Cupping her chin in her hand, Anika rested her elbow on the table and leaned toward Brad as if he were the only one in the room.
Got you.
Chapter 17
Over the next thirty-six minutes, Anika drew Brad in deeper with question after question. When she was satisfied she had gathered enough intel, she stopped him mid-sentence with a not-quite-smothered yawn.
“Tired?” His tone was sympathetic and, she was gratified to note, a little disappointed.
“Maybe we could pick it up tomorrow,” she said.
“Great! Breakfast at nine? I can meet you at your hotel.”
She did a quick calculation. The computer centers opened at 0830 hours. With delays and re-boots, she needed more time. “I’m not big on breakfast. How about coffee at ten? The lobby at The Europa.” She picked the hotel where the taxi driver had dropped her off that first night.
“It’s a date.”
“I think I’ll call it a night then.” She stood to leave.
“Want to share a taxi?”
She started to shake her head, then reconsidered. Maybe they would pass a policeman or two so she could test his effectiveness as a buffer. No point wasting her time tomorrow if he wasn’t going to be of any help.
“Do you mind if we walk a little first? I think I overdid it on those plantains.”
“That sounds even better.”
The broad grins on the men’s faces telegraphed their thoughts — Lucky bastard! Their wives’ smiles conveyed a sweeter sentiment.
The glowers from Naomi and Judy told a different story. Anika hoped the Australians didn’t pay too much attention to police alerts or she would be reported to the local officials in a nano second.
Outside in the warm night, she and Brad strolled along the pavement while samba and reggae beats pulsed from every open window. A soft breeze tickled her bare arms and neck. Beside her, Brad hummed along with the music. She couldn’t decide if she was grateful or frustrated by the darkness that made them less visible to the policía.
They passed a store window and she caught a glimpse of the two of them walking side-by-side. In that moment, she could almost believe her cover as a high school art teacher, visiting a tropical land, being escorted back to her hotel by an attentive, good-looking man she had met in a chance encounter.
Longing as powerful as the surf near the Malecón swept over her, followed by a backwash of anxiety.
Where are you? Why aren’t you here, beside me, instead of him?
She heard her own sigh before she could stop it.
“A peso for your thoughts?” Brad stepped out into the street.
A single blinding headlight rushed at them in the black night.
Her arm shot out. She found cloth, grabbed hold, and yanked with all of her strength. Brad fell against her. Searing heat shot up her wounded leg and she hissed out a cry of pain.
The motorbike roared past and disappeared into the darkness. Laughter floated over the fading engine.
“Stupid kids. I never saw them coming.” Brad ran a hand through his hair. “That’s the second time today you’ve saved me. Are you all right?” He touched her arm, his voice tight with concern.
“Fine.” The word edged out between clenched teeth. “You?”
“Yeah. You’re really strong.”
She noted surprise in his voice. “Not really.” She shifted her stance to ease the fiery sensation in her leg. “Your own weight did most of the work. It’s a trick I learned from one of my students. He’s into Ki.”
“Some trick.”
They started to walk again.
She couldn’t completely mask a limp.
“You’re hurt!” Brad’s brows drew together and his voice sharpened in alarm.
“Recent injury,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Let’s get a taxi.” Before she could stop him, Brad called out to a man lounging against a car across the street. “Lean on me.” He threaded her arm through his. Then, as if thinking aloud, he added, “I wish Maggie were here. She could do something for your leg.”
“Maggie?” With each painful step, the boxy Honda became more inviting. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, remember?” Brad looked over at her, a smile playing around his lips. “You already asked me that at dinner.”
Just double-checking.
“Maggie and her husband Roberto own the cottage where I stayed near Guardalavaca. Her real name is Magdalena, but she prefers Maggie. She’s a chef at one of the big resorts in town.”
Brad continued holding onto her as he opened the rear passenger door. Once inside, he lifted up her leg and placed it across his lap.
She bit back a protest at his take-charge behavior.
Remember, you’re a single woman on holiday. Let him play the gentleman.
“Hotel Europa, por favor.” Brad instructed the driver, then turned back to Anika.
“Okay?” Concern creased his forehead.
“Better. About your friend, Maggie. Her cooking cures wounds?”
Brad laughed. “It doesn’t, but her medicine does. She’s a doctor. Trained in the States. But she can’t make decent money in Cuba, not with the government wage controls. So she cooks. She’s a genius with pharmas and medicinal herbs. I sliced my foot open on some coral once and she had me up and walking again in two days.”
“Sounds like a gifted woman.”
The taxi crawled through the traffic.
“I could call her and ask what she’d suggest for your leg,” he offered. “How did you hurt it?”
She thought back to the deserted gloom of the defunct airport terminal, the seconds ticking down, the sharp stab through her thigh.
“Clumsy fall,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ve got pain killers back in my room.”
At the Hotel Europa, Brad insisted on walking her to the elevator. When the door slid open, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can manage from here.” Be friendly, be nice. “See you in the morning, then?”
He nodded and stepped back. She entered the waiting car and gave a quick wave. Once the door closed, she shut her eyes and leaned back against the wall.
