The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller

by Berkom, D. V.

  He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. “The guy wrote down how to get there on the back of this.” He handed her the directions. Elise turned on the overhead light to read them.

  “He called it the library or something.”

  “You mean libre? The free road?” Elise shook her head. “You’re not seriously trying to get out of paying the toll. What is it, like two bucks?”

  “No, of course not.” Josh frowned in irritation. “It’s just that he said it’d be easier to find the house if we went this way.”

  “Who was this guy again?”

  Earlier in the evening, the man with the Russian accent had started a conversation with Josh while they were at the bar waiting for drinks and had offered to get both Elise and him high. Elise had declined.

  “A friend.”

  “A friend. And you’ve known him how long?”

  Josh gave her a look. “You sound like my mom. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We’re gonna see Swarm of Nihilists!”

  With a resigned sigh, Elise leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The warm night air drifting through the window felt so much better than being inside the hot, stuffy bar. Thoughts of what she was going to wear to her friend Nicole’s big party the next weekend filled her mind. She wasn’t sure she wanted to invite Josh. She’d have to see who else was available. They’d look good together though, she’d give him that.

  A few miles later, Josh had Elise read the directions out loud. He found the street and turned right, heading west along a gravel road. The car began to climb and they left the lights of the city below them.

  “You’re sure you know where you’re going, right?” Elise asked, wondering why there weren’t any streetlights.

  “Yeah. He said it would look like we were heading nowhere but to just keep going to the top of the hill.”

  The road grew steeper and Josh shifted into second gear to get traction. Just as Elise was going to ask him to take her back, a dramatic white arch with black lettering loomed in the darkness before them.

  “What does it say?” Josh asked.

  Elise glanced at the lettering on the stucco façade as they passed underneath.

  “Vista del Mar.”

  “That’s it. He said it would be a little ways past that, and we’d see the house in front of us.”

  They continued along the gravel road. Hulking concrete skeletons of unfinished homes stood as brooding sentries on each side.

  “Must be a really new development,” Josh said, by way of explanation. Elise wasn’t so sure. There were no building materials lying next to the houses, and she didn’t see any heavy equipment.

  “Where are the streetlights? You’d think there’d be something, right?”

  Josh shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe that’s the reason they decided to have the party here—less people, less hassle. Look—” Josh pointed through the windshield. “You can see the lights of Rosarito.”

  Elise’s gaze followed his outstretched arm as he pointed at the bright lights of the seaside town far below them. She rummaged inside her purse for her phone as they drove further along the darkened street. She brought up the GPS and squinted at the lit LED screen, trying to figure out where they had ended up.

  They turned a corner and Josh stopped the car. “What the fuck.”

  Elise looked up. The Porsche’s headlights spilled across the road and onto an oversized, black SUV parked in front of them, blocking the way. Two flares burned bright orange in the expanse between the two vehicles. A muscular man with blond hair leaned against the truck, arms crossed, smoking a cigarette.

  Confused, she turned to Josh. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That isn’t the guy from the bar, is it?”

  Josh shook his head. “Uh-uh.” He made to get out of the car, but she grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t. What if he wants to rob us?” Elise had heard stories about carjackings and highway robbery near the border. From what her friends had told her, those kinds of things weren’t supposed to happen between Tijuana and Rosarito.

  “He won’t get much. I blew most of my money at the bar.”

  “Yeah, but you’re driving an expensive car. He could steal it, and then we’d have to wait out here until someone comes to get us or walk all the way back.” Elise glanced out her window at the deserted buildings nearby and shivered.

  “Shit. I never thought of that.” With a quick look behind them, Josh seized the gearshift and slammed the car into reverse. Elise braced her feet against the floor and gripped the armrest as Josh backed away, the tires spitting rocks.

  Elise twisted in her seat to watch through the rear window. A second SUV came out of nowhere, bounced onto the road behind them, and blocked their escape. Elise screamed. Josh braked hard and the Porsche skidded to a stop.

  “What should we do?” Elise’s panicked voice sounded overly loud in the small space. She raised her window and locked her door. Josh did the same.

  “Shit. I can’t give them the car. My dad just gave it to me. He’s gonna be so pissed.” The whites of his eyes glistened in the glow from the dash. “What should I do?”

  He’s scared to death, she thought. Cold dread crept its way up her spine as she recalled the horror stories she’d read online. What if they figured out they both were from wealthy families? It wouldn’t be hard, not with the kind of car they were in, or with what they were wearing. She glanced at Josh’s expensive wristwatch, worth enough to feed a developing nation, and then at her shoes. The diamond chips on the heels twinkled in the darkness. What if they kidnapped them both and held them for ransom?

  Jesus, Elise thought, her heart racing. My parents don’t even answer their phones unless it’s business. They won’t know what happened to me until it’s too late.

  “Did you take a wrong turn?”

  Josh shook his head. “I’m sure it was the right one. Maybe they just want us to turn around.”

  “I don’t think so, Josh.” A chilling thought flitted through Elise’s mind. “The guy at the bar. He did this, didn’t he? He saw your watch, or maybe he even knew what you were driving and decided to make some easy money.”

