Chapter Thirty-Nine
They waited on the marina watching the small craft approaching. Jason stood with his back straight and shoulders square. If he had been carrying a sword and a shield he might have passed for the figurehead on the prow of a galleon. His hand rested on the tiller of the outboard motor, steering it expertly between two of the lines of yachts moored up in Glorietta Bay.
“He’s quite a hunk, isn’t he,” said Maria proudly. “Ex-Marine Corps.”
“Does he still follow orders?”
“Oh yes. I’ve been having the time of my life.”
Jason gave them a welcoming salute. “Just let me secure this first,” he said, “and then I’ll help you aboard.”
“I thought we were going sailing, how are we all going to fit in a dinghy?” said Isobel.
Jason laughed. “It’s easier to bring this into the marina than the boat, and anyway, she’s too long for these moorings. That’s my baby sitting out there in the bay.” Tearing her eyes away from his muscular arms pulling at the rope, Isobel looked out beyond the line of boats to a lone yacht bobbing in the water. It cut an impressive sight, perhaps eighty feet long with two masts.
“I think we’re okay with that, aren’t we, Maria?” she said, as Jason offered his hand. “You first.”
As Maria made the step down into the tender, the roar of a powerful machine drowned the quiet hum of the two-stroke engine on the dinghy. Startled, Isobel turned to see the last thing she wanted to see, Ryan racing along the pontoon towards her on his motorbike. He cut the engine, stabbed down the support bar with his boot, leapt from the saddle, and grabbed her arm.
“We need to talk.”
“For God’s sake, Ryan, we did that already. And how did you know I’d be here?”
“Juanita told me, or enough for me to work out this was the only place you could be. You’ve got to give me ten minutes of your time.”
“I don’t have to give you anything and, as you can see, I’ve got plans.”
“This guy bothering you?” shouted up Jason.
“Fuck off, asshole.”
“You better have plenty to back those words up.” Jason pulled on the line to bring the dinghy close in again, preparing to spring himself onto the pontoon. Unless Ryan tailed off fast, Isobel could tell blood was about to be spilt.
“Please, Ryan, can you just go?”
“I’m staying till we’ve talked.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, holding her palm out towards Jason.
“Isobel, please,” said Maria, unwisely choosing to stand. The dinghy rocked violently and she would have fallen into the water if Jason had not grabbed her.
“Everything’s okay, everyone just stay calm here,” said Isobel, her strained voice betraying her own agitation. “You two go on, I’ll deal with this and catch up with you in La Jolla.”
“Isobel, come on, just get in here, you don’t need this,” said Maria.
Jason shook his head imperceptibly; if a stare could kill Ryan would have already been dead.
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated. “This is something I do need to take care of. You go ahead, I’ll meet you this evening.”
Maria pulled on Jason’s arm. “I think it’s better we go and let them sort this out.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come up there and stick this jerk’s head up that exhaust pipe?” Jason’s muscular frame gave every indication he could deliver on his threat. Perhaps Ryan had now worked that out too, and he did not respond to the challenge.
“It’s okay, I want to handle this.”
Maria still tugged on Jason’s arm. “You call me if you change your mind,” he said. He glared at Ryan. “Your card is marked, buster. You better not cross my way again.”
Isobel watched in silence as the tender motored away, Maria looking back. She gave a reassuring wave, and Maria returned it, blowing her a kiss. She turned to Ryan. “Talking won’t change anything.”
“All I’m asking is you hear me out. Give me that, at least.”
Isobel shrugged. “Not here. Take me home. Tell me what you want to tell me. Then hit the road back to wherever you came from.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in to him. She did not resist but let her body and limbs hang loose. “You’re wasting your time. You said you wanted to talk. If that’s why you’re here, then take me home. If you’re looking for anything else, then you’d best be on your way.”
He offered her a helmet and she pulled it on as he mounted the bike. She took one last look in the direction of the yacht, and saw Maria being helped up onto it. She clenched her teeth in frustration, and then threw her leg over the saddle behind him.
“Any chance of coffee?” said Ryan as they entered her house. Isobel hoped that Juanita, who had stayed on to tidy up, might still be at home, but the girl had already left. She had written out a thank-you note, next to which lay a collection of chocolates arranged in the shape of a heart.
“So sweet,” said Isobel, to herself more than Ryan.
“Are you getting it on with the help now?”
She spun around and hit him across the face.
He grabbed her wrist with one hand and her hair with the other, and pulled her head to his. He moved her head to kiss her but she jerked it sideways. He let go of her wrist and took her chin, still gripping her hair, and turned her face to him and pressed his lips on hers.
“I love it when you’re angry,” he murmured, breathing heavily.
She pulled her head from him and he released her. She tossed her hair back into place. “Try anything like that again and you’ll see how angry I can be.”
“Cool it, babe, or do you think I shot all the way down from LA just to fuck you?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You telling me now you didn’t want it, too? But you can relax, I only came to talk.”
“Then let’s keep it to that.”
She went to the kitchen and to her relief he stayed back in the lounge. “You want the coffee to drink here or to go?”
“I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean anything. I’ve been missing you, that’s all. It’s been hell since you left.”
