CHAPTER 6—WORLD WAR III

The elevator began moving before Loralei and Donovan had gotten themselves together.  It was making its way slowly, but steadily, up to the lobby.  Thoughts of being seen by dozens of people sprang immediately to mind.  That wouldn't do.  That wouldn't do at all.  As if they were teenagers caught in the backseat of Daddy's car, they hurriedly began to readjust clothing, smooth out mussed hair, and repair smeared makeup.  Donovan gave her an almost crazed look, and she began to giggle helplessly.  The longer she looked at him, the louder she laughed.  He held his finger to his lips in a 'shh' gesture, but she couldn't stop for the life of her.  He cut her giggles off with a kiss, and damn if he didn't back her up against the wall again.  Reluctantly, she pushed him away.  Completely together and calmer now, Donovan backed away and leaned against the other side of the elevator.  Once it stopped and the doors slid open, a few faces, including the pissed off manager, the repairman, and the clerk who had been behind the check-in desk, met them.  The clerk recognized both of them, and her eyes went suspiciously from Donovan before settling on Loralei, and then back again.  The couple was disheveled and sweaty.  She had been working in the hotel long enough to know when two people had had a quickie in the elevator.  Yet, the two were acting as if they were rank strangers.

"What is the meaning of this," the manager asked petulantly.

Innocently, Donovan shrugged.  Loralei knew better than to say one word.  If she did, she would laugh herself right into county lockup.  "It was the oddest thing, really," Donovan began with a deadpan look on his face.  "It just stopped.  Ms. K. here passed out, and I had to revive her."

The manager glanced at Loralei suspiciously.  Her face wanted to crack.  "Yes," she said unbelievably calm.  "Claustrophobic.  I don't know what I would have done without him.  Thank you, Mister?"

He glanced at his wife.  Such a stunning job she had done.  He was very proud of her.  "Donovan."

"Thank you, Mr. Donovan."  He needed to leave immediately.  If he didn't, she would lose her composure. 

Without a word, Donovan slipped out of the elevator.  A female climbed into the elevator with Loralei.  "What a sweet man," she said.

"Hmm."  Under her breath, she said, "Good, too."

"Pardon," the woman said.

"Yes," she said quickly, "He was very sweet."

*  *  *

Donovan and the team had set up shop in a conference room in the hotel.  He had had to literally bully the manager into letting them have it.  Cody and Monica had to set up their gear somewhere.  Without it, they would have zero information.  Jake would go in to infiltrate Pablo Dominguez's gang.  Through utter wizardry [there was no other explanation], Cody had dug up every haunt that Dominguez was known to visit.  With a little help from central, Monica had created this wonderfully elaborate profile of 'Miguel Santos,' the man Jake was to become.  Miguel had a rap sheet as long as he was tall.  He also had the reputation of being the best trafficker in the business.  If he went to Dominguez, perhaps he could immerse himself into the fold, and then find out who his jefe was.  Donovan also hoped that it would lead to the identity of the witness.

*  *  *

Farron jerked himself awake.  He hastily looked around at the other passengers beside him.  Apparently, he hadn't screamed, because no one was staring at him.  Thank God, he thought.  He sighed deeply and leaned back in the comfy first class seat he occupied.  He had been dreaming again.  Actually, dreaming was a bit sedate.  It was more like a nightmare.  However, this time, he wasn't dreaming about Ramirez or his children.  He had been dreaming about Frank.  He thought back to Loralei's harsh words a few days ago.  He had been selfish, it was so true.  He hadn't really thought about what he had done to Frank.  He normally brought all the pain and grief back his way, because his brother had so much.  He had a good life, a wonderful wife, and a child on the way.  He lived on the right side of the law, and he didn't have to duck and hide from la muchedumbre (the mob).  Yes, he whined, and yes, he felt sorry for himself.  Who else would?  He had basically isolated himself from his family and friends.  He was two different people, and he was scared.  The only time he had ever been more frightened was when he saw Frank's broken and bloody body falling to the ground. 

