Tortured Spirits (10 page)

The book shook in Jake's trembling fingers. It wasn't the author's name or biography that upset him but her photo. Short black hair, bright eyes framed by thick-rimmed glasses, and sensual lips. She resembled a repressed librarian and a sexual creature at the same time. Jake recognized her
features despite the radical change in her appearance. He knew Erika Long by an entirely different name:
Laurel Doniger.

“What's wrong?” Maria said.

Jake's fingers turned numb.
This has to be more than a coincidence.
“Oh, nothing. I just thought I recognized this author.”

“She was pretty famous before she disappeared three years ago. The tabloids said she couldn't handle success, so she pulled a vanishing act. With the money she made off these books, she never has to work again.”

Jake skimmed the biography again. “Lilian Kane I've heard of.”

“Well, duh. She's the queen of romance writers. Everyone's heard of her, even if they haven't read her. They make TV movies out of her stuff all the time.”

Jake handed the book back to Maria. He had always been curious about Laurel's mysterious past and knew she used an alias. She had told him on several occasions she used her psychic abilities to help people atone for past misdeeds, but she refused to divulge any more information to Jake even though he had expressed his desire to help her.

Sailing, skydiving, and horseback riding.
The woman he knew had skin as pale as moonlight because she was afraid to leave her storefront, where she also lived. Laurel had used healing spells on Jake when he had suffered supernatural injuries and inflictions, and he knew she had created a blind spot around her dwelling that rendered herself and any memory Jake had of her invisible to the angels and demons Jake had encountered. This meant she feared a powerful enemy.

Now Jake knew her true identity, but he was bound for Pavot Island on an impossible mission with Maria. Laurel's predicament would have to wait until his return to New York City …
if he
returned.

Through the aircraft's window, Jake observed the plane's shadow on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean below. It could just as easily have belonged to a bird. The plane flew at a low altitude, and the water reflected dazzling sunlight at him. He made a mental note to research Erika Long when he had the chance, taking precaution not to arouse Maria's interest.

The captain's voice came over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we're nearing our destination. Please fasten your seat belts. The temperature on Pavot Island is 105 degrees.”

Within minutes, land appeared directly below them: cliffs surrounded by a seaport, then dense green trees, and finally a landing strip. The plane touched down on the bumpy runway, pitching everyone forward, and Maria gripped Jake's hand. When the shaking stopped and the plane slowed, Maria released her grip on Jake and acted as if
she hadn't just sought his comfort. Jake decided it was best to roll with her needs for the rest of the trip.

The passengers deplaned down a covered mobile stairway and crossed the tarmac in blazing heat. Jake was grateful for his cargo shorts and couldn't help admiring Maria in hers. They entered a crowded terminal with high ceilings and no air-conditioning, which felt just as hot as outside. Maria grabbed several brochures from a travel agency kiosk and used them to fan herself. Most of the people Jake saw had brown or black skin.

He and Maria retrieved their luggage from a beaten old conveyor belt in the baggage claim and joined the line for customs inspection, where three men and a woman dressed in khaki military uniforms examined passports.

“Why do you come to Pavot Island, Mr. Helman?” a man with heavy eyelids and a thick accent said. Jake couldn't place the accent, though he recognized traces of French and Haitian.

“We're on vacation,” Jake said.

“Why do you come
here?”

Just looking at the man's sweaty features caused Jake to perspire. “It's more affordable than other island resorts, and we were curious.”

The man gave Jake an insincere smile. “What do you do for a living?”

“Security.”

“Overseas security?”

“No, domestic. I mean, in the US. New York City.”

The man turned his attention to Maria. “And you, Miss Vasquez?”

“I'm a cop,” Maria said.

“Oh, really? What is your specialty?”

“Homicide.”

“No,” the man said in disbelief. “You're so young and pretty.”

“Thank you,” Maria said with no trace of emotion.

The man turned to his right. “A'idah!”

The female officer came over, and the man nodded at Maria.

“This way, please,” the woman said to Maria, who glanced at Jake with alarm in her eyes.

“What's going on?” Jake said.

“Just a routine inspection,” the man said. “It won't take long.”

With her hand on Maria's bicep, A'idah guided her toward a metal door painted yellow to match the cinder-block wall.

Jake felt his face turning hot. “Hey, wait a minute. Where are you taking her?”

“It's okay,” Maria said without conviction.

The man gestured to a row of chairs bolted to the floor. “Have a seat.”

