Page 41 of Bad Rio

“Are you going to steal a car?”

He looked at her. “What do you think I am? A spy? No, I’ll rent one.” He grinned. “For cash.”

“Don’t you need ID? Insurance?” She paused. “Oh, I get it. With enough cash, you don’t need those.”

“You’re quick. I like that.”

Within minutes they made it to the town, where the crowd thinned. With its two and three story buildings and end-to-end shops beneath, some of the buildings were painted orange, some yellow. Most had long, colorful awnings protecting the store’s wares below. The outdoor area featured dozens of vendors hawking trinkets, Mexican sombreros, jewelry, and clothing. Rio pulled her into a small alcove and pressed bills into her hand with a promise to be back soon. “Stay off the street,” he ordered. “The fewer people that see you, the better.”

****

Within seconds, Beccawas lost in the marketplace. She mingled with the crowd. Choosing carefully, she made her purchases and also bought water and hot steamed tamales. She was paying for her last purchase when a car pulled up and she glanced over. Rio sat behind the wheel of a dirty, ancient sedan of indeterminate color. She’d call itrust.

He gestured for her, and she hurried out with her packages to climb into the passenger side.

“What? No Vespa?” she asked.

“Naw,” he said, pulling into traffic. “We’re riding in style.”

She glanced around at the torn upholstery, weathered windows, and beat-up floorboards. “I can see that.” From her bag she withdrew a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses, and he put them on.

“It’s about a three-hour drive to San Antonio,” he said. “You should rest until we get there.”

“I can’t rest.” She opened her food containers and handed him a warm tamale. “The only thing I can think about is my dad, and my uncle. And my brothers. They can’t be doing anything illegal.”

“We’ll find out,” he said, wolfing the food. “Any more?” He pointed at her bag.

Unable to eat, Becca took out more food and watched as he drove and chewed. Now that his hair had dried and he’d taken off his cap, some of it fell over his forehead, lending him a jaunty look. He drove easily, with one wrist draped over the old steering wheel. Even with their dirty-water swim, and in the same clothes for days, he looked impossibly handsome. In his sunglasses, he appeared the epitome of cool. She could imagine him posed like this in a slick retro ad for a men’s magazine. Perhaps for an expensive cologne.Buy this, and you’ll look like him, the advertisement would say. She shook her head at the fanciful thought.

In her mind, like snapshots in time, memories of their long night in bed flashed before her. His slow, luxurious caresses, his obvious pleasure in her body and her delight in his. Warmth seeped through her veins and all at once she wanted him again. She didn’t know him well, was only learning his personality little by little. But physically, he was spectacular.

She pushed aside such thoughts. How could she be sexually stimulated during a time of such danger? Why did she feel excitement as much as she did fear?

Perhaps it was her body’s way of reminding her of the importance of life, the fragility of it, the preciousness.

“Why?” she asked abruptly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Driving you to San Antonio? Told you. It’s my job.”

“But it’s not your job to help me figure out what’s going on at De Monte Wheel Solutions ... if something is,” she tacked on.

He shrugged. “Don’t have anything else for a few days. I’m sure by week’s end I’ll have a new assignment, and you’ll see the last of me. Meanwhile, I like a good mystery. Especially if it’s illegal.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She liked a good mystery too, but usually when it was in a novel.

And she guessed his answer was as good as she would get. She shied away from pressing. For now, she desperately needed his help.

“The warehouse is closed at night, correct?” he asked.

“Yes, there’s no night crew.”

“Good. And you’ve got keys? Where do you keep them?”

“On a hook in my condo’s kitchen. When I leave for work in the morning, I just grab them. Because I’d gone to my college roommate’s home in Mexico City, I didn’t take them. When we get to town, I’ll go over and pick them up.”

“You can’t,” he said. “Your condo is probably under surveillance.”

She felt her eyes widen. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

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