Cravings (17 page)

Chapter 38

S
asha didn't bother packing. She left all of her clothes neatly folded in the drawer and hanging in the closet. Nice clothes. Clothes that Sanj bought for her.

She swallowed hard. Nice guy, that Sanj. But this situation was Sasha getting her comeuppance. She would take all those years of watching the crafty Snake and put them to good use.

They'd never find her.

By the time they figured out she was gone, she'd probably be dead. Or worse. The guards were at the front door. In fact, they were at everybody's front door. Once in a while, they circled the condo, which her guard had just done. Clearly, now was the time.

She took one more look at her condo, beautifully done in chocolate tones. She wanted to remember this place, etch it in her memory. It would probably be her last bit of comfort. She slid the chair over to the window.

She had years of practice opening and closing doors quietly, walking so nobody would hear her, sinking into the shadows when she needed to. She called upon those skills now, as she slid open a window—very slowly. No sound.

She hitched herself onto a chair and slid her legs out the window, careful to land gracefully. She crouched down next to the flowered shrub—its sweet scent filled the air. She didn't like it—it was nauseating, cloying.

She sat against the wall for a minute and craned her neck to see if the boat still sat in the same place. And it did. She hated to add stealing to her long list of somewhat criminal activities. But this boat had been there for two days. And she reasoned she wasn't stealing it, only borrowing it. Until she made her way back to the cove herself. Snake must have seen the cops. He was a patient man. He would wait for her to return herself. This was the only way to bring this nightmare to an end.

If she was wrong and he wasn't still watching for her, then so be it. She had to give it a shot.

She stood and made her way along the edge of the condo. Sparsely populated. It was high noon, blistering hot, even for the beach lovers, a few of whom straggled off the beach.

Sasha thought the coast was clear. At least from the guards. She strolled over to the little motorboat, hoping it had petrol in it. She started to glance back at the condos, look back toward Sanj, but then she thought the better of it.

She needed to let him go.

He was sweet, kind, and oh, so delicious. But she'd be nothing more than a complication to him. He was confusing her. And too vanilla for her. It would never work out.

And so as she told herself that, she swung her leg into the boat and hit something. A gray tarp covered half of the small boat. What was underneath it? She didn't want to set off on a boat with a bunch of dead fish or something, so she unwrapped it, hoping to somehow dump it off the side of the boat.

She unraveled the first layer with her foot and nudged something. What was that? Fear slammed into her as she realized she was poking at a dead body with long auburn hair. She retched into the sea. Her whole body quaked with terror. What it this? Who is this?

Is this what was left of Maeve?

Did Sasha have yet another death on her head?

She couldn't even peek at the face. She didn't have the courage to brush away the long red hair to see a face.

She felt like she couldn't breathe. Gasping for air, she turned to go back to the condo, which looked way too far away. She'd never make it back. But she had no choice. It was over. Her escape. Everything. It was over.

But as she turned to walk away—
I need help someone, please, help
—her legs were trembling so much a few attempted steps brought her to the sand.

“Lady? Lady? Are you okay?” A voice came from behind her.

She turned to see a child walking over to her. She panicked—not wanting the boy to see what was in the boat. “Please,” she found the strength to say. “Can you get your mommy and daddy?”

The boy nodded. He was sun-kissed, knees and hair with sand all over them. He seemed to be a happy boy, having a lovely childhood with lovely parents. Lucky boy.

“I was going for a walk,” she told them when they came. “And I happened to look inside this boat.”

“And?” said the woman, approaching her with a glass of water.

“There's a body in the boat.”

The woman leaned in closer to Sasha. “A fish body? What do you mean?”

Sasha took the water from her and drank from it. “No,” she said with a lowered voice. “A person.”

“Oh,” the woman said, turning to her husband “What? Shit. Wow. Look, um, we better get the police.”

“No problem there,” the man said. “This place is crawling with them, you notice?”

Within minutes, the security team surrounded the boat and Sasha. The next thing she knew, Sanj and Jennifer came to her side.

“Is it Maeve?” Jennifer whispered, reeking of alcohol. This early in the day? Maybe Sasha had not realized how much this investigation was getting to Jen.

Sasha's guts twisted. “I don't know. I couldn't view it. I just know the hair . . . it was her color.”

“Excuse me,” Jennifer said to one of the officers. “Can I get a look at the, um, body?”

Sasha, once again, found herself in awe of Jen and her sheer willpower, the hard way she loved Maeve. It was amazing.

“Sure thing, if you want to,” one of the officers said.

“I need to know,” she said, turning to look at Sasha and Sanj.

