Cravings (3 page)

Chapter 5

T
he days in Guayaquil sweltered. Sasha didn't have many clothes—the red dress Paul had given her, a pair of jeans and a sweater, and a cotton skirt, with a few T-shirts, three pair of underwear. It thrilled her that the hotel laundry worked magic on her clothes, now clean, at least.

So she wore her cotton skirt and a T-shirt as she walked along the beach, trying to remember where that shady cove was that she had found refuge in once before since she'd arrived. But as she walked along, she saw a sign for the library. Damn, she had gone in the wrong direction. But the Municipal Library of Guayaquil would be open and cool.

The library was a huge, oblong, very official looking building. She could get lost in here. Maybe she should.

She walked along the stacks of books, smiling at the others. Book people were good people. But did anybody here speak English? She found a section of books written in English. She pulled out a book on cacao. Then another. She took her book to a table and chair.

From
Brief History of Cacao in Ecuador
by Jeffrey G. Stern:

Sasha wanted to learn as much about chocolate as possible. She'd already learned a great deal by poking around with chocolatiers and pastry chefs employed by Ever Casinos and Hotels—owned by Sam Everidge, the man she once worked for. He and some of her colleagues used to think she was a bit crazy when it came to chocolate—the way she kept her apartment cool so her chocolate stash would stay fresher, the way she had it hidden everywhere, in every crack and crevice. The days she spent in Paris not shopping for clothing, but for chocolate. Of course, at this point, cocaine was not ruling her life. It was all before she'd become an addict. Finding her way back to chocolate had become a great healer for her.

She inwardly smiled when she remembered the way Sanj's face lit when she told him about her passion for chocolate.

Sanj.

Had she just made the worst mistake of her life by leaving him and his comfortable suite? But the name Jackson troubled her. It had to be Maeve's Jackson, which meant that Sanj was a friend of theirs. Which meant that once they were found, Sanj would certainly learn about Sasha and her past. Better to leave him now. It could get complicated—as well as dangerous.

She turned her attention to her books. The next thing she knew, the library was preparing to shut down. Time for her to find a place to sleep. She gathered her things, leaving the book at the table. A librarian caught her eye and nodded a greeting.

Sasha slipped into the bathroom, making certain nobody saw her. She climbed on the toilet, so if someone walked in, they wouldn't see her. She held her breath—would this work? Could she spend the night here in this cool building surrounded by books?

She waited and waited for what seemed an eternity. The lights went off. Was it safe? She stepped down off the toilet, and listened. So quiet. A few minutes later she slipped out of the bathroom. The library was lit by exit signs and a few small reading lamps. She eyed the couch in the corner, her heart beating madly—what would happen if she got caught?

Her stomach growled as she walked toward the couch. Hungry, she slipped onto the couch and lay her head down. She reached into her bag for the chocolates Sanj left for her.

She bit into one. Ganache, infused with tea. Dark. Robust. She allowed it to melt on her tongue. She settled into the cushions.

She drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Maeve.

Was she here? Sleeping next to her? Like in Morocco? Wait. Was she in Morocco?

She'd just gotten up to use the bathroom and had smelled something strange. Smoke? Electric? Then the explosion and horrifying screams in a language she didn't understand. She'd been in the bathroom. She touched the door and it fell. Oh no! Oh no! The room lit with fire. She grabbed her wet towel and her bag from the bathroom floor and flung the towel over her head. And she made it out of her room. So much confusion. So much death. The smell of burning. Smoke had filled her nose and burned her lungs.

She'd made it out alive and watched from a hillside as Maeve and Jackson assumed she was dead. She wanted to go to them. But something held her back. Here was her chance to really start again. If they thought she was dead, maybe Sam would too.

But he was not so easily fooled.

“You stupid bitch,” he growled at her more than once. “I own you. Don't you forget I pulled you out of the London gutter. I took care of you. Taught you everything you know.”

“But that was so long ago, Sam. I don't want this anymore.”

“Sasha, love,” he spat. “You don't get to choose.”

“I love Paul,” she said.

His hand slammed across her face—not the first time.

“Paul?” he said with venom in his voice. “Playboy-chef who also happens to be married? You stupid whore. Why would he want you?”

“He loves me,” she said through her already swelling lips.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Loves you? Nobody loves you but me. I took you off the streets, taught you everything you know.”

His expression shot fear through her—it was worse than she'd even been frightened of him before. He pushed her down to the bed. She fought back. Which was one of the worst things she could have done . . .

