by Linda Verji
“What kind of mother does that?”
“We used to call her Gaddafi.” Nathan laughed. Shakira didn’t join him. She didn’t think it was funny at all. Eve had done some shitty things but it was never in a deliberate attempt to sabotage her – she was just a mess. Compared to Edya, Eve was Mother Theresa in disguise. Noting her serious expression, Nathan pressed his lips on her forehead and said, “Come on it’s no big deal. I survived, didn’t I?”
“It’s a big deal.” No wonder he’d been so shaken.
“Now she wants me to come to her wedding.” He added, “Oh yeah! And to invest in Extreme Expressions.”
Surprised, Shakira asked, “She’s trying to make up?”
“No, she’s just trying to worm her way into controlling me again.” He stiffened. “I’m not falling for it.”
“Are you sure she’s not trying to make up?”
Going by Nathan’s words Edya wasn’t a woman who liked to show emotion. Shakira’s grandmother had been an ice-queen too. Instead of just apologizing, she’d try to make it up in convoluted ways like extra salami in sandwiches, a dollar tucked under Shakira’s pillow…Maybe Edya was the same way only that she had a bigger bank account to work with.
“Well even if she is,” he dismissed, “I’m not interested.”
There was finality in his words that told Shakira that it wasn’t a good time to prod him about Edya. Glad that he’d chosen to share a part of himself with her, she let it go. She didn’t need Freud to tell her that Nathan’s mistrust was rooted in his mother’s betrayal. But his relationship with Edya was a highly personal thing and the fact that he’d chosen to share it with Shakira meant that at some level, he trusted her.
Perhaps that was what they needed, for her to let him trust her at his own pace and not to push him.
He woke her in the middle of the night.
“Wider.”His whisper emanated from below her. “Open for me, Kira.”
Her legs fell open of their own volition.
His tongue.
Her eyes snapped open, the sleepiness instantly fading as he teased her clit with languorous strokes of his tongue. Her thighs firmed around his head as her body came alive.
“Nathan,” she gasped his name as her fingers clenched in his silky hair. His wicked tongue rasped over her pulsing nub before licking its way down to her waiting slit and probing. On a moan Shakira closed her eyes again as she let the searing heat singe her senses.
His hands on her thighs keeping her locked to him, he pleasured her with his mouth. The moment he eased a finger between her folds she cracked. She arched upwards, shuddering and trembling as her walls convulsed. His lips and tongue hungrily stroked her pussy, suckling every drop of her honeyed release.
In the morning when she woke up she thought it was all a dream until she realized she was naked. Hoping to continue where he’d left off, she searched the room, and then the house for him. She was disappointed when all she found was a note saying that he’d left for work and didn’t want to wake her.
She spent her morning working. Her earnings on the freelance site were now at six hundred and thirty dollars. Proud and eager to start sharing some of the responsibility in the household budget, she withdrew some money with the intention of doing some household shopping. By the time she completed her work for the day, it was almost six. Nathan would be home soon.
Grabbing a jacket, she made her way downstairs. The grocery store wasn’t far enough to waste gas and Shakira decided to walk. She didn’t count on everyone else having the same idea as her. The store was packed. The harried cashiers tried to check out customers quickly, but by the time Shakira got to the front of the line, darkness had already set in.
A message from Nathan beeped on her phone. Where are you?
Store. On my way tho. She tapped out her reply as she pushed the trolley forward with her leg.
Want me to come get you?
Nah. S’okay. Just a few minutes anyway. She sent it then arranged her shopping on the cashier’s counter. Her phone beeped indicating another message but Shakira ignored as she kept her eye on the calculator. She’d never gotten over the habit of watching over every cent she spent.
“That will be thirty seven fifty,” the cashier said with a smile. Shakira handed her the money. With a few quick key strokes her bill was paid.
“Thank you,” Shakira said as she dropped a healthy tip in the Red Cross jar. While she waited for the attendant to pack up her bag, she swiped her phone again to check Nathan’s message.
OK. Hurry home. Miss you :-)
She smiled and typed out her answer. ‘kay.
Lugging the heavy bag in one hand, Shakira exited the store. It was only once she stepped outside that she realized how dark it really was. There were no stars or moon to lighten the dark skies. With very few people on foot, there was only the streetlights above and ominous silence punctuated by patchy sounds of cars flying by to keep her company. Shakira had walked this way a lot of times so it didn’t really bother her.
That is, until she felt it!
Her senses prickled and the hairs on the nape of her neck rose in sudden alarm.
Shakira whipped her head backwards in automatic response, but noticed nothing strange except for a black SUV slowing down behind her.
It’s just my imagination.
But the feeling wouldn’t go away if anything it intensified with goose-bumps crowding on her skin even though she was wrapped up in a jacket and jeans. When she turned again, the truck was still there, driving slowly behind her.
Was it following her?
She watched it uneasily. With darkness fully fallen and its windows tinted, she couldn’t see inside it. She stood still, waiting for it to pass by but SUV stopped moving. Her heart started pounding faster then. Ignoring its furious beat, she started walking again. The car started moving too.
