Stolen Hearts

by Elise Noble

“Do you have contact details for him?”

  “A number. I gave it to your girlfriend.”

  “My wife.”

  The guy swallowed hard. “Your wife, lo siento.”

  Emmy snorted, then pasted on a perky grin. “Rodrigo’s been very helpful, and he makes a great cup of coffee as well.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Oh, too bad. The guys have been telling me all about their trip to the Bahamas. Apparently, freediving at the Dean’s Blue Hole is to die for.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Oops. Perhaps we shouldn’t mention dying. Mateo’s a doctor, and he swears he just saw a metatarsal by the Jasmine restaurant.”

  “If you want to go to the Bahamas, I’ll take you to the Bahamas.”

  Emmy reached up to squeeze Black’s hand, taking a moment to loosen his grip on her shoulder. Shit. He shouldn’t have dug his fingers in like that.

  “See?” she said to her new “friends.” “Isn’t he a treasure?”

  The four Spaniards didn’t seem to agree, and Black gave them a cold smile. “We should go and help with the clean-up at the hotel.”

  “We totally should.” She drained her cup and stood, shrugging Black’s arm away. “It was lovely to meet you guys.”

  Black made a conscious effort to unclench his teeth while Emmy kissed each man on both cheeks, European style. She did this on purpose to wind him up. He knew she did, and it still got to him.

  “Stop glowering, Chuck,” she chided, laughing as they walked back to the high street. “We were just talking.”

  “I know that.”

  But those words tapped into Black’s greatest fear, and his greatest fear was losing Emmy. While he might remain coldly rational in every other facet of his life, where his wife was concerned, his blood ran hot.

  “I’m wearing your ring.”

  “I know that too.”

  She leaned in closer. “Does this mean I’ll get fucked by the green-eyed monster when we get back? Because if so, putting up with Juan’s halitosis was worth it.”

  Black barked out a laugh and lifted her against him for a stride. “I’m getting hard already.”

  CHAPTER 26 - BLACK

  EMMY SAT ON the edge of the bed, her phone pressed to her ear. Black’s eyes had turned from green back to their regular dark brown, and she’d reminded him once more why a little jealousy mightn’t be a bad thing.

  “Hi, my name’s Emerson Black,” she said in Spanish. “I’m a private investigator working in Dahab, Egypt, and I understand you visited back in June? This is a long shot, but I’m trying to trace the whereabouts of Gosia Kaminski. She sold organic fruit and vegetables, and I’m speaking to everyone she might have come into contact with around the time of her disappearance. Your name was on her list of customers, and I’m interested in finding out when you last saw her, and whether she said anything that might have a bearing on our investigation. If you could call me when you get a moment, I’d be grateful.” She reeled off her number and lay back on the bed. “Voicemail.”

  “I figured that. Ready to help with the clean-up? The eyesore on the lawn survived, so the bunny can go outside again.”

  “Do I look ready?”

  No, she didn’t. She looked edible, and it was all Black could do to stop himself from having another taste.

  “You need clothes. And I want to visit Aurelie before dinner. She might be able to confirm or deny parts of the story Gunther told me earlier.”

  “Mexican?”

  “Whatever you want, Diamond.”

  “Who is it?” Aurelie’s voice sounded shrill, shaky following Black’s knock.

  “Emmy and Black,” Emmy said. “Are you okay?”

  The door swung open, and Aurelie stood there, pale, arms wrapped around her body.

  “I guess so. Just nervous, that’s all. Did you hear about the bones they found earlier?”

  “The whole town’s heard about them now.”

  According to Khaled, reporters were camped outside the police station, and Captain al-Busari was upset he couldn’t keep the whole mess buried anymore. Still, that wasn’t Black’s problem.

  “It’s all linked, isn’t it? Carmela and Gosia and this new body.” Bodies. “Gosia was found up in the mountains too.”

  Very likely. “It’s possible.”

