RETRACE (15 page)

I beam back at him, and everything clears off. We’re back to normal, for less than a second, that is. Abruptly it’s tension zone again, only this time it’s hard core. It starts with two phones beeping. With brows knitted and lips partly gaped, I watch as both Reeves and Jake produce two pairs of phones from their pockets. Both men observe the devices they have in their hands. Jake’s face instantly edges, while Reeves’ eyes turn from green to scary.

Jake’s next words are spoken as soon as Reeves’ stare darts to the door. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll tie you up if I’ll have to.”

Reeves’ jaw edges. He slowly turns to Jake. They have a short, wordless conversation till Jake inches up, gesturing with his hand for Reeves to follow. He clutches Reeves’ shoulder. “Let’s go visit the lady’s room, shall we?” They disappear in the wide corridor. “Mother Fuck has bigger balls than brain,” we hear Jake say as they duck behind a closed door.

Unfazed, Carmie shrugs. “Work…” To my surprise, she suggests the three of us go have desert on the balcony.

Reeves is not with me when we drive home. He might be the one steering the wheel, but his mind is elsewhere, a territory I seem to temporarily be banned from visiting. After the fourth time my attempt at starting a line of communication is dismissed by a curt answer, I let it go.

And yet, somehow I find myself turning to sleep next to him. I watch Reeves through the moon’s halo softly illuminating the dark room. Hard features, head rested on his hand over a pillow, staring, burning a hole in the ceiling. As my eyes become heavy, I feel the warmth of his hand covering mine. I turn my hand so we’re palm to palm and lace our fingers together. The last thought before falling asleep is of Reeves leaving for Cuba tomorrow, for a whole week, for work. The idea of not being able to sleep next to him for a whole week drops my mood even lower. Funny enough, I already miss him though he is right next to me.

Sunday evening finds me curled up under a woollen throw blanket with my skin burning and red, swollen eyes, damp cheeks, and the meanest knot causing havoc in my stomach. I look at the open card box on the table and saw my teeth through my lip. My mother thought I’d be happy to receive the last items I’d forgotten back home. Little did she know, these are the items I actually made sure to “forget.”

A small photo album of happier times.

Unused, two open return date tickets to Vienna.

The last note from Patrick. A note I made sure to hide away in the cover of the family photo album. The one I take out with shaky hands and an even shakier stomach. A note that makes my heart bleed.

Nia,

If there was anything I could have changed, take it back…

I’ve never meant to hurt you.

I’m so sorry for everything.

I love you.

Patrick

The box has been standing, accusingly, tauntingly, on the living room table since I got it on Monday, the beginning of a week that could easily be named a week crafted in hell. It’s been a week of odd numbers and plagued moods.

1 was the new friend/lover I was missing and needing like I’ve never thought I would.

3 were the times I’ve sobbed under a burning shower.

5 were the number of meals I’ve existed upon. If a small bag of Oreos can be considered a meal.

7 were the times I cried myself to sleep.

999 were the times I checked if I got my period.

For the umpteenth time, my eyes run between the small thumb peeping from The Russian’s notebook to the slightly ajar door. I chew my gum in agitated tempo, tapping my fingers on the table, waiting for the message to appear and confirm all the data has been successfully copied.

Shit. Unmistakeable heels patter my way. I raise my eyes to the vision of an advancing Mrs. Vasileva, who besides being my client’s wife, is also known for her distinguished, opulent, taste and her love for her husband’s young human shields. Jake once said that the lady has a hard time differentiating between fidelity and promiscuity as they kinda rhyme. I check the screen again, willing the damn process to complete.

It should be done any minute now, like the meeting being held in the next room. The last thing I need right now is company, of any sort. I can’t get caught hacking his hard drive. This guy doesn’t do slap on the wrist, it’s more in the vein of a body parts search across the damn Atlantic. I can’t even have him see the screen up.

“Mr. Mitchell.” The fine-looking wife of my client sways her hourglass, expensively clad body, into the room. A vision of beautiful affluence haloed by a cloud of heavy, sweet perfume. I send the notebook another glance before standing up to meet her, making sure I’m blocking her line of sight from the incriminating device.

