by Linda Bond
Cold and hardened.
…
Her fingers felt warm against his chilled skin. She was trying to pry his fist apart, unravel him, loosen him up, maybe even force him to let go. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, could be something as simple as offer him comfort. Wouldn’t that be a first? Someone comforting him.
An odd ache roared within him.
He hadn’t let anyone, especially a woman, get that close to him since he’d set his plan for revenge in motion. And he couldn’t let Rebecca get close to him at all. He couldn’t let her reach that part of him he kept so carefully controlled. He had a mission to fulfill here. And that mission was to kill her damn father. So despite his pounding pulse and another rush of physical desire that would surely need to be satisfied soon, he pulled away.
Her gaze flickered over him. She looked nervous, full of anticipation. For them to reach their destination?
Or for something else?
The truck hit another bump.
She slid into him, her right thigh colliding with his.
She gripped the dashboard with her left hand, her gaze locking onto his, like she was waiting for his reaction.
He dropped his gaze to her throat, fascinated by the artery throbbing in the crook of her neck. How he’d like to kiss her right there, feel the way her pulse was rocking. Make her heart rate rise even more.
She inhaled sharply, shuffling on the seat, putting distance between them.
Did he say something out loud? Or was she simply able to read his thoughts?
Yes, he desired her. No use lying to himself about that anymore. The woman was not only beautiful but also brave and gutsy, and the combination turned him on.
She’d passed his test earlier, deciding to send the kids back on his yacht, risking her own safety in doing so, and that decision had resonated with him so deeply he’d been shaken by it. They had more in common than she’d like to admit right now. If she was willing to make such a sacrifice for strangers, then she’d help his sister once she met and got to know Maria. His sister would become Rebecca’s next Adrianna, before suffering the same fate.
They might be able to do real good here if they could just get past this…this…whatever it was between them.
Rebecca kept her gaze glued to the road ahead of them, twirling a piece of her long brown hair around one of her fingers.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Damn it. He was fast losing his focus.
She laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. What was she thinking? And why in the hell did he care so much to know?
…
Letting her head fall back on the seat, Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed, hoping to control the desire to look over at Antonio and see what he was doing now. Was he still staring at her like he wanted to devour her? He’d gone hot, then cold, then hot again so quickly.
God, that hot look made her so nervous. What was he thinking when he looked at her like that?
She concentrated instead on creating the image of her own father’s face. She’d never seen any pictures of him, because her mother hadn’t brought any with her from Cuba. Said the government workers had stripped her of everything but her clothes at the airport. The features that materialized now were those of the man in the picture Antonio had shown her. How Rebecca longed to meet her dad, if he was indeed still alive. The need stirred in her like a never-ending fire.
One Antonio kept carefully stoking.
Why?
The driver suddenly leaned forward and laid on his horn, jolting Rebecca back to the present. She sat up and stiffened. They were rolling up to a home with a flurry of activity in front of it. About half a dozen adults were gathered in a small front porch area surrounded by a peeling white wrought iron fence.
In the gateway, an elderly man, who must have been at least sixty, suddenly raised both arms and began to wave at the truck. The man had on khaki pants that failed to cover his ankles, a faded striped shirt, and a Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap, and he smiled as if he were ten again.
“Who’s that, Antonio?”
“Pedro. He’s my uncle on my mother’s side.” Antonio’s voice broke with emotion or maybe stress?
Before the truck could come to a complete stop, Pedro ran over to the passenger-side door, jerked it open, and pulled Antonio out of the front seat, yanking him into a full embrace. “Hey, Americano.”
Antonio tensed in the hug, his arms hanging like dead limbs beside him.
So much for Antonio’s family not knowing he was coming.
“Pedro, it’s good to see you.” Antonio finally reciprocated the squeeze. Sort of. The man kept patting Antonio’s back like a super proud papa, and a grin danced madly across his weathered tan face. But it was the sparkle in the old man’s brown eyes that Rebecca liked.
