Reaper

by Lena North

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll hold on to the phone for ten more minutes, then I’ll leave it behind.”

  “Okay,” Carrie said again. “Okay. Shit. Move toward the airport, Lottie.”

  She closed the call without saying goodbye and started walking. Everything hurt, but now she had a plan and that gave her strength to keep moving, step after agonizing step. She had pulled the hood up to cover her face, and used the arm to wipe off blood as she walked, hoping that the dark blue color would hide the stains. The phone was in her other hand and she answered before the first silent buzz had come to an end.

  “Yeah?”

  “Benito is waiting for you. Side door, west of the building.”

  “Side door, west of the building,” she echoed. “Carrie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Lottie...”

  She could hear how Carrie sniffled, but didn’t know what to say to assure her everything would be okay. It wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t sure it ever would be.

  “Carrie?” she rasped out, finally.

  “Yes?”

  “In my real life, the one I had before him… I wasn’t Lottie then. I had a real life once, and everyone called me Charlie.”

  A sob came through the phone, and a quiet, “Oh, sweetie.”

  “I’ll keep moving toward the airport now.”

  Then she closed the call, and started the long, painful walk toward her escape. She stopped outside a convenience store to put her phone in the back of a pick-up, hoping the owners wouldn’t get hurt if someone was tracking the signal.

  When she reached the airport terminal, her head was spinning and it felt as if she was stumbling along in a strange bubble where all sounds were warped and the only emotion available was a dull, thumping pain.

  “Side door, west of the building,” she repeated as a mantra, placing one foot in front of the other until she walked straight into a man.

  “Jesus. Fuck, what the –”

  She tried to smile, and used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away sweat and blood from eyes that were swollen almost completely shut.

  “Benito?” she asked.

  “You’re Carries friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus,” he repeated and reached for her.

  “I’m good,” she mumbled, and sidestepped. “No one can know I’m here.”

  “I know,” he said. “Shit. Okay, let’s go.”

  He led her around the building, through a gate and over the tarmac. When she was sitting in one of the passenger seats, he tilted the chair all the way back, and wrapped a blanket gently around her.

  “Thank you,” she slurred. “Don’t talk about me on the radio.”

  “What?”

  “He might hear. There can’t be any trails to follow.”

  “Okay, honey. Okay. Shit. Just rest, and we’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  There was no way she’d relax, not as long as he could get to her, but it felt good to take the weight off her aching foot and close the small slits that was her eyes. Then the engines roared, the plane started moving, and finally – they were in the air.

  Silently, hot tears started running across her temples and into hair that was streaked with dirt and blood. Two minutes later, she slept.

  ***

  Joao Torres was restless.

  “This is a nice place,” the woman in front of him said calmly.

  She was sweet and kind, and everything about her was cute as a button. Even her nick name was charming.

  Mimi.

  Her big brown eyes watched him with soft happiness and Joao wondered what his goddamned problem was. All his friends seemed to pair up with someone, and he was ready to meet someone. And Mimi was perfect. They had dated for six months, casually at first, but exclusively for most of the time. Everyone was happy when they started going out, and had told him repeatedly how lucky he was.

  “It sure is, honey,” he murmured, and the smile in her eyes spread over her face.

  Maybe he just wasn’t a passionate man, he thought. Maybe the horniness just faded away when you grew older. His fifteen-year-old self would have laughed for hours at the thought of having someone like Mimi available for unlimited sex, and not having it for weeks. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d slept together. Was it two weeks ago? No, it had been just before that theft at the hotel, and he had been busy so it was almost three weeks. Jesus.

  “You want to go for a walk on the beach?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  He stopped by the bar to pay for their meal, and frowned when he found himself thinking that it would be nice if she didn’t always expect him to pay.

  Where had that come from? He didn’t mind, and would rather have pushed dull pins into his eyeballs than let a woman pay for his meal. Feminism-sheminism, he thought. Strong women had always been a turn on for him, and he was all in on equal opportunities, but there were limits. A man paid the tab, and that was just that. So why did it bother him all of a sudden?

  “Thank you so much,” Mimi said quietly. “It was a lovely meal. You always take such good care of me.”

  “You’re welcome, honey,” he said. “I like taking care of you.”

  He did. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t been the one who took care of everyone. The big brother. The good son. Grandson. Chief of Police. Protector of the Islands.

  They were walking hand in hand along the water when Mimi suddenly stumbled, and he noticed how she was struggling.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and made a face. “It’s a little difficult to walk in the sand with these heels.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You wanted to walk on the beach, and I thought I’d be fine.”

  “Here, give them to me,” he offered.

  “I can’t go barefoot, Joao.”

  Right, he thought. She wouldn’t want to destroy the nailpolish. He loved her small, dainty feet with the pale pink polish she had them put on her nails, so he bent down to pick her off the ground. She squealed, and he started laughing as he carried her to the sidewalk.