When the man parted the gathering crowd for her and Jennifer finally got a glimpse, sobs filled Sasha's ears.

“Jennifer?” Sanj went to her and held her. She appeared to melt in Sanj's comforting arms.

Maeve. It was Maeve,
Sasha thought. She held her breath. Bastard! Snake had killed her!

But Jennifer pulled away from Sanj, her red face barely recognizable. “It's not Maeve,” she said and hiccupped. “It's Emma Mozingo.”

Chapter 39

“F
irst of all, what the hell were you doing?” Josh said to Sasha. All of them convened at the hotel conference room where they'd started the day.

Sasha answered with a ghostlike, vacant stare.

“Look,” Detective D'Amico said as he walked into the room. “We've got a situation here.”

“Care to fill us in?” Sanj asked, pacing back and forth in front of the window. He couldn't sit still. It was too much to ask his body as his mind tried to sort through it all while sitting.

First, what was Sasha doing there? How did she manage to leave her condo without anybody seeing her? Was Josh correct in assuming she wasn't trustworthy?

Second, was that really Emma Mozingo? If so, what was going on? Who killed her? And why?

“Mozingo has been in our custody for a few days,” the detective said.

“Yeah, we know that. But what about his wife?” Josh asked. “Is it her?”

He lowered his head. “Yes.”

“Jesus, Renaldo, what the hell? Why didn't you have—”

“We did,” he said. “We were watching her. But sometimes these things happen. Someone's ass is going to be fired.”

“So, she was killed because her husband has been blabbing to you. Everything he knows, right?” Josh said.

“We think that's the case,” the detective said. “And here's the good news.”

“Good news?” Sanj said.

“We have evidence. Solid evidence that Sam Everidge killed her.”

“What kind of evidence?” Josh asked.

“I can't discuss with you. But between the evidence and Mozingo's testimony, we are on solid ground.”

“But you have yet to find him,” Sanj said.

“True,” he conceded. “That's the problem.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes.

“The man is brutal. This was more than a payback to Mozingo. It was a warning,” Josh said.

“Maeve,” Sanj said.

“She'll be next if we don't find her, I'm afraid. And then there's this, ladies and gentlemen, a man like this? He'd kill any of you and not think twice about it,” D'Amico said.

A chill ran through Sanj. Sasha had been trying to tell them this. And now poor Emma had turned up dead—murdered in an extremely brutal manner.

“No more shenanigans,” D'Amico said and glared at Sasha. “You have a death wish, lady? Deal with it, but not on my case.”

“Here, here,” Josh said. “I'll be watching her, too,” he said, glaring at Sasha, who remained unresponsive.

“I'll stay with her to make certain she goes nowhere,” Yvette said as she walked into the room with a determination usually reserved for large men. “She can talk with my husband. He's a psychiatrist. I think it would be good for her to extract herself from the situation for a while.”

Sasha took her hand and stood up. Pale and fragile looking, she made Sanj want to wrap her in his arms—and he planned to, later, behind closed doors, if he could arrange it.

As Yvette and Sasha walked by them, Yvette glared at Sanj. What the hell?

“Better yet, why don't you all go home? There's nothing here for you to do. You're in danger and we are expending a lot to watch you. So, what do you say?” the detective said.

“I'm not leaving without Maeve,” Sanj said.

“I'm with him,” Josh said.

“I'm certainly not going anywhere,” Yvette said. “Maeve meant the world to Paul. She was like a daughter to him. I want to do everything I can.” Once again, she glared at Sanj. “Where's your girlfriend?”

“Who do you mean?” Sanj asked.

“Jennifer?” Josh asked.

“She's not my—” Sanj started.

“She's sleeping it off,” Josh replied.

“A live wire,” D'Amico said. “And a liar. That notebook never left this island. I don't have time to keep up with that one.”

“What can we do to help?” Yvette said after a few minutes of quiet.

“At this point, let the pros do their jobs. Stay here. Relax. Eat. Drink. I know it's hard to be waiting around, but it really is in everybody's best interest to stay still. And you, Ms. Barnes, have gone above and beyond today. You have my word, we are working around the clock trying to find Maeve.”

For the first time that day, Sanj saw Sasha smile, which delighted him, unreasonably so. But she still hadn't spoken.

Sanj reached for Yvette's arm. “I think she may be in shock. Is this something your husband is qualified to manage?”

“Sasha and I go back a long way, Sanj. Rest assured, we will see to her healing. My new husband is quite capable,” she said, with a clipped tone, and left the room with a police officer trailing behind her.

“Do I know that woman?” Sanj asked Josh.

Josh shrugged. “She doesn't seem care for you.” He laughed.

