Chapter 2: The Chase
Rogue shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood on the wooden patio of the diner, notepad and pen in hand as she waited to take the order of an extremely picky customer. It was a scorcher today, and having been on her feet and under the sun for most of morning and early afternoon, she was quickly growing tired of the patron’s indecisiveness.
She took a glance at her watch while the woman seated at the table scanned the menu. There’s not much on it, for crying out loud, Rogue thought to herself, and that was the truth. This diner was about as far as one could get from gourmet cuisine. The items offered on the menu consisted basically of a few authentic Mexican dishes, coffee, tea, and soft drinks.
In the best Spanish she could manage (which wasn’t very much), Rogue offered the fickle woman a few more minutes to decide, and started to turn, but the woman lifted a finger, a signal that kept Rogue riveted to the spot. Not bothering to hide her sigh of exasperation this time, Rogue took another glance at her watch. A few more minutes, then she could finally take that much needed break. Another thirty seconds went by before the woman finally came to a decision. Rogue hastily scribbled the order on her notepad, pushing an errant white lock of hair back into her ponytail as she headed back into the diner to fetch the woman’s drink.
"Rosa!" Graciela, the head waitress, called to Rogue as she took a glass from the bar. It took Rogue a moment or two before she realized the woman was calling to her. She’d been in this town for six months, and yet she still hadn’t gotten used to the few people she knew calling her by that name. She sometimes thought it sadly ironic that she’d had to use one alias to cover up another. She looked to the front of the diner to see Graciela waving a white envelope. The paychecks were in, and not a moment too soon, either. She nodded an acknowledgement to the older Mexican lady before returning to the patio with her customer’s drink.
That part of the order taken now taken care of, Rogue went back inside to take a breather. She grabbed her paycheck from beside the cash register, running a fingernail under the sealed flap as she headed to the doorway of the kitchen, where she would find her only solace from the sweltering heat: a large, industrial fan. She pulled the check out from the envelope. Her pay was meager, as usual. Sometimes it hadn’t even been enough to eat on for a whole week, but she could usually eke out a meal or two from the restaurant whenever she was on the closing shift.
At least I don’t have to pay rent on this, she thought to herself, leaning back against the bar and waving the envelope in front of her face as the breeze from the fan began to cool her burning skin. In another hour, her shift would be over, and then she would make the long trek back to her tiny room at the one-star motel, peel off her green cotton waitress uniform and pull on the blue pinstriped uniform required of all the inn’s maids. Providing housecleaning duties in exchange for room and board had never been her greatest aspiration, but things could have been worse. At least she had a roof over her head, and besides, no one there knew who she was.
The small copper bell above the screen door at the front of the diner rang to signal the entry of yet another customer. Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, a mock sob escaping her mouth. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. They were overworked and understaffed today; as a result, every table on the patio was already taken, and the indoor dining room was quickly filling up. If she never poured another cup of coffee in her life, it would be too soon.
Rogue kept her back turned to the front of the diner for a few moments, wondering what her lucky prize would be. A party of twelve, maybe? A family full of screaming kids? When the noisy chatter in the room went from bedlam to suspiciously dim, she finally turned around to see what she had won. She was very pleasantly surprised.
The man that lumbered up to the front cash was quite a sight to behold. Rogue gave him a once over – a twice over, actually – as he signaled to Graciela, who in turn made a beeline to the front counter. Rogue couldn’t blame her; he had a confident, commanding presence about him that just about every female in the room had picked up on. He wasn’t Mexican, Rogue could see that right off the bat. He was American; Canadian maybe...
The man's arms and shoulders were tanned and muscular, and molded gracefully into a marvelous chest that no doubt existed under the black tank clinging to it. Rogue’s eyes traveled downward to take in the beige khakis and the combat boots, lingering for a moment on his behind – she could only see it from the side, but it was no doubt as impressive as his upper body. Moving back up to his face, Rogue took in the thick, dark brown hair on his head and considered the possibility that mutton chops on a man were not such a bad thing after all.
A set of dogtags hung around the man's neck, and Rogue surmised that he must have been in the army. She didn’t need to wonder for long about the beauty hidden by the large amber lenses on his face however, because he removed them and leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter as he fixed his intense gaze on Graciela. The moment he did so, Sofia, another waitress on shift, gave him a light pinch on the butt as she passed him, balancing a tray of drinks on one hand.
"Hey, papi," she cooed as she slipped past him. He started at first, then turned his head and gave her a wink as she walked by. Gotta love Sofia, Rogue thought to herself, smiling. That girl never misses a beat. Watching as the man reached into his back pocket and handed something to Graciela, Rogue quickly grabbed a menu from atop the bar. She was going to be serving this one, if she had anything to say about it. The smile on Rogue’s lips slowly faded as she started to realize that something was not right with this picture.
