Deadlock_An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller

by Fiona Quinn

  “Definitely,” Randy called to her. “Man, what a difference a slight change in geography can make. This feels like spring.”

  Meg looked back over her shoulder, lifting her voice above the noise of the road and wind. “Where were you?”

  “In the pit of hell, for about a month.” Randy lifted his arm and sniffed. “You can still smell the sulfur on my skin.”

  “Ah, okay.” Meg knew better than to ask for specifics when Randy was an Army Ranger, she guessed that would apply to his work with Iniquus too. “Well, seems only right that you should end up in paradise.” Meg used the side mirror to see Rooster’s face. “You said you guys were hungry. What are you in the mood for?”

  “This is an Islamic island. Do they allow beer?”

  Meg smiled broadly. “Oh, do they ever. How about some street food and then a bar? I can take you on a tour of some of Tanzania’s finest brews.”

  The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the Seraphina Hotel, its enormous white edifice sitting regally across the road from the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean. A valet opened their doors, and Meg stood back to watch the man’s expression as Rooster unfolded himself from the back. She found the valet’s drop-jawed response to Rooster at full height highly amusing. That was probably what she’d looked like when she had seen him at the airport. Meg’s face heated as she remembered how crass she’d been before they were introduced. She looked up to find Rooster watching her with that curiosity she kept finding in his eyes.

  “Well, then,” she said as they moved toward the lobby, “I put you in the rooms that Dr. Clemson and Dr. Lemmings would have had.” She flipped her hand back and forth between them. “I don’t know how you two want to work things out. But they’re side by side.”

  Rooster and Randy took their key cards and a plan was made to meet up in the lobby later. The three headed across the lobby to go to their rooms when Randy strained his neck. “You see that, Honey?”

  Meg glanced up to catch Rooster’s gaze hard on the elevator bank. The elevator door was just sliding closed. Both men whipped their phones from their pockets.

  “Go,” Rooster said.

  Randy dropped his bag and moved toward the stairwell with long strides.

  Rooster was watching the lights above the elevator moving up. Up. Up. Meg shifted from foot to foot. She wondered what the men had seen, but she also realized this wasn’t the moment for questions.

  “Fifth floor,” Rooster said into his phone. A moment later he said, “Eighth floor,” as the light lit up in the very last spot then moved slowly back to the left. “Seventh floor,” he said as the light held then steadily descended back to the lobby.

  After a moment, the elevator slid open in front of them. Rooster made no move toward it, though Meg would have been happy to help with the luggage.

  Rooster held the phone to his ear as he scanned the lobby. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ll meet you at our rooms.”

  A bellboy came over with his trolley to assist them.

  “That’s okay, I’ve got it.” Rooster reached down and gathered the duffels by their slings and draped them over his left shoulder as if they were weightless. With the same hand, he reached for the plastic case, then gestured to Meg with an open hand toward the elevator bank.

  “What’s in the case?”

  “Night vision equipment and cameras.”

  “Oh, that’ll be good to use in the crater, come nightfall, though I think they have rules against wandering at night.”

  “Rules or laws?” Rooster asked.

  “That makes a difference to you?”

  Rooster smiled.

  “Who was Randy chasing up the stairs?”

  “His shadow,” he replied.

  Meg wasn’t sure if that was a proper answer, a dismissal, or him being poetic, maybe ironic. She leaned against the wall in the elevator as Rooster moved through the doors on the fourth floor. “I’ll see you two downstairs in an hour. Enjoy your shower.” And then another unbidden visual sent color rushing to Meg’s face.

  Chapter Six

  Rooster

  Stone Town, Zanzibar

  Rooster stood by the door, leaning into the wall as Randy pulled a belt through his pant loops and checked his image in the mirror. “Okay, pretty boy, so tell me about you and Meg.”

