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James watched her stalk away; she had two miles back to the warehouse. He was perplexed. Most women he knew—well, Kim, if he was being honest with himself—would have done that to get his attention, to play a game. He felt uncomfortably like he was supposed to drive after her, chase her down, call her bluff.
But Teresa wasn’t most women, and intuitively he knew she wasn’t playing games. Teresa wasn’t bluffing. He’d never met anyone quite like her. She was both innocent, and wise; calm, and fierce; cautious, and bold. She inhabited so many contradictions but strangely never exhibited even a sliver of self-doubt. While Camila’s power was cultivated, calculated, Teresa had an inner strength born of necessity. Her life, he suspected, had not allowed her the luxury of self-consciousness. He felt a low stirring at the base of his throat and clenched his jaw to push down the unbidden flickers of emotion. The other thing he knew about her life was that she did not want to stick around—not if she could help it. He’d do better to leave her alone.
He shook his head quickly as if snapping to consciousness and ran his hand through his hair. She had kept walking and hadn’t looked back. I used the time I could see to get you out of the cave.
**
Camila, though, had plans for him. “Where is Teresa?” she demanded when James got back to the club.
James sighed. “She decided to walk back. She needed air.” He leaned against the wall, agitated, running his thumb back and forth under his fingers.
Camila eyed James, scanning him up and down and noticing his fidgeting.
“How did the DEA know about the shipment?” Camila prodded
“I don’t know.” James refused to meet her eyes. “We must have a mole. Two shipments busted. There’s no other explanation.”
Camila paused and considered, eyes squinting into space. James knew she was thinking, coming up with her next move. Camila was always playing a mental game of chess—with Epifanio, with her dealers, with whomever. One false move in this business could be the difference between life and death, and James was not a strategist. He trusted Camila and would do whatever she asked.
“Do you trust Teresa?” Camila asked suddenly, snapping James to attention. He was startled. Teresa was complicated, sure, but he felt sure she was no mole. Could she be? No, intuitively that didn’t connect. He couldn’t exactly explain it rationally—though the fact that she hadn’t caved in Camila’s test just a few weeks earlier was certainly part of it—but there was no doubt in James’s mind that they did not need to worry about Teresa ratting on them.
“Yes,” he asserted. “She’s hiding some part of herself from us, but I trust her. She’s not our mole.”
“Good, because I need her to trust you. I need to know I can trust her with my life. Get closer to her. Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes?”
Camila looked him up and down again. “I see the way you look at her. The way you try to protect her. Use it. Get her in bed if you have to. I want her to let her guard down. She’s worth something to Epifanio for a reason, but he won’t say why. I need to know.”
**
James strode irritated from the club and back towards his car. He knew Camila was right; they needed to know what Teresa’s deal was and he was pretty sure Teresa would never let her guard down with Camila. And there was that small ember, low in his throat, that glowed warmly at the thought of getting closer to her. But he’d been trying not to fan that flame, had barely even acknowledged to himself that it was there. He felt slightly discomfited that Camila had recognized it and wondered whether Teresa had seen it too. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and slammed the door after him. Sitting with the key in the ignition, James ran his hand down his face and sniffed. Got out his phone. It wasn’t on him to question his boss.
He called Teresa.
She answered after the third ring. “Hello?” Her voice was hard.
“Teresa? It’s James. You ok?” James closed his eyes, tried to force himself to soften.
“I’m fine, why?” Still hard.
James was silent for a second.
“What do you need me to do?” She demanded.
“Nothing. I don’t need anything. I called to see if you’re ok. Can I pick you up, wherever you are? Let’s go get some food before you go back to the warehouse. We’ve had a rough day.”
“I’m not hungry."
James sighed. He wanted to let her be. The wall she had up, he sensed it was her safe place. Far be it from him to try to knock it down just to have something to report back to Camila. He grimaced inwardly for not playing his part willingly, for not treating Teresa like any other target. After all, his end game was always the climb to the top, and Camila was his ticket. He’d never hesitated before like this.
With a sigh of resignation he had to admit what this meant: he saw her, keenly even. Teresa. He saw her in a way he hadn’t really seen anyone else, as a person, as a woman, in a long time. And more than that, he respected her. With dawning awareness he knew he wasn’t going to obey Camila’s orders. He’d find some other way to learn more about Teresa—without an ulterior motive.
“James?”
He’d been quiet this whole time. “Alright,” he finally said, more gruffly than he’d intended. “I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself.” Before she had a chance to respond, he hung up.
