Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (26 page)

‘I suggest you make your final run…’
Cheeky tart. ‘Security will
probably
be diverted.’

But what had she expected? Rescue troops rappelling from black choppers? No, she’d expected precisely nothing until Danya showed up. All week, Tuni had replayed Matthew’s words in her head:
Opportunities multiply as they are seized
. At first she’d thought it was some sort of code, some anagram to puzzle out.
Tinier soup pot lumpy lit …
No, he knew she was no good at jumbles. It had to be literal. It could be as simple as telling her an opportunity for escape would arise on her birthday, and that she must seize it. That was what she’d gleaned, and that was how she’d proceeded. There’d be an opening, but it’d be up to her to seize it.

While it’d felt a tad dispiriting at first, knowing she was essentially on her own, she’d stiffened her chin and accepted her duty. It was strangely empowering, especially after years of feeling powerless. The lioness must protect herself and her cub.

She noticed her contact lens case on the counter and pulled her dress up to pocket it. Was there anything else she was forgetting? Cash! There was around 20,000 Kenyan shillings in the desk. It wouldn’t take her far—it was less than $200 U.S.—but certainly enough to get out of Nairobi. She’d figure it out from there.

The wad of bills joined the scissors in her back pocket just as Alexander reemerged from his room, a big, camouflaged backpack slung over his shoulders.

“I’m ready, Mama.”

“Alexander,” she scolded. “Take that off right now.”

His face scrunched with fury, and his nostrils flared as he filled his lungs for an outburst. She strode right to him, not about to allow this, when the suite doors opened.

Beyond her view, Thabiti said, “Yes, sir,” as Jivu walked briskly into the antechamber.

His gray twill suit was still buttoned up. His tie—yellow and blue, split vertically, the colors of the Mombasa city flag—remained cinched and centered. He’d returned for a forgotten something.

He froze inside the door, eyes darting from Alexander to the backpack, to the toys scattered across the carpet, to Tuni’s hair, her shoes, her oddly shaped backside, and then her eyes. His cheek twitched. He couldn’t even muster a triumphant smirk for catching her.

Jivu clicked the door shut behind him.

Hands playing with his slacks pockets, he sauntered forward.

“
Jambo
, Baba,” Alexander greeted his father. “Mama won’t let me bring my toys.”

“No?” he said as entered the room, and then slowly circled behind Tuni. A hand grazed over her buttocks, followed by a series of lewd squeezes—
probing, vulgar, control
.

Alexander pouted. “No.”

“Aw,” Jivu replied, one word spat with each slow step. “What a … nasty … scheming …
whore
.”

Tuni’s eyes remained glued to Alexander, her lids battling away the blur of encroaching tears, as Jivu slinked around to her front. The boy had clammed up and cast his gaze on the floor. He knew these words were bad, and that Daddy was mad at something.

“Go take that to your room, Bubu,” Tuni choked out with unconvincing good cheer.

“No!” Jivu roared in her face. “You will do nothing that a woman commands you!” His spittle struck her cheek and eye. Still facing her, an inch away, he lowered his voice. “I told you, Alexander, you’re a
man
. And this …
this
… is the worst kind of woman! A devious, conniving
bitch
.”

He turned away, disgusted, and paced alongside the fireplace.

Grab Alexander and run … grab him and run for the door. Jivu wouldn’t do anything in front of Thabiti and the others. Or would he?

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Jivu said, “my accounts have been hacked. They say ‘hacked,’ but maybe seized, I wonder?
All
of them, all but here.” He sneered contempt toward his
“insignificant”
legitimate accounts. “You know what these piece of shit reporters are asking about now? Tripe from a
decade
ago. Things I’ve never told a
soul
.”

“Secrets, Daddy?”

“Shut your mouth, child,” Jivu snapped without a glance his way.

He strolled to her, hands in his pockets. She hauled her eyes up to meet his. The mad little smile had returned. He was losing his grip. Why were her bloody feet pinned to the damned carpet? This could only get worse with each passing minute.

He spoke low, soothing. “You know what else they’re asking? The bloodline question again … despite the incontrovertible proof. What did you send to Turner?”

He stroked her cheek. She felt the ring’s cool surface glide across her skin. The
fake
ring she had Ngina commission. The ring Tuni had swapped on the bathroom counter while Jivu showered.