Glancing back at Dallas, she was glad to see him already moving. They needed to capture this emotional reunion. Dallas jumped out of the truck’s bed. He grabbed the small video camera and walked around the growing group of family members. No one questioned who Dallas was, or why he was shooting video.
She wasn’t quite sure what she should be doing right now. Asking questions at this point would only break the spell woven around the family, so she got out of the truck, grabbed the backpack Antonio had provided her, and observed from a distance.
After a few minutes, Antonio stepped out of the swirl of octopus arms. His face appeared flushed, and for a moment he looked like a lost boy looking for his parents. “Donde esta mi abuelita?” he asked Pedro.
The crowd suddenly parted, and Pedro pointed to an old lady hunched over in a metal rocking chair in the corner of the porch. “There’s your grandmother.”
Rebecca strained to see over the adults still partially blocking her view. When the old lady looked up, Rebecca gasped. The frail woman had one eye missing, a nasty scar in its place. Her pockmarked face was stained dark brown, probably from too much sun, and her lips looked like they were peeling. As the old woman tried to stand on her stick legs, she began to shake.
“No, no, mi abuelita. Don’t get up.” Antonio rushed to her side. Dropping to his knees, he gently assisted the old woman back into her seat.
A lump formed in Rebecca’s throat at the gentleness with which Antonio helped her.
His grandmother’s hands cradled Antonio’s cheeks. Maybe her one good eye wasn’t good either, because she felt along his face as if reading Braille. Mesmerized, Rebecca watched the old woman’s fingertips trace over Antonio’s sharp features. Antonio remained perfectly still, but his chest rose and fell with trembling breaths.
Rebecca held her air in, waiting to see if he would allow the old woman to continue touching him, or if he’d jerk away like he always did when she touched him accidentally.
“You are so handsome. So handsome, mi Antonio.” His grandmother spoke in Spanish. Her hands left his face and moved over Antonio’s shoulders. “You have grown into a strong man.” Continuing down his chest, the woman placed one palm flat against his chest, right over his heart.
Rebecca wished she could feel how fast Antonio’s heart was beating. Hers was racing like mad.
“And you have proven to be a man of your word.” The old woman’s voice cracked. “You came back for Maria as you promised.”
The air Antonio let out was audible, even from where Rebecca was standing, and for a minute, Rebecca thought the strong man might finally let go and cry. Heck, her throat was constricting. Mainly because Antonio was turning out to be the kind of man she’d dreamed her father would have been, desperate to return to his family, willing to do anything to help them. Even kidnap a reporter and enter a country illegally. Antonio had already proven he’d do whatever it took to help his loved ones. That’s what any good man should be willing to do.
Instead of letting his emotions go, though, Antonio took another deep breath and fisted his hands again. How could he not rejoice in such a touching and heartfelt moment? What was wrong with him? At som
e point, the pressure would force this bottled-up man to explode.
“I should have come years ago, abuelita. I tried, but—” Antonio shook his head.
Ah, he was burdened, weighted down with guilt. Rebecca felt his frustration at not being able to rescue his sister Maria sooner. She knew emotional baggage like that could be an unbearable load. This man was not all bad. Antonio actually had love in his heart. And that love was what drove him here. It’s what brought her here today, too, her desire to feel this kind of emotional reunion with her own dad. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself she and Antonio had that in common.
The old lady pulled Antonio’s head into her lap. He didn’t fight her. His grandmother began to stroke his hair, probably as she had for Antonio as a child.
“No, mi amor. You could not come back until you had made your own way. You are a hero to me. And now that I feel how healthy you are, and hear the love in your voice, I know my Maria and her Tonito will be safe.” The old woman sighed and lifted her chin. She placed one of her hands across her own heart and whispered, “Things are changing here, but not fast enough. Not fast enough to save Maria. Now I can die in peace knowing my two loves are safe.”
