Cravings (5 page)

Chapter 9

“O
kay, okay,” Sanj said into the phone. “We'll see you tomorrow, then. Thank you. “

“I'm getting in to see Jackson tomorrow,” Sanj said after hanging up. “What a bunch of bureaucratic BS. I hope his publisher sends a lawyer soon. Jennifer seemed to think one is coming.”

“Jennifer?”

“Ah, yes,” he cleared his throat. “A mutual friend.”

“Well, at least you'll get some answers tomorrow. Maybe he knows where Maeve is,” Sasha said.

“Let's hope,” he said. After all the strings he needed to pull through his government, this worked quicker than usual this time. Thank God for that.

“Look, Sanj—” she said, setting her drink down.

He held up his hand. “It's okay. No worries.”

Did he really think he was going to sleep with this gorgeous creature tonight? And now to find she had been paid for sex—well, he was not sure if that was a turn-on or a turnoff. And what exactly did she mean by “humiliation”?

“I really need to turn in,” he said. “I have to be ready at four a.m. Ungodly.”

She frowned.

“Sasha,” he said, leaning into her and kissing her lightly, feeling the first tingle of an erection—or maybe it had not gone completely away. “This will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Her eyes met his—probably the most beautiful deep brown eyes he'd ever seen. “I'll be here,” she said, with a breathiness that made him regret leaving her.

Leaving the suite the next morning, he could have kicked himself for not trying, at least. But something made him hold back. Was it because she was a sex worker? Was he afraid he'd not please her—she being so experienced? He sipped at his coffee in the back of the government-issued limousine. No. He could hold his own. But his hesitation to bed her poked at him. She was a woman with more than one secret. No ordinary woman. He sensed the need to tread lightly.

The cabbie let him off at the building where his old friend was in prison. Hmmm. They were right. It was kind of a nice place. A holding tank of sorts, not really prison. Not yet. And because Jackson was an American, they were playing by the book—well, as far as Sanj surmised.

After going through multiple searchings, walking down several corridors, and turning over his passport and wallet, Sanj was led into an apartmentlike cell, where Jackson was perched on a chair, leafing through a magazine.

“Sanj!” He stood and hugged him.

“Glad to see you're doing so well,” Sanj said. “This is prison?”

“This is probably more like the holding tank until they take me to the real deal,” Jackson said, frowning.

“We'll have you out by then, my friend,” Sanj said as he regarded his old friend. He'd lost weight and aged about ten years since the last time he'd seen him eight months ago. Dark circles hung beneath his green eyes.

“So, what happened?” Sanj asked, sitting down on the chair next to him. A guard walked by. Jackson's eyes followed him.

He shrugged. The shrug comforted Sanj; it was a gesture he'd seen Jackson make countless times.

“It was Maeve,” he said with a lowered voice. “I'm not sure what was going on. But we were in a bar. She accused José Mozingo of using pesticides on his cacao trees and stealing something. And he became irate.”

“José Mozingo?”

“Know him?”

Sanj shook his head. “No.”

“He owns several farms—here, in Brazil, and Trinidad. Big,” Jackson said. “You know me, I wish I'd paid more attention. I just don't have any details. That's Maeve's thing. I just take the pictures.”

“I get that. Okay. She offended him. But how did you end up here?”

Jackson leaned back on his chair. “I don't know. Maeve went to the john. He offered me money to shut her up. I said I'd be happy to take his money, but I couldn't shut her up if I tried.”

Sanj couldn't help but grin.

“He told me American men don't know how to deal with their women. He sort of scowled. He said she needed to be reminded of her place. Well, that pissed me off.”

Sanj shook his head. “You didn't . . .”

“Well, not right then. But when she came back, he actually grabbed her and pulled her to him, put his hands all over her. It was like the guys all around us were kind of watching. It was the weirdest fucking thing.”

“And?”

“And I told him to take his hands off my wife. He laughed.”

“Jesus.”

“He started to like drag her away from me. Right there. All of these men were getting between us, pushing me away. I couldn't get to her.” Jackson lowered his voice, his eyes shifted around.

“Did you threaten to kill him?”

“I'm sure I did, but I don't really remember because I was hit over the head with something and the next thing I knew . . .”

“You were brought here,” Sanj said. “So you think this guy has Maeve?”

Jackson nodded. “I told the consul all of this, too. The police. Everybody. I don't know why nothing has been done about it. The man is easy enough to find. They've questioned him and he told the officials Maeve ran away that night and he's not seen her since.”

“Well, that's possible, knowing Maeve.”

Sanj could think of several times that Maeve had “disappeared.” He didn't know her then, but Jackson had filled him in with stories about her. It could be that she was undercover somewhere, on to a good story, and could not risk a phone call. But she could also be in trouble. Or worse.

“Anything is possible,” Jackson said. “But if she's not with Mozingo, where the fuck is she?”

Jackson's green eyes were filled with terror, anger, fear.

“And you . . . Jackson, how are you doing?”