A flight attendant who had been eyeing him came by and asked if he wanted a drink.  For the time being, he wasn't interested in her or her voluptuous body.  Perhaps later, when he felt better.  He wanted bourbon with no ice, no water, nothing.  He wanted it straight and stiff.  He needed it.  He didn't even bother with the small plastic cup the attendant had set out before him.  Shakily, he unscrewed the cap from the tiny bottle and tossed it back.  Like Frank, he had always loved his bourbon.  He stared blankly out of the tiny window.  He couldn't believe he was going back to Florida.  Farron began to wonder how often Frank worked undercover himself.  He couldn't imagine what Ortiz or Dominguez would do to Frank once they saw him.  Farron had never told his hermanos anything about his family.  In the drug trade, a man would have to be either insane or stupid to discuss his family.  The first thing the enemies went for was a person's family.  However, if they laid eyes on Frank, his identical twin, they would think that Farron had returned with a different look and demeanor.  He stopped the flight attendant again and requested another bourbon.  Farron knocked it back just as quickly.  What kind of torture would they put Frank through if they captured him?  He had pissed off his friends when he ran, and they wouldn't be satisfied with simply ending his life.  They would kill him creatively, ensuring that he suffered.  He didn't want Frank to endure such a harsh fate.  He had already taken five bullets for him, and he had no intention of allowing his brother to die.  He couldn't do that to Frank's wife or their child.  He massaged his temple, hoping to ease the thumping that had begun in his head.  Mateo Luis was coming home.

*  *  *

Jesus Ortiz was displeased with Pablo.  He had yet to find Mateo.  The mission wasn't that difficult, and he didn't understand how one man could so thoroughly disappear.  Mateo had never mentioned having any family, and that left him with little leverage.  His heart broke at the thought of having to kill his hermano, but the moment he had gone against his wishes, he became his enemigo (enemy).  He was no better than Ramirez and he would muera como un perro amarillo (die like a yellow dog).  He never understood why Mateo was so weak when it came to taking a life of a betraying hijo de una puta (son of a whore).  He seemed so very afraid of guns, especially large semi-automatics [Ortiz's personal favorite].  Mateo never explained.  If he couldn't defend himself with his fists, he wouldn't defend himself at all.  Ortiz sighed angrily.  There had to be something dear to Mateo that could be exploited, that would draw him back to Florida.  Every man had a weakness, be it women, money, or drugs.  If he could dig a little, he was sure to find Mateo's.

*  *  *

Jake sat at the large executive table in the conference room with his head down and his face buried in his arms.  He was one tired fucker.  Cody had given him a list of about a billion popular hangouts of Pablo Dominguez, and Jake had probably gone to about half of them in one night.  No luck.  He hated this hunting shit.  Undercover was great.  Nabbing bad guys was wonderful.  Hunting heads wasn't as much fun.  It was as if he did nothing but wait.  Jake hated waiting, he was never patient enough for it.  If he knew Donovan as well as he thought, he would have to go out again tonight.  Donovan was utterly convinced that Dominguez would be found.

"Everyone take a break," Donovan said suddenly, unexpectedly.  "Regroup in two hours."

*  *  *

Donovan slid the card key into the slot and pushed the door open.  Of course it was dark inside.  It was late, and she would have gone to bed by now.  He hadn't seen her in a couple of days, and he wondered how she stayed so well hidden.  He had caught himself looking for her everywhere, but true to her word, she had stayed out of sight.  However, he could find her easily enough.  The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he moved toward the bed slowly.  Smiling a little, he remembered what happened the last time they'd been separated for two days, and the hotel manager still glared at him when he walked past, his eyes seemingly screaming:  elevators are not toys!  He crept up to the bed and noticed the body of his wife snuggled securely under the covers, her back to him.  As he slid into bed beside her, he decided to send her home at the end of the week.  He didn't want her here any longer, especially not with this dangerous assignment.  He wasn't naïve; he knew that drug dealers loved exploiting a man's weaknesses, and wouldn't hesitate to harm his loved ones.  The game had suddenly changed, and he wouldn't continue to expose her to further danger.  She would fight him, of course, but he would put her on a plane even if he had to cuff her to the seat.  His reason for wanting her here was completely selfish, he knew, and he no longer deemed Farron the worse of two evils.  He hoped his brother would stay away. 

He watched her sleep for thirty minutes or more, satisfied [for the time being] just to lay his eyes on her.  He allowed his finger to trace a gentle line over her lips, and she stirred just the slightest bit.  After a brief moment, her lips kissed his finger gently before she ran her tongue over it.  Up until two nights ago, he had crept into her room almost nightly.  Most of the time, they didn't make love.  He had been happy with holding her and looking at her.  Soon, she would have to leave whether she agreed or not, but for the moment, he didn't want to deal with that thought. 

"Where have you been," she asked softly.  She wasn't sure if she was awake or dreaming.  It had been another long two days.

"Cooped up in a conference room with four surly agents who are quite frustrated right now.  Especially Jake."

She snuggled against him, almost burying her face entirely in the hollow between his throat and shoulder.  This she had done dozens of times.  It seemed to be the one spot where she felt the most secure.  "How long can you stay?"

