"More deals?" Zachary asks.
"We have enough deals, don't you think? But I want you to say yes."
"Yes."
"But you don't know the request yet," Gustavo protests and laughs.
"It can't be all that bad," Zachary answers, squeezing Gustavo's shoulders, "since you are not an unreasonable guy. What did I just agree to?"
"A portrait."
"Of me?"
"Yes, but not like anything you have seen before," Gustavo answers. "A portrait of you, but in an expressive form stretching deeper than realism."
"Do I get to keep my clothes on?" Zachary asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Maybe. We have to see where the session takes us."
"Oh really? The session?"
"I am speaking about real art," Gustavo says. "I want to capture your facial features and temperament and energy. But if I need to include your body too, for reasons of my own, perhaps you would agree?"
"When, Gustavo?"
"When all of our troubles are behind us."
"You sound certain that you want to be around me once all of our troubles are behind us," Zachary says.
Gustavo looks into Zachary's dark eyes and nods. Their faces are separately by mere inches. Gustavo puts his hand on Zachary's knee and lightly traces geometric patterns on the denim fabric. Zachary lifts his index finger under Gustavo's chin and leans forward and tenderly kisses his top lip. Gustavo responds by tilting his head upward, parting his lips, pleading for more.
Zachary kisses his mouth. They slink downward into reclining positions on the couch, pressing their clothed bodies together, face to face. While Zachary holds him close, Gustavo's fingers explore, touching Zachary's muscular arms, back, and hips, feeling the power radiating from his body.
Gustavo nuzzles Zachary's neck, discovering the scent and taste of his skin. Their strained erections bump together, under their jeans, with every movement of their bodies. Their kissing intensifies and Zachary wraps his leg around Gustavo's legs.
"Come to my bed," Gustavo whispers, unbuttoning Zachary's shirt.
Zachary follows Gustavo to his room. They slowly undress each other in the dark. When down to their underwear—Zachary's boxers and Gustavo's boxer briefs—Zachary lifts Gustavo into his arms and kisses him while setting him on his bed. Zachary climbs on top of Gustavo and hesitates.
"This is beautiful," Zachary whispers.
"You are beautiful," Gustavo replies, in the same hushed and intimate tone of voice.
"I cannot remember the last time I craved this sensual touch and ever felt it was genuine."
"My touch is real."
"I know it is."
"I adore you."
"We won't spoil it by going too fast," Zachary says. "I want to hold you all night long. And kiss you. Touch and be touched. Sex will wait though. Okay?"
"Yes," Gustavo says. "This is what I want too. A natural progression."
Zachary gently squeezes and kneads Gustavo's body, smells his neck and arms, and licks his chest and toes. Gustavo frees himself of any worries and submits to Zachary, savoring every sensation from the contact of his hands, mouth, and tongue. Gustavo, unaware of his own aura, beholds the lively bursts and flows of color—burgundy and fire red—surrounding Zachary. He watches it transform as Zachary himself reacts to Gustavo's body and their evolving intimacy.
Zachary lays on top of Gustavo again. As they roll to their sides and continue kissing, Gustavo brushes the tips of his fingertips across every inch of Zachary's back, then tickles the sensitive skin at the back of his neck and massages the back of his scalp.
After two hours of sensual exploration, they break for a drink of juice and to stretch their legs. Then the men return to Gustavo's room and fall asleep in each other's arms.
Zachary's phone thunders alive at precisely 3 o'clock in the morning. Zachary leaps out of bed, grabs his phone from the pocket of his jeans piled on the floor, and adjusts his eyes to the image just texted to his phone. The picture is of two men propped back against a stucco wall. Nathaniel, on the left, bruised and bleeding from his nose, looking upward, at someone or something above the camera. Aleksey, on the right, his eyes closed and his chin drooped to the base of his neck, with smeared bloodstains on his scalp. Along the bottom rim of the photograph is a graphic block of text. In large print, the word BOULDER CITY is spelled out in capital letters. Below it, in small text, are the instructions Zachary must obey to save them.
