Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) (20 page)

Indigenous people the world over, Talia knew, used natural herbs to cure all kinds of ailments and treat injuries…or do in their enemies. She had learned the names and uses of many plants while following scientists through South American rainforests and across the Siberian wilderness, shooting photos for magazine spreads and news stories.

Among the thousands of plants used by primitives, many possessed hallucinatory properties. But not many bore leaves the shape the woman tore off. Even fewer had blossoms as distinctive.

Easter colors, Talia thought. Purple and yellow. Purple and yellow. Where had she seen them before?

Then it came to her.
Henbane.
That was what they’d been feeding her, along with just enough food to keep her alive. No wonder her body had all but stopped functioning.

Henbane contained the narcotics hyoscyamine and scopolamine. Potent natural painkillers and sleep inducers. The plant also acted as an antispasmodic and muscle relaxant—that’s what one doctor-botanist had told her. On another assignment she’d seen a Native American medicine man prescribe it for a patient with asthma. “But only in the weakest of tinctures,” he warned. Too much and it became a deadly poison.

“Porridge ready,” the man said. He slid a pot off of a single-burner alcohol stove.

Talia wanted to cry out in protest, but didn’t dare. Helplessly, she watched as the woman stirred henbane pulp into the gluey pot.

“My body itches all over,” the man said. At least that was Talia’s awkward translation. “Leave the pot on her bed and let’s go.”

“We have to make sure she eats,” the woman argued.

A tin bowl appeared beside Talia’s cheek. She let her eyes drift all the way closed.

“Eat,” the woman ordered, thrusting a spoonful of mush against her captive’s closed lips. “You need your strength, babushka.”

I need my sanity. My life!
  Had she possessed the strength to fight them, she would have.

“If you are going to feed her I will finish watching my show,” the man said. “Sex and the City. These American women!” He laughed. “You wouldn’t believe how many men they schtoop.”

“Shut up!” the woman snapped. “Come here and help me make her eat. She is being stubborn today.”

One of them seized her jaw with strong fingers and forced it open. A huge spoon pressed between her lips. The glop tasted as though it had been buried in the ground. When Talia tried to push the metal spoon out with her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut and feigning unconsciousness, they forced it back in.

“Eat,” the woman ordered in mangled English. “Is for your own good.”

Rough fingers pinched her nose. Talia had no choice. Swallow or choke on the slop. They only let her take breaths between spoonfuls.

The delirium returned with remarkable speed. She thought the woman must be Baba Yaga, the mythical Russian witch purported to capture bad little children and eat them. Only this one force-fed her. To fatten her up for later consumption?

Lying on her side, Talia was off again. Drifting. Free of pain. Free of desire to run, move, or do anything.

Salty tears trailed from her eyes, across her cheek and into the corner of her lips.

She wept for her daughter—her sweet, gifted, loving Mercy. She wept for Mark who would be crazy with worry for her. The two of them were her world.

I’m begging You, God. Please, oh please—let me see them again!

But wouldn’t that take a miracle? Maybe she didn’t deserve one.

She prayed anyway. 

                                          21

“Wow! How cool is this?” Kristen giggled. “It’ll be so much more fun having a girlfriend along for the cruise.”

What had begun as lunch on the Mystic Voyager with Kristen, Amos and three sullen-looking men in suits, had segued into an invitation for Mercy to join the couple on three days of island hopping aboard their yacht.

After returning to her suite to pack a bathing suit, extra clothing, and toiletries, Mercy visited the dead drop stool at Tickles. She sat down at the bar, ordered a piña colada and sipped her drink while tucking a message for Margaret beneath the seat. She’d included descriptions of the three businessmen. (They weren't accompanying them on the cruise.) To her frustration, she’d been unable to listen in on much of their conversation with Amos, since Kristen had dragged her away to a separate table at the bow of the ship.

By the time Mercy returned to the Mystic Voyager with her carry-on, Kristen had set up cocktails and pre-departure appetizers beside the onboard hot tub.