Chapter 40

S
asha felt like she was sinking into the bed, being swallowed by silk sheets and down comforters. And she didn't mind at all.

She didn't mind any of this, right now. Yvette and her doctor husband tending to her like she was feebleminded. In truth, she was thinking clearly. Or at least she had been. Until they gave her the sleeping pills. Now, all of her thoughts were muddled together in a soft cloud. Every time she closed her eyes, though, she saw Emma's body. The pills hadn't taken complete effect yet.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling as she listened to the voices in the next room.

Was that Sanj? Yes. Sanj. She couldn't help but like that man. Couldn't help it at all.

“Don't presume to tell me my business,” Sanj said.

“I don't give a flying fuck about your business, Your Highness. I want you to be up front with Sasha,” Yvette said.

“Don't call me that,” Sanj roared. “I am not that person. That person is my uncle.”

Sasha rolled over. Did Yvette call Sanj “Highness”? Damn, she must be dreaming—or those little blue pills were a lot stronger than she thought. Laughing out loud, she pulled the blanket tighter around her. Sanj. His Highness.

 

She sort of awakened again, but in a half-asleep state listening again to a conversation. Was Sanj still there? Yes, but the voice was a bit softer.

“Look, I know that you care for her. I don't mean her any harm,” he said.

“That's never the intention with men like you,” Yvette said matter-of-factly. “You think Western women are your toys. You toyed with Jennifer. And you hurt her. I don't like it. I'm not going to stand by and watch you do the same to Sasha. She's very frail.”

“First, of all,” Sanj's voice raised a bit. “Sasha is stronger than you think. And as far as Jennifer goes . . . she broke it off. I was going to marry her. The hurt goes both ways.”

“Sasha is strong, I agree. But she is a recovering addict, as well as a recovering sex worker. She's also been through a lot as the result of Paul's death,” she said, her voice lowered. “We all have. My husband loved her. If I had known where this all was going to lead . . . I'd have let him have his divorce. At least he'd still be alive.”

Sasha struggled to hear more, but the sleeping pills took over and she fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning, things looked a bit different—as they often did. Sasha padded into the bathroom, then opened her bedroom door to the scent of coffee and bacon and muffins. Did she smell chocolate?

“Good morning,” Yvette said, standing to welcome her to the table. Dressed all in white, she gave off a serene air. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “Thank you for the pills. Ah, coffee . . .”

“My husband is already on the golf course. Funny, isn't it? You'd have never caught Paul golfing. They are so different,” she said and bit into a strange piece of bacon.

“The bacon looks odd,” Sasha said stacking her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and melon.

“It's chocolate bacon and it's to die for,” Yvette said, as if she was attempting to contain herself.

Sasha bit into it and nearly swooned. The ultimate sweet-salty combination made her taste buds pop.

“I swear if they make it in chocolate, you can get it here,” Yvette said. “The sky is the limit.”

“Was I hearing things last night or was Sanj here?” Sasha asked after she finished the last of the bacon. No conversation took place while eating it—except for “mmmm.” They both loved to eat and the chocolate bacon was like a meditation for them.

“Ah, yes,” Yvette said. “He was. He was a little concerned about you. Chivalry still exists in some parts of the word,” she said, smacking her lips. “Along with quite a few other things,” she went on with a flat voice.

“You don't care for Sanj?”

Yvette sipped from her coffee and placed the cup on the table. She sighed.

“Sasha, you are a well-traveled woman. You've had clients from all over the world. You know what these Eastern men are like,” she said.

“But of course,” Sasha said. “Several Arabs were some of my best clients.”

“Yes, as clients I imagine, they'd be great. They are one big ball of sexual repression. But for a relationship? Is that what you want?”

“I'm not sure what I want, Yvette.”

Was she really talking about her relationship with Paul's wife, a woman who had made their last year together a living hell?

“Well, at least you're honest.”

“I like Sanj. He's a good guy. We're having fun. That's all. Besides, I am a big girl and can handle my own affairs.”

“I hope so, darling,” Yvette said and sat up even straighter, placing her elbows on the table, bringing her hands together as if praying. “I feel like fate brought us together again. Last night, I felt Paul here. I swear I could even . . . smell him. Crazy, isn't it?”

Sasha smiled, tears stinging her eyes.

“You said you were searching for Maeve. You thought she could help you. I wonder if I can be of help. What is it that you need?”

Tears now streaming down her face, Sasha swallowed hard. Her skin prickled and her stomach churned. “That's not the only reason I needed to see Maeve. I need to make amends.”

“Ah, yes,” Sasha said. “And you will, as soon as we find her. In the meantime, let's talk about your future, shall we?”