Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) (12 page)

After yesterday’s meeting with Hassan, Ric was convinced his friend — source — was telling the truth, but each scenario had to be on the table until they were eliminated. Talking to Rafiq would be a good start. Being the head chef, Abdul’s cousin would likely be supervised by Rafiq.

After announcing himself, Ric was quickly ushered in. To avoid tracking sand everywhere, he remained near the entrance of the tent. Rafiq greeted him warmly and begged him to come forward and have a seat on a large settee, whose cushions were a vibrant golden color. Ric glanced down at the deep purple rug with an intricate design of vines, light roses, and green leaves.

“Please, please. Sit.”

Ric shook his head and pointed at the rug. “I’m already leaving a pile of sand.”

“Don’t worry. I will clean it up later. You are my guest.” Rafiq pulled at Ric’s hand and led him to the settee. “It is no trouble. Sit.”

Ignoring the subtle feelings of guilt for tracking sand through the tent, Ric did as he was told. The cushions appeared firm from a distance but were remarkably comfortable, giving way considerably to his body weight. There was something soothing about the tent’s atmosphere. Pillows and afghans in bold hues, expensive rugs, soft music in the background… It suited the chef, a humble man with an eye for detail in the incredible presentation of his meals, always ready to serve and rarely able to accept praise for his masterpieces.

Speaking of serving...
Rafiq briefly turned away; he then offered Ric a tray with a cup of steaming tea and ripe dates. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” Not taking “no” for an answer, Rafiq extended the tray again until Ric accepted it. He knew he’d otherwise appear rude. “Thank you, Rafiq.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

Ric took a courteous sip of the tea, a drink he never liked, and watched as Rafiq poured himself a generous cup before he popped a date in his mouth. He soon joined Ric on the settee.

“How has the food been? Good?” Rafiq asked around the date. He swallowed hard — and loud.

“Excellent, Rafiq, as always. Thank you.”

Rafiq grinned broadly. “You are here for more, yes? A special order for you and the woman?”

Ric forced thoughts of a cold shower into his mind. He cleared his throat. “No. The food has been excellent, thank you.”

“Ah, good, good. I hear you are to be congratulated on a new business venture with the sheik in Somalia.”

Somalia.
Had the sheik been discussing a deal involving Ric’s “company”? “I’m still waiting on confirmation from my father and the board of directors. Perhaps you know the right words to say that will convince them.”

Rafiq laughed. “I’ve been in service to Hassan for many years, as you are aware. I hear many things, especially from my servers.” Rafiq raised his chin until his gaze looked down his nose to Ric. “The person you should speak to is of course, Abdul. He is the architect behind the contracts the sheik has been able to procure with his contacts in that country.”

His contacts? Or Abduls? Ric ignored the rising tide of disappointment in Hassan. “I believe the board is concerned with the quality of the weapons. The men providing them are a third party.”

“But you’ll save money. That has to be attractive to the board. I was present when Abdul assured Hassan that a perceived lack in quality was minimal given the price of the service.”

And that’s what I needed to know.
Abdul had procured weapons from Africa and the sheik, with full knowledge, was financing their movements from the continent to anyone’s guess where, but the likelihood was that of other state actors involved in terrorism.

“Perhaps I’ve said too much,” Rafiq said with a slight frown. “I’m a simple chef and not a businessman.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘simple’ to describe you at all. You’re a wise man, Rafiq. And your culinary skills are to be revered. Even the woman can barely control herself when your food severs enter the tent.”

Rafiq laughed heartily. “I can’t deny that I know how to cook.”

“I appreciate your time, Rafiq. I’m afraid Abdul isn’t too pleased that Hassan ordered the woman sent to me.”

Rafiq nodded, his face solemn. “I did hear of that, yes. Abdul has a cousin who works for me. Perhaps you can facilitate reconciliation through him? He is working right now, but you can see him when he is on a break.”

Ric smiled, pleased with the invitation to proceed with gathering information. He was used to working in the shadows, but sanctioned meetings were usually preferred; he’d appear less like a spy. “Yes, I would like reconciliation. If the board approves of this deal, it is likely my contact with Abdul will be more frequent than it is now. I’d appreciate being on good terms. Thank you, again, for your counsel. You might consider expanding your services.”