Alone. At last. Too bad she wasn’t staying here. She gave a sigh. She still had to make her way to the Santa Isabel. Three floors up, she got out and caught a car going down.
The lobby stretched before her like a vast sea of polished tile. Taking small steps helped to minimize the pain. She visualized her room at the Santa Isabel, the distance to the settee, the hole in the lining where she had hidden the medical kit with the Numb-It and pain blockers. She imagined squeezing out a thick strip of the numbing gel. Waiting for it to smother the fire.
Almost there. Five more paces to the chair where that woman is sitting. Seven paces past her to the doorman.
The woman’s head bent over an old-style paper magazine. Glossy pages covered her lap. Her long earring swung from her lobe like a pendulum. Something about the earring seemed familiar.
Anika’s eyes narrowed in concentration. She tried to see the woman’s face, but only caught the slope of her cheek and the tip of her nose. Her long dark hair hung loose across her shoulders. The woman’s features didn’t register with Anika, but her earring did.
Several strands of white and turquoise beads were secured midpoint by an opaque silver circle. Not unlike several pairs she had seen at the dollar stores or in the street stalls. Still, she didn’t think she had seen this particular pair for sale.
A man bumped into her with his bag.
Hot licks of fire shot up her leg. Her jaw clenched and her hand fisted against the pain.
He tossed a brief “sorry” over his shoulder.
She blew out a breath and returned her attention to the woman who had gotten up from her chair and was waving to another young woman — blond with olive skin, late twenties — in a flowery print dress.
Anika didn’t recognize the second woman at all.
“Taxi, señorita?” The
bellboy stood at polite attention.
Nodding wearily, she followed him outside and climbed into a cab.
• • •
The next morning, Anika stared at the blank screen in the computer center. She hadn’t slept well and the blinking cursor irritated her eyes. The only other people in the center were a teenager in a gray sweatshirt and a woman in a screaming yellow sundress.
Anika thought about putting on her sunshades, but the room’s dim light would make it hard to see through the lenses. Not that there was anything to see. Still no word from Gianni.
Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he wasn’t coming.
She rubbed her hands over her face. No. If he had changed his mind, he would have left her a message. He’ll come. He has to.
She tapped some keys and closed out the private channel, then moved across the aisle to a new computer where she read a reply from her message to Jorge.
She almost cursed out loud. Thirty-five hundred? That’s blackmail, you bastard.
But if she wanted to remain in Cuba for any length of time, she would have to pay it. Or take her chances with the police.
Maybe Brad knew something about registration. After all, this was his fourth visit to Cuba. Brad.
She checked the wall clock. 8:57. If she were going to meet him by ten o’clock, she’d better get started on her intel verification.
She straightened in her seat, shook off her fatigue, and typed a polite response to Jorge. “Will consider your kind offer of help.”
She hit the send button, signed off, then turned her attention to researching Mr. Brad Baxter. As expected, his public files confirmed what he had told her the night before, so she quickly moved on to private ones. Her fingers tapped the keys and her eyes skimmed the screen in a rapid back-and-forth exchange. She could almost hear Evan, the agency’s tech wiz, murmuring prompts that helped her work around password protections and override security codes.
She discovered a civil court file, Baxter vs. Baxter. Sounded like a divorce. Brad hadn’t mentioned anything about that last night. Of course, it wasn’t exactly first meeting small talk.
The file resisted her initial attempts to open it. Recalling more of Evan’s tips, she made two more attempts. No go.
She checked the clock again. 9:41. She blew out a frustrated breath. Time was up. The file would have to wait.
Chapter 18
Anika strolled along the crowded sidewalk next to Brad, who kept pace with the other pedestrians.
Just two tourists blending in with everyone else. Where are the police when you’re ready for them?
“The Santa Isabel Hotel is up ahead.” Brad was taking his role as tour guide very seriously, pointing out every notable detail on their route. “One of Cuba’s great old hotels. It used to be home to royalty, the palace of the Count of Santovenia. The government turned it into a hotel in eighteen sixty-seven.”
“Looks lovely.” Anika tugged the brim of her straw hat lower and hoped to escape notice.
“Señorita Brown.” The doorman called out to her.
“Let’s cross. There’s a store I want to visit on the other side.” She started out into the street.
“Wait.” Brad took hold of her arm. “I think the doorman is trying to get your attention.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not staying there.”
But the doorman was hurrying in their direction, calling her name. He waved a piece of paper in his hand.
Her heart jumped into her throat. Could it be from Gianni?
She turned and strode toward the man, deserting Brad. “Gracias.” Her gaze raced over the words. Then her heart plummeted. Not from Gianni. Instead, the policía had called several times reminding her to report to the local station.
“Is everything okay?” Brad came up behind her.
“Fine.” She crushed the paper in her fist. “It’s from … the manager.”
“But I thought you weren’t staying at the Isabel.”
Focus.
“I’m not.” She forced herself to look at Brad, smile, explain. “There was a misunderstanding about my reservation when I tried to check in last night. That’s why I’m at the Europa.”
