Author's Note: Good news – I've got another chapter ready to be typed up once I get a chapter of "Fractured Secrets" written. Bad news – haven't gotten to work of FS, and this story is starting to wind down with a vengeance. We're in the last third or do. Review if you've got time, you won't be able to for much longer. ; )

Author's thanks at end.


They were in Carlos' study. It was six in the morning, and Neva had done as he'd asked and roused him as soon as there was word about Tess. As he stood with his back to the room, studying an original Rembrandt, he regretted that.

"All right," he murmured, more to himself than to Neva or Hector. "You are sure she was inside this apartment building all night." Self-delusion only went so far, and this was pushing his boundaries and his temper to the breaking point. "I asked a question," he snapped when no one answered.

Hector nodded and cleared his throat, clearly unhappy to be the subject of his superior's ire, but also knowing that an answer was expected. "I watched all night. No one came or went."

"And the other entrances?" This was growing more and more to his distaste by the second.

"I secured them, señor. Blocked one with a dumpster, and barred another. No one could have gotten out those ways. And the Doc's car was in front of the building from the time she entered it until she left. No other cares left or entered the lot. There weren't any other cars, although there seemed to be some parked in the garage of the adjacent building. I didn't see any signs of occupation in that one."

"What was she doing in there?" For the time being, Carlos let that small oddity go. He was much more concerned with what Tessa may have been doing.

"What do you think she was doing, hermano?" Neva's voice and question were both heavily laden with sarcasm, but it was in defense of her brother. What other reason did a young single woman have for staying all night in an apartment building not her own? Was Carlos really going to force himself to hear it?

"I don't know, usted," Hector continued after a sidelong look at both siblings. If a war was about to start, he wanted to have his report done and be long gone before it did. "I tried to get inside, but the doors were all locked. Very unusual for that part of town. And I saw at least one security camera."

"What part of town was this in?" Carlos was frowning and pacing.

"Calle Arenas. Near the red-light district."

Neva watched as her brother came to a sudden decision. "Neva. I want you to find out as much as you can about our cousin. I want to know more about what she's been up to for the past five years than that she simply disappeared off the radar. Bully some of those families she was seeing in Culíacan if you have to. Contact Mr. Heston and have him check for Teresa Adame, not Teresa Barillo. When we were young, she was always talking about ditching her last name."

His orders to Hector were: "I'm going to give Tessa the opportunity to leave again today. Get a bug from Neva and plant it on her, or get a tracking device on her car. I want to know what she's doing and where she's going. We're going to put a stop to it. You can leave." Carlos turned in dismissal and Hector gladly left, but Neva stayed behind. She took a seat in an armchair and waited to be acknowledged.

"I dismissed you, Neva."

She said nothing.

"I know you want to say it. About Teresa."

Still Neva stayed silent. Carlos probably did know what she was going to say, and it would be ever so much more convicting if he admitted it to himself instead of having to hear it from her. And if he was refusing to look at her, then he was already struggling with the truth. That was good. After all the hell he'd put her through about voicing her doubts, she wanted to see him squirm.

"How can I blame her for being human? And its not as if she's selling us out." The drug lord sounded sulky and demanding at the same time, very much like the child that'd been shipped off to military school so very long ago.

"Is that what your instincts are telling you?" Because mine are screaming warnings. Tess was hiding something, and secrets were dangerous.

Carlos grimaced. "My instincts tell me that if we don't get tangible evidence of where Tessa's loyalties lie, then she needs to be neutralized. She knows too much about our plans to just be set free."

That surprised Neva. "You'd have her taken care of?"

Another grimace from her brother as he raked his hands through his hair. "Nit in the way you mean, no. If it turns out she has a lover, we'll discredit him and ensure that her interest in him is killed."

"And if she's working against us? What then?"

"She's not."

His stubborn reply infuriated her. Standing as if for combat, she yelled, "¡Por Dios, Carlos! Stop blinding yourself!"

"You're out of place!" His enraged reply matched hers.

"I'm your hermanasita," she reminded him hotly. "Your little sister. You watched out for me after our parents were killed; I know you better than anyone. If my place isn't at your side, I don't know where I fucking belong. And I know trouble when I see it. Tess is trouble. She –"

"She's family," he coldly decreed. Neva could see his knuckles growing white where he was gripping the edge of his desk.

"Then you're a sick bastard for panting after her."

She'd pushed too far this time. "Leave," he commanded before he could hurt her.

"No. Not until you stop living in a fantasy." Neva's sense of rebellion fueled her. Knowing that each word placed her life in danger – even from her own brother – was invigorating.