  Randy unscrewed the top of his cologne. “I knew you’d like her.” He smiled into the mirror. “She likes you too. Did you see her blushing?” He sprinkled a few drops into his palm. “And since she’s my sister, I’ll give you two my blessing.” He turned to look Rooster in the eye. “And I’ll also warn you. If you’re a prick to her, you’ll be answering to me.” His point made, Randy turned back to the mirror as he patted the scent over his cheeks and neck. He looked up to find Rooster’s scowl reflected back at him. “It’s time, my friend,” he said in all seriousness. “Maria would want you happy.”

  Maria would want him happy. She had said so, time and again, as he held her hand in the oncology ward. But he hadn’t thought in terms of a relationship in the ten years since. “That’s quite a leap. All I asked was for you to tell me about you two.”

  “And that speaks volumes.” Randy slid his phone and wallet into his pockets. “Come on, she’ll be waiting for us.”

  The two men moved through the door and saw Meg walking toward them. She nodded her head as if confirming something to herself, then held out both her hands to Randy. When he took them, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him on each cheek, holding longer on the last kiss. “Mmm. You smell good.”

  Meg didn’t look much different dressed up for the evening than she had at the airport. She’d changed her jeans and blouse for a long dress made of floaty material that curved over her figure and clung to her thighs as she walked. Any man was sure to enjoy the tease of her long shapely legs hidden just out of sight. She’d curled her hair and put on a touch of makeup, but she let her beauty shine from the inside. Rooster liked that. A lot. It had been a while since he’d felt this kind of buzz. He wondered if Randy was right and Meg felt it too.

  Meg reached her hands to Rooster and rose higher on her toes as he leaned down to receive his kisses. The look she sent him as she lowered her heels was one of sisterly affection. Shit. She didn’t feel it. He was an extension of Randy. Friend-zoned.

  “Ready then?” She turned without waiting for an answer. “We could go and sit at a restaurant if you’re tired, but with only one night in Zanzibar, I’d hate for you to miss out on experiencing the street food.”

  Outside the hotel, Rooster did a sweep of the area. It was as natural as breathing for him to assess and discern possible threats, but tonight he was on the lookout for the man from Djibouti, who might have been on the elevator back at their hotel. Rooster thought they were overdue for a conversation with the guy.

  Meg led the way down the road. A stream of people moved in an ebb and flow along the sidewalk with an ease that said they’d get to where they were headed when they got there, no worries. It was a pace that most Americans would find frustrating. The locals were dressed in Muslim-style clothing—the women, even the girls, covered their hair with hijabs and the men with kufi caps, the brimless, rounded cap worn by men in much of Africa. Tourists and locals alike modestly covered their shoulders and knees. Rooster’s dark-blue dress pants and white silk button-down shirt fit in just fine.

  Meg opened her bag and pulled out a scarf which she draped over her hair, flinging one end over her shoulder to keep it in place. Normally, Rooster took in details, and if they didn’t have anything to do with survival, he discarded them just as quick. But this picture he’d hold on to—Meg looking up at him with her bright green eyes, the shiny copper of her hair, the sapphire of her scarf, and behind her head the sky was on fire in a blaze of orange, yellow and purple. It was almost too beautiful to take in. Rooster felt his heartbeat pound in his chest. He offered her his arm, and she glanced over at Randy before she took it. Maybe Randy needed to have that blessing conversation with Meg too.
Maybe she had a policy of some kind about Randy’s friends. Bros before beaus, or some such code.

  They were on the outskirts of Stone Town, which took up the center of the island. The white sand beaches on their right were empty now. Meg seemed to know where she was headed as they walked past the people—some speaking Arabic, others English, some Kiswahili. Rooster’s ability with the Swahili language was conversational, but he was clearly missing something. Something they were saying tickled Meg. She tried to stifle her laughter, but she was lit up with amusement, turning her bright smile toward him. Rooster thought that the next two days were going to be long and painful. He really didn’t need the aggravation of what he’d describe as unrequited “heightened awareness” working at him when he just wanted to unwind and watch some critters up close and personal, let go of the stress he’d packed on during that last race to safety with the Bowens.

