by Linda Bond
He jerked his head to the right, forcing sweat to roll away before it landed in his eyes. Motoring the bike into a parking place, he kicked the stand down, his gaze quickly sweeping the plaza. A handful of people mingled around. A couple with khaki shorts and cameras around their necks had to be tourists. No threat. What in the hell did they think they’d see here? Fidel or Raul, roaming around giving out autographs? He spit on the ground as the tourists walked by. They didn’t even notice, which fueled the fire of his hatred even more. Idiots.
His father had come to this plaza many times to hear Fidel Castro speak. He did remember his father complaining that the government would strip him of a day’s pay if he had refused to go.
But today, the plaza had a lonely, empty feel to it. A flock of birds took flight, their squawking the only sound. He could change all that in a matter of minutes. He could give these few tourists something shocking to post on Facebook. If they could even find internet service around here. He could shatter Rebecca’s perfect little world with one well-placed shot.
His stomach knotted. Would revenge finally kill the hurt in his heart? He jumped off the bike before he could change his mind. He couldn’t be a coward. Not when his father was counting on him to avenge the wrong done to their once poor but happy family.
He glanced around. A handful of uniformed officers were walking a beat around the plaza. The one nearest to him packed heat. Antonio laid his hand on the bag at the side of the bike, itching to open it and get on with his plan before he could be stopped.
“Wow, is this Cuba’s answer to Mount Rushmore?” Rebecca jumped off the bike, pushing off him as she did. She stared at the opposite side of the square, at the image of Che. “Until the everlasting victory, always.” She read the wording beneath the giant face. “That’s Che’s saying?” She turned to look back at him, her face lighting up and camera in hand, like one of those idiot tourists. Awe colored her voice, making his chest burn. She had no idea what went on within the buildings in this circle. She should not be impressed. He frowned, but bit back a sarcastic reply.
“Why does he get his face on a building? Why not Fidel?”
He cringed at the sound of that name. “That ‘man’ is still alive. The piece of art went up as a memorial after Che’s death.” He didn’t want to sit here and talk Cuban history. He wanted to change Cuba’s future. His fingers itched to touch metal.
Rebecca glanced back at him, eyebrows arched, studying him in silence. He wondered if she was catching on to his intent. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He had imagined revenge would taste sweeter.
“What’s that building?” She turned away from him, pointing at Che.
“The Ministry of the Interior.” His heart sped up. Watching her closely, he anticipated her reaction to his next words. “That’s where your father works.”
“It is? Wait.” She turned slowly, facing him, understanding etched in her wide eyes and pursed lips. “My father works there?”
What did she expect? That her sweet papi rolled cigars on a street corner? “He works for the government.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped, and she threw up her hands. “Well, no big deal. Everyone here works for the government.”
Obviously, she had no idea what working in the Ministry of the Interior meant. He couldn’t wait to school her. “He used to be an undercover informant for the MINIT, the security force of the Ministry of the Interior. Now he’s one of their higher-ups. Probably has an office on the top floor.” And a key to the torture chamber in the basement.
Her mouth fell open. “He works directly for Fidel?”
Why did she keep saying that man’s first name? Like some regular guy she knew and even admired? Heart drumming against his ribs, Antonio tried to keep his movements around the bike casual, choosing not to look Rebecca in the eye. “Well, technically he now works for the brother.” He would kill both Castros given the chance. “He works for a group of people who use surveillance, intimidation, and even torture to keep the Cuban people isolated, ignorant, and in fear.”
The humming of a tour bus’s generator filled the silent pause.
He kept his back to her, but his muscles tightened. What would she do now? Had his passion scared her off? Or would she do what he needed her to do and draw her father down to the square, out in the open, where the murderer would be an easier target?
“I don’t believe you.” Her haunted whisper interrupted his train of thought.
He tried to pull off an indifferent shrug. Turning to dig into his bag, he used his body to shield what he was doing from both her and the patrolling officers.
“My mother would have died if she knew my father worked directly for Fidel, even if it wasn’t his choice.”
Antonio said nothing, his fingers finding the cool steel tip of his Ruger .380 automatic. He stroked it, checking out the action around him as he did. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Maybe she did know. Could that be why my mother left Cuba?”
Jesus, she wanted to ask all these questions now? But he needed to whet her appetite even further. She had to want to go get her father. “I don’t remember much about your mother.”
“But you remember a lot about my father?”
Heat rushed into his head, and his temples began to throb. He gripped the gun. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe deeply to tamp down the memories, but the image of Rebecca’s father walking into his front yard materialized anyway.
Antonio had been ten at the time and happy to see Rebecca’s father, Arturo Menendez Garcia, one of the neighbors on his block. Arturo always brought the family sugar and fresh milk from his family’s farm. The treats made his mother blush, but rendered his father silent. As a boy, Antonio hadn’t understood the different reaction by his parents. Now, looking back, he realized that the color in his mother’s cheeks had nothing to do with the gifts Arturo delivered. On that particular night, so many years ago, Antonio remembered feeling additional tension between Arturo and his father.
