Why the hell did I get involved with her like that? And for what? At the end of this whole little beach-life fantasy we're living out, there’s one outcome. Well, two, but neither are good. Either she turns me in and I go to jail, or Blackriver catches up to us and, fuck, who knows what then; certainly nothing good.
But accusing me like that just to abstain herself from any guilt about her own poor choices, even after I warned her? Fuck that. I've been called a lot of things, but not that; no fucking way. Besides, no matter what shit she says to me, she can't change what’s going on inside that pretty little head of hers. Because I know she wanted that; that was all her.
Well, I'm willing to accept that I had a bit to do with it, but still. I knew this was a bad idea.
Nice work, asshole.
“So what now, Agent Archer.”
She finishes crossing the street to where I'm leaning against the side of a house, and I can see her stiffen a little at the harsh tone in my voice.
Good.
“Look, I'm sorry about what I said. I- I just-” She looks away, stumbling over her words; “I just think we should pretend that never happened.”
“Done,” I say, as off-handed and nonchalantly as I can. I say it quickly. My tone of voice is shit, but fuck it; I can play this game too.
Chelsea looks like she doesn’t know what to say.
“So, what's your plan now then, spy girl.”
She bites her lip as a blush of color washes through her cheeks; I should stop using those stupid fucking pet names I’ve been calling her.
“Well, we need to get out of Aruba.”
I bark out a laugh; “No shit.”
Chelsea gives me a look; “No, I mean that’s the plan; literally. Langley wants us off the island for extraction.”
“And go where exactly?”
“Venezuela, to the mainland.”
I snort out another laugh, shaking my head; “No fucking way.”
Fuck that; hell no. I'm never going back to that place I used to call home; not after they threw me in that hell hole of a prison.
She shrugs; “Well, those are my orders, and I'm taking you with me.”
For the eight-hundredth time, I think about how easy it would be to run. It might not be a great plan, but it’s sure as fuck better than going back there. I mean what would she even do to stop me? What’s she gonna do, insult me? She’s got bullets now, apparently, for that stupid gun she’s been carrying around. But bullets or not, she wouldn't shoot me.
I’m pretty sure.
I frown as I stare out at the ocean, swallowing the pill of this reality. Deep down, I know she’s my one way out of this whole fucking mess. Well, probably, at least; I’m still working that out in my head.
“So, any idea how two people with no passports leave Aruba?”
She looks at me, her brow knitted in this adorable way that I try to ignore; “I was hoping you knew. I mean you got in here without one.”
I laugh coldly; “Yeah, but it involved killing two assholes with guns and stealing a boat.”
“Oh.” Her eyes linger on me, and a shadow of a look that might just be fear crosses her face.
“They were about to throw me over the side to die in the ocean; don’t get all touchy-feely about it sweet cheeks.”
Her gaze lingers a moment longer, but she drops her eyes to the ground and kicks a rock with her sandal.
“OK so maybe I know a way off.” I flash her a grin and wink at her; “You’ll just have to ask me nicely I guess.”
She sighs and looks up at me, clearly wrestling with something behind her eyes; “Look, are you going to be like this?”
“Like what.” I say evenly, knowing full well what an immature dick I'm being about this.
“This…just-”
“OK fine, yes.”
She frowns; “Yes you're going to keep acting like an asshole?”
“No,” I roll my eyes and smirk at her; “I mean yes I know how to get us out of Aruba. I know a guy with a plane who owes me a favor or five.”
“Where?”
“A ways,” I look across the mostly empty street at an old jeep standing empty by itself; “Think the C.I.A. would mind if you added ‘cars’ the the list of stolen vehicles so far?”
21
Chelsea
We drive to the airport in the Jeep in total silence, with Javier brooding behind the wheel and me chewing on my nails as I stare out the passenger window. That vortex of regret and confusion inside is still raging, though now at least there are trails and tendrils of coherent thoughts trickling through.
Coherent thoughts like me wondering why I allowed that to happen. I mean, I don't do “flings on the beach” like some sort of sorority girl on spring break. Not ever, and certainly not with criminals like Javier Toro.