  “Why did Carmela get put in the sea?”

  Khaled had a theory about that, one he’d tried out on Black earlier, and Black was inclined to think it might be correct. The man was starting to act like a detective now.

  “Between Gosia’s disappearance and Carmela’s death, a new quad-bike safari company opened, and their tours go farther up into the mountains than any other provider.” It was their riders who’d found Gosia’s remains, in fact. “Whoever dumped the other bodies up there probably got twitchy and decided to try somewhere new.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” She gave her head a little shake. “Where are my manners? Come in. Do you want a drink?”

  “I’d love a coffee,” Emmy said. No surprises there. Caffeine ran through her veins, although she never drank it late in the evening because it made her nightmares worse.

  “I’ve only got instant.”

  “Instant’s fine.”

  “Make that two,” Black said.

  He didn’t miss the tremble in Aurelie’s hands as she prepared the drinks, or the way her head snapped around every time she heard a sound outside. The woman was scared.

  “Nervous?” he asked.

  “How can I not be? People keep dying. I’ve had to reschedule tomorrow evening’s yoga class because none of my pupils want to go out after dark.”

  The coffee was terrible, but Black took a sip anyway. “There may be a silver lining. There’s no way the police can deny there’s a problem now. If more people are working on the case, there’s a better chance of solving it.”

  “Is that why you’re here? The case?”

  It was hardly likely to be a social visit, was it? Unless the person in question was a close friend, Black avoided those whenever possible.

  “Yes. What can you tell me about Carmela’s timekeeping?”

  “Her timekeeping?” Aurelie gave a high-pitched laugh. “Well, it was terrible. She arrived late for everything.”

  “Including work?”

  “Gunther hated it. He kept trying to get her to wear a watch—he even bought her one—but she always took it off because she hated the tan lines and then forgot to put it back on again.”

  So Gunther had been telling the truth on that point at least. “That ties in with other information. What about her recent hospital visit? Did she mention that?”

  “For her cheek? Uh, she was relieved it wasn’t fractured.”

  “Do you know which doctor she saw?”

  “Which doctor? You think there’s a doctor involved in this?”

  “It’s just one line of inquiry. Did she tell you anything about him? Or her?”

  Because women could kill too. Emmy was a case in point.

  “No, nothing. She might have said something to Youssef, but I doubt it. They didn’t discuss stuff like that. That was another reason she turned down his proposal—because she wanted a soulmate, somebody she could talk to about anything and who’d actually listen.”

  “That’s a goal worth holding out for.”

  “Really? Because I want that too, but sometimes I think I’ve been watching too many Hallmark movies.”

  “Wait,” Emmy said. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  Black smiled. Caught himself. Blanked his expression again. “We’ll ask Youssef, just in case.”

  “Hold on, I just thought of something.” Aurelie hurried into the living room and began rummaging through a box in the corner. “Youssef brought some of Carmela’s things back. Her mom wants her personal items, and I offered to send them. If we left it to Youssef, it’d never get done. I’m sure I saw paperwork from the hospital in here.”

  Sure enough, there was a bill for
Carmela’s treatment. Examination, X-ray, blood test, painkillers, miscellaneous consumables. Treated by Dr. Faisal Abdullah. Another name to check out, and not one that had appeared on Khaled’s suspect list. Why not?

  Bracelets jangled on Aurelie’s wrist, and Black caught sight of the staff of Asclepius engraved on one of them—the emblem of the American Medical Association. He reached out and held her wrist steady to take a closer look.

  “How about you? Have you ever been to the hospital here?”

  Aurelie realised what he was looking at. “No, thank goodness. But I’m allergic to gummy bears, and a friend from high school got me the bracelet as a birthday present.”

  “Gummy bears?” Emmy asked. “That sucks.”

  “Doesn’t it? I’ve got an EpiPen and everything. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere near the candy aisle until whoever killed Carmela’s been caught.”

  “We’ll do our best to make that happen.”

