Dark Enemy Redeemed

by I. T. Lucas

  A sudden impulse had her look at the back of the closet, where Alex’s incredible selection of designer clothes was either hanging from luxury hangers or folded neatly on shelves. Separated into casual and dressy, each section was color coordinated, with matching footwear on the lower shelves.

  Considering Alex’s metrosexual style, some of it might even look good on her. He might be a couple of inches taller, but then her legs were longer.

  Not that she was going to put on something that he had already worn—even laundered, it would be gross. She still cringed thinking about that bathrobe of his she had been desperate enough to borrow. But knowing Alex, half of the stuff was probably brand new with the tags still attached.

  The man was a major clothes-whore.

  Amanda let out a chuckle as she sifted through the hanging garments, most of which had either a store tag dangling from a sleeve or a label or a tailor’s note pinned on.

  Taking into account the fact that Alex didn’t spend all of his time cruising, the size of the wardrobe he kept on his yacht was impressive even by her standards. The guy was totally obsessed if he kept the one at his Malibu estate as fully stocked as this one.

  Wondering if that included his extensive jewelry collection, she pushed aside the clothes to peek at the back wall in search of a safe.

  The wall was decorated with fabric-covered padded panels in a nice beige and burgundy paisley design, each about thirty inches wide.

  Running her palms over the fabric, Amanda patted the padded panels from top to bottom, squeezing herself between the wall and the hanging garments as she kept going from one panel to the next. But from one end to the other, her patting didn’t discover any hard surface in the shape of a safe.

  She repeated the process on the side walls with the same results. Or rather lack thereof.

  Come on, open Sesame. She pressed on each of the panels’ sides as well as other random places, but none clicked open or even hinted at being anything but glued to the wall.

  Back at the section that she had cleared from clothes, Amanda stood with arms akimbo and glared at the wall.

  It wasn’t about finding the safe anymore, it was about her instincts firing hot, hot, hot, as she faced the wall; and cold, cold, cold, as she took a step back.

  Okay, Amanda, calm down, close your eyes and focus on your other senses because they are trying to tell you something.

  It wasn’t easy with a pounding headache still drilling holes inside her head, but she closed her eyes and breathed in, slowly.

  Then again, and again.

  She caught a very faint scent, which was what must’ve alerted her subconscious in the first place. Feminine, a trace of perfume or body lotion… no… not one…Now that she was focusing, she was able to detect several different barely there scents coming from behind the paneled wall.

  Straining, she tried and failed to catch any residual whiff of emotions. Unfortunately, even though her sense of smell was much better than that of a human, it wasn’t as strong as an immortal male’s. Still, something feminine had been stashed in there at some point in time.

  Except, from this side of the wall, she couldn’t tell whether it had been actual women or just their belongings that had left that scent behind.

  Sesame open?

  Hey, it was worth a try, maybe the magic words worked in reverse order.

  Nepo Emases? Emases nepo?

  Backward didn’t seem to work either.

  Come on, Amanda, stop fooling around and think!

  Trouble was, her brain was still kind of fuzzy.

  Okay, it’s probably not a pressure mechanism if pressing didn’t work. How about prying it open?

  The problem with this idea was that she had no tools. Going to look for one would, first of all, alert the crew to the fact that she was awake but didn’t go out to sit out on one of the decks—which by now they would know was not like her—and second, raise suspicion as to why she needed it.

  With one last sad look at her manicured nails, she attacked the panels with her fingers, or rather her long nails, barely managing to wedge them in the tiny grooves between the panels. Pulling was out of the question, as they would just break off. Instead, she tried to wiggle the panel a little to see if there was any give.

  There was none.

  But then, she couldn’t apply much force. She needed a tool—something that was thin enough to fit in the grooves but strong enough not to bend or break.

  About to leave the closet and go search the cabin for a letter opener, she stopped as her eyes landed on something better—down on the bottom shelf, a metal shoehorn was sticking from one of Alex’s shoes.

