Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) (6 page)

Ric peered through the heavy smoke emanating from several hookahs. Men lounged against pillows and smiled through the fruit they chewed on, fed by the hands of women dressed in little more than silk bottoms. Some of the men dared to openly caress the women’s breasts, buttocks, or whichever body part was within reach. A few were a bit too eager to commence with activities rather than bother with the decency of finding a private room or a darkened corner — anything out of ear and eyeshot. And yes, these men were certainly married. How easy would it be if Ric married her tonight but by tomorrow evening, she’d be here under the enormous and dangerously suffocating girth of Faruq?

“I’ve never known Abdul to be so familiar with the activities of the sheik’s bedroom.” Ric popped a date in his mouth and chewed gingerly on the fruit. He took his time to swallow before he continued his assessment. “And being assigned to find the sheik a new wife? Hardly a task I pictured Abdul undertaking.”

“A new wife! Bah!” Faruq coughed in his excitement and spewed tiny gobs of soggy, mostly masticated food onto his sagging breasts. “Abdul has always wanted Hassan’s favor.”

“Doesn’t he have it? I’ve heard most of the sheik’s business transactions are handled by him.”

Faruq downed a half-f glass of dark red wine to recover from his hacking fit. “Ah, but will he keep it?”

The twinkle in Faruq’s eye and the silence that followed his question exposed his knowledge of some intrigue and he wanted Ric to either guess or ask what it was so he could gossip. Ric wasn’t exactly a fan of guessing games. “Well, now you must tell me.”

Faruq chuckled and attempted to angle his thick neck forward, the stump only closing the distance between their bodies by just an inch. Ric hid a grimace and positioned himself closer to hear the “secret.” His eyes refused to gaze on the moist splatter of food on the man’s bosom, and he ignored the heavy stench of alcohol on the man’s breath as he spoke.

“Abdul’s other activities might put the sheik’s financial holdings at risk.”

Other activities…
It was practically a confirmation that Abdul financially supported terrorism with funds from Hassan’s empire. Practically…

“Activities?”

“You do know Abdul spent some time in Pakistan when he was much younger.”

“He’s well-traveled.”

Faruq snorted. “He went against his family’s wishes and traveled, as you say, to participate in a training camp. Why do you think he behaves almost like a bodyguard sometimes? He’s trained in the use of a variety of weapons, and Hassan trusts him with his protection. When the family discovered Abdul’s whereabouts, they had relatives in Pakistan forcibly remove him from the training.”

Neither Ric nor the agency had prior knowledge about that part of Abdul’s life. They were well aware of his education in London and his travels around the Middle East for internships, but training camp experience? Ric quietly considered this information. Whatever faction or established group Abdul swore allegiance to, they had an abundance of patience and were keen to subterfuge. Grooming a terrorist with the proper training and placement in the field took a fair amount of planning and preparation. Abdul was in this war for the long haul.

“And Hassan has no knowledge of Abdul’s background? He must have asked Abdul where he’s had his training. Even I know he was educated in London,” Ric said with a touch of disappointment, hoping to rouse Faruq into revealing more damaging information.

“You think Abdul would have told the truth? Whether Hassan knows the truth or not, I do not know, but when you leave your money with someone and you don’t even take the time to count it every once in a while, it should be no surprise when a few of the bills go missing.”

“What would Abdul do with the sheik’s money? He’s well paid.”

Faruq shrugged. “He’ll take trips to places he believes the sheik will want to do business in the future, but Hassan never will. Abdul recently traveled to Somalia. That place has no viable business to offer Hassan. There is nothing there to invest in. Why would Abdul think Hassan would agree to do business in Somalia?”

Somalia...
So the intel on insurgents traveling from that country into the region was likely on Abdul’s orders. The timing was too coincidental.
No, Faruq, he wouldn’t do business in Somalia — at least not legitimate business.

Faruq slurped some wine from his elaborately decorated goblet. “And I heard from one of the chefs, a distant cousin of Abdul’s,” Faruq continued, “that he met an African woman, not unlike the beauty he brought before Hassan earlier today. I do not know what happened to her, but I would bet money that Abdul did not leave that country without sampling more than the food.” Faruq smiled and winked, as if his insinuation needed an explanation.

