Page 58 of Snow Blind

“Of course,una momento,” he said, calling for his assassin body guard to come to the line in a bundle of holiday cheer.

“Ola Tia, I love the robe, thank you for thinking of me,” she said. “Is your Christmas going well?”

“It is,” she replied. “You two take care of each other, keep me updated and next time you’re on the continent, if we can connect, let me know.”

“Of course. Be well,” Alita said, ending the call.

Mustang sat looking at her. His eyes blinked several times. He pointed at the phone. “Tia? On the continent? Helen?”

“The Bushmaster. He got my Christmas gifts,” she said smiling.

“The Bushmaster?”

“Yeah, the Colombian Bushmaster,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

Mustang inhaled deeply, “he called youTia, as in Auntie?”

“Yeah, his actual Aunt is Odessa Blakemore, and I am a sad substitution, but it’s better to have him calling me Auntie rather than trying to fight you to win my affections,” she said shrugging.

“What?” He said scrunching his face. “You said Colombian. Blakemore. Hold the hell up. Bushmaster as in snake. As in Viper. As in Delgado. Helen, how in the actual hell...those people are dangerous. The father, the Fer de Lance, that man is a Bona fide sociopath!”

“He’s not that bad,” she said before she knew it.

“Stop right there,” he said. “When. How. Stop it! You have not met that man and not told me. Where did you? Nope. Not doing this. You’re pulling my leg and I am not playing that game with you.”

She shrugged again as her technician phone rang. Again, no number on the displayed on the screen. Helen slid her finger across the glass, but this time placing the call on speaker.

“Go for Cranberry,” she said.

“Bon dia, Cranberry,” the deep baritone voice said.

“Good day to you Señor,” she replied, “please note you are on speaker and the Mustang is seated next to me.”

“Ah, a fitting name for such a stallion of a man,” he said, pausing briefly. “I received your gift.”

Helen was grinning. “I hope it brought a smile to your face. Be honest, tell me what you thought of it.”

The line was silent, then he spoke. “I opened your gift and thought, this is, how do you say,ah si...the bullshit.”

To her surprise, she heard him chuckle. He’d gotten the gist of the joke and the practicality of the gift. It did make him laugh, and Helen was pleased.

“Cranberry, thank you,” he said. “The gift, the clarity of the situation and the conversation, it has made a difference for us both.”

“Glad to be of service, Señor.”

Another pause in the line, “I have commissioned my tailor to craft you four pairs ofmis pantalones. They should arrive after the new year.Feliz NavidCranberry.”

“Happy Christmas, Señor,” she said as he disconnected the call. She looked at her husband, who sat staring at her mutherfuckingly. Helen rose, to pour fresh cups of coffee for them both, and to grab a cinnamon bun to pass to her husband. He sipped the coffee and finally found his words.

“Helen, what in the entire fuck? Was that the Fer de Lance? You sent a Christmas present to the baddest son of a gun on two continents!! What did you send and why does he consider it to be bullshit, and wait and damned minute, he called me a stallion! I have never seen or met that man.”

“He’s seen you,” she said.

“And where did this happen?”

“He came to our house, looking for me, but I just left, so he followed me to Passion Fruit’s place,” she said.

Mustang rubbed his temples, “How did he follow you? Are you leaving a trail, Helen?”

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