Sean smiled. “Well, I know the truth, you know it and that's all. Even the boss isn’t really aware of what she used to be, so just take care.”
“I will and, if it helps, I don’t actually give a shit over what she used to be. I happen to love her now and for the future, so the past is dead and it’ll stay that way,” Ryan said.
“Very noble, but just beware, the past has a nasty way of sneaking up on you and biting you in the ass when you least expect it.”
Ryan grinned. “Yeah, I guess it does, but then we’ll face it together, should it happen.”
“Can you come back to the office? I’ve all her cases and stuff from the island in my office, and they’re beginning to be a right pain in the ass.”
So both men left the hospital, as an armed Marine took post outside her room. Complacency was not one of Sean’s failings.
Chapter 12.
Ricardo was mildly annoyed. It had been five weeks now and he had failed to confirm that the agent was alive or dead. The DEA made a statement that the agent who had been shot on the island was being cremated at the local funeral parlour, so he had attended and watched the short service, from a distance.
He spoke to the funeral staff later and they noticed nothing amiss. Also, there were several known DEA agents in the small crowd, including Sean Ellis. Ricardo had crossed swords with Ellis before, and to his cost. He knew the man to be a shrewd and wily agent, who had no doubt that Ricardo was dirty. The fact he was there alone, was sufficient for Ricardo to believe that the agent wasn’t dead.
But then he started to think. Perhaps that was what he was meant to think, knowing that the presence of this mysterious agent would be enough to lure Juan Carlos Mendoza out of his mountainous retreat. So they were deliberately sowing the seeds of doubt, just to get Juan Carlos to show his face in a place they could take him out.
He shook his head. It was all too complicated these days. He preferred the old days when things appeared much more straightforward. You simply bought your cop or any other official and they left you alone.
He called Juan Carlos in Columbia and told him of his doubts.
“So, is the bitch dead, or not?”
“We’ve been thorough, we’ve checked the hospitals and she wasn’t there. I went to the funeral, where the men who dealt with the coffin said it weighed the same as with a body, and the flames seemed fine. I suspect the DEA are fuelling the doubt in an attempt to lure you out of Columbia.”
“Well, DEA or not, I may have to leave. I'm going to deal with this as if she is still alive, so I will get round to her eventually. The entire northern end of the operation needs rebuilding. With the destruction of the island, so went our outlet. There is much to do, the German she-male bitch can wait,” Juan Carlos said.
“The island is still there, but it's just a ruin, as the DEA have blown it all up,” Ricardo said.
“Then we need another island. This time inside the USA, and somewhere they would never think to look,” Carlos said.
“Like where?”
“Ah, that is for me to know. I will give you more information nearer the time. Just get as many of our people out of American jails as you can,” Carlos said, ringing off.
Now, there was a challenge, and one that Ricardo believed would be very tough.
* * *
Michelle was in her bikini seated on the veranda of the small beachside cottage that was theirs for a few weeks. Ryan was gently stepping up and down the few steps to the veranda from the beach, exercising his new knee.
He was tanned and looking fit, wearing only a pair of cut-off Levis. They had been here since their joint discharge from hospital some two weeks ago. Michelle had exercises to do, firstly to build up her abdominal muscles again, and secondly to stretch her new female equipment using the dilators. At Sean's insistence and at the taxpayers' expense, they’d given her minor cosmetic surgery on her face and Adam’s apple.
Sean wanted to give her a totally new face. Michelle wasn’t bothered either way, but Ryan was reluctant to have them mess her around anymore.
Sean won, so they decided to operate to soften her features even more, shaving some of her chin and forehead. This, in turn, had the effect of altering her appearance to what she had been as Michelle La Mimic. They assumed it likely that the Mendoza cartel would have photographs of her as Renate, so the subtle changes to her jaw line, brow and eyes gave her a completely new look.
Ryan thought she was even more beautiful. While the girl herself, once she got over the discomfort and bruising, couldn’t believe that she was the same person as the girl she saw in the mirror every day.
She was to take life very easy for the first six weeks, and then she could start gentle exercise building up to a decent fitness programme. They had a full set of fitness machines and weights in the house, as Ryan had been undertaking a thorough regime concentrating on his upper body, for some time. His muscles rippled and he was already looking fitter, but his legs were suffering some through neglect.
But he was slowly doing more, as instructed by the doctors and physiotherapist. His whole knee had been removed, as now he had an alloy and ceramic joint, which was supposed to be twice as strong as the old one. However, the muscles, nerves and cartilage needed more work to get back into shape.
Sean had dropped them off here two weeks ago. Michelle had found all her clothes from the island already in the wardrobe and drawers in her room. Ryan’s meagre possessions were in one large holdall, which he just dropped on the floor. Both rooms had a double bed in them.
They had looked at each other, truly alone for the first time, and simply held each other for an age. Ryan looked after her for the first few days, as she was still very weak and felt fragile. Large bruised and black eyes looked at him as her surgery healed. Her lips were slightly swollen, as the surgeon had increased her lips, making them fuller. Her nose was smaller and they’d shaved a little from her jaw line and removed any evidence of an Adam’s apple.
She had recovered from the SRS, but her abdominal wound was giving her some discomfort. However, every day saw more improvements, until at last, she was free from pain and gave up the medication after another couple of weeks. On their arrival at the cottage, they had found the fridge and freezer stocked up with all manner of goodies, yet that first evening he had made simple omelettes.
They sat on the veranda eating the eggs and sipping beer straight from the bottle.
“Ryan, what will happen to us?” she asked.
He smiled, as her accent was there if you knew to listen for it, but she was an exceptional mimic, sounding almost a natural American. It was more the way she used words, rather than an accent, he realised.
“Well, we get better and then can get back to work,” he replied.
“No, I mean to us, as a couple.”
“What do you want to happen?”
She shook her head, her long blonde hair swishing across her shoulders. Ryan thought she looked even more beautiful, despite her healing face. Her eyes flashed at him, displaying a growing peace with herself, but still haunted by the uncertainty of her troubled past.
“That’s a cop out, Ryan, and you know it,” she said. “I know what I want, but I need to know what you want. All my life, I’ve had what I want just out of reach; just over the next rise, or round the next corner. Sometimes that rise or corner was a long way off, but it gave me something to work towards. Well, I’m at the top of the hill, there are no more rises and no more corners, and I can see what I want is within reach for the first time. But it depends on you. I’ve been disappointed so often, I've come to expect it. Am I to be disappointed again?”