Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4)

by Manda Mellett

  Stifling a laugh, I refrain from telling her that the chances of me getting married, let alone having a hen party in an exotic location, are extremely remote.

  Cara obviously doesn’t expect me to answer, as her attention has already turned back to Sean. “I hear you’ve got a small problem, Sean,” she holds her hands about a foot apart and is unable to keep the grin off her face.

  The other woman steps back, and throws a disappointed look at him, while indicating her growing belly. “You’ve beaten me by a few months, Sean. Way to steal my limelight, fella.”

  Sean glances from them to me and flushes, his body language showing he’s embarrassed. He runs his hand through his blond hair, leaving it spiky and dishevelled. I wonder if that’s what he looks like when he gets up in the morning? The thought makes me momentarily lose concentration. Dragging my mind back to the matter in hand, I realise he’s speaking, explaining the situation he’s in, and why we’re here.

  I hadn’t noticed the laptop bag at her feet, but now I do, as Cara bends and opens it. Indicating the dining table, she asks, “Shall we?”

  Without words, we agree by congregating around as she takes a seat and logs in. “Ben sent me the information that you’ve got, Sean, which isn’t a lot, is it? We’re looking at the time before last that you came to Amahad, aren’t we? About thirteen months back?” At his nod, she waves her hand toward the screen, “I’ve already looked into all the databases we have; passport control and employee records at the casinos and hotel complexes, but I can’t find anyone with the name Danielle Smith anywhere.” Cara’s ability to hack into computer systems is legendary, not that she’s permitted to use those skills much nowadays. But her position in the country means she has legitimate access to some of the information she’s providing. And it’s legend that she doesn’t stop there. If anyone can make a computer jump through hoops, she can. I pride myself on being good, but Cara’s in a different league altogether.

  She waits for us to digest what she’s given us so far, but before any of us can express our disappointment, she continues. “I’ve pulled out a list of female employees who were around at the time in question. Sean, is there any way that we can narrow it down, further? Can you remember anything that might help?”

  He shrugs as he thinks, and then comes up with, “The baby is obviously Caucasian.”

  “Okay.” Cara’s fingers flit across the keyboard. “What else? Can you recall anything about the women you were with during that period? Anyone or anything, in particular, stand out?”

  Another shrug and a dismissive shake of his head. “Well, I obviously gave my name to her.”

  “And you don’t do that to everyone?” I can see Cara biting her tongue as if stopping herself from saying something. Zoe, on the other hand, seems to be finding this amusing and doesn’t try to hold back her peal of laughter. Having drawn herself back from a sarcastic comment, Cara probes for more. “What about age group?”

  “I’m not fussy,” Sean responds with a smirk, “Obviously, they have to be legal, but I don’t turn much away.” He makes an effort to be serious; his brow creases as he thinks, “Okay, she’s got to be of childbearing age, clearly, and I’d have gone for someone attractive. Very attractive.”

  “Christ, Sean!” Even Zoe exclaims at this. I have to turn my face away, and that affords me a glimpse of myself in a mirror hung on the side wall. I wish I hadn’t, I’d gone without makeup today and my hair’s still awry from all the travelling. Right now, I very much doubt I could class myself as a member of the category he’s described. Or even if I’d ever match up to his exacting standards.

  Biting her lip, intent on her task and not showing any outward reaction to his revelations, Cara’s fingers tap the keyboard again. She’s all business as she glances up, “Ok, I’ve narrowed it down to people in the age group twenty-one to forty. I can increase the age range if needs be, but this will do for a start.”

  “What about tourists? Could just be someone passing through?” I add my contribution.

  “Yup, looking into that. We’ll have taken copies of their passports at the hotels as obviously, like anywhere else, we’re under the constant threat of terrorism. I’ll get Sean a list of every female I can identify as being in Amahad during the period he was here.” The look she gives me is a bit condescending; clearly, she’s already got all avenues covered. Then she continues, “I’ll pull up their photos from the employee and passport records and leave you a file to go through. Anyone you recognise, we can then look into further and see whether they’ve been pregnant while in our employ. It won’t be quite so easy, but I’ll try and track the visitors’ medical records too.”