"And what fantasy would that be?" They stood glaring at each other over the desk before Carlos purposely seated himself, a silent command for her to continue. Neva did not follow his example.

"One," she held a finger up. "Teresa is no blood relation of ours. Uncle decreed that we were family, and so it was. But he's dead, Carlos, and all his arrogant proclamations died with him.

"Two, Tess did not choose to be here. She let herself be caught, but that could mean a million things. What the truth is, is that she holds no love for any of us. She's here out of duty, we don't know what to, and we don't know what pressures outside the family have been brought to bear on her. She's unpredictable. We're starting a cartel war in days and we don't know what she's going to do. But we do know she hates violence, and that makes me wonder why she's here.

"Three – she doesn't love you, doesn't want to know you, and barely likes you. I can see it in her eyes even though she tries to hide it. No matter what you do, you won't be able to dement any kind of alliance with her, and you certainly won't convince her to whore in you bed –"

CRACK!

Neva stood speechless, unable to absorb the fact that Carlos had just slapped her. He, on the other – still raised – hand, ignored that he had.

"Teresa will do anything if she has no other choices. Now get out."


Tess wanted to scream. She wanted to throw expensive crystal against the wall, to go into Carlos' office and tell him that she was screwing him over, to get into a knock-down, drag-out fight with Neva. Anything to break the awful tenseness that was stifling the air in her lungs.

She'd first noticed an air of watchful expectation when she'd arrived home. Perhaps I'm imagining things, she'd though. After all, the price of her truancy was a thorough beating, but nothing happened. Everyone was still abed.

Carlos hasn't learned I left yet. That was the most reasonable explanation. He'd made his feelings clear on the matter of leaving without permission or escort. So she'd waited in her room, waited to be called down to account for herself.

The call never came. Neva came and went on several missions, once coming by to tell Tess that Carlos would be in meetings all day, but that Tess was free to come and go as she pleased.

Something's not right, she brooded, straightening her fanatically spotless room and trying to ignore the tension that wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. Does he suspect something? And if he does, how close to the truth can it be? Is he doing anything to find out more? Without answers to these questions, Tess sat on her bed and did nothing. But the urge to flee back to safety, back to where she'd just come from, was strong. Too strong to ignore.


Tess thought – and Sands had assured her – that this one time, she had escaped notice. What Sands hadn't told her was that he was lying. There was no way that security at the hacienda was so lax this close to Carlos' initial strike at the Merídas. But saying so to Tess – especially in the state she'd arrived in – would have been counterproductive.

As was routine and policy, some of Sands' agents had gone hunting the moment Tessa had shown her face. The Company had decided that she was too much of a risk no matter what side she was working for, and considering that at any time Tess could be too distracted to notice a tail, Sands had agreed to the searches. The only thing the men could find though, was that the back entrances and the ground floor fire escape had been blocked. Sands didn't like it any more than he'd waking to find Tessa's arm slung over his waist. It could have just been some neighborhood kids out causing trouble, but maybe it hadn't been. And if it hadn't, and it also hadn't been someone his – highly trained – trackers could find. . . . It just gave him a bad feeling.

Tess had left several long hours ago, before the sun had even started to show above the horizon. The agent on wiretap detail had reported nothing unusual; no arguments, no fighting, no long silences that would indicate Tess had taken her necklace off. The video camera showed little more than her office – she hadn't been by to pick her glasses up yet.

"Go out again," he told several agents who were sitting around doing little more than using up oxygen. "Assume the building is being watched, so keep a low profile. Get fingerprints if you can find any, and run them through the FBI, CIA, AFN and local police databases. I want to know who was around here last night. Benders, you're in charge." The agents left, but Sands was far from done. "Weyhauser, Maddox, Newman. Come up with an alternate plan for pulling out quickly. Don't' be sentimental – just make sure you pull out as many people as you can without heroics and stupidity."

"Don't you already have scenarios set up for that, sir?" Only an agent as young and cocksure as Weyhauser would question an order. The older ones who still had the inclination to doubt had long ago learned to stop asking questions before they ignored their superiors and their orders. They called it self-initiation in the Company. It was lauded and looked down on by turns.

"I'll be staying behind to take care of Barillo, whatever that may entail. Make sure there's a long-range sniper's rifle in my trunk while you're at it." His eyes were burning and that put him in a bad mood. "And Weyhauser, by the way, the next time you question an order, tell me. That way I can shoot first and answer later." He grinned menacingly. "Now get the hell out of here."

