Stolen Lust

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I didn’t keep all my money in the bank,” I say, meeting Wolfe’s eyes again.

  He bangs a fist on the desk. “Bullshit.”

  I jump.

  He leans closer. His tone is soft, menacing. “Try again.”

  My voice doesn’t betray how much I’m shaking. “My father gave me some of the cash from selling the farm.”

  “Your father was bankrupt,” Hackman says. “He barely paid off his debts.”

  My gaze is drawn to him. They can’t make me admit something I don’t want to. A heap of cash looks suspicious, but it doesn’t prove anything.

  “Nick Kruger fired you,” Wolfe says.

  I look back at him. “Yes.”

  He smiles. “I bet that made you angry.”

  Clenching my hands harder, I let the bite of my nails settle me. “Naturally, I was upset.”

  “So,” he says, his smile turning into a smirk, “you’re practically broke and unemployed, yet you dug a suitcase full of cash from under your bed where you’ve kept it for all the years after selling the farm while your credit card interest ran through the roof.”

  I don’t reply.

  Wolfe straightens. “Are you working with the Phantom gang, Ms. Joubert?”

  “What?” I give a start. “No!”

  That smirk again. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper-cry. These aren’t the same old questions from last time. I don’t like the direction this is taking. “I want a lawyer.”

  “You don’t,” Wolfe says.

  I’m on the edge of my seat, about to jump up and run. “It’s my right. You can’t deny me.”

  “You don’t want a lawyer,” he says. “Trust me.”

  “Why would I trust you?”

  Taking a brown envelope from the desk, he takes out an A4-size paper and places it in front of me. “Because you can’t afford not to.”

  I look down and nearly faint. It’s a photo. Of me and Ian. Naked. In the pool.

  The world tilts under me. I clutch the armrests, digging my nails into the cracked leather for support.

  He dumps another glossy, color image in front of me. Ian is touching me, supporting my neck while he makes me come. My naked body is splayed over the photo, spread in the water. It leaves nothing to the imagination.

  I feel sick.

  Photo after photo, he dumps them on the desk. Ian sitting on the steps with me knelt between his legs and my lips around him. Ian’s mouth on me.

  I don’t turn the images over. I don’t look away from them. I inhale the stale air of chalk and dust and notice the wrinkled apple on the corner of the desk next to a mug with a coffee ring around the rim. Everything imprints in stark detail on my mind, yet my ability to think has shut down. I’m mentally paralyzed, unable to come up with a single explanation or excuse.

  Wolfe pushes a finger on the pictures that expose Ian and my intimacy for the whole world to see. “Explain that.”

  Biting my lip, I give him silence.

  He slams the last photo down, his palm covering half of the image. Ian inside me. “Did he force you?”

  “No,” I cry out.

  “Then explain that,” he yells, stabbing his finger on the photo.

  Everything on the desk rattles, even Hackman.

  Tears blur my vision as I slowly look back at him and whisper, “I can’t.”

  Clenching his fists, he pulls his back straight. “Let me tell you how this looks. Coincidentally, you’re at Sun City when the casino’s biggest heist in history takes place. One of the robbers kidnaps you, yet he lets you go without a scratch on your body. One month from being declared bankrupt, you pay up your rent for half a year. Then you spend the night fucking said robber at a holiday resort.”

  I motion at the photos. “That could be anyone.”

  He laughs. “The cabin was a forensic paradise. We’ve got semen, hair, and skin samples.”

  Some of my reasoning power returns. They’ve been watching us. They must’ve been following me. “Why didn’t you arrest us?” They have the blood from the crime scene, but they don’t know Ian’s identity. Or rather, they didn’t. My stomach twists with nerves. Now they have a face.

  “Ian Hart,” Wolfe says, putting another image down on the desk.

  This one is grainy. It’s been taken a long time ago, before Ian sported his fashionable haircut. His hair is longer and shabbier, but it’s undoubtedly him.

