Naughty and Nice

by Sarah J. Brooks

  Afterward, we lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs. My mind was blank save for Brad’s body pressed safely against mine. I drifted off to sleep content. No matter what happened, we would face it together.

  Brad

  The scene that lay before me sent shivers of dread and devastation through me. The infidels hadn’t just stolen from the storage facility. They hadn’t just set fires. They had demolished every brick, every window, every load bearing wall in the place.

  “Did they drop a bomb on the place?” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, though Simon, standing next to me, took it upon himself to answer.

  “No,” he said grimly. “Though if they had, there might have been less damage.”

  It was dawn, and under normal circumstances I would be groggy and wanting only to find my way to my suite and rest. Instead, I had sent Cassie to the hotel and made up an excuse about having to handle an emergency with the Legacy property in neighboring Mali. “Just a few phone calls,” I’d promised as I sent her off in the town car that had been waiting to pick us up at the airport. “Go and take a shower, then get some rest. When you wake up from your nap, I’ll be there and we can go grab something to eat.”

  The lies flowed from my mouth easily, but only because I was well practiced at doing so; each time I looked into Cassie’s eyes and lied to her, I realized that she was special. The only other woman I’d ever felt guilt about lying to had been Lorinda. I winced at the thought of her name and closed my eyes.

  “What do you want to do first?” Simon asked, breaking into my thoughts.

  “We need an inventory,” I said. “We need to get a team to go in and pick through every single piece of rubble, no matter how big or small. I want every piece of weapon, every shred of shrapnel. I want every molecule accounted for one way or another. Then,” I said, “we’re going to find the people that did this, and we’re going to make them sorry.”

  Fury rose within me as I realized that the infidels were going straight for Manuel Brown and they had only unintentionally gone through me to do it.

  “I’ll set up the team immediately,” Simon said, taking out his phone and beginning to press at the keys rapidly. “I’ll have them here and working within the hour.”

  “When will we be seeing Manuel?” I asked. I knew whatever answer I got would be too soon. This was a significant loss; a message being sent to Manuel by someone, someone with equal, or perhaps greater?, power than his own.

  “He’s on his way, Sir,” Simon said. “If we can have the team in place by his arrival, it will look better for you. For us.”

  “If the team isn’t here by the time he arrives, Manuel will find me digging through the rubble myself.” I ran my hand through my hair; it came away thick with sweat from the already daunting heat of the day. “I’m not losing anything further from this mess.”

  I stalked away from Simon and toward the pile of destruction that had once been a warehouse full of the majority of our West African stockpile.

  I was knee deep in the mess supervising the small but strong crew Simon had called together when a black town car pulled up, kicking up waves of dirt and dust behind it. I stared, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand as the door opened and Manuel Brown stepped out.

  He walked over to me and I could tell that he was angry, obviously, but there was something else in his eyes. Fear? Disbelief? I was trying to figure it out when he began to speak.

  “Please explain to me how this happens, Mr. White,” he said. “Please explain to me how I conduct business with you in London and have nothing but praise for you. I give you a picture of your son. I assure you that he is safe and healthy. I expect that this reward will produce quality efforts from you. Then,” he paused, his voice darkening even further. “Then, I get a phone call that you have allowed someone to breach our security system. You have allowed someone to destroy my property completely and maliciously. Please explain this to me.”

  He stood at the edge of the black pile that marked the perimeter of what had once been a solid, invisible in plain sight storage facility.

  “Sir,” I began, but I had no words. “Sir, I can assure you that we will have the warehouse rebuilt and the inventory replaced within the month. Simon has taken a full inventory of what survived the… the attack… and I have people manually comparing that list to the existing inventory. We will conduct an investigation into how the perimeter was breached, and we will find out who did it. When we do, I can either take care of them myself, or, if you would prefer, I can turn them over to you.” That was the best offering I could give.

  He pursed his lips and looked over my shoulder. “I don’t like when people destroy what belongs to me,” he said. “When you find them, kill them. When you kill them, alert me. I don’t want to hear a word from you until that happens.”

  He turned and walked away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and covering his nose and mouth with it.

  I sighed, my breath trembling in a burst of anxiety. He wouldn’t kill Antoine… not this time. He wasn’t done with me yet.

  Cassie

  “Hello, is this Ms. Cassandra White?”

  “Yes,” I said, guarded after seeing the unknown number pop up on my cell phone. I was sitting on the lanai in my bathrobe sipping a glass of champagne while Brad did some work at the computer inside the suite. We had been in Morocco for nearly two weeks. Over the course of the first several days, I’d felt anxious nearly around the clock, wondering what we were doing there, sure that it couldn’t be as simple as just being on vacation. I’d exhausted myself watching Brad’s every move. My worries had compounded when I saw him leaving the suite early, earlier in the morning than he’d said he would, multiple days in a row. I’d weighed my options: I could follow him, risk getting caught and perhaps even a break up, or I could drink champagne and be on vacation. I chose the latter, breaking up my relaxation with writing an article on the Moroccan Legacy, a hotel completely unique to the area and one that had employed hundreds of locals.

  “This is Nurse Yates from University College Hospital.”

