Kitabı oku: «The Equalisers», sayfa 6
Chapter Six
Willow knew what it was to be afraid. She’d been afraid many times in the past year, but not once had she been as terrified as she was at that moment.
“Is something wrong?”
She looked from the customs officer waiting for her to follow him to the man next to her who’d asked the question, his tone clearly impatient.
“Whatever the problem,” Anders added firmly, “you’ll need to explain it to me as well as my wife.”
Willow held her breath, prayed there was merely a misunderstanding.
“There is no problem, sir,” the officer assured him. “We select individuals at random for questioning. This is a security measure that is perfectly legal and of only minor inconvenience, I assure you.”
Anders nodded. “Fine, but I insist on being present. Do you have a law against that?”
“No, sir. This way, please.”
The wave of relief that rushed over her made Willow sway ever so slightly. She did not want to do this alone.
Anders placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her in the direction the officer had already taken. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “this won’t take long.”
Her entire being gravitated toward him and the protection he offered. It had been so long since anyone had protected her in any way. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed someone to take care of her until that moment.
The interview room was small. It reminded Willow of the rooms where suspects were taken in the television cop shows. Anders sat next to her at the small table. The officer took a seat on the opposite side.
“You stated that you are in Kuwait on business.” This the officer said to Anders.
“Yes,” Anders responded. “I’m an international Realtor. I have a client who is interested in office space here. I’ve contacted a local agent.” He reached into his pocket and removed a business card and offered it to the officer. “He’ll be showing me a couple of spaces later this morning. I’m sure he’ll be happy to verify that for you if you find it necessary to call.”
It was the middle of the night. Willow didn’t know who Anders’s contact was, but surely he was in bed.
“Have you been to Kuwait before?”
There was no doubt as to whom this question was directed. The officer’s gaze bored straight into hers.
“No.” She tried to swallow the emotion tightening in her throat. “This is my first visit.” Anders had instructed her on what she should say if the subject came up. She hadn’t expected it to come up only minutes after her arrival in the country.
“You’ve been here before.”
That too-familiar fear paralyzed her for two beats before the officer turned his attention to Anders.
“Have you not?” he pressed.
“Yes,” Anders confirmed. “Several times.”
Another uniformed man entered the room. He deposited Willow’s purse and carry-on bag onto the table. He placed Anders’s briefcase there as well.
The officer handed both passports to Anders. “I hope your visit is productive and enjoyable.”
Willow’s heart rate didn’t return to normal until they had exited the terminal and picked up the rental car. As much as she wanted to close her eyes and block the memories bombarding her, she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore the details of the place she had called home for three years or the incident that had just occurred, reminding her that this was not America.
“Are you okay?”
She inhaled deeply and let the breath out to clear her head. “I’m fine.” It was a lie, but she didn’t need him feeling sorry for her. She needed to be strong. She needed to focus on getting her son back. The memories, the fear, all of it would do nothing but distract her.
After a few miles of silence, he said, “Just so you know, that little intimidation episode back there might have had more to do with me than some random selection.”
The lights of Kuwait City in the distance held her attention for a moment before she turned to the driver. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m ex-military. I was in and out of this territory dozens of times. My name might have triggered a security check.”
“If you knew that was a possibility, why didn’t you use an alias?” Spencer Anders appeared far too smart to make a misstep that glaringly obvious.
“I wanted them to associate you with me. Any suspicions will be on me, not you.”
“Oh.” Wow. Another one of his protective measures. She couldn’t help being surprised all over again at having someone take steps to shelter her. “Thank you.”
He didn’t say more so Willow opted not to. Instead she focused on surveying the city. The lights were gorgeous, but she knew from experience that the true beauty of Kuwait City could only be seen by day. A heady mix of market bazaars and gleaming skyscrapers along a glistening coast. The mosques and souks and other sandy traces of bygone Bedouin days awaited the wanderings of tourists. No matter how much emotional stress she’d endured here she knew that beyond the glitzy opulence lay a deep sense of traditional values and warm Arabic hospitality.