Rafiq’s heavily tanned face reddened with laughter at Ric’s embellished compliment. “Cooking is enough for me.”

Ric tipped his head in deference. “Of course.” He stood. “I don’t want to keep you.”

Rafiq stood as well. “And I have a meal to prepare.”

Ric exited the tent, excited about the prospect of meeting with Abdul’s cousin, and the information about the arms deal Abdul procured while in Somalia. The agency would have a new target and capture would be imminent.

****

This is why black women shouldn’t live in the desert. Where am I supposed to get some product?

Mel frowned at her wet natural curls in the mirror that hung from the shower divider wall in Ric’s tent. Soon they’d be a frizzy mass without her moisturizing mousse. She’d worked her fingers through the mass of ringlets, twisting them into discernable coils and in a few minutes, they would expand to the width of the tent.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a small black bag on the side of a washbowl. Mel narrowed her eyes on the object and willed whatever was inside to be toiletries and possibly something she could use. In two steps, she was in front of the bowl and swiping up the bag.
Wait a minute, Mel; this isn’t your property.
“He wouldn’t mind,” she reasoned out loud, and then unzipped the bag. She ignored the travel-sized bottle of shampoo and deodorant. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of a small bottle of gel. Hair gel. “Of all things… So that’s how your hair is perfectly wavy.” She pulled the bottle out and unscrewed the cap. The potent smell of fragrance mixed with alcohol caused her to wrinkle her nose, but didn’t stop her from tipping a bit of the gel into her hands and working it through her hair. “Thanks, Ric,” she said with a smile as she watched her progress in the mirror.

“Clothes. I need clothes…” Wrapped in a towel, Mel proceeded to the table where Ric mentioned he’d left her additional clothes to wear. A slight gasp escaped her as she unfolded the fabric. A brilliant royal blue abaya, with fine crystal beading, draped over her arms, soft as silk. Mel held the garment to her body; the hem dusted her ankle. The crystal design would subtly accent her curves and she was suddenly in a rush to try it on. After undoing the towel, she slipped the dress over her head, and sighed as the smooth texture wafted over her body like a warm shower. She raced to the bathroom and angled the mirror so she could see her figure. “I look amazing!”

How had he guessed her size, or knew the color would look incredible against her walnut-colored skin? Everything about the garment, from the hue to the shape to the design of the crystals, made her feel like a Saudi princess — if feeling incredibly beautiful was the normal state of mind for a Saudi princess.

And then something happened.

She giggled.

Mel slapped a hand over her mouth to silence the unfamiliar sound. With her free hand, she slammed the mirror back into place and marched to the main area of the tent. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t girly…a giggler. She was…

Cold, bitter, hard...okay, stop it!
Her shoulders automatically slumped as the familiar feelings of dejection traveled through her veins and reached every part of her body. How long had she been this way? Ever since…

When her eyes spotted the snow-white headscarf, her downturned mouth curved upward and continued until the inside of her mouth tasted air. The scarf was as soft and flowing as the dress. After twisting her curls into a messy bun, Mel wrapped the scarf around her head, but kept the fabric loose around her nose and mouth. The wind outside had picked up in the last hour and with it was probably the sand.

Surprisingly, Abdul returned her knife; after she retrieved it from the bag, she slipped the sheathed blade in the only accessible place — right behind the front of her dress beneath her bra strap. She paused at the entrance of the tent and listened for sounds of either Ric or Hakeem’s arrival, which would derail her plans. Hakeem would run straight to Ric, and if Ric was on the other side of the tent flap, he’d probably tie her to a chair to keep her from leaving.

It’s not as if she didn’t want to give Ric a chance to find her badge. The thought of
relying
on this man for something important to her was a foreign concept — forgetting that she could already trust him with her life. Well, life was one thing but something that involved her emotions? Her job kept her grounded and focused and was one of only a few steady pillars in her life. Rocking her world would likely put a crack in the protective barrier she’d erected around her heart and this time the damage would be permanent.

