Once a Marine (6 page)

BD waited. She felt bad that Shari probably ruined the shirt with big smears of black mascara. Easy come, easy go. “Tell me. What else could they do to make you feel like this?”

“Not them. Mark. I read in the paper this morning that my fiancé announced his engagement to Sylvie Athena.” She pulled the shirt up and dabbed her eyes again. Her chin trembled pathetically.

“What? That emaciated, bad-tempered, rich bitch whose father owns all those hotels in New York and Miami?”

“Uh-huh.”

BD patted Shari’s knee. “I hope this doesn’t come back to haunt me, but you’re well rid of that charming jerk. They deserve each other. She’ll make his life a living hell. Mark Rich is a total class A a-hole. You can do a lot better than him.”

“Sure. Look at that big group of upstanding citizens in the Shari matrimonial line over there. I can have my pick. If I don’t mind knowing they married me for my money.”

Definitely a problem BD would never have. What you saw was what you got, buster. She could hand a guy her bank book and point out all the zeros not following any numbers. It was her, her good looks, her used, bruised body, and, up till today, her clawing her way up the ladder of career ambition. Money couldn’t buy happiness. BD sat next to the living proof.

Shari started with the sobs again and built up to some good chokers. “Then, then—”

“Then what?” She squeezed Shari’s shoulders and rocked her from side to side. “Then what?”

“Then
you
went missing.” A full-throated bawl erupted from her mouth, sounding as if it started in her toes.

Datu peeked from the door. “You lady OK? Oh, Missy BD, you not rape and murder. I wake up Angara tell her. She be happy happy.” He closed the door.

BD tilted Shari’s chin up and stared into her eyes. “See Missy? I no rape and murder. I in fine good shape. I happy happy.”

Shari laughed and shook her head, “God, how I hate you.”

BD laughed. “Yeah, I hate you too. Can we go inside? I need a shower.”

Shari stood and brushed off her silk pants. “Where have you been all day?”

“Taking surfing lessons over by Kaneohe Marine Base.”

“All day?” She puckered her bright red lips. “I don’t believe that for a minute. What were you really doing?”

BD stood. “It’s true. Come on. Let’s go in.” She stepped in front of Shari and tugged her ruined T-shirt. “Follow me to the bathroom. I’ll tell you. It’ll make your day. Made mine until about an hour ago.”

* * *

They lounged toe to toe in Shari’s oversize marble spa tub, up to their necks in bubbles. Surrounded by candlelight, they sipped ice-cold Pinot grigio. Just like in the movies. Except in the movies, the heroine would rush to the freezer, pull out a big tub of Ben and Jerry’s, and pig out on chocolate chip cookie dough. In the rag business you couldn’t pig out like that unless you didn’t mind running to the bathroom to stick your finger down your throat after. Yuck. There was more to life than looking like a glamorous praying mantis.

“Some surfing lessons,” Shari said. “Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive.” She sighed. “But what a way to go, huh? I didn’t realize it until now, but I think I must still be a virgin.”

BD chuckled. “I was one myself until this afternoon.” She took a swallow of wine and set the glass on the silver tray next to the tub. She held up her foot. “Am I a prune yet?”

Shari held up her foot. “Almost. What about me?”

BD pushed a small wave of bubbles toward Shari’s chin. “You are there.” She reached over with her toe and hit the drain lever. As the water in the tub lowered, hidden glass doors slid silently to surround the tub and shower heads appeared in the wall. Perfect temperature water rained down on them and rinsed off the bubble bath. Money had its rewards…whatever Shari said. If you were going to be miserable, might as well be rich and miserable.

Chapter Three

The jet painted with the logo of a well-known air cargo carrier sped west across the Pacific. Rafael Cruz sat on the floor resting his back against his duffle in the near darkness. Another member of the team snored away across the broad cabin. Rafi would have to remember not to let the guy fall asleep if they were in the middle of their mission deep in the Philippine jungle. It would be a sure giveaway of their position.

Joe Brosky strolled down the length of the nearly empty hull in Rafi’s direction. The few men were dressed in army-issue jungle warfare fatigues. Two guys in the open cockpit jawed endlessly. If they were expecting some relief in a couple of hours they should shut the hell up so Rafi could catch a few winks, like the braying donkey across from him.