“That doorman must have been watching for you.” Brad continued to stand there as the man returned to his post. “He spotted you a half block away.”
“I’m afraid I made a scene.” Anika gave what she hoped was an embarrassed smile. “Not my best moment. Is the café close?”
“Pretty close,” Brad said. “But where’s the store you wanted to visit?”
“We can skip it.” She took a couple of steps down the street and willed him to follow. “I really need that coffee.”
She counted four police uniforms on the way to the Plaza de la Catedral, a large square ringed by the city’s cathedral and eighteenth century mansions. Not one stopped them or even looked their way.
She told herself she should be pleased that Brad was proving to be a good buffer, but the back of her neck prickled with annoyance every time another official let them pass without hassle. Here they were in the middle of the twenty-first century and she couldn’t even walk alone without being bothered, despite the fact that she could take down any of these men, even with a sore leg.
At Brad’s insistence, she sat and rested while he bought café con leches from a street vendor. On his way back to their table, he bumped into a man carrying an oversized bag, walked right between a couple snapping pictures, and caught his knee on the edge of a bench.
So unlike Gianni. Her throat tightened. If only she were having coffee with Gianni. If only she were watching him move across the square. Always hyper aware of his surroundings, he could flow like water in and around the people and objects in his path. Brad definitely didn’t flow.
“Here you go.” He set a cup of frothy liquid and triangular pastries in front of her.
The hot coffee slid down her throat and gave her a kick of caffeine that helped chase away fatigue.
“I chose this place because of these pastelitos. They’re the best in Havana.” He divided the small flaky pies into sections and placed several next to her coffee.
Nice hands. Long-fingered, wide-palmed. Strong, but not hard-looking. Hands that had probably never detonated a bomb, fired a laser, broken a neck.
She took a bite of the pastry. At Brad’s expectant stare, she made herself exclaim how delicious it tasted. “Do you know anything about registering with the Havana police?”
“I’m afraid not.” His eyebrows drew together. “The university handles all of that for me. One of the perks of being here on an academic pass. Didn’t your school in Toronto take care of that?”
“It’s not for me.” She took another bite. “A woman at my hotel asked me about it. She hasn’t registered yet and a policeman stopped her on the street and gave her a hard time.”
“Yeah, the police can be strict about that kind of stuff. A holdover from the Castro days. She needs to get it taken care of.”
“I’m sure she will. Here, don’t let me eat all of these.” She pushed some of the pastry toward Brad. “What do you have in mind for today?”
“Is there anything in particular you want to visit?”
“I’d like to go to a computer center. And the Malecón,” she said, thinking about Señor Alejo and his room for rent.
“The Malecón I can understand. But a computer center? That’s not usually on the tourist route.”
“I didn’t bring my handheld on this trip and I want to check on a friend back home.” She didn’t elaborate.
“You don’t like to travel with a handheld either?” The corner of Brad’s eyes crinkled in pleasure. “That’s another thing we have in common. Okay then, a computer center it is. I should check on my flight home anyway.”
“You’re flying back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night. That’s the plan.” He paused and looked at her. “I could change it. Delay my return. What about you, Jane? What are your plans?”
A
policeman appeared at the far corner of the plaza. His gaze slid right past Anika and Brad, then settled on a young woman wearing too much make-up and too little clothing for a morning stroll in the square. When she spotted the official, she wobbled off, her platform shoes teetering across the cobblestones.
“I try not to make too many plans while I’m on holiday.” Anika took another sip of coffee. The caffeine hummed through her now. She felt almost civil. “It’s a nice contrast to my life back home.”
“My visa’s good for a few weeks still.” Brad leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “And summer classes don’t start until mid-June.”
“Are you going to finish that?” She let his unspoken invitation hang in the air between them.
“It’s yours.” Brad sat back, easing off. “There’s a computer center a few blocks from here. If you’re not carrying a handheld, we can also stop and get a disposable camera. We’ll see some spectacular architecture today. Especially along the Malecón.”
As Brad detailed the itinerary, more tables filled up with a mix of tourists and locals drinking, talking, reading news discs.
“And then after dinner,” Brad said, drawing her back, “I’d love to take you to El Zorro, the nightclub I mentioned last night.”
You don’t get it. By tonight, Gianni will have arrived, Jorge will have gotten his fee, and you will have served your purpose. We’ll be done.
“Sounds like fun.” She set down her empty cup, ready to face the next several hours.
“Here, I’ll carry that.” Brad hoisted her knapsack across his shoulder.
She had to restrain herself from snatching it back from him. Remember. Single woman. High school teacher. Play the part.
An hour later, she and Brad stood on the hot pavement in front of Señor Alejo’s house. Cars, buses, and autobikes whizzed behind them along the Malecón. She squinted against the glare bouncing off the sidewalk from the noon day sun.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I was here yesterday afternoon. I met with the owner. He promised to hold the room for me.”
“You’re sure this is the place?” Brad asked.
Planks of splintered wood formed a crude “X” across the house’s pale yellow door and a handwritten notice read: “No entre.” The balcony doors were shuttered tight and the sign advertising a room for rent had been removed.
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