by Ruchi Singh
He lifted his arm from his face and held out his hand. His eyes were blood-shot and the naked pain in them brought her heart to her throat. She placed her palm on his.
He pulled her hand and she sat beside him on the recliner, her hip touching his.
"You know he fancied you."
"Vikram..."
"But stepped back when he saw that I had begun to like you."
"You should try to get some sleep—"
"Nothing helps..." He caressed her lower lip and pulled her towards him. She couldn't resist and leaned, acutely conscious of the pressure of his length against hers. "Make me forget everything Esha..." he whispered, his breath caressing her lips. "Make it go away..." he said, looking forlorn and helpless, waiting for her to make a move.
She closed the distance between their lips. He tasted of whiskey and desperation. Sighing, she put her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. He shuddered, trailing feather light kisses all over, their breath mingling.
"You know you are an incredible woman..."
"Remember that in the morning." She smiled to lighten the mood.
He smiled and caressed her face, her lips, then crushed her against his chest. His hands were all over her body, tugging at her clothes, as she yanked at his shirt. She wanted to feel his skin against hers and quivered as the mat on his chest brushed against her breasts. His mouth followed his hands, caressing, kissing, biting, branding her. Half-heartedly, she tried to slow him down, but gave up the fight between sanity and passion.
Somehow, she didn't remember when and how, in the middle of the frenzy, they moved to the bed. She remembered asking him about protection. He grunted and took care of it. It was as if they were both starved for each other, wanting to be one with a fervor she had never felt, ever. Together, they reached the heights of passion, sweating and panting despite the air-conditioning. She smiled at the direction of her thoughts as she gathered her breath.
He kissed her, slowly, leisurely in the aftermath. Tears gathered in her eyes at the tender way in which he cradled her in his arms after the passionate, almost violent, lovemaking. He stroked and caressed her back, her waist and didn't let her go even as he drifted to a restless sleep.
She lay there, listening to his uniform breathing and felt his limbs loosen. It was humbling that she had been able to bring him the comfort he craved. But what after this, Esha wondered.
A part of her soul would get ripped from her and remain with him when the danger would be over and she would have to leave. He would go back to his world of Urvis and Karismas and she would have to live with the remaining half and survive without him, aching and hurting. A tear escaped her eye. She took a deep breath and swallowed the rest.
Major Esha Sinha shouldn't cry.
* * * *
Her eyes snapped open and the gun was in her hand. It was pitch dark inside the room. All was still and silent, but something had woken her up, something that she couldn't ignore. The wrist-watch showed the time a little shy of five a.m. The echo of a dog's bark shattered the silence, once. Eyes and ears tuned to any unnatural sound, she searched for her top, but found his shirt instead. For a second, her senses recalled their passionate jaunt almost four hours back, but she made herself concentrate on any unnatural sound outside as she put on the shirt.
Gun in hand, she parted the curtains fractionally and scanned the balcony and the gardens beyond. The sun was beginning to make its presence felt as the twilight gave way to the first rays of the sun. But there was no movement or sound. She could see one of the dogs roaming leisurely, sniffing here and there. Apart from the ferocious canines, there was no one up and about. What had disturbed her? She had complete confidence on her sixth sense. Someone was watching them. Someone was out there.
Vikram had woken up the moment she had left the bed. The first thought that hit him brought an excruciating wave of pain to his chest. Nikhil was gone. He closed his eyes. The grief was unbearable.
The click of the gun brought him back from the cloud of sorrow to her comforting presence.
He opened his eyes and followed her movements across the room, eyeing her silhouette—sexy in his shirt that was a little large for her. She held the gun, confident and alert, as she continued her watch behind the translucent lace curtains of the full length glass window. The garment slipped to one side baring one smooth shoulder and part of her arm. He had never experienced anything more erotic than the sight of her lean frame in his white shirt, holding a gun. He felt the stirring of desire through his veins, again.
"Why are you up?" he asked making her jump a little.
"Something woke me up. I think I should go and check with Jay," she answered without taking her eyes off from the view outside.
"Don't be silly, whosoever is after my life won't murder me in my own bed. Don't you realize they want to make it look like an accident or an outside job? Come back, we have at least two hours before dawn. I want to sleep with you."
That got her attention and she glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Not very subtle about your wants, are you?"
"Just a victim of your charm. Never thought my shirt will make you look so desirable."
Esha's heart galloped as her throat went completely dry at the way he looked at her. Knowing her voice wouldn't support her if she tried to say anything, she walked towards the bed. Keeping the gun down, she leaned over him.
"I never knew I would develop such a fetish for bodyguards." He traced her brows and brought a finger to a corner of her mouth.
"What are we doing, Vikram?" she croaked somehow.
"Making love."
"As it is, things are too complicated," she whispered.
"Then let's complicate them some more. I love tangles and twists." He kissed the corner of her mouth, where his finger was. His hand went inside the shirt and spanned her waist.
She couldn't help but take support of the bed.
"I love your hair, your skin. I love the way you lisp, and these eyelashes."
She smiled. "You like my eyelashes? This is the weirdest compliment I have ever received."
