Dark Vengeance Read online

  “I’m looking for a girl named Joan. She came over from the islands. She isn’t quite right in the head,” I said. “It’s not her fault, though.”

  I somehow felt compelled to add that last bit in.

  “I know her.”

  “Good. Where is she?”

  “A house at the end of the street—blue with brown door. It has boards but you get in from the alley. One board fake. Lift and get inside.”

  “Thank you.” I handed her two fifties instead of a hundred-dollar bill. That way she could keep one of them and hand the other over to her pimp. “One for just you.”

  She smiled and tucked it into the waist of her skirt.

  I headed toward the door. She reached for my arm.

  “Please. We must wait. Pretend, right?”

  I scrunched my face. “How long?”

  She laughed. “With women, much longer than with men.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “But we can do shorter than that,” she said and shrugged.

  I was about to answer when she moved in front of me and pressed her body and lips against mine. I drew back.

  “Hey, I told you I’m here for information.”

  She smiled. “I know. We have time to kill so maybe?”

  “I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

  “Okay,” she said and moved away.

  “I have another question for you,” I said, searching her face in the shadows to see how she’d react. “The man who made her that way. They call him X. Do you know him?”

  For a second, she acted like she hadn’t heard me, then very slowly she nodded her head. “She is not the first girl he has brought here and thrown away like trash.”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip. This guy needed to be stopped.

  “Where does he stay when he’s here on Padang?”

  The woman shrugged. I held out more money but she waved her hand away.

  “I don’t know.”

  Then she moved for the door. She opened it wide so I could steer my bike out into the alley. The creepy guy was still standing in the shadows. She followed me out, adjusting her skirt. For good measure, I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before I hopped on my bike. She smelled like cinnamon.

  “Thanks,” I whispered and then started the bike. I winked at the man as I rode past.

  The blue house with the brown door was at the end of the street, at the very end, about two miles away.

  That part of town was eerily deserted and ramshackle. Not only was trash piled on the street corners, but it also filled the gutters. Most of the street lights were burned out. I knew the sound of my bike was attracting attention, but that’s how it would have to be.

  I pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the house and parked.

  As soon as I hopped off the bike, I headed for the back alley. A door and windows were boarded up. I tugged on each board until one easily came off and revealed a door handle. I twisted the handle and the door swung open with all the boards still nailed to it but not the walls of the house. Clever.

  The interior of the house was dark so before I stepped inside, I turned on the flashlight on my phone. The entryway was strewn with dirt and trash. I left the door open behind me and began searching the rooms. Most were deserted except for the trash on the floor—food containers mostly and a few shriveled-up clothing items.

  The house was only two stories. I headed for the stairs. The first bedroom I came to was filled with bodies. There were probably eight people spread across the floor in different positions, all lying down among a few blankets and clothing items. All strung out. A few groaned, lifting their hands to their eyes to block the light, as I shined my phone’s flashlight on them.

  All men. Except one woman who looked old enough to be my grandmother. Or maybe it was just the drugs.

  I moved to the next room. This one had four people in it. Three girls and a guy. The guy was cuddled up with a woman who also looked much older. They both reared back from the light, swearing.

  There was a girl in the corner and a girl near the door. I moved toward the one in the corner.

  “Sorry,” I said to the couple as I walked past. “I’m looking for Joan.”

  The guy’s eyes slid to the girl in the corner.

  She was sitting up. Crouched. Her huge eyes, emaciated frame and sparse, scraggly hair reminded me of Gollum. Not the pretty girl I’d seen in the photo.

  I crouched before her. She was rocking back and forth on her heels.

  “Joan?”

  She blinked. “Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have friends.”

  “Sure, you do.”

  “Hey, man,” the guy behind me said. “I don’t know what your game is, but if you think you’re going to pull any funny business, you’re outnumbered here.”

  That’s when I realized the other three had stood up and were standing right behind me.

  I didn’t turn when I answered.

  “I’m here to help. I’m looking for the man who did this to her so I can make sure he never does it to anyone else again.”

  Someone behind me laughed.

  “You?”

  I stood and turned. “He took my daughter. I’m going to find her and make him pay for what he’s done to Joan.”

  I met the older girl’s eyes. She nodded.

  “You get him,” she said firmly. “And hurt him. Like he’s hurt Joan.”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s going to get his.”

  The girl smiled back, a determined, cruel smile. “Good.”

  Joan had shrunk even further into the corner. The older girl, who said her name was Zahra, was now beside her, stroking her back. “It’s okay, honey. This woman is here to help.”

  “I’m looking for X,” I said. “Where does he stay when he is in Padang?”

  As soon as I said his name, Joan began to wail and yank at her hair. Now I knew why she was balding. She pulled out her own hair.

  “Go away. Go away. Go away,” she chanted frantically.

  I met Zahra’s eyes. She shrugged. “Any mention of him or what happened to her is very upsetting.”

  I nodded. “Do you think she knows where he is?”

