Текст книги "Dirty Twisted Love"
Автор книги: Lili Valente
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Chapter Three
Harley
They were quiet on the way to the airfield on the other side of Ko Tao. Harley sat in the backseat of the tiny Figaro she’d bought their first week here, letting Dom play chauffeur as she cuddled Jasper. She did her best to memorize the feel of her son’s firm, warm body fitted against hers and the way the setting sun turned his drying curls into a golden halo around his head. She tried not to think about Dom and Jasper flying away, leaving her alone to take care of her unfinished business.
She had the names of Dom’s contacts in Bangkok, enough clay and other materials to make sure the statues with Marlowe’s drugs hidden inside were ready to ship by Friday, and an exit strategy.
This was going to work. It had to work. It was past time to stop running and give Jasper the forever home they’d both been dreaming about for so long.
“Update the blog when you get there so I know you’ve landed safely,” Harley said, avoiding eye contact with Dom as he fetched his and Jasper’s suitcases from the trunk. “Don’t call or text. We don’t want any traceable communication.”
“I know.” Dom sounded more tired than annoyed. But Harley had been told she was exhausting more times than she could count, so she wasn’t really surprised. “And I’ll post something every few days so you know we’re still doing fine.”
“Thank you.” Harley put her arm around Jasper. He leaned heavily against her, clearly worn out after his long, last day on the beach. “I appreciate what you’re doing for us, Dom.”
“Of course.” His smile was stiff until he transferred his gaze to Jasper and his expression warmed. “We’re going to have fun, aren’t we, buddy? We’ll play video games the whole way there.”
Jasper pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! No reading!”
“Do some reading,” Harley said, tapping her fingers on top of Jasper’s head. “You need to keep that big beautiful brain of yours growing.”
“What about Dom’s brain?” Jasper asked.
“My brain’s done growing,” Dom said wryly. “But I’ll read some, too. Keep you company.”
“Okay.” Jasper turned expectantly to Harley. “So I guess all that’s left is my surprise.”
“I guess so.” She grinned as she reached into the open trunk, pulling out a paper bag that she handed over to Jasper. This was the only good part of saying goodbye, seeing the look on his face as he revealed the latest addition to his collection of keeper toys, the playthings that went with them no matter where they moved.
He tore into the bag, giggling with delight as he pulled out the hideous doll she’d ordered online. It was half plastic and half fur, with the head of a Sasquatch, the body of a kewpie doll, and a red and gold skirt with green snakes printed on it. “Oh, Mom, it’s so ugly. Maybe the ugliest one yet!”
“I know,” Harley said, laughing with him. “I had to search a long time for something uglier than the teddy bear with the chicken pox, but this guy…” She shook her head, her upper lip curling. “He’s something else.”
“You two are weirdos,” Dom said, the affection in his voice making her glance up to find him smiling at Jasper. “Why an ugly toy collection?”
“Because ugly toys are awesome and need homes, too.” Jasper clutched the monstrosity to his chest with one arm while he hugged Harley with the other. “Thanks, Mom. I love it.”
“You’re welcome.” She leaned over, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, spotting the grains of sand still clinging to his scalp because, of course, he hadn’t bothered to take her scrubbing suggestion seriously.
She didn’t know why, but the sight of that sand made her even sadder to see him go. She had to fight to keep from crying as she walked Dom and Jasper to the airfield gate to meet the charter pilot she’d hired to take them to Bangkok and then on to Prague, where they would spend the rest of June.
“It’s going to be okay,” Dom said, resting a hand on her back, the compassion in his touch making her hope they might find their way back to being friends again, someday. “We’ll be fine and we’ll see you in a few weeks. Be careful.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “I will. You, too.”
“Goodbye, Mom.” Jasper hugged her again, clinging tightly. “Never ever.”
Her eyes squeezed closed. It was what she’d always said to Hannah. It meant more than I love you. It meant you never ever wanted to be without the other person.
“Never ever, bug,” she said, hugging him hard, silently promising him that she would do everything she could to make sure he never had to be without anyone he loved. “Have fun and I’ll see you soon.”
