Three Wrong Turns in the Desert

by Neil S. Plakcy

  7 – Hidden Numbers

  Aidan was about to tell the driver to go when the cab door popped open and Liam jumped inside, carrying a canvas duffle. He said something in rapid Arabic to the driver, and they were off. Twisting around to look out the rear window, Aidan saw the soldiers talking and gesturing to each other, one of them pulling out a radio.

  The cab turned the corner and the soldiers disappeared from view. No siren-blaring police cars pulled behind them as they navigated the narrow, crowded streets to Aidan’s apartment. That was good news. “There were police watching my place,” Liam said quietly. “I managed to sneak out the back just as they broke down my front door.”

  “So they know who you are.”

  Liam shifted the duffle between them but said nothing, his mouth set in a grim line. At Aidan’s apartment, Liam made Aidan wait in the cab until he had checked that the way was clear, and then they hurried through the elaborate grillwork door to the lobby.

  Liam carried Carlucci’s suitcase, with his duffle slung over his shoulder, and climbed the stairs effortlessly. Aidan followed, stopping to pet the dog outside his door as he fumbled for his keys.

  Once inside, Liam took his cell phone over to the window, and Aidan poured fresh cold water into the dog’s bowl. While she lapped noisily, Aidan hoisted Carlucci’s roll-aboard to the table and started lifting things out. Liam appeared next to him a moment later, and began to survey each item, opening the lining on Carlucci’s suit jacket and feeling inside.

  “What are we looking for?” Aidan asked.

  “Don’t know,” Liam said. “Anything that doesn’t belong where it is.”

  Aidan inspected the toiletries. There were no diamonds stuck at the bottom of the shampoo bottle, no false bottoms or secret compartments in anything. They worked for an hour and came up empty-handed.

  Liam’s cell phone rang again and he stepped away to take the call. Aidan though it was a good thing there was nothing romantic between them or he’d start to get very jealous of all these secret calls.

  When Liam returned he said, “We’re looking for an account number and a password.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re going to have to read through everything. Look for patterns—the number may be camouflaged in something else, a letter or a memo.”

  Aidan was cranky over the secrecy, but he had to remind himself that he wasn’t a spy or a bodyguard or a former Navy SEAL or whatever it was that Liam was. He was just an ESL teacher who’d been dumped by his boyfriend and set off for an adventure on the other side of the world.

  As time passed, Liam got increasingly frustrated. He even bumped into Aidan once, which was quite unlike him; he usually moved with such catlike grace that he had passed by before Aidan even knew he was near. He cut open the lining of each of Carlucci’s garments, and analyzed the labels with a magnifying glass. When Aidan saw him holding up a pair of Carlucci’s boxers to the light, he couldn’t help laughing. They were patterned with red and white striped candy canes—probably someone’s Christmas gift to him.

  Then he remembered Blake, who had bought Aidan a pair of white cotton boxers patterned with cupids for their first Valentine’s Day. He’d worn them a lot those first few years together, but as intimate moments between them had become fewer and fewer, the boxers had faded and been torn up for cleaning rags. Regret twisted at his heart, though he wasn’t sure if it was for Carlucci or for what he’d lost with Blake.

  Four hours later, Aidan’s stomach was grumbling and they hadn’t found anything. Whoever had hidden the account number and the password had done a damn good job of it. “You want something to eat?” Aidan asked, standing up and stretching. His back ached from hunching over the table. Through the French doors he saw that the sun was setting, the last golden rays reflecting from the dome of the Zitouna mosque in the distance.

  “What have you got?”

  “Rice and vegetables,” Aidan said. “I make a mean stir-fry.”

  “Sounds good. Got any beer?”

  “In the fridge.”

  While Aidan sautéed the vegetables and boiled the water for the rice, Liam kept on reading. Aidan could see he was the type who wouldn’t give up so easily.

  They sat to eat, and suddenly Aidan felt Liam staring closely at his bottle of beer. Water had condensed on the side of the bottle and you could clearly see his fingerprints there.

  “Have you ever had your prints taken?” Liam asked quietly.