  “Wouldn’t medical records be confidential? How can you match those up?” I can’t see how she can get all that data. I wouldn’t be able to.

  But all I get are looks of disdain from the other three. Oh, yeah. Cara can hack into anything. Feeling a bit of an idiot I change the subject, “Anyone want anything to drink? I’m going to make a coffee.”

  “No thanks, we’ve got to be going,” Zoe tells me with a bright smile. If anything, the expression makes her look even prettier. Yup. Still hate her.

  “Yes, Zee and I have an official function later. With some foreign diplomats or something,” Cara explains offhandedly, still concentrating on the screen in front of her. “It takes hours to get ready.” She glances up with a grin. “And before you say sarcastically what hard work being primped and preened is, let me tell you it’s right down on the bottom of my list of favourite things to do!” She lets out a long sigh. “But, it’s part of the job.”

  “I hate it too,” Zoe adds.

  Sean reaches over the table, and his hand strokes her cheek. “You’re already beautiful, Zoe. I can’t believe anyone can improve on that.”

  As she glows under his praise I turn away, my hands tightly fisted by my side. Bitch!

  “I’ll take a coffee, Nessa if you’re making one. I’ll just see the girls out.”

  Nessa? With a violent shake of my head, I tell myself now is not the time to make a fuss about his unique shortening of my name, but instead, I nod and say a brief ‘Goodbye’ and the polite, but not entirely genuine, or at least, in one case, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and disappear into the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” Having seen the women out, Sean’s silently come up behind, and his amused voice interrupts me as I place two mugs noisily on the worktop, coffee slopping over the sides.

  I reach for a cloth and clean up the mess then, keeping my back to him and placing my two hands on the surface in front of me, I try to keep my voice neutral. “Nothing.”

  His hand rests gently on my shoulder. “Nothing? Are you certain about that?”

  Ignoring the inappropriate effect his touch has on me, I huff. “Hearing what a whore you are? About you having every woman in sight? And that you can’t remember anything about them? They weren’t very bloody remarkable, were they, Sean? No names, no distinguishing features…”

  “It wasn’t their facial features I was looking at!”

  Swinging round I throw a punch at him, hitting him in the chest. “How dare you say that! How dare you use women like that. Like, like…. Sexual objects. That’s all women are to you!”

  “They used me too, Nessa. None of them was unwilling, in fact, completely the opposite.” The wide grin on his face undoes me.

  Suddenly all my rage and frustration bursts out of me, focusing on just one thing. “For fuck’s sake, don’t call me that!”

  “What?” He’s taken aback at the words I’ve screamed. “Nessa?”

  “Shut it! And make your own damn coffee!” Pushing past him roughly, I take myself off to my room. I’m stupid to let him get to me, but how can he be like this? So cold about the women he’s made love to, even the woman he got pregnant? They mean nothing to him. And what is really making me angry isn’t Sean or his attitude at all, but the fact even knowing what I do, he can still turn me on and make me want to be one of those foolish w
omen. His only redeeming feature is he’s stepping up and taking responsibility for his mess. And, of course, he’s sex on legs.

  I take up my position on the bed again, my head in my hands. The bloody man can't even see what he’s done wrong. There won’t be any changing him; it’s not possible and he doesn’t even want to try. My mind might know there isn’t a chance. But a wicked frustrated feeling lower in my body tells me I’d still want to take a shot if the opportunity presented itself.

  Chapter 10

  Sean

  Fucking hell! What was all that about? Women! Ben, what the hell were you thinking sending her with me? She’s already driving me crazy! It was impossible to miss the cold vibes coming off her while I was greeting my old and very good friend, Zoe. Fuck, we’d been kidnapped together, almost died together. And yes, I had wanted her, but I’m happy she’s ended up with Kadar. He’s very much the better man for her, and they are madly in love. But after what we’d been through? That forges a bond that can never be broken, and I’ll hug and kiss Zoe as much as I’m able to get away with, just not in front of the emir of course.

