Author's Note: This is not my fault. I did not mean for the chapter to get this stinkin' long. But there was so much I had to pack into it, and so little that I could cut because it wasn't important or two well-crafted to be sent to digital oblivion. So, I hope everyone enjoys the angsty goodness, and writes me a really long review in reply. At this time, I am accepting angry rants, so please send. ; )
Tess couldn't go back to sleep after Sands' call. True, she'd gotten a bit of vindictive pleasure from smashing the cell phone, but it faded quickly and left her feeling bitter. SO what if he thought she was in danger? He hadn't cared months ago, and he obviously hadn't considered she was in danger if she'd gone so far as to connect herself to him.
I'll search for that file and destroy it if I have to. If it's not around, then he isn't in danger of being discovered, and if he's not in danger, then I'm not either. So I'll just make it disappear.
Won't that look suspicious?
She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. It's a closed case as far as anyone here is concerned, and one over a year old at that. Neither Carlos or Neva ever saw him, so I'll only burn the file if it has a picture in it.
I still say you're being an idiot.
But you're not going to stop me?
Knock yourself out.
Carefully and quietly, she changed into darker clothes and went downstairs.
Carlos looked over all the information Neva had been able to gather. "So for the past year, Teresa has been living in New York state with four children, and teaching at a community college?"
"A job from which she went on sabbatical in January, before boarding a plane for San Antonio. Where we found her," Neva said dryly. "Doesn't that sound just a bit suspicious?"
"Yes," Carlos admitted. This was not looking good for Tessa.
"There's more. One of our men back at the main compound found a family that confirmed that a woman matching Tessa's description stayed in a house near the governor's mansion. And she had a stranger with her. A gringo wearing sunglasses and who had copious amounts of blood on his face. They paid it no mind, thinking it was simply a costume for the holiday, but they also said that he moved like a pistolero, so it's possible that Tessa's guest was more than a simply reveler that had gotten a little to carried away."
"A gun man? With blood on his face?"
"Mmm-hmm. Shortly after, she went to the US, and visited a friend who was experimenting with ocular transplantation. Word is that his first patient was a US citizen, rescued from Mexico."
"What was the name of that street?" Carlos asked, suddenly animated. "The one with the apartment."
"Arenas."
"Arenas . . . Sands."
Neva looked at him incredulously. "You think he lived? After what Guevara did to him?" Everyone in the cartel's upper echelon had gotten the intelligence reports on the CIA agent who was trying to mess in their business, even those who wouldn't be in the fighting. When Carlos looked at her and left the room, she fell into step beside him.
"That's what I intend to ask her," he said grimly as they headed to Tessa's room.
"Wait. Just as much as I'd love to quiz Teresa, let's find his file first."
"File?" Carlos paused.
"You know Uncle always kept very good records. There's got to be one on our agent Sands, along with a surveillance photo or two. The file is probably in my office."
The siblings changed directions. Reaching Neva's office, they opened the door to find a light on and a shadowy figure in the corner.
Puzzled as to who would be brave enough to burgle his house and filled with a sense of foreboding, Carlos reached over and turned the overhead light on. To his not so great surprise and extreme disappointment, it was indeed Tess who twirled around, hands flying behind her back to hide whatever papers she'd taken.
"Neva, please wait outside while I speak to Teresa." The request was obeyed without protest, and the door shut, leaving the man and woman to watch each other over the desk.
"What's wrong, Teresa?" She stared at him with a doe-in-the-headlights expression on her face. Needless to say, she didn't answer. "I suppose you were just looking for a little light reading." As he moved around the desk to reach her, Tessa started to move away. "Stay where you are!" he snapped, frowning at her.
Tess didn't know what to think or do. A very incriminating folder was in her hands, and she didn't have a way out of the room or a handy lie.
Carlos stopped in front of her. "Give me the papers, Teresa." She hesitated, and his frown grew deeper. "You're already in trouble. Don't make me increase your punishment." Still Tess didn't move. "You'll never make it out of here with it."
"You-you could t-turn your back," she stammered. "I'll put it back."
Her backhanded her across the right cheekbone. The folder dropped at her feet as she stumbled backwards, but Carlos made no move to pick it up. "Give me the folder, Teresa."
He was trying to break her. She knew that. She knew he wouldn't stop until she obeyed Foolishly, she shook her head.
The next blow was a fist to her temple. Tess gasped and dropped as her vision went black and her ears rang, but still her defiance burned. "I won't." The two words were filled with pain, but not enough to satisfy Carlos.
He grabbed her arms in a vice-like grip and hauled her to her feet. In anger, he slapped her harshly across the face three times, a large ring drawing blood twice; once on her cheek, once on her lip. When he let go, she dropped like a sack of potatoes.
"Are you going to cooperate now?"
Tess stubbornly shook her head. This time Carlos picked up the folder himself, and while Tess was dazed, she realized what that meant. . . She was going to be very, very sore, very soon.
Or dead.
Carlos read the label aloud for her benefit.
"Sands, Sheldon J.
CIA
Threat Level: 2"
Tess waited for the gunshot, but it never came. Glancing up, she saw Carlos was leafing through the pages. He was looking for something, she realized with a chill. As she watched, he found the photos and confirmed that Tessa's former lover was the supposedly dead agent.
Setting the folder down on the desk, Carlos went to the office door. Neva was waiting there expectantly. 'It's him. He must not have learned his lesson last time, because his only reason to be here would be to interfere with our plans. Go back to the apartment complex, kill whoever is with him, but bring him back. I want him alive."
"And Tess?"
"She'll be moving downstairs. I'll deal with her in the morning."
Tess was not in her room.
She's making this harder than it needs to be. The brat.
Prowling softly with one hand hovering over the gun at his hip, Sands searched for his recalcitrant civilian. He'd taken a stupidly large risk in coming here, and he ought to leave. In fact, I'm going to if she doesn't let herself be found in the next five minutes. Better one neck risked than two. Still, it disturbed him that he was here in the first place. It was totally out of character.
Perhaps I should just hope that this makes me unpredictable, he grumbled to himself as he searched for some sign of where she'd disappeared to. There wasn't much to go on other than an open book on her bed, and a slip of paper next to that. I wonder what she's been reading . . . Curiosity, as usual, got the better of him, and he picked up the book.
You are jealous, maiden,/you are jealous of one who is/lucky, because you seek him,/blind, because he does not see you,/ungrateful, because he angers you/and presumptuous, because/he does not excuse himself today/for what he did yesterday.
