Guardian Knight

by Aarti V Raman

  Using tongue and teeth and expertise and just the slightest amount of restraint to make her want it. Bad.

  He hiked her higher, curving his large palms around her bottom and placed her on the counter, settling between her legs. They continued kissing wild, and she was unbuttoning his shirt. Almost ripping it off, and he laughed. Then he got hold of her yellow shirt and she leaned back so he could take it off…

  And knocked her head on the counter above her.

  “Owww.” She laughed and groaned at the same time.

  His hands stilled on her stomach. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  She looked at his sexy chest and his sexy mouth and that half-ripped off shirt. Naked looked good on this man.

  “Brand?”

  “Yeah?” He hadn’t removed his hand from her tee but it wasn’t progressing anywhere either.

  “My kitchen’s a little too small for your, uh, appetites,” she said with a small grin, regret clouding her beautiful brown eyes.

  The moment was lost.

  “You could say that,” he said, pulling the shirt back in place and stepped back from her.

  “Under any other circumstances I’d be tempted to take you up on that statement,” I still am, despite what I am about to say. She hopped down and looked way up at him.

  “But, with all that’s going on with us, it’s better if we don’t add sex to the mix. Right?

  He gave her an inscrutable look. “Yeah.”

  What an ego boost you are, Brandon Rice.

  “So, can I ask you something?”

  Akira shrugged assent.

  “Why in the name of God are you going back to San Magellan and how did you make it happen?”

  “Ostensibly, I have permits to interview the new cabinet under Tony Romero’s regime. My boss, Akarshdeep Singh, was impressed with the response my obituary received so he pulled some strings…a lot of strings… and got me in for a series of articles to be done on the new government. The effect of the new democracy, their policies, etcetera,” Akira answered, placing the ice cream back in the freezer with a rueful look.

  If any moment required a sugar coma…

  “And not ostensibly?” He didn’t want to know the answer.

  She turned around and gave him that same implacable look he’d seen when she’d told him that she couldn’t forget that a good man had been murdered inches away from her.

  The look that had done Jacque Lefevre in.

  “I am going to get to the bottom of Sebastian’s murder and the oil conspiracy.”

  Sebastian, my friend, you really did have your woman right all the while, didn’t you?

  Aloud he said, “If I tell you to drop this idea and run away with me to the Carribbean will you come?”

  She grinned. “Just answer me this. Will Sebastian be there?”

  He grinned back. “Touché.” The grin faded. “I don’t think you really understand the concept of mortal danger, Akira.”

  Her grin faded to a musing smile. “I don’t have to. I have you as my guardian knight, don’t I?”

  Twenty

  She slept like a little girl.

  Brand couldn’t stop the thought from running like a ticker tape, just like it had for the past four hours when they had finally disembarked from their flight from Chile into Santiago.

  Her boss had sprung for a small charter plane ready for them to board and winged over to Baja Madeira. After disembarking, they’d gone straight to one of the smaller hotels, Hotel Excelsiora, situated in the waterfront district, in the sedan that had been waiting for them at the runway.

  For once, Akira was too exhausted to ask probing questions about the choice of hotel, preferring to shore up on bad coffee that gave a pinched look to her eyes. She’d waited till they’d checked into adjoining rooms at the Excelsiora and then simply went out like a frigging light.

  It had been up to him to secure their rooms, to make sure that there was no forced entry in their absence. He’d done this by the usual methods. Clear sticking tape on the doorknobs, copies of the keys, arranging his clothes and toiletries in a specific order, and a special motion sensor that he’d rigged in his room, courtesy of Lucas, his resident tactical genius.

  He was sure at least one of the two rebel factions currently out to depose the Democratic Party knew of his entry into Baja - just as he’d intended - but he still didn’t want Akira involved in the mess. Unfortunately, she was his ostensible reason for coming back to San Magellan.

  His not ostensible reason involved activities in the middle of the night.

  He considered putting it off for one more night, but knew that he had to take advantage of Akira’s momentary weakness.

  By tomorrow night, who knew what she would have uncovered.

  He sighed, the sound magnified in the eerily silent room. How easy it would be to just crawl into bed in the next room and sleep the night away. Or even better, how easy it would be to just crawl into bed with her and not sleep at all.

  How tempting too.

  Brand shook his head at his own flimsy control and decided he’d spent enough time loitering beside her bed.

  He’d already showered and was now dressed in camo-clothing. Black jeans, and a black pullover, with a black pea coat. He didn’t want to make it too easy on whoever it was that was coming after them to find him. Although he did want to be found.

  Or something to that effect.

  He got up fluidly from the chair where he’d been sitting, pocketed his watch, the room keys and his cell phone. He gave her a last regretful look.