  “One of the colleges where I worked,” Aidan said. “Post 9/11 rules. Why?”

  His mouth was a thin line, and his lips hardly moved when he spoke. “Did you handle Carlucci’s passport at the front desk?”

  “Sure.”

  “So they may be able to get a print from it and match it to you.” He jumped up and began to pace. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Hold on. I forgot. I took Carlucci’s passport from the clerk when he wasn’t looking.” He got up to retrieve it from his jacket pocket and Liam was by his side a moment later. Before Liam accepted the passport, he took Aidan’s face in both his hands and kissed him.

  “Wow. What was that for?” Aidan asked, as he handed Liam the passport.

  “For surprising me.”

  Liam smiled as he opened Carlucci’s passport and started leafing through the pages. “Our man got around,” he said, pointing to the visa stamps from various North African countries, Morocco, Libya and Sudan among them.

  “Can you even go to those places?” Aidan asked.

  “He could.” Liam flipped to the back of the passport, where there was a row of tiny letters printed across the bottom of the back page. “What the hell?”

  He held the book up close to his face. “Damn, this is tiny.” He opened his duffel bag and rummaged around inside for a moment. He pulled out a pair of cheap reading glasses and squinted at the writing on the inside of Carlucci’s passport. “Numbers,” he said. “And a word.”

  “The account number and password?” Aidan asked.

  “I think it must be,” Liam said. “Carlucci was a courier. He was supposed to meet me at the bar, and I was going to escort him to a Tuareg camp at an oasis in the south of the country where he would hand over this account number.”

  “What do you do now? Take the account information yourself?”

  He shrugged. “Got to make a call.” He stepped over to the French doors once again, which now led only to darkness.

  While he did, Aidan went into the bathroom and tried to wash the tension from his face. He took a bunch of deep breaths. It had been an interesting day, to say the least. Trying to recover the adventurer he’d been before he settled down with Blake, he’d taken action—he’d chased down a guy he found attractive. And look where it had led.

  When Aidan came out of the bathroom, Liam was sprawled on the couch. “You can stay here if you want,” Aidan said. “If you can’t go back to your place for a while. As you can see, the couch is pretty comfortable.”

  A faint smile played at the corners of Liam’s mouth. “Only the couch? I can’t do anything until I hear from my contact, which leaves me at loose ends.”

  He slipped off his vest, exposing all of that gorgeous, muscular chest. Their eyes met, and Aidan remembered the brief passion of that kiss. So did his dick, which sprang to attention. Once again, he thought about the adventure he’d come to Tunisia to find. “Getting pretty hot in here,” Aidan said. He began unbuttoning his shirt, too.

  Liam stood and came over to him and they embraced, both of them shirtless. Liam’s chest was sun-browned, with a couple of small scars, and it was warm against Aidan’s. They kissed, and the electricity of their previous contact was there again, a burning that began in the pit of Aidan’s stomach and rose throughout his body. Liam’s lips were rough against his, but the pressure of them against his mouth was enough to make Aidan’s pulse race and his dick stiffen.

  Aidan opened his mouth a little and Liam’s tongue darted in. Damn, this guy knew how to kiss
, Aidan thought. He couldn’t remember the last time Blake had kissed him that way. He was always complaining about Aidan’s breath, or saying that he might be catching a cold. The most he ever let Aidan do was kiss the top of his head when he was lying on the sofa watching TV.

  Liam, on the other hand, was definitely interested in kissing Aidan back. His brawny arms wrapped around Aidan’s back and he pulled Aidan close to him, his hands exploring the waistband of Aidan’s shorts and snaking down to the crack of his ass. Aidan put his hands on Liam’s back, his fingers resting on Liam’s prominent shoulder blades.

  Their tongues dueled, tasting each other, the lingering flavors of dinner and the local Tunisian beer, called Stella. Aidan closed his eyes and savored every sensation, from the rhythm of Liam’s heartbeat to the feel of Liam’s rough cheek against his own.

  Liam’s lips slid over Aidan’s chin, then slid down and began nibbling on Aidan’s neck as Aidan arched his back in pure pleasure.

  Then Liam’s phone rang.