PART 4
34
Clues
Aleksey Nabokov rolls his shoulders, flexes his constrained arms, and twists his wrists as much as the binds allow. Doing so, every few minutes, wards off his fears of developing a blood clot. He exercises his legs, which are permitted the freedom of foot-long steps with a fitted cord, by lying on his back and rolling his hips upward to bend and stretch.
The carpeted floor is not the only comfort in the tiny bedroom. If the ruse is to provide coziness, then deprive him of it for emotional torment, his captors have not yet played that psychological game on him. Aleksey contemplates why he is not in a garage, basement, or windowless closet. The room—likely originally designed by the architect to be a nursery, yoga room, or reading room—has a twin size bed with a comforter and matching pillows. A flat screen television is affixed high on the wall. Aleksey knows it is not there for his entertainment, but to blare out continuous noise so he does not hear the voices or any other sounds echoing throughout the rest of the house. Inexplicably, the channel is set to a Spanish language station without a remote control or any means for Aleksey to change the channel or alter the volume. If the person selecting the channel expected it to be a form of punishment, or simply a barrage of unintelligible noises, she or he were mistaken. Aleksey is fluent in Spanish and sometimes watches Spanish language television of his own accord.
But the television monitor is not his focus as the hours continue to pass. Aleksey easily blocks out the distractions and keeps his thoughts resolutely on solving his dilemmas. Aiding his efforts is the equable view out of the bedroom window, tinted slightly green, most likely with a coating of ultraviolet light protection. An encumbered view of a desert valley tapers down to a sapphire-covered mountain lake.
Aleksey knows this precise landscape and his location. He once stayed with Zachary in a nearby, pirate-themed resort. Aleksey knows he is in one of the splendid homes lining Keys Drive or Woodacre Drive, by the northern tip of Boulder City, Nevada, on the mountainside facing eastward to Lake Mead, with the Great Basin Highway less than half a mile to the south. One of the engineering marvels of the world, Hoover Dam, is concealed behind mountains four miles to the southeast, and Las Vegas is less than an hour's drive away.
Aleksey realizes his captors are not concerned with his knowledge of the house's location. Besides the option of stuffing him inside a windowless room, they could have affixed eye pieces or taken other steps to hinder his vision. This may be overconfidence, but it is not ineptitude. The sophistication of the operation to hijack him in Laughlin by armed motorcycle riders rules out amateur skill or competence.
However, his other primary clues were not willingly presented by his captors.
The four motorcyclists who captured him had voices Aleksey had not heard before. He never saw their faces under their helmets. The one in the backseat with him—a portly woman with a gruff voice—injected him with a tranquilizer just moments after the carjacking.
But the burly man guarding him just on the other side of the bedroom door is the same man who brings his food and escorts him to the bathroom. This man wears a lucha libre mask, composed of blue and silver lycra, that covers all of his head and face except for his eyes, broad nose, and mouth. The problem is these facial features are familiar to Aleksey, who has tremendous skill recognizing and remembering faces. Aleksey cannot yet identify this man, but he will not stop trying until the mystery is solved.
Aleksey is convinced that he has met this man before for another reason too. The guard never spea
ks in his presence. He doesn't answer Aleksey's questions with even a grunt. Aleksey suspects the Mexican mask may be intended to further an assumption that the guard does not speak because of not knowing English. Aleksey is becoming more convinced this is a deceit. His guard is not speaking because of a language barrier, but because he does not want to take any risk that Aleksey could recognize his voice.
This realization brings up more questions that Aleksey tackles. Why would the captors in a sophisticated operation even chance choosing a familiar guard for him? Or is the guard remaining quiet because he is planted to be on Aleksey's side and does not want Aleksey to give his identity away to the lead captors?
