Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes) (45 page)

‘We went out, we had dinner, we had sex… And then you betrayed me.’

I freeze, the blood congealing in my veins. He saw me coming!

In the glass I see his face gleaming dimly, as insubstantial as a ghost. It is a moment so simple, but so heightened because of that very simplicity. Life rarely offers such moments of profound clarity. It is as if I have trained for years for this moment. I see its preciousness glittering like a cornered rat’s eyes. Kill or be killed. Hesitating is to make the second choice.

I whisk around, eyes wide, clumsy and unsteady in my heels.

His face is tight as a carved marble bust. The glass behind my back is shockingly cold and the silence between us is leaden. Suddenly I feel the way Eve must have felt, so naked, so exposed, and so
fucking
guilty.

He stands a foot away from me, touching distance, and simply looks at me. As if he is looking at a piece of modern art and trying to figure out what the artist intended to say with his senseless splashes of color. I try to imagine what he must be seeing.

After you cut all the bullshit about making the world a safer place and my gnawing shame that I was not there for Luke when he needed me, what is left? A sad, lonely, despicable bitch, who tried to use her body to get some information and failed miserably.

I open my mouth and, honestly, I don’t know what I was planning to say, but he lays a silencing finger across my lips.

‘Don’t lie, baby,’ he advises softly.

I shake my head. I can feel the tears gathering at the backs of my eyes. I blink hard and fast. He takes his hand away.

‘Did you tell them about the sixteenth?’

Dismay curves my spine. I close my eyes and nod.

I hear him sigh softly.

I open my eyes and he is looking at me with an expression so sad that I want to press my body against his and hold him, but I can’t. I couldn’t bear it if he pushed me away. God! It had seemed so real only a moment ago and yet it was all only a mirage. I feel my body trembling.

‘When did you find out?’ My voice is just a string.

‘Maybe I always knew. I just didn’t want to believe it.’

‘How?’ A part of me wants to know where I went wrong.

One corner of his lips twists. ‘Everything about you was off. You were too clean to be a runaway. And a runaway who has never let a man come inside her before? And there is one more thing that you might want to reconsider before you go back to being an undercover asset. You talk in your sleep.’

‘I do?’ I say hoarsely.

‘That time when you were attacked you said, “Get Crystal Jake.” I knew then for sure. No one calls me that anymore.’

‘So you admit dealing in drugs?’

He frowns. ‘How have I just admitted to dealing in drugs?’

‘Crystal Jake because you were selling crystal meth.’

‘Is that what they told you?’ He grasped his crystal chain and tugged hard at it. It broke, sending sparkling crystals flying across the room, hitting the floor. With his other hand he took my hand, opened my palm, put in what was left in his fist and closed my hand. ‘That is why I was called Crystal Jake. I have
never
sold hard drugs.’

My gaze moves from my closed fist up to his eyes. I don’t know whether to believe him, but he has never lied to me, and it is true that the whole time I have been with him I have not seen any evidence of drug usage or dealing either at Eden or on a personal level.

I stare at him as I have never seen him before. As the man I am in love with. All this while I have been pretending—to him and to myself—that I’m not. But I love him. I love this gangster who seems more honest and sincere than a priest. Other than the bed covered in used money I have no evidence that he is a gangster anyway.

He walks away from me and begins to dress. I stand at the glass, naked and frozen, all kinds of thoughts churning through my mind. He comes back fully dressed and looks at me. There is contempt in his eyes.

‘Why did you marry me if you knew?’

‘So that no one will be able to force you to testify against me. If you do, it will be because you want to.’

My mouth drops open. For some reason his answer is painful on a shocking level. ‘How could you marry me for that reason?’

‘How could you show me your naked body and keep your heart covered? Tell them the next time they want another swipe at me it might be an idea not to send such a rookie.’ He looks at me with hard, derisive eyes. ‘Enjoy your wedding night, Mrs. Eden.’

Oh

The damage is done

So I guess I be leavin’

                                                     —Cry me a River, Justin Timberlake

F
or a long time I stand staring at the closed door. A part of me is horrified, but a part of me that I have hidden for so long is strangely elated that the lie is finally out in the open. I don’t have to pretend anymore. Nude, I walk to the fully stocked bar. I open a bottle of whiskey and drink it straight from the bottle. It glugs down my throat, burning all the way down. I cough and pat my chest. The sound is loud in the empty suite.

Tears press against my eyelids. I feel alone, helpless, and so incredibly lost. I have failed miserably. And I have only myself to blame. I pick up the cheongsam from the floor, and carefully hang it in the closet. It is my wedding dress. I let my fingers skim the silky material one last time. The chambermaid will find it. It will be a nice treat for her. Then I go into the bathroom and, avoiding my reflection, dress in my own clothes.

Then I sit on the bed and wait for him. I am convinced he will come back through the door. He could not have just walked out on me. But an hour later I know he is not coming back. Reality hits. The truth is like switching on a light. All this time I had thought my eyes were accustomed to the dark. I had made out shapes from the shadows and guessed their names.

But it was a lie.

