Caress (29 page)

Nya jerked her hand back as if she had been burned. “Can you just stop pressuring me? Can you not just wait? I have too many things happening in my life right now to think about this. Don’t you understand that?” she yelled with her arms around her waist.

Michael just stood there silently, his mouth slightly ajar. It was as if she had slapped his face. But then her eyes softened apologetically.

“I didn’t mean that, I didn’t. I just need to get some things straight, that’s all.” She looked down at the floor. Michael was finding it extremely difficult to be angry with her. He understood how much her independence meant to her, how much she felt she needed to prove herself. Slowly, he tilted her chin up so that he could look down into her face with its soft curves and defiant chin. He laid a tender kiss on her mouth that she accepted and returned just as gently.

“I can handle it,” she whispered when he let her go.

Michael cursed under his breath. If she wasn’t the most stubborn, one-track minded individual…

h

Michael left the house on foot. He had to get out of there. If he didn’t, he would lose all resolve. That woman badly needed making love to and he was just the man to do it. Maybe that was the only way he could get her to admit that she needed someone, that she needed him. If only she could open her heart to him completely. If only she would trust him completely. If only she could ask for help. But she couldn’t. He had seen that tonight. She had to have control. She had to prove that she didn’t need anybody.

Michael walked on through the streets of Charlotte Amalie and beyond for what felt like hours, not watching where he went or caring about the ominous onlookers he was attracting. Maybe even daring the more surly ones to try him. After convincing himself that looking for a fight was the absolute wrong way to go about things, he realized that he was lost. However, after careful inspection, he found the patch of road he was on to be familiar. He scanned the area and saw the sign: Hatsheput Industries. If his guess was correct, the evidence he was looking for was somewhere inside that complex.

He started down the side street that led to the warehouse. Staying just off the road, he picked his way through wild vegetation, thinking of how he might get through the gate. However, that problem was solved once he saw headlights flash behind him. Michael slid effortlessly into the darkness waiting for the car to pass. It was a Mercedes limousine. That was way too extravagant for the island, something easily identifiable. Whoever it was, they weren’t hiding. The car slowed and pulled up to the entrance. Michael saw a man in a guard’s uniform pull the gate open, then follow beside the limo. Keeping low to the ground and as much in the darkness as possible, Michael slipped through the gate also. He kept close in the shadows behind the car until it pulled up to the front of the warehouse. Michael slipped around behind the building and saw a closed door. Betting that it was the same as the one Nya had made mention of earlier that day, he tried it and found that it was locked. This was one moment he wasn’t thankful for Nya’s thorough efficiency. He searched his pockets, looking for something, anything, he might be able to use to get that door open. He cursed himself, remembering that he let Nya keep his knife. Then an idea came to him. He pulled out a credit card and slid it between the door and the frame. The door came open. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered to himself, grinning as he eased through the door.

He couldn’t see anyone else inside and decided to wait, willing to bet that whoever was in that car would come in sooner or later to look at the merchandise, if indeed this was a theft operation. He crouched down behind a crate and waited several minutes. When no one came, he grew impatient and decided to do some investigation of his own. He began searching the crates again, going over the same spots he and Nya had searched with an even finer-toothed comb. Before long, he found it. It was a very small box in a crate filled with several small boxes. He’d seen it before, but hadn’t gone through each box. The first few he opened didn’t have anything important in them. Then, he found one with the label torn off. He carefully lifted the lid on it. Inside, he saw only a few prints and packing material. As he pushed aside some of the white Styrofoam “peanuts” within, he saw a manila envelope. He grabbed it and peered inside. It held black flash drives. The excitement and anticipation of discovery took hold of him until he heard muffled voices approaching.

