lips had branded it. Her throat swelled shut until she really couldn’t eat a bite. She felt like a child being punished in front of company, only her parents had never treated her so cruelly. She thought she would strangle on her rage and frustration, her hatred and humiliation. She wanted to hurl the bowl of hot soup into that devil’s face, to rake it with her fingernails, to leave
her
mark!
Whatever you do, don’t fight me.
Julie heard the quiet voice even through the clamor of her own fury, almost as if he had actually spoken. She closed her eyes, breathing evenly and fighting for self–control. She didn’t hate him. She was an officer of the law, and he was a breaker of the law. Hate was unprofessional. He had done it to her again.
But I am going to get out of this. I am going to beat him. For now I have to go along with his act. An act, that’s all it is. He warned me.
She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.
But she knew she would. All she had to do was consider the alternative.
Around her the masculine small talk had resumed. With her eyes closed, Julie savored the wonderful smells while her stomach gnawed on itself and complained aloud at the ill treatment. This is good for you; adversity builds character, she insisted silently.
Presently she heard a spoon clatter against crockery and felt a touch on her chin.
"Feeling better now,
Guerita mia?"
She opened her eyes, almost drowned in a vivid blue gaze, and quickly lowered them again. She nodded and felt the pressure of his knuckle under her chin, lifting it.
"Do you want to eat now?"
Again she nodded.
"What did you say?" His voice was soft but steely.
"Yes, please," she whispered in English.
"Ah–ah—where are your manners? Speak Spanish for our hosts."
Julie mentally ground her teeth, but managed to keep her eyes downcast and her tone meek. She was learning. "
Sí, Señor. Por favor.
"
The demon sat back, magnanimous in his victory, beaming at her as she pulled her cooled soup toward her and began to eat. She was hungry enough that she didn’t even care that he watched her every bite with a smug, proprietary air. The soup was delicious—mildly spiced with green chili peppers that spread warmth through her as the hearty seafood filled her empty belly. She ate in silence, and the rest of the meal passed without incident. Rita had retired to a chair beside the bed, where she sat quietly alert to the needs of the men at the table. Chayne and Geraldo talked of fishing and tides and weather, while Julie ate until she could eat no more.
At last Chayne’s chair scraped on the hard dirt and he stood up. Julie obeyed his gesture and got to her feet to stand meekly behind him while he expressed his thanks to Rita and said good night. Julie dared a look at Rita over her shoulder and received a brief smile in return. She knew better than to speak again, but the smile was a small encouragement.
"I’ll walk you home," Geraldo said expansively as the two men stood in the doorway lighting cigarettes.
"’Sta bien
." Chayne clapped him on the shoulder, and the two smugglers moved into the night, leaving Julie to stumble along behind. The dogs, the voices and the guitar were silent now, and the only lights still burning were in Geraldo’s house and one other, set a little farther inland beyond the parked camper. Another adobe, even smaller than Geraldo’s. As they approached it Chayne turned to Julie and said quietly, "Go inside. Geraldo and I have things to talk about."
Julie nodded and went inside the hut, closing the door after her. She was struck immediately by a wave of dismay that almost distracted her from her purpose. Again.
I can’t stay here with him.
She sank limply back against the door.
"Gabriel was here today," she heard Geraldo say in a low voice.
The door was wood but not solid; it seemed to be made of slats or poles nailed to a frame, and the murmuring voices came to her clearly through the cracks. All thoughts of exploring her
her
mark!
Whatever you do, don’t fight me.
Julie heard the quiet voice even through the clamor of her own fury, almost as if he had actually spoken. She closed her eyes, breathing evenly and fighting for self–control. She didn’t hate him. She was an officer of the law, and he was a breaker of the law. Hate was unprofessional. He had done it to her again.
But I am going to get out of this. I am going to beat him. For now I have to go along with his act. An act, that’s all it is. He warned me.
She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.
But she knew she would. All she had to do was consider the alternative.
Around her the masculine small talk had resumed. With her eyes closed, Julie savored the wonderful smells while her stomach gnawed on itself and complained aloud at the ill treatment. This is good for you; adversity builds character, she insisted silently.
Presently she heard a spoon clatter against crockery and felt a touch on her chin.
"Feeling better now,
Guerita mia?"
She opened her eyes, almost drowned in a vivid blue gaze, and quickly lowered them again. She nodded and felt the pressure of his knuckle under her chin, lifting it.
"Do you want to eat now?"
Again she nodded.
"What did you say?" His voice was soft but steely.
"Yes, please," she whispered in English.
"Ah–ah—where are your manners? Speak Spanish for our hosts."
Julie mentally ground her teeth, but managed to keep her eyes downcast and her tone meek. She was learning. "
Sí, Señor. Por favor.
"
The demon sat back, magnanimous in his victory, beaming at her as she pulled her cooled soup toward her and began to eat. She was hungry enough that she didn’t even care that he watched her every bite with a smug, proprietary air. The soup was delicious—mildly spiced with green chili peppers that spread warmth through her as the hearty seafood filled her empty belly. She ate in silence, and the rest of the meal passed without incident. Rita had retired to a chair beside the bed, where she sat quietly alert to the needs of the men at the table. Chayne and Geraldo talked of fishing and tides and weather, while Julie ate until she could eat no more.
At last Chayne’s chair scraped on the hard dirt and he stood up. Julie obeyed his gesture and got to her feet to stand meekly behind him while he expressed his thanks to Rita and said good night. Julie dared a look at Rita over her shoulder and received a brief smile in return. She knew better than to speak again, but the smile was a small encouragement.
"I’ll walk you home," Geraldo said expansively as the two men stood in the doorway lighting cigarettes.
"’Sta bien
." Chayne clapped him on the shoulder, and the two smugglers moved into the night, leaving Julie to stumble along behind. The dogs, the voices and the guitar were silent now, and the only lights still burning were in Geraldo’s house and one other, set a little farther inland beyond the parked camper. Another adobe, even smaller than Geraldo’s. As they approached it Chayne turned to Julie and said quietly, "Go inside. Geraldo and I have things to talk about."
Julie nodded and went inside the hut, closing the door after her. She was struck immediately by a wave of dismay that almost distracted her from her purpose. Again.
I can’t stay here with him.
She sank limply back against the door.
"Gabriel was here today," she heard Geraldo say in a low voice.
The door was wood but not solid; it seemed to be made of slats or poles nailed to a frame, and the murmuring voices came to her clearly through the cracks. All thoughts of exploring her
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