Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“Who the fuck uses cassette tapes anymore?”
Daniel nudged the toe of his boot against the wooden pallet in the back of the truck containing boxes and boxes of premium quality Maxell blank audio cassette tapes.
Milo looked from the pallet to Daniel, then back to the pallet. He said, “They ain’t cassette tapes.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. Jesus, this guy.
“Yeah, I know they ain’t fucking cassette tapes.
I’m asking, why do they send this stuff up here disguised as shit that nobody even uses anymore?
Last week it was ballpoint pens. And then waterbeds.
Are they all still living in the eighties down there or what? ”
Milo just shrugged, then grabbed the handle of the pallet jack. “Don’t ask me, man. Ask Ferrera.”
Daniel just shook his head. He wouldn’t be asking Jose? Ferrera for anything of the sort.
Ferrera, better known as “El Merc”, was the operations manager for Unidos Logistics, a distribution hub that operated out of an old dartboard factory on the outskirts of El Paso.
More heroin moved through that factory in a year than some countries seized in a decade, and El Merc oversaw every gram.
Daniel had met him twice and would happily go the rest of his life without making it a third.
The guy was deranged. He strutted around the factory floor, with two nickle-plated Desert Eagles holstered in a complicated shoulder rig and his entourage of mercenaries, each armed to the teeth.
Daniel had heard stories about him that made Terry seem, by comparison, like a well-adjusted dude.
One of Ferrera’s jobs was the hiring and firing of the drivers who worked for him.
The hiring part was probably easy. El Merc paid triple what other transport companies paid their drivers.
Something quadruple for a big load. Curiously, though, Daniel only ever saw those drivers at InterTruck two or three times and then never again.
Apparently, the guy was as paranoid as fuck about undercover DEA agents infiltrating his operation.
And the easiest way to prevent that happening was terminating your drivers every few weeks.
Unfortunately for his drivers, being terminated by El Merc was literal.
Milo was struggling to shift the pallet jack. There were eighty ‘keys on that pallet. Probably twice his body weight.
Daniel grabbed the handle off him and pulled hard. Once the wheels started turning, it was easier to maneuver toward the loading ramp at the back of the truck.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped, fishing it out of his pocket. A text from Julia.
Can you come over?
He texted back, To ur house?
Her reply was instant. Yes.
Right now?
When she replied with If you can, he stared down at his phone for a long moment, feeling his pulse speed up.
He knew Milo was watching him, so he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and finished unloading the pallet of phony cassette tapes. Then he crossed the warehouse floor and tapped on the large glass window of Paquito’s office.
Paq looked up from his desk and nodded.
Daniel opened the door, then poked his head in. “I got a personal thing I gotta take care of. I’ll be back later tonight to finish unloading this lot, alright?”
Paq regarded him for a moment, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Daniel had never seen him light that thing; he just seemed to enjoy chewing on it. He nodded once, then returned his eyes to his paperwork. Paquito was a man of few words.
Milo intercepted him at the warehouse exit. “You going to see your little girlfriend?”
Daniel felt his jaw clench.
Milo’s expression was slimy. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little Googling of your girl. Saw some videos of her online doing that ballet shit. I bet she can fuck you in all kinds of positions, right?”
Daniel shoved the heel of his hand against Milo’s shoulder. He hit the roller door, leaving a nice round dent in the metal.
Milo laughed, rubbing his shoulder where he’d hit the door. “Relax, man. Just making conversation.”
Daniel didn’t answer. He just held Milo’s gaze for a beat too long, long enough for the smirk to falter. Then he turned and walked out.
The midday sun hit him like a slap, glaring off the windshields of parked trucks and making the pavement ripple with heat. He pulled out his phone again, rereading Julia’s texts as he made his way across the lot.
Can you come over?
He opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and just sat there for a second, gripping the wheel. Then he exhaled, started the engine, and pulled out onto the highway, leaving the warehouse, and Milo’s smug grin, behind him.
* * *
After leaving InterTruck, Daniel drove back to his trailer, showered, changed, fed and watered Tequila, then got back in his car and headed north on the interstate toward Lake Forest.
