LITMIR.BIZ

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to dance.

      Julio, who had the dreamy face of a poet and the solid body of a heavyweight prizefighter, slapped a shot glass down on the scarred mahogany bar, poured in three fingers of Clase Azul Reposado, then put down a saucer of fresh cut lime wedges and a shaker of Marguerita salt in front of her.

      He murmured an old Spanish axiom that roughly translated into, “May the burn soon sear away your troubles.”

      Vanessa dipped two fingers between the cleavage of her bra, extracted a folded twenty-dollar bill, warm from her body heat, and slid it across the bar to him. “Take me as far as this will go.”

      He nodded. The twenty would just cover two shots of the expensive tequila and his tip.

      “And when the band comes back from their break, how about requesting something upbeat and danceworthy?”

      “You got it,” Julio said, polishing the chrome fixtures with the bar towel until they gleamed. The air smelled of lemon oil, cocktail peanuts and beer.

      Vanessa licked the area between her thumb and index finger on the back of her left hand, and then shook a dusting of the Marguerita salt onto her dampened skin. Fully aware that the men across the bar were practically drooling over her, she picked up a lime wedge with the fingers of her salt-crusted hand and raised the shot glass of tequila with the other.

      “Cheers.”

      With a flick of her tongue, she licked the salt from her hand, swallowed back the tequila and then bit on the wedge of lime. The tart burst of green citrus rode her throat down after the velvet smooth fire of the high-quality liquor.

      Instantly the world brightened and her belly filled with bit-tersweet, nostalgic warmth. Ah, it had been a very long time since she had done this.

      Felt this.

      She might have a throbbing headache in the morning, but she didn’t care. Tomorrow was her day off and she wasn’t on call. She possessed a critical need for mindless distraction, and the tequila was merely a jump start. Reaching up, she massaged her temple with the flat of her thumb.

      “You want to talk about it?” Julio asked.

      “No.” She shook her head.

      “Bad day, huh?”

      “You’re too perceptive.”

      He shrugged. “I’m a bartender.”

      “Meaning?”

      “There’s only two reasons people come into a bar—to celebrate or to drown their sorrows. In spite of that killer red dress, you don’t look like you’re celebrating.”

      “How so?”

      “No friends.”

      Touché.

      “Have you heard from your cousin in Mexico?” Vanessa asked, changing the subject as she nibbled on the lime wedge. Six months ago, Vanessa had traveled to El Salvador as part of the group Surgeons Without Boundaries. Julio’s sixteen-year-old cousin, Pilar, had been one of Vanessa’s patients. She’d repaired the girl’s cleft-palate malformation.

      Julio’s caramel-colored face beamed. “I just heard from Tia Giselle that Pilar is doing great. Healing well. She has her first boyfriend and she smiles all the time. Thanks to you.”

      “That’s wonderful news. Thank you for referring her,” Vanessa said. “It was my honor to help Pilar.”

      A chuff of pride filled her chest. Most of the time her work at Confidential Rejuvenations consisted of nipping and tucking wealthy clients as they chased the fountain of youth. Not that she disliked her job at the exclusive hospital, but it didn’t give her the same sense of altruism, satisfaction and accomplishment that volunteering for Surgeons Without Boundaries did. The world of the rich and famous was galaxies away from what she’d experienced in the harsh but beautiful El Salvadorian landscape. It was nice having that balance in her life. For a moment, she wished she were there, performing surgery, changing lives.

       Hiding out from Carlo Vega?

      “You ready for another?” The bartender nodded at her empty shot glass.

      “Not yet.”

      “Just let me know when,” Julio said, and then turned to a young couple who’d sidled up to the bar, arms around each other, giggling and pecking kisses at each other’s necks.

      After reaching for another lime wedge, Vanessa brought it to her mouth and spun on the bar stool, enjoying the hazy glow settling over her. At first glance, she realized she didn’t know anyone in the bar, but then she hadn’t really expected to, since she hadn’t been in Emilio’s in a long time. Mainly she came here whenever she felt the constraints of her job squeezing in on her. Working for Confidential Rejuvenations meant you had to maintain the utmost sense of decorum and discretion. She’d signed a confidentiality agreement to that effect.

      Whispers. Secrets. Mysteries. She was tired of subterfuge.

      Suddenly, she felt exceedingly lonely and wished she’d called her best friends Julie Demarco and Elle Kingston to come drinking with her. But Elle had a hot new fiancé in Dr. Dante Nash, and Julie was studying to get board certification as a counselor specializing in sexual dysfunction.

      In all honesty she’d needed to be alone. Her friends didn’t know about her hostile past and she simply couldn’t bring herself to tell them. Vanessa couldn’t bear to see the disap-pointment, disbelief and shock in their eyes if they found out the truth.

      No. Getting out of the house all by herself was the only way she could exorcise the demon plaguing her. She refused to stay home and cower under the covers simply because she’d gotten the news she’d spent fourteen years dreading. Come what may, she was going to live her life.

      Drink. Dance. Forget.

      Determinedly she motioned at her empty glass for another shot of tequila, and Julio returned to give her a refill. She swallowed it back with a tight-lipped grimace, this time forgoing the salt and lime.

      What she needed to forget wasn’t pretty and her method of forgetting shouldn’t be pretty, either. It would take some-thing raw and primal and elemental to blot out the past on a day like today.

      But the tequila wasn’t working.

      In spite of the delicious heat searing straight to her brain, she remembered all too well that ugly night a little over fourteen years ago.

      The night she’d witnessed a murder.

      Vanessa shuddered and shoved away the memory.

      Today had begun like any other weekday morning. Up at 4:00 a.m. to get dressed and head over to Confidential Reju-venations. Grab a breakfast protein bar to eat in the car on the way. Prepare for her surgeries that usually started at six-thirty. The governor’s wife’s face-lift had gone splendidly, as had the nose job on an up-and-coming young Austin celebutante. Lunch had been an uneventful Cobb salad with low-fat rasp-berry vinaigrette, rye crisps, a fruit bowl for dessert and a bottle of Evian in the hospital cafeteria. Her follow-up ap-pointments in the clinic had been run-of-the-mill.

      And then her cell phone had rung and she’d heard a voice she hadn’t heard in years. A voice she’d prayed never to hear again. A voice that had shaken her to the core.

      Even now the memory of the phone call had her hand trembling and her heart racing.

      It’s not finished, a man had said. You owe me fourteen years of my life.

      Drink. Dance. Forget.

      The mariachi band trooped past her as they returned to the stage from the side door after their smoke break. They smelled of tobacco and marijuana and alcohol. Grinning knowingly at each other, they picked up their instruments and began to play a familiar dance tune with sexually sugges-tive lyrics.

      It was the perfect song for her mood. Fast and hot. Vanessa smiled and licked

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