The agents left, and Sands ran out of orders. With a silent groan of frustration that he'd quickly come to associate with the young agent, Sands left the operations room and went back to his for a shower.

Striped and smoking, he surveyed himself in the bathroom's cloudy mirror. His skin was shockingly white, even in the dim baña . . . except for his many scars. Each – no matter how old – had a faint pinkish tinge to them. Flicking some ashes off the end of his smoke and into the sink, he traced a long scar on his chest. It was a memento from a knife fight he'd gotten into on the first day of his senior year. He'd lost of course – he'd been naïve then – and he'd been suspended, but it'd been worth the lesson.

He exhaled; smoke fogged the mirror. When it cleared, his eyes were automatically drawn to the car on his bicep. It was part of a set. The other two were on his thighs. From time to time, the one on his right leg still ached. It'd come dangerously close to his knee; a few inches lower and he might have lost the leg entirely.

But its a very good reminder to stay on my toes. The thought held more than its fair share of excitement. All his plans – even if they had come from higher up – were coming together. A fight was in the air, even if he wasn't going to be in it. Or at least, he wasn't supposed to be. These next few days would just be a beautiful sight to behold. Barillos and Merídas would fall like well-placed dominos.

There was just one element of this plan that reminded him a little too strongly of the Day of the Dead massacre – the unpredictable inside man. Or woman as the case might be.

Tessa. Sands sighed and took out his contacts. The world went grainy, but he was used to it. And there was a pistol close at hand should someone decide they could sneak up on him. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, Sands climbed into the tiny shower and wet down.

Tess was the wild card in all this. He was reasonably certain that she was so eager to get home that she wouldn't do anything stupid . . . But nerves were funny things, and "should" rarely happened. Like he "should" know better than to even consider staying behind for a civilian, even one he was involved with. He should not care that his orders were to try to get her out – he'd disobeyed orders before, and Strauss had made the promise that she would come home, not him. He should just find a safe vantage point and watch the collapse. And he should have never let himself think that Tessa had risked her life for him, and certainly shouldn't have looked at their dysfunctional relationship in terms of what he owed her.

Kill her or claim her. He remembered having thought that months ago. Well, he was way past the point where he was going to kill her in cold blood, and he was considering going past the line where he'd let something or someone else take her life. Somewhere in the last months – damnit – her life had become his; his to do with as he pleased. And it pleased him to let her live.

But why? And what answer would ensure they both lived through the end of the week?


"We've got something." Neva breezed into Carlos' study as if their argument of the morning had never happened. "Vicente went back to that apartment building and talked to the manager. He's a total sot, so he didn't get much from him, but enough."

Neva wasn't one to carry around papers, but she had a small stack of them now. "That building was condemned to be torn down five months ago, but two weeks after you had Tess brought to Culíacan, someone paid off the housing authority. Plans for demolition were discarded. Water, electricity, and phones were turned back on, and some local, out of work contractors were brought in to make the place livable. Vicente tracked one of the men down, and found out those had been his orders exactly." She locked her elbows and leaned forward on the desk. "Livable," she stressed. "The middle man –"

"Middle man?"

"The contractor never met the owner and never saw any tenants. All he saw was a great deal of money from a gringo. Anyway, the middle man made it very clear that the outside of the building was to be left look as neglected as ever."

"There's more," Carlos realized, seeing that the sparkle of triumph in his sister's eyes was nowhere close to fading.

"Only the fifth floor was made habitable. But no one even moved into that until a week before we arrived in Guadalupe. The manager says there's about twelve of them, and they came with lots of storage boxes, but almost no furniture."

"And the manager?"

"Was hired while nursing a hangover and searching for enough pesos for another drink. He's paid to play dumb and keep his mouth shut, but he said that he's never been inside the apartments. They never leave all that the same time, and they never get visitors. Or at least, not more than one."

Smugness, sincerity, and seriousness were not looks that blended well, but that's what Carlos read on his sister's face. "Yes, Tessa. We know that. What else did he have to say?"

"He said that Tess was the first and only visitor he's seen. That the first day she came storming in, she demanded to know what room a certain 'Giovanni Tirado' was in. And when next he saw her, she was looking distinctly . . . tousled."

Carlos stood and tucked a gun into his shoulder holster. "What room?"

Neva didn't answer; she raised an eyebrow and glanced at the weapon. "A crime of passion or are you just defending the lady's honor?"

"What room, Neva?" It was a command, not a request.

"Room 5C."

He nodded. "I want you to get one of the girls, get her in working clothes, and take her down there. Don't get her into señor Tirado's room until I contact you."