**
He drove around for a while, thinking. While he didn’t want to follow Camila’s orders, he also didn’t want to cross her. He had no intention of hiding from her, and clearly he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to: she apparently could read his mind. He figured he’d just keep doing what he’d been doing. Following business orders, taking Teresa around with him, and giving in a little to his own quiet desire to get to know her better. He didn’t need to tell Camila everything—just enough to ensure the business was strong and Teresa was safe.
A roadside taqueria caught his eye and he swerved around and pulled in. He figured even if she insisted she wasn’t hungry, he’d get her some food. She could decide whether or not to eat it. Then he headed back for the warehouse. She should be back by now. An hour had passed since she had walked away from him at the side of the road. I used the time I could see to get you out of the cave. He ran the words through his head again and cleared away a small catch in his throat. He had learned over many years that he was alone, completely responsible for his own life. But with Teresa, he had begun to sense that whatever else their relationship was or would become, he wasn't quite alone anymore.
She wasn’t at the warehouse. Charger hadn’t seen or or heard from her, and her car was still there. It occurred to James to worry, but he sensed that wasn’t necessary. She’d be back. He’d wait.
**
A couple hours later she strode into the warehouse parking lot, looking no more weary than if she’d just walked around the block. She was lost in thought, but quickly looked up when James flicked his headlights on and off. She came to the window and peered into the car.
James beckoned her to get into the parked car. “I got you a burrito,” he said. He admitted, “it’s cold.”
“Thanks, I ate.” She settled into the passenger seat and looked away from him, out the window. Something about her energy was more subdued than it had been earlier. Quieter. They sat there in silence for a few minutes.
“I have to go on another errand tonight. Pick up something for Camila. You up for it?” She didn’t answer.
“I was 15 when my pop was killed,” he finally said. “Gang turf war. I was with him, saw the whole thing. Couldn’t save him. The day he was killed is the day I stopped hesitating to kill. I joined the Army as soon as I could.”
Teresa still said nothing. James sighed heavily.
“For me there’s no getting out of the cave. I’ve been in the cave my entire life. I don’t even know what’s outside it, and at this point, there’s no finding out.”
He let his hand drop lightly to her thigh in the seat next to him.
“I don’t know what lies in your past,” he said, quietly now, “but I know it wasn’t good. I don’t know how you can see beyond ...this.” He gestured vaguely.
She turned her head finally and looked hard at him, but he noticed she didn’t recoil from the touch of his hand on her leg.
“Why are you telling me this?” she said, her dark eyes staring directly into his own.
James shrugged and looked away. Her large, black pupils and unwavering gaze unnerved him. The ember in his throat flickered and again he shoved it back with a swallow.
“You act like you think you’re all alone. You aren’t. Camila and I, we’ll protect you.” I’ll protect you.
At this she rolled her eyes and grabbed James’s hand from her thigh, replacing it firmly on his own. But she left her own hand there, resting on his, and searched his eyes. His heart skipped but this time he held her gaze.
“Everyone is alone,” she said.
James clenched his jaw but didn’t look away. This woman, he realized, did not need protection. Definitely not Camila’s, and not even his. An unbidden flush of warmth spread from the catch in his throat all the way down to a flame in his lower belly, undeniable this time. He was almost painfully attracted to this Teresa Mendoza. This hadn't been in his plans. His mind flickered back to the moment she had refused to throw up the fucking packets of coke on the way to the airport and he recalled how startled he had been to encounter her fierceness and his piercing sense of admiration for her that had only grown since then. He didn't know what it meant, what it would grow to mean, but he dismissed the questions for the moment and focused instead on the bold, complicated person staring at him with her hand still alight on his.
“No,” he said, holding her gaze, “we’re not. We’re in this together.”
She stared at him for another instant, and suddenly that hand, the one that had been resting on his own, was on his cheek, gentle, her thumb lightly brushing his cheekbone--almost as if she had seen the unfolding tumble of his thoughts in the moment prior, though that was absurd, how could she have? A slight smile flickered across her face and then her lips, soft and open, met his own startled ones. He parted his lips and raised his head to welcome her warm mouth, hesitating to seek her tongue with his own. He needed her to be certain of this; he wasn’t going to lead.
Teresa’s hand was now tracing his throat as she danced her tongue around his, emboldening him to take her deeper and match her intensity. A brief, low grunt escaped his throat; the emotions he had throttled there starting to leak out. He raised his hand to cup her neck; the other arm resting on the steering wheel reached to grasp her rib cage and pull her gently closer. But just as he was about to touch her, she pulled away, leaving James disoriented and aching.
Her black eyes revealed nothing but he swore he caught the faintest smile as she said: “Don’t we have an errand to run?”