An hour later, he stood at her front door, hand raised to knock. But before he could, the door swung open.
Like she’d been waiting for him.
His eyes dragged over her. Black leggings. A tiny white T-shirt that barely reached her navel. Bare feet. Hair down.
She looked him over, too, in a slow, measured way, like she was taking inventory of his individual parts. It made him aware of himself in a way he never had been before. How he looked. How he stood. How he walked.
He’d never felt self-conscious before. Not until her.
“Hey,” he said when he finally met her eyes.
She hesitated. Was she nervous? Of him? Or of having him here, inside her home?
He glanced past her at the grand entry hall. She noticed. “No one’s here.”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Okay.”
A long, heavy silence settled between them. Thick. Charged. The only sounds were their breathing and the quiet splash of the fountain behind him. Heat radiated off the white stone all around them.
She smiled, turned, and walked inside without a word.
He followed, stepping over the threshold, and stopped cold.
He let out a low whistle. “Santa mierda.”
The entry hall was massive, a circular expanse that could have fit four of his trailers, end to end.
Twin marble staircases, their gold handrails curling like something out of a palace, rose along either side of the room, meeting in the center on the second floor.
A chandelier the size of his entire damn living room hung overhead, its crystal facets glittering in the soft light.
Floor-to-ceiling drapes. Patterned rugs.
Alcoves with statues that probably cost more than his car.
Julia shut the door behind him and started up the staircase.
He was still staring when she looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
His eyes dropped to her ass in those leggings, and he immediately forgot all about the chandelier.
Fuck, yes.
He followed her up. And it was a good thing she was leading, because he already knew he was fucking lost.
* * *
Julia ran a critical eye over her reflection in the mirror.
The lingerie set she’d picked out on a shopping trip yesterday had seemed so pretty in the store.
Lacy and pink and sheer. Little satin bows on the bra and satin ribbon ties on each side of the thong.
It had seemed innocent and sweet. But now that she had it on, it seemed pornographic.
She swallowed hard, unable to decide whether what she was doing was a boss move, or the worst idea she’d ever had.
Smoothing her hair, she leaned forward and checked her makeup again. She realized she was just stalling.
She blew out a breath. “Showtime.”
She’d left Daniel in her bedroom, telling him she’d only be a minute, which was quite a few minutes ago.
She wondered if he’d figured out why she’d invited him to her house this afternoon, or if he was just sitting out there, confused.
Then she remembered how he’d looked at her earlier, when she’d been climbing the stairs.
Like she was something delicious, and he was starving.
She had to stop and balance a hand against the bathroom wall. If just the memory of his eyes on her could make her feel like a million volts had just shot through her, how was she going to cope with the feeling of him inside her?
She realized she was shaking. It wasn’t just her hands or legs; the quiver seemed to emanate from her very core. It was like her heart wasn’t beating so much as vibrating.
She didn’t get this nervous before going on stage. Or even before auditioning. Actually, she didn’t think she’d ever been this nervous.
She took another deep breath, wishing she was wearing some actual fabric to wipe her sweaty palms on.
She spied her silk robe hanging on the back of the door.
The plan had been to saunter out in just the lingerie, like she regularly seduced men on idle Tuesdays.
But at the last minute, she chickened out and grabbed the robe and pulled it on.
She felt better. And worse. So much for the boss move.
Before she could chicken out of the whole thing, she grabbed the door handle, pulled it open, and walked into her bedroom.
He was staring at her bedroom wall, his back to her.
She realized he was looking at the rows of framed photos that hung there.
One was of her dad. There were also some of her performing in various roles, on stages all around the world.
He was studying one black and white wide shot of her performing a soaring grand jeté in the wedding scene of Don Quixote.
Heart hammering, she just stood there, wondering if she should make a sound or maybe clear her throat. Before she had to, he turned, first just his head, then his whole body.
His eyes roamed over her. Taking in her robe and her obvious lack of clothing underneath it. Her pulse skittered. Every single cell in her body felt like it had suddenly developed consciousness.
His throat worked in a thick swallow. “Can I see?” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Can I see all of you?”