“I think someone broke into the suite, can you come up with me to check it out?”

If I had a nickel for every time she used this excuse before…

She licks her perfectly painted red lips and runs a hand through her ass length, golden hair.

“Ma’am, your husband’s orders were very clear, I should stay here till he is done.” In other words
ma’am:
your husband would much rather not have anyone, accidently or not, interrupting the illegal weapons deal he is about to shake hands on, nor does he wish for his wife to fuck the staff.

“Mihkil will be very upset if I told him you disobeyed me.” She pulls a cigarette from a golden, thin case.
Disobey
. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that it’s a language barrier thing…

“Ma’am, you can’t smoke in here,” I say, well aware my time is dwindling. “I’ll check the room right after Mr. Vasileva is through. Why don’t you wait at the reception, just in case there was an entry?” I need her gone, right now. Her stare narrows at me. She twists her mouth and swings her curves toward me in slow steps. Shit.

She rests a red manicured hand on my chest, my eyes drop to follow her action. I shake my head. As she runs her milky hand over my navy-blue tie, I murmur through gritted teeth, “Your husband is in the next room.”

The Mrs. falls into two of my hardest limits, never to be crossed.

1. I’d never fuck anyone in a relationship.
   
2. I’d never fuck business for pleasure.
   

Last, she’s not Nia.

What. The. Fuck?!

“He is busy…” A thick Russian accent engulfs her whisper. The muscle above my jaw tightens. I rest a heavy hand on the small of her back. Silent but determined, I turn her to face the direction she came from and lead her to the door.

She gives me a hostile look over her shoulder and spits, “I can have you fired.”

“Do as you think fit, ma’am,” I say in a cold tone, prompting a flush of anger to cover her cheeks. Once Mrs. Cougar is out of the room, I’m back at the table. Just as the last of her steps fades, heavier steps echo from the corridor, where my client’s voice is heard way too close. Shit, shit, shit.

As The Russian’s silhouette crosses the room’s threshold, the confirming message pops: Files Copied Successfully.

“Here you go sir.” I hand him his laptop and phone while discreetly pulling the thumb out of the device with a pull of two fingers. Fuck, that was close. Inwardly, I beam. I love these adrenaline rush moments. Color me reckless, hell, I do.

I leave The Russian and his beloved wifey to pack and go get my stuff from the connecting room. Behind the closed door I pull out my burner and text Jake.

Done. I got it all. And then some.

Jake’s immediate reply makes me snort a laugh.

Honey, you just got me hard.

I leave the room, my carry-on in tow.

I finally let myself unwind, melding my back to the luxurious, leather chair, looking out the circular window. We’re scheduled to land in a couple of hours. This trip can’t end soon enough. I can’t wait to be home. However, I’ve promised Jake to run by the office, first thing.

“Can I get you anything?” Asks one of the two polished flight attendants for the third time.

“Water, please,” I say and try to seal out the high tones my client and his wife’s argument has taken. For the second time today I regret not flying back commercial. The Russian insisted I join them on his private jet, and I didn’t have it in me to argue the generous offer.

I adjust the ear buds and press play on my phone, listening to Fink until the last text from Hunter conjures before my closed eyes. Apparently there’s been quite a development with the A.Z case. Once we, Jake and I, called Hunter back, he briefed us, as much as he could, about a possibility of the sleeper cell—the one Ben, me, and our former unit, dismantled and arrested most of its members—reforming to avenge the fall of the original cell.

I’m not sure how I’ll react if I ever find out where their operation takes place this time. Who am I kidding? I know perfectly well how I’ll react and so do Hunter and Jake. That’s the crux of the reason I don’t get to have the full details. My fingers start to feel numb by my death grip on the sofa’s arm. I inhale slowly and exhale even slower for some moments. It’s the thought of seeing Nia later tonight that finally helps loosen my tension.

