by Wendy Rosnau
"Like he insists all the men working for him wear his tattoo, the women wear their hair long and straight."
A control freak, Blu decided. A twisted crazy who likes to play power games. He kept his thoughts to himself and shuffled to the next picture.
"See, my hair's the same in that one. That's a Sandpiper there, and I'm standing near—"
"Hold it." Blu jerked his head up again. "A Sandpiper? You know what kind of boat this is?"
"Yes. But I don't know why I know that."
Blu rubbed his jaw, then handed her the next picture. "And what do you see in this picture?"
She studied the snapshot. "The background is blurred, but behind the dock I'm standing on I think that's an old pilothouse. It looks like it's from the seventies. They were broad like that, and top-heavy." She looked up. "Is that what you wanted me to tell you?"
Blu didn't know what he'd wanted her to tell him, but suddenly his curiosity doubled.
"Blu?"
It was the first time she had left devil off his name. "Yeah?"
"What do you think it means, these things I know?"
"It means you haven't forgotten everything about your past. You must have spent time around a marina. Yesterday, on the Gulf, you were as seaworthy and comfortable as I was on the Nightwing. You know boats and you've been on water a lot."
She was smiling now—sure they'd just discovered a piece of the puzzle. Her smile was so damn sweet that Blu felt his inside turn to mush. Never having felt anything like it, he quickly went back to examining the pictures, examining a younger version of the woman who sat beside him. She had the same innocent eyes, the same sun-bleached hair, only short enough that her ears and slender neck were exposed. She looked maybe fifteen—her tank top revealed a slight swell to her teenage breasts, and her short cutoffs accenting a hint of curve to her maturing hips.
Blu set down the pictures. "You said you're twenty-four?"
"And you said it's a lie."
He examined her delicate features, her smooth flawless skin. "I think you think it's a lie, too."
She broke eye contact, stared at the scarred table surface. "Salva's older," she confessed. "He celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday a month ago. Why would an older man be attracted to someone so much younger?"
Blu stiffened. Why indeed.
"If we met three years ago and I'm not twenty, then—"
"Then he's got a lot of explaining to do." Blu's tone was full of disgust.
Her head shot up. "No! I don't want to see him again. Not ever." Suddenly she was gripping Blu's arm in the same frantic manner she had yesterday when she'd thought he was going to turn her over to Jackson at the apartment building. "Promise me I won't ever have to face him. I don't ever want him touching me again, Blu. Oh, God, please. Please, Blu, if he finds me, he'll—"
"Take it easy." Blu covered her hand with his. "If he shows up—"
She pulled her hand away from his. "If he shows up, I'm dead. Do you get that? Dead. Or may as well be."
Her fear was real and it bothered him. Oh, hell, there it was—the Crescent City Devil had started to grow a conscience. Blu picked up the pictures and quickly flipped through them to single out the one of Angel he liked the best—the one where her eyes were as bright as her smile—then handed the others back. "I'll keep this one."
"Why?"
"There's a chance I might be able to locate the pier, or the boat. I'll check it out."
The reason for pocketing the picture was lame, but it was the best he could do short of telling her the truth. And right now Blu wasn't too happy with the truth. He didn't need a conscience messing with his thinking and muddying up the water.
"Then taking the photos was a good idea. It could be a clue. We might be able to find that pilothouse and then—"
"Whoa!" Blu stuck the picture in the pocket of his black T-shirt. "Don't get your heart set on a miracle happening. This is a long shot at best."
The comment, as well as his chiding tone, was like dousing her with ice water. Suddenly she was no longer smiling. "Long shots are better than nothing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to use the rest room. Where is it?"
"Down the hall, left of the bar." Blu had to physically stand and move his chair to let her out of the corner. When she headed in the direction he'd pointed, he spun the chair around and sat. As she sauntered away from him in her him jeans and blouse, he studied her, deciding if she was going to change her looks, she'd need to do more than simply buy a wig a shade darker than her original hair color and shorten it by a foot.