Her footsteps sped up. It sped up too.
Shakira started running.
CHAPTER 15
Shakira sprung forward with quick steps. She could taste her own fear on her tongue. Its bitter pungent taste sent rippling alarms through her nerves and activated her body into flight response. Her pulse accelerated with each running step she took, heat pooled on her skin and her breath came in short sharp quiet gulps as her breasts rose and fell with the vigor of her movements.
And the black truck matched her step for step.
One more building. One more building.
She desperately urged her body not to give in as she pumped her legs faster. Her muscles screamed with pain, the sting further exacerbated by the constant and painful knock of the heavy shopping bag against her right leg as she ran.
The black truck sped up too, tracking her with the intensity of a predator toying with its prey. Who was in there? Why were they following her? Shakira didn’t have the time to care; her only aim was to get away from the car prowling hungrily behind her.
Her breath came out in whoosh of relief when she turned the corner that led to their building giving renewed energy to her body. With a few speedy steps and a gulp of victorious air, Shakira lunged forward through the entrance – and hurtled straight into someone else.
“Oomph!” Shakira staggered backwards.
“Watch it!” The prissy blonde from number fifteen warded her off with raised hands and a scowl.
“Sorry,” Shakira gasped, only barely noticing that the blonde was in running gear, as she scooted further into the well-lit foyer. Pulse still pounding fast, she turned to stare into the darkness in search of the SUV. It pulled up in a spot just in front of the building.
Noticing Shakira’s furtive actions, the blonde’s face creased in concern. “Are you okay?”
Shakira didn’t answer. She darted towards the wall adjacent to the entrance so that whoever was in the car wouldn’t see her. The blonde mimicked her movements, coming to stand behind Shakira. They both cocked their bodies, the better to peer around the corner.
“What are we watching for?” the
blonde whispered.
“That black truck,” Shakira pointed out with a finger as she deliberately relaxed her still taut muscles. The blonde strained to see the truck. Shakira added, “It’s been following me.”
“Oh, shit! The window’s coming down,” the blonde gasped. It sure was. With menacing sluggishness, the driver-side window dipped downwards revealing a dark head of hair – and then a familiar face!
“That’s it!” Wayne pointed a threatening finger at Agent Ruxton. “He’s done.”
“I’m sorry.” Karyn winced as if in physical pain as she added, “I don’t know what he was thinking-”
“I don’t care what the hell he was thinking.” Wayne exploded out of his seat, then began to pace behind it. “All I care about is the fact that he was skulking around in the dark like a fucking stalker scaring Shakira.”
“I’m sorry,” Karyn apologized again. Shakira, who was seated on the couch watching the tense interaction between the two, couldn’t help but muse that that was all Karyn ever seemed to do; apologize for her partner’s indiscretions. The female agent pleaded, “Look, Wayne. You can’t take this forward. The higher-ups already think he’s crazy with this Fenton thing and he’s on his last leg. Please-”
“Why the hell should I care if he’s on his last leg?” Wayne’s face grew red. “My client is the one being harassed. If Gates thinks he’s going to get away with this bullshit he’s got a long thing coming his way and as well as a stint in county.”
Shakira almost clapped in appreciation at his performance. Wayne’s anger seemed so real – considering that they’d rehearsed it before Karyn’s arrival. As soon as she’d gotten home and diverted Nathan’s concern with an excuse that her anxiety was only because of the darkness, she’d called Wayne. He was even more irritated than she was that Gates was following her around. He’d urged her to come to his office in the morning and when she did, suggested that instead of going straight to the FBI, they use it as leverage to resolve her case.
Karyn’s eyes widened in alarm at Wayne’s threat. “You can’t do that. He’ll be fired.”
“He deserves worse.”Wayne’s eyes glittered darkly before he began reeling in Karyn, “But I could be convinced to postpone our visit your offices.”
Karyn’s eyes turned to slits. “What do you mean convinced?”
“Shakira, why don’t you give the agent and I a minute?”
Soundlessly and without protest, Shakira exited the office and walked to the reception. She already knew how the conversation between Wayne and Karyn was going to go. As much as the encounter last night had been scary, at least it was good for something.
While the storm brewed in Wayne’s office, she sat on the white leather couch observing the firm’s bustle. As she watched the sharply dressed lawyers march by her, engrossed in their tasks and their expressions alternating between intent and exhausted, she realized that she didn’t miss the busyness that came with working a nine to five.
Her life before incarceration had been a monotonous cycle of wake up, eat, make money, sleep, wake up, eat, make money… on and on with maybe a break here and there to socialize. The numbers she loved so much had lined up in front of her eyes every day blurred one into another until one accounting assignment was just the same as the next and just a way to pad her bank account.
Even Charlie had become just another part of that tedious cycle; pre-scheduled two times a week dates and a text message or a phone call each night to recap the unexciting day she’d had. Maybe that was what had led him into Rochelle’s arms. The monotony and boredom!
Shakira had been living on auto-pilot with no real passions.