“It was only a note,” she said, but in five years she hadn’t been able to successfully pass a lie. Not when challenged directly. Not when his sensors were on. “I only said the days weren’t always bright, and that I hoped he was doing well. Nothing more.”

He nodded mock sympathy. “The palace has lost its charm. Woe is me.” He suddenly barked, “You’re incapable of a single truth!”

His hand shot to her neck with a pop, and tightened, fingertips feeling as though they’d breach the flesh at any second. Her body strove unsuccessfully to cough.

She’d waited too long. Why had she waited? Now she’d die for her weakness.

Alexander came running, little arms in the air. “Baba, stop!”

Tuni flailed and kneed and kicked, but in that moment Jivu seemed invulnerable to pain. He slammed her against the wall, her head striking a painting. The artwork dislodged from its mounts and tumbled onto Tuni’s head, the frame hooking over her as the canvas fell to the floor. When she opened her eyes, Alexander lay in a ball near her foot, covering his ears, and Jivu was already stomping away, back toward the fireplace.

Jivu swatted the decorations off the mantle, a high
pang
as his ring struck one of the candlesticks. Cursing, another swing, more debris.

Tuni scooped up Alexander and charged for the door. She shifted the boy onto one hip to free a hand, reached for the handle, and felt her leg jerked violently back. She lost her grip on Alexander, the child crashing into one of the doors. He cried out in pain. Tuni reached out to him, tried to pull her legs back under her.

Alexander’s body shrank away from her, Tuni’s breasts and arms and chin burning as she was dragged from the antechamber, back into the bedroom. Her body flipped over, onto her back, the room a blur.

“What did you send to him?” he demanded, and then came the first real hit to her face—an open-handed slap that might as well have been a punch—the first actual strike after a thousand threats and intimations.

How lucky I am
, she’d always thought.
At least he doesn’t beat me.

“What was it?” Another slap, the opposite cheek, harder than the first, stinging.

She screeched from the pain. Something had torn her cheek. She managed to throw her arms over her face, and pressed the dress sleeve against her eyes.

A sudden quiet. She dared a peak between her arms. He was standing over her, frowning at his palm. He drew it closer to his eyes and then pinched something off with his other hand. It was skin. A short string of Tuni’s flesh, snagged by an inexplicably splintered piece of his ring. It must’ve been damaged when he struck the candlestick—something that wouldn’t have happened to his real ring.

“What did you do?” he murmured. He slid off the imposter ring and peered at the inside. “Deceitful … conspiring …
bint il-ahba
… You’ve no idea what you’ve done.” He tossed the ring aside.

She didn’t know what he’d said, but dropping into his native Arabic wasn’t a good sign. She righted herself and pressed her back against the wall, sliding up onto her feet. Alexander was still whimpering in the antechamber, calling for her. Her eyes scanned about for a weapon—anything—and then she remembered the scissors and file.

“Fortunately …” Jivu began, and crouched down by the fireplace. Tuni reached behind her and felt the file sticking halfway out of her pocket. Her fingers probed for the sharp end as Jivu rose, one of the candlesticks in hand. “… you won’t live to enjoy any of it.”

Her head low, watching his feet slowly approach, Tuni wrapped her fingers around the file’s dull end. The candlestick was long. He wouldn’t have to step right up to her. Too far for her to stab at him. She’d need to lunge forth before he could swing.

“That perfect skull,” Jivu said as he neared her. “In the next era, no one will have any idea how beautifully the flesh clung to it.”

“Don’t move, sir,” Thabiti’s voice, right over Tuni, in the archway beside her. “Drop the candlestick.”

Tuni looked up and saw the pistol and disembodied hand jutting from the antechamber. She turned back to Jivu. His glare appeared more stunned and betrayed than defiant. Best for her to leave now, not think,
seize the opportunity!

Go!

Her legs complied, pressing her back against the wall, and sliding her upright.

She called, “Alexander?”

“He’s outside,” Thabiti said without pulling his eyes from Jivu. “He’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Jivu snarled at Thabiti. “A shame your brother’s already dead. Penance must now be passed down to your niece.”

Tuni paused at the archway. “Do it. Shoot him.”

“As long as he doesn’t move, I’ll not shoot him.”

