Murphy's Law (9 page)

So what did he see? She moved closer to the mirror to examine her face. Her skin looked clear today, but every month like clockwork, her complexion reverted to adolescence. And her hair, she thought, holding a piece in her fingers. Five minutes after she took the hot rollers out it fell straight again. She had tried a perm once but, after spending a hundred dollars, she ended up with something that smelled like a skunk and resembled steel wool.

“The man must be blind as a bat,” she mumbled absently. “I have 20/20 vision, Lilly.”

Lilly gasped and spun around, stumbling into the table behind her. Jack was lying on his stomach with one hand propping up his head. He watched her struggle with the tangled tee shirt, grinning at her embarrassment.

She finally straightened the shirt and held it over her knees. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.
Is this little ritual something all women indulge in, or is it something you personally start your morning with?”

“I’m sure you’ve woken up with more women than I have.” She tried to be glib, but she came out sounding like a jealous wife.

“I don’t make a habit of waking up with women.”

“Sure. And next you’ll tell me you’re saving yourself for marriage.”

Jack rolled out of the bed and reached for his pants. She tried not to watch, but he stood right in front of her. With her eyes downcast, she had a great view of his powerful legs and narrow hips, and all points in between.

“Going to bed with a woman and waking up with one are two different things. One is sex and the other a relationship. In my line of work, the latter is very dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because when you care, you have a weak spot.”

She couldn’t accuse him of leading her on. She was a job to him and nothing more. He wouldn’t allow himself to care for her. In his own way, he’d warned her to do the same. Unfortunately, his warning came a few days too late.

“I have to go start breakfast.” She tried to pass him. He put his hand on her waist and refused to budge. “Please, Jack. Let me go. I have
work
to do.”

“Okay. But don’t you think you should get dressed first? I like this outfit on you, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for the rest of the crew.”

Her face burned hotter than the rising sun. If he hadn’t stopped her, she would have walked right out the door in nothing more than his tee shirt. What powers did he possess that rendered her reasonably intelligent mind non- functional? “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“In a second.
I want to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me.” He slid his hands along her hips and around to the small of her back. “Nothing wrong there. Let’s see….” He continued his playful exploration, kneading the taut muscles below her shoulder blades.

Every nerve ending in her body stood at attention. He didn’t play fair. He went out of the way to make the point that she meant nothing to him. Why did he need to prove that she didn’t share his indifference?

As if trying to gauge how far she would let him carry out his amusing and exciting experiment, he walked his fingers up her stomach, aiming higher with each tender stroke. She caught his hand before he reached his destination. “Why are you doing this, Jack? I don’t mean anything to you.”

“I never said that.”

“When you care, you have a weak spot,” she sarcastically mimicked back.

He placed his thumb under her chin and slowly tilted her head back. “You misunderstood. I was speaking hypothetically.”

“What’s the difference?”

He uttered a heartfelt groan and turned her loose. “In a hypothetical situation, I never need a cold shower before breakfast.”

“Oh,” was all she could get out of her mouth as he exited the small cabin.

* * * *

Lilly finished the last of the breakfast dishes and put everything back in the cabinets. The boat would be docking in under an hour. With a cup of tea clutched firmly in her hand, she climbed up to the deck and settled herself on a chair at the bow of the ship. Through the parting blanket of mist, she caught her first glimpse of Africa.
The Dark Continent—exotic, mysterious, and completely overwhelming to a farm girl from the American Midwest.

As they moved closer, the eerie silhouette gave way to defined outlines. Stucco buildings with orange shingled roofs dotted the landscape. The ancient mosques, with their onion shaped domes,
rose
high above the houses in a glorious testament to the Islamic religion so fundamentally a part of their lives.

Loud speakers pierced the quiet with chanting from the Koran. All work forgotten, the men stopped to bow towards Mecca to say their prayers: a ritual they performed five times a day, faithfully.

“Lilly.”

The spell was broken, and the reality of her situation returned. “Yes?”

Jack came up next to her and gave her a hand up from the chair. “You have to get changed.”

“I know.”

He handed her an envelope. “Put it in your pocket.”

She glanced at the peculiar writing on the outside and back to him. “What is it?”

“It’s a letter for Mustafa’s wife. He’s going to take you off the ship and put you in a cab. The driver will leave you in front of the building. You go to the apartment number on the outside of the envelope and give it to the woman who answers the door.”

“Number seventeen,” she read off the envelope.

“Yes.”

She shrugged and slipped it in the pocket of her jeans. “When will you get there?”

“I don’t know. I have to help unload the ship and take care of a few details. Mustafa’s wife was educated in England, so you won’t have a problem with language. Don’t look so scared.”

She exhaled deeply and attempted a smile that she didn’t quite pull off.
“Easy for you to say.”

“Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

“Trust me,” she mimicked and smacked him in the chest. “I’d love to know how many women ended up in trouble after you said that to them.”

He laced his fingers through hers and smiled. “Would you like to end up in trouble with me?”

She refused to feed his ego by acknowledging his offer. “I thought I already had.”

“A little danger stimulates the senses.”

“If you want to draw parallels between this adventure and sex, just let me know when I can roll over and go to sleep. I’m tired.”

He turned her around and pointed her in the direction of the stairs. “Go get changed.”