  Perfect.

  It worked like a charm, and the first panel she tried popped out quite easily. But what she discovered behind it was nothing nefarious, just more shelf space.

  Weird. Unless this hidden part of the closet was used to store the drugs she suspected Alex of smuggling. But after a few sniffs, she had to discard that hypothesis. The only scents lingering on the empty, padded shelves were those faint traces of feminine products.

  No drug residue.

  She pried open another panel just to make sure there wasn’t anything else hiding there.

  It was just more shelf space.

  Come to think of it, the shelving was kind of peculiar, and not just because it was hidden behind a cleverly constructed false wall. It was deeper than standard, about the width of the panels, and peeking further inside she saw no dividers, just long, deep shelves, padded and covered in the same fabric as the wall panels. In fact, it looked as if the same panels that made the wall were used to construct the shelves.

  With not a lot of vertical space between them, the height of the wall allowed for five levels, and it seemed like they ran the length of the closet wall.

  Kind of reminded her of the crypt underneath the keep. Except, the crypt’s stone shelves were much deeper and spaced further apart vertically to accommodate the bulky sarcophagi.

  Amanda snorted. So that must be it; Alex is smuggling dead bodies.

  Seriously, though, was this hidden compartment used to smuggle rich criminals from south of the border into the United States?

  Female rich criminals?

  Amanda took a step closer and sniffed again, making sure she hadn’t missed anything, but the only scent was still female, and there was no residual scent of emotions. Which again didn’t mesh with her hypothesis. If people had been hiding there while the yacht was being inspected, by whatever agency that did those things, they would’ve felt fear, or at least stress, and both emotions produced strong scents that would’ve lingered long after they were gone.

  Unless they’d been dead…which would explain the lack of emotions, but then she was pretty sure that there was no profit to be made from transporting dead bodies.

  As it was, it seemed that only inanimate objects had ever graced those shelves, which made perfect sense considering the fact that this was a closet.

  Possibly, Alex didn’t like how the yacht’s previous owners designed the space and blocked off that rear section to square it off. Or he might have even bought it like this, and wasn’t aware that there was anything behind the closet’s back wall.

  Oh, well. So much for my conspiracy theory. Amanda shrugged and picked up one of the two panels she had pried off their metal guides. Pushing it back in place took some effort, and she had to lean on it to force it in. It wasn’t perfectly aligned with its neighbor, but she decided to wait with the final adjustments until the other one was back in place as well.

  Banging on the panel sides with the heel of her palm was painful, but that was the least of her worries. She was making such a racket that there was no way the crew didn’t hear it, and at any moment someone might burst in, demanding to know what the hell was going on.

  Exercising—and she was going to stick to it—kick-boxing.

  The panels must’ve warped a bit from her prying them out with the shoehorn, because nothing she did managed t
o restore the wall to its former condition—the tight seams between those she had taken out were no longer as uniform as those between the others.

  The best she could do was to slide the hangers over and hide the incriminating evidence behind the clothes.

  Hopefully, Alex wouldn’t notice.

  Whatever, plausible deniability was the name of the game. If he asked, she would play dumb and say she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Amanda returned the shoehorn to the same shoe she had found it in, and wiped her sweaty, throbbing palms on her yoga pants.

  Oh, well, she had been so certain she would find something, but on the other hand, it was also a relief to find nothing incriminating about Alex. He was, after all, her friend.

  Back in the cabin, she added her sweaty clothes to the pile of dirties in her carry-on and headed for the bathroom.

  Surprisingly, no one came banging on her door.

  After a quick shower, she put on her last clean pair of jeans and a red T-shirt. As she left her cabin and headed for the grand salon, she hoped Renata had left coffee and breakfast for her.

  Thank heavens it wasn’t ten yet. Otherwise the woman would’ve cleared the table already.

