Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) (14 page)

“I didn’t plan on getting caught.”

He stopped a few feet from her. “You didn’t plan. Did you even
consider
letting me handle it?”

She refused to flinch at the spark of annoyance mixed with disappointment she read in his eyes. Instead, she nodded. “Sure, I did.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah? For how long?”

Two seconds, maybe?
“You have to understand something, Ric—”

“Uh-huh? Understand what?”

“I’m not used to letting someone else handle my business. The only person I’ve allowed myself to rely on, since my gran, has been your brother, Alejandro. Not even my parents.”

She saw it. The slight wince at the naming of his brother. He had an odd look in his eyes now. He no longer looked annoyed or even disappointed that his brother trumped him in her trust department, but…
what is it?
She couldn’t quite put her finger on the emotion swimming furiously in his dark eyes; it didn’t match the slight droop of his lips — or his silence.

Ric cleared his throat. “And how did you come to trust my brother?”

Perhaps he needed a bottle of water. His voice was thick and scratchy, but if she thought that was going to clue her in on what he was feeling, she was wrong because his eyes instantly became unreadable. To the casual observer, he’d sounded as if he might have swallowed a bit of sand from the storm. She handed him a bottle of water from a bin of bottles lying in ice delivered earlier during breakfast. “Lots and lots of hours working together.”

“Thank you.” He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. “Well, we don’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“I know.”

“So, can’t you move up your timetable?”

What was his angle? Men always had an angle. Mel silently cursed for almost telling him what had occurred in college, if he hadn’t guessed. She was already a bit too trusting of this man. Now, she couldn’t read his impassive expression and he was asking for the one thing she couldn’t possibly give — outside her heart. Love and trust were virtually synonymous. You couldn’t have one without the other. And she wanted neither.

At least, that’s what she continued telling herself as she started to believe the opposite.

He moved closer. A bit of warm sympathy swirled in his eyes; the look transfixed her. His voice was low, urgent. “Look, trust me or not, those guys are going to tell Abdul what they saw and now I’m going to have to run interference.”

She closed her eyes in frustration. He was right. She hadn’t counted on being caught and now Abdul would know two people were in his tent — uninvited. Only an idiot would believe their presence wasn’t for selfish gain. The man would run straight to the sheik and Ric’s mission would, in effect, be over.

“I need to go to Sheik Hassan and explain before Abdul gives him the wrong idea.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered apologetically. Her eyes clung to his.

Before he turned away, the tips of his mouth curved slightly in what she would have considered a smirk a day or two ago but now she’d come to recognize the grin to be compassionate.

He was different from Alejandro. But in a way, she was like her former partner — they both shut everyone out. They also accepted undercover assignments with the US Marshals to remain unavailable to any chance of attachments. Until Audrey Hughes arrived in a whirlwind and whisked Alejandro away to Virginia…leaving her alone.

Minutes later, she had removed her clothing and had taken another bath. When she stepped from behind the divide that separated the sleeping area from the wash, she stopped abruptly. Her mouth dropped, but her hand remained clutched to the towel wrapped tightly around her still damp body.

If only Ric had decided to stay a few more minutes. Maybe point out an additional way she’d put them at risk and threatened the integrity of his mission. If he had, she wouldn’t be staring at the smarmy grin of the man who had forcibly kidnapped her, the cold-blooded stare of his black eyes raking her and growing not lustful, but more murderous by the millisecond.

Ric!

“Abdul has not been to see me.”

That took Ric by surprise. He was sure Hassan’s tent would be the first place Abdul would go upon learning that two of his men were knocked unconscious by a man and a mysterious woman in his tent. Ric schooled his voice to hide his concern. “He hasn’t?”

Hassan shook his head and loudly slurped the remaining burgundy-colored liquid from his crystal glass. “His last audience was early this morning. Do you need to see him?”

Not since early this morning.
At least Ric had time to create a cover story for himself and Mel, although whether Hassan could sell it to Abdul remained an uncertain variable.
And a necessary risk.
“I do need to speak to him.”

Hassan cocked a curious brow. “Business?”

Ric met the man’s gaze. “Personal.”