After she'd disappeared, Blu found himself tapping his fingers on the table, already anxious for her to come back to him. He scanned the bar crowd. Cruger's was a small joint, easy to see everyone in the place at a quick glance, and he knew them all. The bar itself consisted of plain wood tables and mismatched chairs. There was no decor to speak of—men didn't appreciate that sort of thing, anyway, and knowing that, Nate Cruger had been smart enough to put his money into the one thing customers did care about, good beer.
A long five minutes lapsed. When Angel didn't return, Blu checked his watch. Wondering if she was sick, or if she'd simply taken off, he got up and headed down the hall that led to the unisex rest room.
Seeing the door was closed, he was just about to knock when he heard a scuffle followed by a faint cry. A split second later one solid kick sent the door flying inward. Two seconds later Blu was inside reaching for Sam Miller—a welder he recognized from the docks—who had Angel pinned against the sink, groping her with greedy fingers. He didn't say a word as he threw the inebriated man face-first into the wall. Blood ran from the man's nose, but Blu ignored it as he drove his fist into his stomach, then into his jaw. The sound of bones breaking was sickening, and the doomed man dropped to his knees.
Still enraged, Blu grabbed Sam by the shirt and lifted him back to his rubbery legs. His fist was poised and nearly on its way to break another bone when Angel cried out for him to stop. He spun around to find her clinging to the far wall, her eyes wide with fear, her face ghostly pale. A second later she was bolting for the door, scrambling through the curious crowd that had jam-packed the hall.
"Angel!" Blu let the near-unconscious man slump to the floor and raced after her. By the time he elbowed his way out of Cruger's, she had more than a block headstart on him.
* * *
The buttons had been torn from her blouse. Kristen tugged the edges together to cover her white bra, and sprinted down the alley. She turned the block before the women's shelter and ducked into yet another dark alley to catch her breath.
She desperately wanted to go back to the shelter, but not with her clothes torn and her body shaking with fear. She didn't want her daughter to see her this way, and not Sister Marian, either.
Kristen still didn't know how she could have entered the bathroom without seeing that creep lurking in the corner. It wasn't until she'd locked herself in that she'd spied him grinning at her. She released a shudder, recalling the moment he attacked her. She had tried to fight him off, had prayed for someone to come to her rescue. And then Blu had appeared with his fists clenched and his anger raging and … suddenly she'd been transported back to the island where—more than once—she'd been forced to watch Salva beat the life out of a guard or brutalize some poor gardener.
Yes, in that moment Blu had become Salva, and in those terrifying seconds she'd panicked.
Kristen knew the situation was completely different. Blu was there to help her, not hurt her. But the moment had twisted on her and it had snapped her back to the island in the blink of an eye. Embarrassed now that she had run, she stepped out of the alley. She had to find a change of clothes, and then she had to get back to the shelter before something else crazy happened.
A small shop at the end of the street still had its lights on. The name over the door read Spirit World. Kristen hurried to the door and stepped inside the cluttered little shop in hopes of finding a replacement for her ruined blouse.
As she scanned
her surroundings, she saw an array of voodoo dolls, incense, candles, and various effigies. Optimistic that she would find something in the line of clothing, she headed down a narrow aisle. Overhead, and along the outer walls, hundreds of wooden masks stared at her. The masks were crudely made, some depicting animals, others, human. Then there were creative combinations of both. Strangely enough, the masks didn't intimidate her. She knew that the house-blessing masks were as commonplace in New Orleans as seafood gumbo.
They were?
Again Kristen was aware that she'd remembered something she apparently knew as fact, but not how or why. She glanced around, studying the masks. It was strange, but she felt almost at home with these masks. A strange kind of kinship.
The sweet scent of opium incense clung in the air. And the scent seemed as familiar to Kristen as the house-blessing masks. Her own favorite scent, lemon verbena, could be found in shops such as this.
