***
Jill answered Brent’s knock immediately. She wore a white cotton sundress, and with the blush in her cheeks and the sandy hair, she looked vibrant and pure. Yet her eyes revealed an ocean of turmoil. He wanted to kiss her, but thought the temptation would be too great not to stop. He went so far as to remain standing just outside her door with his canvas bag in hand.
“I’m all set,” she whispered as if she were heading to an execution.
It pained him to the core. “Jill, please, this is−”
Her hand came up to stop him and she stepped outside, double-checking that the door was locked behind her. “At least I’ve learned not to be so lax on personal security now.” She managed a tentative smile. “I was prone to leaving doors unlocked in the past.”
“As if I wasn’t going to be worried about you enough,” he muttered. “Promise me you’ll always lock doors.”
She lifted up on her toes and kissed his cheek with the softest lips he’d ever felt. “I promise.”
Brent rubbed at an ache inside his ribcage as they traveled down the corridor in silence.
Downstairs, the doors to the gangway were just opening up, but there was no line to get off. People were either not awake yet, or getting ready for breakfast. A few of the Neptune Majesty personnel were preparing to cross onto the pier, but there was no sign of Luis.
The gangway was similar to the ones you would find at an airport, only this one was lined with glass panels so that you could see the modern port facility of San Souci as you disembarked. Unlike where they had docked previously, this port was located on a river just inland, and the water was much darker than the ocean. Passing through customs they moved quickly and reached the sliding glass doors to the outside. A huge hotel and convention center was to their right, as well a marina hosting a bevy of expensive yachts. Brent guided Jill over to a bench near the water’s edge. From this perspective he could still monitor the exit to the building and also had access to the buses and guaguas that were queuing up.
Jill was holding his hand as if she would fall a hundred feet if she let go. He set his bag down beside the bench and took that hand in both of his.
“I shouldn’t have done that last night.” He shook his head, calling himself every foul word he could think of. “I have hurt you, and I’ve hurt myself.”
“Listen to me,” she whispered, staring at their connected hands. “I don’t regret one second.” She looked up and her eyes were rimmed with water. “Not one second. You find Al’s parents. You be safe, Brent.” She clutched his hand and the exertion squeezed the drops loose from her eyes. “Goddamit, you be safe.”
The sight of the tear that leaked from her eye anguished him. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to confess how he felt more for her in several days than he had ever experienced in his life, but he couldn’t subject her to that with no promise of a future.
With tears pooling, her eyes looked as blue as the turquoise beaches they had visited, and he realized that this was an image that would forever be forged in his brain. He let go of her hand and stooped over to retrieve something out of his bag.
“Close your eyes,” he said softly.
She did, and it caused another tear to drip down her cheek.
He reached behind her neck, his fingers caressing skin warmed by the rising sun.
“There.” He sat back.
Jill tipped her chin down and saw the blue topaz necklace. Her tentative fingers touched the small round stone that he thought so closely resembled her eyes. She glanced up at him and her gaze was so poignant he felt the pain shoot behind his ribs again.
“Damn you, Mr. Coales. I am going to cry every time I look at this.”
Brent rubbed at his chest. “Well−that wasn’t exactly the goal. I want you to think about me from time to time and smile, Jill.” He leaned in and whispered against her cheek. “Can you do that?”
He felt her nod against his lips and then she turned and touched them with her own. There was some moisture on her lip from a cascading tear. It tasted salty and he kissed her gently until the salt went was gone.
She sat back. “Brent, I−”
He knew what she was going to say by the intensity in her eyes and the pained set of her face. He would not allow her to. He could not hear it.
“Look, I really have to go,” he injected. He even went so far as to stand and glance at the exit doors.
Jill rose as well, one hand still touching the silver necklace.
“I know.”
He could see her struggle for composure and was so proud of her strength. He took her into his arms and pulled her to him, realizing that the sensation of her head tucked against his throat was a cherished one−one that he would take with him. He kissed her hair and felt his own eyes begin to grow moist.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered, hoarse. “I wish with all my heart this could be different.”
Between them he felt her hand climb and cover his heart. “I wish that too.”
Brent cupped her cheeks in both his hands and lifted her face. For a second he delved into those warm Caribbean pools and tried to convey everything he felt with just his sight alone. Her imperceptible nod made him believe he had succeeded…and then he lost control and kissed her.
Their mouths came together in a painful exchange of emotion and yearning. This was not a sexual encounter, but a transfer of devotion−a need to merge into one being for just this second in time. Jill reached up and clung to him as his arms hauled her impossibly closer−holding her so tight he nearly lifted her from the ground. He tasted salt again, but he kept caressing those lips, murmuring against them with heated strokes.
It was Jill that pulled back. She grazed a soft kiss across his lips, like the caress of the trade winds, and then she smiled up at him through her tears.
“You go, Brent Coales. Go defeat these idiots, and conquer your demons.” Her smile faltered. “And then come find me.”
“You are a special person, Jill Ann Perry,” he said thickly. “And you make a cute Chihuahua.” He was trying to lighten the moment but neither could manage to laugh.