Sands rolled his eyes. She's complaining. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he turned his attention to the opposite page.
To turn your face and from clear proofs of deceit,/to drink poison and if it were a soothing liquor,/to disregard gain and delight in being injured.
To believe that heaven can lie in hell;/to devote your life and soul to being disillusioned;/this is love; whoever has tasted it, knows.
That was one that Sands decided would be better pondered far away from here, and hopefully with a beer. Or a lot of beers. Was Tess just reading and mocking these people with the bitterness he'd heard? Or did this have a deeper significance?
Never mind, I don't want to know. I really don't. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper acting as a bookmark. It had writing on both sides, and he had to squint to read it in the dim light.
There was nothing on the first side, so turned the paper over. The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on.
Just then, he heard footsteps moving down the corridor outside Tessa's room. They sounded much to heavy to be Tessa's. It's almost four in the morning! What the hell is someone doing wandering around? The footsteps decided him, however. It was entirely possible that Tess would still make the rendezvous on her own, and in the meantime, he was pointlessly risking life and limb.
Swiftly he moved to the French doors at the back of the room, and climbed out on the balcony railing, keeping as low as he could. There were three guards on the patio below him, discussing something under their breath. Sands cursed them as his biceps cramped painfully from his awkward position. Move! If they hadn't had rifles slung over their shoulders, he might have risked the slight rustle his landing would have made. But they were there, and they did have guns, so he stayed put.
It was a good ten minutes, and Sands had sweated through his undershirt, before the conference ended. I hope they put an end to world hunger or something, he snarked, his eyes raking for any other movement that might indicate that another guard might be coming around on patrol. There was nothing. With a sigh of relief, Sands let go of the railing and dropped the few feet to the ground.
After landing, he stayed put for a few seconds as his body took the time to remind him that he was closer to forty than thirty, and that he was getting on in years for a field agent. He ignored the message and wiped his hands on his jeans before walking through the barrow passage that existed between a line of tall, flowering shrubs and the wall. His car was parked two miles from the hacienda – one mile from the first security checkpoint. Calculating things in his head, Sands decided he could start jogging slowly once he was off the grounds. It irritated him that he had to go so slow when before he could have simply run, but his eyes just weren't what they used to be, and even contacts couldn't correct his vision that much in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere.
That bit of sarcasm got him to a section of the main gate that had a small grove of trees grown right up to it. With the help of a few well-placed braches, Sands scaled the wall and dropped to the ground on the other side.
An owl hooted somewhere, enforcing the fact that he was crouched in a patch of shrub and skinny trees that could barely be considered adequate cover, and he immediately kicked himself into a steady jog while his thoughts turned to watching for holes and braches that might trip him up.
A half an hour later, Sands was cautiously approaching the small gully where he'd left his car. All was silent and dark, but that was no reason to recklessly go charging in. The only cover was some thick, prickly bushes that made him want to sneeze, but he made the most of it anyway. If the car had been found. . .
Crawling on his belly, he worked his way over to a medium-sized boulder. He moved into a crouch to wait.
Ten minutes passed . . . the euphoria of field work was starting to wear off.
Thirty . . . Tess had been so very shocked. He wondered how much persuasion it'd take just to get her to talk to him again.
Forty-five . . . Forget this. I'm going in. As he rose though, his prospective changed and he saw the faint glow of a pen light in the driver's seat.
Shit. It was very doubtful that Tess was holding that light. But it was possible. Improbable, but possible. Fuck. Which is it? His legs complained about the half-crouch, and his fingers brushed against the butt of his gun. Fuck.
Deciding he didn't really have a choice, Sands scuttled over to the truck, took a breath, realized no one was shooting at him, then ran while half bent over to kneel just underneath the driver's window.
One. Two. Thr– He ripped the door open, gun drawn and aimed. It must have looked pretty dramatic, but unfortunately, there was no one in the car to be impressed. There was just a solitary penlight resting on the dashboard.
It was a trap.
Fuck! Sands stood to leave the scene with all due haste, saw a moving reflection in the car window, spun . . . and grimaced as something hard impacted against the side of his head and everything went dark.
Neva looked down at the fallen agent, somewhat disappointed. True, he'd gone for so long without notice . . . but that had been anticlimactic. Just too damn easy.
Disgraceful.
With a nod to the three men she had with her, she snapped, "Tráigalo."
Bring him.
Harsh overhead lights turned on suddenly, causing Tess to instinctively recoil, but that was the extent of her reaction. The light had flashed once too often for her to take it as a serious indication that someone was actually coming in. And if someone was coming in to visit her, she didn't give a damn.
Wake up. You probably have a concussion.
"I-I don't remember . . . remember hitting my. . . ."
Head?
Tess head the unhappy and unwilling concern in the voice's . . . voice. For a moment she laughed hysterically at that thought.
Stop it, Teresa Adame! Get a hold of yourself or we're both going to die!
"How bad would that be? Honestly? No one to disturb or hurt us – Oww!" She looked down at her arm where she was sporting a new welt.
Oh god, oh god, oh god! Don't do that. Please. The fact that her body was acting without her permission was the scariest thing she'd ever experienced.
Well, if you'd get off your sorry ass and do something, I wouldn't have to.
How long have we been here? Tess asked as she struggled to her feet. She had to use the wall to help her up because her legs had the dismaying tendency to fold under her.
Less than twenty hours and more than eight. I think.
Blood rushed from her head and then back once she was fully upright. Pain exploded just to the side of her head, and she automatically reached for it. The moment her fingertips touched the lump, she cried out and pressed her forehead to the wall; the pain did clear some. She realized the wall was cold, that she had a headache, that the cut on her lip burned. . . .
When the pain receded, she risked a glance around the small room. It was all cement, about 12x12 feet square, and lit by a single light bulb.
I . . . I think I remember being thrown in here. And hitting my head.
Well, congratulations, Einstein. Now get us out of here.
How? There were no windows, the walls – if they were anything like the cells in Culíacan – were at least two feet thick and enforced with steel rods, and the door was six inches of steel. The room was meant to hold hostages, spies, and traitors that were going to be tortured.
Oh god, please no. I won't be able to take it. I'll have an episode. I'll be defenseless.
Then don't resist. They already know about the asshole, thanks to you, so they probably know he's sneaking around again.