“Let’s not go there, shall we? You want anything with your coffee?”
“I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Mel not doing breakfast these days?”
“I thought you didn’t want to go there?”
She pressed her forehead into the door of the wall unit above the coffee maker, despondency replacing anger. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. What you do in LA is your business.”
He touched her shoulder. “I didn’t come down to fight.”
She put her hand to her shoulder and stroked his fingers. “I don’t want to fight either. I’ll see what I can rustle up in the fridge, maybe you can watch the TV or something.”
He put his hands on her hips, her back to him. “I’d rather watch you.”
“Don’t make it more difficult for both of us.” She pushed his hands from her. “Not if you still want a coffee.”
He stepped back, allowing her space. “Then is it okay if I take a quick shower?”
She turned to face him. “Sure, if you want, use my bathroom. I’ll get you a towel.”
As she busied herself in the kitchen, she tried to make sense of Ryan’s dramatic arrival. What is he doing here? she asked herself. He hadn’t biked down to make up with her. He had arrived wound up tight as a coil, but why? Because she had finished with him? If an actor knew how to handle just one thing, it was rejection. And what of the cast of characters that had crossed her path, or her theirs: the intense Dan Burnham, the intimidating Javier and his two sidekicks, Shahidi and his cohorts; their significance discounted or dismissed without ever being properly explained. His behaviour at the marina, the wild eyes, the threatening insults, it seemed so unlike the cool LA dude who had first seduced her. She had never before felt afraid of Ryan, or anything close to it. But now her gut instinct told her she needed to get Ryan out of her house as soon as she could manage it. But how?
She heard the bathroom door bang and wondered if he would reappear in a towel, or naked even, but he didn’t. He emerged drying his hair, but otherwise dressed back as before.
“Hey, beautiful, something smells good,” he said. His boyish good looks, his laidback charm, had returned. Had the shower mellowed him, she asked herself, or was it all calculation?
She eyed him warily. “It’s chicken tikka, it’ll be about fifteen minutes.” She handed him a coffee. “Now let’s sit down and you can tell me whatever it is you came to tell me.”
He went to the backpack he’d brought with him and pulled out a carrier bag. “First I want to give you your birthday present. Sorry it’s late.”
“Is this a good idea?”
“Come on, it’s only a present.”
He passed her a package and an envelope, and she sat down to open them. The inscription on the face of the card said: “To The One I Love,” and she read the declaration he had written expressing that love and saying she was the most special person in the world. She put the card down on the table and took the wrapping off the package. She slowly prised open a jewellery box, fearing the worst, and duly found a ring with a single diamond.
“The card is thoughtful of you, but I can’t accept the gift.”
“It’s just a ring, it’s up to you which finger you wear it on.”
She put the ring back in the box and set in on the table. “You said you would explain why you didn’t call on my birthday.” He leant forwards and reached out towards her hand but she withdrew it from the table. “Is there anything to tell? Anything I don’t already know? It won’t make any difference to anything but if there is something you’ve come to say, I’d rather the truth.”
He leant back in his chair. “The truth is when I realised you had shot off, I did confront Shahidi but I couldn’t get to him till the party had broken up. I found him snuck away in his games room, drinking with Amir and a couple of cronies. I asked to speak with him alone but he said anything I had to say I should say there and then, and that if it had anything to do with you, then not to bring another,” Ryan held up both palms. “and I’m just telling you like he said it, ‘another gold-digging whore into his house’.”
“Because he had enough of them in the house already?”
He snorted a laugh. “He knew that I knew what had gone down. He wanted to cover himself in front of Amir and his two sidekicks. That’s when I lost it, and told him what I thought about what he’d tried on, and what I thought of the shit for doing it.” Ryan became more animated as he spoke, gesticulating with his hands, his expression serious and intense. Was he reliving the encounter, she asked herself, or just playing a part? He stood up, began moving as he spoke. “It all got heated, and before I knew it two heavies were on the scene, roughed me up a bit,” he mimicked a boxer firing jabs with both hands, “then they bundled me out of the place. And I haven’t seen or spoken to the asshole since.”
“So you’ve lost your sugar daddy?”
“I’m telling you the way it happened, Isobel. I’m finished with him.”
“Are you?”
“You don’t see any red Corvette outside, do you?”
“And the film deal?”
“I’ll find another backer.”
Isobel knew she had no way of knowing whether anything Ryan said had any truth in it. If he had been roughed up, he didn’t show any sign of it. If he had finished with Shahidi, it could equally be for reasons unrelated to her.
“I’m sorry for any trouble you’ve had on my part and if it means that your film project is on the rocks. But whatever it is that’s happened doesn’t change anything between us now. Though, for what it’s worth, if you loved me, wouldn’t the first thing you’d have done, birthday or no birthday, been to call me?”
Again he held up both palms. “I haven’t finished yet. I admit the way you shot off left me sore as hell with you, with everyone and everything, and feeling sorry for myself. I hit the hard stuff that night and stayed hitting it for two days. Then all hell broke loose. The cops arrested Shahidi and word hit the street I had snitched on him. It all pointed to me after the bust-up we had. Next thing I know two gorillas broke down my door looking for me. If I’d been at home instead of passed out in a bar, I’d be at the bottom of the LA River right now.”
