by Storm Chase
“You could try beasting her,” Ray suggested. “Boot camp has its advantages.”
“Can’t do that. Used that to get her over her coke problem.”
“Just leave her be,” Dylan said again. “She needs time.”
Later, when Connor took Cleo to bed, she was half awake, sweet as honey and came beautifully for him, but Connor had the impression that he hadn’t touched her. Cleo was in a world of her own.
The next five days were the same. Cleo was quiet, compliant and she worked hard at keeping their guests supplied with food and booze but the joie de vivre that had been her trademark had vanished.
“She’s the perfect companion for a man like that fucker Garcia Riviera who wants a brainless, soulless, willing beauty,” Connor said to Ray and Dylan after their friends from local liaison finally departed after a three day party, “but I want my girl back. The one who tells me I don’t have enough good hide to make a lampshade and who sings when she’s doing her daily crunches.”
“Give her time,” Dylan maintained. “She’s had a shock, she needs to readjust. Just be there for her, Connor. She’ll come to you.”
“I don’t know,” Connor worried.
“You’re a damn fool, Irish,” Dylan sighed. “She loves you. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Connor nodded but didn’t believe him. He knew love couldn’t come from a deal like theirs. But he did hope to earn her trust. He had to help her get over this. He hated seeing her suffer.
“You can’t fix her,” Ray cautioned him. “People need to find their own solutions.”
“Did you swallow a therapy textbook?” Connor asked exasperated.
“It’s what you told me after we found those poor bints the Taliban killed for daring to go to school and Baynes had that fit. You should take your own advice and not push it.”
Connor sighed. “Sometimes I’m a complete arsehole.”
“Self-knowledge is the first step to recovery,” Ray intoned.
“Let’s shut that depressing bugger up by throwing him in the pool,” Dylan suggested.
But Connor had brightened up. “Steps? Now there’s an idea.”
The next morning, he woke Cleo up an hour before dawn. Leaving Ray and Dylan snoring in the house, they drove down to the village and then turned onto a rough tarmac road, more pothole than surface, which led into the jungle.
Cleo sat quietly, half asleep as the cool air wafted through the open windows. She hadn’t even asked Connor where they were going. At least she wasn’t worried anymore that he would take her back to the prison, Connor thought. Or maybe, a chill inner voice suggested, she didn’t care anymore. He prayed that wasn’t the case.
After travelling several miles up the hill, the road ended. “We’re here,” Connor said. “Come on, Cleo. Follow me.”
Cleo followed, yawning. But when he walked up a narrow track, she halted. “What about landmines?” she asked fearfully.
“This is the one place you won’t find them.”
Seeing Connor disappear into the dark, every one of his strides the equivalent of two of hers and the darkness closing in, Cleo hurriedly ran after him.
The track led straight through some light jungle, then stopped abruptly. Cleo gazed up in astonishment. She could hardly believe her eyes. A stone temple rose up out of the earth, reaching up into the starry sky. It looked like a scene from Tomb Raider.
Connor switched off the torch, gave them a minute to get their night vision back and then motioned her to follow. He reached up, held on to the lip of a roughly hewn stone, pulled himself up, stepped lightly on the slab of rock sticking out under his feet and moved up to the next level. After hesitating a moment, Cleo copied him.
They climbed slowly in the dark. The stone was firm and the edges wide enough to rest on so it wasn’t a difficult climb but Cleo quickly began to sweat. This was a whole body workout.
As the ground dropped below them, Cleo noticed the jungle sounds changing. The crickets were now interrupted by bird song. She looked up and saw Connor disappear into the dark. Seconds later, his hand reached down to pull her onto the summit.
They rested while looking out at the dark jungle that surrounded them. Connor handed Cleo a canteen. The cool water was delicious. They sat in silence, waiting for the sun to rise.
Cleo had seen many dawns in Colombia but none like this. As the horizon turned from black to aqua and pink, bird song exploded from the trees below. The sun raced through the sky, trailing gold and silver echoes onto the ribbons of cloud strewing the skyline.
