Page 62 of Betrayed

“Mari,” Katy said, poking her head in. “I’m so sorry, honey. What can I do?”

“Lay in a supply of chocolate and alcohol, please. A case of tequila, a barrel of salt, and a bushel of limes will be a good start. I’m going to need it.”

“I’ll get Moose Tracks, a pallet full, and put it in the freezer in the break room. That always fixes me up.” She stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Want me to string him up by his heels and make him suffer?”

Katy couldn’t know what an apt punishment that would be for Master Sadist Arturo Durand.

“No, thanks,” Mari whispered, choking back tears. “I appreciate the thought, hon, and the Moose Tracks. I’m gonna need it.”

She didn’t divulge that she was the one in need of a beating, mainly for being so stupid, and because it was the one thing that might overshadow the pain in her heart.

* * *

AT 11:55, MARI STOODoutside Four Seasons suite #1202. She’d been there for ten minutes, maybe more. But for the life of her, she couldn’t find the strength or the nerve to knock. As time ticked by, she heard a phone ring. She couldn’t make out a word through the door, but she savored the low drone of his beautiful voice. She’d miss it.

Abruptly, the door jerked open, and his handsome face appeared. He frowned. “How long have you been standing out here?”

“For a bit.”

“Why didn’t you knock?”

She shook her head.

He took her hand, pulling her steadily forward. “Have you eaten?” he asked as he closed the door. “I can order in.”

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly, with a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach, not even the slightest bit hungry.

She walked to the center of the room, not looking at the windows where he had stripped her naked and went down on her for the first time, or the open door to the bedroom where he had made her scream over and over, coming harder and more often than she ever had. That left either looking at him, which hurt, or at the floor. She stared down at her nails instead, thinking vaguely that she was a week past a manicure, as if that mattered in the least.

Suddenly she felt like she couldn’t breathe and that the walls were closing in on her. She spun to face him, wanting to get on with her dismissal.

“Can you just get to the reason I’m here? The cryptic ‘I need to talk to you about something’ left me with terrible ideas about what this was about.”

He approached, sitting on the couch. When she didn’t follow as he plainly expected her to, he grasped her hand and, with steady but firm pressure, pulled her down beside him.

“There is no easy way to say this.”

She blurted out, “You’re ending it,” at the same time he told her, “I’m a British agent.”

“What?” they asked simultaneously, staring at one another in shock.

“Wait,” he said. “After this weekend and all that came before, why would you think I was ending it?”

“You aren’t?” she questioned, blinking back tears of relief.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, Arturo, I thought for sure that’s what this was...” She threw herself at him, winding her arms around his neck and burying her face in the side. His arms coming around her strong and tight healed the little shreds in her heart that her fears had created. “You’ve been quiet. And Friday when you left, I thought your business had concluded, and you were going home.”

“This is about business, Mari.”

She leaned back. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” His hand slid up to lay warm and comforting along her cheek. She leaned into it, seeking the reassurance of his touch as dread once again crept into her chest. “This will be hard to hear. I want you to listen to everything I have to say before you react.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I know that, too. It’s about Derek.”

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