Page 25 of Danger Close
We clinked glasses, and I offered another toast.
“Mourir d’amour, vivre de haine,” I whispered, and sipped my drink.
Greg lifted a single brow, waiting for a translation. “Help me out here, Mama Guerro. I barely passed Spanish at the DefenseLanguage Institute. I have a feeling French would be way past anything I could get through my thick skull.”
I chuckled at the little nickname – Mama Guerro. Well, if I had any doubts of this boy’s intentions, I suppose that cleared things up. I would remain Mrs. Guerro, and not Mrs. Robinson.
“It means ‘Dying from love. Living for hate’.” I explained.
“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked, like a therapist trying to get me to talk.
I rather liked that about him. I wondered why Trinity had chosen the terse one, and not this gentle soul instead.
“I suppose,” I said, quietly, trying not to look too deep into the answer. Not now. Not when I was barely holding myself together. “When there’s nothing else, hate is as good a reason as any to keep breathing.”
Chapter 12
Appealing
Teri
Greg did abandon me in the most delightful way. A pretty girl with a heart-shaped face, sun-streaked, dark brown hair, and freckles across her nose entered, her willow-leaf shaped hazel eyes darting around, as if looking for a friendly face. Greg lit up like a child at Christmas.
I told him—no, in fact, Iinsisted—that he speak to her.
I watched the young lovers from my new seat at the bar, wondering if they had the same flutters I’d once had all those years ago.
Young love is still a beautiful thing.
“Hey.” A gruff man pulled his seat up next to me, his shirt smelling distinctly of beer and motor oil. “You out with your son?”
Ouch.I almost laughed at the insinuation, but I suppose it was to be expected.
“Something like that,” I said cryptically, unsure if this man was friend or foe. It took me two seconds to decide that I was not interested, and turned my attention to the television over the bar.
It was set to the news, where a journalist, Gavin O’Malley, chronicled the recent ICE raids that left a mother and daughter dead in their home when they entered a home, without a warrant, and attempted to kidnap the people inside. The most tragic part was that the two victims were legal residents, not “illegals” as the agents would have called them.
“Awe, shucks, that’s sweet,” the man beside me purred. “I’ve got a kid about that age too. Am I detecting an accent on you?”
The man was roughly built, his skin certainly worn from the weather.
“Indeed,” I said gently, enjoying the flirtation, even when there would be no happy ending for me. “I’m French.”
“I really find French women to be so…” He looked my body up and down in a move that he must have thought was aseductivegesture. It just made my skin crawl. Especially when he followed it with a graze of his knuckles against my bare arm. “Appealing.”
“You won’t find it appealing when I plant my fist in your face.” The growl from behind me had me sitting up straight, the sirens in my head blaring the word“Danger! Danger! Danger!”
“Cobra,” I gasped.
“Mrs. Guerro.” Cobra’s eyes were positively volcanic.
“I’m not your wife.” I narrowed my eyes, disliking what he was implying.
My bar companion decided that I was too much trouble and quietly slipped away, probably correctly assessing that Cobra was capable of extreme physical damage.
And yet, I didn’t fear him.
“How dare you,” I seethed.