Antonio sat up, staring into his grandmother’s eyes. He closed his own eyes and inhaled. When he opened them, he reached for the aging woman, enveloping her in a hug that could have crushed her brittle bones, but Rebecca knew this big man was a master at restraint. He was surely using that control now. His grandmother lowered her head, hiding her eyes in the crook of Antonio’s neck. Her bony shoulders began to quake.
His eyes looked skyward, and Rebecca wondered if Antonio, the control freak, was actually praying to a power higher than himself. Her heart yearned to hear the thoughts swirling around inside his head, to learn what made him such a force of nature. Now, why would she think that? Why would she even care?
Rebecca realized it was because she already felt a connection to Antonio’s family like none she’d known before. How strange that she could feel intimacy with complete strangers.
She searched for Dallas to make sure he was capturing this emotional moment on video. Always a true professional, Dawg was standing close enough to get a good angle and pick up the conversation between Antonio and his grandmother, but far enough away to remain out of their circle of vision. Just a silent fly on the wall, watching.
A skinny little boy, who couldn’t have been more than six, broke through the crowd, tugged on Antonio’s sleeve, and spoke in Spanish. “Are you going to take me to America?” Antonio stiffened. Carefully, he unraveled his grandmother from his embrace and turned to look at the little boy.
“Tonito.” An attractive woman, wearing skintight pink hot pants, squatted next to the young boy, pulling him into her. “We don’t speak about that, remember?” She placed a finger over her lips.
Okay, even the kid knew about their “secret” mission. Was that Antonio’s sister? She looked older than Rebecca had expected.
“Tonito?” Antonio stared at the kid as if he had witnessed the materialization of a saint. “His name is Tony?”
“Maria named him after you.” Once again the grandmother spoke with awe and reverence in her voice. “This boy will be like you, Antonio, a brave and responsible man. He deserves a name of honor.”
A name of honor. Wow. Rebecca’s eyes watered at the sentiment. She didn’t know the family’s backstory, like how often Antonio had kept in touch with them. He must be doing something to earn such adoration from people he hadn’t seen in a decade. Did he send them money and food monthly, like most Cuban Americans? It had to be about the money. Why else would these people love someone they didn’t even know anymore?
Antonio pulled something out of his pocket, an awkward move given his crouched position. The young boy’s eyes lit up as Antonio held out a tiny toy to the kid. “I brought you a gift, Tonito. You like cars, no?”
“Yes.” The young boy jerked the old-school SSP Racer out of Antonio’s hand.
Rebecca laughed at his youthful eagerness. When was the last time something so simple had thrilled her? She couldn’t even remember.
Tonito rolled the red-and-black sports car around between his fingers, licking his lips, completely focused on his new gift.
Finally, Antonio placed his hands gently around the boy’s hands, disengaging the kid’s fingers so he could get at the car. The little boy frowned, and Rebecca guessed Antonio had about one minute before the boy burst into tears.
“Pull the cord like this, Tonito.” Antonio pulled a plastic cord out of the car’s center. He set the toy on the ground, and the little wheels spun as the car took off on the porch, stopping only as it crashed into the cement next to the gated opening. The boy squealed in delight.
Geez, she’d never fully understand the opposite sex, but what she did get was the connection these two strangers were making. She wondered if that toy car had been Antonio’s prized possession as a child. She didn’t see this type of toy sold in stores much anymore. To give up such a precious possession was meaningful, even selfless. The small gesture made her want to know Antonio better, to see beyond his hardened shell.
Antonio smiled. Rebecca stepped back, her hand over her heart, her insides melting. The look of happiness on the grown man’s face literally took her breath away. His whole look changed from angry dissident to loving father. At least that’s the image that resonated within Rebecca. She shook her head, knowing it would be better if she continued to see Antonio as her captor, a man who was easy to hate, rather than a man who might be capable of unconditional love. She chalked up her thoughts to her emotions. As a reporter, as an advocate for the less fortunate, it was her job to search out the truth, to connect to the oppressed, to use her voice to bring them justice. But in order to do that, she had to find the heart of a person first. And she was seeing Antonio’s right now.