"About an hour and a half," he said as his hand caressed her soft hair.  "Tomorrow, Loralei, we talk."

She sighed against him.  She had been anticipating this for a few days.  Donovan intended to send her home.  "We'll be talking about my departure, won't we?"  When he didn't immediately respond, she said, "You don't have to answer, Frank, that's okay.  That is tomorrow; this is right now."

Later, Loralei lay propped on her elbow as she watched Donovan finish dressing.  He was running late, and he was in a rush to leave.  This in and out thing made her feel as if she were having a sleazy affair.  The thought brought a smile to her face and she giggled.  Curiously, he turned toward her with a lifted eyebrow.  "If we keep this up, you're gonna get me in trouble," she said as she ran her hand over her abdomen. 

"And you accuse me of hanging out with Cody too much?  You're quite the comedienne, Dina K.," he said as he turned back around.  Loralei took in a sudden, sharp breath.  He turned back toward her and noticed her shocked expression.  Her hand lay on top of her stomach.  "What is it, Loralei," he asked, concerned.  "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head.  "No," she said.  "Not at all.  I felt something, Frank.  I think I felt the baby move.  It was a bubbly sensation, like butterflies in my stomach."  She reach out and took his hand and placed it onto her abdomen.  "Can you feel anything?"  He shook his head.  He was completely focused and concentrating hard.  "I felt it, Frank, I know I did."  She leaned toward him and kissed his lips softly.  "I felt it, Frank," she said all misty-eyed [hormones be damned].  "I felt our baby move."

He took her in his arms and held her for a long time.  Now more than ever, he felt the desire to send her home. 

*  *  *

Farron Donovan kept a low profile in Florida.  He didn't return to his stomping grounds, because he needed to avoid Ortiz and Dominguez at all costs.  He had not reverted back to Mateo just yet.  He was too busy trying to find his brother, his wife, and the UC team.  When he landed at the airport a few days ago, he had no idea where to go from there.  He had no idea where they might have checked in.  There were dozens of hotels in the area, but he couldn't decide on one.  Years ago, he had been able to 'read' his twin, to 'feel' him.  He had lost that ability even before they had begun attending junior high.  But then, he wasn't sure he had totally lost it.  It could have simply been misplaced.  It was right around that time when Frank began to excel and he began to falter.  Farron had stopped trying to read him.  He had wanted to isolate himself from his twin, and trying to read him only kept him close.  Some slight movement, some flick of color caught his eye.  He couldn't quite explain what possessed him to notice it.  It was a splash of deep reddish brown [they call that auburn], the color of Loralei's hair.  It couldn't be.  It was too easy. 

Farron continued to duck the crowd and didn't make eye contact with anyone.  From a distance, he watched and waited.  When the woman stepped out in plain view, he was convinced it was she.  The hair was a good clue, but the slight bulge in her middle was a dead giveaway.  Where was Frank?  Surely, he wouldn't stay behind.  Or would he?  He continued to follow her.  Eventually, she would lead him to Frank.

When Loralei took a detour to a store, Farron went across the street to a bar.  From his vantage point, he could see her plainly.  While he waited for her next move, he ordered bourbon and slammed it down.  His nerves were jumping, and he needed to remain calm.  He would have to come clean today, either to Loralei or Frank.  After about fifteen minutes, Loralei left the store, and Farron got moving again.  She strolled steadily and quickly toward the expanse of hotels just ahead.  Bueno, he thought.  Goddamn, I'm even reverting to Spanish.  Mateo was trying to come out.  Loralei was heading directly where he hoped.  The bourbon made him a bit unsteady on his feet, but he didn't care.  He needed to get to her, and then he had to see Frank before it was too late.

Once in her room, Loralei let out a deep sigh as she threw her bag down onto the bed.  Her little stroll had tired her right out.  Actually, she was tired the moment she got out of bed this morning.  After Donovan left, she had lain half the night waiting for the baby to move again.  She didn't feel it for the rest of the night.  She didn't think her husband believed she felt anything more than indigestion.  Damn it, I felt the baby.  Her husband was quite analytical, but he could also be concrete at the same time.  If he couldn't touch it, see it, feel it, or smell it, it didn't exist.  Men, she thought, what do they know anyway?  Donovan was set to return to her tonight for their 'talk.'  She hadn't bothered waiting for the talk.  She had already begun packing for the trip back.  Loralei didn't want to leave, but she really had no choice.  She was stubborn, but she was also concerned about the baby.  She remembered what happened the last time she had gotten pregnant.  Her stubbornness had led to a miscarriage.  Of course, Donovan would argue against that with everything in him, but he was wrong.  She knew and had known from the moment she felt the first cramp.  She would not jeopardize this baby for anything. 