Frowning, Jake waited until A'idah closed the door behind herself and Maria before sitting.

Maria stood facing a wooden examination table. A cloth partition separated her from the door.

“Take off your clothes,” A'idah said.

Maria stared at the woman. “You're joking, right?”

“This isn't America. Take off your clothes now.”

Glaring at the woman, Maria stripped down to her bra and panties.

“All of them,” A'idah said.

Without protest, Maria removed her bra and panties and stood naked before the woman.

A moment later, she heard the door open and close behind her. The man who had summoned A'idah stepped around the curtain and appraised her. He held Maria's passport.

Maria turned to face him, giving him a full view.

“What is your ethnicity?” the man said.

“I'm Puerto Rican,” Maria said.

“Were you born in Puerto Rico?”

“No, I was born in St. Vincent's Hospital in New York City. I'm a true-blue US citizen.”

“You say that as if it should impress me.” He looked over her body. “I'm not impressed.”

“May I go now? I'm not used to being treated this way when I'm on vacation.”

The man stared at her for a moment, then nodded. He slapped her passport in his open palm, then turned and walked out.

“What happened in there?” Jake said to Maria as they searched for the car rental agency.

“Just a little show-and-tell.”

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of
humiliating me. But if I ever see that pig in Manhattan, he's all mine.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Jake said, looking at a dented pea-green Ford Fiesta. The small car appeared to have been in several accidents while receiving only the most necessary repairs.

“It's not that bad,” Maria said, sliding on sunglasses.

“You're used to driving a Toyota.” Jake slid behind the wheel, and Maria got in beside him. The low ceiling caused him to breathe faster. He started the engine. “You got the directions?”

“And the map.”

They drove away from the airport and followed a road that wound its way up a steep hill covered with palm trees. The bright sunlight made everything seem greener.

“It's just like PR and Jamaica.” Maria pressed her hand against the air-conditioning vents, then fiddled with the control. “There's hot air coming out of these vents.”

“Great.” Jake lowered the windows, allowing outside air in.

The Fiesta descended the other side of the hill, and they saw a sign ahead: Une station de vacance, Mt. Pleasant. Maria read the phrase aloud in French, then translated it. “Pleasant Mountain Resort or Mount Pleasant Resort.”

Jake followed the side road onto the resort grounds, and they found themselves dipping and climbing several small hills along a mountain facing the ocean. They reached a single-story building with a sign that read Enregistrement.

“That's what we want,” Maria said.

Jake parked the car in the building's shadow, and they got out.

“It's nice to see a blue ocean again after the Gulf,” Maria said, raising her shades to gaze between the palm trees.

As they went up an incline to the entrance, dozens of geckos darted across the walk. Cool air greeted them in the registration lobby.

“Our first air-conditioning on Pavot Island,” Jake said.

They presented their IDs to a man behind the desk, who smiled and bowed to them. He swiped Jake's credit card, and Jake signed the paperwork.

“Did you come on the shuttle?” the man said. “I'll call the bellman to take you to your suite.”

“No, we drove,” Jake said.

“Just follow the road out front up the hill. Yours is the second complex you'll pass.”

“Thanks.”

They located the C complex and parked in the gravel driveway, then circled the building until they located the door marked C-6, which Jake unlocked with a standard key. “None of that unnecessary electronic security for this island,” he said.

They entered a wide living room with a kitchen that overlooked it. Jake pulled the chain on the ceiling fan, and Maria went straight for the air conditioner, which made a clanging sound but delivered cool air.

“Which room do you want?” Jake said.

“Let me see.” Maria entered one room and drew the
curtains, admitting sunlight. “You take this one. It leads to the patio.”

Jake joined her at the sliding glass door. “You don't want to be near the patio?”

Maria opened the door and stepped outside onto the wooden plank patio.
“Hell,
no. This is the first break in defensive security.”

Jake followed her to the railing. The complex had been built into the side of the mountain, facing the ocean. Looking down, he saw a swimming pool and a deck thirty feet below. A dozen men and women tanned on reclining pool furniture on the deck, and another dozen frolicked in the water as live calypso music rose from beneath a covered bar. Perhaps sixty feet below to their left a white-sand beach beckoned. An iguana blinked at them from the limb of a nearby tree.

Jake fetched his bag from the living room and brought it into the bedroom, then carried Maria's into hers. “I bet there's food at that bar. What do you say we grab lunch, then go for a swim while we wait for the AC to do its job in here?”

“Sounds like a plan.”