by L. J. Wilson
“Business has put us in one another’s path. Call it a necessary evil. The fact is I owed him a debt, and I’ll keep my word. I said I’d do as he needed… and here you are.”
“Business? What sort of business could you possibly have with my…” Sebastian’s words trailed off, guessing an explanation wasn’t going to come from the Reverend. That and he knew the only kind of business Andor Christos dealt in. Of course how it connected to this peculiar place he couldn’t fathom. “You can’t keep me here.”
“And you have few options if you want to live. You’ll stay—for now. But I’m working on a plan that will kill two birds with one stone. It will get you out of here—as you’d like, and it may benefit me. For now, it’s all you need to know.” He turned, heading for the door. “That and you’ll not go near Evie Neal. Do you understand?” He glared at Sebastian. “Or next time, instead of a broom, it may be the business end of a shotgun.”
“Why?” Sebastian said boldly. “Is she your property like everything else in Good Hope?”
“More than property, Mission.” He stepped closer. “Soon Evie Neal will be bound to me for the rest of her life.” He smiled, which could hardly be mistaken for a pleasant gesture. “Understanding the Fathers of the Right, it’s beyond your heathen grasp. Stay out of our business and steer clear of our ways. You won’t interfere with anything that goes on here in Good Hope. That, Mission,” he said, pointing so fiercely it looked as if he’d pop the air, “would be where my loyalty to your father, and any Christos, ends.”
Present Day
It wasn’t the dull ding of the plane’s cabin bell that woke Alec. It was the sensation of a serious boner beneath the blue blanket of an AeroMexico flight—someone caressing it. Alec blinked into eyes darker than his own. A sexy smile traveled from the hot dream in his head to the woman seated beside him. Then Alec remembered. It wasn’t a dream. He and the woman had shared some cocktails on their delayed flight, the plane idling on a Philadelphia tarmac.
Once airborne, after the cabin lights dimmed, she’d asked in a thick Spanish accent if he’d ever made love to a woman in an airplane restroom. Well, no. But he’d fucked one or two there. His crass interpretation hadn’t deterred her. Instead, his seatmate asked for a demonstration.
Alec obliged—what the hell, he’d seen the inflight movie. There was nothing but hours of mind-numbing air time in front of him. There’d been a condom in his wallet—always. Alec had returned to his seat first and the woman shimmied by minutes later, tugging at her skintight mini-dress. She’d trailed painted fingernails along his arm and mumbled something in her native tongue that sounded like satisfaction. From his inebriated state, Alec’s mistake had registered. For the duration of the flight she’d be assigning labels to a thirty-five-thousand-foot fuck, one that he’d already marked miscellaneous. Her arm had looped through Alec’s, and he suspected she’d decided their randomly assigned seats were fate. The worst part? There’d be no escape. That’s what he got for thinking with his dick. Short of the parachute necessary for HAHO deployment—a high altitude op he gladly would have taken—Alec did the next best thing. He drank some more, making sure she did the same. From there, mercifully, he’d passed out.
Now he was conscious—partially. It was time to gather his wits and focus. From beneath the blanket, Alec guided the woman’s hand back onto her own lap. “No, gracias,” he said, pointing as the plane touched down. “We’re land… Estamos aterrizando,” he repeated in choppy Spanish.
The woman—whose name he couldn’t remember—required no translation. He could see her mind flip from deciding what they’d call their kids to what she’d call him now. “Cerdo!” she hissed. Pig… Alec arched an eyebrow, having heard similar sentiments from other women. Damn, even Honor had tacked the epithet to him on occasion. But the woman’s admonishment didn’t stop there. She reached for the good-morning beverage on her tray—a direct hit.
Alec wiped away the sting of vodka, orange juice, and scorn as the aircraft landed. The woman was quick to exit, mashing Alec’s foot with a stiletto heel. Before deplaning, a flight attendant handed him a hot towel. Upon retrieving it, the male attendant whispered to Alec, “For what it’s worth, honey, if you’d fucked me like that—FYI, airplane walls are paper thin—I sure as hell wouldn’t have thrown anything in your face.”