“Sounds like a good movie script. Why would the police arrest Shahidi?”
“It was the FBI. There’s been rumours about him for a long time being involved with organised crime.”
“And that’s why you chose him as your employer and film backer?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but when you’re desperate you see what you want to see.”
“So why don’t you go to the police, for protection if nothing else?”
“And sign my own death warrant?”
“What‘s the alternative?”
“I lie low for a while. Try to figure things out. Find a way to straighten all this out.”
If he spoke the truth, even in part, then Isobel could imagine why he had arrived on her doorstep bearing gifts with not even a change of shirt. “Don’t think for one minute that you can stay here, Ryan.”
“A couple of nights, three at the most, that’s all I’m asking, just till the heat’s off.”
“No, no, no,” she said, springing to her feet. “And if you loved me, you wouldn’t want to bring the kind of trouble you’re talking about down on my door. You can stay and have your meal and then I want you to leave.” She threw him the remote control. “Watch the box, I’ll have it ready in five.”
When she brought the meal through she found Ryan hunched forwards, staring intently at the TV, channel hopping with the remote. “Come and get it while it’s hot.” They sat at the table eating in silence before he spoke. “Whatever you think, or might have thought, I didn’t set you up with Shahidi. Call me stupid and naïve and I’ll plead guilty, but I didn’t set you up.”
She did not know whether to believe him, but whether she did or not no longer seemed important. Only the gnawing feeling that she was in some kind of danger. She thought about the card that Burnham had left with his number. Where had she put it? Now she needed to keep everything under control, and to do that she knew she had to avoid provoking his anger. “I know you didn’t set me up. I lost my temper, that’s all, and I took it out on you.”
The TV still flickered away in the background, a welcome buzz that partially masked the silence that had fallen between them, until a familiar name drew Isobel’s attention. “We cross to Hollywood for late breaking news on the Chrystal Brakeley story,” said the smiling news anchor. “Our own Liza Stelling is outside Grauman’s Theatre on the Walk of Fame. What do you have for us, Liza?” Isobel put down her knife and fork and turned to the screen. The picture cut from the studio to a roving reporter with a microphone in her hand. “We’re expecting Chrystal to arrive any second and to confirm the story that’s been gathering pace all over Tinsel Town today; that she has blown the final whistle on her on-off relationship with New York Giants quarterback Brent Taylor,” said the breathless and animated reporter. She turned towards a white stretch limo as it pulled to a halt. The camera panned on the rear door as a pair of giraffe-like legs on six-inch heels began to emerge. “Chrystal, Chrystal,” shouted the reporter, thrusting her microphone forwards, “can you confirm the news we’re hearing?”
The supermodel beamed left and right, as flashbulbs went off all around her. “And what news is that?”
“That you and Brent are no longer an item?”
“Brent and I remain the best of friends.”
The reporter seemed to be losing her target’s attention as she waved around. “One more question, Chrystal, what about today’s rumour of an engagement?”
The model held up her left hand, displaying a ring with a diamond the size of a cupcake. “Does that tell you everything you need to know?”
“Oh my God,” said the reporter, without it being clear whether the ring elicited the exclamation, or the sudden realization that she had a breaking world exclusive.
Isobel left the table and stood motionless in front of the TV, her eyes fixed on the screen. “When will it be officially announced, and can you confirm that your new love interest is San Diego property magnate Lance Denning?”
A wave of heat erupted within Isobel. She gripped the back of a chair to steady herself.
“Whoever it is, and when we’re ready to go public, you’ll be the first to know.”
Ryan now stood beside her, his hand lightly on her shoulder. She picked up the remote and hit the “off” button, her stomach knotting inside her. “If you’ve finished your meal. I’d like you to go now, please.”
“You’re crying.” He put his arm around her. “Christ, babe, what gives, you’re trembling.”
She sniffled. “Nothing. Just ghosts from the past walking over my grave.”
He turned her to him. She slumped into him, her knees went weak, and she held him fast, despair and emptiness consuming her.
“Everything’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.” His hand caressed the back of her head, stroking her hair. “You want to talk about it?”
She shook her head even as it rested against his chest, words not enough to calm her. “Just hold me.”
His hand travelled up and down her back, his touch soothing. He chanced his hand further, gently tracing the curves of her body, but she hardly sensed it, so lost had she become in her own shattered world. His hand went under her sweater and against her skin, his fingers making slow long stokes up to her shoulders and back to her waist.
“Let’s go and lie down. We can just cuddle, if that’ll help.” She did not move, and stayed clinging to him. His fingers stopped at the elastic across her back, and unclasped it. His delicate touch now ran the length of her back, uninterrupted, the sweep of his hand finding the side of her breast. He stroked slowly inside the loose cup, before stepping quietly away from her and taking her hand, as if afraid to spook her. “Come on. Even if it’s for the last time.”