She had loved this city with its diversity of people and richness of culture. It was only the man who’d brought her here that she despised. They wouldn’t pass his residence en route to the hotel. Like the other wealthy residents, his massive villa lay in the Suilhibikat area closer to the heart of the city. Kuwait boasted the wealthiest population in the world; thankfully most were kind and generous people.
The situation Willow found herself in now was her own mistake. If she hadn’t let love blind her four years ago she might have taken the time to consider the laws that could possibly come into play in her future. But she hadn’t dreamed things would go wrong and that the child she hadn’t known she would have would become a pawn in the ugly battle.
REGISTERING at the hotel at 2:00 a.m. took little time since there wasn’t a line of arriving patrons. Spencer tipped the bellhop generously and closed the door behind him. When he turned around he found Willow standing in the middle of the room staring at the bed.
“There’s only one bed.”
True. “Remember, we’re traveling as husband and wife. Our cover needs to appear realistic.”
His reminder didn’t erase the frown from her face, but she did seem to relax fractionally.
“It’s a big bed,” he added with a sweep of his hand to indicate the king-size width.
The frown eased into more of a neutral line. “It is big.”
At least that was settled.
“Did you want to use the shower first?” After the long hours of travel, he was definitely ready for a shower.
She waved him off. “You go ahead. I’ll…” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “… unpack a few things.”
At past two in the morning he wasn’t about to argue. He waited until he’d gotten inside the bathroom with the door closed before he stripped. It felt good to peel off the clothes wrinkled by too many hours sitting on a plane or in an airport.
He turned on the water and gathered the complimentary soap and shampoo and a towel before climbing beneath the hot spray. Closing his eyes, he just stood there for a couple of minutes and let his body absorb the heavenly heat.
When he’d managed to prod his brain back into action he started the cleansing routine, but a part of his mind kept going back to those tension-filled minutes at the airport.
There was every reason for Willow to be apprehensive about running into her ex-husband or someone he knew. He understood that her previous investigator had given her additional reason to believe her ex might be dangerous. But al-Shimmari hadn’t killed her when he had the chance. He could have located her at any time during the past few months if harming her had been his intention. Not that Spencer was giving him any credit at all. He wasn’t. The guy was on a federal watch list. He was most likely damned dangerous to the world at large, but not necessarily to any one particular individual, like his ex-wife.
Apprehension and anxiety Spencer had expected. Absolute terror he had not. The idea that being recognized had scared her that badly made him wonder if there was more she wasn’t telling him. Had something happened between her and her ex that she hadn’t divulged? Had she seen or heard something that gave her reason to suspect he might want to harm her if she returned?
That still didn’t explain why al-Shimmari hadn’t simply tracked her down and taken care of her if she had seen or heard something he didn’t want her to know.
She’d been more forthcoming those last couple of hours on the plane than she had been since they’d met. Maybe she would reveal more as she came to trust that he truly was on her side. He understood that she had been let down many times before coming to him. Her trust wouldn’t be easily gained. Unfortunately, time was their enemy.
When he’d pulled on fresh boxers and jeans he cleaned up after himself. He found Willow sleeping soundly on the far edge of the bed. She’d slipped off her shoes, but otherwise she was fully dressed. He pulled the cover up around her and then climbed into bed on the other side, as close to the edge as possible.
A big part of gaining her trust would include respecting her feelings. He sensed that no one had worried about her feelings in a long time. From what he could see so far, she was so accustomed to being alone that she was startled when he came to her rescue in any capacity.
No one should ever feel that alone.
He remembered what she’d said on the plane about being alone. That was the part that bothered him the most. It wasn’t right. Not right at all.
He pushed away the thoughts. Ordered himself to sleep. Tomorrow, later today actually, he would need to make contact with his “real-estate” connection. There were things he needed. Things he couldn’t have brought along in his luggage or in his carry-on bag.
Whether Khaled al-Shimmari was actually connected with one or more terrorist cells, whether he was capable of murder or not, Spencer had every intention of approaching this situation as if he and his security personnel were lethal as well as hostile.