It was one of the few times Alec Clairmont was at a loss for words. He handed the towel over, grabbed his leather duffel bag, and headed for the gangway.
Groggy and sticky, Alec blinked into the morning light of Bogota’s El Dorado airport. It was noisy and crowd-filled. Adding to the confusion, he wasn’t completely sure who he was looking for—other than Jess’s ex-husband, Julian Silva. He scanned the people passing by, spying the woman in the mini-dress. She was bent at the waist, adjusting one high heel while her breasts spilled out from the swatch of fabric she was wearing. Most men looked—one concentrating so steadily Alec thought he might trip. But as the man looked up, Alec’s stare hardened. He was the same man in Jess’s wedding photos—the ones she insisted she’d mistakenly packed when moving into Alec’s spare bedroom.
So this was Jess’s ex—the man responsible for anger, tears, rogue containers of Haagen-Dazs and Absolute in Alec’s freezer—Julian Silva. Tall and stylish, he also wore a smug grin, the kind Alec had wiped off the face of a guy or two.
Julian’s gaze reverted to the woman in the mini-dress—the same woman Alec had fucked inflight. His perception matched Jess’s take on her ex—a guy who had no ability to keep his pants zipped. According to his roommate, Julian’s marital indiscretions had been the reason for their divorce. Alec put down his carry-on and scrubbed a hand over his still sticky face. Well, damn, weren’t there a multitude of things wrong with that picture? Visually, mentally, Alec abandoned the woman in the mini-dress. As the man drew closer, Alec called out to him. “Julian? Julian Silva?”
He nodded. “You’re Alec.”
“Right,” he said, “Alec Clairmont.”
“Jess’s roommate.”
“Jess’s roommate,” he repeated.
Julian tipped his head and extended a hand. “Long, boring flight, huh? I’ve made it a few dozen times.”
Julian’s faint accent was well educated. It made sense. Jess wouldn’t go for anybody who didn’t challenge her. “Long, less some questionable entertainment. Any word from Jess?”
“No. But I’m not overly concerned. Not yet. The guide she’s with, he works for me. The area she was headed to is remote. Armando knows the terrain.”
“What are we talking about in terms of remote? Jungle, lack of people, native tribes.”
“All of it, plus plenty of poverty. I spoke with Jess’s editor at 3Cs magazine. He shared her story information with me.”
“Interesting. I couldn’t get a damn word out of him.”
Julian shrugged. “I perhaps didn’t mention that our divorce only needs to be filed back in the States. So as her husband…”
Alec nodded. Sneaky or necessary subterfuge? He supposed it didn’t matter as long as Julian had secured good intel.
“Jess’s original assignment was to see if she could confirm stories that have circulated through coastal villages for years. Stories about locals disappearing, ten and twenty at a time.”
“Like some kind of under the radar, illegal immigration?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Julian said. “Personally, I think it’s folklore—right up there with black magic and shrunken heads. Nobody gets out of that region easily—least of all by private jet.” With that, Julian started moving through the airport’s crowded corridor, Alec keeping stride.
“But a plane that could carry thirty or so passengers did go down last week. We have confirmation of that from the NTSB,” Alec said.
“True. It’s what started Jess on her journey here. The plane’s disappearance and the lack of explanation for what it was doing here, Jess’s editor wanted her to investigate the local stories and the missing aircraft.”
“But instead of finding the present-day missing plane, she found the wreckage of the one my parents were on.”
“About that… I’m curious. What were your parents’ ties to this part of the world?”
Alec stopped in his tracks, deciding whether he wanted to answer. “My father worked for an international courier service. He piloted a small, private jet between the States and various locations on this end of the map.”
“I see,” Julian said, his gaze probing.
In return, Alec narrowed his. “Don’t go there, man. My father wasn’t a drug runner—I get the easy connection, especially with that route and this drug-rich landscape.”
“Unfortunately, when it comes to export… Well, it is our number one commodity. Especially in the modern era of drugs, the unquenchable thirst for blow stateside and in Europe.”
“I can’t argue that. But I also knew my old man. Sebastian Clairmont was a lot of things—tough, a fighter, loyal to his family. I can promise you, the one thing he wasn’t was a drug dealer.”