  They moved through a tangle of architecture. Centuries-old buildings dominated the city. The carved stone reflected the Arabic influence. They walked past wooden sawhorses where oriental carpets were draped to dry after being cleaned outdoors.

  “This reminds me of Ali Baba and the magic carpet rides. It’s enchanting being here.” Meg ran her hand along one. “This city is on the UNESCO World Heritage List.” Her arm swept out to take in the buildings. “I love the mishmash of architecture—European, Arabic, Indian, and African. Lots of the buildings are renovated, though you’d be hard-pressed to find a single one with a fresh coat of paint.” She pointed at the mansion across the street. “This one belonged to a guy named Tipu Tip. It hasn’t been restored.”

  “He had bucks,” Randy said as he took in the expanse of the house.

  “Tipu Tip was a horrible man who got his money from the slave trade. He’d send his servants out to capture people and bring them here to the slave market. Zanzibar has a dark history in the sale of humans.” She pointed to the muddy ground surrounded by wrecked boats exposed by the low tide. “That’s the fish market. When the tide is out during the day, the fishermen sell their catch right there in the mud. When the tide rises, they go out to sea again.” She looked across Rooster to Randy. “Unless I know and trust the vendor, when we get to the street food, even though it looks wonderful, I’d steer clear of the fish. Sometimes they were caught in the morning and have been laying out all day. They don’t refrigerate ingredients between purchasing and cooking them.” She shifted to look at Rooster. “Most of the food is absolutely fine, but since we have a long day of traveling tomorrow, it’s good to be cautious. Here, just up a little farther.” Meg let go of Rooster’s arm and skipped forward with excitement. “I want you to see the tortoises.”

  A park opened up near the houses. They found an empty bench and sat. Randy pointed. “One o’clock,” he said as a gigantic tortoise lumbered toward the old man who had pulled a head of lettuce from his pocket.

  “Aren’t they amazing?” Meg asked. “Sometimes Zanzibar is called Turtle Island because of them. Scientists believe that some of the tortoises have been here for over two-hundred years.”

  “This is a very different Africa than the one we just came from.” Randy relaxed, leaning back with his arm stretched along the bench.

  “Yeah?” Meg asked. “What was that like?”

  “Salty,” Randy replied. “Different architecture.”

  They sat in silent respect for the Maghrib, the Muslim sunset call to prayer.

  “God is the greatest. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except God… Hasten to the prayer. Come to Salvation. God is the greatest.”

  As the last note rode the wind out over the Indian Ocean, Meg sighed. “Just beautiful. His voice is amazing, the way it resonates through the stone architecture,” she said with her eyes closed as if to savor it. Meg’s eyes flashed open and she turned to Randy. “Can you hear that? My stomach has been rumbling ever since I talked about the street food.” She laughed as she stood up and led them back into the labyrinth of buildings.

  Rooster and Randy both had their heads on a swivel. The tight streets, with plenty of shadows and hiding places, made Rooster uneasy. He could feel eyes on him, and they weren’t the usual curious ones that followed him because of his size, they were the kind that were keeping track. Rooster knew Randy had picked up on it too. “Any word from Deep?” he asked over Meg’s head in a tone that was meant to stay private.

  “Nada,” Randy said as he tucked Meg tightly between them.

  Walking too closely in the alley, they couldn’t swing their arms. Meg slid her fingers into the crooks of their elbows. Rooster resisted reaching across to hold her hand. The reflex made him remember the last time he’d felt this way with a woman on his arm. Randy was right, Maria would want him happy. Rooster knew Randy wasn’t accusing him of living a sad life, things were good. He was fulfilling his life’s purpose. But in the long days of sitting and waiting for the radio calls from Brilliant, there had been some soulful discussions between the two men.

  Rooster had to admit that having Maria in his life had given him more dimension. Despite his world view—you had to embrace the light and the dark. He’d been focused almost uniquely on the dark side of things lately. As Orwell said, “People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.” They needed to be every bit as willing as the bad guys to bring destruction. He was that guy. He lived in that world. But when he had Maria, he had someone who reminded him that he was whole. He was also the poetry he loved, the art he used to paint, a man of contemplation and philosophy.