Being fully armed would be his first step.
Thursday, February 24
WILLOW INHALED deeply. Her lungs filled with warm air, her senses vibrated with the scent of something earthy and delicious. She wanted to open her eyes, but that place between asleep and awake wouldn’t let her go. It felt so good. She hadn’t slept this well in so very long.
She snuggled deeper into the covers, hugged her pillow more closely.
Warm… smooth… hard.
Willow’s mind shifted toward the awake zone. Slowly, she opened her eyes and let the room around her move into focus.
Hotel.
Kuwait.
Spencer Anders.
The sound of her breath catching echoed in the room.
“Morning.”
The deep, thick sound of his voice vibrated up from his chest. She knew this because her cheek was pressed to that smooth, warm flesh. She felt the rumble.
Her initial thought was to roll away from him as quickly as possible, but his arm was around her, draped along the length of her back.
She couldn’t lie here like this. What would he think?
“Good morning.” She scooted away from his inviting body, noting thankfully that he lifted his arm out of her way without any awkwardness. Now if she could only unwrap herself from the cover she would make a mad dash for the bathroom.
But that wasn’t going to be easy. Somehow she’d wound herself in the sheets all the way from her edge of the bed until she’d nestled against his muscled torso. The room was cool. Maybe her body had instinctively sought out the heat. And then generated a little of its own, she admittedly self-consciously.
Enough of this. She had to get up.
As if he’d picked up on her discomfort, he dropped his feet to the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. But not before she’d gotten a full view of that broad chest and those sculpted abs. Even his back looked strong and toned.
She put her hands over her face and groaned.
He had to think she was totally pathetic.
Not that she cared what he thought of her personally. She drew her hands away from her face and glared at the ceiling. None of this was personal. She had hired him to get her son back. He didn’t have to like her or even respect her. He only had to do what she’d paid him to do.
If only she could maintain that sense of logic.
Kicking off the twisted covers, she managed to scramble out of bed. Her clothes were as twisted as the covers, so she righted them before sifting through her suitcase to pick out something to wear today.
Khaki slacks and a white long-sleeved pullover and sneakers.
The bathroom door opened and he emerged.
She hurried past him, careful not to make eye contact, and closed herself in the bathroom. A shower would help. She was a little off-kilter this morning. Jet lag. She just needed to regain her bearings and she’d be fine.
Truth was she hadn’t woken up with a man next to her in nearly a year. Waking up next to a man to whom she wasn’t married was even more unusual.
But that was her hang-up. She had plenty.
Spencer ordered room service and made a quick call to his contact. They would meet in an hour at one of the available commercial properties in the city. Touring a couple of office buildings would confirm his cover. If anyone had decided to keep an eye on him, this would back up Spencer’s reasons for visiting the peaceful state of Kuwait. Meetings with a couple of random agents in the city wouldn’t hurt.
When the light rap came at the door, he checked the peephole and established that it was room service. He opened the door and watched as the waiter rolled the cart into the room. He signed the check and locked the door once the waiter had gone.
The coffee smelled great. He needed caffeine. Lots of it. Though he doubted any amount of caffeine would erase the feel of Willow nestled snugly against him. The heat from her body had awakened urges he’d thought long dead. Not so, evidently. Too bad the timing was seriously off.
HE’D HAD his second cup of coffee by the time she reappeared dressed for the day.
“There’s fruit and sweet rolls.” Since he couldn’t be sure what Willow would like, he’d gone with the safest bet. “And coffee.”
She dove into the fruit before having her first cup of coffee.
Watching her eat so ravenously reminded him that she’d skipped dinner on the plane last night. He’d assumed she was too upset to eat. She was bent on making up for it now it seemed. Her lips closed around a strawberry and he couldn’t help but stare.
He now knew something personal about Willow Harris the woman, not Willow Harris the ex-wife and mother. She loved strawberries. The way she closed her eyes and relished the burst of flavor on her tongue spoke volumes about just how much she loved the lush red berries.