"You mean when Tess decides to visit."

Carlos sent her a withering look even though she was absolutely correct. "Just be ready."

"You – hell, we both – should be focusing on other things, Carlos. Or have you forgotten we have a very big, very important fight coming up? Leave this until later –"

"She's mine." The ice in his voice was even more arresting than the hottest temper. "She'll stop whoring herself before the day is out. Now, obey me or I'll find a new second."

I wish you would. "She's going to ruin you, Velasquez. It's not going to be pretty." And you're not taking me with you.

Neva left.

Carlos paced.

Sands decided issue orders for a search before taking a shower.

Tess couldn't take it any more. She got ready to leave.


Since only his people had access to his room, and none dared enter without his permission, Sands walked out of the bathroom still damp from his shower and wearing nothing more than a threadbare towel. It was to his great surprise then, that he found a woman lounging on his bed. A woman who was not Tess or part of his team.

Of course, she looked just as surprised as he did. The sly look of guaranteed satisfaction melted away to surprise, then to condescending laughter, although Sands didn't think it was directed at him.

"¡Señor Tirado! ¡Tu es gringo!"

The fact that she called him by his alias was somewhat comforting, but not enough to place him at ease. But he'd play along for now. With the clothes she was wearing – or not wearing – he could say with certainty that the only weapons she'd come in with were her boobs.

So he looked down at her words, once again noting the paleness of his skin, then looked back to the woman. How observant. Do you mind if I ask who you are and what the hell you're doing in my room?

Ah, señor… She pulled herself off the bed with a boneless grace, studied perfection meant to impress and seduce. Names aren't important like a girl like me, and I'm sure you can figure out what I'm here to do. Or who.

Subtle. Alright, he go along a little further. He still didn't have any answers, and she was easy enough on the eyes.

Who sent you? he asked idly as she came up to him and started running her fingers over his chest. Tess had done much the same the night before, but that had been . . . different. This was just a matter of fact and a matter of business.

My patron, she replied coyly. Her eyes met his from under her lashes, and somehow she contrived to blush. I've never been with a man so pale.

And you're still not going to. Aloud he murmured, "Z'at right?"

"¿Que?"

I'm not sure I believe you. Or trust your 'patrón.' But he raised his hands to play with her curling, bleach-blonde hair. Her breasts pressed importunately against his chest, but for him it was as passionless as hugging his mother.

Giovanni, you tease. One hand crept towards his neck while the other reached for the towel.

He grabbed it tightly before it could reach its destination. "Sorry, sugarbutt. I'm not that easy."

"Señor . . ." She may not understand his words, but she understood that he wasn't letting her do her job. How was she supposed to maneuver him into a compromising position if he made her keep her distance?

I'm not sampling, and I'm certainly not buying. Go tell your patron that I appreciate the gesture, but I'd rather have his name.

The girl's eyes widened as if in panic, and Sands didn't understand until he heard the footsteps in the hall. Good. He'd have one of his people . . . escort . . . the young lady out.

But the young woman in question had other plans. As the footsteps stopped outside his door, and the knob moved as if a hand had been laid on it, she jerked him down to meet her lips. In his surprise at her initiative, Sands' grip loosened on her wrist and the towel came off just as the door opened.

Shit!


Why are you going? You were just there and the only advice your "boss" gave you was to "hang in there and watch your back." As if don't already know that.

There is no "we." There's me, and there's the figment of my imagination, which would be you.

Fine. But the original question still stands: What the hell are we doing?

I just need to talk to him, is that alright with you? I feel like I'm about to be set up.

Funny you should say that. What makes you think you're not being set up now? Carlos let you go too easily.

It wasn't followed. We both checked for that.

Maybe not physically, but what about electronically? Did you ever consider that?

Don't be ridiculous. Not even the CIA is that paranoid.

I'm not so sure about that. When was the last time you went to the dentist?

I –

Señora? Can I help you?

Tess looked up to see she was still on the ground floor of the apartment building on Arenas street. Her finger was on the "hold" button, and probably had been for some time.

Stop that, she commanded her other self. When her finger was removed, the doors slid shut, sparing her from having to say anything to the manager. She didn't like him. He was never clean.

The ride upstairs was blissfully short, and the hallway was mercifully empty. It was a little strange, true, but she could only imagine what the other agents were saying, and she wanted no awkward moments. She had enough of those while merely arguing with herself.

Moving with certainty, Tess walked up to Sands' door and opened it without knocking.

