“But you just called me out on something I deserved, and I have to tell you, it doesn’t feel good to know I’ve gotten so touchy and stand-offish that you feel like you have to run things through a filter before you say them to me.” I inhaled as though I could draw courage from the air. “So, I’m just going to plow ahead and ask. You don’t have to answer, obviously, but if you do, and it turns into an actual dialogue, I promise to do my best not to shut it down if it gets too personal.”
His eyes stayed on the road, and the headlights from oncoming traffic sent spotlights across them that made them sparkle.
“What happened in Nigeria?”
32
Gabriel
“The most painful beatings are the self-inflicted ones.” – Miri Eze
Her question felt like opening the locked door to the room that stood between us, only to find the room haunted by screaming demons, and I forced my grip on the steering wheel to loosen. I had to do the same with my clenched teeth. I wanted her to ask for all the reasons about which she’d spoken, but answering meant stepping into the room with the demons and looking them in the eye.
I exhaled slowly to buy time to find the words. “I told you that a group of us went on an unsanctioned mission to rescue the sister of one of my Peacekeeper mates. She had been kidnapped by Boko Haram with other girls from an NGO-sponsored school in their village,” I began tentatively.
“Boko Haram are … terrorists?” Her voice was soft and coaxing, and gave me a chance to answer with confidence.
“Technically they are a jihadist militant group based in northern Nigeria whose name literally declares that Western education is forbidden.” Memories threatened like dark clouds overhead, and I felt as though I were facing a hurricane with nothing more in my arsenal than an umbrella. “And yes, one of their aims is to terrorize families into keeping their children away from Western schools.”
I took a fortifying breath and then continued. “There was a Boko Haram compound hidden deep in the woods, about eight miles off the main road. Five of us walked in one night with plans to find the sister and nineteen other girls – four for each of us – to give us the best chance to get them, and ourselves, out alive. My mate found his sister in the first hut – each hut held fifteen or twenty girls – and the rest of us had to pick which girls we would take out with us.” My voice broke on the last word as I remembered the pleading faces of children looking at us with desperation. “We had agreed to leave behind any girl with a baby at her breast—” I swallowed painfully “—there were dogs – German shepherds. We didn’t think we could keep the babies quiet as we ran, and we were so outnumbered by boys and men with AK-47s in the camp that stealth was our only chance.”
Shane’s hand touched the back of my neck, and I was grateful for the warmth of it. I took another breath and willed my voice to work. “One little girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, followed me and the four bigger girls I’d chosen out of a hut. I decided to take her too, even though four was supposed to be the limit. She had a bundle strapped to her back that I thought was clothes, but when I touched her back to help her through the fence, the bundle moved.”
I wanted to close my eyes against the memory, but driving forced me to keep them open and focused. “I made her stay inside the compound while the bigger girls slipped out to join the ones already waiting in the forest.” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat. “She didn’t say a word, but her eyes told me that she would die if she stayed. I almost pulled her through the fence with me, but then a dog started barking somewhere in the camp, and I pushed her back toward the hut and walked away. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“Christ,” she whispered, and then was silent for a long time.
It was several miles before I found my voice again. “We got all twenty girls to safety, carrying two at a time while two walked in listless silence until we’d gone eight miles back to where we’d hidden our vehicles. They were so weak and malnourished they weighed almost nothing …” My voice trailed off as I thought about how different my solid little nephew felt when I gave him piggy back rides. At four years old he probably weighed more than the little girl with her own baby bundled to her back would have.
“You got your friend’s sister out.” Shane’s voice was soothing, like the touch of her hand against the back of my neck.
“Kesandu. Yeah, she was twelve,” I answered. “She was tough and strong. She’d been given a gun for raids on villages.”
“Oh no,” Shane whispered.
“Yeah. The girl with the baby – she was one of the girls they chose for camp life.” I could still hear the echo of Kesandu’s fear and revulsion in my memory. “I promised myself then that even if it meant my own life was in danger, I could never again choose not to help someone who needed it.”
We passed a sign welcoming us to Northport. “We’re here,” I said as I slowed the car to look for a commercial district, very happy for the change in subject. Shane looked as though there was more to say, but I’d used up all the words I had about my time in Nigeria. Looking that particular monster in the eye had taken more courage than I had reserves for, so I firmly shut the door on the memory of the dark eyes that haunted my dreams, and turned, instead, to the bright green ones next to me.
Before we’d left Chicago, Shane had looked up Shelley Photographer Northport and got a hit on a gallery show at the Willowbrook Mill. “Turn right up ahead, and then left, and it should be on the left side,” she said. Her voice was still quiet and her tone subdued. I didn’t want to think about her opinion of my character now that she knew what I’d done.
We pulled into the parking lot of an elegantly rustic building surrounded by trees. A bridge crossed a chasm where presumably a stream had once powered the namesake mill, and strings of lights directed us to the front door. The lot was nearly full of cars, and music could be heard from inside the building.
I ignored the hollow feeling in my gut as I got out of the car, but oddly, breathing was somehow easier, and my partner was just the distraction I needed from tedious introspection.