He peeped around the crate to see two figures standing in the shadows speaking in hushed tones. As quickly and quietly as possible, he slipped the top back on the crate and sank down behind it. He waited there hoping to discover something else. The voices moved closer, though he was unable to see who they were. Slowly, cautiously, he rose and pressed himself against the length of a wall and edged closer so that he could hear more clearly. He peeked around the corner of the wall, trying to see who they were but finding that he could see only one of them. He stood with his hands folded lightly on top of a sleek black cane. He was a short man with a
cafe au lait
complexion and a meticulously trimmed moustache and beard. Michael knew that any man standing in the middle of such a dank and dirty place wearing an immaculate tuxedo could only spell danger. Smoke from his fragrant cigarillo curled into the humid air as he whispered, “Is she dead yet?”

“No, but she’s here on the island and I know where she is. I’m prepared to do what’s necessary,” said Elphonse Deklerk’s very recognizable voice. It was all Michael could do not to go wring the man’s neck.

“And the other thing?”

“I’m searching, Rinaldo. I am. You brought Marshall on board against my wishes.”

“Your wishes mean nothing.”

“Yes, sir, I know that. But he found Bernard, and Bernard’s trail leads straight to you.”

“And it’s your job to destroy that trail,” replied Rinaldo.

“I’m working on it. You can’t expect me to work a miracle after the mess you’ve made.”

Suddenly, the smaller man moved like black lightning. His diamond cuff links sparkled and flashed violently in the scant light. Michael made out metal glowing at the end of the sleek black cane and pressed against the neck of Elphonse Deklerk. Without a hair or ruffle out of place, Rinaldo hissed, “Don’t ever, ever disrespect me that way again. Do you hear? Good. Now you listen to me. If you do not deliver those proofs to me in forty-eight hours, you are a dead man. You understand?”

“I understand,” Elphonse answered in a tense voice. He sounded like a man desperate to save his neck.

“Who is this reporter that’s nosing around?” Rinaldo questioned, suddenly moving back into his original stance.

“Michael Harrison,” Deklerk replied, rubbing at his neck. “He wrote that damned article in the
Harrison Tribune
that started all this mess.”

“That article saved this operation.”

“Look, there is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. The problem is Nyron’s daughter. I’ll take care of her,” he responded.

“So you’ve said, Elphonse. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you keep your word,” Mandolesi said, straightening his tie. “And then I’ll take care of the reporter as a bonus.”

Michael could feel the absolutely electric charge in the air. He had to get out of there. He stuffed the flash drives in his pants pocket, preparing to retreat. As Michael turned, he felt his toe catch and hook on something, nearly tripping him. He reached out to steady himself and a loud, clinking noise rang through the darkness.

“What was that?” Shots fired in the distance as Michael dashed around the back of the building. He ran as fast as he could, his legs pumping strongly beneath him. He ran for the fence he had seen earlier next to the street. He could hear the heavy footsteps behind him as he ran a jagged route, praying that no bullet would find its mark. He got to the seven-foot-high fence topped with barbed wire. He silently thanked God that he’d had the good sense to wear jeans and a t-shirt. Physically fit, he had no problem hurling his well-toned body up and over the fence. There were several more shots. He felt two whistle past his head, but he kept running. He could see the cluster of trees hiding the path that led to the road just beyond the sign reading Hatsheput Industries, St. Thomas Distribution Center. Only a few more yards, he thought with relief. His breathing was becoming labored, but he pushed it from his mind. He needed to get out onto the road where there was traffic. Miraculously, speeding up the road at that moment was a taxi. Waving frantically, Michael quickly stepped into the path of the rapidly approaching vehicle.

The taxi skidded to an abrupt stop, and the driver hopped out shouting, “What’s wrong with you, man?” Michael bent over and rested his hands on his knees. He was too winded to speak. The taxi driver took note that the young man was sweating profusely. “This isn’t the best place to be out drinking,” the man scolded, showing concern.

“No, no drinking,” Michael panted.

“Eh, you’re Nya’s boyfriend.”

Michael looked and finally recognize the Seymour’s family friend, Jerry.