Breathe, you fucking psycho! Fucking breathe

Tess gasped, inhaling desperately. Shock had knocked her breath from her body, but as long as she'd remained inert, the picture refused to clarify. But air brought crystal clear images of the tableau before her.

Sands, naked, holding . . . kissing . . . a woman. Who wasn't her. Who was a streetwalker.

Breath.

Surprise from Sands. Perhaps even shock. But just embarrassment from his woman.

Oh dear, I thought you said she wouldn't be coming by for awhile.

The words broke Tess from her paralyzing horror. She bolted. There was a flurry of curses from the room, but she didn't stop. It hurt too much. Maybe she'd never stop.

"Tessa! Stop right now!"

Yeah, right, she thought frantically, heading towards the stairs and trying to ignore the doors along the hall that were opening and the heads that were poking out to witness her humiliation. Taking the elevator would mean waiting too long, and loosing time was unacceptable. Especially when she could hear footsteps gaining on her.

"Teresa!"

No! she silently screamed in response to the sharp command. No, no, no, no, no, no! Her hand reached for the door to the stairwell . . .

. . . it was heavier than she remembered and hard to lever open . . .

. . . a hand appeared over her shoulder and slammed the door shut. She was pinned in. Trapped. Unable to run from the emotions. She had to get out. Had to escape. Had to get away.

"Let me go." Tess was surprised at how controlled her voice was. She could practically see Sands' frown of disbelief.

"Niña – "

"I need to go. She slammed her elbow back. Sands must have been expecting something like that, because he arched backwards to avoid hurt. Tess dodged too, and managed to put a good five feet between them.

"Damnit, chica. Listen to me." The look on his face was that of frustration. She locked her eyes to it because her eyes had the disturbing urge to wander down his bare torso to the waistband of his jeans. He'd put them on so fast that the top button was undone.

"That's alright," she said emotionlessly. "I should have called. Or at least knocked."

"I wasn't doing anything!" he exploded. "That girl –"

"It doesn't matter." Tess did not want to hear about the girl whom she could see approaching down the hallway.

"The hell it doesn't." His voice was quickly going sardonic. "She obviously upset you."

Bastard. Shaking her hair back, Tess smoothly said, "I was embarrassed, not upset. We never claimed to have an exclusive –"

"That's bullshit," Sands calmly interrupted.

Tess ignored him, " – an exclusive relationship, Sands." It hurts, it hurts, it hurts . . . "If you need more, that's entirely your business." She could hear the elevator coming as if her desperation had summoned it. "I have things to do. Busy few days coming up, right?"

What's wrong, lover? The blond had caught up with them. If Tess had had a gun, she would have killed the bitch.

Who needs a gun? Use your hands. She's a threat. Kill her. Just do it. Wrap your fingers around her neck and strangle her. She deserves it. Do it.

Tess had taken a step forward before she realized it, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Sands must have read her intensions on her face, because he threw out an arm and pushed the blonde woman behind him. "Leave," he told the prostitute without taking his eyes from Tessa's face.

He's protecting her . . . Tessa's eyes burned with tears, but she at least didn't spill them. The blonde on the other hand, let her fall freely.

But my love, its not my fault the gazmoño doesn't know how to announce herself. Please don't make me leave.

The incriminating words were all Tess needed. He could feel her control snapping apart thread by delicate thread. "Fuck you, Sands."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Tess was halfway inside before she realized that the car had a passenger. It was Carlos.


Tess laid on her bed, staring at the wall; her eyes burned but she couldn't work up the energy to cry any more. It was growing dark outside. Too many hours to bear had gone by since she'd left the apartment. Her heart and her head were heavy. She was lethargic from too many tears. The locket was long gone, left on Arenas street outside Sands' building. It they got worried someone might call, but she didn't know if she would answer. All she'd known was that she hadn't wanted him to hear her cry.

No matter what she'd said, it felt as if Sands had betrayed her. And not just with that . . .

Slut? Bitch? Whore?

Whatever. Whatever the proper label, it hurt. But not as much as his other betrayal. Tess didn't even want to think about it, but the entire scene replayed in her head.

She could feel the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin chalky. Carlos! Here! Out of habit – it wasn't as if she could actually care anymore – she glanced at Sands. He'd half turned away, his hair was hanging down, shielding his face; the blonde was hanging off him, weeping. Sands did nothing to push her away, even though Tess was still right in front of him. The small part of her mind that was still thinking rationally screamed that Sands couldn't stand such emotional women and that he was using this one as a cover. But the knife in her heart twisted a little deeper and the pain whispered that this was the reason she wasn't enough. She was emotionally crippled and mentally disabled. Sands was fastidious. He'd want a whole woman who didn't need to lean on him for everything. Even in a relationship he needed his independence, and she simply needed him too much.

