E barks out a laugh and I find myself joining him in smiling. “That sounded more like a threat than apromise.”
“Good. That’s how I meant it,” I reply without inflection. I still don’t know if E is really here for me or has his own agenda, but I don’t actually care if he likes me.
The truth is, I never shared my toys as a child, and I’m not any better at it as an adult. Because I won’t give him up, even if it is a ruse. I’ll just keep him chained up more securely.
“Now, tell me the address where we’ll find your father. I’ve arranged a hotel in Matanzas, but I need to start planning.”
E slips off my lap and makes grabby hands for my laptop. He pulls up the internet and types in an address. There is no street view, but he points out the property. We have a target. I can focus now, though the man beside me is a distraction I’m growing not to mind.
Chapter fifteen
E
LandinginCubagoessmoothly, and customs doesn’t take too long. It’s almost midnight when we get to the hotel Mac booked, but there’s a line at reception, so we have to wait a minute. Looking at him in profile, I see the ticking of his strong jaw.
Mac has facial hair that frames his mouth, but his sharp cheeks are bare, and I have the urge to kiss him there. He acts like nothing gets to him, but I can see the tension he’s carrying while Di’s location is unknown.
The hotel is one I know my dad has done business at, with colorful marble on most surfaces. It’s as fancy as anything you find in the US, but with added humidity and Rumba music. At reception, we’re greeted in Spanish and accented English by a handsome man in a black suit.
“¡Bienvenido! Buenas noches, good evening. Check-in?”
After my nap on the first leg of our trip, I’m wired. Plus, my body is on Pacific Time, not Cuban. So I have plenty of awareness when the receptionist checks Mac out.
Mac doesn’t notice, or gives no indication he’s reciprocating the blatant ogling. “Yes. Under MacIntyre.”
My gaze goes to him, but I don’t say anything. Traveling under a pseudonym makes sense considering what we’re doing, and his choice has me wondering if he picked this one so ‘Mac’ still works.
“Very good, Sir,” the receptionist, whose nametag reads Cesar, replies in English, and I’m annoyed I don’t get to translate. I don’t actually know if Mac understands Spanish, but I want to be able to help. “You booked a suite, I see. Did you want to upgrade to one with a larger bedroom and kitchenette, or do you want to keep the two-room suite?”
“Solo una cama,” I start, but Mac puts a hand on the back of my neck. He tugs on the metal collar just enough to remind me who is in charge and I close my mouth.
“Two is fine. My assistant might get some sleep if we have time,” Mac adds, emphasizing my fake role. “I want to see the Castillo de San Severino tonight. Is there a car service you recommend?”
Considering his correcting me on the room choice I think Mac understands Spanish just fine, though his accent isn’t great. I take note not to try and say things in Spanish as a way to hide what I’m saying.
Cesar types on his screen and arranges a car for one hour from now. “Is there anything else I can get you, Sir?”
His deference to Mac and use of Sir annoys me. I know it’s irrational, but that’s my word for him. Mac reaches out to take the room card and I don’t bother asking for one. He’s not letting me out of his sight in a strange environment.
“No, thank you,” Mac answers politely, but he’s already turning to the bell hop who has our single bag from the car on a rolling cart. Takethat brush off, Cesar. Until Mac stops and turns back, “Oh, did my order arrive?”
“Yes, Sir,” Cesar smiles and nods. “We’ll send it up right away.”
Mac doesn’t reply, leading the way to the elevator like he’s been here before. From our conversation on the plane, he’s only been to Havana, and that was once after travel opened on his first hunt for Di. It’s his natural confidence that makes him seem to own every room he walks into.
We’re quiet on the elevator with the employee, who takes us to the top floor. He walks us to the end of the hall, and I note that the rooms are far apart, so likely all suits.
“Thank you,” Mac pays him a tip as the door closes, leaving us alone in a plush living room with a couch, two chairs, and a small balcony overlooking a courtyard.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, since he wouldn’t tell me on the plane with the flight attendant so close. Even though he confirmed she signed an NDA. “We’re not actually visiting the Castillo, right? It’s not far from my Dad’s, though.”
“Part one, tell the driver we want to walk the neighborhood, try to get in and see if your father is there.”
“Is there a part two, or a plan B?”
“He sees me with you on security cameras and you’re bait.”
“And if he comes looking for me?” I say, stepping closer but not touching him. “You’re not afraid of me telling him who you are and how you kidnapped me?”