"How many people have complimented you?" he asked pulling and pining her under him on the bed. He touched his lips to hers and said, "No don't tell me, I hate them already." He touched his lips to her nape.
He was finding her glamorous because she was the exact opposite of what he had encountered throughout his life. Esha sighed and gave in to her feelings, brushing aside all thoughts of caution and the subsequent dangers of getting deeply involved with him. She would worry tomorrow.
"Stop thinking and touch me," he whispered, bringing her hand to his chest.
He had picked up the right spot on her neck and she tilted her head to give him easy access to everything. His hands were caressing the sides of her breasts. She yearned for him to take them in his hand, but somehow he knew how to tantalize her the most, prolonging the pleasure. His lips and tongue on her nape and ears were driving her beyond the precipice of sanity.
She slid both her hands on his shoulders. He was all hard muscle, taut and strong. She ran her hands over his biceps, then back on his shoulders, before she fisted them in his hair and brought his mouth up close. She looked in his eyes and nipped his lips. He slid his hands under her hips and pulled her closer, showing her his need as he darted his tongue inside her mouth. Esha moaned and gave in to the assault.
Vikram didn't know what had hit him. On one hand, he wanted to leisurely explore her body and on the other, he was losing control of the whole game. Her hands on his body singed him. He looked at her closed eyes and at her upturned, small yet sexy breasts inviting lust as he had never experienced before. He felt like a teenager all over again as he took one of her breasts in his mouth and suckled. She moaned again, her hands on his head now. He stroked her flat stomach, lean thighs and touched her inner core. As her hips arched towards his hand, he placed his mouth on hers.
She came alive in his arms.
"Vikram... please," s
he groaned against his lips.
"Take it easy... slowly darling... we have all the time in world."
Four hours earlier he had selfishly taken what she had offered, but now he wanted to give her a night to remember. He wanted to brand her with his touch. She was his to love, forever. Yes, forever. She moaned and her breath hitched as the orgasm hit her, wave after wave. He left her for protection and then, placing his body over hers, slowly entered her. Her hips welcomed the intrusion and she sighed against his lips, allowing him to take her over the peak of pleasure again.
* * * *
November 1st
Alibaug, Mumbai
1st November, 10:30am
Esha stirred in bed. Vikram grunted and threw an arm around her waist pulling her closer. She caressed his arm and felt a faint ridge high up on his upper arm. She took a peek at the skin and found a square inch of a patch that she would have missed if it hadn't been of a different shade. Slightly darker than the rest of the skin.
Wondering about the change in color, she looked up and found him awake, watching her. He understood her curiosity.
"As I had told you earlier, I was kidnapped... when I was nine." He turned her around and kissed her, then continued. "I was taken somewhere near the Nepal border and held in captivity—for ransom, I guess, though my parents never got any call or a note. Cutting the story short, I managed to escape somehow and was found by some kind men who took me to the police." He held out the other arm and fingered his cheek. "These scars are from the fence of the small cottage I was held in. The only thing I remember from that ordeal was the layout of the cottage and a pattern tattooed on my arm, which was the same as the one on my kidnapper's arm. As far as I remember it was a symmetrical geometric design, but ugly."
The incident he narrated reminded her about the tattoo she had seen on daija's shoulder, but that was curved as far as she could recall. She traced the skin, waiting for him to continue.
"I often had nightmares. Psychologists advised for a plastic surgery on the pattern to forget the trauma. After the surgery I was sent abroad for further studies and out of harm's way."
"You don't remember his face?"
"No, he had a mask on all the time. He wore a short-sleeved t-shirt though, because of which I could see that he had the same pattern tattooed on the inside of his lower arm."
"And these?" She caressed the scar on his cheek.
"These scars are from the mountain accident."
"I want to see the tattoo design."
Vikram smiled and kissed her again. "What will you do with that? It is all in the past now."
"Just curious." Esha pushed at his chest. "Please."
"Okay. The sketch is in the police records and in our files too. I'll arrange for a copy for you," he said and tried to engage her in a fight of tongues again.
She pushed him away and looked at her wrist watch. "Shouldn't we be getting up? It's twelve past ten." To her regret, her remark instantly brought the shadow of yesterday's tragedy back onto his face, as he sighed and loosened his hold on her.
* * * *
After a cold shower in the adjacent ensuite bathroom, Esha was ready to move. Her head was pounding with the lack of sleep and confused emotions. It all made her clumsy—a state of mind she wasn't happy about. She had unclipped and re-clipped the magazine from the gun two times. Then she remembered that she had forgotten her wrist watch in Vikram's room. She didn't want to face him after last night, but had no choice.
She cautiously opened his room. The shower running in the bathroom indicated he was up and getting ready.
Esha picked up her watch lying on the side table and heard the click of the door opening. Vikram stood there with dripping hair and a towel around his waist. His red eyes went over her hurriedly before he turned towards the cupboard.
He pulled out his clothes, a pair of blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. "Let's go. Mother's called me around twenty times. She won't rest until she sees me and I have to make arrangements."