She smiled a little as a stray thought entered her mind.  A week or two ago, she had found out what they were having, but she had yet to tell her husband.  She wondered if she should tell him or make him wait.  He wanted to know, he had made that plain, but on the day she had gone to her appointment, he hadn't attended.  So for now, it was her little secret.  She turned toward the bathroom to start the shower, but a brisk knock on the door drew her attention away.  Figuring it was her husband, she didn't even bother to look through the peephole.  She swung the door open and stood face-to-face with Farron.

"What the hell are you doing here," she asked.  Was he following them?  He had conveniently shown up too many times.  "How did you find me?"

"I suggest you let me in, Loralei.  The longer I stay out here, the more likely Frank will die."

The look on his face was serious.  There was nothing to indicate that he was trying to bullshit her.  She stepped back and allowed him to enter the room.  She only prayed that Donovan wouldn't appear.  "Have you somehow gotten Frank in trouble?"

He sighed and clenched his teeth.  Shaking his head, he said, "Not exactly, unless you consider our being twins getting him in trouble."

"You're not making sense, Farron.  What kind of game are you playing?"

He took hold of her arms and stared down into her eyes.  It was a stance she was more than familiar with.  It was one Donovan used often.  "I'm playing no game."

Farron was close enough for her to smell his breath.  It was tainted by bourbon.  "You don't have to grab me like this.  I'll listen."

He shook his head.  "No you won't.  Since you found out what I did to Frank years ago, you're not willing to listen unless I force you."

His grip was vise-like, inescapable.  "Tell me what you want, and then get out.  Frank is coming very soon, and I don't want you here.  He'll hurt you, physically, especially when he sees what you're doing."

Donovan men.  Divide and conquer.  In retrospect, he would never understand why he did what he did.  Was it the bourbon?  Or was it just the sheer anger coursing through his veins?  He mashed his mouth down on hers and tried to force her lips apart with his tongue, but she kept her lips sealed shut.  She beat at his chest and tried to push him off, but he had a strong hold on her.  The pressure on her arms grew painful as he tried to crush his body against hers.  She wasn't having that.  She struggled until she freed an arm.  She shoved him backward with force and then slapped his face hard.  He stared down at her as if he hadn't even been aware of what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," he spat.  "I didn't-didn't-"  There were deep red marks on her arms, and he was sure those marks would become bruises by morning.

"Get out," she spat through clenched teeth.  "Get out or I'll call the police."  He made a step toward her, as an act of attrition.  "Don't come near me again," she cried.  "Get out, I mean it."

Horrified at what he'd done, he backed away from her until he hit the door.  He opened the door and slipped out.

*  *  *

Donovan slipped quietly into the room.  He was upset that he hadn't been able to get to her sooner, but there was just no time.  As usual, he found her in bed, but something was drastically wrong.  She was still dressed and lay huddled on the bed.  He climbed in behind her and the moment he touched her, she cried out.  The moment she saw his face, she went into his arms and cried against him.  He noticed the angry red marks on her arms, but he didn't understand.

"What happened," he asked urgently.  "Who touched you?  Who hurt you?"  She didn't answer him.  She only cried.  He gently pushed her back so he could look at her.  "Loralei, baby, tell me what happened."  He ran a hand gently over a red mark on one arm.  Finger marks.  "Who did this?  Tell me."

She went into his embrace again.  "No," she cried, "I can't tell you, I…can't."

"Yes you can," he said.  "You must.  Who did it, Loralei?  Who," he demanded.

Loralei moved back and hastily wiped her tears away.  "I'm okay.  Just shaken up.  I'm not hurt."

"No, Loralei, you are hurt.  Who touched you?  Tell me," he demanded again, this time staring intently into her eyes.

She shook her head.  "No, I can't.  You don't understand."

Suddenly, he knew, and he understood.  Something about the way she looked at him gave it away immediately.  How had the fucker found her?  "Farron did this to you," he asked quietly, his voice taking on a severe, almost enraged tone.  She didn't say a word; she gazed up at him helplessly, apologetically.  "Wherever he is, I'll find him," he began in a harsh whisper, "and when I do, I'll fix him where he won't have enough strength to even glance at you."

"Frank, no-"

He cut her off and took her body back into his embrace.  "He crossed the line when he sought you out at all, and that I could forget.  What he did to you tonight is something I will not let him get away with.  He will never touch you again."