In fact, there were three things that were very, very wrong with it.
For one thing, this wasn’t exactly a tourist area. There were no resorts, no major hotels, no major attractions even. The diner was remote and backed onto a large wooded area…there was a beach nearby, but it certainly wasn’t one of the most scenic or attractive that Mexico had to offer and was mostly frequented by locals.
When she thought about it, Rogue couldn’t remember ever having seen an American, or a Canadian, or anyone not Mexican, for that matter, walk into the diner in the however brief period of time that she had worked there. The second and third things wrong with the picture were grasped in the man’s left hand. There was no reason, none whatsoever, for anyone to be walking around with a pair of leather gloves in July…
…in Mexico.
Rogue spun around so that her back was facing the man again, her heartbeat quickening as her eyes darted toward the back door of the diner. He hadn’t seen her yet; she could still make a quiet exit. No sooner had she taken her first step than she heard Graciela tell the man in Spanish that yes, yes she did know the girl in the picture.
"Rosa!" she called out.
Rogue, frozen on the spot, slowly turned her head to meet her fate. Wide brown eyes locked onto deep, hazel ones, time standing still for a few moments in a scene that would appear to the unaware as two people struck by love at first sight. The look in the man’s eyes was not one of love though…no, this was the look of a predator who had just gotten his first taste of blood.
"Hey!"
That one word, barked from the man’s mouth, was what finally mobilized her. She bolted for the back door, tables and dishes crashing down behind her as customers began to scream in surprise. She heard Graciela yell angrily at her as she fumbled with the latch on the screen door. Panic began to spread quickly within her as she saw the man push a few people out of the way first, then leap up onto the bar to avoid the jungle of tables separating them, his boots thudding heavily on the wood as he scrambled to get to her.
Drinking glasses fell and shattered as he ran the length of the bar toward the back of the dining room, the customers’ shocked yells reaching significant levels as they shielded their faces from the flying shards. She heard something between a yell and a growl come from the man’s throat as he stalked toward her, and -
Dear God, are those knives he’s holding?
Rogue wasn’t about to stick around to find out. The moment he reached the end of the bar and leapt down, she shoved a table into his path and dashed out of the back door, hearing the massive thump his body made as he tripped over the sudden obstacle in his path and tumbled to the wooden floor.
Rogue ran across the patio and bounded down the steps, passing the woman she had been serving, who promptly began yelling to the girl in Spanish about why her dish was taking so long. The sound of rubber soles pounding on wood were not far behind her as she scrambled up the hill behind the diner, her fingers clawing at the earth, feet slipping beneath her and then finding traction as she darted into the trees.
Twigs snapped under two pairs of feet as Rogue led the man on a wild chase through the bush, the branches of the tropical trees whipping and scratching at her face and legs. Just as the footsteps were beginning to fade behind her, her foot hit a rock, her sandal hitching onto it and sending her flying forward. Stumbling to her feet, she took a moment to rub her scraped kneecap, then was spurned into action again as the sound of snapping twigs grew louder behind her.
Rogue ran and stumbled and kept running until she noticed trees growing less dense, sunlight piercing through the spaces in the palm leaves, indicating a clearing ahead. She slowed down her pace a little as she realized that she could no longer hear the footsteps of the man hunting her. She’d lost him. She sighed in relief, panting heavily and trying to catch her breath as she ambled toward the clearing.
The earth beneath her feet was turning to sand as she walked toward the light. The beach. She’d run a good distance. Her exhausted legs gave way under her as she reached the end of the bush and slid down the small slope leading to the coast. She was a mess now, her green cotton dress marred by earth and sand. She stood up and took a moment to look around. She had apparently come upon one of the more secluded spots on the beach; she couldn’t see anyone for miles.
Tears began to sting at her eyes as her mind replayed what had just taken place. Her mind raced, trying to come up with some idea as to what she was going to do now. She couldn’t go back to the motel, especially not since the man chasing her knew her alias. It was a small town, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d find out where she was staying. She would have to go back to the room at some point though, at least to gather what few belongings she had. When is this going to end, she thought to herself, breaking into sobs as the tears started streaming down her face.
How long am I going to have to keep running?
She didn’t need to wonder for long. Before she could even register what was happening, her legs were kicked out from under her, sending her flying backward into the sand. She barely had time to reel from the shock before a large male figure sat atop her, each of his knees pinning down one of her elbows, rendering her arms immobile.
One of the man’s gloved hands went to her throat, the other making a fist in front of her nose as three metal talons slid out from between the knuckles, the glint of the sun on the adamantium nearly blinding her. Rogue looked into the man’s hazel eyes as he leaned in close to her face.
"Don’t scream," he growled menacingly. "Don’t move…don’t even breathe."
~*~
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