Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (28 page)

No response.

“If I promise to stay and plump your pillows and be your private wet nurse, will you promise to take the painkillers right now?”

“Julie—”

“Nonnegotiable point, Martinez.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. Then he patted the open side of the bed with his free hand.

288

I looked at the doctor, a sixty-something hippie with long graying hair and washed-out eyes, for approval or denial.

He frowned at me. “I don’t really think—”

“She stays. Right here. With me. Nonnegotiable,”

Martinez said with concentrated effort.

The doctor heaved a weary sigh and shrugged.

“Hang on a sec.” I stripped off my coat and snow boots. I tugged the soft wool blanket from the pile of discarded bedclothes and carefully crawled beside him.

Martinez immediately reached for my hand and squeezed it.

I ached inside like he’d clamped his fist around my heart.

The doctor injected a needle into the Y tubing of his IV. The doc and Big Mike conversed in low tones.

I propped myself on my side and smoothed the damp hair from Tony’s forehead. His skin was always warm, hot almost, never this cold, clammy flesh. My stomach roiled; I fought back an upsurge of nausea.

The doctor leaned over Martinez. “You feel worse at any point, you call me. Don’t be a tough guy,
hombre
.”

Martinez whispered something in Spanish. The only word I understood was
gracias
.

The doctor left. Big Mike trailed behind him and stopped in the doorway. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I’m fine,” Martinez said.

Little did Martinez know Big Mike’s comments 289

were addressed to me, not him. I nodded.

Martinez sagged deeper into the mattress when the door clicked shut.

“They’re gone.”

“Good.”

I kept touching him, knowing it would appease his mind and his body and mine. “Tell me how you really feel, Martinez.”

“Fuckin’ hurts like a goddamn bitch.”

“You should’ve taken the painkillers sooner.”

“I couldn’t.”

I counted to ten. Then twenty. “Why not? Too much of a tough guy?”

“You should talk about being tough, blondie. But no, that wasn’t it.”

“What, then?”

Martinez brought my hand to his mouth and dragged soft kisses across my knuckles. “I hated hanging around, seeing you drugged up, waiting for you to regain consciousness. I didn’t want to put you through that because it sucks.”

Don’t cry, Jesus, suck it up, Julie
.

“While I appreciate that you were thinking of me, next time take the damn drugs, okay?”

“Okay.”

I noticed he didn’t dispute there wouldn’t be a next time.

He sighed. “I was about to give in when I caught a whiff of you in the main room, so it didn’t matter.”

290

My hand stopped moving on his forehead. “A whiff? You saying I smell bad, Martinez?”

“No. I’m saying I’d recognize you blindfolded in a room of perfume salespeople.”

“Are the drugs kicking in already? Because that was almost romantic, in a twisted way.”

He muttered something in Spanish.

“English.”

“Maybe it was meant to be romantic.”

My mouth opened but I couldn’t think of a single retort.

“Guilty as I felt about being apart from you for another night, I’m damn glad you weren’t around when that motherfucker opened fire.”

“Me, too. I might’ve done something stupid like step in front of a hail of bullets to save your sorry ass.”

“Careful. I might consider that romantic.”

I pressed a kiss to his chin. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

No answer.

His breathing slowed. I forced myself to break his handhold and brushed my fingers down his jawline.

“Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good.” He shivered violently.

“Are you okay? You want me to call the doctor back—”

“No. Just cold. Come closer and warm me up.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Right now, you couldn’t make me feel any worse, 291

unless you left me.”

Not fair.

After covering him completely with the blanket, I scooted under his arm and carefully laid my head on his chest. The tremors stopped almost immediately.

I was content to listen to him breathe—just because he still could.

About an hour later Big Mike poked his head in. I un-tangled from Martinez’s arms, reluctant for anyone to see us curled up like kittens.

I snagged my cigarettes out of my purse and flopped back on the love seat. After the initial drag, I said, “What happened? Every goddamn detail.”

Big Mike set a bottle of Don Julio and shot glasses on the coffee table next to my ashtray.

“Bossman was conducting some last-minute

business in the bar. Something pissed him off so he headed in the back room to chill out and regroup. He opened the service door to go out to his Escalade for some damn thing . . . Cal and I were right on his heels when we heard the shots.”

Definitely needed that drink. I poured a slug, knocked it back, welcoming the trail of fire down my throat.

292

“I dragged Martinez inside; Cal took off after the shooter. I got him upstairs, got temporary control of the bleeding, and called the doc.” Big Mike poured a generous helping of tequila in a lowball glass.

“One minute. That’s all he was out of our sight. One.

Fucking. Minute.”

“Not a random act?”

He shook his head and stayed quiet, studying the silver liquid in the glass.

“This isn’t gonna fly with me, Big Mike. I don’t give a shit if it violates some stupid Hombres’ rules, not when he’s lying in the next goddamn room bleeding . . .” Cold reality hit. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to focus on facts, not emotions. “I have a right to know it all.”

He said, “Shit,” and slammed another glassful of tequila.

“You know who’s responsible, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

Big Mike’s hard eyes met mine. “Jackal.”

Jackal was the former Hombres enforcer. “I thought he was under lock and key while he’s on probation?”

“He was.”

“
Was?
”

“Last week he killed the guy working on his

‘rehabilitation’ and Jackal used him to send a warning to Martinez before Jackal disappeared.”

293

“How? If the guy was dead?”

“Jackal wrote the message on a piece of paper and attached it to the guard, via a knife to the eyeball.”

“Holy fuck.” That was just plain sick. “Last week?