  Briefly, my mind turns to their state wedding I’d attended five months ago. Being on crutches at the time I was unable to take part in any of the more vigorous activities, but what an occasion it was, a fitting celebration of two people so obviously in love being officially joined together. There had been celebrities and politicians from all over the world rubbing shoulders with the fierce desert sheikhs together with their tribespeople and, of all things, members of an outlaw bikers’ club from America, proudly wearing their Satan’s Devils’ cuts. Yeah, it had been one hell of a party that would surely go down in the record books. I smile as I recall one of the bikers beating the Arabs at horse racing, much to the consternation of the sheikhs.

  Grinning at the memory, I toss away the half-filled cups of coffee and make a fresh one for myself, debating whether to make another for Nessa, but as I have the distinct feeling I’ll probably end up wearing it, decide against it. And why did she object to my nickname so strongly? Vanessa’s a mouthful, Nessa or Ness suits her. Far better than the shortened ‘Van’ used in the office. Smiling an evil smile, I decide I’ll keep using it. She’s quite attractive when riled; her pale complexion turns almost as bright a red as her flaming hair, and her freckles become more pronounced. She’s unable to hide her emotions to save her life. I can only hope she doesn’t play poker. Or, if she does, that it’s only with me. And she can be assured the bets won’t involve money.

  Fuck? What am I thinking? I give a short laugh. This is a first for me, I’ve never thought about getting a work colleague naked before, but then, I usually work with Ryan or Harry, and though I’ve seen their junk when we’ve been at a club, I could have happily lived my whole life without the sight. But Nessa? Her tight jeans and tank she wore today revealed a far more shapely figure than the dreary suits she usually wears in the office, and had definitely sparked my interest. Yeah, I wouldn’t say no to seeing what’s hiding underneath. Huh, but not on the office time, I remind myself, Ben would shoot me and probably aim for my balls. Down boy!

  Taking my coffee into the lounge area, I seat myself at the table and get out my laptop, preparing to start work. Clicking on an email, I see there’s a file attached. Great! Cara’s worked fast and has already emailed me a selection of photos I’ll have to wade through. Quickly I flick through the file. Fuck, there must be a hundred here. Even I couldn’t have gone through that many! There must be some I can rule out, some I didn’t fuck. Jeez, that would be a record, even for me.

  The thought makes me bring up my hands, lacing my fingers behind my neck, leaning my head back as I think. Perhaps there’s some valid basis for Nessa’s disgust. But I like women, and they like me. All women know what they are getting into when I take them to bed or any available horizontal surface. Or up against a wall for that matter. Christ, if I don’t ask their name, I’m hardly going to ask for their number. They all go into it with eyes open, and all want the same thing as me, a no strings attached way to satisfy a physical need.

  A muscle spasms and I reach down to rub my leg. As I try to ease the ache I remember. The truth is, my cock hasn’t actually seen any action since before the last time I came to Amahad when I was Zoe’s bodyguard and ended up being shot. Did the bullet in my left leg take more than a chunk of bone with it? Did it affect my brain? Rob me of my libido? Fuck if I can understand it. Pain eased, I lift my hand and rub it over my chin. Ner, I just need more time, that’s all. Time to heal fully and get back to my old self.

  Closing my eyes briefly, I spare a thought for Mollie’s mother. Whoever she is, she got a lot more than she bargained for from our one night stand. While wondering what made her carry the child, I know I’ll be forever thankful that she didn’t abort her. I imagine a woman on her own, alone in a strange country knowing she was pregnant with a stranger’s child. It couldn’t have been an easy decision to make. So why didn’t she come to me, if she knew I was the father?

  I might have doubted her claims, but I’d have helped her out. Even though I would have told her it couldn’t have been me, I’d have thought it impossible. I might be indiscriminate, but I’d never forget to glove up. What the fuck could have gone wrong? As it hits me just how many women I’ve used along the way to satisfy my itch, I feel a shiver down my spine. I fucking well hope there aren’t other children of mine out there. The air’s warm, but I grow cold. Condoms, as I now know first-hand, aren’t one hundred percent reliable. Next woman I go with, I’ll check she’s on the pill as well. And pull out.