  On the way to the Mexican restaurant, Black caught Emmy glancing towards the supermarket.

  “You want gummy bears, don’t you?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because I’m your fucking soulmate, Diamond.”

  There was only one woman for him. There’d only ever be one woman for him.

  CHAPTER 27 - EMMY

  BLACK’S PHONE RANG at—what the hell was the time?—right, at eight o’clock in the morning. With hindsight, perhaps washing down half a dozen tacos with a pitcher of margaritas last night hadn’t been the best idea. And Black wasn’t moving. I flicked the sombrero off his face.

  “Are you gonna answer that?”

  “Urgh.”

  According to Nate, Black used to drink plenty in the SEALs, but when he moved to the private sector, he’d started on a health kick that had lasted over a decade. He indulged in the occasional beer, red wine with dinner, and good Scotch, offset by smoothies and gallons of water. Benders were few and far between. But last night, he’d drunk me under the fucking table. Quite literally. I’d slithered off my stool sometime around midnight, and he’d slung me over his shoulder and carried me to a taxi.

  Yes, there were dead people all over the place, but we were still on fucking vacation, okay?

  “It might be important.”

  “Then you answer it.”

  “It’s your phone.”

  He rolled over, and I shuffled my backside up the bed. Why the hell was I wearing a poncho? My mouth tasted like six-month-old huitlacoche, but crawling to the bathroom for a toothbrush was distinctly unappealing. Did I leave any paracetamol in the nightstand?

  Black finally picked up the phone and put it on speaker. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Black?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Maggie. Gunther is my brother.”

  Gunther… Gunther… Ah, right. Restaurant dude. No paracetamol, and no water either. Dammit, I’d have to get up. And I needed coffee.

  “Maggie. Yes, this is Charles Black. Thanks for getting back to me.”

  “Gunther said you wanted to talk to me about a girl who went missing several months ago?”

  “That’s right. On the…” Black laid his head back on the pillow and screwed up his eyes, thinking. “On the twenty-seventh of June.”

  “I checked my calendar, and my husband and I went sightseeing with Gunther to a canyon on the other side of Nuweiba that day, then ate a late lunch at an oasis nearby. As I recall, the rocks had the most unusual colours and patterns. Have you been there?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “If you’re looking for a day out, I’d recommend it, but not if you’re claustrophobic. Some of the paths were so narrow I had to take my backpack off and carry it above my head.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Not right now. Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  Black tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and groaned. “My liver hates me.”

  “Perhaps we should go back to the restaurant and see if they serve menudo?”

  The best hangover cure money could buy, according to Carmen, who was Nate’s wife and one of my best friends. Although I’d nearly revoked our friendship the day she tried feeding me that vile concoction. Of course, she didn’t tell me it contained chilli and cow’s stomach until I’d taken a mouthful.

  “Nice try, Diamond. I’ll settle for orange juice.”

  “And you expect me to fetch it?”

  He smiled at me, and it was my turn to groan as I crawled out of bed, tore off the poncho, and stumbled to the kitchen in a pair of shorts and a camisole. I always slept clothed because the only thing worse than trying to kill someone while sleepwalking was trying to kill someone while sleepwalking naked. Been there, done that.

  “Gunther’s story checks out?” I asked as I rummaged through the fridge.

  “Seems that way. Which means Gosia spoke to Carmela right before she died.”

  “And you think there’s a connection? Could she have seen something she shouldn’t have?”

  “If she did, why wait three months to shut her up?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Or the capacity for thinking one up at that particular moment in time—not before my first cup of coffee.

  “Who knows? Maybe the boyfriend can shed some light?”

  “He’s on my list to talk to again. And Youssef. I want to ask him about Gosia.”

  “What about the doctor? The one who treated Carmela?”

  “I thought I’d pass him to Khaled to do the preliminaries.”

  “Good idea. Do you want an espresso? Americano? Cappuccino?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Fuck.”