  With Meg on his arm, he felt different than he had yesterday, he mused. How so might take some time to put his finger on. It was a good different, though.

  They strolled onto a road that was full of color and had the carnival atmosphere of people enjoying the cool evening and each other’s company. Men played mancala at small tables outside of the carved wooden doors that were famous in Zanzibar. Meg caught Rooster focusing on them. “The carved teak and mahogany doors tell the tales of the early island dwellers,” she explained. “The patterns tell the story of that house’s ancestry and professions. Brass spikes like the ones at this house mean the family was originally from India.”

  “Did they serve some kind of purpose?” he asked.

  “They were supposed to keep elephants away, by tradition, though there were no elephants on the island. The lotus flower—a historically Egyptian symbol—was carved to promote fertility. Other doors depict chains. A sad reminder that this was once a central hub of the slave trade.”

  The women walked past in gaggles, their children clutching at their skirts. They filled their baskets from the pyramids of fruit that were arranged on cloth-covered tables—pineapples, papayas, jackfruit, and mangoes.

  Meg stopped mid-stride, tilted her head back and sniffed the air. “Mmm,” she hummed, then opened her eyes to look at Rooster. “Where else in the world can you experience a sensory riot like this? Ylang-ylang and cinnamon—it’s like living in the bottom of a genie’s bottle.” With a laugh filled with joy, she turned her focus down the street. “Just around the corner now.” They had to release their hooked arms, but Randy grabbed at Meg’s hand, and Meg in turn reached for Rooster’s as they made a human chain and wove their way around the crowd moving toward the nearby open grills.

  “Jambo!, Jooma,” Meg called.

  “Jambo!, Dr. Meg. What can I get for you and your friends tonight?”

  “When was your fish caught?”

  “Last net of the day. Fresh.”

  Meg smiled. “Could we have an order of coconut rice and curried fish soup?”

  “That is all for you tonight?” He frowned up at Rooster.

  “Yes, thank you. We’re on a tasting tour. And of course, I brought my friends to try your food first.”

  “Thank you, I hope you will enjoy.” The man handed them a bowl of tilapia broth that he had topped with garlic and lime. It came, as was tradition, with another bowl that held a
salad of eggplant and tomatoes topped with thin bread meant to be used as an eating utensil.

  They moved to the side to taste, sipping the soup from plastic spoons that Meg carried in her purse, then returned their empty plates to Jooma before proceeding through the market area.

  Meg waved toward the end of the street. “Two more things you must try, then I’ll buy the first of what I’m assuming to be a well-deserved round of beers.” She stopped and ordered them a heaping box of fries that the vendor doused with hot sauce and tamarind. A combination that had Rooster wary, but willing to try. Once.

  “No?” Meg asked with a little laugh.

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” Rooster noticed that Randy was hanging back, letting them have some space. It was a nice gesture and all, but there was no spark to fan on Meg’s part. She was just excited to be sharing her discoveries.

  “All right, well maybe the next dish will taste better to you,” she said, popping a fry in her mouth.

  Rooster smiled as he reached out and rubbed his thumb over the corner of her lips to capture the drip of sauce left there.

  Randy moved up to their side, relieving Meg of the box as he wolfed down the rest of the fries. “This is so much better than Honey’s cooking. You have no idea.”

  “Yeah? What do you cook, Rooster?”

  “MREs, mostly.”

  “Ah well, I could see where Randy would have room to complain. What is it exactly that you do for Iniquus?”

  “Hostage negotiation.”

  The smile slipped from Meg’s face and she put both her hands on his forearm. “Oh. My. That’s—that must be a difficult thing to work through. I wish you every success.” She gave a shudder and whipped her head around to look behind her. “Ha,” she said, turning back to him. “Someone must have walked over my grave.”