Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) Read online

  “Ask me nicely and I’ll help you look for it.”

  Her eyes shot to the playful look in his own, his full mouth cocked to one side in a flirtatious smirk.

  Maybe I don’t look half bad.

  “I forgot you’re not a morning person.”

  She inwardly cringed at the cheeky reminder of her second morning in the tent. The night before, her mind raced with thoughts of her handsome rescuer; exhaustion hit her with the force of a sandstorm. Gently shaken from her slumber, the action startled her so much she screamed and threw a punch, socking him in the rib cage.

  “The bruise is just now forming, if you wanna see.”

  With his left hand, he patted himself underneath his right arm; the other hand fingered the bottom of his shirt. Her cheeks warmed. “Uh, I believe you.”

  “And I believe you have a great left hook.” His eyes softened as they traveled the length of her. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I hated waking you.”

  “I don’t know how…”

  “How to sleep? You have trouble sleeping?”

  Not anymore. Not for a long time, actually, but it had taken long nights of counting sheep and reading Russian literature. Who was the author? Tolsoy, Toldoy—

  “Dare I consider that my presence has soothed your restlessness?”

  Mel snorted. “I appreciate you being my guard dog.”

  “You know, when I went to live with my relatives in Florida, they had a dog. Gorgeous lab — a golden blonde. Sometimes I woke up and found her right next to me.”

  “I think I’m fine alone.”

  “I thought we established that my presence soothes you.”

  “Er, I recall you making that declaration.”

  He walked around the bed to where she stood with her bag in hand. “And you agree?”

  He softly trailed his fingers down the length of her left arm, hooked her elbow and drew her closer. Mel couldn’t help how her eyes drifted to his lips. “I think so…”

  “Good. Then let me help you.”

  Suddenly less anxious, she managed a smile and a nod. “First place we have to look is Abdul.”

  “Mmm, not we. Me.”

  Mel’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  Ric moved to where his black cloak laid over a chair near the entrance of the tent. He snatched the garment up and wrapped himself. “You still can’t leave this tent. Too dangerous. I have some people in the kitchen I have to talk to but afterwards, I’ll pay a short visit to Abdul’s tent and see what I can find. There shouldn’t be any reason for him to keep them.”

  “He’ll go to the sheik.”

  “And say what? You’re still under my protection, at least for one more night. Besides, the sheik doesn’t care who you are.”

  “And you trust this sheik.”

  A downcast shadow settled over his features and his lips dipped into a slight frown. “He’s a source. I can only trust him so much and for so far.”

  “Look, Ric, I know how this works. I’ve been working in the marshal undercover unit. I know all about the difficulties of trusting compromised individuals.”

  Ric nodded. A new look of understanding crossed his features. “And there’s another reason why it’s difficult for you to trust, but Hassan hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him.”

  Yes, there was another reason… “Except he may know something about the terrorist you’re looking for.”

  Ric’s mouth twisted into a smirk that spoke of disappointment. “I’m hoping that’s not the case. Or if it is, that he already has a plan in place to neutralize the threat. He has trade partners in the United States and aligning himself with our enemies isn’t in his best interests.”

  “Yeah, if he expects to continue taking lavish sabbaticals like this.”

  Ric chuckled. “He’s made of money. His father was an extremely wealthy man and so was his father. But, souring relations with the US would hurt his bottom line, especially in other areas of interest, so he’ll do what’s necessary to protect the family business.”

  “Looks like you have your plate full. Let me look for my badge.”

  “No.”

  Mel tossed her bag aside and marched toward him. “Yes. You said I’m under your protection. Nobody will—”

  “You just can’t walk around unescorted in a camp full of men.”

  “I’m American. The cultural rules don’t apply.”

  “But sensitivity does.”

  In a show of immovability, Mel crossed her arms over her chest. “This is my responsibility. You have your mission to worry about.”

