28. Uncharted

When RC arrives at the office on Friday morning, all my gear is already packed into the Chrysler. I spent Thursday tying up loose ends: I've lined up a friend to keep the townhouse occupied, arranged mail forwarding, utility payments and the like. JC Whitney Automotive is going to be delivering a bunch of stuff to Culiacan in a few days. I'm going to have to have a serious talk with Sands about custody of the Batmobile. Sorted through my possessions and winnowed the keepers from the dross. Last night, I slept like the proverbial baby.

"So, it's like that, is it?" says my employer, surveying the workroom, now minus my tools and stockpiles of materiel. "Kate, don't do this."

I shake my head. "You bugged me, you set me up, you could've gotten me killed, and for what? So I can kill people I don't give a damn about for money I don't need?"

"Look, I understand. There's only so long anybody can carry out that kind of assignment. I understand perfectly, why do you think I rarely go into the field myself anymore? What if I made you a full partner?" says RC persuasively. "No more field work. Pure R and D, you're good at that."

"No, it's not that. You don't understand, RC."

"It's never been about the money for you, I know that. But you are good at electronics."

"I'll come in to consult once in a while if you really need me, but I can't stay here. You may be able to wash your hands of the problem and go about your business, but I can't. Not if I want to be look myself in the eye."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic, Kate? This is our business, this, right here, in this room - not trying to save the world by throwing ourselves under the wheels. Cartels are like mowing the lawn? Bullshit. They're more like trying to fight crabgrass. The crabgrass always comes back, and I have better things to do with my time."

This place is more like home than the townhouse; I've spent so much time here...it's seductively easy to imagine putting everything back into its place and sitting down to tinker with some new project. I think of last night, the townhouse as lifeless as a crypt. No, I'd eat a bullet inside of a week. "I can't let it go, I just can't."

My boss sighs. "It's him, isn't it? That Mexican? I knew it was going to happen sooner or later."

"What are you talking about? Knew what would happen?"

"I knew sooner or later your cold, cold heart would thaw out. When I first sent you down there, I was kind of hoping you and Sands would hook up."

My jaw drops. "Sands? Are you loco? After that story about the mime - or was that more of your reverse psychology?"

RC shrugs. "Wishful thinking, maybe. Birds of a feather flocking together and all that. You're a lot alike."

That floors me. Me, compared to Sands? That's so insulting. Sands is an asshole. Yes, and you're a dyed-in-the-wool bitch, Kate, and you know it. You're not demure, you're not a girly-girl - even if you can dance like Ginger Rogers...with the right partner. "We tolerate each other. Barely."

"And you're in love with El."

The word sends a flood of panic through me. If there was a gun in my hand, my ex-boss would be my late boss. Putting a name to all these scary, complicated feelings is what I've carefully avoided doing. Love? No way. I've never used that word to describe any of my relationships, except maybe warm fuzzies as my mom's daughter. No, love is a messy business that I want no part of, except casually: Love your shoes. I loved that movie. I'd really love to get together for lunch sometime. But as a verb? A feeling? God help me.

"I don't know what I am," I parry, "but I'll never find out if I stay here."

"Kate, I've got news for you - you're the only one who hasn't figured it out yet. Hell, Sands is blind as a bat, and he commented on it."

"I'll bet he did!" I retort angrily. "He's been making snide cracks about the two of us all week."

"He says when you're together, he only hears one set of footsteps. I noticed it myself, that night at the hacienda. You two went out of that interrogation room side-by-side, walking in step like a couple gunfighters in a Sergio Leone western. You're partners, whether you realize it or not."

Partners is a word I can deal with. Like Fred and Ginger. Like us: dancing to the accompaniment of an orchestra, dancing to the staccato of gunfire, together in so many ways, on so many levels. Partners trust each other. Partners share the good, the bad and the ugly. Culiacan is going to get ugly when the rest of the Gomez outfit comes to town. My partner is gonna need someone to watch his back.

"So what are you going to do?" my former employer wants to know. "Go play house with your mariachi? That'll get old fast. Then what are you going to do?"

Playing house? That sounds like fun. And then? Taking a deep breath that fills me with peace, I grin. "Help Sands mow the lawn."

There's no improving on that as an exit line, so I pick up my purse and saunter out the door, through the lobby, to the parking lot, where the Chrysler awaits. It's loaded with everything I want to take into my new life. I crank the engine and maneuver out to the road.

I've downloaded all the maps I need to get to Mexico, but in another sense, I'm going where no map or GPS can help. It's going to be the ultimate navigation experiment.

finito-

Many thanks to my loyal reviewers, especially Dawnie-7, big thanks to Mojave Dragonfly for beta-ing when I remembered to send her chapters. (And I still have to go back and fix punctuation errors in several of the early chapters because The Site was being spastic, thanks for nothing.) I have some thoughts on what's going to happen with the Gomez cartel, but need to spend some time refining them, and catching up on a few other projects. (This was pretty intense!) So, yes, there will probably be a follow-up, but not immediately.

Those of you who commented on what a strong woman Kate is might like to read "Secrets and Mysteries: The Glory and Pleasure of Being a Woman" by Denise Linn - non-fiction, an excellant book about exploring your spirituality and asserting your independence. (If you can't find it in the "Self-Help" section of your bookstore, try "New Age".) Guys...um, never mind, just go pick up "Sports Illustrated".

Hope your February was great, have a nice March!