And what's your point? Tess thought in a state of near hysteria. She'd unconsciously sunk down until her forehead rested against her knees, and her knees were hugged to her chest.
Tell. They know. They asshole probably has all sorts of plans for getting away if you were caught. He'd probably expect you to tell, especially since you caught him with the bimbo. So save yourself needless pain.
The lights turned off, but Tess didn't notice. Cold air rushed through a vent high in a corner, and she didn't notice. All she did was sit and think, and argue with her ever stronger voice.
She must have dozed off at some point, because she could faintly remember thinking about that last time she'd seen Carlos as a child, and the next, there was a sharp pain in her ankle. Crying out, she tried to escape and discovered several things: the lights were on and they burned her light-sensitive eyes, she couldn't thrash well because her arms were pinned behind her, and someone was using that to hold her off the floor in a half-kneeling position. But the terrible fear of being trapped by an unknown overrode the pain, so she didn't stop; she just poured more strength into her struggles.
Hands – those were hands on her wrists! – tightened controllingly. "Stop it, Tessa. This is becoming tiresome."
Sands! She tried even harder to get free. Why is he here? Why is he hurting me?
"I don't understand," she nearly sobbed in her pain, fright, and confusion. "Why are you doing this?"
"Just relax, niña, and it'll be over soon. I promise. All your troubles will be over."
"Her hands were going numb. It hurt. She all hurt, all over. "Please, you're hurting me," she begged, at the same time watching herself say the same thing to him in the past. He was lying on a bed, sightless and naked to the waist, threatening to break her wrist if she didn't answer his questions. "You're hurting me."
"Just stop struggling. I promise that death doesn't hurt. I'm sure you have a poem for that. Tell it to me so I can remember." She sobbed, and he shook her, making her shoulder scream. "I don't hear you talking, querida."
"And there are corpses," she gasped. "There are corpses,/feet made of cold and sticky clay,/death is inside the bones,/like a barking where there are no dogs,/coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,/growing in the damp air like tears of rain." Then as she realized what she'd said, Tess panicked and threw herself forward . . .
-SNAP!-
. . . and screamed as she felt a bone in her ankle break. All the fight went out of her in that moment, and she collapsed. Her body pulled painfully at her the sockets of her arms, but it was nothing when compared to the icy-hot needles shooting into her ankles.
"It hurts . . . make it go away," Tess begged her other side, forgetting she wasn't alone. But she cared only for relief.
Merciful blackness came down and Tess passed out.
Sands woke up with a very large headache in a room not so far from Tessa's. Not that he knew anything beyond the fact that he was in a concrete room, and could guess anything beyond the likely conclusion that he was the guest of Velasquez. It was also a good guess that Tess – since he hadn't found her – was probably dead or dying, although it was possible that in light of his supposed treachery, that she was taking comfort from her cousin's arms. He didn't think there would be anything sexual to it – Tess had her own reasons and mental prompts for doing things – but he wouldn't presume to know. And if the thought of her gazing trustingly up from beneath another man made him feel . . . uneasy . . . then that was just his reaction to once again being knocked unconscious and then waking up in an enemy stronghold.
"At least I've got a better view," he muttered, turning in a 360º to survey each grey wall. If he wasn't dead already, then it would probably be torture and a belated death. His even being in Mexico could be considered a vendetta – which it was – and the fact that he had a working pair of eyes was a challenge. And it was unlikely that the threat of marines up the wazoo was going to work any better this time than it had a year ago.
He winced at that cheery thought, and habitually checked his pockets for a cigarette and his lighter. To his surprise, both were there. Lighting up, he started to restlessly pace the confines of the small room, growing uncharacteristically philosophical as he did so.
He'd heard profs at Langley that swore that if you were tortured once – and lived to tell about it – then there was nothing to fear if it happened again. Sands knew that was a load of bullshit. Let those ex-marine bastards teach whatever they wanted – it was all government propaganda to sucker in wannabe's anyway. After all, the chance of a good spook being caught once, much less twice, was negligible. He had not idea what that said about him, since he was everything the big bosses liked to see: selfish, self-serving, a little off balance, and a damn good agent besides. What he did know was if they started up with thumbscrews and boiling oil, he'd eventually break down. Even worse, he remembered the pain of having his eyes ripped out. It wasn't the sort of thing one tended to forget. If he had to go through that again, he'd go insane and end up scrambling his own brains if someone didn't do it for him first.
Dropping the butt of his first cigarette, he reached for another – luckily the pack had been nearly full – and lit up. Escape? No, that was more than highly unlikely. Velasquez had learned from too many of Barillo's mistakes to get sloppy now. Rescue – unless it came from the "professional" Tess – was out of the question. He hoped to god his team wasn't so stupid as to try to come get him. Could they sneak? Sure. Lurk? Hell yes. Eavesdrop? Whenever there was a chance. But they were spooks, not the Rough Riders charging up San Pedro hill, or whatever the hell it'd been.
See what sentimentality and responsibility get you? he silently grumbled. A hand-chosen nightmare from Lady-fucking-Luck herself. Damnit. He ran his hand through his hair. See what women bring you to?
Of course, that thought made him think of what Tess would say if he'd heard that particular rant. I think I'll write on my tombstone, "Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he's bloody annoyed." His lips quirked. Fine, so she's not just a pain in the ass, and I'm just a fucking fool.
His second cigarette burned down to the stub, and he stifled the urge to reach for another. It might be days before anyone deigned to see him. No point in breezing through these.
The pacing however, didn't stop.
She was sitting up. The chair was uncomfortable; it was hard and the topmost rung dug into her lower back. It didn't help that she was slumped awkwardly over the table either.
Get up. Something isn't right here.
"I'm not laying down," she mumbled. Was it cold in here, or just her?
That would be shock, and stop talking out loud. You don't know what's going on. Pick up your head and use your eyes.
Groaning, Tess lifted her head. On top of aching, her neck and shoulders were now stiff, not to mention that he hair was in her face, blocking her sight.
They know you're awake. You have to know what's going on! Hurry!
It took more effort than it should have, but she finally managed to get her arm to raise. Slowly, slowly, she reached to brush her hair out of her face. . . .
. . . her arm stopped shot just inches off the table. Tess could feel a wide band around her wrist, keeping her from it moving much at all.
"No. Please, no," she whispered, nightmarish flashes of memory replaying in her head. Restraints, doctors, needles, loneliness – so lonely – and fear. Out of control. Defenseless. Insane. Heart-pounding, ears-ringing, lungs-heaving . . . reality.