Her head remained bowed and she had not raised her eyes to meet his. As he pulled on her arm, she stiffened it. “Going to bed won’t help either of us now.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her hand. “But I’m glad you came down today. It wouldn’t have been right for it to end the way it did, without a proper good-bye.” She touched his cheek. “You came into my life when I’d reached the bottom…if it hadn’t been for you I would have fled back to England months ago. And for that, for everything else, for the great times, I’ll always be grateful to you. And I hope I’ve brought some goodness into your life, as you have into mine, even if just for a season. What happened in LA needed to happen to stop both of us making a terrible mistake, because you and I were not meant to be together.”
“Is this about the guy on the TV, the Lance guy?”
She nodded. “Lance is who you had the run-ins with.”
He forced a laugh. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not a complete fucking idiot.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since the first day. When I saw his name and message in your guidebook. I didn’t need to be Einstein to figure things out.”
She thought about offering some explanation, but she guessed he wouldn’t believe her.
“I checked him out, you know. Money is all he’s interested in. He doesn’t care about who or what he leaves in his wake. He’s a piece of shit.”
“And now he’s shit on me, is that what you’re telling me.”
“Babe, you heard the newscast. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“None of that matters now.” She cradled his neck and brushed his lips with hers. “I do wish you every happiness, whatever the future brings.” She wiped her nose and her eyes with her sleeve. “But now it’s time for you and I to part.” She rearranged her bra, picked up his backpack, dropped the jewellery box into it, and handed it to him. “I don’t want to see or hear from you again.”
“So this is how it ends?”
She fixed her eyes on his. If he felt any loss, he knew how to tough it out. “This is how it ends.”
“What about my guitar? You’re forgetting my guitar.”
She had forgotten its existence and it seemed surreal that he should think of it now. “It’s in the closet, I’ll get it.”
“Mind if I take an apple for the road,” he said as she returned, his bravado resurfacing, and helped himself from a bowl on the table.
“Be my guest.”
She carried the guitar out and he followed her onto the porch. “Where will you go?” she asked, wishing to be human again.
“Not LA, that’s for sure. I know some people in Chula Vista. I’ll bunk down there tonight. After that, who knows.”
“You okay for money, and everything?”
“I’ll get by.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her pursed lips. “It’s been fun knowing you, babe.”
Isobel slumped against the sink. She popped an aspirin into her mouth, gulped it down, paused, and then threw in two more. She went to the bedroom and lay down without undressing, a wet cloth on her forehead. She tried to focus on her breathing, taking slow deep breaths, but the emotional turmoil consumed her. Tears began to run onto her temples. She turned onto her side, buried her head in a pillow, and sobbed uncontrollably.
She did not know how long she had lain there, or whether she had slept. It seemed she had no more tears to shed, so she rose and went to the bathroom, washed her face in cold water and pressed it into the towel. Her throat and lips were dry and she set off for the kitchen for a glass of water, her feet shuffling under her, her mind still dazed.
A bell chimed twice. So deep went her despair that she turned robotically towards the door, with no thought as to who it might be. As her hand went to the latch some instinct stopped her, and she put her eye to the peephole. A smiling woman in a smart jacket and matching black skirt, a clipboard against her chest, stood playing with her hair the other side of the door. Isobel gave a heavy sigh. Before her hand reached the latch, the door flew back from the force of a shoulder against it and sent her crashing to the floor as two dark shapes burst past her.
Chapter Forty
Isobel stumbled back into the lounge. As well as the two men who had forced their way in through the front door, several others had entered through the back and her house teemed with uniformed men, each wearing the same grim expression. All held handguns. Bewilderment prevented her doing or saying anything, she just stood there gaping until the woman she had seen the other side of the door appeared from the kitchen, and ushered her to a seat.
Special Agent Burnham emerged from the passage that led to her bedroom, holstering his weapon.
“Okay, guys, seems like our intelligence on this one let us down. Laurie and I will finish up here.”
There were mumblings around the room as men put away their weapons and gathered up their equipment. The room emptied with almost the same speed with which it had filled and the blue and red lights that had been flashing outside the house were gone. Only Burnham and the female officer remained. “Are you okay, ma’am? Are you injured in any way?” said the woman. Isobel could think of plenty of ways she had suffered injury but she shook her head. “Then can I get you anything?”
“A glass of water. I’d like a glass of water.” The woman disappeared into the kitchen. Burnham came and stood beside her.
“I appreciate all this is a shock, Mrs. Roberts. That you must have no idea what’s going on.”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“No, and I’m sorry that you’ve been troubled today, and before today, and that I had to be part of it“
“Why are you here?”
“I’ll come to that. But first, are you certain you’re not injured at all? You took quite a tumble back there.”
“Just shaken up, nothing more.”
The woman handed Isobel the glass and she pressed it to her lips, afraid the tremor in her hand would spill it.
He produced an envelope. “Here’s the search warrant allowing forced entry. I’d hoped not to use it, but when no-one answered after three rings we were concerned for your safety.”
Burnham directed his attention to his colleague. “Looks like Mrs. Roberts is going to be fine, Laurie, I can handle this from here on out.”
“I’ll be out in the car waiting. If you or Mrs. Roberts need anything then you know where to find me.”