  Josh shook his head. “No. It’s not like that, Lise. He was totally cool.” His voice didn’t sound as confident as it had just a short time ago. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead.

  The man with the cigarette leaned down and picked something up off the ground. He flicked the butt away before he ambled over to the driver’s side and tapped on the window. Josh stared straight ahead, his fingers clamped to the steering wheel.

  “Get out,” the man said, motioning at the door.

  “Th-this isn’t my car.”

  Josh’s pleading tone grated on Elise’s nerves. So not the guy she thought he was.

  The man smiled benignly and stepped back. He raised his arms and something hard came crashing down across the windshield, buckling the glass. Josh jumped at the same time Elise screamed.

  The man slammed the tire iron against the window again and again, methodically smashing through the safety glass. Then he moved near the front of the car and smashed the left headlight.

  “Stop—!” Josh shouted, his voice a double octave higher than normal. “Not the car.”

  The man stopped and walked back to Josh’s window. He leaned against the fender and stared at him through the glass.

  “Open the door.” His muffled voice and bemused smile didn’t lessen the impact of his demand. Josh was shaking, and his hands looked like they were going to choke the life out of the steering wheel. When he didn’t respond, the man went to work on the side mirror.

  At that moment, a second man appeared at Elise’s window and she screamed. She closed her eyes and turned away, hunching her shoulders, afraid to look directly at the man standing next to her and wincing at each blow of the tire iron.

  The man outside her window tapped again, more insistently this time. Her breath now coming in short burst
s, Elise opened her eyes to slits and slowly turned her head, hoping that the scene before her could be controlled by what she did or didn’t allow herself to see.

  Her stomach lurched at the sight of a gun against the window. She closed her eyes again and shook her head.

  Tap, tap, tap. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as Elise gripped her knees to control her shaking hands.

  “Get out of the car. Now.” The man’s menacing tone made it clear it wasn’t a request.

  “We’d better do as they say, Lise.” Near tears and trembling, Josh reached for the door.

  “No, Josh. Don’t.”

  But it was too late. He opened the door and climbed out. The first man seized him by the arm and shoved him away from the car and onto his knees, aiming a gun at his head. With the weapon still trained on Josh, he reached inside the car and unlocked Elise’s door.

  “No!” Elise screamed as the second man wrenched the door open, grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her out of the car. She landed hard on the gravel beside the Porsche. A sharp pain lanced down her leg, followed by the warm, sticky-wetness of blood.

  Elise didn’t have time to gain her feet before the man grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She kicked and squirmed and tried to rake his face with her nails as he dragged her away from the car, losing one of her shoes in the process, but the man never faltered. The moment before he shoved her into the back of the open SUV, Elise managed to twist around and look back at Josh.

  Shoulders shaking and head bowed, his wristwatch glinted in the moonlight. A light breeze ruffled his hair.

  “Take my car. I promise I won’t report it if you let me go,” he pleaded with the man in front of him.

  “I thought you said it wasn’t your car,” the man replied with a smile as he moved behind him.

  “I lied. I’m scared. Please don’t kill me. I—I’m only eighteen.” Sobbing now, Josh put his hands up as though they were playing a game and it was time to quit. Elise held her breath. Overwhelming fear tightened her chest and spread to her throat, the nausea in her stomach gaining momentum.

  Before she could utter a sound, the man aimed the gun at the back of Josh’s head.

  And fired.

  Chapter 3

  Leine Basso landed her board with an impressive splash and moved smoothly into shore, turning to watch Santiago Jensen as he caught air and completed a 360-degree rotation. The homicide detective’s red and white kite danced as he landed on a wave and then launched back into the air where he pulled out another turn before heading downwind. Leine marveled at how quickly he caught on to kite surfing, although she shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d shown an aptitude for learning whatever he put his mind to.

  Especially if he found the activity a challenge. He approached everything he did the same way he attacked a new murder case: like a Rottweiler with a meaty bone, not letting go until he’d sucked out the last of the marrow.

  The sun dipped low on the horizon in another perfect, golden, Southern California sunset. Leine had stripped down from her wetsuit to her bikini and put the equipment away by the time Santiago, or Santa as she referred to him, joined her. The nickname fit, as far as she was concerned. Not because he looked like the jolly old elf. Far from it. It was more that Leine thought of Santa as a gift she never thought she’d get to open.

  Since she had started working for Stop Human Enslavement Now, better known as SHEN, Santa’s partner, Don Putnam, had given his blessing to their relationship—with one caveat. Putz said he’d be happy to take Leine on, former assassin or not, if there was even the whisper of a chance that she’d leave Santa with a broken heart.

  Fat chance, she thought. Leine was done. Stick-a-fork-in-her done. She’d be able to betray Santa about as easily as she’d be able to think without a brain.

  She smiled at his intense green eyes, framed by the slicked-back, dark hair and deep tan, all blending seamlessly with the black neoprene wetsuit. The body-hugging material contoured the hard, muscular lines of his torso, and Leine briefly wondered if they might skip dinner altogether.

  “Is this a perfect day or what?” Santa’s rich voice carried easily over the cross-shore breeze—textbook conditions for kite surfing. He dropped his board on the sand and opened the valves on his kite, deflating the struts.

