Chapter Ten
The e-mail from Callie confirmed what Lee had already told Shaw. Lee was DEA. And, rumor had it, it hadn’t been a strike on Vornis’s Colombian compound at all. It had been surveillance, and they’d fucked it up completely. The DEA would be very interested to know that one of their men had survived. Callie would make the call for Shaw as soon as he gave the word. Her only reply to the photograph of Lee, taken when he was naked and sleeping in Shaw’s bed, had been short and sharp: WTF?
So now Shaw was committed. As soon as he’d finished his business here, he’d have Callie make the call, and some strike force or another would descend on the island, turn it into a bloodbath, and probably kill Lee during extraction. Or Vornis would save them the trouble.
The difficulty was that he actually liked Lee, more and more each day. Their little peepshows were becoming tiresome for both of them, and their sessions in the shower more awkward. It was getting harder and harder not to touch, and Lee wasn’t making it any easier.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Lee whispered that morning.
“Wouldn’t mind what?” Shaw asked him and was sorry he did.
“I wouldn’t mind if you fucked me,” Lee said, blushing. “For the camera, I mean, to make it look real.”
And the worst part, Shaw realized, was that if he really thought Lee was as good as dead he’d do it. That was the sort of man he’d become. But if Lee somehow survived this, and Shaw hoped he did, the last thing he wanted was to have his picture on a wall somewhere in the Pentagon with a target on it.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Shaw said. The sight of Lee’s welts made his stomach turn. “I’m not a rapist.”
“Wouldn’t be,” Lee whispered.
“You’re a fucking prisoner,” Shaw said. “What else could it be? Shut up about it.”
And he liked Lee. He liked having him around, even if all he did was sit quietly with his head bowed. Shaw found his presence comforting and suspected it was mutual. He wished he could talk to Lee, to find out what was going on in his head— “I wouldn’t mind if you fucked me,” he’d said, like it was something he wanted—but it was what it was.
And the worst thing had happened when Shaw had walked out of the bathroom after lunch. He’d left the television on, just for background noise, and there was some stupid American sitcom playing when he’d walked back up the stairs. That’s when he’d seen it: Lee, sitting on the floor looking up at the screen, smiling at some dumb joke. He’d heard Shaw and bowed his head quickly, but it was already too late. Shaw had seen Lee as a human being, a guy who liked dumb jokes, and it was more horrible than he’d imagined. He’d wanted to throw up. His mouth had flooded with saliva, and he’d tasted bile, and it was all he could do not to stumble back down the bathroom steps to the sink.
Oh shit. The last thing Shaw had needed was to look the real Lee Anderson in the face—the human being instead of the thing—and, now that he had, Shaw couldn’t forget it. The knowledge of it twisted in his guts. It hurt.
On his fifth day on the island, Shaw heard the sound of the choppers approaching in the early afternoon. At least two, he thought, from the noise. He was on the beach at the time, with Lee lying next to him, and the way the kid had lifted his hopeful face to the sky was heartbreaking. Shaw could have told him, just from the way that Vornis’s security guards weren’t worried, that it wasn’t a rescue. Nobody knew he was here except Shaw and Callie, and they were holding those cards very close.
“More guests,” Shaw said in a low voice.
Lee had tears in his eyes. He nodded and rested his chin on his arms again. Shaw watched as he cried silently. Hope was the kid’s worst enemy. It would build him up only to throw him down again. And Shaw hadn’t helped any.
Shaw watched as the choppers came in. Two of them, private charters from Suva. They landed on the far side of the island and left again. Less than an hour later, Vornis was showing his friends around.
Shaw stood as the men emerged from the shaded path onto the beach. Such a peaceful, beautiful setting for a meeting with monsters. He pushed Lee out of his mind. This was what he’d come for. This was everything he’d worked for.
“This is Shaw,” Vornis told them. “A useful man with useful contacts. We have a close association.”
Not as close as Vornis wanted, but Shaw smiled anyway and waited for him to introduce the others. He shook their hands, repeated their names, and ran through what he knew.