Calm down. Over the paralyzing terror, Tess felt the memories being pushed back and down into what she called the "seamy underbelly" of her mind. It was where the voices of her anger, terror, and her stark madness lived. As the memories faded, the weight on her chest eased up. Able to once again breathe, her panic died down and she was able to try to toss her hair back. The tangled mass only shifted enough for her to see the door open.
Sands! Tess tensed as memory made her ankle start throbbing again. It'd settled into a dull throb, but now it was enough to make her grind her teeth – if she hadn't been doing so to keep her mouth shut.
"Well . . . it's good to see that you're awake, chica. I was afraid that you were in shock." Hands came towards her face and she jerked away. She'd been hurt too many times to unthinkingly submit. He might start gentle – they all did – but then it would hurt.
"Sit still." It was an order, not a request, but Tess still had to force herself to obey. Trembling, she held herself still as he once against reached towards her face.
She had to admit that he was gentle, but that didn't mean she was prepared to let her guard down. That was what had led to this in the first place. Sands had gotten too close, and now he was hurting her. It only she knew what she'd done to deserve it.
"Why?" she croaked, focusing her eyes on the far wall. Some small bit of defiance that had never been beaten out of her refused to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. Not when that sight was a gift she'd made possible. "Why are you –"
"Showing a traitor mercy?" A body moved across her field of vision, and she turned her head. Her neck twinged.
"You call this mercy?" she asked with more than a little bitterness. "My father showed me more mercy, and he couldn't have cared less if I had died."
"And just what did that earn him?" that silky voice asked back. "Years of aggravation, a rebellious daughter who worked against him. His way obviously didn't work, prima."
Prima?
"And since the usual sentence for betrayal is death –"
Not Sands?
" – I suppose I'm being very kind indeed."
Carlos? Tess hated how relived she felt, but there was nothing she could do to squash it. "Why . . . why haven't . . . ?" Her throat was too dry to continue.
"Why are you still alive?" The table moved slightly as he sat down on the edge. "You can't fight me anymore, querida. After your involvement with that CIA agent – the one responsible for the death of your familia! – I see just how strong-willed you have become. Perhaps Uncle ignored the warning signs, if he had paid more attention to you. . . . But his inattention encouraged you, didn't it? No matter. I will not have it." He grabbed her chin none-to-gently and forced her to look at him. "Do you hear me? You shame you name and mine by consorting with the enemy. You degraded yourself by sharing his bed and spreading your legs for him. You have endangered a very important business deal, and put yourself at risk. My future wife will not embarrass me in this manner."
Wife? "Wh-what did you say?" she stuttered, trying to pull away from his touch. In return, his fingers tightened, bruising in their intensity as she set her will against his. There were too many aches and pains taking their toll on her endurance for her to continue the small defiance for long, though. The moment she once again relaxed, his fingers once again became gentle as he rewarded her with a soft stroke for her abused cheek. It made her skin crawl.
"It's me or the firing squad, querida. But whatever you choose, this defiance of yours will stop.
There really wasn't much she could say to that, except the first thought that came to mind. "Cogida apagado."
He didn't slap her a she'd been expecting. Instead, he looked over her shoulder.
Not good! The internal scream was deafening, Tess tensed just as the man that'd been in the corner stepped forward and brought a whip-like cane down across her shoulder blades.
Tess screamed as the line of impact first went numb, then fiery. She glared up at Carlos, the dangerous side of her temper showing through. With her rational self shunted to the side, she pursed her lips and spat in his direction. The glop of spit landed on his cheek more by accident than design, but she got a savage delight out of it all the same.
Carlos nodded, wiped his cheek with a handkerchief, and stood. "Until she asks to speak to me," he said to the man, "she's yours for five minutes every hour. Starting now."
According to Sands' watch, he'd been awake and pacing for three hours, when he heard someone messing with the latch to the door. He stopped his restless pacing as the tingling energy he associated with confrontation and matching wits filled his veins. It wasn't healthy, but he still enjoyed the adrenaline rush. It led him to do things like intentionally insulting a mean Mexican twice his size, dredging a Mariachi's worst memories, or stubbornly staying alive just to piss off people who'd already beaten him. It was stupid and damn hazardous, but he figured it was pointless to give it up now.
Velasquez entered the room just as Sands had taken up a nonchalant pose against the far wall. For the first time, both kings in this chess game can face to face, and neither was willing to give an inch. Sands had to fight to keep from glaring at Tessa's cousin. In this game, feelings were a weakness. So he watched as the armed man who tried to enter behind Velasquez was denied entrance by the drug lord. It made sense. In this initial meeting, there would be no violence. Just words. They'd bait each other, test for strengths, sore spots, and potential weaknesses.
Sands was more than familiar with the way the game was played. He'd been playing it for so long that sometimes it felt like he'd invented it. Certainly he'd been playing long enough that it was Velasquez's move first.
Com'on, you bastard. I'm ready.
Carlos, however, was a patient enough man to wait a but longer. It was his favorite opening gambit. When the enemy expected a direct and immediate attack, nothing was more frustrating and uncertain that silence. After spending several long hours pouring over the file Tess had betrayed herself with, he was fairly certain that he'd never know if the agent reacted the way most men did, but it was worth the feeling of control it gave him even if it didn't. Let this interloping gringo stew a little bit longer in his damned curiosity. Let him wait a little bit longer to discover whether or not he'd live through the meeting. Let him wonder a little longer what had happened to Teresa.
This room – much like the one Tess was in – had a table and a pair of chairs. Carlos moved over to the table and set down the few things he'd brought in with him; the folder of intelligence on the agent, a few bugs Neva had found after a sweep of Tessa's room, a pill bottle that hadn't been on his cousin's meticulous list of inventory, and a scrap of paper that had crayon scribbles on it.
After carefully setting each item in a row, Carlos took a seat and gestured towards the one across from him. "Siéntele."
Sands pulled out a cigarette and his lighter in response, blowing a small cloud of smoke in Carlos' direction, declining the invitation for a seat.
"You're very relaxed for a wanted man, señor Sands. Especially when you are my guest, and not vice versa."
He shrugged, took a drag on his cigarette, and murmured off-handedly, "Que sera, sera."
"Strange words coming from you, I think. Are we both not men who invent history, not merely exist in it? You are no more able to sit on the sidelines of the game than I am."
