by Lydia Rowan
Through means he didn’t bother to question, one of his partners, Sam, had gotten hold of the flight manifesto and a picture of the person he sought. Now, all he had to do was follow her. The information had been vague, but what Cruz did know told him that his quarry was into a particularly dirty business, and though he wasn’t exactly sure which one yet, it was going to be his pleasure to put her out of it.
Calm but excited to be this close, he waited outside Customs, taking in the boisterous family reunions, scurrying businessmen and party officials, the tourists and backpackers, letting his gaze linger for only a moment before moving on in search.
Then he saw her.
She was in her late twenties, average height, average-looking features. That she was African American with healthy, rounded curves made her stand out, but absent those two things, she would have been completely unremarkable, one of the flock of tourists who flooded the terminal.
She was living proof of how deceptive looks could be.
The woman looked left, then right, eyes wide and searching, face open but uneasy, and then she headed to an information booth. He watched her chat with an airport official, finding himself strangely drawn to her polite, shy smile and her gentle, almost timid demeanor. With a piece of paper Cruz presumed was a map clutched in her hands, she marched toward baggage claim, keeping her head down but her eyes moving quickly from thing to thing as she walked. Keeping her in his line of sight, Cruz waited a few moments and then followed, staying close, but not so close she would notice.
The flights had been long, but even still, most traffickers didn’t bother with luggage. But the people he sought, the ones she would lead him to, were a cut above. And maybe that explained the conundrum that this woman presented. Wide-eyed, excited, shy, none of the furtiveness or suspicion he usually saw. She was doing the best impression of a clueless tourist he’d ever seen.
After grabbing a piece of luggage that almost dwarfed her, she glanced at her map and then headed toward the rows of gleaming hotel buses. As she moved, she ignored the cyclo riders and taxi drivers that called out to tourists. A good thing for her. At best, one of those rides would end with her fleeced out of a few dollars, but at worst, she’d be airlifted to Bangkok, another victim of Ho Chi Minh City’s lethal traffic. Whether the city was called Saigon, referenced by its formal name, or shortened to HCMC, the result was the same. No matter what it was called, the traffic in the city was literally killer, and was responsible for more tourist injuries and deaths than anything else.
She approached the shuttle driver and after a quick conversation, probably in English since the nicer hotels in the city—and based on the shuttle, hers was very nice indeed—tried to cater to Western tourists and account for the language barriers, she scribbled something on the paper and then headed to the bus, where she paused long enough to write down the license plate number before boarding.
Cruz had seen enough that not much ruffled him anymore, but even he found this woman’s behavior notably surprising. She could have been in a State Department video that gave travel tips to new tourists. She’d taken down the bus license plate number, ignored solicitations for a ride, probably gotten the driver’s name, and Cruz had seen how she gripped her suitcase and handbag tightly, not letting either out of her sight for a single moment. This was Foreign Travel 101, not the graduate-level behavior he would have expected from a seasoned trafficker.
And he also had his reaction to her to consider.
To his immense displeasure, the urge to protect her rose as strong as it was unwelcome. He’d tried to push away the thought. This woman was into some nasty stuff, and he couldn’t let the fact that she looked so delicate, so vulnerable, distract him. Sure, if she was the wide-eyed novice she appeared to be, the urge would be understandable, but he knew better. Still, the feeling nagged.
He retrieved his phone and dialed quickly.
“The target’s on the hotel shuttle,” he said.
“Shuttle?” Sam sounded as confused as Cruz felt, but they’d have to work that out later.
“Yeah, get over there and check the place out quick. I want to keep eyes on her, so I’m getting on now,” Cruz said.
“Got it.”
Sam disconnected and Cruz headed toward the shuttle, wondering what his confounding quarry was up to.
••••
Nola rested against the shuttle seat and stared out the window, her breath creating a fog on the glass. In the few moments that she’d been outside, the heavy humidity that clung in the air had coated her, leaving a fine sheen on her skin, which had prickled into goose bumps when she’d entered the air-conditioned vehicle. Good thing she was no stranger to either.
But even if she had been, neither the moist heat nor the contrasting cold of the bus would have been able draw her attention from the sights and sounds of Ho Chi Minh City. She’d never heard anything like it, not even close. The city sounded alive, seemed to be almost bursting at the seams with movement, life. And as amazing as the city sounded, the sight of it was something else altogether. The streets teemed with traffic: cars, buses, motorbikes, people on foot, all moving in a haphazard and seemingly random pattern. But from where Nola sat, it appeared to be a beautifully coordinated routine, one she doubted she would ever tire of seeing.
This couldn’t have been more different from home, from anything she’d imagined, let alone thought she would ever see in person. So though she was exhausted from the flights, sweaty but cold, and nearly ravenous, Nola was also invigorated. During the long hours on the flight—made so much more pleasant by the leg spent in first class—nerves had creeped up, and Nola wondered if she’d made a mistake. But just these few minutes had proven this had been worth it.