Pieter Guterman. The man Shaw had wanted so desperately to meet. He was in his fifties, tall, solid, and physically impressive. A silver fox. He wasn’t unattractive with it.
“Mr. Guterman,” Shaw said, shaking his hand firmly. “Good to meet you.”
“Shaw,” Guterman said, testing the name. “How succinct.”
Shaw laughed. “Adam Shaw, Mr. Guterman.”
The next was Sudomo Atmadja. A small man, dark and sharp-eyed. The sponsor, Shaw knew, of several terrorist organizations currently operating out of Indonesia. More dangerous than all his hate-filled clerics combined, because Atmadja had longevity. He’d been in the business for almost thirty years. Martyrs came and went.
“Mr. Atmadja,” Shaw said, shaking his hand.
Shaw hadn’t been expecting the third man, but he wasn’t entirely surprised to find him in this company. Franco Bertoni, mob boss. He was shorter than the others, and rotund. He was sweating in the heat and kept wiping his round face with a handkerchief. He wasn’t a terrorist, but like Vornis and Shaw, he knew where the future lay.
“Mr. Bertoni,” Shaw said, and Bertoni wiped his face and shook his hand.
The fourth man was introduced as Ali Ibn Usayd. Interesting. The last time Shaw had met the man, he had been using a different name. Neither of them showed any recognition as they shook hands. Usayd was tall and swarthy with narrow features.
“Mr. Usayd,” he said.
“Mr. Shaw.” Usayd’s eyes fell to Lee, lying on his stomach on the sand. “And who is your friend?”
Vornis laughed. “Not his friend, Ali! This is my new pet. Shaw was just borrowing him.”
Was. Shaw tried not to react to the vile implications of word. Of course Vornis would offer Lee to his new guests. They were all more important than Shaw. He looked down at Lee’s scarred back and saw his shoulders stiffen. He was listening.
“He is wearing interesting pants,” Usayd said.
It had been the first thing Shaw had noticed as well: the military fatigues. Usayd was clever.
Vornis swaggered over to Lee, standing above him. “American. He and his team attacked my Colombian compound two months ago. This one survived, and I am making sure he is sorry for it.”
Lee flinched as Vornis drove his shoe into his ribs.
Shaw forced a smile as he caught Usayd’s eye. He wondered which of the men would take Lee if Vornis offered. Guterman, probably. He was cut from the same cloth as Vornis. Atmadja, maybe. Shaw didn’t know enough about Bertoni to hazard a guess. And Usayd? Shaw had seen him torture a man before, but he didn’t get off on it. Usayd was all business.
Vornis kicked Lee again, and Lee yelped like a dog. This time they all laughed, except the pale, middle-aged man who was lingering at the back of the group. He looked completely out of his depth in this crowd and couldn’t disguise his horror as his eyes flickered from Vornis to Lee. He blinked rapidly behind his glasses.
“And this is John Gatehouse,” Vornis said, remembering the little man at last. “He is an expert on Cézanne.”
And on nothing else, probably, Shaw thought as he held out his hand. For a moment, he thought Gatehouse would recoil, but self-preservation was a strong motivator. He’d already seen enough to know he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Vornis’s temper. Had he seen enough to know he was a dead man? He gripped Shaw’s hand at last, nervously, and mumbled something.
“Bring the kid to the house for dinner, Shaw,” Vornis said. “We’ll have some fun then.”
“See you then.” Shaw nodded. He watched the men walk away and sat back down in the sand. There was nothing to say. There never was. He stared out at the endless blue ocean and waited for it to work its magic, and nothing happened.
Great. Now Vornis had stolen that from him as well. And it was no more than he deserved. What the fuck was he doing here? Was it worth it? Shit, he’d worked so hard for this. So many years, and so many sleepless nights. It had to be worth it. He had to keep believing that.
There is nothing you won’t do for this. This is worth any price.
Shaw fixed his eyes on the horizon and ran his hand down Lee’s trembling back.
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.