"Teresa?" Carlos pulled gently on her arm and spoke to her in a soft voice. "Are you alright?"

No. Not alright. Convicted, and conviction hurt like a bastard. She wasn't meant to be loved. Just manipulated. She'd been stupid to think otherwise. Better to stay away from love and men entirely.

I wonder where the nearest convent is? They would take me in. I could take a vow of silence and go quietly mad. More mad. It wouldn't be that bad.

"Tessa?" How long had she been staring at Sands? As long as he'd been avoiding looking at her. A fly buzzed, her watched ticked, the blonde cried softly.

"Take me home," she begged her cousin weakly. In her mind she saw her living room, complete with children and clutter. To Carlos it was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Please . . . I'm done here. Get me out."

"Is there something wrong?" The raised eyebrow and the glance towards the unhappy couple made it clear what he suspected. If it had been just Sands, perhaps she would have said something in her anger and hurt. But there were agents listening from behind closed doors, and there was the woman, and there was Tessa's pride. Striking out would just let Sands win. And if this was the last time they were to see each other face to face, she had no desire to loose. That and the agents here were innocent of their bosses' transgression. She wouldn't be responsible for any reprisal against them.

"I . . . I was tending their child," she said in a faint voice. "They didn't have enough money for the hospital. He . . . his fever spiked and I couldn't get it down fast enough. He seizured. There was nothing I could do."

He looked skeptical, but he didn't question her. "Loosing a patient drains you, doesn't it?"

"Yes. . . I'd like to leave."

"Alright, wait for me downstairs. I'll follow." Tess hesitated, not exactly trusting him, but if she didn't leave, he'd suspect that there was more to this than she was telling him.

After she'd left, Carlos offered his condolences to the grieving "parents." He knew of course, that the woman was a plant, and he admired the job she was doing, but the man . . . . He didn't trust a man who wouldn't raise his eyes, especially one who had to know he'd just been set up. Handing over a business card – the business was a front of course, and Carlos had to do his part to make this seem as if he hadn't planned it – he told Sands to call him if he and his "wife" needed any assistance. Then he held out his hand to shake.

Sands shook it, and while he kept his face down, his body turned so that his features were more visible. Carlos felt a tug at his memory, but he couldn't immediately say why the man in front of him looked so familiar. "Buenos tardes, señor. Señora."

"Gracias, señor Velasquez," the blonde gushed, kissing his hand. "Dios te bendiga."

"Y tú." Carlos left the floor, leaving the false couple behind him, and taking a great sense of satisfaction with him.

I'm always going to be alone, aren't I? she asked the voice.

Yes.

It wouldn't help if I got rid of you, would it?

You can't . . . but no. It wouldn't.

I could quiet you forever. It wouldn't take much. Just the contents of a few pill bottles and a bottle of red wine.

Silence.

I could. You'd like that. The children would be well provided and cared for. No one else would notice or care beyond what she could have done for them.

Perhaps. But you'd need to make a decision, and then you would need to move.

"Oh . . . right." That's too much work. Maybe tomorrow.

There was a knock on the door. Someone was coming to see her again. Maybe with food, maybe to see how she was or to ask what was wrong. Whatever they were here for, she'd turn them away just as she'd sent the other away. Company was the last thing she wanted right now.

But the door opened before she could tell her visitor to leave. The scent of cologne and cigar smoke was distinct – it was Carlos.

He looked down at the unmoving lump that was his woman and sighed. No one could be more delighted that his plan had worked – he'd seen Tessa's eyes and knew that'd be no reconciliation with her lover – but he did wish that it'd been a little easier on Tess. It was a pity that she was so miserable.

Not saying a thing, he came in and sat on the bed. For five minutes they sat there in silence.

"He was more than a patient, wasn't he, Teresa?" She didn't answer. "A lover? You wouldn't be the first to make a poor choice in that department. You didn't need to protect him or lie to save face."

"I don't want to talk about it," Tess mumbled, feeling her emotions stirring at his words. "Just leave me alone." He ignored her request.

"It hurts for me to see you in such pain, Teresa."

Leave and you wouldn't have to. His pain couldn't rival his in a thousand years. She wished he'd fuck off and leave her alone to die.

"Not all men are like that. I'm not like that."

Liar. "Stop it, Carlos."

"Look at me, Teresa. I like to see who I'm speaking to."