  “We can walk here,” he murmured.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They had reached the end of the pavement and stood in silence, watching the ocean moving quietly in front of them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mimi said and leaned her head on his chest.

  The soft sounds from the waves soothed him, like they always did, and he wondered why he had been so irritated before. Life was good. Calm and peaceful. It was time to move on with life and accept what was given to him. And accept what he’d never have.

  “Mimi, I’ve been thinking,” he started and her face turned up toward his.

  He could see clearly that she already knew what he was going to ask her.

  “Yes, Joao?” she murmured.

  “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, sweetie, and I would like to –”

  His phone cut him off, and he tried desperately to ignore it. He was about to propose to his girlfriend to fucks sake.

  “Would like to ask you –”

  The phone rang again, and he couldn’t go on. Something could have happened. Someone could be dead.

  With a frustrated sigh, he pulled it out and looked at it. His brows went up in surprise, and he turned to the girl who had stepped out of his arms and was watching him with a look that he didn’t recognize. Was that anger he saw on her face?

  “I’m sorry, Mimi. I have to –”

  “Is it more important than me?” she asked.

  “It could be,” he answered truthfully.

  Someone could be injured, or dead, so yeah, he thought. I could be more important than her.

  “Really?” she breathed.

  The phone rang again, and he answered, holding her gaze.

  “Hey, Uncle Nico, what’s –”
>
  “I have a situation at my house and I need you here,” his uncle said.

  “Now?”

  Silence.

  “Uncle Nico, this isn’t a good time. Is it an emergency? I can –”

  “Joao,” the deep voice said calmly.

  He recognized the tone and knew he wouldn’t propose to anyone that night.

  “Is it –” he still tried to protest, only to be cut off again.

  “Joao. I have a situation at my house and when I call you this late on a Saturday night, knowing well that you and Mimi are on a date, you should know that you need to listen to me when I tell you that I need you at my house.”

  Shit.

  “Now,” the older man added, and closed the call.

  Joao sighed, but his mind was already half way up the hill to his Aunt and Uncle’s house. What the hell could have happened?

  “I have to go,” he murmured.

  “Of course, you do. I would have thought that since you are off duty one of the others could handle your uncle, but I understand,” Mimi murmured in her usual sweet voice,

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll take you home. Perhaps we can go sailing tomorrow?”

  “You’re not stopping by later?”

  He almost said he would. Three goddamned weeks, he though.

  “I don’t know how late it’ll be,” he heard himself saying instead.

  She moved closer and put her arms around him, and tilted her head back. He leaned down to kiss her, and she moved against him.

  It was a nice kiss. Sweet.

  Jesus, he thought. He was getting old because nothing stirred even a little in his pants.

  “We have to go,” he said, and moved them back toward the village. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what happened at Uncle Nico’s place so I’ll just call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I understand.”

  When he drove up the mountain, he was annoyed again. With his uncle, and life, but most of all with himself. What the hell was he expecting?

  ***

  Charlie’s mind was filled with a cloud of pink spun sugar, she was sure of it. Everything felt abso-freaking-lutely fan-effing-tastic.

  They had taken her directly from the plane to something that looked like a small clinic, and she thought she remembered x-rays and someone putting a needle in her arm. Someone asked what her name was, but the pain killers they had pumped her full of had started to kick in and before her sluggish brain managed to come up with something that was suitably anonymous, the doctor-looking man shared that she was Mary Andersson. The nurse had snorted something, but her eyes had been on Charlie and they were hard and angry.

  “And people ask me why I’m a lesbian,” she muttered, and went on with the paperwork.

  After that, Charlie’s mind had gone a little blurry, but there had been a car, and a peach colored house. She thought.

  There was movement in the corner room the nice doctor-looking man had told his nice hippie-looking wife to put her in.

  “Who are you?” Charlie asked.

  It couldn’t be him. He would find her, but not yet. It should take him several weeks this time so she would have time to heal.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Kay,” she murmured and tried to grin but her mouth wouldn’t move. “I have no lips,” she said but it sounded more like, “Jabba-dabba-dolits,” to her so she giggled a little but it came out mostly as a small cough.

  “Do you remember me?”

  “Doc,” she managed to get out.

  “That’s right. I’m Carries dad, and a doctor. You’re in my home.”

  “Kay.”

  “This is my nephew, Joao.”

  “Hey.”

  “He’s the Chief of Police on the –”

  Charlie was half way out of the bed when they caught hold of her but she struggled and screamed as she tried to fight the strong hands pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Calm down,” a deep voice said.

  “Let go!” she yelled.

  “Joao, let go of her,” a woman said sharply, and the hands disappeared immediately. “Both of you, move back.”

  Charlie sank down on the bed again, breathing heavily and trying to open her eyes enough to see who they were. The room started spinning and her body suddenly felt like lead, but she forced herself to straighten and pretend that she glared at the men by the door.

