“You’re in for an adventure,” Brad said. “There’s no place in this world like Cuba.”
“I’m not looking for adventure.”
“We are!” Naomi elbowed her sister. “Aren’t we, Judy?”
“What are you looking for?” Brad kept his gaze on Anika.
She could see him studying her, his eyes moving down her face, to the dangle of her earrings, the drape of her ponytail, the curve of her neckline. Why was he so interested? Was it innocent attraction? Or had he been sent to find her?
“Right now, I’m looking for the bathroom.” Anika raised her eyebrows. “Do you know where it is?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Brad smiled. “Down the hallway, second door on the right.”
Naomi leaned in toward him. “Brad, what are your suggestions for two girls who
are
looking for adventure?”
Anika skirted the corner of the table and headed for the hallway. At its entrance, she counted three doors on the left and two on the right. Judging from the strength and direction of the teenager’s voice when he had responded to his father’s impatient command, she guessed his room was the last one on the left.
Behind the unlocked door, she found a computer that looked a lot like the relics she had trained on at the orphanage. She pressed the power button. Nothing.
She tried it again and the computer started up with a low hum. With her fingers on the keyboard, she prepared to type in the private channel. But when the screen came to life, she froze at the bold-typed warning that flashed across its surface.
¡ALERTA! ¡ESTAS PERSONAS NO SE HAN INSCRITO CON LA POLICÍA!
Underneath the caption, smaller text requested the public’s help in providing the police with information on the whereabouts of the unregistered foreigners shown below. Thirty pictures — mostly women — dotted the screen. Anika’s image appeared second row, fourth from the left. Underneath each picture were names, countries of origin, dates.
She breathed a little easier when she saw that the information under her picture was the same as her alias. Still, she didn’t like knowing her face was being displayed on computer screens around Havana.
Was that why Brad had been studying her across the table? Had he seen this alert?
She blew out a short breath. Typed in the private channel and made a silent wish.
Be here. Please be here.
The monitor flickered and she thought for a second her wish had been granted. Then the room plunged into darkness. The laughter from the dining room died.
Her adrenaline kicked in and she reached for the Glock strapped to her side. She exited the room, moving on instinct and training, senses on high alert. She backtracked down the dark hall, guided by memory and excited voices.
“Second blackout since we arrived … ”
“Can’t believe this is the middle of the twenty-first century … ”
“ … worse than Argentina.”
“ … damn country can’t keep the lights on.”
“Thomas, please … ”
Anika rounded the corner.
No light penetrated the dining room, despite the sheer curtains at the windows. The streetlights were out. So maybe this was a legitimate blackout.
“ … kind of fun. What about you, Brad?”
Something clicked and a tiny light glowed from a tube in Brad’s outstretched palm.
“Where’s Jane?” Mr. Mottesi asked.
“I’m here.” Anika slipped into her seat, the gun tucked out of sight.
The Estradas brought out candles.
“Are you all right?” Brad asked her.
“Of course.” She slowed her breath. “It’s only a blackout, right?” Not a raid, not a mission, she told herself. Not even a drill like the kind U.N.I.T. used to spring on first- and second-year trainees. She glanced at the miniature glow stick Brad had activated. “You’re well-prepared.”
Like a field operative.
“Blackouts are pretty common here.”
“I like them,” Naomi declared. “They’re romantic, don’t you think?” She and Judy giggled like middle schoolers.
Anika turned to Mrs. Bossert who was digging into her food with relish. “Are you and your husband sightseeing tomorrow? Maybe we could meet up.”
And maybe you could help me avoid the police.
“We’d like that. Unfortunately, this is our last night in Cuba. We leave for Copenhagen in the morning.” Mrs. Bossert dropped her voice and flicked a glance at Brad. “I have a feeling he would be more than happy to show you around.”
Across the table, Naomi monopolized Brad. Her hand kept darting out to touch his arm every few words.
Anika read his body language. His upper body faced forward and he kept his arm firmly on the table, marking his boundary.
You’re being polite. If you were really interested, you’d turn toward her and lower your arm.
