Paradise Burning (12 page)

“
Polizia
,”
Mandy murmured.

“
I also asked for the American Embassy.
I figured almost anybody would recognize those two words. The guy
in the shop kept giving me this smirk like, ‘I know what you’re
doing here, girl,’ but the woman was real helpful. She called the
police, and they took me to the Embassy. I got a fast passport, my
mother wired money for the flight home, and some marine drove me to
the airport.”

Satisfied sighs of relief echoed around the
room. “You used your head,” Peter approved. “Lots of girls in that
situation never make it home.”

“
I think about the other three
sometimes,” Jade admitted. “By the time the police checked the
hotel, the room was empty. I wonder sometimes, did they party,
collect their five grand and go home? Or did they just . . .
disappear?”

“
Odds are,” Peter said, “they just
disappeared. Into a brothel or someone’s private
collection.”

“
Yeah, I know,” Jade breathed. “I
suppose, in a way, I didn’t really escape. We’d been promised five
thousand for that week in Rome, and on the flight back I got to
thinking maybe I’d been too uptight. Maybe I’d opted out too soon.
At the time I’d never heard of trafficking, and I figured those
girls had gotten a lot of money for shutting up and putting out.
And, hell, I wasn’t some virgin just off the farm. So when I got
home, I looked up the Escort Service with the biggest ad in the
yellow pages and gave them a call. As long as I could stay around
home, I told them. No out-of-town, let alone out-of-country,
assignments.”

“
And it works for you?” Delilah asked.
“Yo’ git paid big money just to sit and wait for the damn phone to
ring?”

“
Modern communication, child,” Jade
murmured, flashing open her purse to reveal both a pager and a cell
phone. “I’m never out of touch. You know,
reach out and touch someone
.” Jade’s flippancy
faded. “Before I was married,” she added, “I worked full time, and
a lot of it was a ball. But there was enough bad stuff that I
snapped up the chance to opt out when Mark came along. Four years I
was the perfect wife and mom.” Jade paused, staring blankly toward
one of the sunny windows. “Then I went back to the life a couple of
afternoons a week for just the reason I said. I want my girls to
have the best. College and a real job and husbands who don’t have
to wonder what their wives are doing to make a bit of extra
cash.”

“
Don’t it spice up yo’ life, though?”
Delilah demanded. “Tell it like it is, girl. Don’t you get off on
var-I-e-ty, or maybe on doin’ somethin’ more naughty th’n
nice?”

Jade pushed her technological marvels back
down in her small purse, zippered it closed. “Yeah, I suppose,” she
murmured, “but nobody could ever call me The Happy Hooker.”

They were half-way back to Golden Beach
before Mandy broke the heavy silence that hung between them. “I
imagine that was a bit more than you expected?”

“
Way more. Like striking a
gusher.”

“
I believed them, didn’t you? Not a
false note.”

“
Agreed. Though Fawn’s story is
unusual. A runaway who actually managed to escape the sex
trap.”

“
But . . . she’s a
stripper.”

“
She’s not putting out. At least
nothing more than a peep show.”

“
I guess.” Baring it all before a
roomful of lecherous eyes and eager cocks seemed a pretty minimal
step up from whoring. Then again, to Fawn the “No touch” rule was
everything. Her release from the ultimate degradation. So maybe
Peter was right. She shouldn’t be so judgmental. Her Puritan
ancestors were showing.

“
Hell!” Peter’s fist slammed against
the wheel. “It’s so damn frustrating. I knew I was fighting an
uphill battle—this kind of thing’s been around since time began!
Seeing those girls, hearing their stories, and realizing that on an
international scale they’re the
lucky
ones . . . Dammit, Mouse, what makes me
think I can make a difference?”

“
Because you’d feel so much worse if
you didn’t try?” Mandy ventured.