I tried not to be too obvious in my appreciation for the way Shane stretched the stiffness from her long body, but bending to touch her toes required a proper look, and it was a view which inspired my already creative imagination. She swung her long coat on with a flourish that added to the superhero illusion she seemed to carry with her, and then she looked over at me with a smile.
“So, do we have a story, or do we tell the truth?”
I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that smile until I felt my jaw unclench and my own smile answer. “You’re the expert at people. Why don’t you read the room and then decide?” She gave me a speculative look that I thought might have been appreciative, and I gestured for her to precede me across the bridge.
The interior of the Willowbrook Mill was lit with chandeliers suspended from the ceiling of the main room. It was full of people in clothing that varied from jeans to cocktail attire, holding glasses of red and white wine, and taking polite little appetizers from wandering servers with silver trays. The walls were hung with black and white photographs, and about half of the guests were actually looking at them.
“Wow,” Shane said quietly to me. Her eyes were on the photos, and I gave them a closer look. The subjects were men or women in varying states of undress – some were blatantly sexual, but most appeared to be people captured in their daily lives.
“It’s like the Women Before 10 a.m. series, but at night,” Shane said in surprise.
I had no idea what she was talking about, but she’d already crossed the room to study a photograph before I could ask. A voice at my shoulder kept me from following her.
“She’s not wrong, but I would not have expected someone her age to get the connection.” I turned to see a woman in her sixties with black and silver hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a dramatic turquoise necklace smiling at me. She held out her hand. “I’m Shelley Thorpe,” she said as I shook her han
d.
“Gabriel Eze,” I answered.
“You’re not from Northport, Gabriel, or I’d have photographed you already.” Shelley Thorpe had a direct gaze, a strong grip, and a voice that sounded as though she were close to laughter. I liked her immediately.
“This is your show,” I looked around the room, wishing Shane were still next to me. Shelley noticed.
“That one’s not from here either,” she said appreciatively, following my gaze to Shane.
“We came up from Chicago.”
Shelley studied my partner. “Did you?” She turned her gaze to me. “Will you introduce me to your friend, Gabriel? I think I need to meet her.”
I didn’t think many people said no to Shelley Thorpe. Something about her reminded me of my nana, which told me I wouldn’t get very far with a “no” even if I was foolish enough to attempt one.
Shane was studying a striking photo of a young man lacing up his running shoes. He wore shorts, shoes, and nothing else, and he had the lean lankiness of a distance runner.
She turned to greet me as I approached, and her eyes widened at the sight of Shelley with me. “Your work is spectacular,” she said simply.
I was surprised that she knew who Shelley was until I realized she held a program in her hand that was emblazoned with Shelley’s photograph.
“Thank you. I’m Shelley.”
Shane shook Shelley’s hand and introduced herself. Shelley smiled at her. “I heard you mention Veronique’s work. How do you know it?”
“I inherited my dad’s photo books. Women Before 10 a.m. is one of my favorites.”
“I thought her work with models and celebrities was inspired, but I wondered if the stories of people who aren’t famous would have the same impact on the viewer. So rather than go to an actress’s home to surprise her as she got ready for her day, I decided to photograph ordinary people later, when the day has decided the mood.”
Shane turned back to the photo of the young man. “I see myself in him. The set of his shoulders and grim determination tells me he’s going to run off the frustration and let go of the anger. It’s a moving photograph.”
Shelley studied Shane as she admired the photo. “Do you run, Shane?”
“I do. Usually at night, probably for the same reasons as he does.”
Shelley tilted her head as she regarded her. “May I photograph you running sometime? I feel as though I’d like to capture you in motion.”
Shane made a self-deprecating sound. “We’re only up here for the night, but thank you, I’m flattered.”
“Then let me photograph you tonight,” Shelley said.
I could see the mental debate Shane engaged in. Shelley Thorpe was very likely the Aunt Shelley who might know where Mickey Collins and Denise Quimby could be found. If she said no to a photograph, it would be pretty awkward to then ask where Shelley’s nephew was, but if she said yes, she could perhaps use the time as an excuse to get the information without alerting Mickey.
“We don’t have a hotel room yet, so I’m not sure when we’re going out to run—” Shane began.
“Then stay here,” Shelley interrupted. “There are rental cottages next door, and I know the owner.”
Shane gave me a look that said help me, and I gave her one back that said your call. Then she sighed and turned back to Shelley. “We’d be very happy to talk to your friend about one of the rental cottages, thank you.”
I tried not to notice the jump in my pulse at the fact that Shane had just said “one” of the rentals, but I failed miserably.
“So, you’ll do it? You’ll let me photograph you tonight?” Shelley asked with what seemed like undue excitement given the nature of the request.
Shane smiled graciously. “Yeah. If you can point us in the direction of food and a place to sleep, we’re going to run anyway, so …” She shrugged. “It would be kind of cool to have such an amazing artist shoot a photo of me.”
Shelley clapped her hands in excitement and rushed away to arrange a cottage for us. I stepped closer to Shane and murmured, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I didn’t just mean the photo, and she knew it.