Antonio stood and walked over to the toy. Picking it up, he brushed off the dirt and inspected it for damage. “Where’s your mother, Tonito?”
She held her breath. So the woman in the skintight clothing wasn’t Antonio’s sister.
“In the house.” Tonito responded in Spanish. “Again.” He pointed to the car.
“Okay.” Antonio reinserted the cord. “What’s she doing?”
“Crying.” The boy reached out with tiny stub-like fingers.
“Crying?” Antonio cocked his head to one side. He pulled the cord and sent the car flying at the boy.
“Yes.” He clapped his hands in joy, watching the car rip across the pavement. It flew between his legs before crashing into the side of Grandma’s rocking chair.
The old lady didn’t laugh. “Maria is crying because she’s scared.”
Antonio’s eyebrows shot up. “Scared we’ll be caught leaving?”
Rebecca wondered if Cubans still got in trouble leaving the island. Hadn’t that changed, too? And she wondered if anyone ever doubted Antonio’s abilities before. He always acted with such confidence.
“Maria says she’s waited ten years for this moment.” The old lady’s voice shook. “And now that it’s here, she’s afraid to see you. She’s afraid you won’t be real, or you won’t be able to pull this off, and she’ll be disappointed again.”
A knot of emotion lodged in Rebecca’s throat, her muscles straining until it hurt. Images of her father materialized in her head. Would she be disappointed, too? If they left immediately, now that Antonio had found his sister, she wouldn’t get a chance to look for her dad. If her papi was still alive, and she was able to locate him, would he embrace her when they met and speak to her with pride in his voice? Or would he look at her with blank eyes, unable or unwilling to recognize their blood connection? Her throat was tightening up so much it was now impossible to swallow.
Despite that, she must have let out some kind of pained sound, because when she looked up Antonio was staring at her, his face paler. When their eyes met, he immediately looked away.
Her gut twisted when he failed to hold he
r stare. There was more about her father Antonio wasn’t sharing. She sensed it. Either that, or this was all a cruel lie to get her to do his bidding, and now that he was here with his family, he was suddenly locating his conscience. She bit her lip, angry with herself for not being able to figure out which it was.
“Ay, que linda, what is your name, beautiful American?” The woman who had come with Tonito enveloped Rebecca into a hug, kissing both of her cheeks.
Stunned at the display of affection from a woman she didn’t know, it took Rebecca a moment to realize her cheeks were wet. She stepped back, untangling herself from the woman’s hold, trying to figure out which one of them was crying.
“Are you okay?” The woman’s eyes were wet, but Rebecca had a feeling her own were as well. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” The Cuban woman steadied her with a firm hand on her back.
Dallas was at her side a split second later. “You need to sit down.”
Rebecca ignored Dallas’s raised eyebrows. “You need to keep shooting.” She had to keep it together here, and so did he. Who knew how long they’d be here, or what other chances they’d have to capture the truth from deep inside Cuba. White dots were spinning in her line of vision. “Shoot video of Antonio.” She shook the dizziness off. “This whole story is about him rescuing his sister. We need that emotional reunion on video.” If seeing his grandmother again made Antonio drop to his knees, no telling how he’d react to being reunited with his sister. If she, a seasoned reporter, was mesmerized watching Antonio, think of how her viewers would feel, especially those with a connection to Cuba.
Dallas dropped the camera from his shoulder. “You’re more worried about the damn video than your own health? No video is worth dying over, especially in Cuba.”
Throwing up her hands, she exhaled in exasperation. “We came across the Florida Straits, into Cuba illegally, to document this rescue.” A rush of adrenaline shot through her core, and her whole body started to tingle. Not good. Maybe she did need to sit down.
