by Roze, Robyn
He tried to move past her, but she blocked him.
“And exactly what is it you do, Scott? You’ve never shared that with us.”
A fake smile plastered his face. “Import export.”
“You’ve said that for years. It explains nothing, and you know it.” Her hands hooked on her hips, ready for a game of chicken. “Your goods? Or other people’s?”
He leaned back against the counter, one black biker boot flopped over the other, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was deciding whether to ignore her or give her a nibble.
“I’m a facilitator. I help clients with their shipments.”
She stiffened, feeling wary. What did that even mean? It sounded like a variation of the import-export charade he had been pedaling for years. Then it dawned on her, perhaps even explained why he and Sean had hit it off so well, right from the beginning.
“Shipments that someone like my husband might need. Or something altogether different?” She waited for an answer, even a cryptic one, but he remained tight-lipped.
Hands fisted in tight balls, she growled in frustration. “The men in my life and their damn secrets.” She deserted him behind the bar and plopped onto a sofa, pulling a pillow onto her lap and twisting one of its tassels around her finger.
Before long, Scotty lowered onto the coffee table across from her, assessing her state of mind. “Sis, it’s for your—”
She flung the pillow at him and interrupted with a raised voice. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I am so sick and tired of hearing it I could scream.”
“Maybe you should. It might help.”
The unexpected empathy in his words, free of judgment or condescension, diffused her conflicted emotions. His blue eyes earnest, her brother, the eternal joker, was not joking right now.
She didn’t need to scream. She needed to make amends.
“I am so sorry about what I said to you before, Scotty. You know I love you. But I worry about your drinking.”
He scooted closer. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, since you’ve had your fill of those lately,” he said, the teasing glimmer back in his eyes. “Think you can handle it?” He acted as if he were about to issue some dire prognosis.
“Scott Montgomery,” she said, unamused.
“Okay, okay.” His chest expanded with a deep breath. “I only drink when I go back home for visits.” He paused. “Or when I’m with family—like now. It’s the way I cope with my demons from the past. You don’t have to like it or understand it. Neither does Jack. It’s just the way it is.”
She gaped at him in bewilderment. “You’re telling me you were drinking today because you needed to numb yourself before you saw me? Me.”
He shrugged off her wounded tenor. “Any other time, I hardly touch the stuff. That’s the truth.”
She tried to shake off the befuddlement of his revelation.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me and Jack that?”
“Because I don’t want you two playing armchair shrinks any more than you already do.”
She squirmed under his accusatory stare, their mother’s unearthed letters an obvious point of contention. Truth be told, he shared responsibility in this with her and Jack.
“When you shut your family out, you invite speculation.”
“Not gonna play the blame game with you, sis. You know the truth now. So stop worrying about me, trying to protect me, or anything else. I’ve done a damn good job of taking care of myself all these years. And I like my life just fine the way it is.” He raised his hand to block her rebuttal. “Drop it.”
His stern edict ended the sensitive matter. And she swallowed her counterargument, none too happy about it.
Then his mood lightened. “I’ve got a surprise for you that’ll help you destress. It’s even Rambo approved.”
“Rambo?” Did Scotty have a death wish. “Does he know you call him that?”
“Duh. He’ll never admit it, but I think he kinda likes it.”
“I doubt that. And you know I’m not a fan of surprises, especially now.”
“Oh, you’re gonna like this one, sis. You can take that to the bank,” he said, gloating. “So loosen up, stop asking questions, and just enjoy this fancy ride with your favorite brother in the whole wide world.”
Her laughter bubbled up at his cheeky tone and widespread arms, dissolving the tension in her body that had gripped it for days.
“I think Jack would have something to say about that,” she said, with a playful wink.
He waved off the comment. “Let him. Jackie-boy thinks he comes in first at everything just because he was born first.” He paused, pretending at serious. “He is the sensitive type, though. So we should probably keep the fact that you’re playing favorites just between us.”
