Page 36 of Bad Rio

He looked at her without apology and scratched his chest. “Kinda like that, yeah.”

“But—the Americans—they have border security,” she protested. “They patrol that river constantly. It’s impossible to get past them.”

“Not for me.”

She looked at him in exasperation. She had no option but to trust him, had to believe his confidence was founded in competency, experience, and knowledge. If he thought they could do it, then she would, too.

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “All I know is I need to get into the building. If your suspicions are true, there will be something there out of place. I’ll find it.”

“I’ll help you.”

Becca slanted him a glance. Never in her life had she been so alone. Deadly killers were after her, and she had no idea why. Upsetting doubts about her family members filled her mind. Were they complicit in some illegality? It felt as though her pleasant life was falling apart. She had no one to rely on except herself.

And now Rio.

Taking a peek at his handsome profile, she felt insanely grateful he wanted to help her. She still wasn’t certain why this aloof man was motivated to do so, but she didn’t need to question it. For now, it was enough that he was committed to uncovering the truth.

In minutes, he drove down a country lane beneath tall trees. All was darkened, quiet.

“You seem to know exactly where you’re going.”

“I’ve made it my business to know my way around these border towns,” he said.

She stared into the darkness. Somewhere on a nearby hill, a coyote howled. They went to the door of a small stucco house and it was opened by a middle-aged couple. Speaking in hushed voices, it was obvious they knew Rio. No lights were turned on.

“Gracias,” Rio said in a low voice. By flashlight, they were shown into a tiny room with only a single twin bed. Backing out of the room, the couple left the flashlight and closed the door.

“We’re safe here ’till dawn,” Rio said. He gave Becca the small light, sat on the edge of the bed, and started to remove his boots.

Keyed up from the long flight and dark-of-night travel, she didn’t move.

“Come on,” he said. “Lie down here with me. Sleep. We only have three, maybe four hours before we’re gone.”

She moved to sit beside him on the bed and shone the flashlight on her loafers. They were scuffed and dirty. So were her socks, her pants, her shirt. She still wore his fleece sweatshirt and the knit cap. She didn’t need three or four hours of rest, she needed a good long night of it, plus a hot bath. She needed freedom from worry. She needed peace.

Peace would not be found soon. She knew that.

“Rio,” she whispered, “I’m so tired. But I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I’m scared.”

He took her hand. “You’ve been sick, and I’ve kept you on the move. Of course you’re tired. And you will sleep.” He brushed his lips across her mouth.

Leaning toward him, she wound her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Their tongues met, entwined, danced together. Rio enfolded her in his arms. Taking a gasping breath, Becca found solace in the only person she could trust. In his arms, she didn’t know fear, or unrest, or uncertainty. She knew safety.

Gently, he pulled his head back. “That was nice, honey. But, sorry, no sex tonight. Right now, sleep is more important to the mission.”

Becca lowered her head. “Oh, the mission.”

Rio leaned down, pulled off her loafers, and eased her back onto the bed with him. She curled to his side, his arm around her.

No matter what he said, she knew that no way would she be able to sleep.

****

At dawn’s first light, Becca felt Rio shake her awake. “Time to go,” he whispered into her ear. He got out his cell phone and made a hushed call.

Groggy, she sat up and tried to orient herself. They were in the tiny room. Outside of Nuevo Laredo. About to swim across the Rio Grande river.

Oh, boy.

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