Sons. He was one of three — the youngest. The one his parents hadn’t planned for and who’d ultimately driven his father from their home. Sons? From birth, he’d been a disappointment and there wasn’t anything he could do to change that. His mother made that clear when, one after one, she ordered her boys from their home and thrust them into a life and a world they weren’t prepared for, even at eighteen years of age.
“Why so silent? Are you not a man? It is well beyond the time for you to be having sons. My Fatima…”
Hassan appeared stricken at the thought of his wife. His eyes glazed over and the hand covered in food now trembled near his mouth as pieces of whatever the man was eating fell from it. Ric watched Hassan’s Adam’s apple bob and weave before it returned to the center of the throat.
“My Fatima…” Hassan sighed and wiped his hands clean with a nearby cloth. “There was none so like her, Ric,” Hassan whispered. “I was asked why I’ve never taken on another wife. I couldn’t dishonor her love for me in that way.”
“That’s not a sentiment commonly shared among your peers.”
Hassan shook his head. “No. But my heart…” He placed his hand over his large chest. “My heart only had room for her. No one else could have it and no one else will ever fill it.” The sheen in Hassan’s eyes pooled into the corners near his nose before the tears slipped over the edges and down his cheeks.
One time. Ric had only seen Hassan cry once and that was right before Fatima’s death — when it was certain she’d pass on. Hassan had been unwilling to accept his wife’s fate and when resignation hit, the old man collapsed into Ric’s arms in front of a seething Abdul, who watched from the corner of the hospital room. It was he, not Abdul, who Hassan had called on to aid him in his time of grief.
“Hassan…” Ric still had no idea how to comfort his friend. There was a line one didn’t cross with their sources. Assets were just that: assets. Once feelings developed, either platonic or romantic, a handler lost the ability to control the source and thus jeopardized his own life. That boundary had been breached the night Hassan wept in Ric’s arms. His tears had reminded Ric of his mother’s when her husband had walked out on her for the last time. Ric had barely been able to comprehend the scene as he was still in elementary school, but the years hadn’t faded the memory of his mother’s emotional breakdown. Never had he seen someone so devastated; to witness it left an unshakable impression on his young mind. And when Hassan had accepted his wife’s terminal illness, Ric couldn’t leave the man to face the consequences alone. He held the soon-to-be widower for countless minutes, until the last of his tears had drained.
Ric tried again. “Hassan, you are still grieving. Perhaps you should take some time. Let someone else handle your business affairs for a little while.” Someone other than Abdul.
A ghost of a smile briefly brightened the lines of Hassan’s tanned face, weathered by the desert sun. “That’s what I’d planned to do, but work… You can only trust your money to so many people. I trust only one person.”
He didn’t need to clarify. That’s why he continued to take meetings at his place of relaxation. Unless he was talking about Abdul.
“Come, Ric, what is it you want to know? What can I do for you, old friend?”
Friend. Hassan was no fool. He understood his role as source and Ric’s as handler. Both recognized the thin line between business and personal. Ric was surrounded by men loyal to Hassan. If Hassan wished it, Ric’s final resting place would be the sands beneath this lard’s tent. Ric cleared his throat. “Two men have traveled here from the eastern shores of Somalia. The US Embassy is the target. What have you heard?”
“Heard?”
“I need to know specifics. Where they’re getting their arms, the day of attack, the type of attack—”
Hassan raised a hand and halted Ric’s speech. The two stared at each other without speaking. Whatever pain was in Hassan’s eyes had since dissipated, replaced by a dark glitter.
He knows.
Ric trained his face to remain impassive as his insides churned with both fear and dread. The line between source and friendship had blurred between them over the years and now it appeared as clear as the crystal glass holding Hassan’s wine. Ric had asked his friend to betray someone he knew — to possibly turn over one of his own men. Hassan now had a choice to either tell him the truth or lie, risking the lives of not only Ric, but others working at the embassy — people to whom he ultimately had no loyalty.