Amos barely acknowledged Mercy’s arrival and stared morosely across the crystal-blue harbor. He wore a bright red Speedo, his hairy belly drooping forlornly over the waistband. He slouched, his tan but flabby thighs falling apart. Mercy tried to ignore the crotch display. She was certain it wasn’t intentional. At least she hoped not. He’d been on best behavior since she’d warned him off the first time. But now that the meeting with his business associates had put him in the dumps she hoped he wouldn’t come to her for cheering up.

“You’re sure you don’t mind my coming along, Amos?” Mercy asked.

“I don’t give a rat’s fuck,” he grumbled. “Damn islands all look alike. What’s the point of anchoring in some desolate cove that don’t even have a bar?”

“It’s
ro-man-tic
.” Kristen’s tone was less than tender. She tossed him an annoyed glare that said, ‘Don’t you get it, jerk?’ “If I’m in the tropics I don’t want to be staring at ass ends of cargo ships and stinky pump-out stations. I want palm trees and white sand and hibiscus flowers and flamingoes and –”

“They don’t have flippin’ flamingoes in the VI!” Amos shouted. “I keep telling you, you dumb sheila. They’re pelicans.”

Mercy felt embarrassed for poor Kristen but said nothing. 

“Whatever.” Kristen sighed, as if not so much offended as giving up on him. She turned back to Mercy. “I just love nature, don’t you?”

“The more natural the better,” Mercy said. “Except, it’s hard to do without Neiman Marcus and good French Champagne.” Neither of which really made a difference to her, but she suspected Kristen Bellamy would agree.

Kristen rolled her eyes expressively. “Oh, I know what you mean, sweetie. Fuzzy little critters are great, but you have to get back to the real world sooner or later.” She cast her husband a dismal look. “I feel like I been on this freakin’ tub my entire life. Not one shopping mall in months.”

“But cruising halfway around the world,” Mercy pointed out, “that’s a great adventure.”

“I guess.” Kristen wrinkled her nose in her husband’s direction. He seemed intent on ignoring further conversation, having picked up a newspaper and slouched down in his deck lounger, his greasy ponytail flopped over the back of the chair. Kristen poured Cosmopolitans from a silver shaker for herself and Mercy. “Thing is, when Amos told me we were going on a long, romantic cruise to the islands I thought he meant Hawaii. Then off we go in the other direction and through that boring canal. And here we are, after weeks and weeks of shitty weather and me being seasick half the time.” She jerked her head toward Amos. “And what does he want to do as soon as we stop in a nice place? Sit in the middle of a commercial harbor then head straight up to the frozen tundra.”

“Canada?” Mercy asked.

“Yeah, Canada. Can you believe that? Like, I don’t even have my furs with me.”

“It’s beautiful this time of year,” Amos mumbled from behind his sports section. “You’ll love it.”

Kristen grimaced and sipped her icy drink. The glass sweat droplets onto her bare thighs. “I guess I’ll have to be content with a couple of weeks in paradise, ‘cause that’s all he’s gonna give me.”

“Then we’ll just make the most of it,” Mercy said cheerfully.

She didn’t want the two of them fighting. She was counting on Kristen to keep Amos busy in bed at night, giving her the opportunity to search areas of the ship she’d marked on the deck plans the broker had given her earlier that day.

“Do you snorkel?” Mercy asked.

Kristen made a face. “I doggie paddle. I don’t like putting my face in the water. Water scares me.”

“If you want to work on your swimming stroke, I could teach you,” Mercy offered. “Once you learn the proper way, you won’t be afraid.”

“Really?” Kristen looked unsure at first, and then beamed at her. She poured the remainder of the Cosmo mix into her glass then held the cocktail shaker up like a semaphore. A steward responded immediately with a replacement. “You think you really could turn me into a swimmer?”

“Sure. I’ll be glad to coach you. I swam for my college team. Thought about trying out for the Olympics at one point.”

“You hear that, Amos? Mercy’s a champion swimmer, and she’s gonna teach me.”

“I’m tickled pink.” Amos pushed up out of his chair and walked away.