  She was sleeping sprawled all over the place. It occurred to him that he’d seen this woman sleep in a bed more times than his last three affairs.

  Get a grip, mate.

  He covered her with the lightweight blanket, kept the bathroom light on, and the door creaked open as he exited the room with barely a sound. He locked the room with the key then, and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on it.

  He knew she would be apoplectic if she woke up before he came back but he couldn’t afford to have her roam around the streets of Baja without him.

  Two hours, he calculated. It would take him about two hours to finish his order of business.

  He jogged down the three flights of stairs and told the night desk clerk that his sister was appallingly jet lagged, so she shouldn’t be disturbed under any circumstances. Then, having gotten the name of the drinking hole he wanted to get to, just in case people came asking questions, he left the Excelsiora.

  ~~~~~

  The waterfront district of Baja Madeira was like most others in big cities. The unsavory elements of town, usually gathered in the abandoned and unused warehouses that were situated at the end of the city. And there were no lights out there.

  Only a few hardcore drinking holes were situated here for the sailors who docked at all hours. And for the fishermen who came in early in the morning to go about their day’s business.

  The Medina was one such bar cum breakfast place.

  Raucous, with the beat of the salsa burning the dusty, worn interiors up, lights were kept to an absolute minimum. The seats were worn and torn vinyl in most places. And the bartender was a toothless old man named Felipe. Brand had come here every day for a whole week the last time he’d been in Baja, six months ago.

  When he’d first been approached by Sebastian to take up the job, on Henry Rousseau’s personal recommendation.

  The Medina served clean food and a beer that reminded him of the bitters back home in Melbourne. And last time, there had been a pretty barmaid named Elena with whom he’d had a very enjoyable week.

  Brand slipped in, fully aware that he wasn’t being followed yet. That was about to change, of course.

  The place was hopping even though it was close to two am. With bawdy sailors talking in all languages, the music pumping and a game of pool was going on in the almost broken table that had been placed there for just such a purpose.

  A new barmaid, Monica, her tag read, came to take his order
. He sat in an obscure corner, the light from the single bulb behind him, throwing his face half in shadow.

  “Habla Anglais?” he asked, in badly accented Spanish, before she could start firing off the menu.

  “Little.” She answered shortly.

  “Okay, little will do, sweetheart.” Brand played up his Australian right now. “I’d like the local brew, fish and fries. How about that?” He even grinned.

  Two tables behind him, his mark cocked his ears. That accent… he’d heard that accent before.

  Monica, appealing in her knee-length red leather skirt and white shirt nodded, was bored. Wrote down the order in her pad and moved to the next patron that called her.

  Brand leaned back and waited.

  The order came in eight minutes. Felipe, who’d spotted him when he came in, himself came to serve. They spoke for a minute, and then Felipe left.

  Brand dug into the food with enthusiasm. It really was good, for a seedy establishment. He was just enjoying the third sip of his beer, when a revolver appeared on the table and a man, clad in a fisherman’s crewneck sweater with a straggly beard, sat down without a sound opposite him.

  Brand cocked one brow, while he calmly drank down his beer.

  “Brandon Rice. What the hell are you doing back here?” the man asked, in heavily accented English.

  “Miguel, my friend. How nice of you to join me,” Brand toasted him.

  Miguel Cortez had been one of the men he’d befriended on his trips to the docks, when he was shipping in his arms and ammo to outfit The Sea Princess.

  He’d come to know of Miguel’s sympathies, quite accidentally too. After Miguel saved his life one shady night, when the militia had accosted Brand at three in the morning at the deserted waterfront.

  Miguel was the second-in-command to one of the factions that were after deposing the current government.

  “Why did you come back, Brandon? This is dangerous territory now. You know that.” Miguel idly spun the gun around the butt. It hit Brand’s plate with a small clink.

  “I do know that. I came back to help a…friend,” he answered carefully.

  “And this friend of yours, he wouldn’t be a certain dead Premier, would he?”

  Brand laughed. ‘“Course not, Miguel. I don’t work for ghosts. She’s a reporter. She was on the Princess and she, well, she has a tendency to almost get killed if I am not around to save her.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. You can tell your friends, that I have no business with them. They can carry on their activities in peace without any interference from me. I swear.” Brand held his hand up in the universal gesture of peace.

  “Do not get involved again, Brandon. It would be most unwise for you and your reporter friend,” Miguel stated quietly.

  “I know. I am not a fool, Miguel.”

  “You know what they did to our village in the mountain. Those men with the maps and the torches. They came and gave us a piece of paper that told us that this land belonged to the government now and they were going to use it to build an oil well. We would be handsomely compensated once the deal was actually struck. Until then, we had to make our own arrangement.”