Hassan’s brows dipped and his eyes narrowed. After a moment of appraisal, the interest in his face faded. He shrugged and eyed the drop of liquid in his glass before he cast a glance up in Ric’s direction.

Ric smirked and reached for the nearby bottle of red wine. Wine was another excessive indulgence Hassan had developed since his wife’s passing. He poured the liquid until the glass was half-full. Hassan cleared his throat. “Of course,” Ric said with a grin, and he topped off the glass to near spillage. “Have you had your liver checked lately?”

“Ha!” Hassan loudly slurped the wine. “I assume you’d rather not discuss what this personal issue is, but what about the other issue?”

Hand still on the bottle, Ric froze after he placed it on the table.

Hassan’s brows rose. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or do you plan to remain a statue forever?”

An oversized plush chair for two sat opposite the lounge Hassan reclined on and Ric settled into the seat, positioning it closer to the table between them. Hassan had plenty of time to invent a story about his apparent non-involvement in the terrorist plot and his motive was simple: keep Ric in the dark about his right-hand man’s activities. Ric steeled his emotions against the fabrication his “friend” was about to unfold. “My apologies.”

A shadow crossed Hassan’s face that extinguished the merriment from the wine and replaced the half-grin with a stiff frown. “This plot you mentioned earlier today…”

Hassan’s voice faded into lingering silence. The man’s penetrating gaze went right through Ric. The hairs on his neck stiffened and Ric rotated in his seat. Abdul stood a few yards away. How had he entered without alerting the guards? Anyone seeking an audience with Hassan was announced and only received admittance with the sheik’s approval. Did Hassan’s guards swear their allegiance to Abdul? If that were the case, who could he trust? Even Hassan’s life would be in danger if the security around him answered to Abdul.
But Abdul wouldn’t harm the man who held the purse strings, his comrade-in-arms.

Hard, dark eyes stared at the two men, revealing nothing — not even whether or not he’d overheard the last words uttered by Hassan. Ric had to assume Hassan’s thunderous bass voice had carried the twenty feet or so from his seat to where Abdul stood, unsmiling, except for the brief glint of amusement in his eyes when his gaze flickered and fixed momentarily on Ric.

Hassan cleared his throat. “Abdul! Come in, my friend.”

“Forgive the interruption,” Abdul said as he advanced.

“No need, no need. I was just having a drink with Ric. Please, join us. Ric, there is enough room for two on that seat, yes?”

Ric avoided eye contact with Abdul and slid a few inches to his right. Abdul gripped the sides of his long tunic and folded them inward before sitting down and smoothing the fabric across his lap. He smelled sweaty, as if he’d just run the quarter mile from his tent to Hassan’s. A few opaque granules of sand rolled from his gray tunic, bounced off Ric’s dusty black shoes and onto the sheik’s hand-woven Turkish rug he’d once told Ric he bought directly from an Ottoman royal. Ric cut a glance at Abdul, whose facial features had relaxed as he poured himself a glass of wine.

After a sip of the red wine, Abdul sighed and settled into the back cushion. “Please, don’t let my presence stop you from discussing…”

Hassan exchanged a wary glance with Ric before he recovered. “We were discussing—”

“A plot?” Abdul smiled behind the glass after he took a loud gulp.

“Yes. The one you made against me,” Hassan said smoothly.

Abdul sputtered. The wine in his mouth dribbled down his chin and onto the front of his tunic.

Ric reached for a gold-tasseled cloth napkin and offered it to Abdul. “Cloth? You’re drooling.” He nearly laughed when Abdul snatched the cloth from his hand and furiously patted his face. Instead, Ric displayed a toothy grin.

“I…I don’t believe I’ve plotted against you.”

“Yes, you have.”

He continued to stammer. “How? Uh, how have—”

“By presenting me with a new bride. The gift shocked me greatly.” Abdul responded to the harmless chastisement with a gaped mouth. “I was unaware of the romantic heart you carry, my friend, but mine still beats for my Fatima. How you could not have known this displeases me.”