She stood by the chain link fence, watching Dom and Jasper cross the hard packed dirt to where the small charter plane was waiting, concentrating on the warm wind stirring her hair and the gentle kiss of the evening sun on her skin.
It was time to ground herself in her body, in the moment, and let go of everything that didn’t serve her. She needed to be sharp, focused, and ready to respond to danger at a moment’s notice. Missing Jasper, worrying about what might happen to her son while she wasn’t there to protect him, and stressing about all the things that could go wrong in the next few days would only make her scattered and weak.
If she was going to pull this off, there was no room for weakness. It was time to become the woman she had been before Clay, before Jasper, before the years had taught her how hard it was to lose the things that made life worth living. Now wasn’t the time for grief or regret. It was time for hard, sharp, and ruthless.
By the time the plane took off, swinging out over the water before turning north toward the city, Harley’s pulse had slowed and emotion no longer fisted in her chest. She turned away from the fence, walking back to the car, focusing on lengthening and smoothing her breath and letting go of thought. It was a trick she’d learned from the man who had taught her how to fly a plane, a former Soviet spy turned smuggler for Marlowe. Quieting the inner world left more resources available to observe the outer world, and depriving the ego of fuel allowed instinct to take over.
Instinct, which only cared about one thing—survival at any cost.
Slowly, Harley’s awareness expanded to take in the light glinting off the ocean waves, the murmurs from the wild chickens pecking in the ditch, and the competing scents of ocean and airplane fuel on the wind. Her body slipped into ancient predator-prey mode, scanning her surroundings for cues that would tell her when to fight and when to flee.
If she hadn’t shifted her awareness, she might not have noticed the battered red truck on the other side of the field, parked down by the beach just before the black rocks turned to sand. She might not have seen the fisherman leaning over his tackle box and certainly wouldn’t have noticed the sandy hair sticking out from beneath his stained ball cap.
She hadn’t made any friends on the island—she deliberately kept to herself—but she recognized most of the locals she ran into around town and none of the ex-pats or Brits she’d met were men with blond hair. She supposed the man could be one of the more adventurous backpackers, come to explore the coral reef on the other side of the island, but the few tourists who came to Ko Tao rented scooters to get around. They didn’t drive trucks or dress in weathered Thai fisherman’s pants.
There was something off about the man who kept his back turned to her as she paused, the car door in hand, studying him over the top of her sun-warmed hood. After a long beat, she slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror until she captured the man’s reflection. She started the car, watching him with her foot on the brake, but he didn’t turn around. He was focused on the line in his hands, and his face was invisible in the deep shadow beneath the brim of his hat.
Finally, Harley shifted into drive and pulled out onto the road. But when she came to the corner where she would usually turn left to make her way back to the house, she turned right, heading toward town. She’d hit the market yesterday to get everything she needed for the week, but her gut told her not to go home right away. She would feel better being surrounded by other people, at least for a little while.
When she reached the village, she parked just past the gas station and circled around to the trunk. She grabbed her straw hat and settled it on her head, taking her time fetching her cloth bags and shaking the sand from the fabric. As she moved, she scanned the road and the people milling about the open air market near the temple, but the early evening village scene was fairly typical.
There were a few stray dogs fighting over some rotted fruit near the curb, two teen boys without shirts on tinkering with a moped motor, their ribs showing through their nut brown skin, and a group of older women laughing over something on the shortest woman’s cell phone as they leaned against the side of the temple. The contrast of the traditional Malay clothing, the dusty street that hadn’t changed significantly in the past century, and the iPhone in a case with bright pink cherry blossoms jarred her the way things like that still did, even after months on the island. But aside from that brief flicker of “not right” nothing in the scene pinged her radar.
Slamming the trunk closed, she moved down the side of the road toward the market. There were no sidewalks here, but considering almost everyone drove mopeds or bicycles it wasn’t really an issue. There was plenty of room for people and vehicles on the road, as well as the occasional pickup trundling along with a bed full of local men bound for some construction project.
She wouldn’t have bought a car except that she had needed to transport large amounts of clay for her sculptures from the post office in town to her house and she didn’t want Jasper clinging to her waist as she zipped around on a moped the way the locals with kids did. There weren’t any other Caucasian children on the island—the non-local population was composed of older people who had retired here, scientists studying the turtle population, and a few musty-looking men Harley suspected were growing weed in the forest.