He stood up and started pacing. “Sanj, everything here is fine. I mean I'm treated well. But I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. Good food. Comfortable warm bed. But no answers from anybody. And where is my wife? Is she okay? Is she dead?”

“C'mon. You know Maeve. She's a survivor, smart, strong.”

“Yeah, but what could she do against a bunch of guys? What could I do? All I could do was . . . nothing. What kind of a husband am I?”

His hands covered his face.

 

Walking out of the building into what felt like a wall of wet heat, Sanj was determined to find Maeve, get some answers from her publisher. Now that he had some leads, he felt better. He slid into the backseat of the car. He took out his smart phone and wrote the name of the guy and the name of the place Maeve was last seen. As he gazed out the window, all he could think was
Maeve, where are you?

Streets full of people grayed as the sky brewed a storm.

 

The banging of thunder woke Sasha up. It was nearly noon. She found a note left by Sanj.

Maeve was a formidable woman.

She glanced at the bed next to hers, where Sanj had slept all night. On the one hand, she yearned to have him in her own bed, but on the other hand, Sanj was a man of integrity. What would she do with a man like that? No. Better to stay focused on finding Maeve and starting her new life. She didn't need to complicate things with a man. Not even Sanj. As if she had the choice—given that once he found out about her past, he didn't seem interested.

She didn't need that shit.

It had happened with the man in Morocco, too. He'd helped her to a certain extent, but when he found out about her, things changed. But by then, she'd stolen a passport and several thousand dollars, and had plans to hop on the next cargo freight to Italy. Which is exactly what she did. Fuck Imar. And fuck Sanj, too, if he couldn't get over her past. She did what she had to do.

She downed some coffee and a Danish left on the table for her. Chocolate filled. The foamy brown cream delighted her and took her mind directly to Paul, who often used chocolate cream and syrup as a way to entice her. She grinned and licked her fingers. So gauche. But she didn't give a damn. Not anymore.

The afternoon spread before her in its possibilities. Yes, she needed some new clothes, and she knew exactly what she wanted and where to go. Soon the storm passed and Sasha was on the streets.

After purchasing several skirts, blouses, and pairs of shoes, she decided to go to the open-air food market. Tomorrow, she'd be much more comfortable in the new clothes she bought—they were more appropriate for the climate and culture. She wanted to blend in as much as she could.

She luxuriated in the smells of the restaurants she passed. The spices, the meat—she loved it. When she turned the corner, her eyes were met with stalls of colorful fruit and vegetables. Rows and rows of them—along with bread, blankets, and baubles. A guitar player sat along the wall. She tossed a coin to him, the notes from his guitar lifting her mood.

As she purchased some cheese and bread, an odd sensation crept into her. Someone was watching her.

Or was she just being paranoid?

She suddenly longed for the safety of the hotel room. It wasn't far. But she decided to get a cab. As the cabbie helped her with her bags, she caught a strange but familiar movement out of the corner of her eye. She dared not look up.

Instead she slipped into the cab and peeked just in time to see a face. The face that haunted her. He turned quickly. Was it really Snake? Or just someone who resembled him?

Her heart pounded in her chest. Was it really him? How did he find her here?

Sasha swallowed hard as they pulled up to the hotel. She glanced all around her. It didn't look like she'd been followed.

She exited the cab, paid the cabbie, and nearly flew to the room, thinking she might not ever leave it again.

She dropped her bags on the floor and fell to her knees, sobbing, unraveling. Would this man never stop? Would he never stop haunting her?

“Sasha?”

Her gaze rose. Sanj came to her.

“What happened?” His arms went around her as he sat on the floor next to her, cradling her as she sobbed into his chest.

“Shhhh. You are shaking. What has frightened you like this?”

Sasha tried to gather herself. But it was no use. She couldn't wrap her mouth around the words. They just wouldn't come.

Chapter 10

S
anj led her into the suite and sat next to her on the couch.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Whiskey,” she managed to say.

“I'll join you, then let's have a nice dinner, shall we? Relax a bit,” Sanj said. Good God, the woman was a mess. Was she going to be ill?

“No!” Sasha said as he poured the golden liquid into glasses. “I'm not going out.”

He handed her the drink. “What are you so afraid of?”

She drank from the glass and took a deep breath. “I think I saw him today.”

Sanj sat his glass down on the end table.

“Who? The man you're hiding from?” He wondered if she was paranoid. Certainly this man would not have followed her here.

She nodded and took another drink.

“How would he find you here? Are you certain?”

The situation was becoming more and more unbelievable. But as Sanj regarded her, he knew she believed she saw the man. She was shaken to her core.

Color began to creep back to her face. Pink in her cheeks. She had gotten so pale he really thought she was going to pass out.

“No, I'm not certain. Just the idea of him sets me off sometimes,” she said. “I think I saw him—or someone who looks a lot like him—today at the market.”

“Did this man see you?” Sanj asked after a moment.

She sighed. Her hand went to her forehead. Then back down in her lap. She was fidgety and twitching. Sanj knew a fix was what she craved. “I'm certain whoever it was saw me. Yes.”