Despite that, Arturo had smiled at Antonio that evening, even rubbed him on the head, so Antonio had let down his guard and had gone back to playing. Not ten minutes later, his father lay dead in the street, blood pooling around the ball the two of them had been kicking around.
Blind fury rushed through Antonio’s veins, hot and fast, until his head throbbed like it was close to exploding. His vision blurred. He wiped a hand across his forehead.
“Antonio?” Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder.
He jumped at her touch; her fingers felt like fire branding his flesh. He shook her hand off. She had Arturo’s blood. Finger now on the trigger, he forced himself to remove it and placed the gun back in its container until he could breathe again and act without heated emotion.
“Are you okay?”
She didn’t touch him this time, but he still couldn’t look at her.
“Let me help you sit down.”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“This place.”
“What about it?”
“It’s the root of much evil.” Antonio shuddered, the urge to kill boiling in his blood, but unexpectedly, shame also tugged at him.
“What just happened to you? Please tell me.”
“I was remembering something.”
“What?”
He turned to look at her, close enough to smell the heat of the day on her caramel-colored skin. “The night a neighborhood friend murdered my father.”
“Oh God.” She paled, her hand fluttering above her heart. “I’m sorry. What brought up that memory?”
“Being here.” With you. With him. In there. Glancing toward the image of Che, he wondered if the legendary man had ever faltered when faced with the chance to kill an enemy. Probably not. Leaders did what leaders had to, no matter the collateral damage.
“We can leave.” Rebecca glanced at him through narrowed eyes, her body perfectly still.
That would be the right thing to do. “Without meeti
ng your father?”
Rebecca twisted around to face the Ministry of the Interior.
He heard himself speak, as if on autopilot, his voice no longer his own. “Don’t you want to go inside and ask to speak to the man who should have spent the last twenty-six years being a father to you?” Numb, he’d disconnected himself from his body. “Aren’t you curious why he never even tried to contact you?”
She started to walk toward the building, hesitant at first.
“Isn’t it important to you to prove you’re not all alone in the world now?” He increased his volume and intensity. “That you have value?”
With an indescribable primal sound, Rebecca took off running.
About damn time. But Antonio wasn’t feeling satisfaction. He fingered the pistol, stroking it with conflicted intentions.
He scoured the plaza for any red flags. Damn it! One of the young uniformed cops was watching Rebecca with keen interest. Tourists didn’t run like hell toward one of Cuba’s most guarded offices. She should have known to walk. He shouldn’t have provoked her like he had. The officer talked into a walkie-talkie. Que mierda. Calling in reinforcements probably.
Rebecca wouldn’t make it inside. Quickly, he pocketed the pistol and took off in a well-controlled advance. Got to stop her before she gets us both arrested. With his long legs, catching up to Rebecca only took a few seconds.
He grabbed her by the shoulder, tugging at her. “Stop.”
“No.” She jerked out of his hold. “I’m going in.”
“No, you’re not.” He reached for her wrist, wrapping his hand around her thin bones.
She jerked to a stop. “You’re the one who suggested it.”
Another uniformed officer exited the ministry, heading down the stairs toward them. The backup. “It’s too dangerous right now. The police are suspicious of you.”
“I’ll tell them I’m Arturo Menendez’s daughter.” Her eyes fired with rebellion. But behind the anger, tears were building. She might lose her cool, and with it their safety. Women could be so emotional. He had to rein her in.
She yanked against his hold with enough ferocity to shake him from his stance, but he held her wrist firmly. “I did know your mother…and your father.”
“What?” She stalled, as if she’d run out of gas.
“You lived in my neighborhood, Rebecca.”
Her face paled. “I did?” She took a step back. “I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t.” He tightened his grip, making sure not to hurt her. “You were just a baby, and your mother left right after your birth.” He eyed the cop who had exited the ministry. The young man had stopped to watch them. He also spoke into a walkie-talkie. No doubt the two cops were debating the threat. “I do know why your mother left your father and Cuba. I was there.”
“What?”
The shock in her eyes impaled him. “Your father slept with my mother.”
She slapped him hard, her free hand spreading a sting of pain across his left cheek. He shuffled backward.
“You’re a liar.”
The slap startled him, but he didn’t let go of her other wrist. “Why would I lie about something as twisted as that?” Something that ruined my life?
“They had an affair?”
“When your mother found out, she left your father. Arturo never made an attempt to stop her or get you back.” He purposely left out the part about Arturo murdering his father in cold blood while he, as a boy, watched but could do nothing to stop it.
Red stained her cheeks. “And you brought me here knowing that?”
He swallowed, instantly hating himself. “I did.” The acid in his stomach stirred.
“Why?” she whispered.
Scanning the square, the cop from the plaza was walking toward them again, gaining ground. Antonio’s pulse skyrocketed. He’d trained for this. He knew what to do. Still, his muscles clenched.
“I thought you valued me,” Rebecca whispered.
“What?” He’d been so lost in his critical observations he’d stopped listening to her.
“I spent my whole childhood feeling worthless. Because I didn’t have a father.”