Why didn’t Martinez tell me instead of making some big goddamn deal about me keeping my cell phone on at all times?”

“Bossman didn’t want you to worry, especially after . . .”

Especially after the trauma I’d gone through a few months back when I’d killed someone. Martinez stuck around to pick up the pieces and I still didn’t feel whole.

“We immediately put extra security on him.

Which was why he was so pissed off when you went missing during the blizzard. Why he sent Korny to your house when we left for Denver. Why he picked Dietz to keep an eye on you. Why he’s been watching everyone who approaches you, especially if they’re tied to the club in any way. Any man or woman.”

Any man or woman tied to the club. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Remember the night I was in the bar fight at Dusty’s? I was pretty drunk for a while there. Totally forgot I saw Nyla from the Hombres clubhouse. She sauntered up to our table, high as a kite, beat to shit, and babbled something.”

“What?”

“Don’t remember what exactly. Chalk it up to me being wasted.”

294

“Did you see her again that night?”

“Nope.”

“Who was she with?”

“Not a clue.”

“Fucking awesome news, Julie.” Big Mike rubbed his temple so vigorously I thought a genie might pop out. “And you didn’t think you shoulda shared that with Martinez?”

“A: I was drunk. B: without being crude, Tony and I didn’t do a whole lotta talking that night.” Despite his bevy of bodyguards, Martinez made sure our sex life was a hundred percent private. “Oh, and C: Tony and I haven’t spent time together at all recently so it hasn’t come up. Why does it matter?”

Big Mike sighed. “Now that I know she was at your local bar, I wonder who else was there. I thought that fight seemed a little . . . staged.”

“Staged? Umm. Hello? That woman actually punched me in the face.”

“No, staged as in someone putting that woman up to starting the fight, someone watching to see how well you fought, and to see how quickly Martinez showed up. Or if at all.”

“Oh.” Come to think of it, even under the alcohol veil that feeling of being watched had bugged me the entire night. I’d attributed it to Martinez and his bodyguards. “Does Martinez know Jackal was involved tonight?”

He nodded.

295

“Who else knows?”

“On our end? Cal, Bucket, Buzz, me, the doc, and you. And the shooter.”

“Jackal wasn’t the shooter?”

“No.”

“Then you know who the shooter was?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

He threw back a shot of Mexico’s finest and didn’t answer.

“What’s this about? Jackal’s vengeance for the humiliating incident at the clubhouse?” A few months back Martinez had made a very public mess of Jackal’s face when he’d stripped him of his Hombres position.

“Partially.”

I waited for him to elaborate.

Tequila swilling silence ensued.

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on, are you?”

“Not all of it. But we do need your help.”

I studied him through the thin line of smoke rising from my cigarette. “Exactly what kind of help would that be? Since I can’t know the pertinent details and all that shit.”

Big Mike paused, nervous, which made no sense, unless he planned on asking me to find the shooter.

Or hunt down Jackal so they could kill him.

I’d do either without hesitation. I’d stepped over the line of ethical behavior so many times in recent 296

months it was faded and damn near invisible in spots.

That made some decisions easier than others. “Do you want me to track Jackal?”

“Martinez would have my head on a spike for suggesting it, never mind actually putting you within a thousand feet of that sadistic bastard.”

But Big Mike hadn’t automatically said
no
. “Then why do you need my help?”

“Right now? We need you to lie low with him for a couple of days until he recovers. We’ll tell everyone the two of you are out of town for the weekend.”

On the practical side, Martinez couldn’t show weakness in front of his Hombres brothers or his business competition. On the personal side, I wouldn’t leave his side even if his bodyguards attempted to throw me out the third floor window.

“Won’t employees get suspicious if they see the doctor going upstairs with medical supplies?”

“Doc brought the stuff I can’t buy. He made me a list of what we need. I’ll get it at Wal-Mart after the bar closes. He won’t be checking on him every day.”

“Why not? I don’t know how to clean wounds or replace his IV—”

“I do,” Big Mike said.

“You? How?”

“Army medic during Desert Storm. Trust me. If something happens I can’t handle, I’ll be the first one on the phone to the doc.”

“Good.” That made me feel better. I crushed out 297

my cigarette. “I’ll make a grocery list. How many of you guys will be on guard?”

“Two. Me round the clock in here. Cal and Bucket will take turns outside.” Big Mike slowly pushed to his feet. “Thanks for doing this for us.”

I looked up at him. “It’s for me as much as it is for him. I can’t believe . . .” My gaze wandered to the bedroom door. Knowing what lay behind it, I closed my eyes against a tidal wave of tears. I drew my knees up to my chest and sank my teeth into my kneecaps to keep from sobbing hysterically.

Be strong. No crybabies allowed. You can do this. You
have to do this. For him. For you.

When I lifted my head, Big Mike recognized my hard-won emotional battle and awkwardly patted my shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, Julie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, especially now that you’re here.”

“Did he doubt I’d show?”

“Not for a single second.”

That made me want to start crying all over again.

298

We were on Day Three of fussing over Martinez and everyone’s patience was wearing thin.

I made myself scarce while Big Mike and No-neck herded Martinez into the shower. It was pointless to get upset over Tony not wanting my help. I understood his pride even when it stung mine.

Being stuck in these windowless rooms was taking a toll on me. I’d watched the third season of
Deadwood
. I napped. I cooked but couldn’t eat much. I smoked. I obsessively checked on Martinez. Probably good he slept a lot. My fretting would set him on edge.

One thing I hadn’t done was cry.