It’s been radio silence for Nia and me this week. Between being too busy, to hardly having a few moments a day to myself, to feeling it would be weird to call her, I just went with easy. I didn’t. She’s obviously a friend. A friend with whom I’ve been sleeping, literally and figuratively, for a while now. Somehow calling her just felt strange, maybe too involved. But still, trying to keep it casual or not, I can’t wait to see her.

“Son of a…” Jake mutters, his eyes wide open, looking at the thin screen standing amid debris of empty takeout boxes, papers, and cups on his cluttered table. He rubs his scruff, huffs, and turns to look at me. I nod with a hint of an annoyed twist on my lips.

“What are you going to do with it?” I ask Jake about the evidence I brought back, of The Russian’s illegal, to be putting it mildly, affairs. Let’s just say, the guy has his hands “full”. Full with everything that could possibly reek illicit.

“With his money and connections, this one is way out of my territory. I’ll pass it forward,” he says, clicking the mouse he holds, his face still glued to the monitor.

“He doesn’t spare on anything, eh?”

I pull out my buzzing phone from my pocket and check the screen. Nia.

Are you back?

A smile takes form on my face, a wide one, that is.

Am here.

Can you come down for a few?

“Do you still need me here?” I ask Jake. He shakes his head, not wavering his stare from the screen. “So, I’m out of here.” He nods to the monitor.

On my way, be there in 10.

I’m not sure what drops faster, my smile or my heart, to Nia’s expression as she opens the door. Happy to see me would be the last thing that jumps to my mind when she barely manages to pull her smile further than an inch to one side.

“Hey, what’s up?” I take a step forward to wrap her in my arms. She doesn’t answer and just burrows her head into my chest. My breath hitches at the enormous contentment that washes over me, finally having her in my arms.

“Not much,” she says to my tie, her voice entwined with a light shudder.

“Nia, what’s wrong?” I ask softly and hold her tighter. She sinks into me and my heart flutters. “Do you want to talk about it?” Her head gently bobs under my chin. I just hold her for a few beats more and then suggest we go for a walk.

“How was your trip?” She asks while we wait for the elevator.

“It was good.” I say, studying her face. She seems lost and tired. Worry creeps in, spreading slowly.

“How was your week?” I ask as we head toward the park, walking distance from our apartment complex.

“Could have been better.” She cinches her knee length, white cardigan around her slim waist. She doesn’t elaborate on her vague answer. We take a seat on a bench facing the duck pond. We both stare ahead at the water, the trees, the endless green. I turn sideway to face her.

“Nia, what’s wrong?”

She huffs and buries her face in her hands, “I don’t want to drop this on you. But…”

“You can drop anything on me. Talk to me,” I say, watching her squirm, still shielding her eyes from the world, from me.

“I feel so stupid… how could I let it happen… I actually didn’t do anything wrong. I just…” She sighs. “I’m so sorry Reeves, really, I never intended for anything to.” Another sigh. The escalating drumming sound in my ears is coming from my ribcage. I remove her hands from her face and hold each in mine.

“Look at me,” I say firmer but still with a soft edge. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, a thin watery layer had glossed them over. She worries her lips. My breath is held until she finally speaks.

“I’m late.”

Instinctively, my eyes dart to my watch. Late? Late? LATE! F…U…C…K! I nod calmly, still holding her hands, while a nauseating burning grows at the pit of my stomach.

“How late?”

“More than a week. It’s never happened before, I’m never late.”

“We were careful…” I think, unintentionally uttering the words out loud.

“We were,” she confirms softly, her eyes filled with concern.

“Did you… uh… have a test?”

She shakes her head.

“I didn’t. I didn’t have the courage to…”

“I see.” I frame her face with my hands and inch closer with mine. “Let’s do it together. Don’t worry. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.” She blinks and I caress her face with my eyes. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Her eyes soften and I lean even closer and softly press my lips to hers.

“Everything will be okay,” I say, even though a hurricane of worry is causing mayhem inside of me.

She quietly says my name as I inch to stand. My eyes link with hers. “I think I’ve just fallen deeper in friendship with you.”

My lips crook up, and the storm inside me calms a degree to her timid smile. “You’ve been
in
friendship
with me?”

“Hopelessly…” She grins and my lips pull higher.