“And I might not expect his son to have the most unbiased take on that.” Julian started moving again.
Alec grabbed his arm, insisting on Julian’s attention. “I’m only going to say this once: This is how it went down. My parents were already in country. Pop took a last minute assignment, moving small cargo from San Paulo to Colombia—there’s nothing unusual about that. As we kids got older, my mother tagged along from time to time. It was an opportunity to see other places for free. They were adventurous. If you knew them, the scenario fits. But on that last flight, after their plane took off from Colombia, it disappeared from radar.”
“And yet the wreckage Jess found is located farther west, an isolated island off the coast of La Carta. La Carta, in case you’re unaware, is one of the region’s most lucrative hubs when it comes to cocaine.”
“Yeah. I know. Do you think I didn’t do the research after Jess found the wreckage?”
“And that information doesn’t alter your opinion?”
“Not in the least,” Alec said, digging his fingers into the soft leather of the duffel bag. “Not if you knew my father. There’s a reasonable explanation. Labeling him a drug runner because of the location… It’s like saying he’d be guilty of murder if he drove past a jail every day. One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”
Julian nodded. “Got it. No guilt by association. I’ve no problem giving your father… your parents the benefit of the doubt.” He started down the busy concourse again.
“What about you?” Alec said, needing to regain the momentum, or at least establish that he had some. “What brings you back to the same drug-rich terrain? Jess mentioned you’d relocated back to Colombia.”
“I’m undecided. I’m here while business is good. Anyway, it was only natural that Jess get in touch with me when she arrived in Bogota.”
“Was it?” Alec said as they turned toward signs marked salida.
“Sounds like you and Jess shared a lot of personal information.”
“Small apartment… back in Nickel Springs. I’ve overheard a few of your exchanges—witnessed the aftermath of others,” Alec said. “I’ll be honest, dude—the subject of you didn’t bring out Jess’s softer side.”
“Well, you know Jess—a little drama goes a long way.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t describe her like that at all.”
He pushed open a door, holding it for Alec. As he passed by, Julian said, “And you weren’t married to her for six years.”
Alec stopped and turned. “No, but I did live with her for a while—still do.”
“And you’re sure she sleeps in the spare bedroom?” Julian said.
“Positive—not that any other arrangement would be your fucking business.”
Julian snickered, walking past Alec and taking the lead. “She was right—you are… intense. Take it down a notch, gringo. I thought your sole focus in coming here was the mystery of your parents’ disappearance. Or is it something else drawing you to sunny Colombia? Believe me, I know that side of Jess too.”
Julian was a shrewd manipulator, that much seemed evident.
“Sebastian and Evie, they’ve been gone a long time. Whatever Jess found will be there when I get there. But first I have to get to Jess. Any disagreement there?”
“Ninguno.” Julian said.
Alec glanced at his watch. “Okay, well, she’s been gone for almost forty-eight hours with no communication. Shouldn’t you be more concerned?”
“Lack of communication isn’t a reason to panic. Not in the isolated region Jess headed into. Cell service is almost non-existent.”
“Even so, is there a reason the authorities haven’t been notified?”
“Did you miss the part about the isolated location? It’s not really an option.” Julian strode into a parking garage. “Just out of curiosity, did you happen to bring along your Superman military skills? That’s not a bad traveling companion where we’re headed.”
Alec stopped, shifting the leather duffel bag to his other shoulder. “How do you know…”
“Jess, of course. She mentioned your glory days.”
“Did she?” Alec said, not liking that intel from more angles than he could count.
“I heard you were a serious badass in your day—before you burnt out, bugged out… retired from life… whatever.” Julian clicked the keys he held and the lights of a luxury SUV flashed. He smiled at Alec, cocking his chin at the vehicle. “I suppose when it comes to Jess exchanges go both ways.”
Alec felt a flutter in his gut and one in his fist. It’d been some time since he had the raw urge to haul off and beat the shit out of somebody because… well, they existed.
“And just so you know, I’m not being cavalier with Jess’s safety. I have asked some associates to look into the situation. Still, you’re better off with locals on this op, Man of Steel,” Julian said. “La Policia don’t give a shit about an American woman and the whereabouts of her by-the-hour guide.”