“I’m a grown-up. I can deal,” she said.
We wandered around the room looking at Shelley’s photographs. They were startlingly good, and I considered buying one for my new flat, though Shane and I had different opinions about which one I should get. She thought I needed the boxer, sitting alone in his room after a fight. I argued for the woman strapping a high-heeled shoe onto her foot. Her face was out of focus, but her leg was shapely and strong.
Shelley returned with the key to a cottage and directions to a seafood restaurant in town. Our meal was good, but somewhat quiet and tense, as though the unspoken things were louder than the small talk we used to fill the silence.
The parking lot at the Willowbrook Mill was nearly empty when we got back, though it was barely past nine o’clock. “I’ll go find Shelley and tell her to meet us at the cottage,” Shane said just before she disappeared into the mill. I retrieved our bags from the trunk and took them to the cottage Shelley had pointed out when she’d given us the key.
It was rustic and charming and fit the décor of the Willowbrook Mill. A four-poster queen-sized bed dominated the room, and the doors of one of the built-in closets had been removed to make room for a bookshelf and a twin bed with big pillows against the wall. The effect was of a reading nook or space for a child to sleep, or, in this case, space for a man unsure of his footing around a woman to whom he was wildly attracted.
The reading nook and the bathroom were the only semi-private spaces in the otherwise large, wide-open room, and I tossed my bag and myself down on the twin bed to await Shane’s arrival. Dinner had been awkward enough that I was debating the wisdom of staying in Northport after Shane’s photo session with Shelley. I couldn’t help feeling that my revelations in the car had put her off. It didn’t surprise me. I didn’t much care for that part of myself either, but I’d hoped she would understand a little, and perhaps be able to forgive … enough.
I heard the door, and I sat up and rubbed the back of my neck self-consciously. Shane was staring around the room in surprise.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be. And nice,” she said.
“Did you find Shelley?” I swung my legs off the twin bed. She caught my gaze but looked away before I could sense what she was thinking.
“She’ll meet me here in fifteen.”
“Just you?” I stared at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I didn’t want to assume …” She faltered as she pulled her cheetah leg, single shoe, and tights out of her bag.
I didn’t even know what to say. She sat on the queen-sized bed and bent down to unzip her boot, and I was reminded of the photograph of the woman buckling her high heel. That boot came off, but she didn’t bother unzipping the other one. Instead, she pulled the leg up on her jeans and unhooked the socket from her leg so the whole thing detached.
Shane didn’t look at me as she stood on one leg and unzipped her jeans. I was mesmerized as she slid the tight jeans off her hips and down past the stump of her leg. Once that was free, she sat back down and stripped off the other leg.
Her underwear were black boy shorts and hot as hell. I was staring and I knew it, but she was determined to avoid acknowledging it, or me, as she folded her jeans and reached for her running tights.
“You are so fucking sexy,” I breathed, only half-aware that I’d spoken out loud.
Shane’s head came up sharply, and she looked surprised. She flexed her right knee – the one with the sleeve on the stump – and it seemed like an unconscious gesture in response to my eyes on her. I wanted to peel the tight neoprene sleeve away from her skin, to soothe the lines that indented the flesh just above it. My hands itched to run down the length of her legs, hips to thighs to foot, and I clenched the bed cover in my fists to keep from reaching for her. Just so I didn’t make a fool of myself, I grabbed my own bag to g
et my shorts and shoes. Shane remained frozen, her eyes still wide, until I stood and turned my back to her. I stepped out of my trousers quickly so she wouldn’t see the evidence of my attraction to her. Thankfully, she moved again, presumably to finish dressing, while I pulled on my shorts and willed my erection to subside.
When my shoes were on and I could stand without tenting my shorts, I turned my attention back to Shane. She wore her black running tights and a black sport bra, and she stood by the door, watching me warily.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the way the Lycra fit her curves and skimmed her long legs. My gaze devoured her, and I felt my own skin heat in response to the blush that crept up her neck.
I swallowed hard and opened my mouth to say … something, but all the words got muddled in my head, and the only thought that rang clearly through them was, I want you.
33
Shane
“House cats are the most ruthless predators in the animal kingdom.” – Gabriel Eze
Gabriel’s gaze hunted me. His eyes slid down my body with a slow deliberateness that felt sensual and predatory, as though I was being stalked by something feline and shockingly dangerous.
I’d lost my breath when I’d turned to see him staring, and I felt utterly trapped in his attention. When I found it again, it came fast and shallow, and my heart thudded in response to the intensity of his look as he studied me.
He’d seen me in running clothes before, and he’d even seen me once without my leg, but it had been a calculated risk to change in front of him – a risk that was heightened because he’d been so taken with the image of the woman’s leg in the gallery photograph – a leg I clearly didn’t have.
My disappointment had been acute, and I knew he’d noticed my silence at dinner. Maybe the revelation he’d trusted me with on our drive was a signal that we were friends and nothing more, and certainly the fact that he’d found the leg photograph so appealing had pricked at the insecurity I carried shackled to me like handcuffs – that I wasn’t … enough for him to appreciate in the same way.
Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1) Page 20