Burnham pulled a chair from the table and sat opposite Isobel. “We had reason to believe your boyfriend was staying here. It’s important we find him.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We finished last weekend.”
“And that’s when you last saw him or spoke to him?”
Isobel tried to answer as confidently as she could, her voice haltering slightly. “Yes, on Sunday. How much trouble is Ryan in?” she added quickly, fearing cross-examination.
“That depends on him. Our interest from the outset has been in Victor Shahidi and his associates. I believe you met him in LA, and he behaved like less than a gentleman?”
Is there nothing these people don’t know? thought Isobel. She scratched her fingers nervously into the fabric of the chair. “Yes. I met him briefly. But can you please tell me what this is all about.”
Burnham pulled his chair closer. “We know Shahidi is involved in people trafficking from South America. Mainly Brazilian girls, who are brought in illegally via Tijuana with the help of one of the cartels. His people pick them up and take them to LA, where most of them are pressed into prostitution. Some of the girls are expecting it and are compliant, others less so. Most of them are put to work in the everyday LA sex trade but the pick of the bunch are groomed for the high-end market, celebrities, politicians, foreign royalty, you name it. It’s a tough racket to break because the clients won’t talk and the girls get sucked in. For the mob, selling flesh is like selling crack cocaine but without the risk. A top end escort will be charged out at more than a celebrity lawyer, and that’s before some sheik throws in a gold necklace as a tip.”
Isobel could see where Burnham’s story was leading. “What does this have to do with Ryan, other than that he works for Shahidi?”
“A few months ago we got a break. One of Shahidi’s escorts went on a regular pay and play call to the Beverly Wilshire, but the client cut up rough and damn near killed her. She gave us almost enough to act but we needed corroboration. We were hoping Ryan could provide that. He hasn’t been a player in the vice ring, as far as we know, but he’s not blind and he’s not a fool either. Shahidi’s been using him as a runner, taking money across the border to pay off the cartel. A minor cog in Shahidi’s wheel but enough of a violation for us to arrest him if we chose.”
“So you were watching his vehicle going back and forth across the border?”
“Yes, the night you and I first met we wanted to fit a tracker. We just hadn’t expected you to be driving. But by that time we knew he used this place as cover for his cross-border trips. So I’m afraid, Mrs. Roberts, he did put you in harm’s way.”
Isobel now knew for sure the whole business with the marijuana had been Burnham’s cover. His account fitted with what she knew. She also realised the encounter with the two border guards the day of their motorbike trip had happened by choice, not by chance, perhaps the collection of a payoff or the delivery of instructions for the next consignment of Brazilians. “So what happens to Ryan when you do find him?”
“If he’s sensible he gives us the additional corroboration. We already have enough, which is what allowed us to move on Shahidi this week. But Ryan’s evidence would be a bonus. If he cooperates, then no charges will be brought against him, and we’ll put him in the witness protection programme if he wants that. If he keeps mum then he’s looking at two years for a first offence.”
“But why all the police and all the guns?”
“Precautionary. Ryan is gonna be pretty scared with Shahidi’s boys out looking for him. He just better hope we find him before they do. We know he went south from LA, maybe heading to Tijuana.” He touched her arm. “If you could give us any help, any indication at all, where you think he might be…”
Isobel glanced at the clock, torn by dilemma. If Ryan had made for Mexico, he would be across the border by now. “He has friends in Chula Vista. I don’t know who or where, somewhere in Chula Vista.”
“And you think he might be there?”
She nodded.
“And you have no idea who he knows there?”
Isobel chewed her lip. “Javier. Maybe someone called Javier. I don’t know his surname.” She stood and went to a side table and scribbled out a note. “He drives a white BMW.” She handed Burnham the piece of paper.
“And this is the licence plate?”
“Yes.”
Burnham nodded appreciatively. “That’s a clever trick, remembering a licence plate.”
“It’s something to do with numbers, they stick in my head.”
“Have you thought about blackjack in Vegas?” he said, grinning.
The tension in her face and body prevented her returning his smile. “Is there anything else?” she asked weariness in her voice.
Burnham stood up. “No, I think I’m done. I’ll have a claim form sent to you for that busted lock, and any other damage this evening.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said, not wishing to prolong the nightmare.
“Once again, I’m sorry you were caught up in this. I don’t expect we’ll be meeting again.” She walked him to the door. As he stepped out on the porch he turned. “One last thing. I thought you might like this.” He pulled a folded paper from his inside pocket and handed it to her. She recognised it as the statement she had signed the night on the border. “It’s the only copy,” he smiled, “and somehow I overlooked to enter it into the evidence file. Something that’s best to burn after reading, as they say.”
Isobel went to the bathroom and threw off her clothes. She sat down on the bowl and hung her head in her hands. Her body no longer shook but her head now ached from the stress of the drama. The knowledge that the threat to her visa no longer hung over her head offered no relief. Nor that she had found closure in her relationship with Ryan.
She could not countenance the thought of going to La Jolla and partying on the boat. She called Maria and told her everything with Ryan had worked out okay, using her splitting headache as her excuse for not joining her. She asked if Lance had arrived and Maria told her that he had not and that Jason no longer expected him.