Did their friendship mean anything? I can’t count on it.
“You would not have come to me unless you believed I knew of the men you speak — of who could be assisting them.”
“Not necessarily know personally, but perhaps you’ve come across some information through your network. I ask nothing I haven’t been asking of you for the last several years.”
“And yet, you suggest I deal with terrorists.”
Ric considered his answer in silence. Hassan’s grief continued to emotionally compromise him. Despite Faruq’s claims that Hassan wouldn’t do business in Somalia, the agency’s intel had confirmed otherwise. He’d agreed to deals with foreign investors without verifying their backgrounds — deals with individuals from Nigeria, Somalia, and even as far west as Algeria. These nations were hotbeds for terrorist activity and strongholds for groups that sought to oppress the world through brutish, uncompromising force. Yet the actors who controlled these regions were sophisticated, and built financial empires to finance their wars across continents. Against his own counsel, Hassan established business relationships with a few men Ric had been told were questionable at best.
Or maybe it was just Abdul. “Hassan, will you concede that this past year has been… You’ve had more than your share of pain.”
“Say what you will, Ric.”
“I’m not suggesting you’re working with terrorists. I’m telling you that you are.”
A tic throbbed in Hassan’s jaw, but the man remained silent.
“You’ve had some dealings with a few people in Africa who aren’t exactly—”
“I understand you completely.”
Ric sighed. He reached for the bottle of wine again and poured himself another glass. He angled the bottle in Hassan’s direction and Hassan lifted his own glass for a refill. “Hassan, I don’t believe you’re purposely aligning yourself with these guys, but the fact remains that they’ve been able to acquire considerable assistance for their operations that I believe has come from inside your association.”
Hassan emptied his glass and tossed it onto the pillows in front of him. A heavy sigh escaped his lips before he responded. “All right. I admit I haven’t exactly had my eyes on each and every business transaction—”
“Hassan, it’s more than that and you know it.”
Two chubby arms flung into the air. “What do you expect me to do, Ric? I am a man without my compass. My Fatima…” A shaky hand covered his face as the rest of his body jerked.
Ric respectfully remained silent and allowed his friend the chance to compose himself. He’d believed Hassan was past the crippling grief of Fatima’s death, but twice today Hassan crumbled.
Abdul.
If the man hadn’t kidnapped Mel and claimed her as Fatima’s double, Hassan wouldn’t be reliving the pain of the past. Abdul was well aware how the death of Fatima had affected Hassan, so why stir up old memories? The lack of compassion Hassan’s right-hand man had shown in bringing an imposter before him was out of character, even for Abdul.
Unless he wants something.
But what? What did Hassan have that Abdul didn’t already have access to? Although he boasted control over every facet of his empire, Hassan abdicated much of the day-to-day operations to Abdul.
Hassan cleared his throat. “You know I trust you, Ric.” He dropped his hand from his eyes and his sullen eyes took in Ric. “If you say my network has been compromised, it likely has. I will speak to Abdul—”
“Don’t.”
Mouth still open, Hassan cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t? Why? If anyone were to know about these men you claim have traveled here using resources from my own businesses, then Abdul would best know how they came through.”
And I don’t trust Abdul. He’d have to do his own digging and the last thing he needed was for Abdul to know he was searching for information. If Abdul was somehow privy to the knowledge of the bombers, he was keeping his sheik in the dark. Ric preferred Abdul to be in the dark about his plan to find the terrorists.
“Hassan, I have to treat this delicately. You don’t know who in your organization has assisted these men, either knowingly or unknowingly. Give me some time to find out on my own before we go to Abdul.” Ric didn’t flinch when Hassan narrowed his eyes on him. Instead, he calmly breathed in and out his nose while he held Hassan’s even stare.
“You don’t trust Abdul.”
“I trust you.”
Hassan smirked. “You’re diplomatic when you needn’t be. You have nothing to fear from me, although I understand your caution. Your position demands it.” Hassan dabbed his mouth with a small towel near the trays of food. “Do what you will. I won’t tell Abdul — you have my word.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Ric spoke as he nodded.