  “Miguel, I know.” Brand’s food stuck in his throat, sticky and biting. “I know that no government is perfect.”

  “And when we didn’t comply, they came and burned the village down.” Miguel was bitter.

  “They burned it all down…like the people inside the homes, the women and the children meant nothing to them. Delgado’s precious government is responsible for mass murder, Brandon Rice, and it’s a damn shame he is dead.”

  If Brand was shocked, he didn’t let it show it on his face or eyes. Just the back of his neck prickled. “And why would that be, Miguel?”

  Miguel raised vengeful eyes to his sometime friend. “Because then we could kill him all over again. Stay away from the government. Stay away from the politicians. And stay away from the damn oil. We are going to take back what’s rightfully ours and then see how the rest of the world treats us.”

  Brandon nodded, because Miguel was spinning the gun faster and faster now. A clear show of his agitation.

  “Are you sure it was Delgado’s men who were responsible for what happened to your village?”

  “Yes. Alfredo Moya’s nephew, Frederico, and Kevin, his gringo bastard son were among those who came out with the papers over a year ago, asking us to evict the place.”

  Jigsaw puzzle piece number one, Brand thought, while he sipped the last of his beer.

  “Alright, I believe you. And I wish I could help you, in any way. But, for now, I am here as a tourist. Protecting a very stubborn woman. So, if you could please call off your dogs…” He grinned to show no offence.

  Miguel smiled too. It transformed him into a traditionally handsome man.

  “From protecting a Premier to protecting just a woman. How the mighty do fall, Brandon.”

  “Well, she’s a good friend.” Brandon smiled slowly. “And beautiful.”

  “Ah.” There was a wealth of meaning to the syllable.

  “It’s not what you think. We are just friends. It’s just business.” Brand protested for real this time.

  “Brandon, in our business, we both know that when a beautiful woman is involved, it is never just business.” Miguel stood up now. Pocketed his gun almost casually and held out his hand. “But, if you say you’re just here with her, then I believe you. And I will let the right people know that you are not to be harmed. And, in return, you will not poke your unbroken nose into matters that do not concern you. Entender?” Miguel added, almost as an afterthought.

  But, Brandon could see it in his eyes. The cold fire of belief that vengeance was the only way to go.

  In the long course of his career he’d come to understand that there were only two types of men who would never listen to reason.

  Those who had nothing to lose; and those who had lost everything. Money, power, position and influence all came secondary to these two breeds.

  For a long time now, Brand had been one of the former.

  Now, with a woman sleeping in a hotel room, he wasn’t totally sure.

  “Tengo entendido que, amigo. I don’t want to get my nose broken again.”

  Miguel nodded and left with two of his cronies.

  Brand ordered another beer, half-finished it and leaving a generous tip, walked out. It was almost close to four now. Ninety minutes since he’d left Akira.

  He walked slowly, thoughtfully, back the way he’d come.

  Was Miguel right?

  Was he already involved with Akira and he didn’t even know it? Sure, he wanted to kiss her, and go on kissing her till the earth stopped moving. And he wanted to do a lot more than that, given half a chance.

  She aroused him, excited him and made him want more than he could ever remember wanting. But that was all just physical. Incredible chemistry and, to be completely honest, the utter adrenalin rush he got from danger.

  Because, more often than not, she was smack dab in the middle of said danger.

  But, yesterday in her kitchen, there had been no danger. There had been no moment. There had been the stupid conversation with her mother.

  And there had been a lost look in her eyes he’d wanted to take away. He’d wanted to see her smile and sigh and moan and if she hadn’t rapped her head against the cabinet, he was reasonably sure that they wouldn’t be here in this godforsaken country right now.

  Then again, if they weren’t here, then he wouldn’t be questioning his own motives and wondering if the woman had addled his mind.

  A slight noise alerted him a split second before the knife flashed into his side. He twisted, and his fist shot out, caught his assailant in the gut. The man gasped, cursed and fell down for a second.

  It was a dark alley and it appalled Brand that he’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t even heard the man approach him. There was a black mask on the perp’s face, and Brand ripped it off, while he hauled the man up by the
scruff of his neck.

  “Tell your boss that I don’t want any trouble. Entender?” he said, distinctly, in perfect Spanish, while the man nodded his head sullenly.

  “And, just in case, the message isn’t clear enough.” He bunched his left hand into a fist and smashed it into the man’s nose. “Back the fuck off, amigo. Or I won't be responsible for what happens next.”

  The man groaned on the asphalt. And Brand walked off, absently wiping his hand on the kerchief he’d fortuitously stuck in his pant pocket.