I don't want to talk to you. She didn't have a choice though, because Carlos reached out and turned her by force.

"I need you, Tessa, and not as my cousin. There's no blood shared between us. We'd make a handsome paring and a superb ruling couple. I don't want a wife like Uncle chose, or a woman like Neva. You're the perfect balance between the two."

She said nothing. Her voice offered no advice. The choice to stay or not was solely hers, and she was reluctant to make one. But one thought did occur and leave her mouth in quick succession. "I don't love you."

"A marriage doesn't need love. Just an understanding. We have that."

"Surely you expect heirs," she murmured, not knowing why she persuaded this, but not caring either.

"That may not be as difficult as you might think." His voice was low, and she supposed it was meant to be seductive, but she didn't care about this any more than she cared about anything else.

"How many others have there been?" he asked softly, leaning over her. "Including Tómas."

Tómas For the first time in a long while, Tess remembered that she was a widow. How young she'd been then. Young and scared. Now she was only scared.

"Teresa?" His fingers were running through a lock of her hair. Tess didn't like the feeling. It was different when Lena did it. Or René. Or Sands . . .

Sands. "Two. Tómas and . . . him."

"He looked familiar. Why was that, do you think?"

"I don't know." Oh god! What reports did he see from that day? What reports are still around? The cartel operation that had cost Sands his eyes had to have been recorded. There had to be a file around somewhere. She'd have to search. It could mean her life.

"Teresa, I want to kiss you. I've wanted to for months. Will you let me?"

How easily advantage is taken and incest is committed. This should be interesting.

Tess herself was too shocked to respond. How could he ask that after suspecting her heart had been broken? This was not a simple case of getting back on the horse.

He's just like all the rest. I knew it. I really did. What do I do?! There was no reply, just a feeling of being watched. I know you're there, shithead! Answer me!

Carlos must have taken her silence for acceptance, because suddenly his face filled her vision. She froze, not want this at all! But he didn't notice. Why would he? After all, Tess was no more important to him than an expensive statue he wanted, and twice as troublesome.

He got closer. The scent of tobacco became overwhelming. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Please no, please no, please no, please no.

Someone knocked on the door. Carlos' breath gusted across her cheek. "Ahh, querida. Be well."

The bed moved, but Tess didn't open her eyes until she head the door shut and perfect silence filled the room.

It was several more hours, and full dark, before she relaxed.


Sands felt like shit. He'd actually had to pay the blond slut to leave without assaulting his virtue. By then, it was much too late to do anything about Tessa except to plan a premature retreat to Cuidad. It was far enough out of the way of any fighting that his people should be safe there.

He was now sure that he'd been set up, and he was just as sure that he was the only target if that tidy sting operation. Velasquez was the missing piece and the one that had allowed Sands to figure out he'd been had. The man had gotten jealous, so he'd taken out the competition. He had no clue about the CIA camp on his doorstep.

Even though he'd helped out Sands, Carlos' arrival on the fifth floor had put practically the entire mission at risk. The possibility and preparation for a cartel hit had to be planned for before relationships could enter the picture. But that also meant that Tess needed to be pulled out now.

Before that could be done though, Sands needed to call in and talk to Colton - the director was technically in charge of the mission – and then the agents in Zacatecas and Mexico City, and then his team. And after all that was done, they needed to pack everything up and relocate. Barnaby estimated that they could be free and clear of Arenas street within the next twenty-four hours. They had more equipment than would fit in the few vans they'd kept, so they either needed to move things in shifts or rent vehicles. Even knowing this, Sands demanded they be gone in twelve hours, or he'd have someone's head. At least he hand another man to help her pack and relocate since Tess was so fucking stubborn and overly dramatic. She'd thrown away the locket – which was for her safety as much as it was for intelligence – making wiretap detail a moot point.

It wasn't until a quarter to one that morning – hours after he'd given serious thought to simply burning the building down, computers and all – that Sands was free to call Tess, and even then he had to keep it short because he had to check in with Strauss in another fifteen minutes.

He listened to the phone ring. It'd do Strauss a world of good to wait. The man is much too close to being a bureaucrat. His heart will never make it past fifty if he doesn't relax.

He listened to the phone ring. I need to cut my nails.

He listened to the phone ring. Where's a newspaper when you need one?

The phone rang enough times that Sands got shunted into Tessa's as yet unconfigured voicemail box. "Damnit," he muttered under his breath as he hung up and hit redial. Maybe she'd already been found out, or locked away for her audacity, or ­–

Or drugged up. That explanation was the likeliest. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get a grip. No use worrying over a mulish sheila. There's more where she came from. Of course, it was that fact that'd gotten him in so much trouble. Too many women.