Nonetheless, perhaps the most confounding clue of all emerged just hours ago before dawn. The guard and another masked person hauled Aleksey downstairs, against a stucco wall outside on the porch, and trained a handgun toward his heart. Moments later, Nathaniel Balder—dazed, bleeding, and also handcuffed—was led out with a masked guard on each arm. They slammed Nathaniel onto the wall beside Aleksey, banging the back of his head with a thud, and one of the guards held up a phone camera. Before clicking the button to capture the shot, one of the guards wiped the blood pouring down onto Nathaniel's lips and brusquely smeared it across Aleksey's head.
Nathaniel is yanked away from the wall first. He disappears into the house, stumbling in his leg cast, too impaired or wounded to make eye contact with Aleksey. Before the man in the lucha libre mask tosses Aleksey back into the small room, he ignores Aleksey's request to let him wash off Nathaniel's stained blood.
Back to the present moment, Aleksey watches a red-tailed hawk soar over the desert meadow. Riding air currents galloping up from the lake, the majestic bird floats without much observable change to the angle of his or her wings. This being reminds Aleksey of Zachary. He wishes Zachary the same grace as the hawk. The same ability to effortlessly soar in harmony with whatever challenges him.
Aleksey knows—he knew immediately, actually—that the photograph taken of Nathaniel and himself is intended for Zachary. It is a confounding lure on multiple levels. They drug and wounded Nathaniel for the picture, but settle for only implied violence to Aleksey with the blood obfuscation maneuver? Why include Aleksey when a picture of Nathaniel alone would have sufficed in getting Zachary's full attention and action? Missing from this entirely is any apparent reference to Gustavo or his wand?
Aleksey's mind wanders. Are they waiting to torture me too? If there is no attempt to harm me to disclose information, does that mean they believe I have no facts they need?
All of these conundrums compete for Aleksey's attention. Just as he feels he is getting close to solving one riddle, another leaps from the surface, like a great whale in the ocean, demanding its due.
Aleksey clenches his fists and scoots closer to the window. His consciousness implores him to trust that he has enough pieces of the puzzle now. Zachary's voice reverberates in his mind.
"Connect the dots."
35
Decision
King Tut is ready to pounce again. In the position signaling playful intentions—kneeling low on outstretched front legs, but with elevated hind legs and tail—he eagerly awaits the split second where he can lick the cheek in front of him. Zachary, laying in the grass on his stomach, hides his face in his arms. He peeks out when least expected and King Tut dives for him again, hoping to sneak a kiss on his cheek before his face is hidden again.
Zachary rewards King Tut's agility skills by rolling on his back. Blinded by the licks, Zachary twists his head from side-to-side, giggling, unable to escape the barrage of doggie kisses. King Tut's tail continues wagging as he wins the game.
Gustavo descends the stairs after hiding the wand and joins Zachary in Makena's backyard.
"King Tut has a favorite new friend," Gustavo says.
"I love him," Zachary responds, scurrying up into a lawn chair to escape King Tut's kissing assault. "Let's steal him from your friend."
"Not a good idea. She would skin us alive."
"Easy for you to say. You get to play with him until I come back for you."
"You are sure in a light-hearted mood considering the danger we are up against," Gustavo laughs. "Are you in denial?"
"No, I just feel good for some reason," Zachary answers. "Despite everything, I kind of feel amazing. I needed a few seconds to live in the moment, like this pup."
Gustavo plops down in the lawn chair beside him. King Tut sits at Zachary's side, smiling, hoping he will play on the grass again.
"Wait a second," Zachary says, "did you just the danger we are up against?"
"Yes, I am sticking with you," Gustavo answers, "no matter what happens in Boulder City."
"No, you are staying behind here. I am going alone. You know, don't you, that I am coming back for you?"
"My mind is completely made up. The wand is hidden here and doesn't need me. But you might need me."
"No, you would be putting yourself into unnecessary danger. Stay here and wait, Gustavo."