  As it was, Amanda found the thermal carafe full and the coffee still hot. “I love you, Renata,” she murmured, promising herself to be nicer to the cook from now on.

  Watching the ocean while drinking coffee never got old, but it wasn’t as relaxing as it had been the last time she sat here alone. She just couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that she was missing some important clue, or rather the insight to piece all the clues she had gathered into a cohesive picture.

  Oh, heck, enough of that. She pulled her phone from her front pocket and called Syssi.

  “Hi,” Syssi chirped, then added in a whisper, “Sorry, forgot you’re probably nursing a hangover.”

  “Just a pounding headache, but I’m drinking coffee and gazing at the ocean, so it’s all good. How about you?”

  Syssi snorted. “I’m fine, I’m not the one who has been drinking all night with a bunch of Russians. How did it go? Learn anything interesting?”

  “Lots, but I’ll tell you all about it when I come home.”

  “When?”

  Amanda sighed. “Hopefully this evening.”

  “That’s wonderful! But I thought you planned on staying longer, what happened?”

  “I ran out of clothes.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “I’m very serious, I’m on my last clean pair of jeans. And you know me, laundry is not something I do.”

  “Okay, be like that. If you don’t want to tell me anything, it’s fine, but I have something for you.”

  Syssi sounded eager to share the news. Must be something good. “Yeah? What is it?”

  “I had to practically squeeze it out of him, but I got Kian to tell me about his meeting with Dalhu.”

  Excitement swirled through Amanda’s gut. “And?”

  “And, I have a feeling that Kian is softening toward Dalhu or at least easing up on the hostility. He even referred to him by name a couple of times instead of spitting out ‘The Doomer’ with murder in his eyes.”

  “Wow, miracles never cease.”

  “I know, right? But that’s not all… Did you know that your Dalhu is a talented artist?”

  My Dalhu… go ahead, twist the knife in my bleeding heart, why don’t you?

  “First of all, he’s not mine, and second, what the hell are you talking about? To the best of my knowledge, killing is his only skill.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  “Nope, not the only one. He draws, really well. He sketched your portrait and it is stunning. Want to see?”

  Duh, of course she wanted to see it… “Show me.”

  “Hold on… “ She heard Syssi take a few steps. “Okay, here it is. I’m going to switch to camera for a moment and send it to you… I’m adjusting the zoom… here, perfect.” There was a click. “Go ahead, check your messages. I’m waiting.”

  At first glance, Amanda was impressed, then zooming in, her eyes teared. Not only because Dalhu’s sketch was beautifully done, and not only because it was achingly obvious that he’d gotten to know her better than most—despite the short time they had together. But because the face staring at her from the small screen looked happy—excited, hopeful, and maybe even a little in love. It was a reminder of the one time she hadn’t been faking it but had actually felt this way.

  “Are you crying?” Syssi asked softly.

  “Just a little…” She must’ve sniffled.

  Oh, what the hell, just go with it. Amanda let out a few louder ones, then blew her nose in the cloth napkin.

  Gross, I need to remember to throw it in the trash.

  “Are those sad tears? Or happy tears?”

  “Happy-sad tears.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t know. It’s lovely… I look so… happy. And Dalhu… well, I knew how he felt about me but this just drove it home. And I’ve realized that I might’ve been falling in love with him as well.” The waterworks started again.

  Shit.

  “So why sad?”

  “Because it’s all in the past, gone, kaput.” She had to blow her nose again.

  “It doesn’t have to be…” Syssi said so softly it came out in a whisper. Then she added with more passion, “It’s obvious that he loves you, and you feel strongly about him, maybe even love him… the rest is just background noise.”

  Amanda snorted. “More like a marching band parade.”

  “Ignore it… get out of your head for a moment and listen to your gut. A wise woman once told me that she always lets her instinct guide her because it’s smarter than her.”

  “Yeah? And how did it work out for her?”

  “Ask her yourself, it was your mother.”