The evening had sunk into the blackness of night but she did not want to go to bed. She took a shower and put on her nightdress, going through the motions to put the lounge back the way it had been before the forces of law and order stormed in. She cut her bare feet on a shard of broken bulb and cursed herself for her carelessness.
Sitting down with a whiskey, a drink she rarely touched, she dwelt on her time in California. She no longer saw the successes she had achieved or the happy days she had enjoyed, only that her life had been plunged into an abyss of her own making, into an alien world in which she had somehow become embroiled in drugs and guns, crime and violence. As she sunk lower in despair, the events that had brought her to Coronado swirled around in her mind: the comfort and security of a fifteen-year marriage that she had thrown away, the betrayal of a loyal and innocent husband, her craven surrender to pent-up carnal urges, the way she had let herself be beguiled and besotted by Jay, and allowed him to subjugate and use her; how she had fled to California with her tail between her legs, shamed and despised, thinking that an ocean could wash away her sins. What a naïve fool she had been.
Now totally consumed by despair, she reached for the whiskey, but her cell rang somewhere in the room before the glass reached her lips. She looked at her watch; at last he was calling, to apologise or to explain or to deny, what difference did it make.
She lifted the phone with resignation to find Peter, not Lance, on the line. She thought for a second to say she would call back, more acrimony with her ex being the last thing she needed. But his tone sounded strangely friendly.
He asked how she was and whether she was still happy in California. She carefully assumed the mask she had worn for him for so many years and told him she was fine and enjoying life. In turn she asked him similar questions, about life in the London flat and about his work. She told him Maria had been over for two weeks and had a great time and that Arnie had visited and sent his regards. He told her the tenants in their house had given notice and that he might be moving back in, and asked whether she wanted him to have the horses brought back out of the stables. After the drama of the day his voice comforted her, so familiar, so warm, until at last they had run out of idle conversation.
“It’s good to hear your voice again after all this time,” she said.
“Yours too. You managing okay for money?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Do you want me to do anything, maybe I can speak to the woman who runs the stables?”
“No need, I think I’ve got it under control.”
“I do appreciate you calling, I know you didn’t need to.”
“As it happens I’ve been meaning to call for a few days. I didn’t want you to hear the news from anyone else. I wanted to let you know, Rachel is expecting.”
She had put down the phone in stunned bewilderment, not knowing if she had said “Thank you for telling me” or something just as pathetic. She emptied the whiskey glass, refilled it, and turned towards the bedroom, and her heart plummeted to new depths. Ryan slouched in the doorway; a rucksack slung over one shoulder, his guitar incongruously on the other. She stood in silent shock, and then made a lunge for the home phone.
She hit 911 but he had bounded across the room and beat her to it. He held the torn phone cord in his hand. “And your cell.”
“Get out of here.”
His eyes were bloodshot, his face lined with tension. Burnham had been right, she thought. He is scared.
He slapped her hard across the face. The glass of whiskey went flying from her hand and she heard it shatter into a million pieces somewhere behind her. “This ain’t a game, babe. Give me your fucking phone.” She recoiled from him and fished into her bag, her hand shaking, and retrieved it. “That’s better.” He slid open the phone with his thumb and popped out the battery.
She had pressed herself against the wall and inched herself along it, trying to put as much distance between herself and Ryan as she could.
“Going somewhere, babe?”
“Stay away from me.”
He took her shoulders and pushed her down onto a chair.
“How did you get in here?” she said, rubbing her burning cheek.
He held up a key. “Always keep a spare. But with that busted lock I didn’t need it. You shouldn’t have called the police.”
She looked to the door, desperately searching for escape. “I didn’t.
They broke in.”
“And you sent them to Chula Vista?”
“I didn’t tell them anything.”
“You’re lying, babe. You turned me in. I didn’t deserve that.”
“You’re still free, aren’t you?” she said, defiance in every word.
“By the hair of a rat’s ass, and no thanks to you.”
“Better they find you than your friends from LA,” she said.
He laughed. “That the line they spun you?” He stretched the flex between two hands. “You’re playing out of your league, babe. Sending the cops after me wasn’t clever, because now it’s you who’s gonna pay the price.”
“The police could come back at any minute.”
“They ain’t that smart. By now they’ll have found my bike dumped in San Ysidro. That’ll be enough for the dumb shits to have called off the dogs. Now give me your wrists.”
She thrust her hands under her thighs.
He sighed. “Please, babe, just give me your wrists. It’s for your own good.” He looked at his watch. “Any minute now some bad guys are gonna come sauntering through that door like they own the place. They find you sitting here like little Miss Muffet and they’re gonna get all jumpy. And they don’t play gentle.”
She stayed sitting on her hands. He stepped forwards. “Last chance.” Still she did not move. He grabbed her by her shoulders, pulled her to her feet and threw her face down on the sofa. He forced his knee into her back as he jerked her arms behind her, and bound her wrists. He pulled the cord tight, and she cried out as it cut deep into her wrists.
