Page 8 of Saving Bonnie

“That model SUV has a high center of gravity.” She types the question as she keeps talking. “With an inexperienced driver, the weather, and a construction site, you have a recipe for disaster.”

“So why are they calling you to get her?” Shouldn’t be a need for a cleaner on a single-car accident.

“They may want to avoid any possible liability with the construction. Or someone doesn’t want a record of the accident. We’ll see if they ask us to restage somewhere else.” The phone vibrates, catching her attention. “It’s your girl.”

“Put these two guys in with her and figure out how he’d get two holes in his chest.” I glance at Bunny for a meaningful second. “That should take care of any questions from the family.”

“Happy coincidence.” She shoves the phone in her pocket. “I’ll send someone to spray the street once the rain stops.”

I nod. “Do what you need to do.”

She turns to the counter. “We gathered the to-go menus and discarded some flyers.”

The neat stacks cover the corner of the thick glass. To the casual observer, it would seem like nothing happened.

“But we still have a problem.”

Is it too much to ask for things to go off without an issue? This is exactly why I don’t get involved in other people’s shit.

“One of the stools caught a bullet.”

Oh, well it’s not as bad as what I expected. “Get rid of it.”

“It’s going to cause a problem.” She looks at me over the rim of her glasses. “There are three chairs. Split log, sturdy stock. And they’re in several pictures.” She stretches out an arm, indicating the wall in front of us. “By the look of the backgrounds, they go back forty to fifty years.”

Which means someone’s bound to notice, maybe ask questions. And that’s the last thing we need at this point.

“My grandfather made those when my grandma started as a street vendor in Nuevo Laredo.” It’s her again, with those eyes focused on mine from where she’s sitting, begging for understanding.

Goddammit. Here we go again with the sentiment. I turn to Mate. “Can you fix the damage?”

Mate’s lips quirk at one corner, as if she’s going to smile. It’s her tell, letting me know she sees an opening and is going to exploit it. “It’s going to cost you.”

Of course it is. We seriously need to talk about expenses. Considering I paid for her education, she should at least offer a damn discount. Or family pricing.

“Get it done,” I reply, disgusted.

She twirls her finger in the air, and the group starts moving, all at the same moment. They exit one by one, leaving the gear to be taken at the end, now that the rain stopped. The bodies are next, stacked inconspicuously in the cart and drum.

“I’ll add it to your bill.” She gives a two-finger salute then they’re gone, as unobtrusively as when they arrived.

Turning to Bonnie and those soulful eyes, I plan my next move. I can’t imagine a woman like her giving in to such a calculated plan, so I call her out, knowing she’ll cave. Then I’ll have carte blanche to get Cord in the building. “You need help. You need protection. You need security.” I let my gaze sweep down her body, all the way to her toes before I meet her eyes again. “And I get an all-access pass.”

She waivers, her tongue darting across her lip as she mentally reviews her options. But I’m not about to let her imagination run away with her. So, in one calculated move, I reach back, pull a condom from my wallet and slap it onto the corner of her metal table. “Well?”

*****

Bunny

The condom sits on the corner of the table, taking up more space in the room than what’s under the foil packet. He doesn’t think I’ll do it. I can see it in his eyes. What’s worse is he’s right, and it burns me to no end he can read me so easily. Part of me wants to slap the egotistical expression right off his face. The other part of me is grateful to be alive—grateful to the man who made it happen.

If this was a movie, I’d be throwing myself into his arms, wanting to show him how grateful I really am. The same rush I got when he was holding me against him is pushing past everything else, overwhelming me. But this isn’t a movie, and I’ve never been the hero’s girl.

My shoulders droop. I’m tired of being pushed around. Tired of being on the edge of losing out. Tired of not being given a second thought unless somebody needs something from me. It’s been like that my entire life. So I swallow hard, grit my teeth, and force my wobbly legs to push me up.

He takes two seconds to react, and that’s just a tiny hitch of his left eyebrow. I’ve surprised him. Good. I’d like to hang on to a sliver of pride.

What he’s offering isn’t something I’d pick under normal circumstances. But it buys me a week and a half to figure something out before going down in flames, because we Bustos women can be stubborn sometimes.

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