Jill took a retreating step and held one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. She took another step back and nodded. “Go, Brent,” she cried. “Please go.”
With one last clutch of her fingers, the link was severed. He felt lost at sea.
He wanted to say the words that ached inside him, but it would only make matters worse, and he found that his voice had failed him anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing could get past the restriction in his throat. Instead, he lunged forward and took her mouth in one last kiss, and then stooped to grab his bag and walk away.
Chapter Ten
Jill made it inside the modern building with her dignity barely intact. As soon as she was behind the tinted glass barrier−as soon as the tall, dark-haired figure disappeared inside the green shuttle bus, her world shattered into gulping sobs. She splayed her palm flat on the glass to hold herself up, and her free hand clasped the chain around her neck. Through tears she watched the van pull away from the curb and she whispered, “I love you.”
***
With a hoarse voice, Brent instructed the driver towards the residential address in the beach community of Juan Dolio. When Brent was living with the Petris, they owned a small farm near Barahona. It had a wraparound porch with missing planks of wood. Palm trees poured across the roof so that maintenance was constantly necessary. A brook ran through the property which he and Al built a bridge over. That farm was Brent’s home and he missed it, but with Al’s new income, the constant maintenance seemed an unnecessary hardship for a couple in their early sixties. Al moved them to a villa on the beach, with enough property to keep most of the pigs.
As the shuttle van passed through Guayacannes, Brent started to grow tense. He had to tuck Jill into his heart for now and let his mind focus on the moments ahead. He wanted to call Al, but there was no telling who was involved with the extortion ring. The
driver as well some of the passengers could very well be a part of it and overhear him. No one could be trusted−that was the safest protocol.
A quick jerk of the head was all Brent was served as an indication they had reached their destination. He had never been to the new villa. He had not traveled to the island since he left it as a teenager. It was too hard. He was grateful that this area was all new to him and not flooded with memories. The Petris had understood his qualms about returning, and they saw him often enough when Al flew them up to Florida.
Having rifled through many pictures of the new villa and the surrounding area, Brent was sure of his whereabouts when the guagua dumped him off on the side of the road. Al had been so excited about the new place that he had used his cell phone to film the half-mile long driveway. He filmed the pool area and the grounds of the two acre property, including the pig farm as well.
Brent was grateful for the hike on foot. He climbed down the embankment and into a stockade of palm trees that canopied over the driveway. Though he wouldn’t know what to do with it, now was the time he wished he had a gun. He knew where he could get one though. Al was clear on that. But there was still no grand plan. What was he to do if there was an army of men staked out around the house? What if Luis handed over the money and the agreement to release the Petris was not kept?
A motor sounded and Brent ducked behind a tree as a white van bounced by on the rutted dirt lane. The windows were tinted but he was willing to bet it was Luis. He jogged behind the tree-line and was able to keep up with the slow progress of the van. Recognizing the courtyard from Al’s video, Brent crouched down and waited to see who exited the vehicle as it came to a halt. The passenger side door opened and the diminutive figure of Luis Garcia jumped out, a briefcase clutched in both arms. Through the tinted glass, the driver’s silhouette was visible but he did not emerge. Luis strode down the sidewalk towards the two-story yellow concrete structure, its copper roof glowing under the sun. He rapped on the double doors inside a copper-topped portico. From this angle, Brent could see the door open, but did not recognize the person as being one of the Petris. His stomach rolled with unease at the sight.
Forced to disregard the house for the moment, Brent’s first priority was the shed. Al made a point of filming it because it was physically the same pig shed transported on a flatbed from the old property. The shed was across the yard, nearly out of sight. A sturdy fence lined the perimeter of the pen that Arnaud Petri’s precious black Creole pigs wallowed in. They were precious to him because his father’s pigs had been wiped out during the swine flu epidemic, when all the pigs in Haiti had been slaughtered to prevent the spread of the disease. Arnaud liked to believe that he was rebuilding the family name…although eight pigs of a new pseudo breed were not exactly a pork industry in the making.
Brent smelled the location before he saw it. That distinct compost-like blend of old mud and dung. One breath and he was transported back in time. He took a deep breath, focusing on a hint of the sea over the pungent odor. The scent was fortifying. This was his world once, and he felt at peace here.
Then he saw him. Chico.
He recognized the ornery old boar from other videos the Petris had shown on their last visit. Its white front leg on a black body was distinctive as was the uncharacteristic size for the breed. But Chico’s disposition was his single-most notorious feature.
“Chico, you old bastard. I knew your father.”
The pig took a few lumbering steps in his direction as he saw the snout wiggle in the wind. Chico let loose a disinterested snort and ambled back to its smaller, younger counterparts wallowing in mud produced from a sprinkler that saturated the dirt. The mud helped to prevent sunburn on the pigs, and Brent had spent plenty of time in that sloppy pool cleaning out excrement. It amazed him that the memories were pleasant ones, with him and Al singing songs to the hogs to keep them at peace. If Chico’s father, Julio got riled, the noise was worse than anything you had ever heard before. But if you kept a safe perimeter of the pigs and you didn’t feed them−for the most part they would ignore you. He recalled that they sure as hell got aggressive at feeding time…or if anyone tried to handle them.