  My anxiety spiked and I sat upright on my chair. Patrick. “Yes?” I said.

  “As I’m sure you are well aware, we have a patient in our care by the name of Patrick Shim. He says that you are his only living relative.”

  “He says?” I asked, excitement pushing my anxiety aside. “He’s awake?”

  “He’s awake; that’s why I’m calling.” The nurse sounded tired and stressed out. “To tell you that he’s awake, and he’s asking for you.”

  “He hasn’t called me,” I said.

  “He says that we’ve lost his cell phone,” the nurse said dryly. “He’s got quite the attitude on him.”

  I grinned as tears poked at my eyes. “Yes, he certainly does. You should have tried growing up with him.”

  “No, thank you,” the nurse said. “I’ll put you through.”

  I waited, my eyes closed in a silent prayer of gratitude, nearly doubled over in my chair with the excitement of hearing Patrick’s voice.

  “Hi, Cass,” a quiet, subdued voice said.

  “Patrick?” I squeaked out. “Is that you?”

  “Alive and well,” he said. “Well, not well…”

  I couldn’t help it; tears poured out of my eyes and fell down my cheeks. “You’re alive, though,” I said. “That’s something.”

  “Where are you right now?” he asked, his voice straining. I could tell that each word was work for him to get out, and the image of his misshapen jaw pushed into my mind.

  “Don’t talk,” I said. “Your jaw.”

  “Tell me where you are,” he repeated. “Let me worry about my fucking jaw.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m in Morocco. With Brad.”

  “Is he there with you right now?” Patrick’s voice sounded livelier.

  “Yes,” I said. “Well, he’s not with me, with me; he’s in another room on a conference call. I’m out on the lanai enjoying a lovely breakf
ast; it’s really amazing here.” I realized I was rambling, in shock over hearing Patrick’s voice.

  “That’s great,” he said. “I’m thrilled for you. Listen, have you heard Brad mention the name Antoine ever?”

  “Sure,” I said easily. “Antoine is one of the general managers of the London Legacy property. He and Brad are really close.” Brad had told me often enough about how much he admired Antoine as a mentor and as a man. “Why?”

  “No, not that Antoine… this is a younger man. Possibly even a teenager. He’s never mentioned anyone like that?”

  “No,” I said. “Are you sure the name is Antoine? Because Antoine is an older man.” I shrugged, though there was no way for Patrick to see me. “And he’s a very cool guy. Brad trusts him completely, and I do too.”

  “You can’t trust anyone completely,” Patrick said.

  “Including you?” I teased.

  “This isn’t funny,” Patrick said, his voice straining. I felt bad immediately and dropped the smile from my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s not funny. Who is Antoine? Why are you asking?”

  “The men who attacked me, they know your name. They know that you’re with Brad, and they know that you travel with him.”

  I felt fear coiling in my stomach; suddenly, the champagne felt like a nauseating weight. “How do they know that? Who were they?”

  “I’m figuring that out, slowly but surely. There are a few names that keep coming up. Antoine is one. Manuel, another.”

  I shook my head. “Neither of those are names Brad has ever mentioned. Except for the GM Antoine.”

  “And Simon is the third.”

  “Simon? Simon is Brad’s business partner,” I said easily. “I’ve met him twice; once at a benefit and once when he came to the house to have a business meeting with Brad. But…Simon would never hurt you. I don’t think he’d be physically able to do anything that would even pinch, never mind…” Never mind do what was done to you, I thought.

  “The names aren’t coming up because they’re the suspects in my assault,” Patrick said. “They’re coming up because they’re on an interest list. Brad’s name is on it too.”

  “What ‘interest list’?” I asked.

  Patrick paused. “I can’t tell you. It’s not safe.”

  “Oh for Christ sake,” I said. “I’m not the one laid up in the hospital. Have they moved you out of ICU yet?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to reach through the phone and take them back. “I’m sorry,” I said in my next breath.

  “You need to remember, Cassie, that you are in danger. It may not seem like it, but you are. You might feel like you’re protected in your little Moroccan fortress, but there’s a whole lot going on around you that you’re not able to see. I’d feel better if I was there to protect you…”

  I snorted. “I have plenty of protection here, already,” I said.

  “But I can’t be,” he said loudly, overriding my comment. “And so I’m doing everything on my end to safeguard you as much as possible. Have you seen Simon in Morocco?”

  “No,” I said, confused. “Why would he be here? This isn’t a business thing, Patrick; we’re just on vacation.”

  “Are you sure about that? Didn’t you just tell me that he was on a conference call?”

  “Well, he’s doing little bits of business here and there, of course,” I said defensively. “He’s the owner of one of the biggest luxury hotel chains in the world; it’s not like he ever truly gets a vacation all to himself.”

  “So you haven’t seen Simon, or anyone named Manuel or Antoine there in Morocco in the two weeks you’ve been there?”

  “No, I told you! Wait—how did you know we’ve been here two weeks?”

  “The nurse said you came to my room on the night I got to the hospital, but that you hadn’t been back since. I used my detective skills.” I heard strain in his voice as he shifted.