Just then, she reminded him of a delicate bird. His heart spun. The fear in her took over her body.

“Can you take some deep breaths?” he asked. A catatonic body in his suite was not what he needed.

She started to breath deeper.

“Breath is life,” he said. “Keep breathing deeply.”

Of all the women in Ecuador, this was the one he happened to meet. A woman with a past, a past haunting and maybe threatening her. A sex worker. A friend of Maeve's.

“Maybe I'm just being paranoid,” she said after a few moments, with a note of hope in her voice.

“We can have a quiet dinner here. We can order in. Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow and you can come with me,” he said. Though he really wanted to check out the bar tonight. Who knew? Maybe it would lead him to Maeve. It pulled at him. This woman, frail, in front of him and Maeve, one of his dearest friends . . .

“Where were you going?” she asked.

“I'd like to check out this Mozingo man and the last place Maeve's husband saw her,” he said. Then he told her what Jackson had told him.

“Maeve!” she said. “Where could she be?”

“I have a feeling this man has her,” Sanj said. “We'll start there. In fact, I need to make some phone calls. Are you okay?”

He sat closer to her and put his arm around her. As upset as she was, as worried as he was, a spark seemed to travel the length of him. What was wrong with him? She was obviously distraught. He needed to keep a clear head to get Maeve and Jackson out of trouble. Still, one touch and the only thing he wanted to do was bed her. She placed her head on his shoulder. Her scent filled him and his arm drew her closer to him. She fit there in the crook between his body and his arm as if she were made for him.

With great trouble he disentangled himself from her and reached for his mobile phone, dialed his personal assistant, and asked for him to run a check on Mozingo and Sam Everidge. Josh was a kick-ass researcher, along with being a great private investigator who knew his way around international law. Then Sanj dialed Jennifer.

“I'm sorry, Jennifer is gone for the day. May I take a message?”

“No, thanks, I'll call her cell. Thanks,” he said, then called her.

No answer, but her service came on.

“Jennifer, call me as soon as you can. I have news. And I need your help and the publisher's. Where are the lawyers? Someone should be getting Jackson out of prison. Call me,” Sanj said.

“It's odd she's not picking up her mobile,” Sanj said, rising from the couch. “Another drink?”

Sasha nodded. “I should eat before I drink anything else. “

“I'll order dinner. Anything you don't eat?”

In any case, they both needed to eat. What else could he do for Sasha to help her relax? One thing was clear—he couldn't leave her alone tonight. It would be most insensitive of him. Maybe the bar investigation could wait until tomorrow. He tried to calm his stomach.

Besides, he had every confidence that Maeve could handle herself. A part of him half expected her to show up at his door any minute. In disguise.

“I'm not picky,” she said, drinking the last bit of whiskey from her glass, then rising from the couch. “I think I'll freshen up a bit.”

 

Sasha tried to scrub the day off in the shower. As usual, thoughts of Snake made her feel filthy. She scrubbed and scrubbed, but knew she could never feel clean enough. Whole enough. Maybe she'd always be what he said she'd be—a filthy, coke-addict whore. She sometimes still felt the sting of his hand on her face—as if it were a memory her skin held. It just would not be purged.

And some days, like today, a line of coke was all it would take, she told herself.
Just one more line, and then I won't have any more.

She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, watching the drain suck down the foam.

“What bullshit,” Paul told her once. “You know it is. One line will lead to another. Don't play games with yourself. Respect yourself, Sasha.”

She closed her eyes, calling up his face in her mind's eye, and sighed. She'd kick this, she'd survive, despite Snake—and not just for Paul. For herself.

She dried off with the plush white towel and stepped into the soft bathrobe. She used to take this luxury for granted. But after months of travel with next to nothing to eat and no baths, let alone robes, she appreciated it a different way.

She had been dirty, hungry, and scared for so long she couldn't remember how to relax. Italy was warm, at least. With her fake ID, she'd gotten a job working in a jewelry store. It lasted three months before the authorities came searching for her. She wasn't working that day, but her boss left her a note to find the next day. She reached into the cash register, grabbed all the cash, and took off for the port to find the next boat out.

She'd felt so guilty about it she sent the family money, later, once she arrived safely in the Caribbean, after a long, often cold trip. She had never been so happy to see land.

When she walked out into the bedroom, she spotted a note from Sanj.

A massage? A curl of excitement crept into her belly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a massage.

But when she walked down the stairs, she drew in her breath at what awaited her. Lit candles and flowers surrounded the two massage tables and filled the room. The flames of the candles reflected on the glass, which was everywhere. Sanj stood grinning between the two tables.

His dark eyebrows lifted. “I hope this helps you relax.”

She nodded as she descended the stairs, her hearting pounding as she already felt parts of her unravel.

“We have hour massages, then we dine,” he said.

“Sanj, it's too much,” Sasha finally said.

“What do you mean? As you've noted, I'm filthy rich.”

“It's not that. It's . . . it's . . . so thoughtful,” she said, warming.

He tilted his head as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

“Any friend of Maeve's is a friend of mine,” he finally said.

Oh.