  A spark of glitter was nearly missed as Ric’s eyes turned dark. “You’re my responsibility — and anything that concerns you. I’d worry less about your safety if you remained in the tent. Stop fighting me and let me do my job. I’ll find your badge.”

  What is with these Santiago men? They’re all so...so... Pain shot through her arm from underneath it and she realized she pinched herself to keep from arguing.

  “And while I’m gone, if you need anything, Hakeem will see to it. He should be back any minute now, so don’t go anywhere.”

  His back was to her now and she ground her teeth to keep from snapping at him. He was holding her against her will. Was this his “protection”? He has too much on his plate. He’ll blow his cover if Abdul finds him in his tent.

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but it’ll probably be a few hours.” He faced her then, his easy grin in place and eyes twinkling with merriment. “I’ve left something for you over there.” He paused and pointed at the table. “I hope you like it.”

  Was he blushing?

  Yes, yes he was.

  A slight crimson hue bled through his dark beard and settled across the bridge of his nose. Mel’s eyes darted to the wrapped bundle on the table. “What is it?”

  When he didn’t respond, her gaze returned to where he had stood a moment ago only to see he’d gone.

  ****

  Ric adjusted his headscarf over his nose and mouth and kept his eyes downcast. The winds stirred sand into a cloud that appeared to swirl and whoosh all around him. He fished his black shades out from the breast pocket of his shirt and slipped them on. Better, but one wrong inhale would have him choking on grit.

  The morning sun was hot, the air stifled with the addition of scattered dunes, all making this morning simply unpleasant. A hundred things needed to be done and decided upon, which could be hindered if the invisible hand that sent sand scraping across his skin around his glasses didn’t cease from waving.

  And to make matters worse, Mel’s badge and credentials were missing. That’s not good. No doubt there was a picture of her in the creds, which could be replaced and used for unintended purposes. Like permitting a person through security at the US Embassy.

  Although security was known to be tight, a law enforcement official — or one posing as one — could easily game the system by playing the law enforcement card. Abdul had kidnapped Mel and unless someone close to him was actually planning the attack, Abdul would be the one most likely to benefit from Mel’s misplaced badge.

  Ric released a frustrated grunt and continued to trudge through the loose sand beneath his feet as the winds picked up. They’d be in the middle of a full-blown storm in any minute. Mel, stay put. He could see she was uncomfortable with not having her badge and probably more agitated with being ordered to sit, wait, and do nothing. He’d only known her a couple of days but he could already guess she was the active type — and impatient. One who never stayed indoors too long. Soon she’d get cabin — no, tent — fever and if he didn’t keep an eye on her, she was likely to solve the problem herself.

  Which would mean big problems for him.

  He was orderly. Everything he did was by the book. One by one, he watched his older brothers leave the house when their mother kicked them out at eighteen. The last year in high school, he was alone. Without Ale and Rafa, he’d fallen out with their group of friends and became a bit of a recluse. His
brothers were an influence on him from their juvenile antics and pseudo-criminal behavior to his experiences with women. He’d learned how to pick a lock, hot-wire a car, French kiss and fondle at the same time, select a home to burglarize, and countless other tactics he found quite useful in the clandestine world. But he never would have made it here if he wasn’t a company man. Attending his senior year without his brothers — knowing his delinquency was what kept him from those he loved most — changed his entire outlook on life.

  Just not before his mother noticed.

  Promptly at eighteen, he was sent to live with his mother’s cousin’s extended family in Miami. It angered him that his mother couldn’t forgive him when she spouted Bible verses about it all the time concerning his deadbeat dad. Then, he realized actions spoke louder than words. It was his fault his father had left, and he had to do what he could to make up for the trouble he’d caused after his father’s absence. While in college, he enrolled in the ROTC program and before he knew it, school was over and he was in basic training for the Marine Corps. He mailed Maria Santiago several letters and postcards but she never responded. Either that or by the time he would have received her letter, he’d since moved without leaving a forwarding address. His time in the Marines had taught him attention to detail but it was too late to send his mom a new address. He was recruited by the agency and permanently stationed in the Middle East. Contact with family or friends was strongly discouraged — for operational security.