"And what game are we playing, Velasquez? Twenty questions?"
Carlos shrugged and pulled out a cigarillo. "If you wish."
Spreading his arms in a gesture of self-revelation, Sands said, "Ask away then."
The real issue was Tess – and they both knew it – but finding out a little more from this man would be a good idea too. "These are yours?" Carlos asked, waving his hand over the electronic monitoring devices.
"No. Much too pricey for personal use. Those are the property of good ol' Uncle Sam." Sands infused his answer with a healthy dose of sarcasm. The same "good ol' Uncle Sam" who'd better be paying for my fucking funeral. And not some cheap cremation either.
Carlos raised his eyebrows. "I take it you're not too enthused with your employer then."
There was a longsuffering sigh and a headshake from the agent. "That's not a question, hombre. I'm afraid I have to leave you to draw your own conclusions." And would you be happy if this were the second time you'd been captured by the enemy while on the job. So to speak. Not that he had been either time. The nagging suspicion that he wouldn't get caught if he simply did as he was ordered was annoying.
"Alright, then how about: Would you be kind enough to tell me if Teresa knew about them?"
"You'd have to ask her. I honestly have no idea what la niña thinks she knows. Or thinks she doesn't know for that matter." It wasn't a total lie. He never really knew what Tess was thinking. "After all, she's certain I just cheated on her with a five dollar whore, and she thinks that it doesn't matter to her. And I think we both know the truth about that one, don't we, Carl?"
The barb dug in just as Sands had intended it to, and Carlos asked the question he'd been anticipating. "Were you using her?"
Sands heard in Carlos' voice the rampant jealousy held in check. It amused him. Never in a thousand years would Tess give in to her cousin. He'd spent a bit of time thinking about that, then decided that Tessa's inflexibility when it came to her view of the world would kill any romantic notions Carlos held. Their supposed cousin-hood was an obstacle she'd held for too long to give up now. Or ever.
But the possibility of serious mind games was too good to pass up.
"Hmm . . . 'using.' Such a relative term, really. I suppose I could be using her for all sorts of things. But I don't think I am. I think that a better term might be 'emotional and physical blackmail.' It has such a nice ring to it. Although, you'd better check with my boss just to be on the safe side, since he's the one that wanted her here. He had the crazy idea that she might have an easier time getting inside than one of us would. Go figure."
"What kind of blackmail?"
What's this? Carlos' tone had taken on the slight timber of a man looking for a way out of a mess of his own making. That made Sands very uneasy, because it made him that that the drug lord was looking for a way to take blame off Tess for something. What had the twit done now?
"¡Agente!" Carlos slammed his hands down on the table. "Forget this nonsense. Teresa will soon answer any questions I wish to ask without playing moronic games. Tell me what this is!" He jabbed a finger at the scrap of paper that could have been anything the young artist had wished. Several times over.
"No se, but it looks like crayon to me." Sands dropped his cigarette butt and snubbed it out with his toe.
"Who made it?"
"I have no idea." Besides being the truth, it was probably what Tess would have wanted him to say. Of course the kid – Marcos – deserved better than to have his small family become international pawns. And for someone who wasn't quite a real person yet, he was okay.
"This is not something her child made?" Carlos demanded. He didn't like the idea that she'd had another man's – possibly this man's – child, but if she had, he needed to know about it. The child would still be young enough to be indoctrinated, and would also be a powerful tool to help . . . convince Tessa when need be.
"To my knowledge, she's never been pregnant," Sands drawled.
"And you, where did she meet you and why would she help you?"
"Well, I can't recall where I was, really. Being blind with pain at the time, not to mention I'd just had my eyes scrambling in their fucking sockets. . . ." Sands controlled himself. He'd let himself be baited and it couldn't happen again. Pretending a yawn to cover his misstep, he continued, "As for taking me under her rather impersonal wing, I believe she did it out of all the . . . strong emotions . . . in her heart." Hate. It was a strong emotion.
"And you are lovers."
"Uhn-uh, Carl," Sands tisked. "That's a statement. You're running out of questions."
Carlos made a visible effort to calm himself. Damn, Sands thought. Must have realized how much I was leading him on.
The other man lit snubbed out what was left of his cigarillo and leaned back in his chair. Several minutes went by before he asked another question. "How long? And don't pretend to 'no comprendo,' because Tess already confirmed that you were."
"How long?" Sands actually had to think back and count. "Four months. Off and on."
"Does she love you?"
What the hell? Just how personal was this going to get? Did he also want dates and how many times? However, Carlos was waiting for an answer, and he was the one who ultimately controlled what happened to Sands, so the agent had to answer.
"No. She doesn't love me." She's not that big a fool.
"What about you?"
"Oh, let me assure you, I love myself a great deal."
Carlos' face went stony. "If I get no information, then you are of no use to me, and I'll leave you here to stave to death. It isn't pleasant, I assure you. Even the strongest men break when their stomach becomes the size of a grape and starts devouring itself."
It was an ugly and crude threat, but it got the point across. Even so, Sands couldn't help but push the envelope a little farther. It was what he did in response to threats. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little bit more specific, Velasquez. 'About me' tends to fill a great deal of my mind at any given moment. Especially this given moment."
"Do you . . . love her?" The words hissed between Carlos' teeth.
Sands shrugged. "No se. Your cousin is a difficult woman to love simply because she's decided that love isn't worth the risk. Men are all scumbags, and professions of love or not, they're going to hurt her. A notion you've done nothing to disabuse her of when you sent that slut to visit me." Sands glanced at the door – it sounded as if someone was outside. "You'll never make her love you. And the more you try to bend or break her, the more hidden her rebellion will become. I know her type."
The door opened and Neva stuck her head in. Sands would have liked to put a bullet between her eyes, but that was unlikely. So he simply flipped her off and lit another cigarette.
Neva glared at him, then turned her attention to Carlos. "She just asked for you. She wants to talk."
Carlos stood and straightened his suit jacket. "We'll see, agent Sands, who will be broken and who will not."
The door slammed shut and Sands got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Tess had to admit that Carlos' man knew what he was doing. By now she could look at things from a completely impassive standpoint. Her body had started to scream with pain hours ago, so she'd gladly retreated into her mind. The blows, welts, and throat-tearing screams of several hours before had been pushed back by cool detachment. She still felt her body jerk, and her hands clench, and her mouth open, nit she wasn't a part of it.
