going on here.”
“He cheated them.”
“Who? How?”
Benicio leans closer. Dark flecks in his amber eyes make them look like raw honey in the sun. His teeth are bright white against his smooth, café au lait skin. If it were just his good looks, he couldn’t distract me like this. Couldn’t make me transcend, if only for a second, everything that’s happening. I’m not easily swayed by looks the way some women are. Whatever Benicio has goes beyond that. A visceral impulse buzzes between us, and I see the recognition of it in his eyes.
“Your husband is a businessman,” he says as if forcing something, anything from his mouth. “An investor.”
I let him continue.
“My family is always looking for investors. At some point the two met up.”
“What kind of business?”
“I don’t know a whole lot about it.”
“What do you know?”
“What do you know?” he snaps.
“Me? I don’t have a clue about any of this!”
He works his swollen jaw from side to side. He blinks.
“Is that what you think? Is that why Leon said I knew exactly what he wanted? That I’ve got some part in all this?”
“Are you saying you don’t?” he asks.
I laugh and shake my head at the floor. This just isn’t happening. Wicked and Wanting has storylines more believable than this.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Fine.” He stares at the wall. “I believe you,” he says, softer. “It didn’t sound right from the beginning.”
“What didn’t sound right?”
“That you had taken their money.”
“All right. Wait a minute. Let’s get something straight here. What are we talking about? Money from what? Drugs? Because there’s no way my husband, or me for that matter, could possibly be involved in something like that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Clearly you don’t know my husband.”
“Clearly neither do you.”
Rage sears my skin. “Fuck you.”
The room turns unbearably hot. I wipe my forehead. It instantly flushes again with sweat.
“I’m sorry,” Benicio says. “It’s not what you think.”
“You have no idea what I think,” I say, though in the back of my mind I know he’s reading me like ticker tape.
“What if he thought he was helping people?”
I nearly laugh. I shake my head. “What?”
“People dying of cancer, heart disease, AIDS.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Pharmaceuticals.”
I stop, allowing the idea to sink in.
“Black market. Everything from oral chemo to high blood pressure.”
Now I do laugh. A single, hysterical bark. “You’re trying to tell me my husband is peddling prescription drugs?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Clinics, dealers in the States. Thousands of people who couldn’t afford them otherwise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. But if you can find a better reason for being in here I’d like to hear it.”
“You’re awfully cocky, aren’t you?”
“Chalk it up to extenuating circumstances.”
“Extenuating circumstances? Where did you learn to speak English?” Before he can answer I say, “What you’re telling me here is absolutely absurd.”
“I don’t doubt it sounds that way.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“I’m no happier about the facts than you.”
I picture the man I married, the man at the pool with the pale legs and humorless face, the man who instantly falls asleep at night, the man who cupped my breast and whispered that he loved me, the man who found Oliver’s flip-flops and asked me if I’d forgotten what it is to be sixteen. I try to connect this careful, meticulous man to, what ? The messy underworld of prescription drugs?
“From what I’ve overheard this past year, I think your husband made much more money than he was expecting to.”
I barely have time to stop spinning from what he’s just told me. “This past year? How long has he been doing this?”
“I’ve only been back in town for two years. But I got the impression it
“He cheated them.”
“Who? How?”
Benicio leans closer. Dark flecks in his amber eyes make them look like raw honey in the sun. His teeth are bright white against his smooth, café au lait skin. If it were just his good looks, he couldn’t distract me like this. Couldn’t make me transcend, if only for a second, everything that’s happening. I’m not easily swayed by looks the way some women are. Whatever Benicio has goes beyond that. A visceral impulse buzzes between us, and I see the recognition of it in his eyes.
“Your husband is a businessman,” he says as if forcing something, anything from his mouth. “An investor.”
I let him continue.
“My family is always looking for investors. At some point the two met up.”
“What kind of business?”
“I don’t know a whole lot about it.”
“What do you know?”
“What do you know?” he snaps.
“Me? I don’t have a clue about any of this!”
He works his swollen jaw from side to side. He blinks.
“Is that what you think? Is that why Leon said I knew exactly what he wanted? That I’ve got some part in all this?”
“Are you saying you don’t?” he asks.
I laugh and shake my head at the floor. This just isn’t happening. Wicked and Wanting has storylines more believable than this.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Fine.” He stares at the wall. “I believe you,” he says, softer. “It didn’t sound right from the beginning.”
“What didn’t sound right?”
“That you had taken their money.”
“All right. Wait a minute. Let’s get something straight here. What are we talking about? Money from what? Drugs? Because there’s no way my husband, or me for that matter, could possibly be involved in something like that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Clearly you don’t know my husband.”
“Clearly neither do you.”
Rage sears my skin. “Fuck you.”
The room turns unbearably hot. I wipe my forehead. It instantly flushes again with sweat.
“I’m sorry,” Benicio says. “It’s not what you think.”
“You have no idea what I think,” I say, though in the back of my mind I know he’s reading me like ticker tape.
“What if he thought he was helping people?”
I nearly laugh. I shake my head. “What?”
“People dying of cancer, heart disease, AIDS.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Pharmaceuticals.”
I stop, allowing the idea to sink in.
“Black market. Everything from oral chemo to high blood pressure.”
Now I do laugh. A single, hysterical bark. “You’re trying to tell me my husband is peddling prescription drugs?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Clinics, dealers in the States. Thousands of people who couldn’t afford them otherwise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. But if you can find a better reason for being in here I’d like to hear it.”
“You’re awfully cocky, aren’t you?”
“Chalk it up to extenuating circumstances.”
“Extenuating circumstances? Where did you learn to speak English?” Before he can answer I say, “What you’re telling me here is absolutely absurd.”
“I don’t doubt it sounds that way.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“I’m no happier about the facts than you.”
I picture the man I married, the man at the pool with the pale legs and humorless face, the man who instantly falls asleep at night, the man who cupped my breast and whispered that he loved me, the man who found Oliver’s flip-flops and asked me if I’d forgotten what it is to be sixteen. I try to connect this careful, meticulous man to, what ? The messy underworld of prescription drugs?
“From what I’ve overheard this past year, I think your husband made much more money than he was expecting to.”
I barely have time to stop spinning from what he’s just told me. “This past year? How long has he been doing this?”
“I’ve only been back in town for two years. But I got the impression it
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