She opened her eyes and her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes.”
He sipped his coffee and tried to act nonchalantly. “I’m the same way about coffee.”
She’d left her hair down. Even in the plain white pullover and khakis she looked soft and feminine, elegant somehow. Maybe it was because she was so tiny and her clothes, though conservative, fit so well. At five-two, she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. And even though he recognized that her clothes weren’t designer, more like bargain super center, they looked tailor-made for her figure.
Like her, he’d dressed casually. Jeans and a pullover sweater with a casual sports jacket. Though the temperature was probably in the mid-sixties, it could drop unexpectedly. Especially if it rained. No matter what the weather did, the jacket would serve another purpose as well. Weapons were illegal in this country. Carrying one required certain precautions on his part, concealment being top priority.
Willow stopped eating long enough to ask, “Did I hear you making an appointment with someone?”
He grabbed a sweet roll. “We’re meeting my real-estate contact at ten-thirty. We’ll look at a couple of properties today and get the lay of the land. I made a couple of other calls to local agents as well.”
She poured a cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully before voicing her next question. “When can we drive by the house?”
She wanted a glimpse of her son. He certainly understood that. But moving too hastily could prove a mistake.
“We’ll do some driving around in that area later this evening, maybe just before dark.”
“Today’s Thursday, the family may be out to dinner as a group tonight. Getting close to the house probably won’t be difficult.”
The Kuwaiti work week was generally Saturday through Wednesday. Thursday was considered a sort of family night. The next two days were holy days, not to mention a national holiday, Hala February.
“As long as we maintain an appropriate distance, I think we’ll be okay,” he warned, not wanting her to get her hopes up too high. Just because they drove by didn’t mean she would get to see her son.
“I understand.”
He wondered if she did.
She devoured another strawberry. The act made his gut clench. He had to get a handle on these unusually strong feelings of attraction and protectiveness. Certainly he intended to protect her, but he realized already that he was having difficulty maintaining objectivity.
Not good.
Recognizing the problem was the first step, he reminded himself. Just like at Alcoholics Anonymous. Not that he’d attended enough of those sessions to know what came next, but he did know that pinpointing the problem was essential in correcting it.
Funny, he realized abruptly, he hadn’t thought about alcohol since that tense moment on the plane. Not that it would have done him any good. The only way to get an alcoholic drink in Kuwait was to go to a private, very illegal, party. Still, he felt some sense of relief at not waking up to the urge to pour himself a drink.
He hoped the change for the better was about getting his life back together with this career endeavor. But he had a feeling it had more to do with his distraction with his client than anything else.
And that was definitely not good. At all.
“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll get going.” Getting his head screwed back on straight would be a hell of a lot easier outside the intimacy of this room—away from the bed they’d shared last night. No matter that nothing had happened. Waking up to her cuddled up against him had been more than enough to inspire his too-vivid imagination.
Evidently, while he’d overindulged in alcohol since exiting his military life, he’d neglected his physical needs. Now he was paying the price of having gone too long without sexual release.
She grabbed the scarf and quickly wrapped it around her head to cover her hair and neck. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He shouldn’t have let her come.
The realization slammed into him like an unexpected mortar round.
She was afraid. She was vulnerable. He’d allowed her to come to this country where being a woman could be a handicap under far too many circumstances.
Protecting her might very well be impossible when push came to shove.
He’d warned her about that.
Unfortunately he was the one who hadn’t fully heeded the warning, because right now he felt completely obsessed with keeping her safe. And that compulsive need jeopardized the mission overall.
All signs of objectivity had vanished the instant he’d seen the sheer terror in her eyes back at that airport.
He had no choice.
He had to keep her safe.
Or die trying.
Chapter Seven
11:00 a.m.
“You do not want to get caught on the street or anywhere else in Kuwait with these weapons.”
Spencer surveyed the array of handguns his contact had to offer. A Beretta.9mm, a.40 Glock, as well as your garden variety.32s and.38s. Various ammo clips and silencers. Night-vision goggles and binoculars.