  “Grew up in Brixton, Johannesburg,” Wolfe says. “He’s been caught for shoplifting at the age of fifteen. After a third warning, he was sentenced to an industrial school for juvenile delinquents, but he ran away before social services could pick him up, taking his younger brother, Leon, with him.”

  I listen, enraptured, absorbing every detail.

  “After that, no one has seen or heard from them again,” he continues.

  They got Ian’s fingerprints from the cabin. With his delinquent arrest, there would’ve been a record. That’s how they discovered his identity.

  Implications crash into me. If I betray Ian, I’ll end up dead. He won’t hesitate to shoot a woman. He said so himself. The man following me can wait for me when I get home. Ian had the new gate and locks installed. He’ll have the keys. He could’ve given a set to my stalker.

  I backtrack a step. By stealing another night with me, Ian had revealed his identity to the cops. They have the DNA from his hair, skin, and semen. It will match the DNA of his blood, tying him to the crime scene.

  “What do you want from me?” I whisper.

  “You know what I think?” Wolfe leans a foot on the chair and rests his elbow on his knee. “I think he raped you, and you don’t want anyone to know. Why else did you refuse a medical examination?”

  I still. Despite everything, anger bubbles up inside me. “He did not rape me,” I say through clenched teeth. I won’t pin that false accusation on Ian, no matter what.

  He slams his hand on the photo of Ian buried inside me. “Then fucking explain this.”

  “Jim,” Hackman says in a nervous tone. “Language, man.”

  Wolfe points a finger at me. “Explain that.”

  “I can’t,” I say again.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” Wolfe shoves his hands into his pockets. “If we submit this evidence, you’re going to look like an accomplice. You’ll be charged with the same crimes as Hart and his gang.” He stresses, “All of them that happened in the last few months. Do you know what a lifetime in prison feels like? Because that’s how long you’ll get.”

  I can’t breathe. I look between the men in shock and disbelief. No. Wolfe is serious. The worst part is that he’s right. I do seem like an accomplice. All the facts—the money to pay my rent, that I returned unharmed from a kidnapping when most people would’ve turn up dead, and the intimacy in the public pool—everything points at me being in cahoots with the gang.

  “I want a lawyer.” I look at Hackman, who seems the more reasonable of the two detectives. “Now.”

  “You don’t,” Wolfe says, “because I’m going to cut you a deal.”

  The hair in my nape stands on end. There’s no deal in the world I can accept without paying with my life.

  “We need information on Hart and his gang.” After giving me a moment for the words to sink in, he continues, “We want you to go in undercover.”

  My whole body jerks in shock. Hackman shifts, seeming uncomfortable. This is illegal. They can’t use a civilian to go in undercover and gather information.

  Wolfe carries on relentlessly. “We want to know who the other two gang members are, and we want to know how and where they launder the money they steal.”

  His face swims in my vision. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “You’re a clever girl.” He gives me a flat smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “No.” Nearly barfing my breakfast, I get to my feet.

  Hackman jumps off the desk and moves to the door, blocking the exit with his body.

>   “Arrest me,” I say, “or let me out.”

  Wolfe picks up another photo and comes around the desk. He can give those photos to every news channel in the country for all I care. I won’t let him blackmail me with them. They prove nothing.

  He waves the image in my face.

  I stumble a step, catching myself by gripping the chair behind me. It’s Nick. In a pool of blood. Half of his face missing.

  My stomach loses the battle. Rushing to the trashcan next to the desk, I fold double and empty my stomach. I retch until dry heaves rack my body. I have to support myself with a hand on the desk to straighten.

  “Where were you on Tuesday night, Ms. Joubert?” Wolfes asks again.

  He’s taunting me. I don’t know what to say any more. I can’t wrap my head around the brutal image in my mind. Why? Who?

  Wolfe leans against the desk and crosses his ankles, the photo dangling between his forefinger and thumb. “You admitted you were angry with Mr. Kruger when he fired you.”