Jasper, with his blond curls, would have attracted attention and been remembered—two things Harley had always been careful about, especially since moving to the island.
In Paris, it had been easier to blend in and hide in plain sight. But then she’d made the mistake of getting too settled in, of making friends and establishing patterns that could be observed and predicted. Ian Hawke’s men had caught up with her near the flower market, where she’d gone every Wednesday to get fresh flowers for the flat. Even as she’d fought them, struggling to free herself and get back to Jasper, she’d cursed herself for making herself an easy target.
With that in mind, she veered across the street, stopping into the café for a Thai iced coffee, something she hadn’t done in months.
She perched on a stool overlooking the street and watched the world go by. There was a steady stream of mopeds headed inland from the ocean, several bicycles, and a four-wheeler with two skinny, barefoot children sharing the perch behind their father, but no larger vehicles and nothing suspicious. She stayed to see which of the dogs won the battle for the squashed mango—the little one with only one ear, never underestimate the underdog—and then slid to the ground and back out onto the street.
At the market, she took the opposite of her usual route, hitting the fish market first and buying a snapper filet, then stopping by the vegetable stalls for eggplant and cilantro before ending at the spice monger, who also sold cans of coconut milk she would need for fish soup. Once her purchases were snug in her bags, she took the long route back to the main road, circling around the back of the temple as the sun set, keeping her senses on high alert.
But she arrived back at the car without seeing or sensing anything strange. She scanned the road one last time, finding it even quieter than when she’d arrived an hour ago, before sliding into the car and heading for home. The island was beautiful at dusk and the smell of salt water and night flowers opening in the cooler air soothed the stress of navigating the winding pass through the mountain and back down toward the coast.
She passed a few people headed into town, but by the time she reached the dirt road leading to the cottage, the road had been abandoned for miles. Once she shut off the car, there wasn’t a sound aside from the waves rubbing gently against the shore and birds chattering in the palm trees as she passed beneath them.
An hour later, Harley had spicy coconut fish soup simmering on the stove, a beer in hand, and was sitting on the patio, trying not to think about how weirdly quiet the house was without the sounds of Jasper playing in his room or Dom singing along with the record player they’d found in the storage shed.
At least there was still music.
Tonight, she had on an old Eagles album that reminded her of childhood summers with her Aunt Sybil. Back when she was a kid, she and Hannah would swim in the lake all day and spend their evenings around the fire pit with long sticks and a bag of marshmallows, stuffing their faces while Sybil’s music drifted out to them on the porch. They would go to bed with sticky fingers, staring up at the starry sky through the skylight, talking about all the adventures they would have when they were older.
Instead, she and her sister had been ripped apart, and now Hannah was in another corner of the world watching the stars wink on in a different sky, and Harley was alone.
She truly felt alone and was as relaxed as she could be given what the future held. As she tipped her beer back for the last swallow at the bottom, the red truck and the mystery fisherman were far from her nostalgic thoughts.
That’s when he made his move, grabbing her from behind and shoving a needle deep into her neck, proving he was a superior predator.
Harley cried out as her muscles spasmed and her vision flooded black, but there was no one around to hear. No one but the man who grabbed her around her waist, lifting her into the air and carrying her away, leaving the music playing and the soup to burn on the stove.
Chapter Four
Clay
Clay Hart had spent the last two years of his career with the CIA shadowing mercenaries in Afghanistan and keeping watch over the poppy fields the CIA insisted they weren’t harvesting in secret and selling to U.S. drug companies desperately in need of poppy latex. He had learned to blend in, to move about unobserved, and to become part of the shadows until the moment was right to reveal himself.
His superiors had hesitated to send a blue eyed, blond haired operative into the Middle East to “blend in” but Clay had quickly proved that their worries were groundless. He was never made. He never missed his mark. He never failed to get in, get out, get the job done, and do it all without being seen.
But Harley had seen him.
