by Liz Everly
“They are doing everything they can,” he said. “What else can we do?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure we could even get away from our guards.”
“Yep, I know,” he said.
The resort intercom came on and off announcing the activities for the day. It was a frequent disruption—not at all relaxing, which is what a resort was supposed to be, after all. But Sanj’s shoulders and neck were pulled tight, hurt from the stress of it all. So when he heard about a chocolate tasting in the Mozingo Room, he perked up.
“Let’s go,” he said to Sasha and pulled her off, with two officers trailing behind. Josh was already gone. He told Sanj he’d report back to him the minute he found anything worth reporting.
Sanj remembered what Maeve had told him about the belief that chocolate is an aphrodisiac. Casanova himself used to eat chocolate to help fire his libido. Sanj looked at Sasha and felt a rush of energy. He doubted he’s ever needed anything but that from her . . . his eyes on her skin, on her face, lips, eyes. A rush and longing he’d really never known. Yes, he’d been in love. Or thought he had been. But whatever this impulse, this wave was, he wanted to lose himself in her. It was unsettling and exciting.
The room was cool when they entered and dimly lit.
“Right temperature,” Sasha. “Fresh chocolate demands cool temps.”
He knew that, of course. But he liked to hear her talk about chocolate. See the wistful joy come across her face as she spoke of it.
They sat together a table that held goblets of chocolate candles and chunks of chocolate. The crystal goblets, etched in gold, sparkled in the light of the room. The crowd settled into their seats and oohed and awed over the chocolate.
A man walked to the front of the room. Distinguished, with a paunch, but still attractive. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a chunk of Valrhona chocolate, you can see the gold flecks, yes?”
The chocolate shined with the Valrhona brilliance. Sanj knew this chocolate well. He’d learned about it from a chocolatier he took classes from in Paris.
“Palet d’or,” Sasha whispered, reverently. Pillow of gold. Valrhona. Some say it was the finest in the world.
“When you bite into this one, take it slow. It’s called Manjari and it’s a single-source Madagascar cacao,” the man said.
“I love it,” Sasha said with her mouth half-full. “Raspberry rush. Peaking, then settling into a long luscious finish. Bravo.”
“Next is the Gran Couva, which comes from the plantation with the same name in Trinidad,” he said.
Sanj popped it in his mouth. Except for the cream inside, this was pure chocolate. Within the expected chocolate flavor, he detected flowers. Jasmine? Yes.
Trinidad. Hmm. Was that what Jackson had said before the connection failed them. If so what did it mean?
“Trinidad is one of my favorite places that grows chocolate,” the man said. “I prefer the floral undertones in much of their chocolate.”
“I knew it was flowers!” someone from the crowd said. Others laughed.
“Isn’t that where the oldest criollo is?” someone asked in the crowd.
“Ah, yes,” the man said. “Let me say pure criollo goes into just one percent of all the chocolate worldwide. Now. And in Trinidad, a gene bank protects some of its oldest forms. Botanists are trying to revive the rich elusive taste that flavored so much of the Americas. We are hopeful about a small plantation south of Lake Maracibo that’s experimenting with this now. Government-protected and very secretive. It’s only plantation to have access to this gene bank.”
“That’s odd,” Sanj said.
“Excuse me?” the man said to him.
“When we were in Ecuador I could have sworn we heard that the Mozingos were planting this variety.”
“Oh no, sir, I am certain you are mistaken,” the man said and turned his back.
But Sasha met his eyes in affirmation. He was not mistaken. Could Mozingo have gotten his hands on this ancient breed of criollo?
Chapter 32
All of them gathered together in Sanj’s condo. It had taken some cajoling, but the police allowed them to gather for dinner. Sasha, Sanj, Jennifer, Yvette, her new husband, Jonathon, and Josh gathered in Sanj’s dining room. While waiting for dinner, Jennifer placed Maeve’s notebook on the table.
