Finally, when her eyes and head hurt from crying, she sat up and washed her face, staring in the ornate antique mirror above the vanity. The resolve in her own eyes, so like her mother’s eyes, reminded her of what she needed to accept.
Her mother had given her the words she needed to hear in her letter:
She was a Giovanni. A survivor. She’d faced worse than this before. She had to toughen up, face reality and get on with it. She had to get the hell out of this tropical prison and find her way back to Grace and Maria. And she was going to get Nico to help.
If her life was going to truly be lived without Donovan, then maybe being with Nico was her fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The brief taste of freedom from being led into the jungle lit a fire under Donovan. He started doing sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups. His muscles were weak but it felt good to have them burn from his efforts after lying around in the damp basement for weeks.
His name was Sean Donovan.
That knowledge brought some memories sharply into focus, but they seemed to all be from his childhood.
The red-haired woman had been his mother. He recognized her. Flashes of her sweet smile came to him often. While he was awake and in his dreams.
But the painful part was he didn’t have any recent memories of her. Every memory he had involved looking up at her or clinging to her skirt or her caring for him.
He was disturbed that he had no memories of her when he was an adult.
Had she died when he was young?
Along with the bits and pieces of memories, came increased frustration. It wasn’t enough to have tiny flashes that meant nothing.
One night, he woke in a sweat, heart pounding. He’d remembered something from his life as an adult. Well, it was either a memory or a dream.
He was a police officer at a gun range, firing a weapon. He was demonstrating for someone. The next image was him leaning down, arms wrapped around a woman, guiding her hand on the trigger finger. Because of his angle, all he could see was her tousled brown hair next to his. He whispered in her ear. He tried to lean to see her profile, but she turned away.
He could smell her. The scent of her made him wild with lust. But then in the next moment of the dream or memory, he was walking by himself at the range. He caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby window. He stared at his image. Then, suddenly behind him was the woman. He whipped around to see her face. When he did she was gone.
That’s when he’d woken up.
The woman from his dream or memory, whichever one it might be, was the woman in the photograph. Her name seemed to slip through a sieve in his mind. Every time he seemed about to grasp who she was, the memory grew vague.
Lying in the dark, other images swarmed his mind.
Flashes of him having a beer with other police. This time none of them were in uniform, but they all—including him—had badges clipped to their belt buckles.
He might be DEA now, but he had been a detective.
But while he was awake there were no more images of the tousled haired woman. It made him wonder if the gun range scene was not a memory, but a dream conjured up from staring at the woman’s picture so much, trying to figure out who she was and why his captors wanted him to identify her.
If she was important enough for them to keep him prisoner, she had to be a spy. A top-level spy with critical information that would make or break the drug cartels down here. That is the only reason he was still alive: to identify that woman.
Which made him realize something else—once he did, he’d probably be executed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Changing into the black bikini she found in her closet, Gabriella glanced out the window and knew she wouldn’t survive an escape attempt on her own. Even if she managed to make it down to the dirt road below, then what? Wait for a passing car and hope they didn’t work for the man in the mask?
She wanted to sneak down to the garage and investigate.
Her new plan was to act like she had settled into life as a captive, to pretend to enjoy herself, to pretend to be falling for Nico. Walking around angry and defiant hadn’t gotten her any closer to figuring out why she was being held captive.
The wardrobe, the nightly candlelit dinners, the obvious approval of him sneaking into her room every night, all seemed to point to their captor encouraging a romance with Nico. But why?
For now, she’d play along and see what happened. At least that’s what she told herself. She was faking an attraction to get him to help her escape. But she knew she was lying to herself. The attraction was real. She could plan her escape without him if she needed.
She slipped out of her room with a tunic covering her bikini and went searching for a beach towel in the small laundry room off the kitchen.
Now, as she crept barefoot along the terra cotta floor, she heard a voice coming from a room that was normally locked. She knew. She had tried every door in the hallway numerous times. The door was cracked a few inches so she peered inside.
Nico was sitting at a large mahogany desk. His chair was swiveled away from her. He was facing a large wall of windows overlooking the jungle below.
He was on the phone.
It was an old-fashioned desk phone with a curly black cord stretching from the handset near his ear to the black phone on the desk.
“Let me talk to him.” His voice cracked a little with something. Fear maybe. Then it grew angry. “If you don’t put him on the phone right now, it is over. This was our agreement. I’ve done everything you ask. You do not hold up your end, I do not hold up mine.”
In frustration, he swung the chair around to face the desk. Gabriella ducked back just in time. She leaned against the wall near the door, waiting for Nico to call her name or footsteps to head her way.
A clatter at the end of the hallway sent Gabriella toward the small laundry room off the kitchen where she quickly snatched up a large white beach towel and headed for the pool.
She shook with anger.
Nico wasn’t acting like a goddamn prisoner. He sat in that office, which was usually locked, and acted like a king. What the fuck was going on?
