The terrorist got to his feet slowly, deliberately controlling his movements so as to not attract unwarranted attention from the police officer sitting on the motorbike a hundred yards away. With his hands casually in his pockets, Anwar Salih strolled out into the street and maneuvered his way around the girls until he was at their backs. When he struck, it was swift and cruel. The two girls barely had time to utter a cry before they dropped to their knees, forever silenced by the knife wounds that cut through their vocal cords. As they fell, one by one, onto their faces, the third girl was roughly dragged away by her captor, screaming.
Fin knew how the story ended and he knew the price Domino paid. He hadn’t been able to save the first two girls, but he made damn sure he saved the last one. It took him two days to get it done. Once he was in position and had intercepted Salih’s communications with his commander on Jolo, once he studied the man’s communications style and his phraseology, once he was certain he could impersonate the terrorist successfully, he made his move. Anwar Salih never saw it coming, but it came just the same.
The girl, eyes as black as coal, was so traumatized by her ordeal that it just about broke the man’s heart. Domino snuck her through the streets of Isabela City in the early morning hours before the sun came up. He brought her to the U. S. Embassy in Manila, knowing that she was in desperate need of protection. That’s where Fin picked her up two days later. Salih had promised his men some entertainment when he returned to Jolo. There was no way to protect her or her family from the wrath of the terrorists, short of moving them to a safe house once the girl was debriefed. Fin did what was asked of him. And when the girl was far from harm, Fin went back to Manila to wait for Domino. The ruse was so successful, the impersonation so believable, it was another three weeks before the two men shared that first beer, but it was worth it.
But that was then, this was now, Fin had to admit as he held onto that icy bottle in Lisbon. Both men had retired from the Navy long after the Abu Sayyaf mission. They had moved on with their careers. It was time for Domino to deal with reality.
“You know that you gave Maria a pass because of what happened to those girls in Basilan, Domino. You can’t bring them back to life by going easy on every woman you meet,” he told his friend bluntly as the caps came off the next round of cold beers. “You’ve got to toughen up, man.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it? I want to believe there’s an angel in every woman I meet and you always assume you’re looking at the devil.”
“I’ve met too many liars and schemers,” Fin replied matter-of-factly. “The only way I’ll ever trust a woman is when she proves herself worthy.”
“The only way? Won’t that be difficult, given the fact that you’re a healthy, heterosexual male with a penchant for risk and an enjoyment of the fairer sex?”
“There’s a difference between loving a woman and making love, my friend. Sex is easy. Love not so much. You can’t ever really love without trust. Otherwise, you’re always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the knife to stab you in the back. You nearly found out the hard way with Maria, Dom. The next time a calculating woman bats her eyelids at you or wiggles her fanny, do the math. Make sure she’s not working for the bad guys. And when you start to doubt that it’s necessary, remember those four thousand people you nearly got killed.”
“I’d tell you you’re a real buzz kill, Fin, except I know you’re right.” Domino grimaced.
“I am. The next time, we might not be so lucky.”
That conversation between two fictional characters set my mind at ease. It was something I could picture Jeff saying. And as for not trusting women until they proved themselves worthy, I had already been through that with him. His faith in me hadn’t been instant or unconditional. I saw now that he really couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not given the risks. Satisfied, I closed the book, turned off the light, and gave the dog a final pat before closing my eyes. It was just after three.
When I awoke, it was just after seven and the little dog was barking at the front door. I flew out of bed to let Jeff in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I overslept because I had to finish the book last night!”
“It’s okay,” he laughed, returning my hug. “Go get dressed while I get breakfast started.”
Frantic, I rushed from closet to bathroom, clothes in hand, not wanting to miss a moment of this last hour with him. I had wanted so desperately to know the real Jeff before he left for the mainland, but I failed; despite my determination to figure out what it was that we had in common, that elusive thread that would bind us for life escaped me. Disappointed, I sat on the end of my unmade bed and brushed my hair.
“Poached or scrambled,” asked a cheerful voice from the open doorway.
“Either,” I replied, forlorn.
“What’s wrong, little bird?” He came and sat down next to me, wrapping an arm around me. “We’ll be together again soon enough.”
“I know. It’s not that, Jeff. I...I wanted to solve the mystery, but I blew it.”
“Did you?” He was smiling at me. “In what way did you blow it?”