“She always kept a journal, everywhere she went,” Jen explained. “She copied a lot of her notes in it and then personal reflections. She was always careful to do this. I used to think it was paranoid. But . . .”
“She was very thorough,” Sanj said.
“I’ve been through it a million times. I’ve seen the mentions of the pesticide and a map of where she spotted it. Can that have anything to do with her kidnapping? I mean it’s this Snake guy that has her, right? Not Mozingo,” Jennifer said.
“But she was at Mozingo’s home,” Sanj said.
“I’m convinced Mozingo knows something about this. Maybe the connection we should be exploring is between him and Snake,” Josh said, scratching his beard, turning to Sasha. “Do you know of anything?”
“Not specifically. But they probably have similar interests. Money? Drugs? What about chocolate? Snake invested heavily in different plantations. I’m not sure if they were coffee or cacao. I don’t know,” Sasha said.
“We can find this all out,” Sanj said.
“Absolutely,” Josh said, moving to the corner of the room and pulling out his cell.
“May I see this?” Sasha asked, reaching over Jennifer.
“What do you think this is?” Jennifer asked, pointing to a drawing.
“An open cacao pod,” she said and turned the page. “And that looks like some kind of genetic code. Anybody know anything about genetics?”
“I do. Let me see,” Sanj said, studying the page. “It’s cacao. A certain variety. I need to look further into this. But it could be the link.”
He and Sasha exchanged knowing glances.
“What?” Yvette suddenly said.
“It might be the ancient criollo gene so secret that it’s government-protected,” Sanj said.
“Why would she have that?” Yvette persisted.
“She must have found out Mozingo was growing it. Or trying to,” Sasha said. “That’s what she was doing. She was on to culinary espionage. Or is it botanical espionage? Oh, Maeve.”
“Fuck. Only Maeve could stumble into this. She was supposed to be writing a lovely book about chocolate,” Jennifer said, flustered.
“Okay. So we know why Mozingo wanted to get rid of her, perhaps. She had not one, but two things on him,” Sanj said. “But how do Sam Everidge and Sasha play into all of this?”
“Well, that’s pretty clear. He figured he’d kill as many birds with one rock as possible. He knows about Sasha and Maeve’s connection. He’s exploiting that,” Jen said.
Sasha picked up the book and leafed through it. “Oh, isn’t this charming? A recipe from the Aztecs:
“700 grams of cacao, 750 grams of white sugar, 2 ounces of cinnamon, 15 grams of pepper, 15 grams of clove, 3 vanilla beans, a handful of anise, some hazelnut, musk, and orange blossoms.
“Note: Mexicans still grind beans and sugar into a grainy paste and mix it in a clay vessel. They whip the chocolate with a liquid (either water or milk). Women do this—they spin a stick between their palms until a froth builds.”
“And listen to this, this is so Maeve,” Jennifer said, leaning over Sasha.
“The cocoa woods in Trinidad are like fairy tale woods. They are dark, shadowed, and cool. The cacao pods hang by thick short stems, looking like wax fruit in brilliant green and red and crimson and purple.”
Jennifer’s voice cracked, as a hush fell over the room.
“Well,” Josh said, walking back into their circle and breaking the spell of silence, “I’m not sure how else they are linked. But while I was on the phone I received a message from one of our researchers. Our man Mozingo has a little gamblin
g problem and is in a little debt.”
“How little?” Yvette asked.
“Just a few million.”
Sanj whistled.
“One more thing. I’ve been hearing pesticides and DDT bandied about. We’ve done some checking. This has only been covered in certain news outlets and it’s still being investigated. But there was a mass grave uncovered recently on the Ivory Coast. DDT poisoning. Dichloro-diphenyl-trichloroethane.”
“Ivory coast? What does that have to do with Mozingo or Everidge?” Jennifer asked.
“Both are major investors of the farm where the bodies were found,” Josh replied.
“Mass grave? Bodies?” Sanj asked.
“The remains of twelve bodies were found. All children.”