  “Is there anything else?” I asked. “Because I need to get back to my vacation.” Truthfully, I was embarrassed that Patrick knew I had rushed to his bedside after hearing about his attack. I wanted to sink into the floor. The only saving grace I had was that we weren’t face to face; I was an entire continent away.

  “Be careful,” Patrick said. “And keep your phone on you. Mine disappeared; I think the nurses took it. But, I’ve got a new one on its way from the department. I’ll text you the number when I have it. I want to make sure I can reach you at all times; can you promise that you’ll respond to my texts?”

  I heard his words, but my mind was stuck on him saying that his phone had disappeared and that the nurses had taken it.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Promise me, first,” he said.

  “Fine, I promise. Now, answer me this: do you know anyone named Mavin Toller?”

  “Mavin… no,” he said. “I’ve never heard the name.”

  “See what you can dig up,” I said.

  “Why are you asking? Who is he?”

  “Just do your detective thing and get back to me. I promise I’ll answer.”

  We hung up a few minutes late, and I sat back in my chair, my brain buzzing with both champagne and dread. I was suddenly faced with a lot of work; I had names to research, for starters, and I needed to find out exactly what Brad was doing when he was ‘working’ while we were here in Morocco.

  I stood up and stretched, then carried my champagne flute and the bowl of half eaten fruit back into the suite. It was a habit from my pre-billionaire dating life that I couldn’t shake, no matter how much Brad made fun of me.

  “Brad?” I called into the suite. “Honey?”

  There was no answer. I set the dishes on the counter and walked to the door of the room Brad was using as a makeshift office. I frowned as I realized Patrick was right. If Brad and I were truly on vacation, why did he need an office?

  I rapped my knuckles gently on the door. “Brad?” I called out again, quietly this time, and pushed the door open.

  The room was empty; Brad was gone. I looked around, confused, then walked back to the kitchen. I grabbed my phone to check for texts, even though I knew I would have seen one from Brad when I was talking to Patrick if one had come through. Nothing.

  “Where the fuck are you?” I wondered out loud.

  I walked back into the office and began to look around. The computer was on its screen saver and, when I clicked the mouse, it opened immediately to the password page, of course. I sighed, then noticed a stack of papers next to the computer. They looked nothing like the previous documents I’d seen, the ones with the listings of all of the weapons, and relief washed over me. These were simple financial spreadsheets.

  I flipped through the papers, just confirming that there wasn’t anything in there that was out of the ordinary, that would suggest that Brad was doing more than just running his hotel while we were here in Morocco.

  About three quarters of the way through the pile, a flash of black caught my eye. It stood out against the white computer paper both for the image color and its texture; it was a photograph. I pulled it out and looked at it, my mouth open.

  It was a picture of a young boy. I couldn’t say how I knew; there were no identifying features on the picture at all. No names, no writing, not even a date. But, I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this boy was named Antoine. And his eyes… his eyes were the same eyes I had looked into so many times. They were Brad’s eyes.

  I heard a noise and looked up. Brad stood in the doorway glaring at me.

  “Cassie! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Cassie

  I looked up in shock at the sight of Brad standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely furious. The picture of the boy felt like dead weight in my hand and I dropped it onto the desk as if it was burning.

  “Hi,” I said quietly, not knowing exactly what to say; I was so surprised. I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. I had absolutely no reason to be in h
is makeshift office, and there was no way to disguise what I was doing: snooping. Plain and simple.

  “What are you doing?” Brad walked into the room and over to me, his anger mixed with what I could tell was confusion; apparently he couldn’t believe what I was doing either. He snatched the picture off of the desk and held it in his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I just came in to look for you, and…”

  “And you thought I would be hiding under a piece of paper on my desk?” He pushed past me and began to gather up the papers that were covering the desk. The picture of the boy got mixed in with the rest.

  “No,” I said, “obviously. I just… Brad, who is that boy?” He looked at me sharply. I pointed to the stack in his hand. “He looks like you,” I said slowly, feeling the flush rise more harshly into my cheeks.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said, “whatever you think. It’s a picture of me. When I was younger.” There was something about the way he answered that twisted my instincts. He sounded both rehearsed and genuine. His eyes, they were both lying and completely believable. I began to realize that there was a lot more to Brad, to his life, than I knew. I shook my head and stepped back.

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess… I guess I don’t have any reason to doubt you… do I?” I could hear the tone of my voice, begging him to confirm my belief in him. He did just that.

  “Honey,” he said, setting the stack of papers on the desk. He stood me up and put his arms around me. “You have no reason to doubt me. Who else would that picture be?” He kissed my neck and I felt his hands squeezing my hips, making their way down to my ass.

  I had a lot of ideas on who the picture might be, but, I realized, part of what was leading to my confusion was that I knew that if Brad had a son, there was no way I wouldn’t know about it. He’s not the deadbeat dad type; he has plenty of money, and I imagined him finding out he had a son, how happy he would be. No way would he not acknowledge his own flesh and blood. So, against some of my reporter instincts that were yelling at me that I was letting him off the hook too easily, I moved my face toward his, caught his lips with my own, and kissed him.