“Get any ideas about hollering, and I’m gonna have to gag you, okay?” He hauled her back to her feet and returned her to the chair. “Just sit still and shut the fuck up and everything’s gonna be cool, and no one’s getting hurt.” He pulled a sash from the curtain and began binding her ankles to the chair. Over his shoulder she saw Javier and his two sidekicks.
“You need a hand, amigo,” Javier called out.
Ryan looked up. “I’m just finishing up.”
“Hola again pretty lady,” said Javier striding over. He touched her cheek, ran his hand over her breast, and then tweaked her nipple through the thin cotton of her nightdress. “Nice pretty lady.” Isobel sat helpless. Her heart pounded like a hammer and her chest felt ready to burst.
“You guys here to do business or to make conversation,” said Ryan taking charge.
Javier laughed. “Show me what you have?”
Ryan lifted his guitar onto the table, took a knife, and prized back a panel of veneer. He took the blade to four sunken screws, and pulled out a black plastic package bound in masking tape. “One key of Colombia’s finest,” he said, holding the parcel like a trophy. “Where’s the cash?”
Isobel watched in stunned silence, hardly able to believe she was witness to a real life drug deal.
One of Javier’s men put an attaché case on the table as Javier pulled out what looked like a manicure set, and made a small incision in the package. He put a trace of white powder to his tongue before nodding approvingly. Ryan kept busy flicking through the wads of bills in the case.
“Don’t worry, my friend, it’s all there,” said Javier. Ryan seemed content with the assurance, went to the kitchen and returned with Isobel’s weighing scales. One of Javier’s men put a weight on the scale to check the calibration, then the package, and gave Javier a nod.
Isobel looked on bewilderedly at the speed things were happening. Ryan tipped the money into his rucksack and Javier placed the package in the attaché case and passed it to one of his men, who gave him a pistol in return. Fear turned to terror at the sight of the gun and Isobel looked desperately at Ryan, but he seemed hardly aware of her.
“A Colt Mustang Pocketlite,” said Javier, “one of the best. You sure you know how to use this, amigo?”
Ryan took the gun and made a show of checking it, popping the magazine clip in and out of the butt. He nodded satisfaction. “We’re all good,” he said.
“What about the pretty lady?” said Javier.
Ryan gave Isobel a look that implored her to stay quiet. “I’ll take care of that little problem,” he said.
“I don’t know, my friend.” He pulled out a shining piece of silver metal and flicked out a blade with a razor edge. “Loose ends cost lives.” The blade flashed in the light. Isobel’s eyes bulged and she struggled for breath, afraid she would pass out. Cold sweat soaked her body.
Ryan stepped in between Javier and Isobel. Her eyes flashed wildly from one to the other. He patted the handgun. “I said I’ll take care of her.”
Javier rubbed the blade to his cheek. “Better I do it, my friend.”
Ryan shrugged. “No problem, hombre, but you’ll need to wait.” He cupped his crotch. “First I’ve got some unfinished business with this little beauty.”
Javier hesitated, ran his eyes over Isobel, and then laughed as he closed the blade. “Okay, you win.” He signalled to his two cohorts and they moved towards the door, before turning back to Ryan. “Stay lucky, my friend.”
Ryan knelt at Isobel’s feet, his hands resting on her shaking knees. “You okay?”
The panic within her had eased, and she no longer gasped for breath. “I’m alive,” she said tersely.
“We gotta get moving, we don’t have much time—”
“We? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Babe, I can’t leave you here, you know that?”
Behind her back she desperately tried to wriggle out of her bindings. “Where are you taking me,” she said, attempting to stall as she detected some give.
“I’m not taking you anywhere. I’m gonna put your coat on you, and you’re gonna drive me to the border in your car; then we’re gonna walk over the bridge arm in arm like a regular couple on a night out to TJ. When we get to the barrier we’re gonna kiss good-bye all natural, I’m gonna walk through it, and you can turn round, go home and forget all of this ever happened.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you get gagged, bundled into the trunk, and I walk over the bridge alone. It don’t much matter, but my way you don’t risk suffocating in the trunk. Get it?”
She nodded.
“And forget about any heroics at the border. Anything goes wrong and I’m gonna have to explain how you stashed a kilo of coke in your house for three months.”
He untied her ankles and lifted her to her feet. “And you can quit all that struggling behind your back, I’ll free your hands in the car, okay?” He put her coat onto her shoulders.
“Just tell me one thing,” she said, her mind searching for ways to delay him as her bonds loosened further. “Other than you saw a lonely and vulnerable woman, and you smelled opportunity, why me? And why the declarations of love last weekend?”
He buttoned her coat. “Hey, I ain’t that that calculating babe. I went for you because you’re a class piece of ass, why else? Figuring out you were an opportunity came later. As for last weekend, that’s the one thing you did work out.”
“Shahidi?”
“Mel came up with the idea of grooming you. That’s what the fun in the taxi was all about, getting your pussy primed for the main event.”
“And Mel got off listening to how it went?”
“Now you come to mention it…”
“You bastard.”
“Chill, babe, one more slice off a cut loaf, where’s the harm? If you’d gone with the flow like you should’ve done, everyone would’ve been a winner, you most of all.”