The night-vision goggles would be nice, but he was on a budget here. With that in mind, he reached for the Beretta and the.32.
His contact pushed several clips and a box of bullets across the table. “That should set you up.”
Spencer paid him in cash, American currency.
“You know how to contact me if you need anything else.”
Spencer tucked the Beretta in his waistband at the small of his back. The.32 he dropped into his jacket pocket. “We won’t be here long enough to require anything else.”
Though Patrick Bach had always been a reliable contact for most any sort of special needs any time day or night Spencer had called on him in the past, there was always risk involved in a transaction as illegal as this one. Those in the trade didn’t always play by the same rules transaction after transaction. The rules changed based on the buyers and the quantity of money they were willing to spend.
Spencer had worked operations when he’d been forced to rely on his own methods for survival, including arming himself on the local black market. Bach hadn’t once let him down. But there was always a first time.
As Bach packed up his wares, he glanced at Willow then he grinned and said to Spencer, “I didn’t realize you’d separated from the military and gotten yourself an actual wife, Anders. I guess this is one way to keep domestic life blissful.”
Spencer had instructed Willow to remain on the far side of the room and to refrain from speaking to Bach. So far she’d done so. Since he hadn’t introduced her to the man, he had to assume Bach was fishing. It also meant that his arrival in-country had hit the underground grapevine. Nothing he hadn’t expected.
Spencer picked up the ammo and dropped it into his pocket. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten so curious about the personal lives of your customers, Bach.” Spencer didn’t offer the first glimmer of amusement in response to the jab at humor.
Bach held up both hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Just making conversation, man. Just making conversation.”
Spencer leaned closer to him and smirked. “Besides, you know a guy like me never really goes back to civilian life.”
A knowing grin spread across Bach’s face. “Right.” The devious glint in his eyes told Spencer the sly bastard had taken the comment exactly the way he’d intended.
If Bach leaked that Spencer was in-country doing illegal business related to his former career that was so much the better.
To her credit, Willow had the submissive female act down pat. Even in the elevator ride back to the lobby she stayed in Spencer’s shadow. This posturing kept Bach from getting a good look at her face as they exited the building.
The fewer details he was able to pass along, in the event he was so inclined, the better. Taking every possible precaution to protect her would be in the best interests of them both.
Willow kept her gaze lowered as Anders shook hands in closure with his contact. She’d worked extra hard not to look at the man during the meeting. Even now, as she climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV Anders had rented, she didn’t look up.
Once shielded behind the tinted windows of the vehicle, she surveyed Damascus Street. She could just make out the stripes of the painted water-storage tanks in the distance. Beyond that, if they were to drive in that direction, they would come upon the park and then the industrial area. She and Khaled had picnicked in that park… before. She’d never been allowed to take her son there. Khaled had rigidly dictated where and when she could take her son from the residence.
She’d wondered what he was afraid of. Asking had proven a monumental mistake. He’d lashed out at her, making her feel incompetent and untrustworthy when it came to caring for their son.
Eventually she’d learned the truth. Khaled had made so many enemies he feared their retaliation against his family, especially his only child.
Goosebumps spilled over her skin. Her son was not safe as long as he was associated with her ex-husband and his evil deeds. Somehow she had to get him out of this country. She had to find a way to ensure Khaled was never allowed custody of her child again.
Not even for a day.
On some level she felt remorse that her son would not be able to know this side of his heritage. She could try and teach him the Islamic values, but it wouldn’t be the same. That was the saddest part in all this. Ensuring his safety and having him in her life equated to tearing him from the land of his birth. It was the only way.
She couldn’t trust any member of her ex-husband’s circle, especially not his mother. Massouma was totally fixated on every detail involving her only son’s child. Once Willow took Ata away, he could never return or she would be right back at square one.
Coming to terms with that finality hadn’t been easy. She’d lived in this land for three years. Her respect for these people went as deep as the oil wells that paraded through the desert beyond the suburbs of the city. But nothing or no one was as important to her as her son.