“I haven’t figured out what we have in common,” I sighed, “other than we both have spent decades living secret lives.”
“Isn’t that enough?” he laughed good-naturedly. “It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”
As I looked into his eyes, I suddenly understood. All those women in Atlanta, Hollywood, and beyond never had a chance with the man. He would never be able to trust any of them because they could never know the importance of keeping secrets. But I knew. I was a survivor, just as the fictional Nora was, just as the flesh-and-blood Camille was. The men who loved us took daring chances, not for the thrill of it all, but for the honor and sense of duty. We were the protected and they the protectors, and we knew too much to betray each other. In a perfect world, Jeff and I would have loved each other gladly, but in this messy, complicated place where evil often rears its ugly head, secrets brought us together. With our trust tested and proven, we were ready to open the door to love.
That was the instant I realized paradise wasn’t a place on earth, some idyllic tropical hideaway with azure blue waters and swaying palm trees. It was that invisible sanctuary tucked inside our hearts, where love, nurtured by the desire for truth and freedom, thrives. No one could ever steal it away from us; it was ours for eternity, ever entwined by our secret lives, and neither time nor distance could alter it, for it dwelled within us wherever we went. I would survive Jeff’s absence in the coming weeks and months. I understood now that he needed me as much as I needed him. We belonged together.
“I’m ready,” I declared to him, feeling stronger.
“For breakfast?”
“For whatever comes our way,” I told him, taking his hand in mine. He grinned and kissed me sweetly.
“Life is good in paradise, isn’t it?”
Author’s Note
I love to bake. That’s why you will often find my characters baking too. When I create a recipe, such as the one that follows, I try to be true to the essence of the baker, even one who is fictional.
I know some people are intimidated by the idea of making cakes from scratch. They shouldn’t be. This cake is practically foolproof. It’s made in one bowl, with all the ingredients tossed in and mixed by hand, with a wooden spoon.
Camille’s Paradise Cake:
Whisk together in a large bowl:
2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons freshly grated peeled ginger root (or 1 teaspoon ground ginger)
2 teaspoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
Add in and mix by hand with a wooden spoon until smooth:
1 ¾ cups sugar
1 cup natural vegetable oil (Wesson, Crisco)
3 eggs
1 teaspoon good quality real vanilla extract
Add and mix in:
>
1 cup shredded carrots
1 cup mashed bananas
1 8-ounce can crushed pineapple (drained)
1 cup finely chopped nuts (macadamia, walnut, or pecan -- whichever you prefer)
1 cup flaked coconut
Pour the batter into greased and floured pan(s). Bake at 350 degrees. Cake is done when toothpick comes out clean:
9” x 13” pan -- about 45-50 minutes
2 9” round cake pans -- about 30-35 minutes
Cupcake pan -- about 20-25 minutes
Camille’s Paradise Cake is delicious as is, or dusted with confectioner’s sugar, but it is also a wonderful cake when frosted. Use your favorite cream cheese or buttercream frosting recipe, or you can try this one:
3 cups confectioner’s sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) of butter at room temperature
1 teaspoon good quality real vanilla extract
1-2 tablespoons whipping cream
In a bowl, beat together sugar and butter with an electric mixer at low speed until blended. Increase speed to medium and continue beating until smooth and fluffy, about three minutes. Add in vanilla and whipping cream. Continue to beat for one minute, until it has good spreading consistency. (If necessary, add a little more cream.)
About The Author
Contact the author: [email protected]
Author’s blog: http://sarabartonmysteries.blogspot.com
Review me:
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/sarambarton
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Connect with me:
Twitter: @bartonmysteries
Facebook fan page: sarabartonmysteries
Other books by Sara M. Barton:
Henry Hartman’s Holiday Crisis: An Off-the-Books Mystery #1
Henry Hartman's Boondoggle Crisis: An Off-the-Books Mystery #2
Henry Hartman’s Fall Guy Crisis: An Off-the-Books Mystery #3
Miz Scarlet and the Imposing Imposter: A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #1
Miz Scarlet and the Vanishing Visitor: A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #2
Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests: A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3
Snow White and the Hunter: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #1
Where’s Hansel and Gretel’s Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2
Little Red Riding Hood and the Secret Cookie Recipe: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #3
Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard’s Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1
A Plague O’ Both Your Houses: A Bard’s Bed & Breakfast Mystery #2
Reluctant Witness Page 49