  Aidan knew the drill from eleven years with Blake. If he and Blake were talking, or on that rare occasion, enjoying a moment of intimacy, and Blake’s phone rang or his laptop beeped to indicate a new email, his attention immediately shifted.

  If Aidan had been paying attention, he supposed he might have foreseen the breakup of their relationship as soon as Blake started caring more about unknown callers or emailers than he did for the man who was supposed to be his life partner. At least with Liam Aidan knew where he stood from the first moment.

  Liam stepped over toward the French doors. Aidan didn’t know if he got better reception over there, or if he just didn’t want to be overheard. Aidan told himself that he didn’t care. Liam was a momentary distraction, someone who’d be out of his life as soon as something happened to draw the bodyguard away. He had to keep his distance, because he couldn’t afford to be hurt again so soon after Blake. He didn’t know if he could recover from another disappointment so soon.

  For fun, Aidan faced Liam as he listened to his caller. Aidan touched his index finger to his own right nipple, drawing gentle circles around it and teasing it into stiffness. Liam looked up and noticed what he was doing, grinned, but refocused on his phone call.

  Aidan moved to the left nipple, playing with it for a moment. Closing his eyes, he imagined it was Liam’s hand on him, Liam’s finger exciting the nipple to a hard nub. Then both hands, one on each nipple. He could feel his dick leaking precome. He felt loose and adventurous, the way he’d felt when he was younger, traveling the world and tasting its men. When he opened his eyes, Liam waved a hand at him. “Got a pen?” he asked.

  Aidan gave up. He handed Liam the pen and then sat down on the couch, like a sulky adolescent. It was silly to think he could tempt a Greek god come to life, a six-foot-four porn star with a body to die for, ripped abs, killer biceps, a tight, round ass, and a dick of death. He was a scrawny English teacher on the brink of middle age who hadn’t been properly kissed, or made love to, in years. He wasn’t that sexy young thing he’d been right after college, full of energy, excitement and good old-fashioned American come. He had nothing to offer Liam except a way to waste time while the bodyguard waited for his next move.

  Which appeared to be coming.

  Liam hung up the phone and asked, “Have you been to the medina yet? You really shouldn’t miss it. Medina is Arabic for city, and it’s one of the most interesting things to see here. Really the heart of Tunis.”

  Aidan looked at Liam like he’d lost his mind. The ex-SEAL soldier of fortune had turned into a tour guide? “I’ve been to the medina,” Aidan said. “It’s a tourist trap. All those narrow streets, the little stalls selling trinkets. I’ll pass. But you can head out any time you like.”

  “I’d like to show it to you,” Liam said, coming over to him. “I can show you things you wouldn’t see as a tourist.” His right index finger grazed against Aidan’s right nipple.

  It was such a transparent effort to bend him to Liam’s will that Aidan backed away. He was through being taken advantage of, even if it meant forfeiting the chance to fool around some more with such a gorgeous guy. Maybe he had learned something since the last time he’d been on his own, he thought.

  Aidan backed away and picked up his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Liam, but I’m tired. It’s been a stressful day. I don’t normally impersonate dead men and sneak into hotel rooms.”

  One of the reasons Blake and Aidan got along for so long was that Aidan needed his space, too. When Blake locked himself in his bedroom, or hunched over his laptop, Aidan felt free to slide off on his own, going for a walk, reading a book.

  Those instincts kicked in when he looked at Liam. He was tired, and the adrenaline hits he’d felt throughout the day had drained him. All he wanted to do was collapse in bed—alone.

  Behind him, out the French doors, the city was dark, just a few lights shining here and there. Liam looked at his watch. “You’re right. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. The souk closes at sunset. We’ll have to go there first thing tomorrow.”

  “You’re not listening to me,” Aidan said. Man, how many times had Aidan said that to Blake? “I’m not going to the medina with you, today or tomorrow. Pack up all of Carlucci’s crap, and your little mercenary duffle bag, and hit the road.”