Joe hunkered down next to Rafi. They’d known each other half their lives, joined the Marines together, and carried out many missions during and after retirement. Now they worked for Silverstone, and Joe spearheaded this one. All Rafi had to do was follow orders and do his job.

“Hey, Brosky, long time no see.”

“Yeah, been a whole twenty-four hours.” Joe pointed to Rafi’s kit. “What’s that, a battle trophy?”

Rafi twisted around to see what Joe was talking about. The strap of Bravo Delta’s hot pink bikini hung out the end of the bag’s zipper closure. Rafi chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He pulled the top out, held it up, and felt a tug in his gut.

Joe grinned. “No shit, man. Fill me in.”

Rafi didn’t want to talk about it, not this time anyway. There was something about
this time
he didn’t care to share with the guys. “Nah. I found it at Kaneohe. Some girl must have lost it.” He shrugged, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Joe took the hint.

Brosky had briefed the team, outlining the details of the mission, while still on the tarmac at Honolulu airport. Straightforward. Hostage rescue and extraction. Straightforward, that is, until Joe mentioned that the hostage was a district official from Mindanao who’d been kidnapped along with his wife and three young children.

Abu Sayyaf guerrillas had kidnapped the local police chief and his family for ransom. Just to make sure the Philippine government knew they were serious they hacked off the head of the man’s old mother and tossed her mutilated body on the street in front of police headquarters.

Rafi shook his head with trepidation and disgust. “Jesus, I hate it when there are kids involved. We could all end up getting our asses shot off. Kids are so damn unpredictable and noisy. Christ!”

Rafi had seen a lot of brutality since he and Joe joined the Marines at the tender age of seventeen. But the barbaric murders and savage actions of the Filipino guerrillas made the hair prickle on the back of his neck.

Abu Sayyaf’s goal was to form an independent Islamic state in western Mindinao. Their recent surge of violence coincided with the twenty-fifth anniversary of the People Power Revolution and the ouster of Ferdinand Marcos.

They sought to exact revenge for the killing Abdulkarim Sali, a key member of the terrorist organization and the mastermind behind the kidnapping of two American missionaries in 2001. Not to mention numerous bombings and beheadings in the past ten years.

Rafael could have resigned the assignment if he chose, but the opportunity to take down some of those radical murdering bastards would be very satisfying. And the money was too damn good to pass up. He had to build up as much in cash reserves as possible to keep his charter airline going until he got financial breathing room.

Silverstone recruited Rafi for this particular mission because his first language was Spanish. He’d mastered several of the local Filipino dialects while stationed at the Marine air base at Zamboanga.

He and Joe had worked with Silverstone Security almost since the day they were discharged as active-duty Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine. In fact, doors had been opened for Rafi because of his sterling service record. He’d been one lucky son-of-a-bitch so far. How long could his luck hold out? He very much wanted that luck to hold. He had a real good reason now for wanting to get back to the States in one piece.

The operation was black, unofficial. No ID. Nothing to tie them to Silverstone or the Philippine or US governments. After they landed in Zamboanga, they would make their way to the coast and proceed to Basilan by boat. If the mission went in the crapper there would be no record. Nobody ever heard of them. There would be no help. They would disappear. Nobody would ever know what happened to them.

Chapter Four

Shari lifted her sunglasses from her nose and pointed a slender manicured finger at BD. “So why are you still here?”

BD flicked a few drops of water in Shari’s direction, climbed out of the pool and settled on the chaise. “I’m still here because we haven’t come up with a plan. What do I have to rush back to? Nick’s history, and without you I don’t have a job.” She rubbed her hair with a fluffy towel.

Datu arrived with a tray of iced tea and sandwiches. “You lady too skinny. Angara nag me you don’t eat.” He set the tray down with a thump on the small table between them and scowled.

Shari snatched a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic SPF 15, just before it fell from the table. She grinned. “We’ll either eat them or hide them, Datu.”

He nodded. “Good. I bring back empty tray, wife shut up.”

BD watched his retreating back. “How do you always manage to hire the best domestics? I don’t get it. Why would any of them work for you?”