Sands rolled his eyes as Tess again neglected to answer her phone.

Again he called her, this time checking his watch. If she didn't pick up this time, he was just going to go over there and get her. Who gave a damn what she wanted? She'd be taken to safety whether she liked it or not. And then he'd –

"What?"

The flat, sullen voice on the other end of the line didn't give him much hope that she could be reasoned with, but he tried anyway. "Niña –"

"My name is Teresa," she interrupted. "Not niña, not chiquita, not chica, or any of your other nicknames. I'd prefer it if we remained professional until the end of our association."

That pissed Sands off. Professional. Right. "It sounds to me like someone has a stick shoved up their ass," he drawled.

"Agent –"

"I heard you the first time, Doctor. However, I think that 'professionalism' can go straight to hell."

"You would," she muttered.

Sands ignored her. "After all, its hard to be politely distant when I can remember the way your breast felt in my –"

"Sands!" He could practically see the frown and the foot-stomp that went with her exclamation. "What did you want?"

"To talk to you." Now that he had her on the line, he wanted to piss her off for all she'd put him through.

"I'm hanging up. Don't call again."

"Why not?"

"You know why." To his surprise, she did hang up.

Irritated, he called her back. Again they played the game where she pretended to be out, but by his fourth try she must have been annoyed enough to answer again. "You've got thirty seconds."

"We're pulling out. Meet us at the Laundromat on 42nd street in Cuidad."

"Are you crazy?" she hissed. "They'll notice I'm gone."

"But you won't be going back. You'll be safe until we can ship you back to the states."

"I can't leave," she said too patiently. "There's two guards outside my door. Besides, I don't trust you."

That hurt more than it should have. But he would play along. Again. "You need me."

"You took care of that, didn't you?" she snapped.

"I didn't –"

"I don't want to talk about it!" There was a loud crash, and then static.

She broke the phone. The stubborn cat broke the damn phone! "Weyhauser!" The agent came running. "Put some rope and duct tape in the black car."

"What for? If you're not going to break my face for asking."

"I'm going after our civilian, smart ass. Now get." Without watching to make sure his orders were followed, Sands slammed his door and changed into some dark clothes. He didn't want to be see, not even by Tess, until it was too late for her to resist.


Quotes: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Secret Window

Author's Thanks: thanks firstly to velly (I am updating twice in the same month, and that's very close together for me. I hope the tension got kicked up another notch or ten here. You'll have to tell me what you think.); Dreamgirl21147 (Wow, you were really involved with reading the last chapter. I hope that this one was just as enthralling, if not more.); normal human being (You're going to have more issues before the story is done. You're going to have lots and lots of them. And they're just starting. evil grin And I am very glad you can't get anywhere near me with that crowbar. shudders); LadySparrowJack (Were the pins and needles worth it? I certainly hope so, because I'm loving this chapter! And the next! And all of them! I thank you for your compliments, I certainly hope I live up to them, and I more than hope to hear from you again. Oh, and I'm also happy you're loving Fractured Secrets. At the moment that's kinda my toddler. This is my adolescent. I've got a baby coming. I'm just very happy. ); Raven (Yes, the DVD is always a good thing. Personally, I thought there were a few more DVD Sands moments in this chapter than there have been in a long time. Carlos…he's starting to creep me out. I actually kinda like Neva. She's very straight forward. She rarely surprises me, and that's always nice. Tess…I've got plans for her. You're certainly right about how her current position is killing her, and you've got some points about her family, but there's no way she'd ever give them up. What she needs is a helper. Now if I can only make these two sit down and hash things out.); Merrie (yes, lets blame Halia. She'll never know. devilish look Sorry for the lack of smut. I suppose we'll have to write some elsewhere.); Shannon (I like ending things on a cliffhanger, that's how I could end it like that. As for what you're going to do with your life when this is done? Read my next stories? I've got one and a half planned. the one is a From Hell fic, and the half is a PotC I didn't even notice that there was a lack of Sands in the last chapter. Man. I need to start paying attention. I certainly hope there was enough Sands in this one. There's going to be a lot of POV changes next chapter, but after that I think we'll have Tess and SJ side by side again, if not really speaking to each other.); Isola (I'm very glad to hear from you. You're one of my oldest reviewers now. The others have abandoned me! sobs Oh well, I've lots of lovely other ones to make it up. I certainly hope I can write a conclusion that satisfies everyone for the time being. I might have to write another somewhere down the road.)