  “No kidding,” she said, pulling her wet hair back and securing it with a couple of bobby pins. “I saw you hot-dogging it out there. What are you trying to do, show me up?”

  Santiago chuckled and shook his head, sending a shower of salt water over Leine.

  “Never,” he said, and pushed her onto her back, capturing her arms above her head as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were warm and salty, and Leine couldn’t get enough, especially now that they were free to be together. Being a suspect in a triple homicide tended to put a dent in your love life when the person you wanted to be with was a detective with the LAPD’s Robbery-Homicide Division.

  Santa deepened the kiss, proof of his affection growing obvious through the wetsuit. Leine broke the lip lock and before he could stop her, flipped him onto his back, straddled his hips, and grinned. Desire flared in his eyes and he slid his hands along her legs.

  “Not so fast, cowboy.” Leine stopped him before he went somewhere she’d have a hard time saying no to and climbed to her feet. “We’re still in public, and I’m not interested in selling tickets.” Santa grinned as he sat up and lowered his gaze, licking his lips.

  “Yes, you can have some when we get back to your place. As long as you behave like a gentleman,” she added, stepping back as he reached for her again. With a dramatic sigh, he got to his feet. He took a step closer and leaned in. Leine had to restrain herself from ripping off his wetsuit.

  “What is it that makes me crave you?” His warm breath skated across her cheek.

  Leine closed her eyes, reveling in the deliciously wicked sensations streaming through her, setting her skin ablaze with every nerve strung tight. He smelled of ocean and sweat and promise.

  Not since Carlos had she felt this alive, this desirable. But Carlos had been an anomaly, or so she’d thought. She’d ended her career as an assassin because of a monstrous betrayal by her recently deceased boss, Eric, and had avoided caring for anyone except her daughter, April.

  Not now. She couldn’t break free from Santa even if she wanted to. It had been worse than torture not being able to touch him, to be with him. As soon as she was cleared of the murder charges they became inseparable.

  Santa nuzzled her neck and, with a teasing smile, walked to his equipment and proceeded to put it away. Leine fanned herself and checked her watch. Barring bad traffic, they could be back at his place in about thirty minutes. Dinner could wait.

  Luck was with them, and they made it back to Santa’s in just under thirty-five minutes. Santa carried Leine’s board to her car and stashed his in a locker provided by the building. They took the elevator from the garage to his apartment and barely made it through the front door before both shimmied out of their clothes, leaving them in a heap on the entry floor.

  Leine smiled as he took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. It always amazed her how perfectly their bodies fit together, as though each had been made for the other. It also amazed her that she was with him. Santa was a man she could respect. He was clear and levelheaded except when it came to Leine, and she was okay with that. She felt the same about him.

  After they made love, they prowled the kitchen hunting for something to make for dinner. Santa was strangely quiet. Curious as to what he was thinking so hard about but respecting his pensive mood, Leine pulled fresh pasta from the fridge and grabbed a pot, which she filled with water and a little olive oil. She set the pot on the stove and lit the burner, adding a pinch of salt. Santa poured them each a measure of red wine. They touched glasses and Leine took a sip, enjoying the peppery Zinfandel as it slid down her throat.

  “What?” she asked. She knew his moods. Admittedly, he didn’t have many. He
was straight-forward and direct, and she was rarely in doubt about his feelings. It was such a refreshing change from her ex-husband, Frank, who kept most things to himself. She’d had enough subterfuge and deception from both him and her old life to last an eternity.

  Santa watched her intently, as though deciding whether to cop to what he was thinking. Leine waited patiently, swirling the wine in her glass.

  He cleared his throat and set his glass on the counter. “I’m a little rusty at this…” he began.

  The water began to boil in the pot and Leine moved to the stove and opened the package of pasta. She dropped the fettuccine in and turned to face him.

  Oh shit. Is he going to propose? Leine’s heart rate kicked up and she had to fight the urge to run. Please, oh please don’t. You’re going to wreck a great thing, Santa. Marriage hadn’t worked out well for her the one time she’d tried it, and she had no desire to repeat the nightmare. People changed when things were legally binding. She’d sworn to herself she’d never attempt it again.

  With increasing dread, she sucked it up and pasted a smile on her face, hoping against hope she was wrong.

  “We’ve barely spent a free minute apart these past couple of months.” He picked up his glass, took a sip of wine, set it down. “If you’re not staying here, we’re at your place.”

  Oh, no. Don’t, Santa. Please. What the hell do I say?

  He held her eyes, his gaze intense. She couldn’t have looked away if she tried.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Leine. Not my ex-wife, not any of the badge bunnies I dated before I met you—no one. What I’m trying to say is,” He took another drink, this one quite a bit larger than the last.

  Leine couldn’t stand it any longer. “Santa, if you’re about to do what I think you are, don’t. Just don’t. We’ve got such a great thing going here, why muck it up with legalities? We’ve both tried it before and came out different people on the other end. Do you really want to risk all that happening again?”

  Santa’s puzzled expression morphed into one of disbelief. He cocked his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Did you think I was going to ask you to marry me?”