"That's not happening."
Zachary buries his face in his hands. King Tut, assuming they are about to frolic again, leaps up and licks his neck. Zachary sighs, taking a deep breath and returning his hands to the armrests. King Tut inches closer, sitting and smiling.
"Gustavo, my fondness for you could end up being a hindrance. They could capture you too. I admire your courage and willingness to be strong for me."
"But what?" Gustavo asks.
"But the best thing you can do for me is to keep yourself out of harm's way so I can come back for you," Zachary answers.
"Figure out a role for me then. If you don't want me on the frontline of the battle, then include me in some other way."
"I'll think about that."
Zachary scoots his chair closer to Gustavo and holds his hand. King Tut leaps onto Gustavo's lap, rearranges his weight so he does not crush Gustavo's legs, and adoringly looks up to Zachary, awaiting his signal.
"Do you remain confident that Aleksey will not speak to his captors about the wand?" Gustavo asks, squeezing his hand.
"Yes, I am growing more certain that they are not aware of it at all," Zachary answers. "As the cliche goes, you cannot get blood out of a turnip, or something like that. That's Aleksey. He is not spilling any blood or secrets to them. Doing so would be adamantly contrary to his nature."
"Aleksey's face from that picture is imprinted in my head. His expression is so different than Nathaniel's. I am haunted a bit by his closed eyes and drooping look. Was it submission? Despair?"
"Nope. Aleksey knew the picture was targeted for me."
"What is he signaling to you?" Gustavo asks.
"I cannot figure it out yet," Zachary answers. "I believe I am on the brink of understanding. Like approaching the edge of a volcano or a cliff. At any moment I will be able to see down deep enough to understand everything."
"Would Aleksey be ashamed that he had been caught? If he is not expressing despair or submission, my guess is shame. He was overcome with shame. At least at that moment."
"Gustavo, I think you are on to something there."
"Shame? Is that the key?"
"At that moment."
36
Reckoning
Aleksey, sitting on the carpet and leaning against the wall, only inches from the tinted window, gazes at the land peaks poking up out of the distant lake. He ponders how the desert islands were lurking under the surface all along. The diminishment of the lake's levels will continue to reveal new surprises, transforming aspects of itself again and again.
The metaphor applies to him directly. Aleksey vows to himself that he will never be so ignorant again. He adopts a new principle. Forevermore, he will analyze predicaments by equally weighting what is in plain sight and what could be looming in the depths. Protection and peace of mind for himself, and Zachary, or future clients, requires nothing less than a precise balance of facts and educated conjecture. He must do better from now on.
Aleksey watches Nathaniel for a minute, then turns away, shifting his line of sight back to the shrinking lake.
"Did they hurt you too?" Nathaniel asks. His voice is groggy and weak.
"No," Aleksey answers.
"Thank God."
"I am evolving. I am only growing stronger."
Nathaniel does not immediately reply.
Aleksey does not inquire about Nathaniel's condition or treatment by the captors. He stares out the window and patiently waits for Nathaniel's response.
"You are trying to be brave," Nathaniel finally says.
"Just as I suspected," Aleksey declares.
"What?"
"You are fully lucid, Nathaniel. You can drop the act."
Aleksey steadily turns his gaze from the window and looks at the man sitting on his bed. Nathaniel's eyes are wide open, piercing, and angry. Aleksey glances at him with pity and scorn, then disinterestedly turns away again.
Nathaniel groans a hideous, guttural noise and yanks his wrists apart, snapping the binds off his wrists. He wipes the blood from his lips onto his leg cast and tears off the binding entwining his ankles.
"Look me in the eye or I will crack your spine in half, smart-ass," Nathaniel commands.
"Would you really go that far?" Aleksey asks, obeying him.
"If necessary. I have done worse."
"Worse than betraying your best friend?"
Guarding His Desires (Passionate Security Book 2) Page 13