  Mel was his only link to the outside world. The only way to connect to a family he hadn’t seen in more than ten years. Perhaps he’d been more lonely for the love of family than he had realized. Is that why he was so eager to know her? And her him? She’d worked with Ale. Would she share some of her stories? Ric grinned beneath his cover. Asking her nicely wouldn’t be a problem.

  Her accepting might.

  Ric reached the small tent of a man who he only knew as Rafiq. As the sheik’s chief cook, Rafiq spent a great deal of time around both Hassan and Abdul, often serving them drinks and meals. If the sheik was aiding the attack on the embassy, Rafiq might have overheard some of the details. Ric needed information on the attack but at the same time, he couldn’t stomach the thought of the sheik’s betrayal. All those years building a relationship and he hadn’t truly known the man.

  After yesterday’s meeting with Hassan, Ric was convinced his friend — source — was telling the truth, but each scenario had to be on the table until they were eliminated. Talking to Rafiq would be a good start. Being the head chef, Abdul’s cousin would likely be supervised by Rafiq.

  After announcing himself, Ric was quickly ushered in. To avoid tracking sand everywhere, he remained near the entrance of the tent. Rafiq greeted him warmly and begged him to come forward and have a seat on a large settee, whose cushions were a vibrant golden color. Ric glanced down at the deep purple rug with an intricate design of vines, light roses, and green leaves.

  “Please, please. Sit.”

  Ric shook his head and pointed at the rug. “I’m already leaving a pile of sand.”

  “Don’t worry. I will clean it up later. You are my guest.” Rafiq pulled at Ric’s hand and led him to the settee. “It is no trouble. Sit.”

  Ignoring the subtle feelings of guilt for tracking sand through the tent, Ric did as he was told. The cushions appeared firm from a distance but were remarkably comfortable, giving way considerably to his body weight. There was something soothing about the tent’s atmosphere. Pillows and afghans in bold hues, expensive rugs, soft music in the background… It suited the chef, a humble man with an eye for detail in the incredible presentation of his meals, always ready to serve and rarely able to accept praise for his masterpieces.

  Speaking of serving... Rafiq briefly turned away; he then offered Ric a tray with a cup of steaming tea and ripe dates. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” Not taking “no” for an answer, Rafiq extended the tray again until Ric accepted it. He knew he’d otherwise appear rude. “Thank you, Rafiq.”

  “The pleasure is mine.”

  Ric took a courteous sip of the tea, a drink he never liked, and watched as Rafiq poured himself a generous cup before he popped a date in his mouth. He soon joined Ric on the settee.

  “How has the food been? Good?” Rafiq asked around the date. He swallowed hard — and loud.

  “Excellent, Rafiq, as always. Thank you.”

  Rafiq grinned broadly. “You are here for more, yes? A special order for you and the woman?”

  Ric forced thoughts of a cold shower into his mind. He cleared his throat. “No. The food has been excellent, thank you.”

  “Ah, good, good. I hear you are to be congratulated on a new business venture with the sheik in Somalia.”

  Somalia. Had the sheik been discussing a deal involving Ric’s “company”? “I’m still waiting on confirmation from my father and the board of directors. Perhaps you know the right words to say that will convince them.”

  Rafiq laughed. “I’ve been in service to Hassan for many years, as you are aware. I hear many things, especially from my servers.” Rafiq raised his chin until his gaze looked down his nose to Ric. “The person you should speak to is of course, Abdul. He is the architect behind the contracts the sheik has been able to procure with his contacts in that country.”

  His contacts? Or Abduls? Ric ignored the rising tide of disappointment in Hassan. “I believe the board is concerned with the quality of the weapons. The men providing them are a third party.”

  “But you’ll save money. That has to be attractive to the board. I was present when Abdul assured Hassan that a perceived lack in quality was minimal given the price of the service.”