  Something that looked a bit like hurt flashed across Liam’s handsome face, but then it was gone, back to the impassive mask of the soldier of fortune. “I’m not a mercenary,” he said quietly. “I’m a bodyguard. And the client I was most recently supposed to protect is dead. I appreciate your help, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  He began to pack up Carlucci’s bag, and after a minute or two Aidan said, “Where will you go? You can’t go back home.”

  “I’ve got friends,” Liam said, moving efficiently to pack up Carlucci’s stuff. “I’ll find a place.”

  Aidan had never been able to stay mad at Blake for long, no matter how much he’d been hurt. He tended to store up his anger, sometimes letting it out in inappropriate ways. He’d yell at women whose grocery cart blocked his, at parents with cranky babies. And then he’d feel miserable for getting mad at them.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. Why don’t you stay here tonight.” Liam’s eyebrows raised, and Aidan said, “On the couch. And then we’ll see what happens in the morning.”

  Aidan had a feeling that if he made a pass at Liam, the big, sexy guy would accept. But Aidan knew he’d feel like a fool in the morning—and he was tired of that feeling. It was one he’d gotten from Blake for years. It was time for him to take some more control of his life.

  “Thanks,” Liam said. “I appreciate it. I know you’ve been through a lot today, and I apologize for dragging you along.”

  Aidan shrugged. “I came to Tunisia for an adventure,” he said. “Monday morning I start teaching, and there’s not much adventure in that. So I’m good.”

  “Well, I’m going to look through the paperwork Carlucci had with him one more time.” Liam sat on the sofa with the paper around him, donning his reading glasses once again. For just a moment Aidan envisioned a future with the bodyguard, evenings spent like this. But he brushed the thought away as soon as it appeared.

  Aidan sat across from Liam in the easy chair, reading a paperback mystery he’d bought at a bookstore on one of his walks around Tunis. Every few minutes he’d look up, but Liam’s concentration never wavered. He looked so handsome that way, his body language easy, yet focused. He’d put on his vest again, but hadn’t cinched it closed, so it hung loosely from his shoulders, exposing the dark brown coins around his nipples, the way his abdomen muscles bunched up as he leaned over.

  After an hour, Aidan started to yawn. He went into his bedroom, stripped down, and got into bed. He didn’t hear Liam moving, snoring, even breathing, in the next room. Through the open window, he heard birds chirping, the sound of a far-off motorcycle. He lay there for a long time, wondering if Liam might appear in the doorway, tempti
ng him. Would he have the strength to go on saying no?

  But sleep claimed him instead.

  8 – A Trip to the Medina

  Aidan woke to the rays of the rising sun streaming in through his bedroom window, and the slightly bitter scent of coffee coming from the kitchen. He made a pit stop in the bathroom, then pulled a pair of cargo shorts over his boxers and walked out to the living room.

  Liam was sitting on the couch, reading an Arabic newspaper, a mug of fresh coffee next to him. On the low table sat a tray of flaky pastries topped with drizzled honey. “There’s coffee in the pot,” Liam said. “Morning.”

  “Good morning.” Aidan impulsively leaned down and kissed the bodyguard’s cheek as he passed.

  He’d done that so many times to Blake, and so often Blake had flinched, as if Aidan’s lips were poisonous. Liam didn’t flinch; in fact, he smiled.

  Aidan poured a mug of coffee, and then sat in the easy chair across from Liam. He picked up a pastry, flaky layers of dough, honey and nuts, and took a bite. It tasted a lot like baklava. “Mmm. These are fabulous.”

  “Best bakery in Tunis.” Liam folded the paper and put it down next to him.

  “Anything about Carlucci in there?”

  Liam shook his head. “The police don’t like to release bad news about foreigners. Bad for the tourist trade.”

  “And someone may be hiding what happened to him.”

  “May be.”

  Aidan finished the pastry and licked his fingers. “So, the medina,” he said. “You think there’s something you can show me I haven’t already seen?”

  A smile crept across Liam’s face. “I’m sure there are things I can show you that you haven’t seen.” Then he paused, for effect. “In the medina.”

  Flirting felt good. Aidan hadn’t done it for so long, and he thought he’d forgotten how. He guessed he could probably still ride a bicycle, too.