She could see the door to the lounge inching inwards. She kicked her shoes towards Ryan, desperate to keep his back to the opening door. “Either untie me or help me on with these. I’m not driving barefoot.” But something in her voice spooked him. He gave her a quizzical look, then glanced backwards to see Lance edging along the wall towards them with his finger to his lips. Ryan spun up and around in a single movement, drawing the Colt from inside his belt as he did so.
Lance jolted backwards, raising his hands. “I’m not armed,” he said. Isobel pulled furiously at the bindings on her wrist.
“More the fool you. Get those hands behind your head.”
Lance did as Ryan told him. “You’re the boss,” he said, his eyes fixed on the firearm.
“Now get on your fucking knees.”
“You pull that trigger and you’re looking at twenty-five to life,” said Lance, “even if you miss.”
“If I pull the trigger, I won’t be missing. Now on the floor.” Ryan grabbed Isobel.
“Let go of me,” she said through gritted teeth.
He pushed her down on the sofa. “Stay there. Do anything stupid and this thing’s likely to go off.”
“Just go, for God’s sake,” she shouted.
He waved the gun menacingly in Lance’s direction. “I ain’t asking you again. On your knees, with your back to me.”
“You’re digging a hole you’re never going to get out of,” said Lance as he slowly lowered himself on to one knee.
Ryan moved to within two feet behind Lance. “Any more lip and it’s you who’s gonna be in the hole, wise guy. Down on both knees, I said. Now keep your eyes on the floor and take off your belt with your left hand, and leave the other exactly where it is.”
Ryan lifted the gun above his head, preparing to strike a blow.
Finally free of her bonds, but her arms pinned by her coat, Isobel catapulted herself from the sofa and crashed into Ryan’s back, sending him toppling over Lance’s body, the gun spilling across the floor. Lance made a dive for it, but Ryan got his hand to the butt first, with Lance gripping his wrist. The two rolled across the room, arms and legs thrashing, Ryan’s finger inches from the trigger. When their bodies came to rest Ryan lay prostrate on the floor, face down, pinned by the weight of Lance’s body. Lance still had hold of his adversary’s wrist and he lifted it and smashed it against the side of a table leg repeatedly, until the gun dropped from his hand.
Isobel darted under the table and grabbed it as Lance hauled Ryan to his feet, one arm locked around his throat, the other forcing Ryan’s elbow hard up his back.
“You’re breaking my fucking arm!”
“That’s the idea.”
Lance threw Ryan to the sofa and took the gun from Isobel. “Nice weapon,” he said. “It would’ve given me quite a headache.”
“You gonna call the cops now?” asked Ryan, grimacing in pain and nursing his shoulder.
Lance turned to Isobel, ignoring the question. “You okay?”
She nodded, gathering her breath as relief washed through her.
“He hurt you or anything?”
She looked at Ryan, feeling a strange sense of pity. “No, he just wanted me to drive him to the border.”
“He’s got a funny way of asking. That your bag?” he asked, turning back to Ryan but pointing the gun at the rucksack.
“What’s it to you?”
Lance grabbed the pack. “The thing is, Ryan, I like to do things my own way. If I call the law I’m going to be spending the next three months in court giving evidence and looking at your sorry mug. And I’m not a guy who likes that kind of publicity.” He unclipped the magazine from the Colt and dropped the rounds into his palm. He pulled open the rucksack. “Wow,” he said, “now I see why you want to skedaddle down to Mexico. You hit it lucky in Vegas?”
“Something like that.”
Lance dropped the gun into the bag and tossed it to Ryan. “Now get going. I see you anywhere around here ever again, you’ll have more than me and the cops to worry about.”
“You’re letting me go?” said Ryan incredulously, rising to his feet as Isobel looked on in shock.
“Don’t wait around till I change my mind. But if you’ve got any sense you’ll ditch the gun before you cross the border.”
Ryan looked at Isobel, gave an apologetic smile, and bolted to the door.
Isobel stood in silence, looking at Lance.
“Sorry to arrive unannounced, and at such an inconvenient time,” he said, smiling, “but I was in El Paso when I heard that crazy rumour about me and Chrystal. I thought I’d better get straight over here before you jumped on a plane to London or something.”
“I did think about it,” she said, her mind full of questions.
He moved in and cupped her face in his hands. “Chrystal’s getting married to Brent Taylor, and the official announcement is tomorrow. Everything else is paper talk. She tells me she’s inviting us both to the wedding. Something about wanting to meet her nemesis, whatever that means.”
Isobel put her hands on his chest. “I’ve been in pieces since I saw the news.”
“I wasn’t too pleased myself.”
“And you meant everything you said the other night?”
“About being in love with you? Every word.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “What happens now?”
“I thought we might go away someplace, somewhere romantic, somewhere I don’t need to drag myself out of your arms at the crack of dawn. Tahiti, maybe. I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“And somewhere I’m not going to drag you into gunfights?”
“There is that.”
“I like the sound of Tahiti, and of waking up in your arms.”
“That’s settled then.” He embraced her, lifting her off her feet. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, kicking her heels up behind her legs.
“And you won’t change your mind?”
“No chance. The thing is, you see, it seems I have no pressing engagements.”
END