After the first two hours of resistance and cruelly thorough beatings, Tess had taken refuge in the one place left available to her – her mind. The voice had welcomed her, shielding her from the physical pain. There was nothing it could do to calm the spiritual hurt of so many betrayals, but it could soothe and offer what could be – if Tess wished – a more than temporary refuge.
It was so tempting. She'd been away from her new-founded life for too long; it had no weight to anchor her with anymore. Letters from home just weren't enough. The one man she'd trusted enough – and a hard trust it was! – to help her had turned away from her (although that part at least was understandable), and any life she had in Mexico would always be under her cousin's malicious shadow.
Better to give up, they all whispered to her. Stay with us. We need you to be a full chorus. Come play. Come forget.
If they had yelled, if they had demanded; if they had cried, or cursed, or raged, or begged, she could have ignored them. A lifetime of resisting would be behind her to bolster her fading will. But they whispered. They spoke with the same alluring voice, offering succor from all that hurt her. Resistance if futile,they said. All shall fade. Come, come, come.
So it was in a strange way that the pain saved her from giving in entirely. It penetrated too deeply into her defenses, burrowing into her consciousness like an aching tooth. It irritated like a continual case of creepy-crawlies. There was simply no way she could rest until it went away.
How do I make it stop? It was a childlike question asked in childlike bewilderment. What did I do? How can I make it stop? You know. Tell me. I just want rest.
Sleepy, hissed a voice that was seldom heard. I reached for sleep and drew it round me like a blanket muffling pain and thought together in the merciful dark.
Yes, Tess agreed. So tired. Make them stop, Voice.
The man just came in. The information was broken gently, as it had been before every beating. As if She were trying to be caring. Ask for Carlos. You have to talk to him for it all to stop. And then you can come to us. But first you have to talk to Carlos. Say that right now.
I want to talk to Carlos.
You have to say it out loud. This time She sounded a little less caring.
"I . . . I want to talk to Carlos." Tessa's voice was a hoarse croak, but she was understandable.
No beating came. She waited an nothing happened. What now? What's happening?
He went to get Carlos. Just relax. I'll handle this part.
Won't he know? Tess fretted. Won't we get in trouble?
Let me worry about that, Teresa. Just stay still. I'll take care of all of it.
Alright For the first time in her life, Tess willingly handed over her control and was content to take a backseat view through her own eyes. It was hard to stay focused though. There were so many Others to pay attention to. Sometimes one would catch her attention, and she'd wander after it until the pain spiked again and she would remember that while She was answering, She needed Tessa's help. If Tess lost concentration, then She wasn't sure what to say, and Carlos would grow impatient. So Tess made a greater effort to pay attention.
"What were you doing in Culíacan that day?"
Easing pain.
"I'm a doctor," the voice would translate. "How many hundreds were hurt in that riot?"
"And Sands?"
Tess noted the feverish light in Carlos' eyes and wondered why it was there. Was he insane too?
Pay attention!
Oh . . . I never asked.
"Like I said, I'm a doctor. He was hurt. I never asked why he was there or what he was doing. It wasn't any of my business."
"Then you knew nothing of his involvement?" Carlos demanded.
I saw . . .
"I saw him defend himself. Otherwise he was too busy lying in the middle of the road and bleeding to death."
More questions came, and She answered them from the pale responses Tess gave. Some – like how was Sands planning on interfering and where did his people go – she didn't have answers for, or she made the Voice lie on. She didn't want to cause pain any more than she wanted to feel it. It wasn't until the last questions, that Tess really started to pay attention.
"Are you ready to do as I say? No more rebellion? Will you submit?"
Must I?
Just until the pain fades. Then you can join us.
Okay.
"Yes."
"In everything?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Do you love me?"
What? No.
"I will try to learn." The Voice managed to hold on to Tess, muffling her replies. This was dangerous territory, and She hadn't come this far to die now.
"Ah, querida." He was stroking her face again. Tess didn't like it. "That is what I have longed to hear. Just answer one more question, and I will let you go. Tell me, did you love him?"
Him?
Sands.
Oh. I don't know. Ma –
The Voice choked off Tessa's answer and gave Her own. "No."
Carlos smiled. "Very well, then. I have one task for you before I allow you to rest. It's an easy one. You will do it. No?" The Voice nodded. "Very good, querida."
Men to either side of her forced Tess to stand. The knife of pain that went through her ankle at the movement made Tess gasp at the same time it thrust her back into the fore of her consciousness. The voice went back, helping to support her, but ultimately leaving her to deal with this alone.
"My ankle," Tess gasped, drawing her leg up. "I can't walk."
Carlos frowned. "You will."
She shook her head. "No. I can –" Carlos slapped her.
"You promised to do as I said, Teresa. I say you will walk. Now do so."
Tess met his eyes, saw the iron determination in his, saw how very much he looked like her father, and realized she didn't have a choice.
The pain was something she'd dealt with before. Before she'd come to rely on the voice to help her through things. She could do this now. She had to do this now. With awareness came the fear of the choice she'd almost made. No, she couldn't give in, not now. Not ever. All she had to do was cooperate until she could get away. That was her goal now. She'd been abandoned and left to her own devices. Well, she'd escaped before, and she'd do so again.
Panting as she contained her moans of pain, Tess leaned on her two guards and hobbled after Carlos as he led her upstairs. To the medical bay. There he forced her to go in alone. "There is an irritant I must get rid of, querida. Permanently. He's a danger to our work tomorrow. I want you to choose something that will make this problem go away for me."
He wants me to kill. "I can't kill," she protested.
Again Carlos' rage was released. He wrapped one of his large hands around her throat and pressed her against the wall. "You can." His voice was low and dangerous. "And you will." He released her and she fell to the floor, gasping and choking. "Now, choose something that will kill without leaving marks or too many signs of poison."
Just do as he says.
I can't. I won't kill again. I won't.
You will. Because if you don't, after making you watch as he kills his enemy painfully and slowly, he'll tell you that you could have prevented it, and then he'll kill you. So you will.
No. The voice was wrong. She was never going to kill again. But it was right about what would happen to her if she appeared to disobey again.
Using the wall, Tess pulled herself to her feet then limped to a cabinet. Reaching inside, she pulled out a vial of clear liquid. She retrieved a syringe from a drawer, then painfully made her way back to the door.