  I gnash my teeth. “I said I was upset.”

  “Upset enough to have mentioned the incident to Mr. Hart?”

  Yes, Ian was angry when I told him, but he couldn’t have done it. He spent the night with me. Unless… Oh, God. “When did it happen?”

  “Early on Wednesday morning before the rest of the staff got in.”

  Ian could’ve gone to the bank after dropping me off. It was early enough.

  “They took off with eight hundred thousand in cash.” He shows me another picture of three men wearing Phantom masks. Behind them, the familiar teller stations of the bank where I used to work are visible.

  I rip the photo from his fingers.

  No.

  I don’t want to believe it. Yet there it is in black and white, caught on the security camera.

  I sag against the desk, letting the edge support my weight as the glossy paper crumbles in my fist.

  “I don’t know what happened between you and Hart,” Wolfe says, “whether he seduced you or whether you fell for him, but for some reason he caught an interest in you. I know he paid off your debt. He came back to see you.”

  I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Did you follow us?”

  “We had a man on you.”

  Right. They didn’t grab Ian when they had the chance because they want to know where his other gang members are and where they hide the stolen money. They want the names of the people laundering the gang’s money.

  I cover my mouth when an insight hits me. “If you’d arrested him when he’d showed up…” Nick wouldn’t be dead. I can’t say it out loud, not without calling Ian a murderer, and I just can’t. He’s capable of blowing a man’s face away with a shotgun, but I don’t want to believe it.

  “This operation is much bigger than just Ian Hart,” Wolfe says, “which is why we need you.”

  Gripping the edge of the desk at my sides, I contemplate my options. Being arrested for murder or rat on Ian.

  “We’ll ensure your safety if you work with us,” Wolfe says. “We can get you a new identity when it’s all over.”

  I stare at him. I don’t want to be anyone else. I don’t want to send Ian to jail. But Nick… My God, Nick. He behaved like an ass, but he didn’t deserve to die.

  “Ian will kill me,” I say.

  Wolfe drops the photo on his desk. “We’ll get you out long before he has a chance of smelling a rat.”

  “You don’t even know if I can contact him,” I say in a cracked voice.

  Wolfe smiles again as he gives me the same words from earlier. “You’ll find a way.”

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  His smile turns crooked. “Your parents wouldn’t have approved of what you did, Ms. Joubert.”

  My nostrils flare. “You don’t know anything about my parents.”

  They might not have approved of Ian or what I did, but they never imposed their will on me, and they always supported my decisions.

  I need to get out of here. Summonsing calm and strength, I stand. “Fine.” I’ll say what I have to for them to let me go.

  Wolfe goes around the desk, opens a drawer, and takes out an object that he carries to me. It’s a copper bracelet, the kind you can buy on any street corner.

  “Put this on and don’t remove it,” he says. “It’s for your safety.”

  “It’s got a tracker?”

  “A microchip that will allow us to trace you in case we have to pull you out. The gang may search you, but this will make any metal detector go off. They won’t think to look for a chip inside.”

  Reluctantly I close my fingers around the cold metal.

  “Put it on,” he says. “The chip conveys your pulse.” He adds in a sinister tone, “If you take it off, we’ll know, and if I have to come after you, all bets are off.”

  When I slip the bracelet over my wrist, it feels like a sentence.

  “For safety reasons, we won’t be in touch.” He takes a business card from his shirt pocket and pushes it into my hand. “Don’t call me unless you have evidence or information.”

  I stare at the card in my hand, reflexively memorizing the number. Cuttingly, I ask, “Or if my life is in danger?”

  “You have assets Mr. Hart seems to want, and it seems you know how to use them. I think you can stay out of danger for long enough.”

  Fuck him.

  Wolfe tilts his head toward the door. “Detective Hackman will drive you home.”

  I push past him and step through the door when Hackman opens it. “I’ll find my own way.”

  It’s only outside on the pavement that I realize I’m still clenching the balled-up photo of the three masked men in my fist. I drop it into my bag as if the paper is contaminated.