A thump, followed by the jostling of her seat, drew Nola’s attention from the window. She started and looked over, her gaze landing on a man’s crotch. Her eyes widened, but she couldn’t look away, and it occurred to Nola that the bulge a few feet from her face was almost as impressive as the city. She flushed and lowered her gaze, but the strong thigh she landed on didn’t derail the train of her thoughts, so she looked up again.
Of course, the sinfully tight T-shirt and the equally tight-looking stomach it covered weren’t any safer. Nor was the broad chest, the even broader shoulders, or the chiseled jaw that was sprinkled with a five-o’clock shadow that Nola couldn’t help but imagine scraping against her thighs.
With nowhere else to look, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the faint throb that had started to pulse between her legs intensified, and her nipples, which were already puckered from the cold, pulled tighter, though the response had nothing to do with the temperature. His eyes were a sharp, almost arctic-blue color that should have made her shiver but had the opposite effect.
One glance at those eyes filled her with heat, incited a tugging neediness that Nola couldn’t ever recall feeling. And when he narrowed his eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth in a semismile, Nola squirmed in her seat.
He saw it, too. She could tell from the way the smile deepened, the little glint that sparked in his eyes.
And then the moment was over. The man moved down the aisle, and Nola drew on all of her reserves to keep herself from watching his retreat. She was curious as to whether his back was as impressive as his front, but she was already embarrassed enough at how she’d ogled his crotch, so she wouldn’t give in to temptation. She turned back to look out the window and leaned against the seat again.
She hadn’t even left the airport, and this was officially the best trip ever.
4
“What did you find?” Cruz asked Sam.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Sam replied.
“Stay close.”
Cruz disconnected and called Ace, not taking his eyes off the woman as she strolled down the crowded street.
“Ace, this isn’t adding up,” Cruz said when his old friend answered.
“What?” he said.
“I’ve had eyes on her since she
landed, and I have eyes on her right now. I’ve never seen a trafficker do anything like this.”
“Like what?”
“She rode a shuttle from the airport, checked in, and now she’s walking down the street like she’s never been in a city before. This doesn’t feel like business to me.”
“Maybe she’s never been here before. Even traffickers take vacations,” Ace said.
“Ha-ha. But my gut’s telling me something is off,” Cruz said.
“Well, maybe you should have a chat with her.”
“Maybe I should. I’ll be back in touch.”
Cruz disconnected and continued to trail behind the woman. He’d chosen not to mention the little interlude on the bus, but he knew it was part of the reason he was so unsettled. He was not unaccustomed to the appreciative female gaze, but that look… Scorching didn’t even begin to describe it. The naked lust in her eyes, the hungry gaze that had moved over his body almost reverently…
Even knowing the purpose behind her visit hadn’t extinguished the flame that her eyes on him had sparked. And the way the blood had rushed from his head and centered in his cock had been undeniable.
But it wasn’t just the lust that had gotten to him. That was a human response, nothing more, but behind it had been a softness, an openness and honesty in her gaze that he was more and more convinced was genuine. He saw it now as she walked down the street, face full of awe with each new thing she saw.
Like he’d said, it just didn’t add up.
Maybe a guy had put her up to this, a relative, a boyfriend, because he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that this woman had any idea what she’d gotten into.
But he’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.
••••
Nola had left the hotel in search of food and to see more of the city. She wasn’t brave enough to venture too far, but the half block she’d come was mind-blowing. The crowds moved around her, the noise and movement of the city as vibrant as she’d seen from the bus. Of course, she had no idea what she was going to eat. The travel guides had warned to be selective with food vendors, so Nola was at something of a loss. But when she looked up and saw those familiar golden arches, she smiled and headed toward them.
A nine-thousand-mile flight to eat at McDonald’s. Maybe not the most daring choice, but baby steps.
An hour later, full of french fries and the best milkshake she’d ever had, Nola headed back to the hotel. When she entered the semidarkness of the cool hotel room, she perked, excited for a shower and then sleep. She could start sightseeing tomorrow, and was particularly looking forward to the tour of the Viet Cong tunnels and then the Ben Thanh Market.
But something made her stop in the door frame.
The room felt different, and she froze, hand still wrapped around the doorknob.
Her body was still, but her mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each worse than the one before it, the terrible thoughts crowding her mind until she thought her head might explode with them. She could practically hear her mother’s admonition that she shouldn’t have come here. This trip had been exciting, fun, but now, as she looked at the enormous man who stood in the middle of her hotel room, Nola knew she was going to die.
5
“I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to it,” the woman said, her voice wavering but strong.
“Take your hand off the door. Close it quickly. Do not scream,” Cruz commanded.
The woman looked genuinely terrified, but that wasn’t his problem. He took one step toward her, and she quickly closed the door, and when it clicked shut, tears began running down her cheeks.
“You can keep those because they won’t change anything,” he said.
And ordinarily they wouldn’t have, but there was more than a little bravado behind his words. The tears seemed as genuine as the woman.
“Come here,” he said, probably more softly than he should have.
