When No One Is Watching

by Natalie Charles - When No One Is Watching

  He grudgingly pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down. As she walked around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and humming quietly to herself, Gray looked around the apartment. His own apartment was a place to sleep, eat and shower. This felt like home. Mia felt like home.

  She set two plates on the table before taking a seat beside him. “I know you said we shouldn’t talk about it, but I have to know. Why did Mark kill Jake Smith?”

  He took a bite of his sandwich before answering. “Because Jake Smith, in the course of investigating the local activities of a certain cartel, learned that this cartel was laundering money through Eminence Corp. It was a major investor in Eminence Tower. Mark killed him before he could run the story.”

  She picked at the corners of her bread. “And what about Samantha Watkinson?”

  “The best I can figure, she had started to pick up where her mentor had left off, so Mark had her eliminated, too.”

  Mia shuddered. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. If you hadn’t come when you did—”

  He covered her hand with his. “But I did. And now you’re safe.”

  She nodded and gave a small smile. “I know. Thank goodness.”

  * * *

  Mia slept for most of the day, and when she woke, she finally felt better. The evening walk was Gray’s idea. He wanted to walk by the river because it was a warm midsummer night and because the symphony was playing. They were far enough away to hear bits of music carried on a soft breeze.

  Gray wouldn’t leave her side, and Mia didn’t want him to. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt completely at ease, and they walked hand in hand down the path. Then, without explanation, Gray stopped. “Look,” he whispered, and pointed to an area off the path.

  Mia followed his hand and saw a familiar figure standing under a lamppost. Her hands flew to cover her heart. “Lena.” The name caught in her throat.

  She looked as gorgeous as always, if thinner. Her dark hair was cut to chin length, and her moss-green eyes shone brightly even in this dim light. Joe D’Augostino was at her side. “Mia!” she shrieked and ran forward to embrace her, twisting her arms around her torso tightly. “Can you ever forgive me?” Her words were whispered, for Mia’s ears only.

  Mia clung to her sister. She would always love her, and a part of her could understand the deception, but when she thought about all the worry of the past year, the best she could do was to say, “Of course. In time.” Mia pulled away to admire Lena. “How did—? Where have you been?”

  “In a small town in New Hampshire.”

  “New Hampshire?” Mia swallowed. All this time, she’d been so close. “You left flowers at the crime scene. Forget-me-nots. I didn’t forget. I never stopped looking for you.”

  Lena swallowed, and her eyes became misty. “Joe told me everything. He thought it might be best if I waited a few days to see you, but I couldn’t wait. When he told me Mark was dead, I had to come home. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Mia’s heart swelled to see her again. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this moment.”

  They walked together and talked about the events of the past year, and what Lena had left in her wake, and why. She’d been miserable with Mark, who’d cheated on her numerous times. “It was constant, Mia,” she said. “But he told me I couldn’t leave. He thought it would help his business if he had a reputation as a family man. Stable. He was anything but.”

  Then one night she’d seen the bloody shirt and the gun in a bag in his bedroom. “Just...lying there. I was scared to death. I took them and replaced the shirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I don’t know what I was thinking...maybe that if he threatened me again, I could use that as leverage. That I could finally leave him. And he threw the bag away and I didn’t hear of it, so I thought, well...when the time was right, I’d leave. But he got suspicious and everything between us got worse. He started talking about Jake Smith and what happens when you get nosy. He told me about his connections.” She wiped away a tear. “I’m glad he’s dead, but I’m sorry I didn’t kill him myself and spare you all of this pain.”

  By the end of the evening, Mia better understood the choice her sister had made, even if she didn’t agree with it. When Lena and Joe said their goodbyes, Mia turned to Gray and said, “Will they go to jail?”

  “It’s up to the prosecutors to bring charges, but I doubt it. Joe has already retired his badge, though. As a cop, he’s finished.”

  Mia watched the two walk off, hand in hand. “He saved the woman he loves. I don’t think he minds about the job.”