Chapter 33
After dinner, Sanj sat in his condo with Josh, drinking beer on the veranda. They had been brainstorming all night and he just needed a chance to unwind. The mass grave. The DDT. The huge gambling debt. Maeve and Sasha’s link with Sam Everidge. It added up to something. But what?
“We need to talk,” Josh said, his big brown eyes lit.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Sanj replied.
“You know what I mean,” he said, sitting his beer down on the table. “I know you’re exhausted now, but—”
“Sasha?”
“She has a record. A bad record. Prostitution. Drugs. Many of her associates were implicated in several murders. What are you doing with her?”
Sanj raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“Yes, she’s hot,” Josh said. “Really hot.”
“Yes,” Sanj said, taking a drink of beer. “And she’s been honest with me about all of that.”
“From the start?”
Sanj laughed. “Almost from the start.”
“I mean we’re not talking about a simple relationship. We’re talking about a potential security risk for you and your family.”
“What? Don’t be absurd,” Sanj said. “She’s a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“A woman who is a criminal, with countless criminal ties—strong ones. This Sam Everidge? He’s nobody to mess with. She was his for years,” he said. “What’s he going to do when he finds out about you?”
Sanj shrugged. “He contacted me, remember? He knows about me. Hopefully he will be caught and in prison by the time he finds out more. And who knows how much longer Sasha and I will . . .”
“What do you think?” Josh said. “Are you serious about her?”
“I don’t know,” Sanj said. Everything Josh was saying was true. She had lied about her name when they first met. And she had taken her sweet old time about telling him she knew Jackson and Maeve.
But she had been straight up with him since then—and had even been helpful.
“People do change,” Sanj said. “I think she’s trying very hard to start a new life. She was addicted to cocaine. It ruled her life for many years.”
“Are you sure she’s not using?”
“I’ve not seen any evidence of it.”
“Are you paying for this trip for her? Does she know—”
“She knows I’m a wealthy man. That’s what she knows. I could hardly keep it from her when I was in Ecuador, staying where I was. And yes, this trip is on me. I’m also paying for Jennifer to be here, by the way,” Sanj said. He took one last swallow from his beer.
“Jennifer seems to like Sasha,” Josh said after a moment.
Sanj laughed. “Not at first, my friend.”
The room quieted. Sanj considered Josh. He trusted him more than almost anybody. “What concerns you, exactly, about Sasha?”
“You mean beside the fact she’s sleeping with you?”
“Yes, besides that,” Sanj said. “I know it’s enough where you’re concerned.”
“Recovering addicts are tricky people. They transfer a lot of their needs, sometimes their feelings, easily. And I don’t need to tell you many addicts never fully recover. They switch addictions. A lot. Then add to that . . . well . . . this whole paid-dominatrix-and-model business. You’ve got one complicated woman who could switch sides anytime she sees fit. And she is also vulnerable to blackmail.”
Sanj thought a moment about what Josh said. “How do you know about the sex stuff?”
Josh leaned over and grabbed his laptop. “Are you ready for this?”
Sanj’s heart fluttered and his stomach sank. “If not now, when?”
Josh opened his screen and clicked.
Sasha stood—perhaps five years ago—dressed all in black patent leather: a corset, panties, garter, and fishnet stockings. Her breasts poked out of the corset. Two white fleshy mounds against the black of the leather. She held a whip in her gloved hand. A . . . whip. She gazed straight into the camera, brown eyes full of confidence, lush lips turning up a bit. Those lips.
The next photo showed her from behind, leaning into a mirror—the focus of the camera on her leather-clad ass. Heart-shaped from this angle. And Sanj knew how firm it was. Round. Smooth. Breathtaking.
“Beautiful,” he said, under his breath.
Click.
“How about this one?” Josh said, mouth twisting to the side.
She was dressed in red leather, standing over three men all tied and lying on the floor. One was blindfolded. One was turned over, with his ass in the air. She was approaching him—with a strap-on dildo. A look of ferocity in her eye. Was she going to . . . ?
Sanj turned away in embarrassment—and also something else he couldn’t acknowledge. He didn’t know what emotion he felt. He was enthralled. Curls of desire unleashed in him. What a woman.
Click. A photo of her with another woman. She sat on her face, the other woman’s face almost completely covered by her. Sasha’s moist red lips open, tongue out, head tilted back, long blond hair hanging over one of her breasts. Sasha wore nothing but thigh-high boots, long gloves, and a diamond necklace.
“Whoa,” Sanj said, feeling the stir of arousal.
The next photo: A man wore a blindfold and was handcuffed to the bed. Clad in her black leather outfit, she held a blunt object in her hand. Was it a paddle? He grimaced, yet an erection poked at his pants.
What was this? Was he actually turned on by the thought of this? It was a strange push-pull yearning.
Sanj’s stomach twisted. Another emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time—jealousy. He didn’t like the idea of her being with other men. But yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He was mesmerized.
In the next picture she wore red, again. He loved her in red. But she held a naked man by the hair and yanked his head back with her hand. His mouth open in agony. She grinned from ear to ear.
She was getting off on his pain.
“She is beautiful, boss,” Josh said. “But think of what your family would do with this.”
Chapter 34
Sasha slept deeply most of the night, but she awakened at sunrise. The light from the glowing pink sky crept into her window. She sat up, sighed, stretched, and sauntered into the bathroom. It was so early. What to do? Watch TV? Play on the computer? Well, she hadn’t done that in a while. She was unsure if she even had an e-mail account—but since the resort provided computers, it might be fun to see what was going on with her accounts.
But as she opened her personal e-mail she saw a screen full of messages from the same place, from an address she did not recognize. She clicked open the first one. It was a photo, automatically downloading onto the hard drive of the computer. It opened up quickly. It was a photo of a woman—was it . . . was it Maeve? Tears stung at Sasha’s eyes. Her heart lurched. Maeve was nude and tied to a chair, a black cloth circling her mouth, ropes and chains circling her torso, but those eyes, barely opened and staring off. Was she? Was she still alive?
She scanned farther down.
“Meet me at Meyer’s Landing, 8:30 A.M. today and your friend will stay alive. Come alone. No funny business or I will kill her.”
Sasha gasped, then took a calming breath
. She’d come this far in her life—was she really going to give in and go back to him? Could she do that, even for Maeve? Would he even live up to his word and let Maeve go?
Maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tell her nothing else existed for her but Snake and his world. A sudden memory of her mother flashed in her mind.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” She could hear her mother’s voice before the last slap across her face. “You think you’re the only pretty cunt in England?”
The slap had sent Sasha reeling across the room.
“Pack your bags and get your sorry ass out of my home,” her mother had yelled. “You’ll never be more than a common piece of ass.”
Sasha felt herself retreating. Thoughts of Sanj beckoned. She pushed them away.
Was there any other way?
She swallowed. Of course, she had to make that meeting. Of course, she had to try to save Maeve. After all, Maeve had saved her. Maeve was the first person, other than Paul, who even cared whether or not Sasha wasted her life by snorting coke the rest of her days. She believed that Sasha could beat the addiction—and that belief was enough for her to do so. Sasha owed her.
Her stomach lurched. Think, think, think. Do not let your emotions take over.
But to go back to Snake would surely mean her own death.
And why would he keep Maeve alive after?
No. This wasn’t the way. Would she if she knew for certain Snake would release Maeve unharmed? Yes, she believed she would. But for now, she slid her robe on and opened the door, running smack into the police officer who guarded her condo.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I had forgotten you were here.”
“Can I help you?” he said. “Going somewhere?”
“I was going to Sanj’s condo,” she said.
“This early?”
“Well, yes, this, um. See, I received this e-mail . . .” she said and explained to him what happened. Within fifteen minutes her condo swarmed with police, including Josh, who had a sleep-tousled Sanj with him. He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
“Let’s get some breakfast,” he said. “I can’t think without eating.”