Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set

by A. K. Alexander

  “My son — the priest — is settled,” Javier replied.

  “Good. Can I get either of you a drink?” They both declined. “All right, then. Let's get business out of the way. I have tickets to the opera tonight, but first, I thought we could go out for a nice dinner.”

  “Excellent,” Javier replied.

  “Is that safe? I've heard the streets around here have become quite violent these days,” Pedro said.

  “My dear boy, do you really think anyone is going to attempt to kill any of us? Are you kidding? I am this city. The people around here need me. They worship me. However, they will not for long, if I don't start generating a larger cash flow. It appears that, with inflation in the United States, the price of our coffee and other goods is becoming so expensive that it has been necessary to lay off workers. We need to find a way to make more money. Any suggestions?”

  “I do have an idea,” Javier said hesitantly.

  “Go on.”

  “Cocaine.”

  “I don't think so, Javier. I'm beginning to get tired of our illegal trade. It's not so cheap to pay off Immigration and the police any longer. Besides, I understand the federales are coming down harder than usual at the checkpoints. Emilio called this morning to tell me that a large shipment of marijuana had been confiscated. Needless to say, I wasn't happy to hear it.”

  “I'm aware of the situation. I've already got someone looking into that for us. But listen to me. What little extra expense it costs us to keep the federales quiet will be made up in the quantity of sales we'll be doing. Antonio, we have the means to grow prosperous crops. I say that this is our ticket to taking over where the Italians left off.”

  “We can never play their game.”

  “No, but maybe we can play with them. Rumor has it that Tarrantino wants to make some kind of deal with us.”

  “I don't want to take on new partners — not after the Levine fiasco. The only reason none of us ever wound up dead after that was because the little mother had cultivated so many enemies, no one really gave a care. It's another thing with the wops. They're a lot like us when it comes to loyalty. Even if they hate the man in the hot seat, they'll blow your brains out if you look at ‘em cross eyed.”

  “So we don't go with the Italians. But I'm telling you, Antonio, there is enough in this white powder business to go around. You, me, and the Italians have no need to step on each other's toes. I say it's worth a shot, unless you have any better ideas.”

  “What do you think, Pedro?”

  “I'm with Javier.”

  “Of course,” Antonio mumbled. “Fine. I respect your ideas. I'll think about this carefully.”

  “That's all we're asking.”

  “Good. Now there is something else we need to talk about.”

  “What is that?”

  “Isabella.”

  “Bella? You saw her when you were in France, didn't you?”

  “I did.”

  “How is she?”

  “Beautiful and smart as ever. Did you know about her important horse trials in Italy next month? Doing well in them will mean she will only be closer to her dream of going to the Olympics. She believes that she could go to Barcelona in '92. ”

  “I did hear about it.”

  “Do you want to explain why you didn't respond to her invitation? She's very hurt.”

  Javier's mouth flew open. “What? She hasn't called or written in over a month.”

  “Not true, according to her. She says that not only did she write, but she also phoned while you were away. Carlotta told her that the two of you were going to visit Stefan during that time, because he's playing in some sort of soccer tournament.”

  “That crazy bitch. She's done it again — put another wedge between my daughter and me. I tell you, I've had it with her.”

  “What are you going to do?” Pedro asked, glancing between Antonio and Javier.

  “It's not what I'm going to do. I've already had the problem taken care of. I understand that the spa she's visiting has had problems with the steam room.”

  “That's a shame,” Antonio said.

  “Yes it is. Expect to attend the funeral, gentlemen, sometime next week, and then I am going to go to Italy to see my daughter at her event and to heal from the loss of my wife.”

  “That's the best idea you've had in quite some time,” Antonio chuckled.

  After the situation with Carlotta was taken care of, and Javier returned from Italy, he planned to bring Stefan home and start being a loyal father again. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

  *****

  AS THE THREE MEN LEFT THE STUDY AND WALKED separately to their quarters, Pedro felt elated that Antonio had asked him his opinion. Of course, Pedro would never go against what Javier wanted, but it felt good all the same.

  Pedro walked through the garden to the guesthouse, and he caught sight of a striking young woman glancing through a magazine by the pool. At first, he didn't realize who it was. Then he took a second look and recognized Felicia. He'd never paid much attention to either of Antonio's girls before. He was always too busy with Javier's business. But seeing her for the first time in this light, Pedro couldn't help staring at her.

  She must have felt his eyes on her. Felicia looked up, and their gaze met. “Pedro?” she asked.

  “Hello, Felicia. How are you?”

  “Good. Come here and sit down,” she said, patting the seat next to her.

  Pedro had had plenty of women over the years, but there had only been one he even remotely considered becoming serious with, and she'd left him after he made it quite clear that his business came first and always would. But this creature, although far too young for him, was so gorgeous that he knew he had to have her. The obstacle would be Antonio.

  “You'll be going to the opera with us this evening. No?” she asked.

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Excellent. I love the opera, don't you?”

  “I do.”

  “I mean, it's so romantic and full of drama.”

  “It is.” He smiled.