“When did you say you’re heading back to the States, Brad?” Anika cut Naomi off in mid-sentence
.
“In two more days.” He turned toward her.
“Judy and I haven’t made any plans for tomorrow.” Naomi extended her hand again. “Would you like — ” Lemonade sloshed out of her overturned glass and spilled into her lap. She jumped up. “What the — ”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Anika held up the pitcher of lemonade. “I was just trying to refill your glass when I knocked it over.” A large wet spot spread across the front of Naomi’s skirt. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
“Excuse me.” Naomi spoke through a tight jaw. Her heels rapped against the wood floor as she walked away from the table.
“Any special plans before you go home?” Anika picked up the plantains and presented them to Brad.
“Not really.” He reached for the bowl of pale yellow crunchy strips. “What about you?”
“I’m waiting for inspiration.” Anika made sure her fingers brushed his before she released the bowl.
“Maybe I could help with that.”
“It sounds as if you know Havana quite well. Have you spent your entire time here?”
“No, I just returned yesterday. On this visit, I’ve been staying near Guardalavaca.”
“Where is that?”
“Farther south, along the coast. It’s a resort town, west of Holguin. I rented a cottage from a cousin of the Estradas. Right on the beach.”
“It sounds charming.”
“It’s a bit primitive by Western standards, but perfect for my needs.”
Anika smiled at him and watched the effect it had. A swallow, a slight flush of the cheeks.
Naomi reappeared, her face composed despite the wet spot on her skirt that had grown to the size of a dinner platter. “What did I miss?” She started to sit.
“Careful.” Anika held up her hand. “The chair’s still damp.”
“This one’s dry.” Mr. Mottesi pulled back the chair next to him.
Naomi’s lips tightened and she flounced away.
“What do you do in Toronto, Jane?” Brad asked.
“I teach art to high schoolers.”
“So you’re a teacher, too!”
Cupping her chin in her hand, Anika rested her elbow on the table and leaned toward Brad as if he were the only one in the room.
Got you.
Over the next thirty-six minutes, Anika drew Brad in deeper with question after question. When she was satisfied she had gathered enough intel, she stopped him mid-sentence with a not-quite-smothered yawn.
“Tired?” His tone was sympathetic and, she was gratified to note, a little disappointed.
“Maybe we could pick it up tomorrow,” she said.
“Great! Breakfast at nine? I can meet you at your hotel.”
She did a quick calculation. The computer centers opened at 0830 hours. With delays and re-boots, she needed more time. “I’m not big on breakfast. How about coffee at ten? The lobby at The Europa.” She picked the hotel where the taxi driver had dropped her off that first night.
“It’s a date.”
“I think I’ll call it a night then.” She stood to leave.
“Want to share a taxi?”
She started to shake her head, then reconsidered. Maybe they would pass a policeman or two so she could test his effectiveness as a buffer. No point wasting her time tomorrow if he wasn’t going to be of any help.
“Do you mind if we walk a little first? I think I overdid it on those plantains.”
“That sounds even better.”
The broad grins on the men’s faces telegraphed their thoughts —
Lucky bastard!
Their wives’ smiles conveyed a sweeter sentiment.
The glowers from Naomi and Judy told a different story. Anika hoped the Australians didn’t pay too much attention to police alerts or she would be reported to the local officials in a nano second.
Outside in the warm night, she and Brad strolled along the pavement while samba and reggae beats pulsed from every open window. A soft breeze tickled her bare arms and neck. Beside her, Brad hummed along with the music. She couldn’t decide if she was grateful or frustrated by the darkness that made them less visible to the
policía
.
They passed a store window and she caught a glimpse of the two of them walking side-by-side. In that moment, she could almost believe her cover as a high school art teacher, visiting a tropical land, being escorted back to her hotel by an attentive, good-looking man she had met in a chance encounter.
Longing as powerful as the surf near the
Malecón
swept over her, followed by a backwash of anxiety.
Where are you? Why aren’t you here, beside me, instead of him?
She heard her own sigh before she could stop it.
“A
peso
for your thoughts?” Brad stepped out into the street.