Peter snorted in disgust. “It’s ubiquitous,
Mouse. Every damn place you look. I bet Caesar’s legions had
procurers in conquered cities ahead of their baggage trains.
London’s madams were famous for haunting coaching inns. They’d take
some fresh-faced lass just in from the country, give her food,
shelter, win her confidence. And, bingo, she’d find herself flat on
her back repaying her kindly benefactress the only way she could.
Nowadays, it’s pimps with pretty words and large doses of pseudo
love and drugs. Then it’s ‘Hey, baby, you owe me. How you gonna
pay?’ And, believe me, boys get the same come-on. Girls aren’t the
only marketable commodity on the sex market.

“
I never thought about the boys,” Mandy
breathed.

“
There’s something about the boys that
gets to me—shared gender, maybe. They often live better, are more
cherished than the girls, but drugs or disease still get them in
the end. Or they’re so overwhelmed by what they’ve become that they
can never go back, can never become the men they should have
been.”

“
What you’re saying,” Mandy said,
analyzing Peter’s words, “is that it doesn’t matter what makes kids
leave home, even those who think they’re leaving home for a better
life end up having to sell sex to stay alive?”

“
That’s only Chapter One, Mouse. The
well-known tip of the iceberg.”

“
Well, it wasn’t well known to me,”
Mandy muttered. “Eleanor’s anti-trafficking missions were always
far, far away. And never as interesting as the work Jeff was doing.
Or so I thought,” she added softly. “Even when Kira was killed, the
pain was personal. I didn’t really mourn the failure of the
mission. Which makes me as guilty of looking the other way as
everyone else.”

“
Don’t beat yourself up, Mouse.
Trafficking’s not high on anybody’s list of vital causes. Except
Eleanor and Interpol.”

“
You said you’d seen a lot on your
travels. “Did you . . . I mean, have you ever? . . .”

“
Gone with men?” Peter’s incredulous
roar reverberated through the car.

“
Heavens, no!” Mandy gasped. “I mean,
did you ever, um . . . pick up a phone and . . .?”

“
Pay for it?” Peter was torn between
insult and smug satisfaction. Was it possible his Mandy Mouse was a
wee bit jealous? His turn to twist the knife. “I’ve paid out a lot
actually”—he paused for effect—“all in thanks-but-no-thanks
gratuities.” He glanced at Mandy who was sitting primly, hands
clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Was I a monk,
Mouse? You know damn well I wasn’t, but somehow I’ve always gotten
by without paying for it. Maybe I wouldn’t be having to do so much
research if I had.”

“
I guess that means I was as close as
you’ve ever come to having a whore.”

“
What the hell is that supposed to
mean?”

“
You paid with quite a few years of
your life to AKA.”

Peter’s hands tightened around the
steering wheel. “AKA was a job,” he growled. “
I
was the one who was getting paid.”

“
You know marrying me was part of the
job,” Mandy pointed out, her voice flat and deadly. “And in the end
you found the price for being heir apparent more than you were
willing to pay.”

Tires squealed, the car bounced as
Peter pulled off onto the grassy verge at the edge of the highway.
He’d had a long, hard afternoon, and just when he was ready to
enjoy some private time in his wife’s company, he got hit with
this.
Women!

He’d never laid a hand on Mandy in anything
but love and friendship, but the iron control that had gotten him
through a myriad nasty places suddenly blew up in his face. He
grabbed his wife by the shoulders, turned her to face him. “Now
listen very carefully,” he demanded. “I went to AKA because I
wanted to. Because I knew I was damn lucky to be recruited. Because
I liked Jeff, and he made a hell of a role model.

“
And I married you”—Peter paused as a
moving van rumbled by, its roar punctuating the constant
zap-zap-zap of the smaller vehicles whizzing past on the
Interstate—“I married you because I wanted to. Because we were
right for each other. And I left . . .” With a groan Peter dropped
his hands, horrified as he realized that Mandy would probably have
bruises. Throwing his head back against the headrest, he closed his
eyes. Why had he left? How could he explain?

“
I left because . . . AKA was a prison.
Maybe it was just the secrecy. Maybe it was Eleanor playing God . .
. and enjoying it so damn much. I left because I wanted to spring
not only myself but my wife. I wanted my Mandy Mouse to have a life
outside AKA where the world might be more frivolous . . . maybe
even more dangerous. Where the colors were brighter, the people
more varied. Where there was hustle and bustle and wide open
spaces. I wanted her—
you
—to
have the freedom to be what she wanted.”