  “I suppose I should start getting ready,” she said. She stood and wrapped a colorful sarong around her bikini. She turned around and winked at him as she headed for the house.

  Pedro fell back into the lounge chair, letting out a loud sigh. He knew this was one woman not soon forgotten.

  *****

  THE WARM WATER FELT GOOD ON ANTONIO'S SKIN as he showered for the evening's festivities, thinking that perhaps Javier's suggestion about the cocaine business was not such a bad idea after all. He really wasn't interested in getting more involved in the distribution of drugs. Yet he knew that going legitimate was impossible. He hadn't even been able to do it for the one woman he'd never stopped loving.

  Antonio wished he'd insisted on being a part of Alejandro's life. Now Alejandro would be a young man. Even if Antonio decided to come back into his son's life, would Alejandro let him? After all, the boy believed his father was dead. Marta had seen to that. The thought broke his heart each time it came to mind.

  He dressed, noticing his reflection in the mirror. Age had set in around his eyes, and his hair loss had become more prevalent in recent years. He hated the idea of getting old, and growing old alone sounded even worse. But he would be damned before he would beg Marta to come back to him, especially after all this time.

  “Papa, the car is out front,” Felicia yelled into his room.

  “Be right there.”

  As they moved into the back seat of the limousine, Antonio noticed his youngest daughter's low-cut red dress. Rosa at least had the good sense to wear something elegant, black and simple. But Felicia looked to be flaunting. He wanted to yell at her to go back into the house and change. However, it was not worth the shame he knew that would cause her.

  Antonio also observed that Pedro's eyes kept resting on his youngest daughter. He would make certain he spoke to Javier about reminding this renegade adopted son of his to stay away from Felicia. Throughout dinner
Antonio remained quiet, watching the interaction between these two. They were flirting, but not so overtly that anyone would notice, except an overly protective father.

  “I almost forgot, Antonio,” Javier said. “This letter came for you to my house this week.” Javier pulled a small envelope out of his coat pocket.

  “Why would someone send your mail to Javier's house?” Rosa asked.

  Antonio fumbled for an answer, knowing there was only one reason anyone would send his mail to Javier's. It would have to be from Marta. “Maybe they lost our address and know how close I am with Javier,” he replied.

  Rosa looked at him queerly, eyebrows raised. Antonio stuck the letter inside his coat. “Aren't you going to read it, Papa?”

  “No, not now. It's time to go.”

  Once they had taken their seats inside the opera house, Antonio excused himself, retreating to the lobby. He pulled the letter from his coat pocket, and with trembling hands, looked for the return address. There was none. His heart sank once he opened it and read the contents of the letter. While his eyes scanned the handwritten words, tears fell down his cheeks.

  Dear Señor Espinoza,

  I am so sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know. I was a very close friend of Marta Peña and I'm your son's Godmother. I feel it is my duty to inform you of the sad events that have taken place in the last month concerning Marta and Alejandro.

  Antonio could read no further after seeing the words “shot and killed.” He felt a bullet of pain pierce his own heart, leaving it empty.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  PEDRO'S MIND RACED WITH THOUGHTS OF WHAT FELICIA'S father would do if he discovered the two of them in bed together. Pedro would savor the memory of the previous night for a long time. He discovered, after returning from the opera, that Felicia was talented at more than putting on makeup and fixing her hair.

  “Good morning,” she whispered as she sat up in bed, her tousled hair dangling seductively around her face. “How are you?” She curled the small hairs on his chest around a finger.

  “I'm fine,” he replied. He kissed the top of her head, pressed against his chest. “I'd be better, though, if your father's face didn't keep haunting me.”

  “Don't you worry about Papa. By now, he's already gone over his figures, taken his morning walk through the fields, and smacked a couple of maids on the rear. I'll handle my father.”

  She slid down Pedro's body. Before he could protest, she moved her tongue along his engorging shaft in a slow, deliberate pattern. His fingers entwined in her hair, playing with it in order to keep from reaching orgasm too quickly. He yearned to prolong this pleasure as long as he could.

  “Don't stop,” he cried out as she lifted her head up and looked at him. “Please,” he begged. She winked as she straddled him. His hands fondled her full breasts, her nipples soon erect to his touch. She moaned in ecstasy. She bent over him so that he could lick and suck all the more easily. As he did, her slow movements became more rapid. Pedro couldn't take much more. Not wanting it to end, he rolled her over and now was in control, holding her hands down against the mattress. “Shhh,” he whispered. Aching to kiss every part of her, he tenderly placed his lips on her body beginning with her forehead, moving to her ears, her lips, arms and shoulders, fingers, stomach, legs and feet.

  She stretched her body out, enjoying this prolonged and delicate attention. For the first time in Felicia's young life, a man wanted to please her. Most of the men she'd been with — boys, really — had expected her to do all the work. She felt that if there was such a thing as love on this godforsaken earth, she'd found it right here with Pedro's mouth, which was now probing her center of pleasure.

  With his tongue, he did the equivalent of what she'd already done to him. He moved it across her moist skin while his hands played with her breasts. As he did so, Felicia found herself in an erotic heaven she never thought possible. Unable to delay her climax any longer, she exploded, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Pedro smiled at the angel beneath him, this angel full of so much devilment.

