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âSeñorita! Nâ no puedes entrar ahĂ, por favor! Heâs in a meeting. I canâtâ If you donât have an appointment, I canât let you back there!â
Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andreaâs long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, âSeñorita! You canât be back here!â only served to build the rage in Andreaâs chest more.
She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the womanâs forehead nearly slammed right into her own.
Andrea crossed her arms. âMira, vieja. You havenât even called security, so unless youâre going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, andââ she glanced down at the womanâs heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, ââyou could try but I donât think youâd get far in thoseâ Iâm getting into that goddamn office one way or another.â
The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldnât be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, âya eso es lo que pensaba.â
She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, âColonel Horacio Carrilloâ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick.
As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, âheâs in a meeting,â was usually code for heâs actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadnât been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.
For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyoneâs dad. Sheâd come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasnât which, if the rumors sheâd heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasnât comforting in the slightest. But she didnât know about any of that yet.
Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He mustâve been anyway, since she didnât usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.
And yet, thatâs where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, âmmm, thatâs right. Yes, just a little closer.â A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when sheâd parked outside, moments before accosting the manâs poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if heâd even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe thatâs why she was in such a foul mood. She didnât know.
Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I donât even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.
The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldnât resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrilloâs nostrils flared. Yeah, thatâs right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.
Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, âSorry to interrupt, Colonel. But youâve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.â
He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training mustâve kicked in because he didnât miss a beat. âMm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?
âTo ask you a simple but very important question.â
He waited.
âTo ask howâ after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the peopleâs right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.â
He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.
âGentlemen,â Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, âweâll have to pick this up later.â His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. âIt seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesnât know how to take âno commentâ for an answer.â
That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.
Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.
âIf I were a man, youâd hit me right now, wouldnât you?â she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. âYou didnât answer my question.â
Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
âWell?â
He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasnât his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.
âWell, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.â
She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, âO, sĂ?â inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.
Nodding, âSĂ, sĂ,â he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. âJust who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?â
âJust who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebolloâs trial?â she shot back.
He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, âItâs a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.â
âWow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think Iâm naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.â She laughed bitter as battery acid, âVenga ya pues. No me shingĂŒes con esas mamadas, cabrĂłn.â
There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, âNo. I donât think youâre bad at your job.â He rolled his eyes, grumbling, âThatâs the entire problem. Cierto? SĂ porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.â
Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.
âWhat? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?â
A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.
Oh, no. Thatâs when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didnât. He wouldnât dare.
âNo. No me digas que tââ
His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.
âOkay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only suggesââ
âNo.â She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. âDonât do that. You donât get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.â
âYou have to understââ
âUnderstand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? Youâre what? Trying to protect me?â
âLook, Andrea.â She wished heâd stop saying her name. âI know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? Theyâre more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. Theyâll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.â
âThatâs never stopped me before.â
Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. âAndrea. After youâre gone, theyâll come after your colleagues, friends, family.â She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. âCorruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And thatâd be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting tâ well, maybeâ who does care for you.â
Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. Theyâd been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of theâ well, it was just the one time. Sheâd assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, heâd neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.
Oh, she was positivelyâ she wantedâ but no, she couldnâtâ oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she couldâ she really could actually fucking punch him.
As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. âNow whoâs the one who wants to hit someone?â
Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.
âDo it.â
She looked up, stunned. âExcuse me?â
âDo it,â he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. âIf thatâs what you really want. Hit me.â
He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.
Her hand moved so quickly, he didnât even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.
Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.
Oh yeah, that felt good. Sheâd liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, heâd be bleeding out on the floor for what heâd done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she canât possibly know whatâs good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.
Then she said, sincere but grave, âDonât ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. Iâll never need you.â To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, âAnd thatâs exactly why you love this.â