  And that’s what I needed to know. Abdul had procured weapons from Africa and the sheik, with full knowledge, was financing their movements from the continent to anyone’s guess where, but the likelihood was that of other state actors involved in terrorism.

  “Perhaps I’ve said too much,” Rafiq said with a slight frown. “I’m a simple chef and not a businessman.”

  “I wouldn’t use the word ‘simple’ to describe you at all. You’re a wise man, Rafiq. And your culinary skills are to be revered. Even the woman can barely control herself when your food severs enter the tent.”

  Rafiq laughed heartily. “I can’t deny that I know how to cook.”

  “I appreciate your time, Rafiq. I’m afraid Abdul isn’t too pleased that Hassan ordered the woman sent to me.”

  Rafiq nodded, his face solemn. “I did hear of that, yes. Abdul has a cousin who works for me. Perhaps you can facilitate reconciliation through him? He is working right now, but you can see him when he is on a break.”

  Ric smiled, pleased with the invitation to proceed with gathering information. He was used to working in the shadows, but sanctioned meetings were usually preferred; he’d appear less like a spy. “Yes, I would like reconciliation. If the board approves of this deal, it is likely my contact with Abdul will be more frequent than it is now. I’d appreciate being on good terms. Thank you, again, for your counsel. You might consider expanding your services.”

  Rafiq’s heavily tanned face reddened with laughter at Ric’s embellished compliment. “Cooking is enough for me.”

  Ric tipped his head in deference. “Of course.” He stood. “I don’t want to keep you.”

  Rafiq stood as well. “And I have a meal to prepare.”

  Ric exited the tent, excited about the prospect of meeting with Abdul’s cousin, and the information about the arms deal Abdul procured while in Somalia. The agency would have a new target and capture would be imminent.

  ****

  This is why black women shouldn’t live in the desert. Where am I supposed to get some product?

  Mel frowned at her wet natural curls in the mirror that hung from the shower divider wall in Ric’s tent. Soon they’d be a frizzy mass without her moisturizing mousse. She’d worked her fingers through the mass of ringlets, twisting them into discernable coils and in a f
ew minutes, they would expand to the width of the tent.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a small black bag on the side of a washbowl. Mel narrowed her eyes on the object and willed whatever was inside to be toiletries and possibly something she could use. In two steps, she was in front of the bowl and swiping up the bag. Wait a minute, Mel; this isn’t your property. “He wouldn’t mind,” she reasoned out loud, and then unzipped the bag. She ignored the travel-sized bottle of shampoo and deodorant. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of a small bottle of gel. Hair gel. “Of all things… So that’s how your hair is perfectly wavy.” She pulled the bottle out and unscrewed the cap. The potent smell of fragrance mixed with alcohol caused her to wrinkle her nose, but didn’t stop her from tipping a bit of the gel into her hands and working it through her hair. “Thanks, Ric,” she said with a smile as she watched her progress in the mirror.

  “Clothes. I need clothes…” Wrapped in a towel, Mel proceeded to the table where Ric mentioned he’d left her additional clothes to wear. A slight gasp escaped her as she unfolded the fabric. A brilliant royal blue abaya, with fine crystal beading, draped over her arms, soft as silk. Mel held the garment to her body; the hem dusted her ankle. The crystal design would subtly accent her curves and she was suddenly in a rush to try it on. After undoing the towel, she slipped the dress over her head, and sighed as the smooth texture wafted over her body like a warm shower. She raced to the bathroom and angled the mirror so she could see her figure. “I look amazing!”

  How had he guessed her size, or knew the color would look incredible against her walnut-colored skin? Everything about the garment, from the hue to the shape to the design of the crystals, made her feel like a Saudi princess — if feeling incredibly beautiful was the normal state of mind for a Saudi princess.

  And then something happened.

  She giggled.

  Mel slapped a hand over her mouth to silence the unfamiliar sound. With her free hand, she slammed the mirror back into place and marched to the main area of the tent. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t girly…a giggler. She was…