She strolled away holding up a finger in the air.
“One point for the pink team.”
She knew exactly where he was staring and added a bit more swing just to taunt him.

He laughed. “It ain’t over yet. And from here on, the ball is in my court.”

“Try not to dribble.”

She disappeared down the stairs holding up two fingers.

* * * *

Lilly relaxed in the back seat of the taxi and let out a deep sigh of relief. Her black caftan draped her like a tent, and the veil clung to her face. Jack gave her the option of wearing her own clothes, but hinted strongly that she would draw less attention dressed like a local. The cab weaved through the streets, passing areas that had remained largely unchanged for hundreds of years. Bad shocks and
 
cobblestone
 
streets
 
made
 
for
 
one
 
of
 
the
 
bumpiest
 
rides
 
she’d
 
ever experienced.

In twenty minutes, she arrived at her destination. Mustafa had already paid the driver, so she wasn’t expected to do it again. She felt guilty that she couldn’t thank the man, but Jack instructed her to speak to no one until she was inside the apartment.

With five apartments to each floor, she had to walk up four flights of stairs to find number seventeen. She gasped for air, wondering if these people had ever heard of elevators. The veil stuck to her face, and the caftan tangled around her feet, making her feel like the biggest klutz in the world.

Half way up the deserted stairwell, she raised her long dress and extracted the letter from her jeans pocket. After catching her breath, she climbed the rest of the way and stopped in front of the door. She knocked and leaned against the wall.

Soft footsteps and the tiny cry of an infant floated from an open window. The door opened slightly, and a dark haired woman peeked out.

“Aywa.
Who is it?”

Lilly slipped the letter in the narrow crack. The woman took the envelope and read the contents. A few nervous seconds passed. The door closed in her face. Lilly’s heart sank. What should she do now?

Suddenly, she heard the chain slide, and the door opened again. Her hostess peered out into the hallway before speaking. “Come in, please,” she said in perfect English.

“Thank you.” Lilly entered and pulled the infuriating piece of material from her face. “I’m Lilly,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m sorry. No one remembered to tell me your name.”

She smiled as if to say, “how typically male”, and took her hand. “I am Hanan. I didn’t know Jack had married. How long has it been?”

Lilly swallowed a cough. That bit of news must have been written in the letter. “Just a few days,” she lied.

“Come into the salon and have a seat. I just have to check on my son.” She led Lilly into the living room and then left to tend to the squawking baby.

Lilly sank down into one of the brightly colored floor pillows in the
traditionally
 
furnished
room. Hand woven tapestries depicting local scenes adorned the walls. A Persian rug in red and gold hues covered a tile floor. She took a moment to formulate her story before Hanan came back.

She hadn’t prepared herself to answer questions about her “husband”, about whom she knew nothing. She had no idea what Jack had told Mustafa. Men could easily be fooled about such things but a woman would see right through a phony story.

Hanan returned holding a tiny bundle in her arms. She held out the baby towards Lilly. “Would you mind holding him while I get some tea?”

She took the infant in her arms and cuddled him close to her. “I don’t mind, but the tea isn’t necessary unless you were going to make some for yourself.” Hanan shrugged and took the seat next to her.
“Maybe later, then.”

Lilly stroked the sleeping child’s cheek. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”

“Mohammed. What else? Every first son is named for the Prophet unless that is his father’s name. So tell me about you and Jack.”

Lilly kept her eyes on the baby to hide her guilt. “There’s not much to tell.”

“When did you meet?
Where?”

“Well. We sort of met through his work. I’d seen around him a couple of times, but it wasn’t until he introduced himself in Lisbon that he really caught my attention.” That came close to the truth.

She still
lied
, her conscience mocked back.

“Was it
love
at first sight?” Hanan asked, obviously caught up in the romance of the adventure. “I’m sorry. Jack is like a brother to me. He introduced me to my husband.”

“Really? He never told me.” Perhaps she could keep Hanan talking about herself and avoid further questions about Jack.

“Have you known Jack long?”

“About six years. He saved my father’s life. A robber came into his store late one evening and Jack happened to be there. Jack disarmed the man and held him until the police arrived.”

“That is lucky.”

“He’s been very good to us. He helped us get the fishing trawler. It had been confiscated in a customs raid, and when it went on the auction block, he co-signed the loan for Mustafa. When Jack called me last week, I sent a message to the ship to tell my husband to go even though I was about to have my baby.”

Lilly winced. “I’m sorry.”

Hanan touched her arm and smiled. “Don’t be. Mustafa couldn’t have made it back in time anyway. Mohammed was born four days ago.”

“Won’t your husband be surprised?”

Hanan smiled down at the sleeping baby. “Yes. A son. What about you? Do you and Jack plan to have a big family?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Maybe when we’re settled somewhere,” Lilly fibbed smoothly. She took no pride in the fact that she lied as unflinchingly as Jack.

“It will be good for Jack to stop living like a gypsy, chasing fugitives all over the world. Those people get themselves in trouble. If they don’t want to return on their own, why should he help them?”

Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat. What would Hanan think if she knew the truth? “Maybe they need his help to get back.”

Hanan’s expression softened. “I know. But I worry about him.”

“Me too.” She worried that he would leave her stranded, not knowing who to trust. Worried that Santana would kill them both. Most of all, she worried that if her ordeal ended, she would never see him again.