She shook her head.
“Come here,” he repeated.
She took one step, then another, her entire body quaking with each tentative movement.
“I…I can get you money. All I can find. You can have it.”
Her voice was barely audible, and her body was racked with shivers. The sight of her fear, so different than the awe and amusement that had lit her face before, tugged at Cruz, softening him and at the same time pissing him off because it softened him.
“Keep your money. All I want to know is who you’re meeting and where?”
Behind the tears and terror that shone even in the darkness of the room, Cruz saw the surprise in her cloudy gaze and in the way her brows knit together.
“Meet…?”
The confusion in her face was reflected in her voice, and she shook her head.
Frustration rose, and Cruz closed the distance between them in three steps. When he touched her forearm, she shrieked and jerked away. Tried to at least, but Cruz grasped her before she could flee.
Holding her arm, he walked them into the adjoining sitting room and then pushed her into an armchair.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” Cruz said, worried that she was about to faint or, even worse for him, freak out. When he stepped closer, she looked up at him and then glanced away quickly. But then the furrow in her brow deepened, and she looked at him again, recognition lighting her gaze.
“The shuttle…” she whispered.
He’d held on to the small hope that she wouldn’t recognize him, but the charged moment that passed between them was apparently something that couldn’t be ignored or forgotten. He’d have to use it to his advantage.
“Yeah, the shuttle. Which means I’ve had eyes on you all day. I know you haven’t made the drop yet, so you can still help yourself. Tell me what your drop point is and who you’re meeting, and I’ll let you go.”
Slightly disingenuous because whoever she was working for would be much less forgiving, but he couldn’t be swayed by that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just on vacation.”
“So explain why I have good intel that confirms the person traveling on flight 936 out of Atlanta and sitting in seat 5A, your seat, is bringing in highly valuable information regarding highly illegal trafficking?”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but her already wide-as-a-doe’s eyes widened even farther.
“My seat?”
“Yes, your seat, 5A.”
Her face practically crumpled, and Cruz thought she really would pass out. She lifted her hand to her mouth, the gesture surprisingly gentile given the situation.
“Oh no. This can’t be happening.”
“It’s happening. Now, where’s the drop and who are you meeting?”
“That wasn’t my seat,” she said faintly.
“What?” Cruz barked, the woman jumping at the sound of his voice.
“That wasn’t my seat. Someone gave me 5A. I switched with…”
She trailed off again and looked away, seeming to retreat into her own thoughts. “I knew something was wrong, but it was a window seat and first class. Oh God. I’m gonna die because I didn’t want to fly coach,” the woman said.
Then she slumped back against the chair, and her face twisted as if she bore the weight of the world. And then the tears started, silent, almost dignified.
Cruz stared at her, that unfamiliar uncertainty creeping back stronger than ever. The intel hadn’t specified the merchandise, but the team had suspected trafficking, and trafficking meant money, and people didn’t hesitate to kill over money. As he watched, that uncertainty exploded to full-blown unease. Her story was far-fetched, but this whole job had felt wrong from the start, and if she’d switched seats…
“What is your name, and where are you from?”
“Nola,” she said quietly, turning frightened, soulful brown eyes up at him. “Nola Bailey. I’m from Thornehill Springs, North Carolina.”
Cruz pulled his lips into a tight line. This had just gotten much more c
omplicated.
6
The man glared at Nola, his stunning eyes as icy now as they’d been warm on the shuttle. When she’d entered and seen that figure standing in her room, every horrible thought imaginable had filled her mind, turned her blood to dread-filled sludge that felt like it could barely move through her body. That dread had intensified as he’d asked his questions, ones that Nola had no answers for, but when she’d said her name and where she was from, something had shifted. His expression hadn’t changed, but there’d been the faintest recognition in his eyes.
So she latched onto it, praying that it was a lifeline, something that she could grasp and maybe use to help herself.
“Thornehill Springs?” he said.
She nodded quickly. “Yes. Have you hear—”
Her words died in her throat as she watched him. His body stilled and he tilted his head slightly, face contorted with concentration.
The breath-stealing fear that had receded ever so slightly roared back at full force when he reached into his waistband with his huge, intimidating hand that was only made more so by the gun that he now held.
A shriek bubbled in her throat, but Nola managed to swallow it when he put a finger to his mouth. He extended his hand and beckoned her, and Nola had no choice but to comply. She stood on shaky legs and moved close to him.
His gaze met hers, seeking, and he seemed satisfied with whatever he found there. He leaned close, and though fear still gripped her, Nola didn’t move away. The brush of his warm breath tickled her ear and then his words penetrated her brain.
“You’d better be on the up-and-up, Nola Bailey. Because we have company.”
He hadn’t asked a question, but Nola nodded and didn’t pull away when he grasped her wrist. His hold was firm but not threatening and as improbable as it seemed, his touch comforted her. It was wishful thinking, her last gasp of hope, but he’d had time to kill her a thousand times over, and she still breathed. That had to mean something.