“Now, do you need any assistance with your woman?”
“What do you mean—”
“Do I have to explain?” Hassan dipped his eyes in the direction of Ric’s groin.
Ric almost felt the need to cover himself but kept his hands on his knees — the pressure slowly collapsing the caps. “I think I’m good in that area.”
Hassan laughed. “Are you now? So arrogant and yet here you sit.”
Ric rolled his eyes. “I think an attack on the US Embassy warrants a higher priority than my physical needs.”
“Ah, but don’t neglect yourself for too long. When a man starves, he makes rash decisions, and you are a lamb in a den of lions.”
A lamb in a den of lions. And was Hassan the zookeeper? A moment ago he was indignant about the possibility he could be harboring terrorists and now he was settled on the idea. Old friend. That’s what he was to Hassan. Perhaps Hassan was content to behave normally, to trust Ric to do his job and rid him of the bombers.
“I’ll keep my sheep status in mind while I face the claws of our enemies.”
Hassan bellowed with laughter as he gripped his extra-wide girth. “You, my friend, are almost as sharp as me, although slightly less funny. You will make this dark woman a worthy partner. I will pray she satisfies your desires.”
Ric much rather Hassan prayed for the success of the mission, because woman or no woman, he wouldn’t be satisfied until the terrorists were either apprehended or dead.
Chapter Six
Mel couldn’t remember when she’d felt this good. Whatever was put into the bathwater had turned every muscle in her body to mush, her mind and mood more relaxed than she could remember. Working as a US Marshal had its perks, but life on the fugitive recovery team had taken its toll. Her vacation was supposed to rid her of not only the woes of the job, but also the self-inflicted stress of life.
Ric had been gone for hours and instead of hurrying with her bath so he wouldn’t catch her naked in the middle of his tent, she conceded that she couldn’t move a muscle nor wanted to. At this very moment in time, at this very place, in the tent of a man she knew almost nothing about beyond a kiss, she felt safe. She released a long, blissful sigh, and her eyes drifted closed. The memory of Ric’s smile eased her into a deeper state of indifference to her situation.
It only lasted a few seconds.
Voices outside the tent jolted her back into reality. She reached for the thick, white robe Hakeem had brought in for her earlier and rose from the bathwater to wrap her body. She walked into the main area. Hakeem was still asleep in the corner, snoring lightly. The tent flap flung wide and Ric stood there, mouth open. His eyes scanned her form.
Mel squeaked. She furiously wrapped her arms around her waist and hoped the blaze she felt beneath her skin didn’t ignite a blush. Ric let the tent flap drop and with a clearing of his throat, he stepped deeper into the tent. He offered a soft smile that curved upward into what Mel could only assume was a smirk, his beard helping in concealment.
“Why didn’t you wait? We could have shared the bathwater.”
Was he kidding? “Wait?” she stammered, and then made a mental note to kick herself at the wicked grin on Ric’s face as he neared the entrance to the bathroom in agonizingly slow, deliberate steps — her gaze captured by his.
He nodded and winked at her playfully. “Yes, wait. I need a bath after what I’ve been through. It’s one hundred and twenty degrees outside.” Ric stood, with hands on hips, and stared at her for what seemed an eternity.
“Would you please stop looking at me?”
Ric laughed softly. “You’re asking me not to be a man.”
“I’m asking you for respect.”
The laughter in his eyes quickly vanished, as did his smile. His soft beard took on a sharp edge right at his jaw line. “I don’t think I’ve disrespected you. Teased you a little but disrespect?”
She stood rooted to her spot as he closed the remaining distance between them. The glitter in his eyes shot fear and uncertainty through her. Why were they fighting? He’d rescued her and treated her well — and where was it written that he should? Why wasn’t she more grateful for his service? Her eyes were glued to his plump mouth as she awaited his next words. She watched his mouth move but could only hear the sounds of her own breathing as the memory of his kiss flooded her brain.