Her head tipped to one side. “I think you’re the one playing favorites.”
“Can’t get anything by you,” he said, acting impressed by her comment. “It’s hardly a secret you’re my favorite sister. So…,” he said, with a one-shoulder shrug, letting the humor of her being his only sister dangle between them.
Shayna giggled, patting his knee. “Oh, you are such a sweet talker. Lucky me, I don’t have any competition.”
“I know, right? You didn’t have to do anything to earn your status—unlike me.” His grin stretched wide and their laughter danced around them as it so often had in their youth.
When they were kids, Scotty had made her laugh more than anyone. Even in those harsh, unrelenting months and years after their mother had deserted them, days when an act so pure as laughter had stung like a punishment in the wake of their bitter reality.
A time when even breathing had hurt.
“Well?” he said. “Are you going to loosen up? No more questions?”
She watched her handsome, fun-loving brother for a few more moments, feeling profoundly fortunate to have him in her life.
“Fine. I’ll relax and only imagine what you facilitate—under one condition.”
He looked leery. And she withheld her stipulation until he nodded, his reluctance obvious.
“You can’t drink the rest of the time you’re with me.”
Chapter 14
Cradled in the channel of the balmy waters of the Johor Straits, Ubin Island lay to the northeast in stark contrast to its cosmopolitan mainland, Singapore. The hundred or so remaining inhabitants lived the unhurried life of the past in rustic village simplicity, spared the unrelenting stamp of modernity, for now. The rural terrain, shrouded under lush forests packed with wildlife, pocked with abandoned granite quarries, and dotted with hollow plantations, attracted growing numbers of tourists and Singaporeans alike, all eager to detox from the hectic mainland lifestyle in favor of the island’s outdoor adventures and rich biodiversity.
The island oasis was also perfect for a man who wanted to shed distractions and ground his focus. Grueling swims in the sea followed by demanding runs through open meadows and tight jungle trails had worked to appease Sean’s troubled thoughts the past few days. Yet, he still felt Shayna’s presence nudging him along, like wind in a sail.
Pumping his arms and legs hard along the final stretch on a sandy beach, he headed back into the cooler forest. His pace slowed to a halt when he spied a figure in the distance, striped by the sway of sun and shade under towering palm trees. Stalking closer, he assessed his visitor sitting near the bottom of the steps that led up to the stilted, tin-roofed shack he had been using the past few days. He considered a sneak attack. On the other hand, forty years had proven neither man capable of getting the drop on the other.
Sean stepped into the clearing with no trace of alarm from his longtime friend.
“Wise choice, brother,” Mick hollered, his tone amused.
Sean countered him with a middle finger salute.
As he closed the gap, Mick tossed Sean a towel hanging on the stair post next to him.
“You
take a bumboat out here?” Sean asked, scrubbing the rough cloth over his sweat-soaked face and hair.
Bumboats were the common mode of transportation to Ubin Island, with tickets sold at the Changi Point Ferry Terminal. For their purposes, however, that mode of transportation meant risking public travel and sticking out in a cramped space with eleven other people. Or paying the captain a special rate for passage alone, which presented its own gamble.
“Nah.” He paused for a second, forehead scrunched. “You can cover a mountain in snow, but everybody still knows it’s a mountain.” He cocked a grin at Sean’s puzzled expression. “I heard that once. Anyway, I found more secure means of getting out here—under the radar.”
“Good,” Sean said, hooking the now damp towel around his neck.
“I can see why you picked this place. It’s like Jurassic Park over here compared to the mother island.” His head jerked toward the mainland, only a ten-minute boat ride away.
“Isolation has its perks. I’m sure you’ve already searched the place.” Sean glanced to the modest, timeworn quarters.
Mick stood and then dropped down to ground level with Sean to tick off what he had surveilled. “It has the basics: a diesel generator, well water—a fridge stocked with bottled water, and plenty of DEET for these motherfucking, rat-sized bugs,” he complained, with an irritated swipe of his hand. “And I spotted the outboard you camouflaged.”