And Shaw smiled at his own hateful delusion.
Lee buried his face in the crook of his arm.
* * * *
Sitting on the veranda, Shaw took a swig from a bottle of beer and wondered idly when it had become so fucking easy to compartmentalize. Because at that very moment, Lee was sitting inside on the floor of the bungalow with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. He was in shock, maybe. And Shaw had looked at him, helped himself to a beer from the fridge, and gone to sit on the veranda and watch the ocean.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Except, not exactly. He wasn’t thinking of Lee, but he was thinking about his own curious reaction to Lee’s obvious distress. Thinking about, because he didn’t feel it. Reason told him that there was more at stake here, there always had been, but it shouldn’t have felt so easy to ignore him, should it?
Shaw drew a hand through his hair. Fuck. Maybe he was just tired of the fucking drama. Shaw wasn’t a knight in shining armor. He didn’t need this shit. This wasn’t his fault. He had more to worry about now.
Guterman was here. The man Shaw had wanted to meet for years. The rest were just icing on the cake. There wasn’t a thing Shaw wouldn’t do to get into Guterman’s inner circle. His mind drifted back to Lee for a moment. No, not a thing.
Guterman was here. Better than fucking Christmas.
Shaw looked up as a man picked his way slowly along the beach. His trousers were rolled up to his calves, and he was glowering at the ocean as though it had personally offended him. Shaw almost laughed. It was Bertoni. He was out of his element here. He belonged in the concrete jungle.
Shaw slipped back inside for a moment, ignoring Lee as he headed for the fridge. Lee didn’t even look up. He probably didn’t know Shaw was there. Wherever he’d gone now, how far into the dark recesses of his memory, Shaw didn’t need to know. He was quiet. That was enough.
Shaw grabbed another beer and headed back outside.
The sand burned his feet as he made his way down to the water. “Mr. Bertoni, good afternoon. Beer?”
Bertoni wiped his face with a handkerchief and then shoved it back into his pocket. “What sort of fucking place is this anyway? It’s too hot,” he grizzled, taking the beer.
It’s a tropical island, you fucking tool. What did you expect?
Shaw nodded. “I know.”
Bertoni took a long swig from his beer. The back of his shirt and his underarms were stained with sweat. “And what are you doin’ here, Mr. Shaw? Apart from fucking Vornis’s boy.”
“I came here to sell a painting,” Shaw told him evenly. “Fucking Vornis’s boy is just a sweet bonus.”
Bertoni curled his lip in disgust. Not at Shaw’s admission of rape, of course, but at the admission he’d liked fucking a boy.
“What are you?” Bertoni growled. “Some kind of faggot?”
Shaw stood his ground. “There’s only one kind, Mr. Bertoni, as far as I’m aware.”
Bertoni’s sneer was caught somewhere between disgust and respect, and it hovered there uncertainly for a while before he finally shrugged it away. “Yeah, Vornis said you had balls, Shaw.”
Shaw smiled at that.
Bertoni glared out at the ocean. “So, you sell paintings?”
“No,” Shaw told him. “I’m a facilitator. I put buyers and sellers in touch with one another, for a percentage. I can find whatever it is you need.”
Bertoni narrowed his eyes. “I don’t outsource.”
Bullshit he didn’t.
Shaw shrugged. “Your presence here suggests to me that you’re in the process of expanding your operations. It’s a new world, Mr. Bertoni, with new challenges. Your former business associates might not be up to the task.”
“What do you mean?” Bertoni asked. “You mean like weapons? Because I can get fucking weapons!”
Trust a mob boss to get straight to the point.
“Weapons, absolutely,” Shaw said. “Or maybe certain chemical compounds.”
Bertoni narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t just deal in art, Mr. Bertoni. I deal in anything. And my reputation speaks for itself.”
“Yeah, well,” Bertoni snorted, “I’m not looking to build a fucking biological weapon or nothin’, you understand? That’s more Usayd’s style, the fucking rag head.”
“Of course it is,” Shaw agreed. “It was just an example. I can get you whatever you want.”