The shed looked like a miniature nuclear refuge from the fifties. The pre-fabricated metal structure was very durable, as was the perimeter fence. If agitated, the pigs were extremely strong and required the extra fortification.
Brent trod with caution, sticking to the bed of cedar chips that led to the shed door. His nose wrinkled at the smell inside, and though two wall fans were keeping the interior moderately cool, the darkness made the shelter overbearing. Still, Al had described exactly where to locate the hand gun on the uppermost shelf of the back wall. It was a Bersa 9mm. Arnaud felt he needed security, but he refused to keep a gun in the house.
Reaching into his pocket, Brent extracted the cell phone and stepped out of the pie of light pouring in from outside. He was tucked in the shadows, but still had a view of the villa and the driveway in the distance. The signal was weak, but he heard the call go through and silently urged Al to pick up.
“Man, I have been dying here.” Al answered on the second ring. “Que pasa?”
“Shhh. I’m here. I’m in the shed and I have the gun, but I’m going to need your help.”
“Anything.” Al cried. “Listen to me. Now is the time to back out. You are there. Call the Policia.”
Brent shifted his position because the signal wavered. The driver had not yet vacated the van and Luis was still inside the villa.
“There is no time, and we can’t trust anyone. Can you call your parents? Will they let you speak to them?”
“No, no.” Al moaned. “I have tried. Only once did they let my father talk to say he was okay.”
“Well, this time you demand to speak to him. Do whatever you have to. Tell them you know Luis is arriving this morning and you want to make sure your parents are still alive, and that this deal is done. If they hit you with the, “we want more money” speech, which you know they will, you demand proof that your parents are alive, and that you want to talk to them. You only need five seconds, Al. I need you to say these words to your father.” Brent paused. “Brent has let Chico free.”
There was silence on the other end and Brent cursed the connection, shifting to the other side of the shed, peering out to make sure there was no movement on the grounds.
“Que?”
“You tell him, Brent has let Chico free.”
“What are you going to do, Brent?” Al asked, worry making his voice hoarse.
“If you say those words, it will first alert your dad that I’m here, and then it will warn him for the chaos that’s about to take place.” Brent’s palm was perspiring on the cell phone. “You may only have a second. It has to be a short message. But I need you to deliver it.”
Another silence, but Brent waited it out and finally heard Al’s anxious tone. “My father will have a fit if Chico gets out.”
“He will have a fit because he knows the neighbors will have a fit.”
Silence again, and then a low chuckle rumbled across the connection. “Ahhh, you are crafty, amigo.”
Brent could almost picture Al nodding as the notion formed in his head.
“Give me five minutes and then make the call.” Brent ordered.
“Si. Five minutes and I will make the call.” Al hesitated. “What if they don’t put me through?”
“I’m going to have to go ahead anyway. I just wanted to warn Arnaud.”
“Si. Yes. Okay.” The vibrato of hope filled Al’s voice. “Five minutes, I call.” He hesitated a second and then added, “Vaya con Dios, hermano.”
Brent nodded. “Stay strong, Al. We’re going to make this happen.”
“You are a crazy man, Brent.” Brent could hear the smile. “But a good brother.”
“Talk to you−” he hesitated, “−soon.”
***
Before he could set his plan in motion, Brent needed Luis’s van. Avoiding C
hico and his horde, Brent jogged along the perimeter of the fence, sheltered from the villa’s view by the stockade of palms. Within fifty yards of the white van he managed a furtive approach, dodging from tree trunk to tree trunk. He reached the point where he would have to be exposed in the dirt driveway. It was only a few paces, but enough time for the man inside to either phone in his presence, or to grab his gun and then step out and open fire on Brent.
Hunkering down to a virtual crawl in hopes that he would be below the sightline of the rearview mirror, it was the only option Brent had to advance. Holding out the automatic weapon which he had never fired before, he knew the odds were stacked against him.
Brent managed to rush the few steps to reach the rear end of the van. He turned so that his back was against the frame−in the driver’s blind spot. Stooping down, he hugged the vehicle, progressing under the side windows until he reached the front door. He stayed down and rapped his knuckles on the metal. The front door opened and a gun emerged, followed by a dark arm, and then a leg. The gun swiveled his way, but was on a trajectory above his head. Brent felt the adrenaline building but held himself steady. Finally the full six foot body emerged from the vehicle. In a move born from his youth when he and Al had to protect themselves from aggressive Haitian immigrants, Brent thrust his gun up to propel the weapon out of the driver’s hands. Brent then swung the gun with a two-armed grip and cracked it into the man’s jaw. The body crumpled out of the jeep and spilled onto the ground.
With no hesitation, Brent stooped to ensure the man was unconscious. Using the rope he had hauled off the shelf in the pig shed, he tied the man’s wrists behind his back and ran the same rope to bind his wrists to his ankles. Hauling the man away from the van into a patch of ferns, Brent glanced at his cell. He had two minutes until Al made the call. He burst into an all out sprint towards the pigs with a sole purpose in mind−to scare the hell out of them.
Emotional Waves Page 13