  “You’re safe,” the woman crooned. “We’re Carries parents. She told us to take care of you.”

  “No police,” she murmured.

  “Joao will –”

  “No police.”

  “Okay. He’s our nephew, so he’s not here as a police officer.”

  “No police,” Charlie repeated as she sank back down on the bed.

  The woman’s gentle hand moved her legs, and then a soft blanket was draped around her.

  “You’re safe with us,” the doctor said quietly.

  Charlie turned her head toward the two men who had approached the bed again. They crouched down next to her, and with a herculean effort, she opened her eyes to look at them.

  The man called Joao was big, and muscular. He had light brown dreadlocks that almost reached his shoulders and a lean, hard face. He looked angry but when she turned her head a little, the light went straight into her eyes and his jaw fell.

  “What the fuck,” he whispered.

  “What?” Charlie slurred.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Charlie,” she said, and then everything went black.

  ***

  Joao was pacing the length of his uncle’s courtyard.

  “Sit.”

  “Uncle –”

  “Sit.”

  “Un –”

  “Sit down, boy,” Nicholas d’Izia barked and Joao had enough respect for his uncle to finally do what he was told.

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s a friend of Carrie’s. Her full name is Charlotta Norley.

  “Do you know why a police officer scares the crap out of her?”

  “Her ex-boyfriend beat her up.”

  “Got that.”

  “Wasn’t the first time.”

  Abuse victims rarely got so destroyed the first time, and they usually didn’t leave the first time either, so Joao had assumed as much. When his uncle just kept staring at him, he raised his brows in a silent question.

  “You might know him, or of him. His name is Sebastian Lievens.”

  Joao felt like someone punched him in the gut when he heard the name.

  Sebastian Lievens father was a very powerful man. Senator Lievens had held government positions for as long as Joao could remember, and had gone to school with their president. They were close friends, and the president was godfather to Senator Lievens only son.

  Seb Lievens was also a decorated police officer. Handsome, well-connected and with a track record of solving any case that hit his desk, he was the darling of the press, and known as the golden boy in Prosper PD.

  “I know who it is. Met him a few times,” Joao grunted. “She reported him?”

  “I only know what Carrie knows, and it isn’t much. She broke up with the guy three years ago when he hit her the first time, and I think she’s tried to get a restraining order, but they didn’t even open a case. Said there was no proof. Carrie got the impression he threatened to get Charlie committed to a psychiatric hospital.”

  “What the –”

  “Carrie wasn’t sure. They talk at work but never met outside the offices. Charlie refused, said it was dangerous. They never even went outside together for lunch. He has no clue there’s a link.”

  “How the hell would he get her into the loony-bin? Surely someone would –”

  “She has no family. Her mother isn’t alive anymore. She was sick, and again, Carrie wasn’t sure, but she thought it was something psychiatric. Charlie grew up in an isolated community out on
the plains, with her grandmother who seems to have been a religious fanatic. Carrie was certain about that part. The grandmother died three years ago, and Charlie moved to Prosper City the same day.”

  “Shit.”

  “Carrie was worried, so she told Charlie repeatedly that she could provide an escape route. Pure luck Benito was in Prosper tonight, though.”

  They were silent a while, both wondering the same thing. How could anyone deliberately hurt someone the way Charlie had been?

  “Was she raped?” Joao asked quietly.

  “No. She told Tina that he’d gotten angry because she refused to see him. He beat her up and was pulling at her clothes, but the neighbors heard her screaming and knocked on the door. He went to smooth-talk them out of logging a complaint, and she jumped off the balcony. Has a small crack in her foot, but she got away.”

  “Resourceful.”

  “She walked three miles on a broken foot, so yes. Or desperate.”

  “She’s from the islands,” Joao murmured.

  The second the light had hit Charlie’s blueish green eyes, he’d known. She was pale, but her skin had a warm tone to it, and her hair had been a mess, but it seemed to be a brown mop of curls. Her eyes, though… The turquoise color had pierced right into his soul, like a memory of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. Like the waves on a sunny day. There was no doubt in his mind that she had Island blood.

  “She must be,” Nico agreed. “And if her mother wasn’t from here…”

  “Then her father was,” Joao sighed.

  “Yeah. So the question is, is she a Jamieson, d’Izia or Torres?”

  “It could be anyone, couldn’t it?”

  “You saw her eyes, she’s from one of the families.”

  The older man was right. Not only was she from the Islands; she was related to one, or both, of them.

  “Carrie guessed?”

  “Of course.”

  His calm, rational cousin would have guessed, Joao thought.

  “How old is she?”

  “Don’t know exactly, but would guess mid-twenties.”

  “So her father could be anyone of us above forty then.”

  “Probably older.”

  Joao thought about it, and nodded.