Abdul mumbled contrite apologies and Ric admired the sheik’s cunning. The man didn’t blink an eye during the cover story, instead using his rank to coax Abdul into a position of vulnerability. Abdul’s sincerity over his mistake appeared genuine and perhaps the man’s loyalty to the sheik’s personal well-being was wholehearted, but if it was, it had proved dangerous. Mel’s kidnapping might have been spur of the moment, and that meant Ric couldn’t underestimate Abdul’s spontaneity. An impulsive criminal act could be just as dangerous as a planned one.

But the intelligence indicated the upcoming US Embassy attack was organized. But little was known about the participants or the type of weapons that would be used. Sheik Hassan was a peace-loving businessman who would sooner use a wad of cash as a weapon than pick up a gun; at least, that’s what Ric had believed until he spoke to Rafiq.

“Ah, but there is, what is that American phrase? A silver lining? Yes, yes a silver lining. Ric now has a woman who pleases him. Perhaps enough to marry?” Hassan raised his half-empty glass to Ric with an amused smirk. “A man is nothing without a woman.”

“If that’s the case,” Ric shifted in his seat to get a better view of Abdul, “then Abdul should have been looking in the bazaar for himself.”

Hassan roared with laughter. Abdul’s cheeks tinted as he glared at Ric.

“How is the woman, Ric?”

Hassan’s guffaw ceased and Ric assumed the sheik had also heard the implied threat in Abdul’s voice. The scene where Mel was at the mercy of Abdul’s thugs in the man’s tent flashed before his eyes, and Ric had to work to lower the sharp ascent of his temper.

“Well, thank you.”

Abdul’s lips snaked up to one side of his creased face. “Is she?”

“What do you imply, Abdul?” the sheik asked.

It was a question on the tip of Ric’s dry tongue and yet he couldn’t, for the life of him, get his mouth to form the words. Then it dawned on him: he was paralyzed with fear. The insinuation that something would happen…
Or is happening.
Ric shot to his feet. “Excuse me.” He smiled apologetically to Hassan. “I promised to join Hakeem for dinner.” The sheik sent him a worried glance over the rim of his wine glass, while a grinning Abdul shrugged his dismissal of Ric.

“Ric?”

Ric halted, keeping his back to Abdul’s hail.

“Send my regards to the woman.”

****

“I cannot keep this from him.”

And by the looks of it, neither can I.
Mel once again placed the ice pack onto her busted lip, knowing her pleas to Hakeem about keeping the truth of her “accident” from Ric were a waste of time. Although the old man was nothing but kind to her — like a grandfather, she had imagined — he was loyal to one person: Ricardo.

Mel tilted the pack away from the swelling to peek at the injury. She groaned. This would be just the ammunition Ric needed to further drive home his point about her reckless behavior. And she couldn’t listen to another lecture from the man, especially after admitting he was right. His triumph would be more than she could handle.

“How ’bout you say nothing at all,” she suggested rather ludicrously.

Hakeem jumped on the asinine proposition, further causing her to cringe at the anticipation of Ric’s ire. “And when he sees your lip? When he kisses you and feels a part of it has changed?”

Her cringing rippled into pleasurable shivers as she heated with embarrassment at the prospect of another one of Ric’s kisses.

From behind her, Hakeem chuckled as he eyed her reflection in the mirror. “So my son has been, um,
working his magic
?”

Mel coughed uncontrollably at the idiom and Hakeem’s laughter filled the tent. When he had gained some semblance of control, she changed the topic of conversation. “You said son...”

“Ah yes,” he said with a smile. With one hand, he stroked his gray-tinted beard until it shaped into a definable point. “I have known Ric for a few years now. He and I have had many adventures. A few times, I thought we would close our eyes forever.”

Close our eyes forever...
So Hakeem was no stranger to the perilous life Ric led. The loyalty he had toward an American spy — for lack of a better word — intrigued her.

“I had a son once,” he continued. “Young, and handsome like his father.”

Mel smiled at the affectionate look in the older man’s eyes.

“I wanted to send him to university in London, but his mother was afraid for him to be so far away.”

“You’re married?” she asked incredulously.

“We have distant family in Yemen, and Rahim was going to visit them before attending university in Riyadh.” Hakeem’s voice cracked and he turned away. He put a hand up to his face and did a wiping motion at the same time he sniffed loudly. “He was spending time with his cousins at an outdoor bazaar, when an explosion...”