He knew I was an undercover cop the whole time and he was only pretending. Everything we had was a lie. Maybe the lust was real, but what is lust but dust without love? All that time he knew.
I think of all the people and the planning that must have gone into hiring The Blue Man Group, the lavish wedding. He had lost all that money on purpose. To keep the invisible balance ledger between him and the casino straight.

The breath comes out of me in a rush. Now I understand why he asked for this particular suite. The Provocateur suite.

The message was there for me to see. Only I was too proud of my own ability to deceive and too blinded by my own feelings. I feel tears prickling at the backs of my eyes. No, I won’t give in now. I know what happens when I give in to grief. It takes over. I become a total wreck. No more introspection. I can’t stay here anymore. 

My instructions are very clear in the event that my cover is ever blown.  

I pick up the phone, make flight reservations. Then I pack my bag quickly and with little fuss. There is not much to pack, anyway. I open my purse and take out the black plastic chip. Worthless here, but worth ten thousand dollars at Eden.

I remember that sweltering night as if it happened yesterday. How exciting it had all been then. How naïve I was to give in to temptation and not think it would scar me for life. I put the chip on the pillow on his side of the bed. I don’t know why I bother after the cavalier way he lost all that money in the casino earlier, but I know I can’t keep it.
At the end of the operation you will ditch all the physical trappings of your undercover alter ego, the hair, the clothes, the people you have befriended, and return to your own normal world.

Then I go out to the lounge to sit and wait. I know I am a wreck waiting to happen, but at this moment I feel strangely detached and calm. It is simple, I tell myself. My cover is blown. I am not the first undercover cop it has happened to. It has happened many times. I will simply report back and they will assign me somewhere else. Somewhere I can go to lick my wounds. Where there won’t be a Jake Eden I will fall in love with and suffer over.

I look at the time. I call reception and order a cab. In thirty minutes the cab will arrive and take me to the airport. I will be fine. Of course I will be fine.

A small voice says, ‘Don’t run away. Stay. Fight for your man.’

But he is not my man. He is nobody’s man. He was pretending the whole time. I have been silly. I allowed myself to fall in love. It is not so despicable. Other cops have done it. Over the course of years of being undercover some have married their targets and even had children with them. I am not so despicable.

I stand. I can’t stay in this room any longer. I will wait in reception downstairs. I pick up my luggage, take one last look at the opulence around me, and walk resolutely to the door.

I open it and stop dead in my tracks. My luggage falls from my disbelieving hands.

Jake Eden is sitting sprawled out in the corridor. His back is resting against the opposite wall and beside him is an empty bottle of Scotch. He has another in his right hand, which is already half empty. He looks up, trying to hold his lids open.

‘Leaving so soon?’ he slurs.

The last part of this series can be found here:

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Coming Next…

GOLD DIGGER

Georgia Le Carre

CHAPTER 1

‘W
hatever you do, don’t
ever
trust them. Not one of them,’ he whispered. His voice was so feeble I had to strain to catch it.

‘I won’t,’ I said, softly.

‘They are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down,’ he insisted.

‘I understand,’ I said, but all I wanted was for him to stop talking about them. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, no, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

‘All right, I won’t.’

‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

‘I won’t,’ I promised vehemently, and reached for his hand. The contrast between my hand and his couldn’t have been greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver-spotted. The nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a seventy-year-old man. His fingers grasped fiercely at my hand. I lifted them to my lips and kissed them one by one, tenderly.

His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I said.

‘Do your part and they cannot touch you.’

He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’

‘Don’t say that,’ I cried, even though I knew in my heart that he was right.

His eyes swung to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’

My gaze chased his. The window he was looking at was closed, the heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples crawled up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin, pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go, my darling. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’

‘Just wait a while.’

‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me, looked straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, departed.

For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the October wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and tell them the news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelled strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to go and die and leave me to the wolves?

In that moment I felt so close to him I wished that this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the cruel world. I heard the clock ticking. The flames in the fireplace crackled and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked. I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp, and let my finger run down his prominent nose. It shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him would be stone cold.

I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning. My sorrow was complete. I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. It had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliantly bright and when he smiled it appeared as if he was lit from within. He even looked so much stronger. I asked him what he wanted to eat.

‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.

But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’

And at that moment I knew. Even so it was incomprehensible to me that he was really gone. I never wanted to believe it.

‘In the end you wanted to go, didn’t you?’

There was no answer.

‘It’s OK. I know you were tired. It was only me holding you back. You go on ahead. Find a place for me.’

He lay as still as a corpse. Oh God! I already missed him so much.

‘I understand you can’t talk. But you can hear me. When it is my turn I want you to come and get me. I’ll be expecting you to come in through the window. Go in peace now, my love. All will be well. They will never know the truth. I will never tell them. To the day you come back to collect me.’

And then I began to cry, not loud, ugly sobs, but a quiet weeping. I didn’t want the servants to hear. To come rushing in. Call the doctor waiting downstairs to come in and pronounce him dead. I knew what waited for me outside this room. Another hour…or two wouldn’t make a difference. This was my time. My final hours with my husband.

The time before I became the hated gold digger.