Then Jerry yelped, “Lord have mercy!” Michael followed the older man’s horror-filled gaze. It must have been the fence. Michael’s hands were bleeding profusely. “Get in the taxi, man. I’ll take you to get patched up.”

Michael looked behind them, checking again for anyone following them. He hoped they hadn’t seen him take the taxi. Elphonse had turned out to be a dangerous man, but Mandolesi was probably the most unpredictable, intelligent, and lethal man in the Caribbean.

“Get in. Get in. I take you to the villa straight away. Hatsheput will be able to check your hands.”

Michael crawled into the back of the car and dropped against the seat before Jerry took off.

When they arrived Jerry ran ahead of Michael, opening the door and calling to anyone who could hear. Michael was close behind him, trying to stop him from waking the whole household. It didn’t work. Soon Nya was out of her room and running down the stairs, her mother not far behind.

As soon as Nya saw the blood on Michael’s shirt and hands she pressed one hand to her mouth. Hattie pushed past her and took Michael’s hands in her own. “Jerry,” the matronly woman urged. “You hurry and get me some towels, some alcohol, and some bandages.”

Without hesitation, the man skittered off down a long hallway. Hattie rushed Michael into the bathroom where she clucked over him as if he were her very own small child. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Mr. Reporter Man. You have to be careful, I tell you. You’re worse than that crazy girl in there.”

Michael listened to her patiently and only flinched slightly when she poured the alcohol Jerry had retrieved over his hands. He looked over her shoulder to see Nya looking on with a wan expression. She looked as if she were going to cry. He wanted to go to her and hold her and tell her that he was fine. Hattie continued cleaning his wounds, saying that he wouldn’t need any stitches, only a few bandages. He would be fine. After Michael had been tended, they all went into the great room and sat down with cups of tea.

When Hattie asked Michael for all the details of his adventure, he was hesitant in answering. He looked toward Nya for approval but could not read her gaze. “I was at Hatsheput. I decided to take a walk out there tonight, and there were some guys who wanted to start some trouble, that’s all.”

“You sure?” Hattie asked and Michael could tell that this woman knew there was something more.

“Yes,” he responded when he saw Nya’s bland expression break into one of pleading. She didn’t want to talk about this with her mother at all.

“Humph,” Hattie huffed and gathered her robe around her. She rose gracefully and started towards the stairs, mumbling to herself about ungrateful children. Michael smiled as he watched her disappear. Jerry excused himself shortly, after trying unsuccessfully to get a description out of Michael. Now that they were alone, Nya moved over to sit on the sofa next to Michael. She dropped her gaze to his neatly bound hands and took them gently in her own.

“Reach into my pocket,” Michael said softly.

Nya eyed him warily.

He chuckled. “There’s something you need, and my hands hurt like hell.”

Nya retrieved the flash drives. “Where did they come from?”

“Flash drives from a crate marked Bernard French.”

“You found it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God, what’s on them?”

“I don’t know. But I’m willing to bet we hit pay dirt.”

Nya ran out of the room and returned with a laptop. She powered it on and inserted one of the drives.

“There are dozens of files here.”

“But what are they?” Michael asked, coming over to crowd her in front of the screen.

“I don’t know, my laptop can’t read them.”

Michael whipped out his phone and started dialing. He spoke into it and turned to Nya. “We’re going to send copies to Derrick and to the Bureau. My money’s on Derrick cracking the encryption first, but hey, it doesn’t matter. If these files are what we think they are, we’ve got Mandolesi. We’ve got him!”

Nya began to upload the files as Michael watched. After she’d gotten to the fifth drive, she said to him, “You were right.”

Michael waited for her to continue.

“What you said earlier. I do care for you. I didn’t want to, God help me, I didn’t want to. I guess I couldn’t help myself, though. From that first day when I saw you on the plane—” Nya pressed her hand to her lips for the second time that night, speechless as she thought back to those first few moments she’d spent with Michael.