Once again hedged in by men in suits who held her up by the arms, Carlos led the small procession downstairs. Her tools had been confiscated by the men and put in their pockets against the chance she should fall and hurt herself. When they reached the stairs that led down to the cells, she shirked, then controlled herself. They weren't going there to punish her. Carlos was holding someone else. Not her. Not her.
Halfway down, they met someone coming up. At first, Tess had to cock her head, squint her eyes, and convince herself that she wasn't merely seeing things. Hallucinations had a feeling that came with them, and she wasn't feeling that now. No, this blonde coming towards them was real. Real and familiar.
I've seen her.
Yes, snarled the voice. The bimbo.
Flashes of memory: blonde hair, heart-shaped face covered in tears, pouty lower lip. Sands in her arms. "But my love . . ."
"Making house calls now, Clarissa?" one of the men joked.
"You'd know," she said smoothly, her voice the same as Tess remembered it.
We were tricked.
Carlos. He suspected. He tricked you.
"Bastard!" she hissed, struggling. "You lying, cheating, deceiving snake!"
Everyone came to a stop. Everyone but Carlos, that was. He turned to Tess and raised an eyebrow. "Are you speaking to me?" he asked, his voice silky.
Teresa, stop. You're going to –
"You broke my heart for no reason," she charged icily. "You manipulative bastard. I'm not yours to jerk around by a chain." Before she had the chance to spit at his feet, her escorts let go of her. Carlos moved out of the way as she toppled forward.
Crying out, she raised her arms to protect her head as she tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs. Luckily it wasn't far, but when she reached the bottom she was winded and cramped with pain.
Dimly she felt someone step over her, and heard Carlos say, "Once she comes around, bring her to the room. She still has a duty to fulfill."
Sands was surprised when Carlos reappeared less than two hours later. "I'd think you'd have better things to do with your time than to sit around and chit-chat with me," he drawled, noticing that this time several men came in with Carlos, as did the other Velasquez sibling. Shit. This is it. Sayonara, Sands. "I was under the impression that corporate takeovers, no mater what the corporation, take time and planning."
"Don't worry, Mr. Sands. In a few minutes I'll be free to resume my plans for tomorrow." Neva took her gun off her shoulder and trained it on Sands, although she seemed too relaxed to use it. The rifle she had in her hands had quite a recoil. You really had to be braced to use it.
"I just want you to know that I do have the smallest bit of respect for you, agent Sands. It takes an incredible amount of stupidity to meddle in cartel business once, much less twice. It seems that even torture won't make you think twice about sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."
"Don't tell me you're going to chop of my nose," Sands sighed, determined to go out in the same way he'd lived. As an smart mouthed asshole.
"No, no, no," Carlos tisked, shaking his head. "There is only one way to hurt a man who has already lost everything – give him something broken back." Sands didn't know what choice Carlos had made, but his words and the tone of his voice made him uneasy.
"I had quite an interesting talk with Teresa, agent Sands. Unless Sands was imagining things, it sounded like two people dragging a unwilling or wounded third between them. His heart sunk. "It seems that she, unlike yourself, is able to tell when it's in her best interests to cooperate. And when it's best to change loyalties."
A group of three people stopped at the door, standing behind Carlos. The middle one was nothing but a slumped mass of hair and bruises displayed by short sleeves. Carlos reached out and pulled this one to him. Sands knew who it was without having to ask. At least I know she didn't run to him and betray me, he thought. It was a cold comfort.
Tess had to lean heavily on her cousin to stay upright. He tenderly wrapped an arm around her, supporting her weight while his other hand gently brushed hair out of her face. "I am sorry for this, querida," he whispered, plainly forgetting that he had an audience. That Sands was still watching. Or that Neva was glaring at them, plainly feeling the urge to turn the rifle on her "loyal" cousin. Or perhaps it was on her brother, who was clearly delusional.
It was clear she was in pain, and that she wasn't totally in the moment. Tessa looked at the man supporting her, then her head moved – lolled – so she could survey the room. When they landed on her erstwhile lover, he could see that they were blank and vacant. No, not vacant. Focused internally with a concentration that brought sweat to her face. Or perhaps it's the pain.
"You lied to me, Teresa. You allied yourself against me." Her gaze moved from Sands reluctantly, and turned back to Carlos. He stroked her cheek. "My uncle, your father, would have killed you for this . . . but I am more willing to forgive." Her eyes teared. "Half your punishment is over, now you must finish it yourself. This is the job you must do for me. It is simple, no? Just do this one thing, and I'll let you go to your rooms. I'll even bring a doctor to look at and set your ankle."
Tess slowly shook her head, denying what he'd said. That single motion seemed to enrage her cousin, and he harshly shoved her into the room. She landed awkwardly on her hip, not seeming to even have enough wits about her to catch herself. Sands automatically rocked forward on his toes to go to her, but a bullet planted itself into the floor at his feet.
"Don't touch her." Carlos' voice had lost its tone of remorse and had turned cold. "She knows what she has to do."
If she did, she showed no sign of it. Instead she didn't try to move from her position on the floor, mumbling to herself. "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,/Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone."
"Teresa!"
She paid no mind to the rebuke. "Silence the pianos and with muffled drum./Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come." Carlos nodded to Neva, and she moved into the room; Tess didn't seem to notice. "Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead/Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead.'" Neva hauled her cousin to her feet with one hand while keeping one eye on Sands. Tess fought, her words going shrill. "Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,/Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves!" Once she'd gained her feet, Neva backhanded her hard enough to send her stumbling backwards, right into Sands. He barely managed to catch her.
"Ask him, Teresa."
"No," she mumbled through a fat lip. She didn't want to. She wanted to just stay where it was safe. He'd helped her once. Maybe he'd help her now.
Carlos strode into the room and jerked Tess away from Sands' grip. He spun her around and forced her to look at Sands. "Ask."
She shook her head. "What you don't know can't hurt you."
The man reached over and took a gun from his sister, pointing it at Sands over Tessa's shoulder. "Ask, or he's a dead man."
What am I supposed to ask? Did he tell you?
You're supposed to ask Sands if he loves you. The answer was grudging.
A shiver ran through Tess, and she closed her eyes as if in pain. When they opened again and met his, she seemed to have regained some of her control. "Do you . . . do you . . . love. . . ?" She couldn't finish the question.
Sands glanced from one cousin to the other, and when he saw the murderous jealousy in Carlos' eyes, he realized what the question was meant to be, what the answer was, and what the consequences would be if he answered. For the first time in his life, he hesitated.