Bertoni scowled at that. He turned his red face to Shaw’s and sneered. “And how the fuck do you know what I want?”
Shaw allowed himself a smile. “I got you that beer, didn’t I?”
For a moment, it could have gone either way, and then Bertoni laughed. It was a big, deep laugh that rose above the gentle roar of the ocean, boomed out across the beach, and startled a solitary seagull into flight.
Shaw’s smile grew.
He could do this. He could actually pull this off.
* * * *
And now, Shaw thought, the moment we’ve all been waiting for…
Breathe, Shaw. Just breathe.
Pieter Guterman was walking up toward the bungalow.
Guterman was a good-looking man. He wasn’t young, but he wore his age well. He was still in good shape, and his graying hair made him look distinguished. He had a strong jaw, a wide mouth, and eyes that shone with cleverness. He exuded authority. He looked like the poster-boy CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Trust me, his handsome face said, but Shaw knew better. Guterman was as much a monster as Vornis. He just wore a more attractive mask.
Guterman looked just as comfortable in chinos and a casual shirt as he would in a suit and tie. He didn’t have to dress to impress. He would have looked impressive in anything. Self-confidence rolled off him in waves.
“Shaw,” he said when he walked up the steps. His eyes crinkled as he reached out his hand.
“Mr. Guterman,” Shaw said. Guterman had a strong, firm handshake. Shaw wouldn’t have expected anything less. “Come in, please.”
Lee was still sitting on the floor, exactly where Shaw had left him. He’d stopped rocking, at least. The lack of movement made it easier for Shaw to ignore him.
“I do love Fiji,” Guterman said as he sat down at the table. “So far removed from the real world, don’t you find?”
No, Shaw thought. The Pacific had always felt like home to him.
“It’s certainly remote,” he said instead. “Drink?”
“Gin and tonic.”
Shaw moved over to the bench, aware that Guterman’s gaze was on him. And that was okay. That was exactly where it should be.
Nothing he wouldn’t do.
Shaw had waited a long time for this, and he’d run through every scenario he could imagine, just to see how far he’d really go. Just so he wouldn’t be surprised. And, in every one, he’d do whatever Guterman asked. Shaw knew enough about Guterman to know there probably wasn’t much off the table. Shaw was good-looking, and Guterman was responding to that. Guterman was a good-looking man as well. Not Shaw’s usual type—he preferred guys who weren’t old enough to have been voting when Shaw was still in kindergarten—but that was a small concession to make. Shaw didn’t have daddy issues or daddy fantasies either, but if Guterman wanted to play that game, Shaw would make an exception. Because Guterman was rich and powerful, and governments rose and fell because he made it happen. And Shaw wanted in. He wanted to be in Guterman’s inner circle; he needed to be there. He burned for it. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make it happen.
Not that his scenarios had included Lee. Shaw had come to terms with the fact that he’d let Guterman do whatever the hell he wanted to his body, but where was Lee’s choice?
More to the point, Shaw wondered as he prepared Guterman’s drink, why did it suddenly matter? He’d seen people tortured, raped, and killed before. He did business with some seriously scary assholes, and those were the things they did. Shaw had once seen Vornis’s head of security back in the States shoot a man in the head because he was skimming profits. And Shaw hadn’t even blinked.
Well, he’d blinked. But only because he’d been sitting next to the man at the time and not expecting the sudden hot spray of blood and brain matter on his face. And Vornis had laughed so much that Shaw had laughed as well and accepted a towel and a change of clothes like it was nothing more than a spilled drink.
Shaw had taken the execution in the spirit Vornis had intended, as both punishment for the thief and a demonstration to Shaw of his iron will. Shaw knew the accountant had deserved it. The fool had practically begged for it the first time he’d put his hand in the kitty. Shaw understood that. Of course, Vornis thought Lee deserved it as well. Maybe that was the difference. Vornis thought that Lee had wronged him. Shaw saw a kid who’d just been doing his job. And maybe in this world that deserved a bullet in the head but not rape and torture. Because, shit, nobody deserved that.