Kristen watched him disappear into the salon, her pretty eyes misty. “Don’t mind Amos,” she whispered. “He’s just in a sucky mood because those guys he met with were on his case.”

“About what?” Mercy sipped her drink, trying to sound only mildly interested.

“I don’t know. Something about one of his uber-ships, I guess. You know—the big cargo carriers. Plus he’s pissed at me because I made him fire that tramp from our crew.”

Mercy suddenly realized she hadn’t seen the sole female crew member in two days. “You mean the young woman who was touching up the paint on the day I met you?”

Kristen nodded and gulped down half of her refreshed Cosmo. “That wasn’t all she was touching.”

Knowing Amos’s inclination for fooling around, Mercy guessed he’d been the one to start something.

Kristen seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Maybe it wasn’t her fault,” she continued with a sigh. Tears welled up in the petite redhead’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Mercy reached across the space between their deck chaises to rest a hand on her arm.

Kristen gave her a watery smile. “I don’t know why I care so much. Sometimes, you know, I think he’s just a jerk.” She sniffled then laughed softly. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t have an ice pick or something in my hand when I caught them. Right?” She shuddered on a sob. “But I love him. I do.”

“Of course you do.” Mercy’s heart ached for her. Kristen might not be the most brilliant star in the galaxy but she was sweet and cared deeply for her man—whether he deserved her or not.

Time for a strategic change of subject. “Hey, weren’t you going to show me those new clothes you said you bought in town this morning?”

Kristen blinked away tears and produced a brave albeit dim smile. “Sure. Let’s go below to my cabin. No use spoiling our day just ‘cause Amos is…Amos.”

At sunset Captain Jobson powered up the engines, and they set off across the harbor and out into open water at a leisurely pace with a crew of six, all male. Kristen seemed happier and more relaxed. Amos, although not exactly cheerful, spoke civilly when he wasn’t absorbed in studying his laptop screen. Two hours later they had crossed Pillsbury Sound to the neighboring island of St. John. The Voyager rounded the western tip of the island and anchored in Hawk’s Nest Bay.

It was a beautiful sheltered little cove, ringed by hills covered with spiky yucca, scrub pine, and wild brush. Splashes of color shone through the deepening dusk—hibiscus blooms, she guessed. Mercy watched brown pelicans—their crooked necks, pouchy bills, and hinged wings making them look like prehistoric creatures as they dove into the clear blue water and, more often than not, came up with a fish. Then, in squadrons of four or more, the big birds flew up from their evening fishing forays to roost in the tops of coconut palms. Hawksbill turtles the size of patio tables swam curiously around the boat, attracted by its shimmering green underwater lights. Gentle waves lapped musically against the sleek, white hull. If Mercy hadn’t been so urgently aware of her mission, she would have been in heaven.

The on-board chef grilled thick Porterhouse steaks on the aft deck gas grill. They sizzled juicily, filling the air with delicious aroma while Mercy soaked in the hot tub with her hosts. All three drank Champagne with their steaks and talked as the stars came out. Amos seemed to have mellowed. He moved to a double-wide chaise then beckoned his wife over. They sat cozily, his arm draped around her shoulders as Kristen and Mercy made plans for a first swimming lesson.

Amos eventually dozed off, and Kristen slipped out from under his hairy arm, planting a tender kiss on his cheek without waking him.

“Come on,” Mercy said, tossing off the terry beach robe she’d worn over her bikini, as much for warmth in the cooling night as to avoid Amos’s lustful glances. “Let’s start with a little swim now. The water looks wonderful.”

“At night?” Kristen frowned, looking worried.

“You’ll be fine. I found floaties in the chest of water toys, to put on your arms. They’ll keep your head above the water and help you get comfortable. Little steps, Kristen,” she encouraged cheerfully.

The water felt silky-smooth, as warm as bathwater after steeping all day in the potent tropical sunshine. By midnight, Kristen had made considerable progress. She’d learned to float with her face in the water, blowing bubbles while Mercy counted to ten. They climbed back up from the platform at the stern and dried off with fluffy white towels.