Carlos saw his indecision and cocked the gun, this time pointing it at Tess, although she didn't seem to notice. "Answer the señorita's question, señor."
Sands nodded slowly. "No. You were just geographically desirable."
Tess froze at his words, not quite believing that she'd heard correctly. But the look on his face was impossible to misinterpret. She shuddered again, and again her eyes closed, but when they opened this time there was a hint of madness in them. "He was my North, my South, my East and West. . ."
"You know what to have to do, Teresa."
". . . my working week and my Sunday rest."
Carlos uncurled her hands to reveal a small vial in one and a syringe in the other.
"My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song . . ." The lament continued as she filled the syringe and took a step out of her cousin's grip and towards Sands. He automatically retreated . . . right into two men who were waiting for him. ". . . I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong." Within seconds his arms were pinned at his side, and Tess crossed to him.
"The stars are not wanted now, put out every one . . ." She stepped close to him, tenderly running her fingers down the side of his face, her blue eyes sorrowful.
"Custida –" He tried to protest but at a look from Carlos, the men twisted his arms cruelly, making his breath leave him in a painful grunt.
". . . pack up the moon and dismantle the sun." She tested the plunger, shooting a thin stream of clear liquid into the air.
"Don't worry, Agent Sands." Carlos' words mocked him. "Even after being spurned Teresa doesn't have what it takes to be unduly cruel. Death will come quickly."
"Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood . . ." As Sands tried to jerk away, his head was caught, exposing his neck. Tessa's cool fingers trailed around the column of flesh, as if apologizing for her actions. He felt a prick, and a rush of coolness as she injected him with what he assumed was poison.
The men released him, and he stumbled back to lean against the wall, staring at Tess as his traitorous eyelids started to close.
". . . for nothing now can ever come to any good."
He fought, but the blackness was coming at him with a vengeance. The last thing he heard over the roaring of blood in his ears was Tessa's declaration, "Life is anything that dies when you stomp on it." And then his knees collapsed and he felt the distant pain of his nose impacting with the floor.
The room went black.
Tess stared down at the unmoving body at her feet, feeling the need to scream and weep and hurt, but she did none of those. Carlos hand settled on her shoulder to lead her away, but she paid no attention. The only thing that ran through her mind was, What have I done? A question accompanied by a giddy excitement when one of the men pronounced the lack of a pulse in Sands' neck. Her hysterical, delighted laughter soon filled the room.
Post Author's Note: what say you all? Should I let it end here? } )
Quotes: now, not all of these are complete. Some of these are just bits and pieces from the listed works. The Little Ballad, by Luis Gongora y Argote; Various Effects of Love, Lope de Vega; Oscar Wilde; Catch-22, Joseph Heller; Nothing But Death, Pablo Neruda; a famous line from ST:TNG; a line from RotK, the movie; Mary Stewart; The Wounded Land, Stephen Donaldson; Twelve Songs IX, WH Auden; Dave Barry.
Wow.
Author Thanks: the author (me) would like to thank . . . Shannon (There, didn't say the e-word this time. Action scenes are not really my most favorite to write. I always think that I'm being too cut and dry. You'll have to tell me if that's true or not. But since you like them, I'm going to assume 'not.' I think that if I called up RR, it'd be like calling the guy you liked while in middle school – nothing but confusion would pass my lips. I'm ever so much more eloquent in writing. The PotC story is still just an idea. It's going to take lots of development to see it come through. But I've got plenty to write in the meantime.); normal human being (limpets. Always did think that was a funny word. I hope this was soon enough to update – it's a lot sooner than most of them have been this story. And the From Hell fic will make a quick appearance after this one. It's already in the works, and the first part of the chapter has been passed around between a few of my online buds. They like it, so I think you will too. Skyrocketing expectations only scare me if I let them down. Hopefully I won't.); Isola (You're telling me about the frantic pace. pants That chapter nearly killed me. And that would be bad, because I think you'd all be mad if I left it here. And happy endings are for fairy tales, of which this isn't once. Should I ever do a remake of Hansel and Gretel, then you'll get a happy ending.); velly (blushes I like to think I'm good at plot twists, but it's always nice to have that confirmed by someone that isn't me. The PotC fic – you're going to have to wait because all I have is a concept, and a fic to finish, and another to begin before I get to it. Thanks for the reminded about I do need to get there and update, although I don't have much bonus material to add.); Kontara (growls at glitches Well, at least you got to review this one. Everyone knows that writers live for reviews, and not for much else. I got to work on FS, and I'm planning to again…once I know what I want to happen next.); CaptainJackSparrowsGirl (I'm glad you had the chance to catch up. I haven't made it easy for anyone. The chapters just seem to get longer and longer. Especially this one. And yes, it is exciting to have you back. ); quick29 (Wow, your review reminded me of a telegram. You made me laugh. I read all your reviews. Can't wait to see what you write next. See? Thanks for the encouragement and compliments though.); C.J. Davis (I hope this chapter answered all your questions. And made new ones.); Cayenne Pepper Powder (hugs! It is something to know you've been reading. I'm always concerned that things have drug on for too long and people are loosing interest before I get to the really good parts. Unfortunately I didn't get to the rope and duct tape, but it does bring up some interesting mental pictures, doesn't it?); Merrie (Yes, I am evil, and I got even more evil during this chapter. If I'm really truly evil, then SJ is really, truly dead. :D And I can't believe the smut in MTD isn't enough for you. But then you probably just want some that you don't have to write too. If you're really good and get some AGC and DR out soon, I might throw in an motorcycle at the end, but I can't promise who'll be on it.); Raven (Wow. Queen of the reviews. bows down Sands is a great guy to have. I'm glad I got to write so much of him before the end . . . of the chapter. All Tessa's relationships are unhealthy to some degree, expect perhaps, the ones she has with the kids. Neva . . . Neva has too many faces for me to tell if she's good or bad. I think she's just out for herself. I'm glad that so much of the chapter was pleasant to read. I really do hope that I haven't spoiled you. That would be bad, but we do seem to see eye to eye on the happy relationship front. With my two romantic leads being so completely and irrevocable screwed up, I'd have to be living in a fantasy world to make their relationship be perfect. I'll e-mail this chapter to you, even if I'm not sure you're gone. What'd you get recruited for? Military? Nat. Guard? Sports?); Dreamgirl21147 (Yes, you've caught on. I want to do my readers personal harm. : P I hope this chapter was worth the near falling off of chairs.)