Abdul had a cousin who was in the camp?
I thought I knew all the service people.
It shouldn’t surprise him that people moved in and out of the sheik’s service. He and the sheik had fairly regular contact; however, it wasn’t as if they saw each other every week, or even every month. Ric’s assigned area was the Middle East, and as such, he was tasked to conduct operations in multiple countries. He could be in Saudi Arabia today and tomorrow the UAE — if he completed his mission here
and
snuck Mel out at the same time.

“How long do you want that woman in the bath? Until her skin wrinkles?” Faruq spat out a few seeds from the sizable, deep purple grapes he was eating. He snorted. “If it were me, I wouldn’t even be here among the men. Why would I want to talk to men when I have a woman lying in my bed?”

Perhaps it was the smoke, or the amount of hot air being expelled by the excited men in the densely packed, too-small tent, because it couldn’t be just the wine — he barely had enough to take effect. At the mention of Mel waiting expectantly in his bed, the pores on his face opened and perspiration threatened to stream down the sides of his cheeks. The image was just a mirage; if Mel hadn’t tried to escape again while he was here collecting information, she was likely holed up in the smallest corner of the tent, as far away from his bed as possible. That wasn’t exactly a bad thing, for both their sakes. Until they were back safely on United States soil, they were in constant danger. Having some steamy, desert romance wouldn’t be worth the price of their lives.

Ric cleared his throat. “You’re right. She should be clean by now. And I believe Hakeem was going to have a bit of food brought to my tent for late-night snacking.”

Faruq laughed heartily. “You’ll need the fuel for stamina.”

Fighting an eye-roll, Ric smiled thinly instead. “Yes, although I’m not lacking in that department.”

“Then enjoy your night, my friend, and tell me about it in the morning.”

Yeah, that’s not happening
. “Good night.”

Ric departed the tent with more than just Mel on his mind. There was a cousin of Abdul’s he had to find and possibly befriend for information on Abdul. The man was a service employee, so it would take time to build a level of rapport with him to where he’d either voluntarily divulge information on Abdul, or would be comfortable answering Ric’s questions. Establishing a connection took time, and time was something Ric was a little short on.

She still couldn’t sleep. Even though her gut told her the only safe place in the camp was here in Ric’s tent, she was still unable to close her eyes for longer than a few minutes. Night after night of this sleeplessness had developed heavy bags underneath her eyes, and a jitteriness she couldn’t shake even with the reviving sustenance of food.

God in heaven, where are you? Please help me!

Hakeem had to forcibly remove the fork from her hand as she gorged on the meats, rice, and fresh fruit served for dinner.
Too much food on an empty stomach is not good for you,
he had said, as if speaking to a small child. The gentle reminder felt more like a chastisement and Mel was embarrassed by her behavior; however, she
had
been without real food for nearly three days. Abdul had fed her some dry, chalky rice cakes, and Mel wondered whether he used starvation as a tactic to break her spirit. It hadn’t worked, but gluttony almost did. Reviving her strength would be key to her survival, but she wouldn’t be much use to herself if she became ill through overindulgence.

Ric hadn’t returned for dinner. The longer she and Hakeem ate alone, the greater her concern for her captor became. Where was he? What was he doing? She tried unsuccessfully to pry information from Hakeem, and that really frustrated her. She was a US Marshal who had worked undercover. It was her
job
to get people to trust her and to reveal their deepest secrets so she could take them, or somebody they knew, down. Technically, when she was undercover, she usually had time to develop a relationship with someone and that trust would later turn into evidence. Knowing Hakeem for a few hours didn’t exactly equate to the rapport she had built between herself and known criminals over a matter of months. Hakeem wasn’t easily distracted, and she found him controlling the conversation more than she. That not only embarrassed her, but it made her feel completely useless. If she were to trust Ric when he promised to get her out of here, that would mean her life — everything — was in his hands. She didn’t like that one bit. The hands she preferred to rely on were her own, with a little help from God.