  “First, I need to figure out what to do. I feel like I’m in a maze of one-way-street turns and can’t get anywhere no matter which route I take. I’m going in never-ending circles in my head.”

  “See? You just reinforced what I said. You need to get out of that loop altogether. Stop thinking and just feel. What do you have to lose? Dalhu wouldn’t harm you even if he could, which he can’t because he is imprisoned in your stronghold. He can’t leave you either—again, because he is not free to go. And if you’re thinking about Kian, don’t. He’ll come around if he has to. He loves you too much to stay mad forever. So, the way I see it, you hold all the cards in your hands.”

  “And what about my heart?” Amanda placed her hand on her chest. “What if I fall for him but then realize that I can never forget or forgive?”

  “So you’re telling me you’d rather play chicken? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  Syssi was right, and what’s worse, it reminded Amanda of a similar conversation she’d had with Kian. Only then, Kian had been the one who was afraid to take the plunge, and she the one giving advice and pushing him to jump off that proverbial diving board.

  Hypocrite, anyone?

  “You’re right. It’s about time I stopped being a chicken and unleashed the cougar.”

  “You go, girl! Sharpen those claws!”

  “Grrourr…”

  “I’ll see you tonight, cat woman.”

  “Wait, don’t tell Kian I’m coming home.”

  “Sure, but why not?”

  “It would be hard enough to face Dalhu, and I’d rather save the inevitable confrontation with Kian for another day. One battle at a time is all I can handle right now.” Amanda chuckled. “I guess this cougar is just a little one, with itsy bitsy claws.”

  “I’ve seen these claws, and they looked damn lethal to me.”

  CHAPTER 9: DALHU

  “I come bearing gifts.” Anandur waltzed in with a big cardboard box under each arm. “Something to keep you busy, frog.” He dropped them on the coffee table.

  “What’s in there?”

  Anandur dipped his hand inside the small
er one and pulled out a laptop. “This is for your memoirs. And as you naturally have no Internet access, William, our tech guy, has already downloaded a dictionary and an encyclopedia for your use. So no excuses for sloppy work.” He handed Dalhu the device then pulled a long, white cord from the box. “And here is the charger.”

  “Thank you.” Dalhu lifted the incredibly thin laptop, weighing it in his hand. “This is really light.”

  Anandur grinned. “Yeah, the newest something-air. Only the best for our resident frog.”

  “This frog thing is getting old. Why not mix things up? Make it interesting with a couple of new derogatory nicknames for me.” Dalhu connected the charger to the laptop then plugged it into the wall socket.

  “Nah, this one is so clever it’s perfect, if I may say so myself. And it’s not meant as an insult, on the contrary, it means you got potential.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Anandur sat on the couch and started pulling out smaller boxes from the larger one. “Of course you don’t, this fairytale didn’t exist when your poor mama was reading you bedtime stories.”

  “My mother was illiterate,” Dalhu grated.

  Anandur cast him a sad look then shrugged. “Yeah… I forgot how old you are. Hardly anyone was literate back then.”

  Nice save.

  Except, Dalhu had no doubt that Anandur and the others had been taught to read and write as children, and probably much more, regardless of when they had been born. And what’s more, the guy’s mother was probably still around, pretty and healthy, and not rotting in some unmarked grave after aging prematurely from hard use and then dying a broken woman.

  That thought brought about a bitter dose of jealousy, which in turn supercharged the rage he had so far managed to control.

  Get a grip, it’s not the guy’s fault that he had it better than you.

  Fisting his hands, Dalhu forced his tone to what he hoped sounded bored, if not conversational. “If you insist on calling me a frog, at least tell me that damn fairytale you keep alluding to.”

  Anandur’s grin spread wide. “The princess and the frog… I may botch the story a little because I don’t remember exactly how it goes, but you’ll get why I think of you as the frog, and Amanda as the princess, obviously.”