Except the crack was already there. And it wasn’t just a crack: it was a canyon. His kiss yesterday had curled her toes, turned her inside out, and ruptured a cyst of fear long growing on her heart. But old habits were hard to break.

Hakeem had arrived, just as Ric said he would, but left shortly thereafter in the company of a few men. He didn’t look as if he had a choice and judging by the grave expression on his face, it was either go with them or suffer some consequence he couldn’t afford. He’d been gone for about half an hour.
My window is closing fast.
If Ric and Hakeem were involved in what she thought they were — stopping terrorism — then her badge in the possession of a man like Abdul could possibly be detrimental to their operation.

Mel slid past the flap and was nearly blown over by the force of the wind. Her eyes stung from the sand and she wiped furiously at them to clear the invading grit.
What am I even doing?
Where would she begin? She had no clue where Abdul’s tent was, let alone if he’d even keep the badge there.

Mel, turn back. Let Ric do his job.

And yet, her feet surged forward. She was used to handling her problems alone. Ever since her grandmother had passed away a few years back, she had no one she could truly count on. At work, Ale proved to be someone she could let in past her barrier, until he moved away to marry Audrey Hughes. Outside of work, she had very few friends and none of them knew what had happened to her in college. The weaker the emotional connection between them, the safer she felt.

She hadn’t let a man kiss her in years. She managed to go on a few dates after college, at her grandmother’s insistence, but every time she the man would lean in for the kiss, she nearly gagged in her mouth.

Until Ric.

He was different from any other man, and somehow, she’d known it from the moment they’d met. Not because he saved her life, but because…

She wasn’t a romantic. Love at first sight was nonsense; chemistry was nothing more than biology, and that couldn’t be trusted. And
all
men — well, most — were ruled by a lower extremity that was a weapon more dangerous than the Glock 22 she carried while on duty. Why was he so eager to trust her, and her him? Yes, they were the only Americans out here in the middle of the desert, and yes, they faced a powerful yet masked enemy, but did he have to lay it on so thick so soon? The story about his childhood, the kissing… Was it hot, or was Ric once again causing her to blush?

I’ve got to get some control over that.
She hadn’t been this flushed since she met DeShawn.

DeShawn. Her high school boyfriend, whom she followed to college, convinced they’d break up if she didn’t. Well, they did. He’d wanted her more than she was willing to offer and when his anger over her reluctance had reached its boiling point, she had paid a high price. And it was painful. Perhaps even more disappointing was how college life had changed the funny, sweet boy she grew up with into a sharp, aggressive man who favored partying, drinking, and endless sexual partners to the family and friends he shamefully ignored. Once her eyes were finally opened to the man she had refused to acknowledge existed, it was too late. Her heart had shattered into a million pieces and love became an emotion she could do without.

It wasn’t just DeShawn. Many of the men in the lives of her family members and friends from her neighborhood had, in one way or another, broken faith and vows to the women they
claimed
to love. Watching her cousins, aunts, and friends shed tears over men who weren’t worth their grief had calcified Mel’s heart many times over. Life was trying enough without having to self-inflict wounds by offering mind, heart, body, and soul to men who couldn’t recognize the value of the women they professed to cherish and protect. In their exodus were bitter hearts and diseases they’d left behind for their women to endure alone, as well as broken homes after they walked out the door.

Broken homes…

Ric was a product of a broken home. According to his new sister-in-law Audrey, Ric and his brothers owned the hallways of their high school — and the nerds and the cheerleaders. The Santiago brothers commanded just as much attention back then as they did now as upstanding law enforcement officers and an agent of the United States government.

Unbelievable.

Mel halted her progress and squinted through the cloud of sand. A group of men was heading in her direction, but the short one in front stood out. He carried himself as a man of some importance with his head held high, despite the wind, and the men with him were careful to be one step behind the tiny leader. It was Abdul; she was sure. Mel moved to the side of the nearest tent, out of view from the men, and peered around the corner to watch their progress. She held her tongue, although the tent bucked and slapped the side of her face a few times. Just one of the hazards of surveillance she’d gladly endure if it gleaned information about her badge.