The betrayal was enormous. She’d trusted him. She’d thought he was on her side, but this was not an even playing field. She wasn’t allowed in that room or able to make phone calls, despite her begging the man with the mask to allow her to call her family.
But Nico was allowed.
Everything she’d thought since she arrived here was wrong. But she couldn’t let anybody know what she had seen.
Stick to the plan. She headed out to the pool and found a lounge chair that faced the house, so he couldn’t miss her. She stripped off the tunic and stretched out, somewhat soothed by the sun soaking into her bones.
Sitting with her sunglasses on to hide her eyes, Gabriella watched Nico come out onto the veranda squinting until his eyes focused on her and a wide smile spread across his face, white teeth brilliant against his dark skin.
She made herself smile back. She would do anything if it increased her chances of escaping. Anything.
But her senses were on high alert. Nico had sat in that office like he belonged there. Not like he was a prisoner like her. He sat there as if it were his own home. And he was talking on the phone. The phone. Gabriella was going to sneak into that office at the next opportunity and try to make a call. She hadn’t seen any other phones in the entire hacienda.
And now, as she spread sunscreen along her arms and face and neck, she’d continue with her plan. She’d warm up to Nico, but keep her guard up. When he slid into the lounge chair beside her, tugging off his tight tee-shirt, she couldn’t help but sneak a glance sideways at him and realized keeping her guard up was going to be a lot tougher than she’d thought.
One thing she knew for sure was that he desired her. It was clear every time he looked at her, every time they touched, every word he said. On top of that, his glance told her something else. It wasn’t just lust. It was more.
If he had access to the phone, then he was her ticket out of here. She would make it so he wanted to help her. That he would put her in touch with her daughter Grace. That he would help her get home.
She would fuel his desire and use it to her advantage.
When she turned over, Nico offered to spread sunscreen on her back.
“May I? The sun is much hotter here than you are used to. I would hate to see you suffering from sunburn. May I?”
She smiled and nodded. As his hands caressed her back, her body betrayed her. She couldn’t help but respond to his touch. That’s when Gabriella reminded herself that it was all part of the plan. But deep down in a dark corner of her heart, she knew she’d use her virtuous plan in part to fulfill her own desires.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Monica seemed distracted today. After a rambunctious lovemaking session, she turned away from Donovan on the small futon mattress and buried her face in her hands.
“What is it?” Donovan brushed back her sleek black hair, trying to see her face.
“El Senor is bringing another shipment in and I don’t think my heart can bear it.”
Donovan held his breath. She had never spoken about the “senor” or anything besides her own sad past.
At first Donovan thought she must mean a shipment of drugs, but Monica saying she was heartbroken about another shipment of drugs didn’t make sense. As soon as he thought this, the horrific answer became clear—another shipment of young women who would be used as drug mules.
He tried to hide his surprise. How did he know this? It was something from his memory. He flashed back to sitting in the seat of an airplane—a large commercial jet, not the small plane he crashed in. While he sat, he reviewed a stack of photos of gruesome bodies encased in plastic that had been found in an American lake.
Then he remembered, the bodies were young Mexican women who had been transporting some type of drug internally and the method had failed. The containers with drugs they had ingested had burst, killing them instantly. Somebody, maybe the drug lord, had dumped the bodies in the lake.
That must be why he was in Central America. He’d been heading here to stop it from happening again. But he couldn’t let Monica realize any of this. Her loyalty to the drug lord was unshakable. He had to play it cool.
“Where are they, Monica? The girls? Is he keeping them here?”
She sat up and angrily brushed her tears away. “Yes. He keeps them here—they have a special princess room on the top floor. They are all so excited. They are giggling and trying on clothes and using makeup and perfume. They think they are so special. They all get to leave here and go to new lives in America, with diamonds and gold and cars.”
Donovan didn’t correct her.
“Why does this upset you, mi querido?”
Without realizing it, he called her his darling. It was what she sometimes called him and it came out automatically. But Monica was still talking and he needed to pay attention if he was going to help those girls.
“He loves them more than me. They are so innocent and sweet and fun and I am just boring old Monica who has to deal with dirty laundry and ...” she closed her mouth abruptly.
“And keeping his prisoner occupied?”
She nodded looking down.
“I need to tell you something,” Donovan said, sitting up and raking his hand through his hair. “You should not be jealous of those girls.”
Monica looked at him with skepticism.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The red silk dress clung to Gabriella in all the right places. She slipped on the gold sandals and hung dangling earrings from each ear.
Narrowing her eyes as she slicked black eyeliner across her lids, Gabriella thought again about how well the clothes and shoes fit. Proof that somebody knew about her trip to Guatemala. Besides the senator, she couldn’t think of anyone else besides her family and friends who knew about her plans.
The color of the dress reminded her of one of her favorite photos of her mother and father. They were dressed to go to a fancy event. Her father wore a tuxedo and her mother wore a low-cut red dress with a diamond necklace. They looked like movie stars. It was before they had kids, years before Gabriella was born.