Wordlessly, Connor handed her a chocolate bar. The rich, velvety sweetness was the perfect accompaniment to the spectacular scene before them. A slight breeze sprung up, chilling her damp body. Cleo shifted until she was leaning against Connor, soaking up his warmth. Instantly, he put his arms around her, pulling her up against him. Without thinking, Cleo lifted her face and kissed him.
Connor looked into her eyes. To his relief, they were sparkling. “Awesome dawn and awesome temple,” she said. “I feel like I should be wearing a tank top and pistols.”
Connor smiled and kissed her. “So you’re back,” he said with relief.
“Hmmm.” She snuggled into him.
They sat and watched the rising sun light up the mountains that surrounded them.
“What is this place?” Cleo asked.
“It was built by the Tairona people about 1000 years ago.”
“Wow!”
“Don’t talk about it,” Connor cautioned her. “We don’t want looters or vandals coming here. It’s holy ground, even to the FARC.”
The sun was now rising quickly. Cleo suddenly realised that she was amazingly hungry.
“Time to go home for breakfast,” Connor said, standing up.
“Mind reader,” Cleo accused him cheerfully.
“I thought it was thunder then realised it was your stomach rumbling.”
They climbed down, making Lara Croft video game swooshing noises as they descended. Laughing, Cleo trotted down the path so she could keep up with Connor’s energy saving lope. Slightly breathless but feeling great, she fell into the car. The trip home seemed to last just minutes.
Back in the house, she made eggs seasoned with salt, pepper and a touch of cayenne pepper while Connor made coffee. They sat down companionably and tucked in. For the first time in days, Cleo ate with gusto.
Finally, sitting back and having a second coffee, she looked over at Connor. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Trying to figure out how I could have been so taken in. At first I thought it was just the coke. I mean, I look back and I don’t even recognise myself. I think I was high for about 2 months and I didn’t even notice.” She looked sideways at Connor. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, except for being with him. He was my life. I thought we’d be married, have kids and be a family. All I wanted was to please him.”
Connor nodded. “Classic strategy, I’m told. Drugs to confuse you and sweet talk to make sure you do as you’re told.”
“Oh,” Cleo said surprised. “There’s a system for this?”
She was so innocent still. “You had a quarter of a million pounds worth of coke in your luggage, love. It’s big business.”
“I had no idea!” Cleo said blankly. “No wonder he’s so mad at me!”
For a moment, Connor thought she still yearned for Garcia Riviera. Then he realised she was just stunned at the amount of money that had been involved.
“I really thought he loved me,” she said haltingly.
“That’s what he wanted you to think,” Connor said gently. “It was all worked out very carefully.”
“I wanted it to be true,” Cleo confessed. “I was so ashamed, you know, after the Angel Club. I wanted to be in love.”
“We all do things we regret.”
“Yeah but I tried to kid myself that that thing with Tony was just a one time thing, a mistake, but in my heart I knew I’d crossed a line.” Cleo paused then explained. “You know, when I sta
rted dancing I was 17. I got this fake ID that said I was 18.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Connor sighed. “Dodgy boyfriend get it for you?”
“Yes,” Cleo admitted. “Erm, well, anyway, at first I said I wouldn’t do nude dancing or strip, but I couldn’t get any regular dancing work. I was good but I didn’t have the right contacts. All the theatre and television jobs go to an in-crowd, you know? And I wasn’t part of that clique. So I ended up going topless just to pay the bills and then I slid into stripping and finally nude dancing.”
“I also said I wouldn’t do live auditions, but I quickly discovered that I just couldn’t get into the big clubs without it. So I did live auditions too. All this time I said I wouldn’t hook, that I would never sell myself, but in the end I did that too.”
Cleo chewed her lip and shrugged helplessly. “You know, Connor, I was destined for that back room. Most dancers like me are. We’re not good enough to get to the top but we don’t quit because we keep hoping we’ll get a break. And along the way, we keep compromising. Even if we don’t start out as tarts, we end up as them when we get older. Dancing is not exactly a life career.”