And if Vornis played hard, everything Shaw had ever heard said that Guterman played harder.
Lee hadn’t featured in any of Shaw’s scenarios, but it didn’t make any difference. Because here Shaw was, and he was going to stand back and let it happen. Again.
When Shaw returned to the table, Guterman was watching Lee.
“Thank you,” he said as Shaw passed him his drink. His gaze slid to Lee again. “He’s nice.”
Lee was sitting beside the bed. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and his face buried in his arms. His breathing was shallow, and he was trembling. He was teetering on the edge of panic. Shaw could almost taste his fear.
“Very nice,” Shaw agreed, sitting down.
Guterman sipped his drink and set it on the table. “You know who I am.”
Shaw raised his eyebrows slightly. “I know your reputation, Mr. Guterman.”
Guterman smiled. “And you want to know more?”
Shaw allowed himself to return the smile. “Let me put all my cards on the table, Mr. Guterman. You’re an influential man. You’re a wealthy man. It would be a privilege to have the opportunity to work with you. Of course I’m interested.”
He gave Guterman a moment to process that, along with all the implications. What wouldn’t Shaw do? Shaw guessed that Guterman was the sort of man who would relish the challenge of finding out. And that was exactly how Shaw had intended it. He was young, he was good-looking, and he didn’t mind a challenge himself. He would do this and worry about his conscience later. There would be plenty of time to soothe it once he was out of here.
Fingers crossed.
“How much do you want it?” Guterman asked.
Shaw’s gaze lingered for a moment on Guterman’s mouth. He smiled and shrugged. “Try me and see.”
Shaw could play the tease for the right reward.
Guterman regarded him evenly. “What would you say if I told you I came here for a blowjob?”
Careful, Shaw cautioned himself; draw your boundaries.
He considered his answer for a moment.
“I’d say that I’m nobody’s bitch, and you’d have to make it worth my while.” He leaned back in his chair and flashed his cockiest grin at Guterman. “I’d also say it’s a great way to get over jetlag.”
Guterman needed to know he’d do it, but he also needed to know nothing was for free.
Guterman dropped a hand to his crotch and began to rub himself through the fabric of his trousers. “Did you put those marks on the kid?”
Shaw looked at the narrow welts on Lee’s arms and back from where he’d gotten caught in the wait-a-while. “Some of them.”
“Not a lot of artistry,” Guterman commented, “but some enthusiasm.”
Shaw couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or not. “Maybe I need some more practice.”
Guterman’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever been whipped?”
“No,” Shaw said, and it was the truth.
Guterman’s lips quirked. “What would that privilege cost me?”
Shaw raised his eyebrows and wondered if he would ever be willing to put himself under Guterman’s control. Restrained. Shit, no. Because how could he trust Guterman to release him? It wasn’t worth his life.
It was worth Lee’s, apparently, but not his own.
Coward.
Shaw took a sip of his drink before he answered. “Now, you see, that’s a show of trust. And I don’t even know you, Mr. Guterman, and my mother always told me not to go off with strangers.”
He smiled, and the amusement wasn’t entirely feigned. Actually, your mother told you a stranger was just a friend you hadn’t met yet. But she didn’t mix in Shaw’s circles.
Guterman raised his eyebrows. “And when we’re no longer strangers, Shaw?”
Shaw shrugged. “Then we’ll discuss it.”
Guterman laughed. “I look forward to it. And maybe I’ll use the boy tonight to show you what you can expect.”
Shaw ran his finger along the rim of his glass and resisted the urge to look at Lee.
Guterman lowered his voice. “One day you’ll scream for me as well. And bleed.”
Shaw’s eyes widened. Was that meant to turn him on? Because the chill that ran down his spine had nothing to do with pleasure.
“Really?” he murmured. His stomach churned.
Guterman smiled again. Light danced in his slate-gray eyes. “Oh, I do enjoy a challenge.”
Shaw forced a smile. At least he’d been right about that.