Shari extended the sunscreen in BD’s direction. “Why do you work for me?”

BD took the bottle. “That’s a question for the ages. I’ve been puzzling over that one for the past week.” She smoothed lotion on her shoulders and sun-browned arms. “Am I getting burned on my face?”

Shari lifted her glasses again, squinted at BD. “You’ve finally got some color. It suits you.” She picked up a sandwich. “You should get in the sun more.”

BD helped herself to a sandwich. “I do whenever you unchain me and let me out of the workhouse.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

They ate sandwiches and sipped tea in silence. BD’s mind wandered. Shari had relaxed since they’d been in Hawaii. Even though her parents had played a dirty trick on her, she seemed to have reconciled to it. They’d called her several times, but she’d refused to speak to them.

Every time she and Shari talked about planning Shari’s approach to her relationship with Grayson Designs, and thereby BD’s relationship to Shari and the company, they hadn’t come up with any kind of sensible plan.

As for Mark Rich, Shari was glad to be rid of him. He did her a favor when he got engaged to the hotel heiress. Shari told BD she only stayed with him out of inertia. When Mark hung around, other men kept their distance.

Speaking of keeping distance, what had happened to Rafi? He’d been gone a week and not a word. He said he couldn’t talk about where he was going and why, but BD thought that by now she might have heard from him. Maybe she’d never hear from him. Perhaps that one hot, sexy day was all he wanted, and then he’d moved on.

That day with Rafi brought home how frustrating her relationship with Nick had been. The past year, before she’d moved out, they’d been like an old married couple who took each other’s presence for granted. Nick had no interest in BD’s career goals. He made that clear on more than one occasion. He should be her only priority, or she doomed the relationship.

She studied the engagement ring she still wore. A dazzling one-carat princess cut stone, as hard and cold as Nick’s demands. At least she got that much for the past three years of her life.

Her thoughts drifted back to Rafael Cruz. She was troubled by how often she thought of him. Several times a day she replayed in her mind the incredibly hot scene in the small motel in Kaneohe. It stoked a flame right where the small green bikini she wore fit between her legs. Little shivers coursed through her body when she remembered her incredible orgasms. Before that day she thought she knew what a satisfying sexual encounter was. Now she prayed she wouldn’t be stuck comparing that one day with Rafi with any other man in her future.

Shari must have been reading her mind. “What do you suppose happened to your ex-Marine pilot? How long did he say he’d be gone?”

“He didn’t.”

“Hmm, I hoped you two would get back together so you could continue my education of what really good sex is.” She set her glass on the flagstone deck and stood. “I’m going to cool off in the pool.”

BD picked up another sandwich. “We really need to sit down and run through some of those scenarios we talked about yesterday. We can’t lounge around here indefinitely.”

Shari stepped to the edge of the pool stairway. “Why not?”

“Because I have to earn a living, that’s why not.”

“You’re still on the clock. You still work for me.”

“Doing what?”

Shari took slow steps into the sparkling pool. “Whatever I say. Relax and enjoy the perks of a paid vacation. I’m paying your salary. What’s the problem?”

What was the problem indeed? Why
not
relax and enjoy a paid vacation? Yesterday evening, after a day of shopping the top boutiques as well as Macy’s, formerly the famous Liberty House, and Neiman Marcus, they’d gone to one of the finest restaurants on the island. Shari had paid for every purchase with her Grayson credit card. When BD protested, Shari insisted she must “look the part.”

The only glitch in the day was Shari’s escalator phobia. Whenever they approached one, her gaze searched the area frantically for stairs. She was incapable of taking that first step on an escalator. She didn’t like elevators either, always grabbing for a hold bar and keeping her eyes squeezed shut when the doors closed.

What was that about anyway? Maybe she’d worm the story out of Shari at some point. In the past BD took for granted that Shari kept her eyes closed on an elevator to discourage anyone from attempting to engage her in conversation. After yesterday’s shopping spree, she wasn’t so sure about that assumption.

BD was now the owner of an entire new wardrobe. Clothing and accessories she wouldn’t dream of paying for on her salary, as generous as her paycheck was.