Connor knew that, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Lots of dancers end up teaching, choreographing or doing something totally different.”
“Not if they have a coke problem,” Cleo pointed out. “Whoring is about the only job you can do without training that pays enough.”
“Well, you’re not an addict anymore, and you’re not selling yourself, so stop beating yourself up,” Connor said firmly.
“Yeah, I guess,” Cleo said shrugging her shoulders. “So, want to have some fun? Let’s light the barbecue and go dancing after. There’s bound to some partying going on somewhere, I mean, this is Colombia!”
Connor was amused at her swift change in mood. “Introspection over?”
“I’m not a deep thinker,” Cleo confessed. “I think that’s why it took so long for me to figure things out.” She shrugged. “Now I get it there’s no point in worrying about it. It’s the past.”
Connor had to smile. He was a brooder by nature so Cleo’s live-for-the-day attitude was refreshing. “I’m sure we can find some fun somewhere. And if we can’t, we’ll make some!”
Chapter Ten
Cleo was humming as she weeded among the French beans. The plants had grown well and the beans were almost as long as her finger. They were still small but maybe she’d better pick them. The cotton-tops had discovered the vegetable garden and were running regular raiding parties. Connor had put up netting to keep them out but they were beginning to learn how to get through. Now Cleo was burying the edge of the net in the soil and pegging it down. She wondered how long it would take the monkeys to figure out how to dig up the pegs. Keeping the crop safe was turning into an arms race.
The sound of a car at the gate made her look up. She knew Connor wouldn’t hear; the sound of the electric drill was drifting out from the garage.
Cleo dusted off her hands and went to see who it was. A large man, clearly a minder, sat at the wheel. Another was opening the car door. To her horror, she recognised the tousled hair and arrogant nose of the man getting out. It was Juan. She hadn’t seen him since that awful night, six weeks ago.
He looked over at her, through the gate, with barely a hint of recognition. “Is Weir in?”
Cleo hesitated.
“Well? Is he in or not?” Juan snapped.
Reluctantly, Cleo opened the door in the gate. “He’s in his workshop.”
Juan motioned his bodyguards to stay where they were. As he entered, he looked Cleo over. Seeing her seemed to irritate him.
Looking him over in return, Cleo wondered what she’d ever seen in him. His hair wasn’t tousled; it was badly cut. She looked at him closely and it was as if he came suddenly into focus. She saw clearly that his clothes were too flashy, he wore too much jewellery and he had a sulky expression. He was also a lot shorter than she’d remembered. Moreover, his waist was already thickening. He’d be fat soon.
Cleo didn’t bother hiding her feelings. She smiled derisively and pointed to the garage. “Connor’s in there,” she said.
Juan was fuming. He hadn’t missed the thought behind that nasty grin of hers. Juan had really hoped she was suffering. His family were furious that he’d lost the UK consignment. They had only just forgiven him for losing the five kilos destined for China the year before. Worse, he had radically overspent his budget in London and the price of coke was dropping too. It was going to take hard work to make up for the shortfall and Juan hated hard work. Now here she was, the bitch who’d lost his coke and as if her patent disinterest in him and her glowing looks weren’t annoying enough, Connor’s smile and the happy way she grinned at him in return before she went back to her gardening made him even angrier.
Juan was very unhappy. It wasn’t his idea to seek Weir out. He hadn’t forgotten the man who had seen him being beaten to a pulp by an old man. But Juan had no choice. His uncle, the man who was the family patriarch, had ordered him to come here to collect his gun. Being sent like an errand boy was another humiliation that Juan resented. Still, he had thought of a way to make it look as if he was up here for his own reasons.
“I’ve come to collect my uncle’s gun,” he said super casually to Connor. “The antique Enfield. And I have a commission for you too.”
Connor was aware that the rage he thought he’d finally overcome had merely been lying doggo. Just one look at that arrogant face set his blood boiling. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm. He would hand over the Enfield but he would be damned if he did any work for the little shit.