  Like the last time I stepped from the police station, I call a cab. It’s ironic that the money in my wallet is the change from the two hundred Ian gave me. Once more, I’ll pay with money from the man I’m supposed to hunt.

  I’m living on food his money pays for and under a roof his money secures. I don’t have a job, and now my ex-boss is dead. All because my path crossed with Ian’s.

  Standing on the pavement, I hug myself. I feel utterly alone, more so than when my parents died. I have no one to turn to and no options left. I’m backed into a corner.

  When the cab arrives, I get into the back and give him my address. Twisting the bracelet around my wrist, I look through the back window. The only other vehicle on the road is a motorcycle. When we turn, the driver of the bike follows. The man. The one Ian has put on my tail. He knows I’ve been to the station. He’ll no doubt report back to Ian.

  At my building, the driver parks his bike under the trees. He doesn’t remove his helmet, and I don’t look at him as I hurry to the entrance and let myself in. I run all the way upstairs to the false safety of my apartment and drag in heaving breaths of air when I’ve locked the door behind me.

  Scrubbing the heels of my hands over my eyes, I pace. I cry and pace, and pace some more. I have no idea what I’m going to do. All I know is I can’t put off the call I have to make. I flop down on the sofa and take my phone from my bag. I stare at it for a long time before I go to the contact list and find the only number. Ian saved it under his name. Pressing dial with a shaky finger, I wait for the call to connect.

  He picks up on the first ring. He sounds happy but not surprised. “Baby doll.”

  “Ian.” My voice breaks on a sob. Tears wash out the rest of my words.

  “Cas?” His tone goes tense with alarm. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Ian.” I rest my forehead in my hand. Big drops of tears plop on my knees. I manage on a hoarse whisper, “I’m in trouble.”

  “Stay right there.” A click sounds. Footsteps. “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 16

  Ian

  Cas’s tears make me want to kill someone.

  I don’t hesitate. Abandoning the half-eaten steak and baked potato I was having for lunch on the deck, I go inside, click t
he door shut behind me, and grab a bag from the closet as I say, “Go to the bathroom and turn on the shower.”

  “W-what?” she asks in a small voice.

  Putting my phone on speaker to free my hands, I unlock the safe in my closet. “Do as I say.”

  There’s a moment of silence. As I shove a stack of money and a Glock into the bag, the sound of running water comes through the line.

  She sniffs. “I’m in the bathroom.”

  The phone I gave her is secure, but the cops may have planted bugs in her apartment. The noise of the water will drown out our voices.

  “You okay?” I ask, zipping up the bag and making my way to the main building.

  She’s battling to control her tears. “The police took me in for questioning.”

  Fuck. It was a possibility, but I hoped they wouldn’t put her through more interrogations.

  “You can’t come here,” she says.

  I stop dead. “What did they do to you?”

  More tears. “It may be a trap.”

  Ringing sounds in my ears. “What did they do to you, Cas?”

  “They think I’m an accomplice.”

  Rage fuels my steps. My legs eat up the distance with long strides. Even as I feel like punching to death the asshole who accused her, I can see how the cops would’ve worked that out. I can see how the dots connect.

  I know how they work. They’re going to arrest her or cut her a deal. A deal would involve a statement and testimony. They’ll be after me, Leon, and Ruben, and the witch hunt won’t stop until we’re behind bars or dead.

  “I’m coming for you, Cas.” It’s not negotiable.

  “They’re watching me.” She adds in a panicked tone, “They know who you are.” More sobbing. “They’ve got pictures of us in the pool.”

  I slam a fist against the rail of the bridge that crosses the stream. “Pack a bag. Take only your valuables. There’s a guy on a bike downstairs. Go down and get onto the bike.”

  “Why? Where is he taking me?”

  “Do it, Cas.”

  My voice is hard. Leon and Ruben are having lunch on the deck of the main building. They look up as I approach.