A single blinding headlight rushed at them in the black night.
Her arm shot out. She found cloth, grabbed hold, and yanked with all of her strength. Brad fell against her. Searing heat shot up her wounded leg and she hissed out a cry of pain.
The motorbike roared past and disappeared into the darkness. Laughter floated over the fading engine.
“Stupid kids. I never saw them coming.” Brad ran a hand through his hair. “That’s the second time today you’ve saved me. Are you all right?” He touched her arm, his voice tight with concern.
“Fine.” The word edged out between clenched teeth. “You?”
“Yeah. You’re really strong.”
She noted surprise in his voice. “Not really.” She shifted her stance to ease the fiery sensation in her leg. “Your own weight did most of the work. It’s a trick I learned from one of my students. He’s into Ki.”
“Some trick.”
They started to walk again.
She couldn’t completely mask a limp.
“You’re hurt!” Brad’s brows drew together and his voice sharpened in alarm.
“Recent injury,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Let’s get a taxi.” Before she could stop him, Brad called out to a man lounging against a car across the street. “Lean on me.” He threaded her arm through his. Then, as if thinking aloud, he added, “I wish Maggie were here. She could do something for your leg.”
“Maggie?” With each painful step, the boxy Honda became more inviting. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, remember?” Brad looked over at her, a smile playing around his lips. “You already asked me that at dinner.”
Just double-checking.
“Maggie and her husband Roberto own the cottage where I stayed near Guardalavaca. Her real name is Magdalena, but she prefers Maggie. She’s a chef at one of the big resorts in town.”
Brad continued holding onto her as he opened the rear passenger door. Once inside, he lifted up her leg and placed it across his lap.
She bit back a protest at his take-charge behavior.
Remember, you’re a single woman on holiday. Let him play the gentleman.
“Hotel Europa,
por favor
.” Brad instructed the driver, then turned back to Anika.
“Okay?” Concern creased his forehead.
“Better. About your friend, Maggie. Her cooking cures wounds?”
Brad laughed. “It doesn’t, but her medicine does. She’s a doctor. Trained in the States. But she can’t make decent money in Cuba, not with the government wage controls. So she cooks. She’s a genius with pharmas and medicinal herbs. I sliced my foot open on some coral once and she had me up and walking again in two days.”
“Sounds like a gifted woman.”
The taxi crawled through the traffic.
“I could call her and ask what she’d suggest for your leg,” he offered. “How did you hurt it?”
She thought back to the deserted gloom of the defunct airport terminal, the seconds ticking down, the sharp stab through her thigh.
“Clumsy fall,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ve got pain killers back in my room.”
At the Hotel Europa, Brad insisted on walking her to the elevator. When the door slid open, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can manage from here.”
Be friendly, be nice.
“See you in the morning, then?”
He nodded and stepped back. She entered the waiting car and gave a quick wave. Once the door closed, she shut her eyes and leaned back against the wall.
Alone. At last. Too bad she wasn’t staying here. She gave a sigh. She still had to make her way to the Santa Isabel. Three floors up, she got out and caught a car going down.
The lobby stretched before her like a vast sea of polished tile. Taking small steps helped to minimize the pain. She visualized her room at the Santa Isabel, the distance to the settee, the hole in the lining where she had hidden the medical kit with the Numb-It and pain blockers. She imagined squeezing out a thick strip of the numbing gel. Waiting for it to smother the fire.
Almost there. Five more paces to the chair where that woman is sitting. Seven paces past her to the doorman.
The woman’s head bent over an old-style paper magazine. Glossy pages covered her lap. Her long earring swung from her lobe like a pendulum. Something about the earring seemed familiar.
Anika’s eyes narrowed in concentration. She tried to see the woman’s face, but only caught the slope of her cheek and the tip of her nose. Her long dark hair hung loose across her shoulders. The woman’s features didn’t register with Anika, but her earring did.
Several strands of white and turquoise beads were secured midpoint by an opaque silver circle. Not unlike several pairs she had seen at the dollar stores or in the street stalls. Still, she didn’t think she had seen this particular pair for sale.