“I knew you’d nose her out.” Their hands extended, grinding through the distinct gears of the private handshake they developed as boys. And now, as men, honored their long friendship with the act. Not to mention all those times they had saved each other’s asses over the years. “It’s good to have you back, brother.”
“Damn glad to be back.”
Sean’s brow pushed up at the relieved inflection in Mick’s voice. “What’s the matter? Your last assignment a little tougher than you expected?”
Mick chuckled and looked away, whacking away another fat bug.
He seemed to consider how to answer the loaded question. Sean knew he likely wouldn’t, unless it pertained to Shayna’s safety, because those were Mick’s orders. Yet, it had been hard to shake the angry pitch of her voice the other day, demanding to speak to him on the yacht when she walked in on Mick’s call with him. The one authorizing her flight far away from here.
Now, here he was like some weak-kneed schoolboy, trying to manipulate a friend to spill information about a girl he lacked the balls to talk to himself. His eyes squeezed shut as he rubbed away the embarrassment in them with the ratty towel.
Get a grip, Parker. This isn’t who you are.
Except it was exactly who he was—with her. Memories streamed in his head of sending Scotty to visit Shayna back in Mt. Pleasant, more than a year ago, when news reports convinced her he had been killed in Mexico during the Morales mission. He had asked Scotty to report back to him on Shayna’s well-being at a time when he could not do it himself, needing to heal injuries and lay low for his safety and hers. The reminder shot down his cocky self-assessment.
He locked down the nagging thoughts and clapped Mick’s shoulder before springing up the open stairs. “I’m gonna grab some water. Want some?” he called down without looking back, hoping he disguised his personal concerns in a believable air of nonchalance. With so much at stake, this was not the time for anything less than absolute focus.
“She’s a helluva lot tougher than she looks. Damn smart, too.”
The respect ringing loud and clear in Mick’s unsolicited assessment stalled Sean’s progress.
Mick continued, “I get it now. All of it. And when this is done, you’ll pick up right where you left off with her.”
Right where they left off? He winced at the harsh memory, still regretting how their last night together had ended with his string of callous words shouted at her in the heat of anger.
Soaking up rivulets of sweat on his face, the drenched towel muffled his whispered apology. That would never be good enough, though. He had to look her in the eyes when he righted his wrongs from that night. It’s what she deserved. What he needed.
Sean scoffed in fake irritation. “Jesus, I ask a simple question, and I get that girly bullshit.” He refused to look back, knowing Mick would read him like a flashing billboard, and appreciating his oldest friend would know what to do next.
“Yeah, I’ll take two bottles and a barrel of bug repellant, you cranky son-of-a-bitch.”
Just like that, the awkwardness vanished. Equilibrium restored.
They sat in comfortable silence, puffing on cigars under the cover of near darkness, propped back in flimsy resin chairs against the corrugated metal of Sean’s temporary lodgings. The nocturnal buzz and snap of energy from the jungle reverberated around them, their focus directed ahead through the thick night air. In the distance, speckled among the copse of trees, the glow of skiffs and ships dotted the strait.
Sean took a draw from his cigar, analyzing the mission and its complexities. “There are synchronized operations going down. The timing can’t be off on any of the strike points: Marina Bay Sands, the girl’s extraction, and the raid on the yacht.”
“The intel still good on the auction?” Mick asked, with a side-glance.
Sean’s head tipped forward. “It’s still a go in five days on the Dream Catcher.” Before the last word even left his lips, his thoughts strayed, transporting him back to a time and place that filled him with remorse and disgust.
In his mind’s eye, he could still envision it all. Because he had been a witness to it all. Depravity disguised as coveted wealth and harmless leisure, with high-end finishes, polished decks, and complicit crews to cover it all up. Clean it all up. Nothing had changed with time. The sting operations and rescue missions he engineered over the years had barely made a dent.