  Zahra frowned. “Maybe. Or maybe I do. One time we went into town to get some food and ended up walking past the Palace Hotel. She was doing fine until we were in front of it and then she looked over and screamed and began to run. I looked over to see what had upset her and the lobby was empty. I think it was the hotel itself.”

  “Thank you,” I said, standing. I turned to leave, but couldn’t walk out without trying to do something else. I crouched back down. “Joan? I’d like to help you. What do you need?”

  “I want you to go,” she said, shaking her head erratically.

  “Do her parents know she’s here?” I asked Zahra.

  “When she first came to Padang, she called them. They told her she was disowned. They never wanted to see her again.”

  I closed my eyes for a second. Horrific.

  “Joan,” I said. “What would you say if I was able to get you to a home where they can help you get better?”

  “No,” she said angrily. “No. No cages.”

  “There won’t be cages,” I said, shooting an alarmed look at Zahra. “Just a nice bedroom and nice people to help you.”

  “No!” she screamed as if I was stabbing her.

  Zahra gave me a sympathetic look. “We take care of her here.”

  “But what if I could get her in rehab? Off the drugs?”

  “We don’t do drugs in this room,” she said. “Whatever damage was done to her was before when she was hooked. Now it’s all up here.” She gestured to her head.

  “Therapy might help?” I said.

  Zahra shrugged.

  “What about you guys?” I said, nodding my head toward the boy and girl who were sitting against the window smoking cigarettes. “Can I help you in any
way?”

  Zahra shook her head. “We’re here because we got kicked out for falling in love. We came here to live freely. We crash here at night, but we work during the day on the other side of the island. We’re saving our money for a place. We almost have enough to rent a place down the road.”

  “How much more do you need?”

  She frowned.

  “Five hundred dollars,” the boy said from across the room.

  I undid my belt buckle. Zahra watched me with wide eyes but did not move. I pulled my belt through the loops and then turned it over. On the inside was a zipper. I unzipped it and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills that had been folded lengthwise into thirds to fit into the belt.

  “Here you go. But what about Joan?”

  “We will take her with us.”

  “Do you have a phone?” I said.

  She shook her head. “Could you get online access?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “If you need help you can get a message to me through the Queen of Spades website.”

  Her nose scrunched up. “That’s your name?”

  I smiled. “No, she’s my aunt. But you can always reach me through that website. Or her, for that matter. She would help you, too.”

  Then I left.

  The Palace Hotel would be my next stop.

  13

  My motorcycle was still out in front of the flop house.

  Part of me had worried someone would just wheel it away or pick it up and put it in the back of a truck and take off.

  I headed back toward the tourist part of town.

  The Palace Hotel was easy to find.

  A large red awning hung over the entrance, and a doorman in a suit and chauffeur’s hat stood at attention on the sidewalk. I’d expected a dump, but it actually looked really nice.

  I hopped the curb and stopped my motorcycle on the sidewalk. The doorman was not amused.

  I gave him my most winning smile.

  Nothing.

  Straight-faced.

  Then he lifted one eyebrow.

  “Hi,” I said and reached out my hand to his. “I’m Gia.”

  He looked down his nose at my outstretched hand, but he must have spotted the bills I’d palmed there because he stretched out one white-gloved hand to mine. In an instant, he’d tucked his hand, with the money, into a jacket pocket.

  “I’m looking for a man who goes by the name X. I was told he often stays here.”

  The doorman’s face remained blank.

  I tried a different tactic. “What I really need to know is if he had a dark-haired girl with him?”

  Nothing.

  “She’s his prisoner. Did you see him with a girl?”

  The doorman stared past me out at the street, but I saw him give a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  Rose wasn’t with X.

  “Next question.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  Fuck. I have to pay for every answer?

  I held out my hand again. He palmed more money.

  “Is X here now? Does he have a room for the night?”

  Nothing.

  “If he is staying the night here can you blink twice?”

  It was absurd, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  No expression. No blinking.

  “Okay. Just to make sure, if he’s not staying here, can you blink once.”

  Slowly he lowered his ridiculously long eyelashes and then opened them again.

  “Thanks,” I said and hopped back on my bike.

  I was about to start the engine when the doorman spoke in a low voice with his back turned to me.

  “He checked out. The maître d made reservations for dinner at Le Coquette. He may still be there.”

  “Where is this place?” I asked.

  The doorman jutted his chin to the right.

  I started the bike’s engine and hopped off the curb, nearly losing my balance as the bike caught on something slick. I steadied myself and the bike and gunned the engine, heading down the street while reading all the neon signs.

  Soon, I saw it and slowed to a stop, letting the bike idle across the street.

  Nearly a dozen tables were set up on the sidewalk outside. I scanned the diners.

  I had no idea what X looked like besides that photo that had been on his nightstand.

  But even so, nobody at the restaurant looked even slightly like that man in the photo. I parked my bike and headed inside. I strode past the maître d and headed toward the kitchen in the back, examining the face of every male diner as I passed. Nope.