The shadow of Nikhil's death haunted his eyes once again.
"Esha, I want you to go back."
Angry and hurt, she glared at him.
"I'm not saying this lightly. I relieve you of all your duties as of now. We'll settle the full and final payment electronically. You'll be compensated for the full three months with a bonus." He didn't look at her through the entire monologue and continued dressing. He clipped on his watch. "You are to go back to Delhi as soon as possible."
"No," she said. He looked tired and dejected. It wrenched her heart to see him in that condition.
His head jerked at her voice and he finally looked at her. It was heartening to see the habitual glint of steel, when someone didn't agree with him, appear in his eyes. "Well, didn't you listen? You are fired."
"And you are an idiot if you think I'm going to leave your side for even a second."
"The decision is not open for discussion, Major." He sat on the bed and pulled on his socks.
"I no longer work for you. Remember I have been fired. I can do anything I want."
He threw the sock down, covered the two steps between them, and pulled her to him, hugging her hard. She let him hold her and returned the hug. Then as suddenly he had caught her, he loosened the hold, and rested his forehead on hers. "I can't afford to lose you, Esha. I'll be destroyed if anything happens to you."
She touched his cheek. "Nothing will happen, trust me." She squeezed his arms. "Please."
Unmoving, he stood holding her in his arms for a few seconds before his phone interrupted the moment. "Yes, mom. I'm coming. Just starting from here."
He put on his shades donning back his stoic, public avatar along with it. "Is the chopper here?"
"Yes."
"Let's go."
* * * *
Outhouse, Seths' Residence, Mumbai
1st November, 11:45 PM
Esha studied the drawing Vikram had arranged to be delivered to her room that night. As he had said it was symmetrical. Though it didn't make any sense to her, she was drawn to it every time she lay her eyes on it. Something niggled at the back of her mind but she couldn't quite place it. Lost in her thought, she glanced outside the window.
Everything was quiet. It seemed, even the nature mourned for Nikhil. It had hit her too when she had gone past his room on the ground floor earlier in the evening. The house felt strange and empty. According to the police and Uday's report, the bomb was crude and made by a novice, but it had done its job. She had cried again in the privacy of her room. There would be no one who would call her Xena.
They had visited Nikhil's parents that afternoon.
"His life was yours," Nikhil's father had uttered that single sentence and had proceeded to console Vikram, who had broken down again holding Nikhil's mother in his arms. It wrenched her heart to see them consoling Vikram, instead.
Vikram had stayed back with his mother that night after the funeral and Esha had returned to the apartment after reviewing the security arrangements. She didn't give a damn about her cover anymore. Jay didn't question when she took over Nikhil's role. It seemed he had guessed her position. 'Nikhil had planned for all contingencies except his own safety,' Esha thought, her heart heavy with grief.
Her gaze went back to the drawing again. Why did it pull at her guts? She was sure she had never come across a pattern like this in her lifetime, but why did her brain refuse to let go of the niggling instinct? Even after a lot of thinking and repeated attempts to forget about it, the feeling refused to subside and it frustrated her. Esha decided to make coffee.
Slapping the drawing on the side table, she moved towards the kitchenette. The paper fluttered under the fan. She lunged forward and caught it. Anchoring it with the novel, she moved towards the kitchenette.
As she turned with her coffee mug, her gaze landed on the table. She froze. Daija's nude shoulder flashed again in her mind, stunning her with the magnitude of its implication.
Esha shifted the book slightly to reveal a-
third of the design and looked at it one more time. Then she curved the paper slightly as if it was etched on a round surface. Though slightly bigger the portion clearly matched to the one she had seen on daija's shoulder in Alibaug. The only difference was the ink color and size.
Daija! The nanny. The old woman. A killer? A skilled sharpshooter? Dealing in explosives?
The pieces did not belong to the same puzzle, Esha frowned.
Or maybe she was looking at it from the wrong angle. Taking a sip from her coffee, she blanked her mind and reconsidered the facts.
The tattoo on Vikram's arm was done when he was kidnapped. He was nine at that time. There was no ransom call, which meant the kidnappers were not after money. Did they want to include him in their cult? Did daija follow some cult?
Scampering on the other side of the bed, she pulled out daija's file from the drawer. It didn't mention anything about any weird religious inclination. Daija had been employed a few days before Aaryan was born. Was there a connection with Vandana? She definitely stood to gain a lot if Vikram died.
She knew Vikram's history by heart. He was sent abroad to the US at ten years of age. He remained there for fourteen years. There was no dangerous event or accident reported around him in the US. He was involved in a minor car accident due to his own negligence and had done community service there. That meant the killers didn't have the means to go abroad.
The second attack happened after eight years of his living in India! This one aimed not to kidnap him but to end his life. A hale and hearty child appealed to them more than a full grown heir to a large empire. Why such a huge time gap between the attacks? Was it possible that there were two different forces in the game?
Esha opened everybody's dossiers and scattered them all over the bed.
Aaryan was born the year Vikram had come back to India and daija came into their lives in the same year. What a perfect coincidence! But why did it take them eight years to launch an attack?