He’d felt her eyes on him as he’d bent over the bed of the truck, wondering what the fuck he was going to do if she decided to come over and say hello. He was a different man than the person she’d known, his heart empty and his soul dark from too much time spent staring into the void, but his face was the same.
She would have recognized him and then he would have had to explain himself. He would have had to come up with a lie that would convince her to drop her guard long enough for him to inject the sedative, and he wasn’t sure he would have been able to pull it off.
He was a master at making lies sound like the truth, but he had never lied to someone he hated the way he hated the woman hidden under the tarp in the bed of his truck.
Clay leaned over, eyeing the lump lying motionless beneath the thick gray plastic before turning back to the moonlit ocean stretching into the distance in all directions. The sedative should keep her knocked out for at least ten hours, more than long enough for the ferry to reach Ko Pha Ngan. From there, they would take his private boat to one of the smallest of the south Thai islands, an unnamed patch of land home to one of the CIA’s inoperative black sites.
Black sites—secret international prisons where the CIA locked away people they didn’t want to attract attention on U.S. soil—were fewer in number than they used to be, but they were still around. This one had closed a year ago but had been left intact, ready for reopening at a moment’s notice. The lights were still on, the water running, and the emergency bunker was stocked with enough canned goods to last a small prison population several months.
He and Harley should be more than comfortable.
Or at least he would be comfortable. Her comfort depended on how quickly she gave him what he wanted.
Clay glanced up at the night sky, lips twisting in a bitter smile. If he’d known that Harley had Jasper on the island with her, things would have gone down differently. But every still he’d captured from the bank security camera in the village had shown Harley alone. When he’d learned that she’d chartered a plane from Ko Tao to Bangkok, he had anticipated having to deal with one woman. One woman who would be easily put down with a tranquilizer dart and shuffled into the bed of his truck.
The airstrip was only for private use; so few planes came in or out that there wasn’t even an air traffic controller to monitor the area. Recon on the strip had assured Clay that the only person who might observe him kidnapping Harley was the pilot waiting in the plane and he wouldn’t be able to get across the field fast enough to stop Clay from driving away.
When a little blond boy had tumbled out of Harley’s car, followed by a tall man with dark hair, Clay had been forced to put away his stun gun and reassess the situation. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain to the son he’d never met why they would be building a life together without his mother in the picture, but he knew he couldn’t let Jasper’s introduction to him involve being yanked into a truck after seeing his mother and her boyfriend collapse onto the ground.
That was the kind of thing that scarred children for life, and Clay was sure the poor kid was plenty scarred already. After being raised by a sociopath, there was no way Jasper could have survived completely intact. But he was only six years old, still young enough to get help, get healthy, and have a normal life.
Clay had only known about Jasper for six months, but six months was long enough for him to realize he wanted to give his son the world. And if not the world, then at least a chance to grow up without being haunted by the ghosts of his mother’s mistakes. As soon as they were back in the States, he and Jasper would go to therapy for as long as it took to put Harley Mason and the shit she’d put them both through far behind them.
Now it was just a matter of getting Harley to cooperate.
The ferry landed a little after two in the morning. By three, Clay had Harley tucked away in the hold of his fishing boat and was headed south. They docked at the black site’s hidden cove just as the sky was graying, and by sunrise, Harley was tied to a cot in one of the officer’s cottages.
For the first time since carrying her to his truck, he had a chance to study her and see how she stacked up against his memories.
She was still beautiful, her long brown hair framing a face that belonged on a 1950s movie star, with a plush mouth and a chin that came to a sharp point, making her look almost feline when she smiled. She was in better shape than she’d been when they were younger—there were defined muscles on the arms stretched above her head—but still a little too thin, lending her the same air of fragility she’d always had. That delicacy had made it easy to believe her when she’d claimed that people had hurt her.
But she’d been the one doing the hurting. She was a monster, a devil with a pretty face, the kind of evil you never saw coming until your life was shattered and by then, she was already gone, moving on to her next victim.
But not this time.
This time, one way or another, Harley was going to pay for her sins.
Clay settled onto the small couch beside the bed, threaded his fingers together, and watched the morning sun creep across the white sheets, waiting for Harley to wake up and realize there was a bigger, scarier creature in the jungle.