How am I supposed to rely on myself when I can’t even fall asleep?
She had counted every dot in the pattern on the ceiling fabric three times and—

Ric was as stealthy as a jungle cat. She hadn’t heard him enter the room and already he was halfway across it to the opposite corner of the bed. Her eyes, having long adjusted to the darkness, saw him set some sort of fabric, possibly clothes, on the edge of the bed before he moved to an obscure corner of the room.

“You never told me what you’re doing out here?” Mel asked tentatively. Not only was he reluctant to say why he was here in the desert with a sheik, but he also hadn’t bothered to mention his last name.

Movement in the corner halted before it continued again. “There’s a reason for that.” He kept his back to her.

Mel’s investigative sense kicked in. She might be halfway around the world with strangers who were her only chance of survival, but she wouldn’t stop fighting. “Well, we’re in this together, right?”

He pivoted, and Mel gasped as he came closer to the bed. Ric had removed his shirt. The contours of his muscular chest and abs were clearly visible — if she strained her eyes. The grin was back. “Are you suggesting a willingness to let me use half of the bed? Because my back is killing me and—”

“I’m suggesting the truth. All I have is your first name. As a law enforcement officer, I can’t engage in certain activities that would jeopardize my position.” In silence, he turned away. A few seconds later, sounds of him rummaging through something replaced the voice she wanted to hear. Mel let out a frustrated breath. She opened her mouth to speak when he turned around and spoke.

“Look, I understand your concern, but what I’m doing is on a need-to-know basis.”

“Need to know? You expect me to believe that?”

“How about you just trust me then?”

“Trust you? I don’t even know you!”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he gritted.

Mel bit her lip. Exhaustion gripped the muscles of her body, and the discomfort was impossible to ignore. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered. “My body won’t let me. I didn’t sleep those days Abdul had me. I couldn’t. I knew if I did, something terrible would happen to me and…” Emotion strangled her last words.

His voice sounded empathetic. “Look, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what I’m doing but if it helps, I’ll tell you a little about me. But you have to
promise
to keep this information to yourself. The men here know me as a businessman from South America. I can’t exactly have my cover blown. Do you understand?”

An undercover mission? She understood more than he knew. “You’re willing to trust me?”

He flicked on a lighter and lit a small candle on the table closest to his bedside. He grinned lopsidedly. “Do you mind?” He gestured toward the unoccupied side of the bed separated by the pillows he had laid out hours before. When she shook her head, he eased onto the mattress. She turned onto her left side to face him. “My name is Ricardo Santiago. Here I go by Ric, of course. At home it’s Ricardo. Don’t say my last name. I don’t use it here. I’m a Marine with a black-ops background. I’m here because my country needs me.”

“And which country is that?” Melanie held her breath, hoping he wasn’t on a mission other than one sanctioned by the United States government.

Ric smiled. “The United States.”

Melody nodded. She glanced down at their hands. Her right hand had moved on top of the pillows and was dangerously close to his left hand. Inches from touching him, yet she felt connected to him: comfortable…safe. Her head snapped up. “You said Santiago?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. Dark eyes, black hair, but she couldn’t tell if he had dimples underneath the beard he sported. He didn’t appear affronted by her assessment and instead held her gaze. “Do you have dimples?”

His brow creased. “Yeah, why?”

Melody smiled. “All the Santiago brothers have dimples.” She winced as he squeezed her hand with too much force.

“What did you say?” he hissed.

“You have two older brothers, right? Alejandro and Rafael?”

“How did you know that?” The words rushed out and his expression morphed into one who had knowingly blundered and given away too much information about himself.

“Ale and I work for the same unit. Or used to. Did you know he got married last year?”

“Married? Alejandro?”

Mel sucked in her lips and nodded. “Guess you didn’t know.”

He released her hand, rolled onto his back, and stuffed his hands beneath his head. “I haven’t exactly kept in touch.”

“No kidding.”

He let out a strained noise and crossed his muscled legs tightly at the ankles. She watched as the muscles in his abdomen constrict more and more with each heavy expulsion of breath. His eyes stared straight at the ceiling and he kept his hard lips in a tight line. A loud “Ha!” escaped Ric’s mouth. “I can’t believe he’s married. Out of the three of us, he may have been the least likely.”