  Forcing that rather unpleasant thought down, I drag myself back to the task at hand and get ready to look at the portrait photos contained in the file Cara has sent, while musing it might be easier to recognise them if there were other body parts on display rather than just faces. Which again makes me concede Nessa’s view.

  I click the mouse on the first image. No, I’d remember her, her short hair cut in one of those bobs where one side is longer than the other. And the streak of purple? Not my type at all. I click onto the next one. After ten negatives, I feel some relief at the confirmation I didn’t manage to fuck my way through all the female employees and tourists.

  The task is mind numbing, so my mind drifts. What Nessa doesn’t understand is that sex, for me, is a bodily function, just like any other. I don’t go with hundreds of women for variety’s sake; it’s because I’ve simply not found many I’d like a repeat performance with, and even fewer, scratch that, any, with whom I want a relationship outside of the bedroom. Or outside of the dungeon. Most of my sexual activity either takes part in clubs or, if actual intercourse is prohibited there, as it is in some, at the woman’s home after an extended play session as the ultimate culmination to the evening’s entertainment. But if I were to find that one special woman, the one who satisfies me so much that I want her, and only her, then I’d probably change. But the problem is, I doubt such a woman exists.

  Mollie comes into my head. Could I commit to one woman for the sake of my daughter―fuck, how strange it is even to think that word―to enable her to have a stable female influence in her life? If I find her mother, could I make a go of it with her for our child’s sake? Sadly, I recognise the answer almost certainly no. A family man is not what I’m wired to be, any compromises I make could only end in misery. Although I’ll have to think about it at some point, for now, I shelve the question of Mollie’s care if I don’t find Danielle. What place would someone like me have as the main figure in an innocent child’s life?

  My finger swipes the screen, and another picture appears. Bugger it! I remember her, her photo triggering memories. She’d come on to me, and how was I to refuse? Christ, I hope it wasn’t her. Her shrill voice had grated on my nerves until I used her mouth for another purpose. That hadn’t been bad. My cock twitches at the memory, and I rearrange myself to find a more comfortable position. Then I make a note of the .jpeg number and move on to the next. And then the next. I’m no
w about three-quarters of the way through the photos, finding eight definites and two probables. Well, I had stayed in Amahad for three weeks.

  Click, a quick scan with my eyes, then on to the next. Click, scan, move on. Click, scan. Hang on a moment. The next picture is someone I recall. Gently I trace the image in front of me, dredging up the memories. I remember her tinkling laughter, her sheer enjoyment of life. She’d been adventurous in bed, just my type of woman. There’d been no pretence between us, both looking for a good time, ships passing in the night. Could she be Mollie’s mother? I try to recall the baby’s features and realise I need a photo of her to compare, and wonder why I hadn’t thought of that before.

  Captivated by the face on the screen, I sit gazing at the image, trying to dredge up more details. What was her fucking name? Danielle? She doesn’t look like a Danielle, or a Dannie, but then, what the fuck is a woman of that name supposed to look like? Taking my hand from the screen, I rub my fingers across my chin, feeling the goatee there, idly noting it needs a trim.

  A hand lands on my shoulder, I notice it’s shaking slightly, and I feel someone leaning over me.

  “Is that her?” Nessa’s voice is uncertain; I hear a catch in it.

  “Fuck if I know,” I reply, wondering why her voice sounds unsteady.

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Well, she wouldn’t be on the shortlist if I hadn’t.” Not really paying attention I take my phone out of my back pocket and send a quick text, then look back to the picture on my screen. It’s one of those official photos where you’re not allowed to smile, but this woman’s got a disdain for authority showing in her eyes, and a suggestion of a grin in the quirk of her lips.

  Nessa squeezes my shoulder. “How many so far?”

  “She,” I point at the picture still displayed, “Makes it eleven.”