She hated kissing. Really hated it. In fact, she hated it so much, she’d sworn off the activity some years before. The gesture was too close…too personal…too intimate. The last time she allowed a man to kiss her was in college, and the act had repulsed her so much she shoved the guy away and heaved into the sink in her dorm room. Rebuffing a man was an art she hadn’t mastered and her actions weren’t well received. She spent the rest of the night shivering in her bed from cold, sweat-soaked pillows and blood on her sheets.
Never again.
Until today.
What in the world had she been thinking? Well, I didn’t see it coming. If I had… If she had, then what? Would she have shoved Ric away? Spoiled the ruse he seemed to believe necessary for her kidnapper? She was in law enforcement; she understood the risks to life and limb if a person’s cover was blown — and Ric needed concealment for whatever mission he was involved in. And he didn’t have to offer himself as her protector. He was here on an assignment that couldn’t be deterred by a woman who foolishly allowed herself to be trafficked when she very well knew the dangers of it.
But his lips... Nothing about his kiss had forced her surrender or had mocked her defeat. He couldn’t steal her innocence when it had already been seized by another. How could she describe the way he held her? How his lips had tasted her? She almost felt…
Cherished.
That’s the way God loves you, baby girl, and someday some man is gonna love you that way too.
Her granny’s words reverberated in her ears as Mel watched Ric’s face go from annoyance to irritation with the grim set of his lips and the downward angle of his brows. Was he still speaking?
But that’s how she felt. The touch of his hand wasn’t forceful, but respectful; his fingers trailed the side of her face in a way that had brought comfort to her — had eased trust from her. She had refused to acknowledge how quickly she surrendered and it shocked her now.
You ain’t got much fight in ya. Just an easy lay.
A sharp moan left her lips before she could stop it, and her hand flew to her mouth. Ric’s lips stopped moving and his eyes rapidly scanned her face. An outstretched hand reached for her and she stumbled backwards with a scream. A hand muffled the sound and she struggled against the pressure that silenced her as she fell.
Falling… Falling…
Again she was on her back and laugh
ter filled her ears as rough hands massaged her curves. Something hard, a knee perhaps, had jammed between her clenched thighs and forced her legs open. She couldn’t stop what was happening. Her grueling efforts failed. He was taking more and more and leaving little left. She had trusted him for so long. How could he betray her like this?
Not much fight...
“Melody! Melody!”
Ric’s voice quelled the jeers of the other man, her present reality more clear now as the vision of the past faded.
“Open your eyes. Look at me. It’s Ric. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She’d seen all of it before and once was enough to last a lifetime. Instead, she squeezed her eyelids until her brain responded by shooting a message of pain through her nerves to the back of her eyes. Something pinned her body to the ground — no, not the ground but whatever it was, it was quite smooth. Her energy waned as she continued to struggle against the weight, against her fear that what she swore would never happen again was taking place and once again, she was powerless to stop it.
“Melody,” he whispered softly in her ear. “It’s me, Ric. Morena, stop fighting me. I’m not the enemy.”
She moaned from beneath his hand, unsure whom she could trust.
Trust God, baby girl. He’s gonna see you through.
How her granny could be so confident she didn’t know. But the pain had been too fresh for her to trust anyone, no matter how faithful her granny claimed Him to be.
Smooth warmth touched her forehead now, slowly matching the curve of her face. Words she was certain she knew, but hadn’t used them since she’d left the San Antonio area of Texas, were whispered in her ear.
“Tranquila, morena. No te precupes. Estas seguro.”
Over and over, he repeated the phrases as butterfly kisses fluttered over her skin — around her forehead, down the length of her face, across her jaw, and ending at the bottom tips of her earlobes. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed; she ceased her struggle beneath him. Millimeter by millimeter, she opened her eyes to a deep amber gaze filled with comfort and… pain? Why was he in pain?
Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) Page 7