She should have agreed to stay with Sam. She should have taken it. If she had, maybe Paul would still be alive. He wouldn't be with her. But he would be alive. She rolled over on the couch, sobbing, between wakefulness and sleep. Someone said something. Was she dreaming?

“Señora?”

Her heart almost stopped.

“Yes,” she said, sitting up.

“Closed,” the security guard said. “You've been here all night?”

She nodded and reached for her bag.

“I'm sorry I drifted off to sleep,” she said.

The man seemed concerned. “Okay?”

She nodded. He tried his best to communicate in broken English.

“Follow me,” he said, then led her to the door.

“Thanks,” she told him. She walked out of the library into cool early morning air.

She took a deep, pull-up-your-big-girl-panties breath. She didn't want to trouble Sanj. But she suddenly realized Sanj was her only option. Well, at least until she found Maeve. The only thing to do was to come clean with Sanj and place it in his hands. She was so glad he'd given her the card key to his room. He trusted her enough to do that. She owed him an explanation.

But when she entered the suite, she was met with his soft snores. Poor guy. Asleep on the couch, half-undressed.

Chapter 6

A
throbbing pain in Sanj's neck awoke him with a start. Damn, he'd fallen asleep on the couch, completely clothed—shoes and all. Well, one shoe. Where was the other one? He was twisted in his clothes—his jacket half-on, belt undone. He was a mess. Finally he sat up, checked out the clock on the wall: 11:30. And it was light. So it must be
A.M.
Had he really slept all that time?

Coffee.

If he could just pour it into his veins, instead of having to make it and wait for it.

But wait. Was that coffee he smelled or was he dreaming?

He lumbered toward the kitchen and found a full pot of freshly made coffee. Someone had been in the kitchen of his suite.

Mary.

He poured himself a cup of the steaming liquid and turned around to see her on the balcony, looking out over the harbor. She appeared deep in thought.

His eyes scanned the room. His other shoe was under the table? He shook his head. He must have been half-dead. He made his way to the bathroom. When he came back out, she sat in the same place, in the same position.

He opened the glass door and stepped out, the air hot and sticky, making him immediately regret his movement.

“Mary?” he said.

“Sanj!” She turned around and wiped her face quickly.

Had she been crying?

“Not dead, then,” she said.

He laughed and sat down, taking another drink of his coffee.

“Thanks for making the coffee,” he said. “I should have gotten you some.”

“I've had plenty today,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm sore,” he said, sitting down on the chair next to her. “My neck . . . all twisted.”

She immediately rose and reached for his neck and began to rub it. “Do you like this?” she asked.

“Mmmm.” he said, leaning forward to make it easier for her. “It hurts, but it feels good.”

She made a little noise—a
humph,
or a stifled a laugh.

Her fingers rubbed his tight neck, loosening those muscles within minutes. “Oh, Mary. You know what you're doing with those hands, don't you?”

“One of my many talents,” she said with a laugh.

He reached for her hand and kissed it. She pulled it away.

“Mary?”

“Sanj,” she said, walking toward the edge of the balcony, gazing out into the distance. “We need to talk.”

“We do?”

She turned to face him. “My name isn't Mary.”

He must still be half-asleep. The sun suited her, her hair blowing in the slight breeze. This desperate woman who pleaded with him for help. Now he finds out Mary is not even her name. What's going on here? Just what is this woman up to?

“I really like you, Sanj,” she said. “And everything I've told you is the truth.”

His heart raced. But . . . he knew a “but” was coming. This woman coming to him, offering herself to him. It was too good to be true. His assistant, Josh, would never let him forget this. He had let a strange woman into his suite!

And like a fool he fell for it, had hoped he and she might become lovers.

“Except your name?” he said, then gulped his coffee. “What is it?”

The hotel phone began to ring. “I really have to get this,” he said. “Excuse me.”

He left the balcony.

“Sir,” the person on other end of the phone said. “We have received a fax for you. A carrier will be to your room momentarily.”

“Thank you,” he said, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He laughed. He was a mess—wrinkled, unshaven, filthy.

Mary was now in the room with him—but he was overwhelmed by the need to take a shower. Who was this woman?

“Sign for the package coming to the room, please,” he said with a clipped tone. “I really need to get cleaned up.”

“Certainly,” she said, smiling in a weird way.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she returned. “It's just that your fly is down and, um . . .”

Embarrassed, he turned and quickly walked away.