The tears started to roll down her cheeks. Jesus. Why did he even give a shit? Because he was getting to know her. Wanting to know her more. Still, he couldn’t let her blow their cover. “Pull it together, Menendez.” His stomach twisted with conflicting feelings.
“You tell me I do have a father, and he’s never tried to look for me. Thank you for proving that’s exactly what I am. Worthless.”
Her words tortured his heart. He knew what worthless felt like. “I’m sorry.” The words spilled out, and he stepped back, shocked he’d even said them. Did he mean that? He never said he was sorry. Maybe he did mean it, and the thought made his knees a little weak. For as far back as he could remember he’d been planning for this. She was supposed to be the bait, not the voice of his damn conscience calling him out at the last moment. He wasn’t supposed to fall…
“Oye tu!” Hey, you! The police officer from the plaza called out to them.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Fuck.
Rebecca’s eyes grew round as saucers.
“We need to go.” He let go of her wrist but grabbed her hand. He didn’t trust her emotional state right now.
She nodded, but hesitated. “I’m here. I’ll never be here again. This is my only chance to prove if my father is alive.” She pulled out of his hold. “I’m not leaving.”
“If we’re detained, you’ll never get to see your father. We have to leave now.” He reached to grab her again, but her wrist slipped through his grasp. Damn it.
She’d started walking, not a run this time, but a very determined kind of gait that left no doubt in his mind that she intended to walk into the lobby of the Ministry of the Interior and ask for her father. The arrogant woman walked right past the approaching ministry guard. Dios mío… They were screwed now.
“Que hacen ahí?” What are you doing there? The young cop who’d been watching her started running after her. The cop who exited the Ministry of the Interior turned on his heel to follow her, too. He kept it at a casual pace.
“No se muevan!” Don’t move. The younger cop was losing his patience with her.
Damn it! Even if she drew her father down from his well-protected office, Antonio wouldn’t be able to get a shot off without one of those pigs shooting him as well. And then they’d shoot Rebecca. The realization hit him like a bullet. This was not her battle. His father’s murder was not her fault. He did value her, but no longer as bait. And he didn’t want to damage her irreversibly. He didn’t want to hurt her at all. He rolled his head, his neck cracking. What should I do now? “Rebecca, mi amor, dígame, por favor.” Rebecca, my love, talk to me please, he yelled across the distance between them.
She hesitated, surely confused at the change in the tone of his voice and his choice of words, but she didn’t stop, despite Antonio’s plea and the cop’s demand.
Sprinting past the police officer closest to her, Antonio reached her side, throwing both arms around her in a lover’s embrace. “Play along,” he whispered as he pulled her close. “Do it. They’re watching us.”
“What?” She didn’t struggle.
“Have you lost your damn mind? Running like that?” He spoke in Spanish.
“You’re pushing me over the edge, Antonio.” She pitched her voice so low he could barely hear. “Bringing me to this place, hanging the possibility of my father out in front of me. You are driving me to do crazy things.”
“Kiss me,” he whispered into her ear.
“Now you’ve lost your mind.”
He could feel her heart drumming against his chest. He turned her toward him and forced his lips on hers before she could object or speak. Her lips were warm and pliant, surprising given the crisis they found themselves in. Her body went limp in his arms, as if giving up was exactly what she wanted to do. Or maybe fear had finally immobilized her. Either
way, he took advantage of her submission and deepened the kiss. When the tip of her tongue complied, tentatively touching his, he hardened, desire joining the adrenaline already pumping through him. Jesus, he was one sick bastard to be thinking about this right now. They were going to end up in jail. But maybe this playacting was their way to freedom.
“Buenos días.” The officer from inside the ministry had reached them. He cleared his throat, probably waiting for them to stop kissing.
Rebecca pushed against Antonio’s chest, breaking the kiss first. Fear resonated in her eyes, but he didn’t know if that was a reaction to his kiss or acknowledgment of the deep shit they’d just stepped in.
The older police officer had his hand on his gun, eyeing them without expression.
The second officer huffed to their side. “Porque se movieron?” Why did you move? The young officer must have been pissed they hadn’t obeyed his orders, because he had his gun out and aimed right at them.
“My woman. She’s playing hard to get.” Antonio knew his Cuban Spanish was perfect. Smiling at the officers, he buried his face in the crook of Rebecca’s neck, praying she wouldn’t freeze and alert them to the fact that she wasn’t really Cuba raised. Here, sex was a natural part of life, to be enjoyed and displayed at will. And fighting as foreplay wasn’t unusual.
He could feel the blood rush through the artery in her neck, pounding like mad, and sweat trickled down the side of her face, but her body didn’t stiffen, nor did she push him away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hooked her leg around his.
Good girl.
“Were you heading to the Ministry of the Interior?” the calm officer asked. He must be trained to be the good cop.
“No, señor.” He detached Rebecca from his body. “She was running away from me.”
“Because you lied to me.” She shouted so convincingly, she even fooled him for a second. Or maybe she was being honest. He had lied to her.
Either way, she was playing along. Smart. “She was just a friend,” he pleaded. Let the cops think they were having a lover’s spat.
She slapped him again, real satisfaction lighting up her eyes.