  “Oh, no, you don't,” she said. “We're not through.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don't,” he replied, wearing a smirk on his golden face.

  “Yes, you do.” Felicia pushed him back down on the bed.

  “Now, I think we've had enough for one day, don't you? I'm certain Javier and Antonio will be wondering where I am by now.”

  “I'm the boss here, and you're not finished.”

  “Really?” Pedro teased her.

  “Really.” She again took him in her mouth and he gave up the fight, knowing she was right. It took only a matter of minutes for him to reach completion. Sated, they lay together.

  “Now hurry and get out of here. I've got to figure out what I'm going to say to the Patróns about why I slept in so late.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I'm not sure. But I will be back,” he replied as he walked past her on his way to the shower, smacking her bare bottom.

  She laughed, throwing on the jeans and sweatshirt she'd worn to the guesthouse the night before — under the guise of going for a midnight stroll along the beach. She'd feared her incessantly nosy sister would find her and question her. “Goodbye,” she said, peeking into the shower at Pedro. He was not at all boyish, like so many of the men she'd already been with. His slightly rugged face contained a wisdom Felicia longed to attain. Everyone thought of her as the dumb, pretty one, and Rosa as the intelligent, creative one. She decided that morning that Pedro was the perfect man for her in every way. Regardless of the fight her father would give her, she was going to make Pedro Torres hers and only hers. No one would stand in her way.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ORANGE AND YELLOW LEAVES FELL FROM BRANCHES OF THE elm trees outside the convent. Susanna felt the crispness of the autumn air as she washed down the front patio, humming a hymn from that morning's mass. Since Father Miguel had come to the convent, her spirits had risen dramatically. He spoke about the Lord with a fervor she'd never experienced before.

  The two had become friends in the three weeks since his arrival. They visited often, speaking of important passages from the Bible, and discussing their meanings. As Father Miguel spoke, Susanna would often dream about her youth, knowing that if she were the same girl she'd been fifteen years earlier, Father Miguel wouldn't be serving the Lord now.

  “Susanna,” the deep voice resounded behind her. She felt herself blush as she rose from her knees on the rough stones.

  “Oh, hello, Father,” she answered.

  “I wanted to let you know that Evening Mass has been changed this evening. I'm moving it up to five o'clock instead of six. I'm expecting a phone call tonight from my sister in France. She usually calls around six-thirty.”

  “All right, Father. Thank you. Are you and your sister close?”

  “Yes. Bella and I call each other weekly, taking turns. The calls usually don't interfere with Mass, but last week she said that her horse trainer had changed her training to an earlier time, so now she phones before she rides.”

  “She's an equestrienne, then?”

  “Yes, and a good one too. She'll be riding in a major horse trials in a couple of weeks. She hopes to make the Olympic team for Barcelona.”

  “Are you going to her event?”

  “I wish I could, but I'm needed here. She knows how much I want her to win, but it will be televised, so I'll be able to watch it in my room.”

  Relieved that he wasn't going to be leaving, Susanna replied, “I would love to watch it as well.”

  “Of course, you're more than welcome to join me.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  They both turned around as the sound of Mother Superior's voice rang out, echoing through the open corridor. “Father, it's urgent. It's your father. He's on the telephone.”

  “Javier?”

  “Yes. You must
come now.”

  Susanna watched as Father Miguel followed Mother Superior up to the office of the church where he could take the phone call. The pace of her heart quickened. Had she heard Father Miguel call his father “Javier?” No. It could not be. And Father Miguel's sister — Bella? Bella Rodriguez? Javier and Cynthia's daughter? Impossible. The night that Father was brought to the convent rushed back to her, when she was certain she'd recognized the voice of one of the men dropping him off, but no, it could not be. Father Miguel's last name was Diaz. She said a silent prayer that her past was not catching up with her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  EMILIO OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS BROTHER'S OFFICE.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Antonio sighed. “Yes.”

  Antonio looked haggard. His eyes drooping, bags underneath them. He was slouched over in his chair. “I did.”

  “Here I am.”

  “Sit down.”

  There was a tone in Antonio's voice, Emilio had never heard before — sad — not quite sad, more beaten than anything. Emilio sat. “You're worrying me.”

  “I have to go to Mexico again. Carlotta had a heart attack and is dead.”

  “This is what's upsetting you? That witch that Javier married is dead and you're upset by it?”

  Antonio shook his head and waved his hand. “I could care less about her. Out of respect for my friend, I will attend her funeral and normally I would request that you make an appearance as well. However, I have something far more important for you to do, and because of this situation with Javier and because I am still planning on leaving for Italy next week, I have to ask you to take care of this.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  Antonio stood and walked over to the bar in the corner of the room and made himself a drink. He swallowed it all before pouring another one and then sitting back down where he set his drink on the desk and placed his hands folded in front of him. He seemed to choose his words carefully as he started to speak slowly. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “What?”

  “I would guess that you have not. However, I have loved not only once with my whole heart to Lydia, but there was also another love in my life.” He sighed. “A very powerful love.”