Losing her job had been like a breath of fresh air. Necessity being the mother of invention, it’d forced her to look for other sources of income and now she got to choose jobs that excited her. Monday she’d helped a restaurant align their accounts and create new budgets so they wouldn’t have to cut back on staff. Today she was working on helping a recently graduated Wall Street woman figure out how to work her money so that she could make her payments as quick as possible. Who knew what she’d be doing tomorrow.
Numbers were fun again.
Combined with the entrance of Nathan in her life and the unpredictability of their relationship, Shakira had to admit that her days had become more interesting. All she had to do now was find a passion for herself to fill up the free time that her new career direction provided. London had her music – maybe hers was theater. Nah! Writing? Boring! Adrenalin sports? Bloody hell no! She was too young to die.
She smiled. She’d find it. Just as soon as she got her money back.
I might even get it back today.
Her hopes of that happening were sent smashing to the ground as soon as she walked back into Wayne’s office.
“Karyn doesn’t have that kind of clout,” Wayne explained as he sat down at his desk. “Only her supervisor can authorize the unfreezing of your account.”
“Oh.” Shakira’s soft sigh of disappointment filled the room.
“But she assures me that she’ll keep Gates away from you,”
“I guess that’s something.” She nodded despondently.
With a grin at her, Wayne said, “It’s nothing compared to all the information she gave me.” He took a deep breath before he plunged in, “A few months ago, the FBI stumbled on a baseball match-fixing case. There was no real proof or even faces to match into it, only the voices of disgruntled players. Most law enforcement agencies took it as just the whining of sore losers but the FBI was sufficiently intrigued to send in Gates and his partner, Fenton.
With Gates acting as support, Fenton went in undercover as the head honcho of a gambling ring interested in getting a few matches fixed. Through Fenton’s street contacts they got an address. The FBI thought they were onto something and authorized an exchange and grab. Fenton went in carrying three hundred thousand dollars. He never came back out. His contact disappeared so did he and the money,” Wayne finished.
Surprised, Shakira asked, “He was killed?”
“Or so Gates claims,” he said. “But there’s no proof. Their supervisors think it’s more likely that Fenton simply took the money and ran. Apparently, he was in some serious mortgage debt and owed his ex a couple months child support. Some think that Gates is involved too because how could he possibly not know that his partner was dirty. I figure that Karyn’s as much his babysitter as she is a spy for management.”
Shakira searched his face, “How…why do they think that I’m even connected to this?”
“The money was marked.” Wayne paused before plunging the knife in. “They found sixteen thousand of it in Charlie’s account and four thousand in yours. Since Charlie had more of the money, they were preparing to bring him in when he oh so conveniently died.”
Her eyes widened at the realization that Charlie had repaid her with dirty money.
“So they th…the…” she stumbled at the thought even crossing her mind. It was not possible. She swallowed. “So they think that Charlie and I were involved with this…this match fixing ring?”
“That’s one theory. Considering the evidence presented during your trial, FBI think Fenton killed Charlie then walked out with the money and left you holding the bag for their sins.” Wayne’s gaze scoured her face as he added, “Gates says you killed both Fenton so you could keep the money and then Charlie to shut him up.”
Good God! Somehow Shakira managed not to faint. All the information being shoved at her was so unbelievable. Any which way she looked at it, she came out smelling like a villain. And it was all because of her connection to Charlie
She chose her words carefully. “Do you think Charlie and Fenton were involved?”
“How could they not be?” Wayne shrugged. “Otherwise how could he have gotten the money? Rochelle had agreed to talk to the FBI, but she’s also disappeared.”
This was all too much for Shakira. Multiple questions played on her mind as she drove home but primary of them wa
s:
Charlie?
Involved in a match fixing ring?
Impossible. An image of him smiling at her shyly as he adjusted his glasses and then straightened out his sweater vest filled her mind. No way. There was just no way he was capable of something so wicked.
But then again she’d never thought he was capable of cheating on her, had she?
CHAPTER 16
As soon as Shakira got home, she headed straight for her room. Opening her duffel bag she patted the bottom until she found Charlie’s thumb-drive. She had to find out what was on that drive. Maybe it would explain what the hell was going on and what Charlie had been involved in.
Logic said to give the thumb-drive to the FBI but she didn’t really trust them. As far as she was concerned they were neck-deep in this thing, what with one agent on the lamb and another having turned psycho stalker. No! Even if she was giving it to them she needed to know what was on it and if possible make a copy to protect herself if things went south. She settled in the living room with a laptop and a notepad, keying in every password she could think of.
She tried his birthday. 51085
She tried his mother’s name. Louisa.
She tried his middle name. Ambrose.
She tried his mother’s name and his birthday. Louisa51085
Zilch. Nada. No results. Anything she could think of she threw at the thumb-drive but it was unyielding, determined to keep its secrets to itself. By the time five p.m. came, she was ready to throw her laptop….okay, not her laptop because she needed it for money…Charlie’s stupid thumb-drive against the wall.
On edge, she placed her laptop on the coffee table and stood with the intention of getting herself on energy drink. She was just about to head for the kitchen when her phone vibrated on the table. Bending to pick it, she was surprised to see that the number lighting up the screen was a foreign one. Her face screwed in confusion, she swiped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”