  Gray hugged her closer. “I can’t say I blame him.”

  “Do you think they’ll get married? They seem so happy together.”

  “They may. People who are happy together frequently get married.” He eyed her. “What about us? Are we happy together?”

  Mia interlaced her fingers with his. “I’ve never been so happy in my life. You?”

  “The same.”

  He stopped, and she stopped with him, her pulse beating steadily in her chest. All around them was moonlit darkness, and all she could see were the fine planes of Gray’s face. He smoothed one palm below her jaw to tilt her face upward. “We should get married.”

  The look in his eyes told her that he was serious. She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “No.” He chuckled as he got to one knee. “Not yet.” He pulled a box from his pocket and opened it. Inside, a brilliant solitaire glistened. “I didn’t know how lost I was without you, Mia. You’re my North Star. What do you think about a partnership? A more permanent one?”

  She didn’t bother blinking back the tears. “Yes. I want to marry you.”

  He gently slid the band onto her left ring finger. “You know what this means, right? You’re stuck with me. Forever.” He pulled her to sit on his bent knee.

  “I hope that’s a promise,” she whispered as he pulled her into a kiss.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from JAGUAR NIGHT by Lindsay McKenna.

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  Chapter 1

  Aly Landon would never get used to the heavy Brazilian humidity that cloaked the Amazon jungle. It was as if a visible mist surrounded them. She rode her bay gelding along a path between the spindly trees and dead leaves that littered the gently sloping hill. Above her was a triple canopy of trees, effectively shutting out the sunlight. She missed the sun more than anything. Maybe because she’d been born in San Diego, California, a warm and desertlike city sitting on the sparkling Pacific Ocean.

  She heard the snort of Juan’s mule, which he lovingly called Loco—Crazy. Juan Vinas, a Barasana Indian, was in his mid-forties. The man always had a smile on his face. He’d been a godsend to her and the Healing Hands Charity for whom she worked as a nurse. Juan could speak the language and he knew enough English and Portuguese to translate for those who were sick. For Aly, he felt like a beloved uncle and he doted upon her as if she were one of his own children.

  Looking up at the cool morning, she loved the way the silent fingers of clouds lowered and wove in and out of the trees just above the canopy; it reminded her of a silent, graceful ballet. Were these soft, undulating fingers clouds or fog? They glided softly through the tallest of trees, slow-motion dancing to an unknown music, but Aly saw the rhythm of it, nevertheless. She loved Brazil’s jungle whether her Marine Corps brigadier gen
eral father thought it a safe area or not.

  Her heart turned over and Aly felt sadness mixed with grief. Touching her nurse’s uniform, a light blue smock she wore with her light blue slacks, she suddenly frowned. Aly hadn’t heard from her powerful military father in almost three months. But then, he never had paid much attention to her. All his hopes and dreams had been set on Adam, her older-by-two-years brother. Only...he’d died with her mother in a car crash that had taken their lives. Aly had been the only survivor, overcoming massive internal injury. That had been a nightmare year for her. And her father had gone into deep shock over the losses.

  When Aly had needed holding the most, he was mired in his own grief to understand that a little twelve-year-old girl in a lonely hospital room ached for her father more than ever before. As always, Harrison Landon was never there for her.

  Pushing tendrils of chestnut hair away from her face, Aly dropped the reins on her gelding and made sure her ponytail between her shoulder blades was nice and tight. The path was wide, created thousands of years ago by the local Indians as they’d hunted the jungle for birds, reptiles and wild pigs. The call of tropical birds at this time of morning was music to her ears. Often, Aly wished she could record it. Monkeys howled and screamed nearby, calling out warnings, hurting her ears. They were so noisy and bothersome to the placid, mystical-looking landscape.

