Cuba blue

43

During the drive alongside the ocean, Qui surrounded by bright sunlight mused over the preceding night spent with JZ when he had informed her that he must return to America. “I’ve been selected to explain to the families exactly what went on here.”

“Oh, for what you call a debriefing? Fidel and Alejandro had you pegged right, then?”

“Not precisely. The families have a right to know the details of how their loved ones died here. It’s not something I’m looking forward to, Qui.”

She’d never pushed him for details on his background, and now was not the time to start. Instead, they’d made love, the kind she’d always dreamed of-at times passionate, at times tender, at times just plain fun. At one point, during a food break, she’d promised to see him off at the airport. He’d responded, “Might not be smart, Qui. Fidel’s got me under a microscope since we stormed his office-guess he’s still nervous over an Interest Section person getting so close.”

“I don’t care about any of that!” she’d protested, kissing him again.

“You should be; your career could be at stake.”

“It can only improve with Jorge Pena being placed in Gutierrez’s position.”

“Seems a good man in spite of a bad first impression.”

She couldn’t help but smile at this. “Agreed. That machismo act of his had me fooled too.”

JZ added, “But then you, he, Cordova, and Latoya disprove the prejudice I held against all PNR.”

“What’s not to love?” Qui teased.

With that, JZ left his chair, stalked over to her, pulled her up and over his shoulder, saying, “What not indeed,” over the sounds of her delighted shrieks. Dropping her onto the bed, he climbed up and toward her as if stalking prey. Capturing her, he shut off her laughter by pressing his lips tightly against hers. With the return of desire and with their time together shrinking, their lovemaking became a slow languorous tango, touch igniting fire. This intangible thing between them had become irresistible. It solidified and strengthened as the night passed with the lovers entwined within one another’s arms. The night proved magical. Their feelings had evolved into a deep, passionate, caring love, the existence of which neither could deny.

As Qui continued toward the airport, her thoughts focused on how much she’d gained and how much she’d lost, and how much she’d changed since that first day on the Sanabela, staring at the netted bodies. She’d gained untold experience, knowledge, and street smarts. She’d lost Montoya and Tino, but she’d found JZ, and she must admit to herself if to no one else she’d found love. This case had changed her- seasoned her. In this regard, Qui would never again doubt her own instincts and intuition. She understood that her relentless determination and her commitment to truth and law had won out against all odds-including the Cuban underworld.

But all these concerns were obliterated when Qui pulled alongside the private jet that JZ would board for Miami. She didn’t see him but he must be here, somewhere.

Returning to America, JZ carried a written apology to the families of the American and Canadian victims. While the letter was sealed, Qui had learned the gist of it: a proviso that all those responsible for this miscarriage of justice in Cuba would pay as only Fidel could arrange.

“Quiana!” she heard his voice from behind. JZ approached from a nearby hangar. Qui dropped all pretense and rushed into his arms.

“I wish you didn’t have to go? When will you come back?”

“I’ll be back…one way or another. Don’t worry.” He ran his fingers through her thick mane of hair and lifted her chin to his lips and passionately kissed her under the sound of the jet revving up. “You’ll be in heart from now until I see you again.”

Her eyes glistened with tears held in abeyance. “If I had any guts, I’d get on that plane with you.”

“No…no, it’ll take guts to go to work for Jorge Pena.”

She laughed at this.

“Besides, Havana and Cuba need you, and it’s where you belong. You love her.”

“I could be happy anywhere so long as we were together,” she countered.

“Now you’re sounding like Luis, the romantic.”

“Luis is happy. Is that so much to ask?”

“No…of course not, but Qui, we both know how much you love Cuba.”

She buried her face in his chest, tears coming.

“Like I said, Cuba needs you…in fact, Cuba needs more like you.”

They embraced a last time. He whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back Quiana. I’ll be back. I promise you.”

Parting, Qui feared her heart would literally break as she watched him board. The plane backed off, taxied to the runway, and idled there a moment. The entire time she watched and waved at his image in the small portal, she half expected some kind of Hollywood, feel good, fantasy-ending: the one that left him in her arms. This notion evaporated when the plane suddenly roared, raced down the runway, and lifted smoothly curving away from her toward Miami. She watched the silvery blue jet until it disappeared behind billowy clouds fearing she’d never again see the man she loved.

She became aware that her cell phone was ringing. She answered it, foolishly hoping to hear JZ’s voice calling from the plane. Instead, it was Pena.

“There’s been a horrible murder, the likes of which I’ve never seen, Quiana.”

“Another murder?”

“Worse than murder.”

“Tell me, Pena, what’s worse than murder?”