Oblivious to Connor’s feelings, Juan looked at the walls that were loaded with tools. “I have some business problems I want removed,” he drawled. “Permanently. If you know what I mean.”
“I’ve retired.”
“Oh.” Juan instantly decided it was the response he had hoped for. He wasn’t sure if he could afford Connor’s rates. Not with the legal fees piling up for him and Ramon as they tried to beat the tax rap. Paying the cops to lose the drug evidence had cost a bomb too. “All right. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Before his temper got the best of him. Connor knew he could snap his neck in less than 3 seconds. Maybe he should have taken up Ray and Dylan’s offer. Juan Garcia Riviera’s demise would certainly be no loss to mankind.
Connor’s icy self-control was so good that Juan was completely oblivious to the fact that Connor was seething. When they reached the gate, Juan’s minders hopped out of the car and stood at attention. Juan ignored them and put out his hand. “Well, now I know where you are, I’ll be in touch. My uncle has more antiques he’d like renovated.” Juan grinned at Connor. “I expect a discount. After all, you owe me something for the girl.”
Connor stared at him in disbelief. Looking at the conceited face in front of him, his wrath flooded through him full throttle. He willed it down. “Don’t ever talk to me about Cleo,” Connor said quietly. “And don’t come back here. Tell your uncle to send a different errand boy.”
Juan was motionless for a second. Then, stung by the contempt in Connor’s eyes, he recovered. “You’re proud,” he sneered. “You’re a hired killer, so you’re no better than me. And girls like Cleo are only good for one thing.” Juan made a vulgar gesture.
Connor loomed over him, his eyes cold as ice. Involuntarily Juan cowered and put his arms protectively over his face, terrified by the sheer menace directed at him. Looking at him, Connor began to laugh, “Relax. I won’t hurt you. Go on, go home,” he said as he opened the gate.
Juan stood up, furious at being humiliated in front of his minders. They were sure to tell everyone. He’d be a laughing stock. He wanted to shoot this arrogant gringo but Juan realised something: he was too frightened. Juan got respect because of his family’s reputation for violence but he knew he was a rotten fighter whereas Connor... Connor had killed two armed men
with his bare hands.
Juan knew that if he pulled out his gun now, his hand would shake. But he also knew that Connor’s weakness was the girl. Juan hit back with his best weapon; his poisonous tongue. “You think you’ve got something special,” he hissed vindictively, “but she’s here because she has no choice. She may be grateful to you but if she could leave, she’d be off home like a shot.”
Juan knew by Connor’s stillness that he was hitting home. “You think she’s special? She is. She’s terrific at making the best of things. She falls for every man she beds. I’ll bet she’s convinced you that you’re a hero for rescuing her from prison but you know and I know what we are.”
Connor just shrugged and walked away but when he got back to his workshop, Juan’s words echoed uncomfortably.
From Cleo’s conversation, Connor knew that Cleo had an excuse for each and every one of her string of lousy, selfish lovers. Peter had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, Luke had only ripped her off because he had money problems, Michael wouldn’t have gotten her into trouble with those stolen video games if only he’d remembered her phone number, Raj was too shy to tell her about his wife because it had been an arranged and loveless marriage, Bill had not known those cheap laptops were stolen, Stephan wouldn’t have hit her if he hadn’t been drunk so often... She’d never been with anyone who had treated her with ordinary decency, yet Cleo continued to see the best in them. She could be hurt but she never gave up loving.
Connor knew he was damaged goods but at least he was taking good care of her. Cleo was glowing with health again. He also knew that Cleo trusted and liked him. She still had the occasional bout of depression but Connor had put it down to the lingering effects of addiction. Usually he could jolly her out of it soon enough. Now he wondered, uncomfortably, if the lows were a result of Cleo still having feelings for her old lover. He wouldn’t put it past her to make excuses for that little bastard.
He had to know the truth. He went to the garden and found her in among the lettuces, weeding assiduously.
