She leaned into him, her breast resting heavily against his bicep. Her hand touched his thigh lightly, and Brendan felt himself stiffen. Gabby put her lips next to his ear, the scent of her hair and wonderful mocha-colored skin strong in Brendan’s nostrils.
“Dance with me.”
Her breath puffed softly against his cheek, and she might have used the closeness to nip his earlobe. Brendan stood and helped her up. She kept hold of his hand, leading him down the steps and onto the crowded dance floor.
Bodies, sweat, damp heat. The crush of dancers forced them so close together that Gabby’s nipples poked him through the thin material of his shirt. A few tendrils of curly dark hair had come loose from her hair clip, and they framed her face softly. She looked up at him, and Brendan bit his lip. Her hips ground against him and his breath stuttered in his throat as his body responded to hers. He lowered his face toward Gabby, and she was already moving to meet his lips.
Then it happened. The DJ hit a strobe light; the world went freeze-frame all around him.
And Gabby’s face changed. Her features sharpened, the mass of dark curls transformed into a sleek bob, and he was looking at Liz.
He jerked his head back. Gabby opened her eyes when the expected kiss didn’t happened. “What’s the matter?” Liz/Gabby mouthed to him in stop-motion.
Brendan gulped. He stopped dancing and put his head close to her ear. “Liz — I mean, Gabby, I can’t—”
Gabby’s head jerked away from him. She pushed him back into the group of dancers behind him. Brendan lost his balance, falling on his ass in a circle of Indian girls who glared down at him, looks of disgust on their faces.
The DJ started the strobe again as Brendan struggled to his feet. The combination of too much to drink and the freeze-frame of the lights meant it took him a long time to get back to the table. Brendan flopped onto the couch next to Scottie. “Where’s Gabby?” he gasped.
“She grabbed her purse and left a minute ago,” Scottie said in a shout. He peered at Brendan’s face. “You okay?”
“Did she look upset?”
“Skipper, I’ve been married three times. If you want to ask a man if a woman looks upset, you best ask someone else.”
It would have been funny if he wasn’t so angry with himself about the whole situation. He threw a sidelong glance at Gabby. She had her beautiful brown eyes focused on him.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked.
Brendan nodded. There was nothing he could say to make this better, so he decided to just shut up.
Gabby looked away and Brendan breathed a sigh of relief. He’d already made his clumsy apologies, multiple times. It was time to let it die.
“Who’s Liz?”
“What?” Brendan’s head snapped around.
“Who’s Liz? That night at the club, you called me Liz. Who is she?”
“Uh, she’s a friend. Someone I went to school with.”
Gabby plucked the empty coffee cup from his hand. She placed a hand on his knee, the injured one. Her touch was familiar, but lacking intimacy — not like the way she’d touched him before the Maldives.
“Hey.” She waited until he looked up at her. “What we were about to do on the dance floor was way beyond friends, skipper, and you called me by another woman’s name. Not what any woman wants to hear.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Get your head straight, sir. Liz is way more than a friend.”
Brendan blew out a deep breath as Gabby disappeared into the cabin below. The sun came up over the horizon.
Less than a week and he’d be back in Minneapolis.
CHAPTER 50
The Malay captain called the snowcapped volcano el Teide.
The peak was visible a full half day before they could make out the rest of the land mass that was the island of Tenerife in the Canary Islands. Rafiq stood on the bridge wing, enjoying the warm sea air and fretting about the next port of call. The trip to Tenerife had been excruciatingly slow, as the Malay breakbulk freighter made stops along the coast of South America. Even the bribe of more money would not sway the Malay captain.
“Breakbulk freighter make many stops. Act natural,” was all he would say, and offer Rafiq a gap-toothed grin.
He was right, of course. Arriving at their destination early only opened them up for more scrutiny. Better to arrive the day of the event.
Jamil joined him at the railing, sleep still marking his face. Rafiq felt little need for sleep these days; time enough for that after his mission was complete.
The Lumba made the turn around the point of land that hid their destination. Santa Cruz de Tenerife, despite the exotic-sounding name, was a dump, a dirty port filled with ships like the Lumba. Cranes loomed over the edge of the concrete piers, where piles of pallets, cargo containers, and trucks sat in huddled confusion.
It was perfect. Chaos meant lax, easily bribed officials.
The tugs came out to meet them, their whistles piping sharply as they came alongside. A local pilot scrambled up the rope ladder to the deck on his way to the bridge. Rafiq and Jamil regrouped on the main deck, out of sight of the bridge, but where they could watch the approach.
The ship was being placed in a berth at Dique del Este, one of the busier piers, where it would take a half day for the Malay captain to offload his cargo from Brazil and take on fuel. Rafiq looked at the sky; they’d be gone by nightfall. Without him.
He turned to Jamil. “You have everything you need? Any final questions?”
Jamil shifted his feet on the steel deck. After nearly a decade of waiting, this was goodbye.
The Lumba rocked gently as the tugs pushed her close to the pier and the lines went across. A crane lifted the gangway into place and a pair of customs officials came onboard to meet with the captain. Rafiq waited until they had gone to the bridge and the pilot had left the ship before he turned to Jamil. “This is goodbye, my friend. May Allah keep you safe in your travels and shine his mercy upon your mission.”
Jamil’s eyes were wet, and when he hugged Rafiq, his grip was strong. Rafiq felt a tickle of worry. Jamil had been off ever since his brother had died, more emotional, softer. He wondered for a brief moment about their plan to split up. No, only he had the skills to perform this final leg of their mission.
He broke the hug and grasped the handle of the hand truck, leaning back to balance the weight on the wheels. He went first down the gangway, using his body to ease the load down the sloped walkway. He reached the bottom and met the customs official stationed there.
“Passport.”
Rafiq handed him his Canadian passport, the gold crown emblem on the cover nearly worn off with use.
The customs official gestured at the black packing case on the hand truck. “What’s in the case, sir?” he said in heavily accented English.
Rafiq smiled. “I’m a surveyor. The tools of my trade, senor.”
The man nodded as he flipped through the passport pages. When he found a blank one, he stamped it and handed the booklet back to Rafiq.
“Have a good trip home, sir.”
CHAPTER 51
Reza peeled back the tight-fitting black sleeve to peer at his watch. The softly glowing hands told him it was two minutes to midnight.
He’d wanted to wait until later, but Walid had insisted they launch the raid at midnight. The farm workers on the ranch started early, he said, some as early as three in the morning. Besides, security changed shifts at midnight and they could take out both sets of guards at the same time.