  She brightened, looking forward to this visit to the village where Juan had been born. There were seventy-five people who still lived in the grass huts. Today, she was going to examine three women who were at different stages of pregnancy. She loved helping pregnant women and new mothers. Babies just made her smile. She would never get enough of holding them, kissing them and cuddling them. In some ways, she had the best job in the world. She brought medicine, knowledge and help to the Indians who had always relied on their medicine man or a shaman. While she didn’t pooh-pooh such healing, Aly knew she brought another tool to their healing chest. Best of all, the Barasana always welcomed her with open arms.

  And although it would take her a month to make a complete circuit of the ten villages, there was always a celebration when she and Juan walked into any one of them. It was nice to be wanted, Aly thought warmly, a soft smile on her lips. Wanted, loved and respected.

  Juan was lustily singing one of his songs she couldn’t understand. But sometimes when Loco got peevish, the mule would balk. Or bite. And Loco loved Juan’s songs. All of them. And the mule would continue to walk. Aly grinned, turning in her saddle, her hand resting on the rump of her horse. Juan grinned brightly, waving at her. He walked about twenty feet behind her. Aly smiled and wished she knew his language. He was teaching her and she was catching on. Singing meant so much to Aly. In school, she’d always been in the choir.

  Her horse suddenly anchored, planting its front feet in the mud. Aly gasped. Grabbing the horse’s black mane, she tried to stop from being thrown off. She caught herself, her foot slipping out of the stirrup. She righted herself, her eyes widening enormously.

  There, standing in front of them, were four men of varying heights, with hard looks in their eyes. They each carried a weapon. Gulping, Aly gripped the reins.

  Juan came up alongside her, patting her leg as if trying to calm her. Despite his effort, she shivered, feeling terror.

  The men glared at her. They were tough and their expressions were unreadable.

  One, with black hair and brown eyes, wore two bandoliers of bullets across his chest. The tallest one, a white man with a bald head, narrowed his green eyes and slowly raked her from her head to her breasts.

  Her heartbeat quickened. Aly held tightly to the reins, trying to understand the situation. No doubt, these were soldiers. She realized they might be the drug soldiers she’d always heard about, but had never seen in the past two years.

  “¡Hola!” Juan said, holding up his hand. “Can we help you?” he asked with a friendly smile.

  The bald man ignored him. “Are you Allison Landon?” he demanded of Aly in a deep voice.

  Aly blinked, feeling shaky, adrenaline leaking into her bloodstream. “Y-yes, I am. Who are you?” she asked in her best, firm voice.

  The bald man grinned, revealing that two of his front teeth were missing.

  “Barrosa!”

  The man with the bandoliers crossing his massive chest moved forward. His eyes focused on Juan, he walked quickly toward him, pulled the pistol out of his holster and shot the smiling Indian in the head.

  Aly screamed.

  Her horse jerked, shying away, unseating her.

  Aly fell hard to the path. In her peripheral vision, she saw Juan crumple, half his head gone. She’d been spattered by the pink mist, the brain matter clinging to her lower smock and across her thigh. Gasping, she stared at Juan, a sob wrenching from her as she tried to get to her feet.

  The man who had shot Juan reached down, grabbed her by her ponytail and jerked her roughly to her feet.

  Pain radiated from her scalp and Aly grunted. Her hands flew toward her head. She was yanked forward, nearly losing her footing again on the muddy path. Sobbing, she was pushed down onto her hands and knees in front of the bald soldier, who smiled. But the smile didn’t reach his dead-looking green eyes.

  “Why are you doing this?” Aly shrieked, trying to rise. “You killed Juan! You killed him! How could you!”

  The bald soldier’s hand snapped out like a snake strike and grabbed her by her shoulder as she got to her feet. “Allison Landon,” he snarled into her face, “do you want to live? Or do you want to join your friend on the ground with a bullet through your head?”

  Tears poured out of her eyes and Aly choked, whispering, “N-no, don’t kill me...”