  The maître d was racing behind me, trying to get me to stop, babbling something.

  I reached the kitchen, did an about face and headed back through the restaurant to the front door, passing the sputtering maître d as I did.

  Outside I straddled my bike and headed toward the marina. If he wasn’t staying at his usual hotel and wasn’t eating dinner anymore, there was a better than decent chance he was catching the ferry back to the island. I gunned the motor. It was late and I knew the ferry didn’t run all night. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be too late.

  A few minutes later, I skidded to a halt in the parking lot of the marina, watching the lights of the ferry out at sea.

  He was probably on that boat. Damn.

  Hopefully, he was alone and didn’t have Rose with him.

  If not, she might still be on the island somewhere. But it was a large island. She could still be anywhere on Sumatra. But something told me she was no longer there.

  She wouldn’t leave Dylan behind on the smaller island.

  If she had escaped from X, she would’ve immediately headed back to get Dylan before she went into hiding.

  At the ticket booth, I held my phone up to show the man a picture of Rose. I slid some dollars his way.

  “Have you seen her?”

  The young man smiled. “Yes. She is very pretty.”

  “I know,” I said, smiling back, trying to play it cool. “When did you see her?”

  She’d taken the ferry this afternoon, he said. One that stopped at several islands, including the one with the surf camp. Then I showed him the photo of X.

  “And this guy?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Did you see him?”

  He shook his head but looked down.

  I could tell he was lying.

  “When is the next ferry?”

  “Tomorrow morning at six.”

  “Can I buy my ticket now?”

  He gave me a funny look and shook his head. Fine.

  I rubbed my eyes with both palms. I couldn’t catch a break.

  The young man shrugged and closed the window. A few minutes later he turned off the lights and stepped out. I watched as he unlocked a bicycle and rode away, leaving me alone in the dark. One light created a small pool of light in the parking lot.

  I got on my bike. I’d find some food and a place to sleep and head back to the island early the next morning.

  14

  The sidewalk café had delicious food.

  The maître d wasn’t happy to see me again, but did find a table for me outside, handing me a menu and then walking away stiffly, unsmiling.

  I asked the waiter to order for me. He brought me some Indonesian fried rice, Balinese steamed pork wrapped in banana leaves, and a stew made with jackfruit.

  After I finished eating, I planned on going back to the hotel to sweet talk the doorman into securing me a room there or somewhere else.

  Meanwhile, I sipped my wine and ate my jackfruit stew, scrolling my phone.

  I’d received a text earlier in the day but had ignored it in my hot pursuit of Rose and X.

  Now, I opened it again.

  My face grew hot.

  It was Ryder. I hadn’t heard from him since the day I left Cannes.

  I’d fled to Cannes purportedly to escape my life worrying and carrying about Nico. What I’d really been trying to escape was myself.

  D
ante had arranged for Ryder, ex-Special Forces/Secret Service, to drive me from the airport to the villa I’d rented. I immediately suspected that Dante had hired him to be my bodyguard. But, now, I wondered if Dante had put us in touch because he somehow knew that we were kindred souls?

  Ryder, with his neatly trimmed goatee; his uniform of tight black jeans and black shirt; his sexy as fuck tanned, muscled, and tattooed body …

  Just thinking about him sent a surge of lust through me. Damn. I was all hot and bothered just seeing his name. I hadn’t even read his message yet.

  I looked around guiltily. Of course, nobody knew what I was thinking. Still, I squirmed in my seat. Maybe it was the alcohol. I hadn’t had a drink in days. I lifted my hand and ordered another. If just seeing Ryder’s name made me feel this way, I’d definitely need more booze before I read the text because it looked long.

  Ryder.

  After my life with Nico ended—first with Alzheimer’s disease taking him away mentally and then pneumonia taking him away forever physically—I made a vow to never fall for another man again. Nobody could compare to my greatest love, Nico, Rose’s father.

  But in my efforts to drown my sorrows, I’d met Ryder in Cannes.

  I’d hated him at first. Okay, hate is a strong word, but he was incredibly annoying.

  And yet, somehow, he grew on me. And then out of nowhere, the most intense physical attraction developed. My body betrayed me and the slightest touch from him turned me into melted candle wax on the floor. Even seeing his name now made me crazy with desire.

  But it was never meant to be. He was still grieving his dead wife, and I was about to become a widow myself when I left him in Cannes, telling him we would never work out.

  So how dare he text me now? Didn’t he know I never wanted to hear from him again?

  I was steaming with irritation by the time the waiter plunked the second drink down in front of me.

  After I sipped half of it, I opened the text again. Part of me wanted to delete it without reading, but the other part of me was wild with curiosity.

  “Mi Cariño. I don’t know what has happened. I never expected this again in my life. I thought that I would only feel this way once. How could any man possibly find this feeling again after so much loss? But I have, mi cariño. My life is dull without you. All the color is leeched from my world. Only when I think of you and making love to you, do I feel alive again. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I had to tell you this or die.”