The Relentless Hero Read online

“No, you are not hearing wedding bells!” