Guarding His Desires (Passionate Security Book 2)

by Jaylen Florian

  "I would challenge myself to not panic," Lavonne says. "You did nothing wrong. But you must be clever. Something like this just does not vanish. Who knows who is hunting for it as we speak. The easiest solution may not be the best one for you."

  "My instincts are to skip the police station," Gustavo says. "Maybe something higher. Police headquarters downtown. The FBI. My congresswoman or senator. I guarantee you that as financially strained as I am at this moment, I am not going to enrich myself from something that does not belong to me."

  "I know that about you already."

  Lavonne nods her head, smiles, and hugs her friend.

  "Thank you for believing in me," Gustavo says.

  "I will help you with some research later today after my appointments," Lavonne says. "Maybe I can find the staff online or learn something. If the only words the man said were Wanda and cobra, then there is not much to go on. But don't fear that I will say anything to anyone. I won't dare. You should consider keeping this to yourself too, at least until you decide what path to take."

  "You are my only true friend here in California. No one is going to give me better advice."

  "What do you need?" Lavonne asks. "Err on the prudent side and consider that the jeep you spotted this morning is the same one that chased you last night. Don't return home yet. Think about getting out of Los Angeles for awhile."

  "I cannot figure out how the jeep followed me home through Mulholland Drive," Gustavo says. "I was incredibly careful."

  "Assume there is a tracking device on your car."

  "The man would have had to affix it while it sat in the police station parking lot. Is that likely?"

  "For this—worth money beyond imagination—you bet he would have stopped at nothing. Forget your car for the moment. Use apps on your phone to get shared rides."

  Gustavo does not respond. He sinks his face into the palms of his hands and shudders. Lavonne steps into her bedroom and closes the door. She emerges a few minutes later as Gustavo is repacking the box inside his duffel bag.

  "Accept this," Lavonne commands, extending a large wad of twenty and hundred dollar bills toward him.

  "No, Lavonne. Just loan me a hundred bucks so I can get down to Laguna Beach or Anaheim, or out to Las Vegas, to stay with friends."

  "You must take all of it. Consider me a patron today. Or repay me when you can. This is no time to be worrying about money. I want you thinking about your safety and making the best decisions."

  16

  Flight

  Zachary reaches Nathaniel by phone as Aleksey finds food and drink for a late breakfast in the Oakland International Airport.

  "I cannot tell what caliber we are dealing with here based on that Douglas character," Nathaniel says, upon hearing the details of Zachary's encounter. "He sounds like a bit of an amateur. Or a trainee. The men he supposedly called could have just been a bluff and the guy with you in the elevator could have been a weirdo. People are so freaking strange I find it difficult to assign rationality to them most of the time."

  "Aleksey and I are about to catch a flight," Zachary replies. "Can you alert the other men and women sued? The fighters?"

  "Yes, consider it done."

  "I am glad you remembered that the league was Cobra something or other. A foreign word or phrase. People had trouble remembering it, much less spelling it. I thought it essentially dried up after the lawsuits were revoked."

  "No, Zach, these organizations come and go but the people behind the scenes keep spewing up and posing new dangers. I will check around and let you know what else I find."

  Nathaniel asks for Zachary's best guess when his location was compromised. Zachary mentions the bikers on the ferry who also traveled up Russian Hill, but shared his hesitation to really consider the bikers suspicious. Zachary emphasizes that he and Aleksey first noticed Douglas when he was in the Grand Vestige Hotel forecourt, emerging from a taxi there prior to their arrival on foot after being at Grace Cathedral and Huntington Park on Nob Hill.

  "Have you considered that Douglas was not really an operative at all?" Nathaniel asks. "After he was spotted cruising you, and winning your attention, the real pursuer could have paid him a hefty sum he could not refuse in order to temporarily pin you down in that hotel room until backup arrived."

  "Maybe," Zachary answers. "Let's not rule out anything."

  "My point is that you are being hunted and you do not really know who to look out for. Forget the Douglas guy. I will send someone over to that hotel convention to dig deeper. I doubt you will ever see Douglas again, but that does not mean a chase is not well underway."

  "Point taken, Nate. There may not even be a convention there of television and cable producers."

  "I am going to take additional actions for myself too. Based on all of our precautions with the helicopter and your journey here, my head tells me my own location has not been compromised. But, still, I have to follow my heart, which worries that this scheme includes all of us."

  Aleksey returns to the airport gate with their breakfast. Zachary shares Nathaniel's recollections and warnings, including his theory that Douglas was hired on the spot to lure and trap him.

  "It is true that a real pro should not have let you escape," Aleksey adds. "But people underestimate you to their own peril."

  "Didn't you check the gun before dumping it?" Zachary asks.

  "Of course I did."

  "Do you think it likely that Douglas just forgot to load some bullets in it?

  "No, but I don't like jumping to any conclusions. It doesn't mean he wasn't—or isn't—extremely dangerous."

  By the time their plane lands at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, Nevada, Aleksey and Zachary have researched the Cobra de Capello fighting league and identified the blond woman in Sky Beacon Lounge as Wanda Barrone. Zachary gets settled in a rental condominium complex in Henderson, set above a village-like community of restaurants, shops, and boutiques, and gives Aleksey the rest of the day and night off.

  Aleksey walks a mile through residential neighborhoods, leaps a yard wall, and climbs through an unlocked window at the back of the house. Two calico cats slink toward him, purring with motor-like hums as he pets their heads and bodies.

  Aleksey bathes with steaming hot water, slides under the covers in the master bedroom, and texts his boyfriend, Rafael.

  "A naked dude is in your bed," he writes. "Hurry home for this slut or he might start banging your neighbors."

  17

  Vegas

  In San Bernardino, east of Los Angeles, Gustavo lunches at a diner before switching to another shared ride. He is dunking pieces of sour dough bread in tomato soup, while surfing search engines online, when his phone rings.

  "I just left the observatory and Griffith Park," Lavonne says. "I found the exact area on the trail you described, but there is nothing there. No body. No phone. No blood or scraps of clothing or anything else indicating a violent attack."

  "Not even a button or a shoe?" Gustavo asks. "No clues at all?"

  "I filmed a short clip of the area and I will send it to your phone. I got on my hands and knees, Gustavo. There is nothing there."

  "Thank you for trying. I wonder if the park staff already found and removed the body before you got there."

  "No, it would have been sealed off as a possible crime scene," Lavonne says. "You know how they handle things like that when bodies are discovered. There are no news reports of a body being found in the park or at the observatory. The observatory staff also looked through their lost and found items and they said they do not have your phone."

  "Any luck yet identifying the cobra staff?" Gustavo asks.

  "I am not finding it on the web either," Lavonne says. "Sure, there are some canes and wands with cobras, even some that are partially bejeweled, but nothing coming close to what you are carrying."

  "My searches are coming up empty too," Gustavo adds.

  "How are you holding up, honey?"

  "Well enough to have a
bite to eat. I'm heading west. Thanks to you, I can leave California for a few days and sort this craziness out."

  "You are going to try and find the person named Wanda, aren't you?" Lavonne asks.

  "News articles indicate the spokeswoman for the Cobra De Capello fighting league, headquartered in Vegas, is a woman surnamed Wanda," Gustavo answers. "Heather Wanda."

  "Gustavo, be careful though. I have been researching that league and the situation is quite complex. One of its owners is named Wanda—Wanda Barrone—and at least one of the league's business sponsors is named Wanda too."

  "What?"

  "It's true. There could be more people named Wanda mixed up in that league as well."

  "Oh damn."

  "So don't just go handing a priceless treasure to the first person you find there with the name Wanda."

  "How can you giggle right now? I wish I could find this amusing."

  "You are right," Lavonne says. "It is hardly a laughing matter. There are several international fighting leagues and this is one of the most controversial of the batch. It has been under investigation for years for money laundering, fixed bouts, cheating, and the works."

  "I saw those headlines too and they knocked the wind out of my lungs," Gustavo replies.

  "Remember, too, the words—cobra de capello—may have nothing to do with a fighting league at all. This is just speculation on our part. The person named Wanda may have nothing whatsoever to do with professional fighting. And what if you misheard the man? Cobra de capello, when slurred or stuttered, could be your interpretation. Tread cautiously, honey. Keep your mind sharp!"

  "Lavonne, I changed my opinion about you checking on my car. I don't want you to get accidentally targeted in this mess if someone spotted you near it."

  "Your car is still in that lot, tucked deep in the corner. I drove by, slowly, but I did not get out of my SUV. It looked fine from my vantage point. No broken windows or anything like that."

  "I am thinking the FBI may be the smartest move," Gustavo says. "I will decide once I am settled with a friend in Las Vegas."

  "Stay strong, Gustavo."

  He transfers shared rides again at Primm, a community on the California and Nevada border, and travels to the southern tip of the Las Vegas Valley. Gustavo exits the car at Madeira Canyon Park, a large community park with baseball diamonds, soccer fields, and tennis courts, then walks the remaining blocks up to a two-story Mediterranean-style home. The only other people on the sidewalks are parents with children and people walking their dogs on leashes.

  Makena Keahi, attired in baggy jeans and sandals, hand washes her dual-sport motorcycle in her driveway as Gustavo approaches. Her worn t-shirt features two interlocking pictographs of the female symbol made of chunky bars of rainbow colors. An old Australian Shepherd with a brown eye and a blue eye, and a handsome blue merle coat, trots forward and sniffs Gustavo and his duffel bag.

  "King Tut likes to approve everyone for me," Makena claims, enveloping Gustavo in a hug. "He is convinced that he saved me, not the other way around. Maybe this wise senior boy is right."

  "You have your own bodyguard," Gustavo says, "but you may be the last person on Earth who needs one."

  "Being fearless is the only way to live."

  "I sure need some of your strength right now."

  "It is wonderful to see you," Makena says, "even if it is during an especially difficult time. Go on inside while I finish cleaning my bike. Take the bedroom on the far left at the top of the stairs, across from the bathroom. Get settled in, make yourself at home, raid the refrigerator, and I will be inside in about twenty minutes."

  "King Tut is following me," Gustavo says. "Is that all right?"

  "Yes, thank him for guiding you upstairs and letting you stay in the bedroom. He likes having a job, sharing, and being rewarded with kind words."

  Abundant light pours into Makena's home through open blinds, bounces off the ceramic tile floors, and fills the rooms with cheerful illumination. A life-size portrait of a waterfall cascading onto the outstretched arms of a middle aged woman with Pacific Islander features, closely resembling Makena, hangs in the living room. The other art is a mixture of watercolors and framed photographs of animals. Makena moved from Oahu's "windward coast"—Kaneohe on the island's eastern coast—to Nevada to take a leadership position at a sanctuary for rescued domesticated animals.

  The bedroom selected for Gustavo is tidy and comfortable with blue and cream colors. A queen size bed, chest of drawers, and bedside table with a lamp furnish the room and the closet has hangers and shelves for him to use. King Tut sits atop the bed watching Gustavo unpack the duffel bag and accepts tickles behind his ears.

  Makenna has prepared iced tea with orange slices on her poolside patio table by the time Gustavo changes his clothes, washes his face, and descends the stairs with King Tut. Makenna sits under the shade of her canvas umbrella while Gustavo positions his chair outside of the shadow so the sun can warm his face as he looks at his friend and the mountaintops beyond her backyard.

  "Your home is like a retreat," Gustavo says. "Quiet and serene."

  "You are sheltered here," Makena replies. "I don't know what kind of trouble you are in and you don't have to tell me. But if I can help, I will try."

  "I appreciate you being so incredibly generous. Most of all, I need a clear mind so I can make an important decision."

  "My main rule is just this. You can borrow my car, but don't even think of touching my bike."

  PART 2

  18

  Rafael

  Fully undressing in his foyer, Rafael Pena leaves his uniform, socks, and shoes in a pile by his front door. He is erect by the time he reaches the top of his stairs and enters his bedroom.

  "You are on fire, huh?" Rafael asks, eagerly moving toward his bed.

  Aleksey Nabokov, lying on his stomach with his legs apart, keeps his eyes closed as Rafael's fingers mischievously pinch him.

  "Your ass is a masterpiece, babe," Rafael says.

  "It is all yours," Aleksey says. "So you are happy with this surprise?"

  "Hell, yes."

  Rafael sits on Aleksey's upper legs and massages his back and shoulders. He uses his feet to splay Aleksey's thighs even further apart.

  "What if I have a surprise too?" Rafael asks.

  Aleksey opens his eyes, rolls over, pulls Rafael down beside him, and kisses the stubble that lines his strong jaw.

  "Do you want me to grow my hair back?" Aleksey asks.

  "I like this even better," Rafael answers. "You are a stud either way. But this look makes it clear you are a man who means business."

  "So what is your surprise?"

  Rafael's face, surly in its natural state of general expression, usually softens when Aleksey's kisses him.

  "I wonder if that gruff mask can melt away now," Aleksey says, rubbing his hands over Rafael's brawny, hairless chest.

  Rafael's expression does not change, even as Aleksey fingers mess his thick dark hair and peck the opposing dove and sword tattoos near Rafael's shoulders.

  "Something is wrong with you," Aleksey notes.

  "Not really," Rafael replies. "I am glad you are here. I really am. But you could have messaged me that you were coming."

  Rafael rests the palm of his hand over Aleksey's mouth, gesturing a request that he not speak. He uses his other hand to probe between Aleksey's legs. Responding to Rafael's touch, Aleksey rolls back over onto his stomach and arches his back. Rafael puts on a condom, lubes Aleksey, and glides inside him. Aleksey needs a few moments to accept him. Rafael's pace finds a playful rhythm—using gradual strokes—heightening Aleksey's pleasure.

  Rafael lays on Aleksey's back and whispers in his ear as he thrusts.

  "I brought something home for you, babe," Rafael says.

  "I don't like toys," Aleksey responds. "Just keep making love to me."

  "Not a toy. A helper."

  "I don't need porn or anything else but you."

  "Don't judge.
"

  A door opens downstairs. Instantly alert, Aleksey freezes.

  "No, it is okay," Rafael says, trying to ease Aleksey's alarm.

  Hearing footsteps, Aleksey wrenches out from under Rafael, heaving upward, effectively tossing Rafael's body to the side.

  "Aleksey, stop!" Rafael pleads, trying to hold him back from running out of the room.

  Dashing into the hallway and bending over the rail, Aleksey sees a young man in a work uniform coming up the steps.

  "Is everything okay?" the man asks, his dimples emerging.

  "Who are you?" Aleksey demands.

  "Pete."

  Rafael joins Aleksey at the railing, still nude and wearing the condom, and grabs Aleksey's arm.

  "Who is Pete?" Aleksey asks Rafael.

  "Your special surprise."

  "Do I come up or leave?" Pete asks.

  "Hang on, Pete," Rafael answers. "Aleksey was not expecting this."

  "You work together?" Aleksey asks.

  "Yes, we are co-workers at the auto garage," Pete answers.

  "Come upstairs," Aleksey says.

  Pete, who is Aleksey's age, about ten years younger than Rafael, follows them into the bedroom. He has blue eyes, light brown hair parted on the side, a slender build, and tattoos across his knuckles that read "FIRE" and "FURY".

  "Rafael didn't tell you he invited me?" Pete asks.

  "Not in so many words," Aleksey says, sitting alone on the bed and shooting a glance of contempt at Rafael.

  "It does not look like you want me to be here," Pete states.

  "I have nothing against you," Aleksey replies. "Do you want to be here, Pete?"

  "Yes."

  "Give him a chance," Rafael says to Aleksey, trying to sit beside him. But Aleksey pushes Rafael forward, toward Pete.

  "Pete, do you want Rafael to undress you?" Aleksey asks.

  "Sure."

  Rafael begins unzipping the coveralls and slipping it off of Pete's body.

  "What did Rafael tell you was going to happen?" Aleksey asks.