She continued to move through the aisles until she came to a gauze-draped doorway in the back. There were voices coming from behind the curtain, a strong female voice and a deep baritone. Kristen crept closer, peeked along the open side of the curtain. A woman sat at a small round table, her face young and beautiful, her dark intelligent eyes outlined with colorful glitter. Her lips were a ripe red. As she moved her dark curly head and began to chant, the large gold hoops at her ears glistened in the lamplight.
Kristen feigned interest in one of the masks next to the door so she could linger without suspicion. Eaves-dropping was something she'd gotten good at while living with Salva. She had always felt like a houseguest in what was suppose to be her own home, and the only way she'd learned anything had been by listening in on conversations.
That's how she'd discovered that her mother-in-law hated her. It was also how she'd found out that Salva had a brother he spoke to once a week on the phone. It's how she'd learned that every guard, maid and nanny who worked for her husband did so out of fear, not loyalty. It's also how she'd come to realize that "the business" her husband operated was of an illegal nature. No wonder he hadn't cared if she was a fugitive—her husband was one himself.
The chanting stopped and the woman began to use tarot cards to tell the man's future. Absorbed in the woman's hands as she turned over the cards one by one, Kristen didn't hear the outside door open, or see the man who slipped inside. And it was only after she sensed someone behind her that the hair on the back of her neck stood out.
With her heart climbing her throat, she slowly turned to find the Blu Devil less than a foot away. On instinct, she clutched her torn blouse to her breasts and took a step back.
He said, "We don't have time for you to act up, so don't. You're being tailed, and we can expect the guy in the next minute or two."
"Guy?"
"That's what I said. He's a hulk wearing leather. Sound familiar?"
"No."
"Come on. We need to get out of here."
Kristen spun around, looking for a way to escape the little shop. There appeared to be no way out, not unless there was a back entrance beyond the curtain.
The front door opened and in walked the Hulk. "Oh, God." Kristen slumped against Blu and immediately started to shake. The man was very large. But that wasn't the worst of it—the Hulk had a bald head.
Salva's shaved head hadn't been all that odd. Even though he could grow plenty of thick, dark hair, his choice to shave his shiny pate daily had never prompted Kristen to ask why. But what she had always thought was odd was her husband's insistence that all the men who worked for him shave their heads, too, as well as wear the dagger tattoo in their palm. The only people on the Maland estate who were allowed to keep their hair were the women. And as she'd already told Blu, they couldn't cut an inch off without Salva's approval.
"Do you recognize him?"
Kristen focused on the man's face. "No, I don't know him," she whispered, her voice full of fear. "But he works for Salva."
"How do you know that?"
"He has a bald head." Kristen's voice broke. "They all have bald heads."
She had stepped closer to Blu—almost huddling against him—and now as she gazed up at him, she found him looking at her strangely. She knew it was a crazy thing to say, but unless you'd been on the island to see how many bald-headed men worked for her husband it was impossible to understand the magnitude of her statement.
"Come on." Blu parted the curtain and forced Kristen ahead of him into the back room. The psychic looked up, alarmed at first, but when her gaze traveled past Kristen, a smile parted her bloodred lips. "Bonjour, my sweet devil."
Blu nodded, then spoke to the woman in rapid French. Suddenly she wasn't smiling anymore, but standing quickly and ushering the man who had been seated at her table out of the room, telling him she would be back with him momentarily.
Returning, she pulled on the side of a bookcase. "Inside, quickly."
Kristen peered into the darkness, afraid to move. She heard Blu say, "Merci, Lema," before he shoved her into the small space and followed. In an instant they were sandwiched together behind the bookcase in the darkness.
Kristen reached out and felt the walls on all three sides. She turned, bumped into Blu's hard chest. "This is nothing more than a closet," she snapped. "We're trapped."
"Shh! Quiet."
He shifted and suddenly his entire length was pressed tightly to Kristen. She tried to step back, but there was no room to spare. She was about to insist that he get them out of there when she heard a man call out to Lema.
"Mais, yeah, m'sieu. I'll be right there."
If one of Salva's men had found her this quickly, that meant her husband had connections everywhere. Was it true, then? Could Salva snatch her back to the island in a blink of an eye? Was she forever his as he'd told her every day for the past three years? Would she never know who she really was, where she belonged?