As proof, over the next five days luxury yachts would drop anchor in the deep waters surrounding the Dream Catcher to prepare for the upcoming human auction. A repulsive event attracting a cruel breed of clientele for whom the high seas provided a degree of isolation and anonymity difficult to achieve on dry land. A safe zone where these same sick buyers could ‘try’ the goods before wiring funds to brokers. A vessel in the open ocean also offered another advantage: easy, private disposal of damaged goods. The sea washed away evidence and cleansed sadistic hands. Until the next time.
There was always a next time…
“Hey,” Mick said, with a nudge to Sean’s shoulder. “Sean,” he said louder, nudging him again.
Sean blinked away the sticky haze in his brain, then glanced to the spot on his shoulder where he felt the pressure. His eyes lifted to Mick, his friend’s face somber and wise.
“You went back there, didn’t you?” Mick asked, with the cautious tone of someone coaxing a wild animal to take the offering in his hand. Someone who heard, long ago, the confessional of the hell where Sean’s thoughts had drifted.
“Their stink didn’t rub off on you, brother. You got out as soon as you could. And this next rescue will hardly be your first.” He held Sean’s stony gaze in the low glow of lantern light. “You’ve done a lot of good. You’re nothing like them. Or him.”
None of that mattered to Sean.
“I should have killed him back then,” Sean muttered, now fixed on the dim light of the lantern hanging off the stair post near them.
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s in the past. There’s only now. And we will take care of that piece of shit this time.”
Sean drew a deep breath and chained shut the heavy door on the screaming demons in his mind. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
Back in the present, he cleared his brain of everything except the details of the days and nights ahead. “It’s a damn good thing we’ve got the backers and allies with the balls and connections to withstand the fallout from this operation. Because the raid on that ship will have a ripple effect that’s going to shake governments, multinationals, you name i
t. Men with ranks, and titles, and fat bank accounts. Men who think they’re entitled to take whatever they want.”
Mick snorted in open disgust. “Those sick fuckers aren’t real men. They’re monsters.”
Sean’s back bristled at the description—monster, an accusation Shayna had mumbled in her sleep, more than once. It still burned in his ears.
“They’ll never get the real punishment they deserve.” Sean took a final draw of his cigar, then expelled the pungent smoke. “But at least one of them will.”
Based on Sean and Dixon’s nasty history, the implicit understanding that the senator would be the one to receive a different punishment from the rest hung in the muggy air between them.
Mick twisted in his seat to get a better look at Sean. “Sounds like you have an update for me.”
Sean nodded at Mick’s keen insight. Then he downed the water from the bottle in his hand, extinguished his cigar and pushed the stub into the empty container, tossing it into a rusty barrel at one corner of the rickety porch.
“With all of Dix’s current problems, no one would be surprised if he’s a no-show at the auction.”
Mick heard the underlying message, and concern registered at the corners of his eyes. He went around it for the moment. “No shit,” Mick said, “I’ve heard the talk. He’s got a lot of people gunning for him after they found out he ordered the hit on Morales.”
“Those are just rumors.”
“How do you suppose those nasty rumors got started, anyway?”
They bumped fists at the indisputable success of their collaborative effort to spotlight Graham Dixon, a former Morales ally and, oh-so conveniently, a partner in a private military company. The stories of his double-cross of Hector Morales had gained traction, digging in deep, because of the utter believability that Dixon wanted a bigger piece of the action.
After a few moments of silence, Mick said, “Who would’ve thought it’d work out this way. There you were running your mom and pop’s business, thinking you had a clean break. Then you caught a curveball. The next thing you know, we’re in a Mexican jungle sweating our balls off and blowing shit up. Not that I’m complaining. It was like old times. But we knew then what would happen when we went down there—if we made it out.” He eyed his friend. “We’d have to finish what we started. Now that finish line is in sight, brother. Let’s stay on track.”