  One tiny word from Black’s lips, and I abandoned my fight with the bed in my old room—now nibbled on every leg—and walked into the lounge. Sadly, I didn’t think he was talking in the carnal sense.

  “What’s up?”

  “Khaled called. The captain finally listened to our second-hand advice and they’ve identified Gosia.”

  “Surely that’s a good thing?”

  “An hour later, he arrested Selmi.”

  Ah, shit. And we hadn’t had a chance to talk to Selmi again yet either. “On what grounds?”

  “Khaled was hazy on that. But after yesterday’s Twitter storm, al-Busari’s boss called to ask what the hell was going on. From the sounds of it, the captain thought he’d better be seen to be doing something, and locking up Gosia’s boyfriend seemed like a good option.”

  “What’s he gonna do with no evidence? Beat a confession out of him?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “How long can they hold him for without charge?”

  “This is Egypt, Diamond. I don’t think rules like that matter.”

  Okay, that was a dumb question. “So where does that leave us? With Youssef? What about the doctor?”

  “Khaled actually knows him. Apparently, Dr. Abdullah’s a big soccer fan, and they watch the games at the same café. Or at least, they have done for the last month. Dr. Abdullah moved here from Cairo at the end of August when his predecessor retired. That’s why he wasn’t on Khaled’s list—because he didn’t live in Dahab when Gosia died.”

  “How about the previous guy? Is he still around?”

  “Apparently so, but he’s in his sixties and suffers from arthritis. Khaled said there’s no way he could’ve manhandled bodies around the mountains. Some days, he can barely even walk. And he doesn’t have his own vehicle, he hires a driver instead.”

  One clue after another flittered away. All this reminded me why I ran the Special Projects department at Blackwood rather than beavering away on the investigations team. It was far less frustrating to plan and execute a mission to remove a person from the planet than to work out why someone else had done so.

  “What about the other doctors?”

  “We’ve moved them to the top of the list.”

  My ph
one pinged.

  Zena: Have you seen this?

  Oh, hurrah. The news about Selmi had hit Twitter. I had a feeling this would be a really long day, not least for him. If he was innocent, he shouldn’t be in jail. And if he was guilty, how were we going to prove it?

  “I already told you, I didn’t do anything,” was Youssef’s opening argument. Neither of us had said a word. What if we’d just wanted to buy a chicken?

  “We aren’t suggesting that,” Black said. “But we do have a few questions.”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  He wasn’t kidding. It looked as though the whole roof of the chicken shop had caved in. Broken planks lay in a pile out the front, together with palm fronds and a rusty satellite dish.

  “The rain?”

  “I told my father many times that it needed to be fixed, but he refused to listen. We’ve been working since dawn.”

  “Then it’s probably time to take a break. Want us to get some drinks?”

  Youssef’s pissed-off expression softened a touch. “We would like drinks. Thank you.”

  There was a tiny supermarket opposite, and Black loaded bottles of soft drinks and cartons of juice into bags while I paid. Five bucks. Cheapest bribe ever. Back at the chicken shop, Youssef and his three friends were sitting on the kerb, sweating in the midday heat.

  “What are your questions?” Youssef asked, opening a Coke.

  I let Black do the talking while I focused on watching the men. Body language said a lot that words didn’t.

  “Do you know Gosia Kaminski?”

  “Who?”

  One of Youssef’s friends helped him out. “The foreign woman who tries to stop the fishing.”

  “Oh, her. What has that majnoon alkaliba said about me now?” Unlike Black, Youssef didn’t use crazy bitch as a term of endearment.

  “Nothing. She’s dead.”

  From the way his jaw dropped, I’d have bet money on him not knowing Gosia’s fate. Either that or he was a better liar than me, which was unlikely.

  “I didn’t mean what I said about her being a majnoon alkaliba. It’s just… I… She always tries—tried—to get the shop closed. And the fishing boats. She cared more for octopuses than people.”