“You shoot him, you’re a hero to your country.”

“No, Tuni,” he said softly. “I cannot.”

Jivu stifled a choke.
“‘Tuni?’”

Tuni eyed Jivu. His mouth agape, lips forming questions, mind calculating and analyzing and denying.

She peered up at Thabiti, his ribbed forehead coated in its usual shiny glaze, his upper lip speckled with tiny orbs of sweat. The idea struck her and she went with it—no hesitation.

A step forward, onto her tiptoes, she curled one hand behind his thick neck, the other hand sliding up his chest. She pulled him toward her, he turned—eyes remaining fixed down his pistol’s sights—and she opened her mouth, pressed her lips hard against his, a swirl of tongue, and then eased down, sucking his lower lip until it popped back against his teeth.

“Thank you, Thabiti,” she said seductively.

A final glance Jivu’s way. He appeared primed to explode. She flashed a smile, then
ran
.

* * *

During her first two years in the Presidential Palace, Tuni enjoyed the freedom to wander every room and hall, sharing chats and meals with the staff on the lower level, and taking unannounced trips into the city. The majority of the staff from that time remained, and so she’d decided days ago that her escape would find its highest odds of success in their domain.

Her rehearsed excuse for leaving the suite turned out unnecessary. Jivu’s return and assault ended up beneficial. Before entering, Thabiti had taken out the five extra men posted outside. Tuni had only managed a fleeting glimpse, but it appeared that two lay unconscious, one moaned and writhed, while the final two stumbled and reeled, nursing their heads. The dash to the staff stairwell had felt like a blurry mile, with Tuni waiting for someone to shout, or chasing footfalls, or a gunshot.

Alexander, bless him, had pleaded for her to slow down midway through the first flight of stairs. It was a good reset. She’d caught her breath for a beat, told Alexander everything would be okay—no one was going to stop them from their great adventure.

“We still get to go on a trip?” he’d said, and poked the bump on his head. “Why Baba hit us? He wished to come, too?”

“Yes, Bubu, but he can’t. Now you just have to keep quiet until I say, all right? This is
our
secret adventure. Lips sealed.” She sealed his lips with a swipe and pinch and his giggle reinvigorated her.

Through the kitchens and staff halls, they were met with a constant flow of stunned faces,
“My Lady?”
and inquiries. Was everything okay? Did she need help?

Tuni kept her mouth shut, letting her cheeks’ bloody cut and swelling bruises do the talking.

Now, huddled just inside the shipping and receiving entrance, she surveyed the service gate and rear wall. She didn’t recognize the shipping clerk, a middle-aged man casting an icy stare her way. He
really
wanted to pick up the telephone on his work table. Tuni mouthed
“Please,”
and he chewed his cheek.

Gunshots rang out from somewhere outside, hung in the air, and echoed off the perimeter wall. Alexander grasped her leg tighter. Another burst of shots, rapid-fire,
crack, crack, crack!
The clerk knocked over a cardboard barrel of foam peanuts as he scurried to the hall.

Tuni prayed these were warning shots fired in the air, and that no one was hurt or worse.

“Is it real, Mama?” Alexander asked. “I’m scared. Can we stay home?”

She forced an enthusiastic smile. “It’s all part of the adventure, my love! Of course it’s not real!”

His face alit with skeptical wonder, looking out on the rear court with new eyes. If only she could truly delude him—both of them—with such a fantasy.

Two more shots in succession, but from different locations. Shouts from the wall. Running.

“Do you need a car, my Lady?” asked a woman’s voice behind her.

A jingling key ring dangled from an unfamiliar maid’s fingers. Tuni was speechless, her focus locked on these kind eyes before her.

The maid continued, “It’s the white Subaru in the lot, second row. You know how to drive manual?”

Tuni stammered, “I … I do.”

She deposited the keys in Tuni’s hand. “I’ll have the gate opened. You should go now. The guards have all dispersed.”

Tuni nodded. Rushing out the door into the burning sunlight, she tried to remember if she thanked the woman or if it’d only been in her head. She glanced back, but couldn’t see inside the dark room, and Alexander was now pulling her hand.

The black metal gate buzzed and began rolling open as they reached the end of the wall. The staff parking lot lay just around the corner.

“Which one is
sububu
, Mama? They’re
all
white.”