“It isn’t easy being back.”
Anders’s comment tugged her from the depressing thoughts. The words were a statement rather than a question.
“There’s a level where I feel torn,” she admitted, surprised even as she said the words. “I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.”
She didn’t know precisely how, but somehow he understood how she felt. Maybe because he’d spent so much time in the Middle East during his military career, or perhaps simply because he had been betrayed himself. Did he have any idea how much his appreciation for her feelings meant to her?
That he’d managed to draw her in so deeply, so quickly, was a little scary. Still, she couldn’t deny enjoying the feeling of being protected.
“I’m glad Mr. Colby asked you to take this case.” It was the best way she knew to thank him for his perceptiveness and compassion.
The stall in traffic allowed him to look at her for several seconds before moving forward once more. “I hope you don’t change your mind before we’re finished.”
He held her gaze an extra beat, but the blare of horns prodded his attention back to the traffic.
Willow told herself to look away. It didn’t do any good. She kept staring at his profile long after he’d looked away. She recalled the way she’d felt that morning when she’d awakened next to him. Even before that, she’d slept like the dead for the first time in months.
He made her feel safe.
It was crazy. She scarcely knew him.
That he’d separated from the military in such an egregious manner should have put her off… should have her unsettled about his trustworthiness. Yet, she trusted him completely… felt fully protected in his presence.
He had stood up for the woman, a complete stranger, in the motel room next to hers. It had been so long since she’d seen an act of chivalry so impressive and selfless that maybe she was overreacting. Then again, she hadn’t had sex in more than a year. As embarrassing as that fact was, she wasn’t actually ashamed of it. She’d slept with one man in college, another after settling into her job following graduation, both had been relationships versus casual sex. Her next partner after that had been her husband.
She’d never had casual sex in her life.
Part of that was a direct result of her strict upbringing. There were times when that not-particularly-pleasant upbringing had come in handy. For instance, when she’d taken up residence in Kuwait, dressing and behaving conservatively had come naturally to her. She’d been almost thankful for her parents’s ironfisted child-rearing methods. But then those same methods had ingrained in her a willingness to trust the man she’d married when she shouldn’t have. She’d blindly gone into that relationship and followed all his edicts without once questioning anything until it was way too late.
Not that she blamed her parents for her mess. She didn’t. This was a tragedy of her own making. Still, they were not totally free of guilt here. She’d learned the hard way that lying in one’s self-made hard bed was not the only option. Even now she could hear her father’s voice echoing that sentiment, You made your bed, you’ll have to lie in it.
The muscles in her face tightened, making her jaw clench at the old hurt. No. You didn’t have to simply lie in it. There were things a woman could do, should do, when her husband mistreated her, physically or mentally.
If she’d only realized sooner what kind of man Khaled was, she might have escaped with her son before he’d suspected her disillusionment or her plans.
That wasn’t really true. If she’d suspected something wasn’t right she would have gone to him and asked, assuming he had been falsely accused, just as she did when she’d discovered the discrepancy in his finances. There was no getting around the fact that she had simply been naive. And in love.
Big mistake.
Her attention shifted back to the driver, the man she respected so much despite knowing him for a period of time more accurately measured in hours than in days. Was she making the same kind of mistake all over again?
She’d watched the way he handled that illegal business with the guns. Did she really have any reason to trust him? Sure, he seemed to sympathize with her, seemed compassionate toward people in general, but did that make him a good guy deep down where it counted?
Stop it.
They were here. He was doing his job so far. She had to stop overanalyzing every single thing. She could not afford to be distracted. Her actions could very well distract him. Allowing that to happen would jeopardize what they were here to do.
Time to get her act together and focus.
Time to behave like a mature woman who had learned her lesson about trusting the wrong man. The compromise was simple. She should appreciate Spencer Anders for his seeming compassion and empathy as well as his obvious skill at doing what had to be done in this situation and environment. All the while, she most definitely should understand that his ability to get the job done did not make him a good person.