Peter allowed himself a glance at his wife.
Her back to him, she seemed to be fascinated by the greenish
expanse of lily pads on a pond beside the road. “And I wanted the
same for me,” Peter admitted, wondering just how much of his soul
he’d have to bare to touch a heart that had hardened beyond all
recognition. “Okay, so I liked coming in from the cold. I liked
having my name in bylines from around the world. I like writing
best-sellers. You want to criticize, I guess you could say my ego
was too big for the covert activity game. But I never planned to
leave you, Mandy. Maybe your parents thought they were hiring me as
prince consort, but I didn’t see it that way. We meshed, you and I.
We were good together. I asked you to come with me, you know I
did.”

“
The ever-noble Peter Pennington,”
Mandy mocked. “I–I didn’t think you meant it,” she added on a low
mumble.

“
You didn’t have the guts,” Peter
snapped. “If you were a man, I’d say Eleanor had you by the balls.
Good little Mandy who always followed orders, did just what mama
said. The dutiful daughter. Loyalty to AKA above all else. It was
like you’d never heard of a world that didn’t exist without a hard
drive, a keyboard, and a mouse,” he concluded with
scorn.

Peter’s anger didn’t even subside when
he saw a tear start to slide down Mandy’s cheek. She should have
had a little remorse five years ago. Hell, he could have had a
houseful of kids by now instead of being a
de facto
bachelor rattling around in a nine-room
house on stilts all by himself.

Sure. Great. Just blame it all on Mandy.

Peter jerked the car back in gear, tires
digging ruts in the grass as he accelerated into the southbound
traffic. How many times had he told himself that Mandy was a
product of her conditioning? She had been born into a family
business that thrived on secrecy and intrigue and demanded
unquestioning loyalty. Everyone from Jeff to the secretaries—and
probably the maintenance men and the gardeners—were gung-ho certain
they were helping save the world. Nor could Mandy be blamed if no
one had bothered to show her the real world. If her conditioning
had been strong enough to avert a rebellion during her college
years, then how could a mere husband make a difference? A husband
who was challenging everything Mandy had been brought up to revere?
AKA wasn’t a job, it was a religion. No mortal could compete with a
god.

Out of the corner of his eye Peter saw Mandy
fish a tissue out of her purse, wipe her cheeks, blow her nose.
He’d be damned if a few drops of salt water were going to make him
cave. She was going to have to figure this one out on her own.

But by the time he pulled his car up
next to hers in the space beneath the house, Peter knew he couldn’t
just let her drive away. “Look, Mouse,” he said, keeping the motor
running so the car wouldn’t turn into an oven, “I think we both
deserve a drink, don’t you? And I’d like to see how your impression
of the girls compares to mine.”
Way to go,
Pennington. Devious as hell.

The great
manipulator
, Mandy thought, as she contemplated
Peter’s peace offering. If he actually believed the crap he’d been
feeding her, then he was rationalizing something that had never
existed. She was Mandy Mouse, a drab master machine carefully
programmed with tunnel-vision for whatever project she was working
on at the moment. No one had ever wanted to steal
her
passport. Or invite her to party.
Or even looked as if they found her anything but
competent.

Not that she wanted them to, of course, but .
. . just once it might have been nice to be treated as a desirable
woman. To feel that a man wanted her for herself . . .

But not that way. Not like Jade or Delilah or
Fawn. Or the legions of women who had never had the privileges of
an Amanda Armitage.

She was
such
a fool.

But not fool enough to slink off to
Calusa Campground with her tail between her legs.
Bring it on, Pennington. I can take it.

Solemnly, Mandy watched while Peter
constructed two gin and tonics, meticulously adding a slice of lime
to each. The compleat bachelor playing host in the ultimate GQ
bachelor stronghold. She followed him, five paces behind, carrying
the bowl of cashew nuts he’d handed her in the kitchen. Cashew
nuts—her favorites.
Blast him!