  Her mind gyrated. In shock, terrified and grief-stricken by Juan’s murder, Aly tried to stand still. Her chest was rising and falling with sobs she couldn’t control. They’d killed Juan! He’d been a gentle man, a beautiful soul whose only mission had been to make life better for his tribe.

  The soldier’s powerful fingers dug deep into her shoulder and the pain radiated outward. Whimpering, Aly tried to escape him, but his fingers only dug deeper. She stopped, trembling, her eyes on his. She saw nothing but a vat of dead green, swampy darkness. There was no leniency, no compassion in this man. Aly tried to stop sobbing. Tried to stop crying, but she couldn’t completely control her emotions.

  “You are now the property of Don Gervasio Duarte.” He smiled a little. “Do you know who he is?”

  Aly barely nodded, feeling some relief of his fingers digging into her shoulder. If she stood still, if she tried to stop crying, the pain eased. “I—I’ve heard of him...a local drug lord...”

  His eyes glittered. “Very good, señorita. You are much smarter than I thought. Now, you are being a good girl. Fight me, try to escape, and I will hurt you. I will rape you. Do you understand?” He leered at her.

  His breath was a foul mixture of fish and garlic. Wincing, Aly closed her eyes and turned her face away from his. Instantly his fingers grasped her. She winced, cried out and faced him. His grip eased a little.

  “I am Oleg Rusak, Don Duarte’s chief of security. You will remember me. You will always obey me in an instant. If you do not, I will hurt you. ¿Comprende?”

  Aly risked a look at the other four soldiers. They were grinning. Their faces were sweat-soaked, dirty and the sour smell of their bodies almost made her gag. “Wh-what do you want?” she whispered brokenly.

  Instantly, Rusak’s fingers dug so deep it took Aly to her knees.

  Rusak crouched in front of her, his face filled with rage. “You have no voice, bitch! You do not ask questions! You live to obey Don Duarte and me.”

  Whimpering, the agony making her lean into his hand, her face so close to his, Aly cried out, “Y-yes, yes, I hear you!”

  Rusak released her and stood. “Good. Now get up. You are nothing more than a slave to Don Duarte. You will know your place. You speak only when spoken to. If he tells you to do something, you do it. You
never speak unless he asks you to. Understand?”

  Yes, she understood, rubbing her shoulder that was surely deeply bruised and currently throbbing. “I understand,” she whispered. What was going to happen to her? Oh, God, she was in such trouble. And no one knew. No one would miss her until she failed to check in this evening by satellite phone with the office in Manaus.

  “Mount that horse,” Rusak growled. “And if you think you can kick that animal and gallop away from us, think about this—” He held the AK-47 up in front of her face. “First, we will shoot the horse out from under you. And then—” he grinned a little “—I will tell my men to watch as I rip off your clothes and take you down on this trail.” He rubbed his crotch with his soiled hand, all the while, staring at her. “If you fight, my man will hold your arms above your head. The other one will spread your legs and I will enjoy having my way with you.” He reached out and ran his large hand around the curve of her breast.

  Startled, Aly gasped and jerked away.

  Rusak slapped her.

  Her head exploded. She saw stars behind her eyes; felt her legs crumple beneath her. Aly didn’t even remember hitting the hard, muddy ground. Moments later she woke, her cheek in the cooling mud. She felt more than saw Rusak walk over to her. She barely opened her eyes to stare uncomprehendingly at his large, muddy combat boots. Her head spun. She couldn’t think, her cheek smarting with excruciating pain.

  Rusak leaned down, grabbing her by the shoulder and hauled her up with one jerk of his arm. Aly was wobbly as he roughly brought her against him. He smiled down into her cloudy eyes. “You are a slave. You will allow Don Duarte to touch you anytime he wants. If he thinks you are good for his bed, then you will go without a fight and you will please him.” Rusak sneered. “Because if you do not please him, Allison Landon, then he gives his cast-off women to me. And I guarantee you, little girl, you will have met the devil. I will not be kind or gentle with you. Understand?”