“You’re positive,” Guero said, thinking through Cavanaugh’s motives.
Making up a living sister was an elaborate process. That level of commitment did not bode well. Cavanaugh must have wanted them to slip up. Perhaps this was his intention all along.
“Yes, I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but Leigh seemed excited to meet her—whoever she is.”
“I know,” Guero said, clipping off the words. “There is no need to worry. I’ll take it from here, thank you, Eva.”
“Watch her for me,” Eva said in stumbling Spanish. “She’s tough, I know that, but there’s a little girl somewhere inside her. I guess, deep down.” Pausing to sigh heavily she reverted back to English. “Okay, you seem busy, I’ll let you go.”
“Gracias,” Guero replied.
Looking down, he ended the call. The next instant, he was on the pavement, wincing from a blow to the head. He struggled to sit up, hearing the sound of squealing tires, before another hit rendered him unconscious.