I text Metcalf and tell him what’s going on. His advice:Get in your car. Follow him.
Is he kidding? What does he think this is?The French Connection? And even if I could tail Carlos without being spotted, what would I do when we got to wherever he’s going? It’s not like he’s on his way to the library.
I can see it all now: I follow him into a building and find myself in a room full of cold-blooded killers. Before I couldeven sayGee, is that a real machete?I’d be surrounded. Forget beheading—they’d probably chop me up into tiny Imitation Nanny Bits and feed me to livestock.
I text back:Can’t.
Just that one word. No excuse given.
Metcalf. Luis. Ben. The guy with the ponytail. Loxton. Carlos. Multiple men over a series of weeks. Weeks filled with confrontations, surprises, disappointments, and plenty of emotions. I feel like the lone single woman on a potentially violent season ofDating Around.
Like every woman, I’ve had my share of problems with men.
But never like this.
CHAPTER 59
VICKY IS NOT GLAD to see me.
“So. You’re still working forthem,” she says as she hugs me.
How did she know? I took great pains to show up tonight looking the way I used to. I’m wearing a real dress and real strappy heels I ordered on the internet and holding a leather bag instead of one that carries diapers. I thought I had left all the vestiges of nanny-me behind.
“It’s your hair,” Vicky says. Of course. It’s still gray. There are many women who look spectacular with this color, like elegant silver foxes. Vicky is one of them. Alas, I am not.
“I was wondering when you were going to come out of hiding,” she says after the waiter brings our drinks. “But I guess you haven’t yet.”
“Well, it’s complicated,” I say. We’re in a tiny family-run Mexican restaurant, La Abuela, known for its frozen raspberry margaritas. I must say, it feels good to be slurping one down. Except for the occasional beer and the champagne last Saturday night, it’s the first real drink I’ve had in a month. Nice and cold. Almost as cold as Vicky.
Her frosty attitude makes me reluctant to go into details. But it’s all too much to deal with on my own. I’ve already broken FBI protocol by telling Vicky about my assignment. Might as well tell her the rest of it.
Where to begin? I take a deep breath, then bring her up to speed on pretty much everything. Starting with Metcalf and going all the way to Luis and Carlos and the mysterious guy with the ponytail. Great lesson I learn the moment the words are out: Once you ring a bell, you can’t unring it.
“Listen, Vicky, I know you’re pissed I’m still there,” I say.
She shakes her head no. A couple of loose strands of hair fly out and frame her face.
“Pisseddoesn’t evenbeginto describe it,” she says. “I love you and I’m worried about you. That guy has you so turned around—”
“You mean Metcalf?”
“No. The Easter Bunny.Of courseI mean Metcalf. He doesn’t have your best interests at heart. He’s using you, and you’re getting in too deep.” She dips a corn chip into some guacamole and pops it into her mouth. “I just don’t like this,” she says, making a face.
A tiny part of me hopes she’s talking about the guac. The rest of me knows the truth.
“Admit it,” she says. “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then you’re stupid.”
“Okay. Let’s go with scared.”
“You’ve got the cartel crawling up your ass—”
“What? That’s not true!”
“Don’t kid yourself. They’re onto you.”