 

How would he react? Would he throw her out? Maybe she shouldn't tell him everything. But wait. He had helped her. He was still helping her. Didn't she owe him the truth? The old Sasha would not care about the truth—she only cared about her next fix, most of the time. This caring business, this truth business, it was tricky. Her thoughts turned to Paul. Such a good man. He inspired her and helped her in so many ways. But he was gone.

“Mary?”

She jumped and turned about to face Sanj. The possibility of him being an Indian god placed on earth suddenly overwhelmed her. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a white clingy T-shirt that showed his chest and his arms. His mocha skin gleamed against the white. Titillating.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said, smiling, revealing two deep dimples.

She'd never been so affected by a man before—well, not genuinely. She was studied. She knew how to show a man her interest, but it was acting. All in the name of business. She felt her face heat. Was she—was she really blushing?

Her eyes darted away from him. “More coffee?”

“Sure,” he said. “Did you sign for the package?”

“Yes,” she said, pouring the coffee. “Envelope is on the table.”

He sat at the table, opened the envelope, and read over the papers.

She sat the coffee in front of him. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” he said.

He studied those papers intently.

“What is it?” she finally asked.

“It's an itinerary. I don't know how helpful it will be, but it's a start,” he said.

“Someone has planned your schedule?” she asked. Just how rich was this man?

He sat the paper down in front of her. “I'm not answering any more questions until you tell me who you are and what you want with me.”

Her heart lurched. His eyes became serious, his jaw hardened; the man's hackles raised.

Their eyes met.

“Okay,” she said. “What do you want to know?”

“Let's start with your name, shall we?”

“Sanj—”

“I mean it. Tell me now,” he said sternly.

“My name is Sasha,” she said, meeting his eyes, her chin held firmly in place. She could do this, become the woman who would make Paul and Maeve proud.

“Why did you lie?”

“I told you I'm hiding from a very dangerous man.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I had no idea who you were. It has nothing to do with you, except—”

“Except what?”

“Except I've learned over the years the less you know the more protected you are. I thought if you didn't know my name, you'd be in less danger, if he caught up with me and by some chance, you.”

He appeared to mull that over, then lifted one eyebrow. “So now?”

“I am a recovering coke addict, Sanj. I'm working on things like honesty. There was a man in my life a few years ago who changed everything for me. He made me want to be a better person. But after you've lived your life so long one way, it's difficult to change. So it's very easy for me to lie, I'm afraid.”

He sat back in his chair and took another sip of coffee. “Sasha,” he said. He cocked his head. “Don't get me wrong. I don't trust you, but your skills at lying could come in very handy for me. I might need you to help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's my friend. I think she's in trouble. Her husband definitely is. He's in prison,” he told her. “I'm waiting on word as to when I can see him. Maybe he knows where his wife is.”

“She's missing?”
And are you talking about Maeve?

He nodded.

“We were supposed to be vacationing together, here. Something has gone horribly wrong,” he said.

“But how can I help?”

“A beautiful woman who's skilled at lying and, um, manipulating might be useful,” he said, taking her in with his eyes.

“I'm not sure I'm worth the risk, Sanj, and I'm not sure about the beautiful part, anymore.” She pointed to her scar.

“I'll tell you what,” he said. “You let me be the judge of that. In the meantime, you can stay here. You are safe here.”

“Thank you,” she said, a wave of relief washing over her.

“Now, I have an assignment for you. I need to get Jackson's cameras. I'm betting they are in the hotel safe. I asked about it earlier. There is a safe in his name. Do you think we can get into the safe? I mean, you certainly can think of something, right?”

“How much cash do you have, Sanj?” she asked, knowing how susceptible hotel workers were to bribery.

He placed a one-thousand-dollar bill in her hand. She was happy Ecuador used American dollars because Sanj was flush with them.

“This will be easy,” she said, taking the money and leaving the room.

First stop, the desk clerk to ask for change. Five hundred dollars ought to do it. She certainly didn't need to use the whole amount. The desk clerk nodded and smiled at her as he handed her the change. They made eye contact. This might be the best time. Could she be so lucky to be presented with the opportunity so quickly?

“I'm told you have my friend Jackson's safe,” she said.

“Jackson?”

“Jackson Dodds.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, as his eyes fell to her breasts, then back up to her face.

She held the five-hundred-dollar bill between her fingers and gave it a slight wave.

If the man were a dog, his ears would have pricked up and his tail would have wagged.