Julian wasn’t without a point. Alec had been to enough remote regions to know that locals were the best bet. “Associates?” he questioned. “I never was clear on that—what is it you do here in the Motherland?”
“I’m in property management.”
“Real estate?” Alec said, opening the door of the SUV.
“As it applies in this part of the world. Now do you want to get moving, or did you need to see my resume first?”
Alec slung his father’s leather duffel bag into the back seat. “Let’s just get busy finding Jess.” Maybe then I can figure out what the hell happened to my parents and how they ended up in La Carta—the cocaine candy store of South America.
1977
Good Hope, Pennsylvania
After Sebastian’s encounter with Evie and the Reverend, the men returned to guarding him. Maybe it was his imagination, but they seemed more vigilant, sparse conversation growing even thinner. But Sebastian’s clash with the Reverend had also provided a benefit. Sebastian realized he was back to full strength, or close to it. On the verge of stir crazy, he started doing sit-ups and pushups, running in place, which seemed like the only positive way to pass time. Nolan Creek watched with rapt attention, remarking, “If you truly put those muscles to work it would benefit you more, leave you twice as tired.”
“Is that how you see it?” Sebastian said, shifting his sit-ups to an angle that hid him from the open hearth view. He’d rather not be Brother Creek’s eye-candy, but he did feel bad about the way the guy chose to lead his life—using religion to conceal who he really was.
In between the calisthenics and the dry reading stamped North Good Hope Library, Sebastian also took to excessively long hot baths. It was his only chance to be alone. Alone with fantasies of Evie Neal. She’d managed to make her way into the tub with him where Sebastian relieved boredom with detailed fantasies of the chaste girl. He’d envision undoing the tight braid, unbuttoning the stiff wardrobe, burying their
bodies into the bed’s feathery mattress. He wanted to taste every part of her—starting with those pouty lips, making his way down a body that he’d thoroughly mapped in his mind. Despite her bulky skirt and a blouse that was an insult to her figure, the attraction was intense.
But Sebastian found he had more on his mind than sex. Other ideas filled in the edges of his Evie illusions. He wondered about the thoughts in her head—how she looked at the world, and how she might look at him. Could he ever evoke more than an “I dare you” fear from her? She’d only been in the cabin—or his life—for five minutes, but Sebastian couldn’t shake her. She’d hit a switch in his brain, a signal that felt as vibrant as it was unclear. The days wore on, and he found himself more focused on Evie and less on his questionable future.
After the Reverend admonished her, what had become of the hypnotic Evie Neal? Worse, was she seriously going to marry Ezra Kane? Sebastian couldn’t see it. By the time another week had passed, he felt his blood pressure rise. Evie Neal was too much fire for a guy who was like a lukewarm bath.
In the middle of a particularly long night, one where Evie had claimed every dream and wide-awake thought, Sebastian sat up in bed. Exasperated and riled, he hurled a pillow at the stone fireplace. The angle was just so, allowing Nolan Creek to lean and ogle him through the open hearth. “It slipped,” Sebastian said, meeting the brother’s fire-lit gaze.
He sunk back into other pillows, dragging a hand through his hair. He blinked into the beamed ceiling of a place that felt like a cage. This was nuts. This wasn’t him. Sebastian rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Even if he were given another five minutes with Evie, it wouldn’t amount to a thing—well, anything more than a reminder of what he really was: a homeless thug running for his life, currently being held in limbo. He sighed. He needed to get a fucking grip. None of it should matter. Certainly not a woman— girl—whose life couldn’t be more removed from his.
The thought brought him back around to Reverend Kane. Sebastian knew very little about the Fathers of the Right—mostly what he’d surmised. It hadn’t left him too far from the word cult. They were no Manson clan—not prone to the crazed brutal events that had captured headlines less than a decade ago. Nor were they a commune, a trendy way of living he’d heard about. Mostly that happened in California and the Pacific Northwest. At the core, these people were traditionally religious. But even that description seemed sketchy, their lives and rules were crafted to reflect Duncan Kane’s desires. The Reverend, Sebastian was sure, was about as holy as an old winter sock.