Kay David - Not Without Cause

The man’s hands were rough and impersonal as he patted down her sides and hips then felt under her breasts. His breath was a mixture of stale beer and strong garlic. She let him do his job, then she stepped back and sucked in a lung full of air. He threw a comment over her shoulder to the man at the desk. His words were in Mam, a local dialect but the meaning was clear; she’d passed. She stared straight ahead like the novice she was supposed to be, moving only after he jerked his head for her to go on, switching to Spanish. “Pase adelante.”

She stepped inside the prison and surveyed the grounds.

The description she’d gotten from the hooker had been accurate, she saw with relief. A fenced-in area opened out before her, the lot roughly forty-by-forty with a packed dirt floor and abandoned guard towers at either end. To her right was a cracked sidewalk lit by a row of bare lightbulbs hanging overhead. A half-dozen concrete benches were nearby, two broken-down picnic tables beside them. On the opposite side of the sidewalk was a small, open-air cinder-block building with peeling paint and four doors made of hanging fabric. An ancient fan sat on the crosspiece above each scrap of material, their blades rattling softly. This was where the women saw their clients.

She looked past the immediate area to the prison beyond. Behind another fence was a larger building that obviously contained the celdas and a second open area that looked like a soccer field. Men were filing into it slowly. The only guards she saw were the two behind her, but she assumed there were others nearby. There were no offices or administrative structures, in fact, there was nothing around that looked official in any way. Barrisito’s explanation had been right on target.

When the visitors were all inside, the gate squeaked open at the other end of the compound and the prisoners spilled out into the courtyard. The women pushed forward and Meredith allowed them to carry her the same direction. The two groups met in the center of the dust-filled yard and chaos took over.

The prison population was made up mainly of locals and they were uniformly short—a taller individual, blond or otherwise, would stand out. Meredith’s eyes scanned the crowd but she didn’t have to look long. In the center of the group, a man wearing a white rag wrapped around his head caught her attention, one part of the puzzle falling into place. He wasn’t an Arab but his makeshift ghutra had earned him the nickname. Her eyes dropped to his face and she sucked in a breath of horror.

The man was a mess. Covered in bruises and cuts, his skin was puffy and stretched, one eye so swollen it was completely closed, the other one a narrow slit. He hadn’t been trying for a political statement with the dirty white towel—he’d simply wrapped himself up in an effort to hold the pieces together. Her eyes skipped over the details because she didn’t want to look any closer, but a long ragged gash down one cheek stood out and she couldn’t ignore it; the open wound was hot and ugly. She winced at the thought of the pain he must feel, sympathy passing through her.

There was no resemblance between the man before her and the photo of Brad Prescott. Then again, she thought with pity, this poor bastard’s own mother wouldn’t have known who he was.

Meredith took a deep breath and pushed her way toward him.

SHE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE HIM.

Disbelief mixing with confusion, Haden watched Meredith Santera approach him, determination pulling her mouth into a single line, her steps quick and dogged. Without even looking at him, she grabbed his hand, pivoted and dragged him behind her, small puffs of dust rising from their steps as she hurried to beat the others to the casitas.

He was battered, but his brain was still working and he realized instantly that Meredith’s appearance was not a good thing.

As he had the thought, though, Haden found his eyes dropping to her tight skirt and the curves it hugged that he’d once known so intimately. In total amazement, he felt himself respond to her, the situation so bizarre, he almost laughed out loud. He’d been beat to shit and now Meredith was here to finish the job and all he could think about was getting into her pants.

She flicked the curtain back and entered the room, pulling him in with her.

“We only have ten minutes.” She threw a look over her shoulder and began to unbutton her blouse, her voice low and urgent. “Take off your clothes and get on the mattress. We have to make this look good or they’ll get suspicious.”

When he didn’t move, she yanked him to her and began to unzip his pants. “C’mon, c’mon. We don’t have much time. I know you’re hurt but work with me, okay?”

Before he could respond, his jeans were halfway to his knees. She gave him a little push and he fell against the filthy mattress behind him. She was on top of him a moment later, her skirt hiked to her waist, her warm thighs straddling his.

“I’m going to create a diversion.” Bending over to speak in his ear, she moved closer, her hair forming a curtain around them that felt like silk and smelled like heaven. “All you need to do is move when I tell you. Don’t do anything else and for God’s sake, don’t argue with me.” Her legs tightened as she continued, her resolve obvious. She threw back her head and moaned convincingly, then leaned down to his ear once more time. “I know what I’m doing, all right? Don’t fight me and everything will be fine.”

Outside someone snickered and Haden leaned to one side to look past Meredith. One of the guards stood beside the curtain, his hot gaze trained on Meredith’s rear, his wet lips glistening under the yellow lights hung overhead.

Following his stare, Meredith glanced over her shoulder and she smiled. Then she began to move up and down, her hips mocking the rhythm she and Haden had shared dozens of times before, her moans growing louder. Tossing her hair in a gesture that stopped his breath, she put on a show that had him convinced, the expression of ecstasy on her face so believable it made him wonder about the times when her satisfaction was supposed to have been genuine. She continued with the show until the guard moved on.

Then she glanced down and her mouth fell open. His eyes tracked her stare and he saw what she’d seen.

He still had the tattoo.

Her eyes flew to his face, recognition dawning. “Oh, my God! Haden? Is that you? I didn’t expect—”

Before she could finish, a scream filled the courtyard and all hell broke loose.

HADEN BUCKED Meredith off and jumped to his feet, the noise outside growing louder by the minute. She landed on the floor in a daze. She’d been expecting Brad Prescott, but she hadn’t gotten him. Yet except for the tattoo, the man standing above her bore no resemblance to anyone she’d ever known, and that included Jack Haden.

But that’s who he was and she knew it for a fact.

They’d gotten matching tattoos one night when alcohol had overtaken what little good sense they’d had left. She’d had hers removed the next day. Haden had laughed and said he was keeping his—and he obviously had, the small gold star still gleaming on his hipbone.

He jerked up his pants, suspicion filling his distorted features. “Who were you expecting, Meredith? You seem a little surprised.”

She gaped at him a moment longer, then the chaos outside intruded again. She’d had a diversion planned, but whatever was happening couldn’t be a part of it—it was way too soon. She’d told Barrisito’s brother to wait until she’d come out of the shack and given him the signal.

Before she could answer, Haden grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Forget it—you can tell me later! We need to get the hell out of here. This might be our only chance!”