Kristen started to shake. She didn't want to confront the Hulk, but she didn't want to remain in this black box, either—especially since the closet wasn't big enough for one broom—a skinny broom, at that. She'd never been claustrophobic before, but this was suddenly reminding her of a recurring nightmare she'd been having since leaving the island—the one where she found herself drowning in blackness. So much blackness.
For three days she'd gone without sleep afraid to close her eyes.
"Easy, Angel." His lips touched her ear at the same time his hands slid over her shoulders and squeezed gently. "I can feel you shaking. Don't fall apart on me."
She could feel his stone-hard thighs pressed against her hips, feel his chest moving with each breath he took, feel his body heat growing, spreading. Consuming hers. "I'm afraid," she admitted.
"Of being in here with me, or the guy outside?"
It was a fair question. Kristen wanted to say both, but the truth was, as nervous as she was about being in this tight spot with Blu, it didn't compare to the fear of being captured and taken back to Salva. "I can't go back," she whispered, desperation in her voice.
"We can trust Lema. She won't give us up."
"She might not have to. That man looks capable of tearing this place apart a board at a time if he thinks I'm here." As she said the words, dread filled Kristen and she knew what the Hulk's presence meant—Salva had locked in on her location. He was coming for her. Coming for Amanda.
Amanda… Oh, God. Did Salva know where she was?
"Do you think this man knows where I've been staying?" she whispered.
"No, or he wouldn't be so persistent now. He'd just sit back and wait for you to go back to the women's shelter."
"The shelter? You know where I've been staying?"
"I followed you last night."
Kristen felt her world tilt. The room suddenly turned hot and her heart began to pound. She felt her head start to spin and she let go of her torn blouse and clasped Blu's arms in a white-knuckled grip. "I can't breathe."
"Easy."
Blu's body was pressed so tight to her, Kristen could feel t
he strength in his treelike stature. She leaned back, bracing her head against the wall, trying to gain some distance. The sound of voices on the other side caused a whimper to escape her lips and she gripped Blu's solid arms tighter.
"Concentrate on something else," he drawled.
Eyes squeezed shut, Kristen tried to chase away her growing panic. "I can't, it's not working. Nothing's working."
"Give Lema a few minutes to get rid of him."
"If he saw me come in here he won't leave without me." Kristen was working herself into a full-fledged panic.
"Easy."
"Stop saying that."
"Shh, fille. Let's do something to take your mind off what's going on out there."
"And what could we possibly do? This closet isn't big enough to turn around in, much less—"
Kristen felt him shift his body, felt him press against her. Suddenly his breath brushed her cheek. She smelled a hint of beer, not sickening mint. His mouth moved closer and then he was brushing his lips over hers, taking her mind and body somewhere else.
The kiss started out whisper-soft, but in an instant the butterfly caress exploded into something reckless and wonderful. He brushed his hot lips over hers once more, then began making love to her mouth as though a firestorm had suddenly erupted inside him.
It was beyond anything Kristen had ever experienced, this poignant rush of heat, this soul-wrenching need. Fleetingly, she chastised herself for succumbing so easily to this wild, untamed kiss. Then she was sliding her hands up Blu's arms and opening her mouth wider to allow his hard, hot tongue inside.
The firestorm spread.
Engulfed by it, sexually awakened for the first time in her life, Kristen's stomach knotted. Flipped. Then flipped again. Suddenly her nipples ached and she felt an urgent need growing between her thighs. Desire was something foreign to her—at least, it had been dead for three years—and she rubbed against Blu in answer to this unexpected hunger.
The world tilted, then it didn't exist anymore as Blu pulled her away from the wall and his big hands cupped her backside and curled her more firmly against his lower body.
The black box that had become their safe haven grew smaller. Hotter. But even then, even when the Blu Devil's roused passion lay stiff and pulsing against her belly, Kristen couldn't stop her own desire, or the longing this man's heat ignited.