Thinking of her mother made her sad and angry and determined to get home. She would do whatever it took.
When she closed the door to her room, she caught the faintest sound of giggling. It sounded like a room full of teenage girls having a party. She paused trying to figure out which direction it was coming from, but then the kitchen door swung open and Esmeralda appeared, the blaring sounds of her TV filtering into the hallway. It must have been something on the TV.
Esmeralda made a hurry gesture, pointing Gabriella toward the dining room. Gabriella stepped up the pace. She was a few minutes late tonight. Getting dressed for dinner had taken longer than she had planned.
Walking into the dining room, she felt, rather than saw, Nico freeze when he saw her. It was the first time she had dressed for dinner. His eyes were appreciative, as he stood behind her chair, ready to pull it out.
She folded herself into the chair and Nico pushed it in. His fingers lightly brushed her bare shoulders and his man smell—cologne and something else—swept over her. She swallowed. He was undeniably appealing. But he was dangerous. She must not forget that. This was all part of the plan to get back home to her mother and daughter.
But Gabriella was having a hard time straddling the line between feigning attraction for Nico and true yearning for him to touch her. Every brief touch sent her senses reeling.
Be strong. You are a Giovanni.
Her pep talks to herself grew weaker as dinner went on and the alcohol flowed.
For some reason, maybe in response to her ditching her tank top and cargo pants for the first time, Nico took care to serve her. Each dish Esmeralda brought out, he stood and held the platter for Gabriella to dish up a portion onto her own plate. He stood so close their bodies inevitably brushed against one another, the tiniest touch making hairs of her arms tingle.
Gabriella tried to clear her head, but each course also meant a refill of the wine. This night, rather than one bottle to share, the dinner had started with an aperitif of Campari and soda and then a small glass of prosecco.
“We celebrate your dress,” Nico had said before uncorking the prosecco. Now, as they finished their last course of a simple green salad, she could see Nico getting out the Limoncello bottle for dessert.
Her senses were already whirling. The alcohol, oysters, the scallops, the scent of Nico so close, the candlelight, the feel of the silk dress on her thighs. She felt warm, relaxed, and cozy if not a little dizzy.
She heard the sound of laughter and giggling again. It seemed like it was coming from a vent in the wall. Standing, she started to head for the wall to see if she could hear better, but Nico stood and intercepted her, blocking her way. Looking up she met his eyes.
When he leaned forward and rubbed his fingers across her lips, she closed her eyes. When he put his mouth on hers, she didn’t object. When he pressed his body to hers, she moaned. He backed her up against a velvet-curtained wall and she let him take his fill of her mouth and then let his lips trail down her body. It was only when he carefully slid the spaghetti straps of her dress off her shoulders that the cold air on her breasts roused her from her lust-filled reverie.
“No.” She breathed the word more than spoke it.
He pulled back, searching her face. She knew he saw her sadness and regret, but also her desire. With the lightest touch, he pulled the straps back up on her dress. He nodded his understanding and then leaned down and kissed her forehead before turning and walking away without a word.
His abrupt departure had the opposite affect that she had expected. Instead of feeling relief that the temptation of his body was gone, Gabriella felt an unexpected loss and yearning that made her want to run after him and abandon everythin
g she’d ever known.
AFTER DINNER, GABRIELLA waited in her room, still wearing the red dress. At one point, she locked her door with a deadbolt. She couldn’t let him in tonight. If he came to her and touched her, she would give in. Because she didn’t know for sure if Donovan was dead, that could mean she was betraying her marriage vows, being unfaithful.
But she brushed that thought aside. It was time to face that Donovan was dead. She couldn’t be strong any longer. Close to when Nico usually arrived at ten, she slid the deadbolt open. And stared at the doorknob. Shortly after ten, she heard footsteps outside her door, but then they left again. He must have changed his mind, knowing, as she did, that she was going to give herself to him tonight. He was protecting her from herself. He respected how she felt unfaithful to Donovan. This realization made her want him even more.
She slunk on the couch. After another five minutes, she poured herself some wine out of a bottle in a small mini refrigerator in her walk-in closet. No matter how much of the wine she drank, there was always a fresh bottle there the next day.
By ten-thirty, she’d had three glasses when her door opened.
For once, Nico’s hair was messed up. He didn’t smile when she rose to greet him.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to have to show you this.”
He thrust a photo toward her. It was a Polaroid. It revealed only the bare torso and head of a man lying down sleeping. Gabriella gasped. It was Donovan.
Donovan’s eyes were closed. His face swollen, bruised and beaten.
Gabriella could barely form words. “Where is he?”
Her hands were shaking so much the photograph was wobbling with them. She tried to focus, but her eyes were suddenly blurry.
Nico didn’t answer. She looked up and saw it in his eyes before he spoke. She choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry,” Nico said. “This is from the morgue. Look at the back.”
Blessed are the Peacemakers Page 11
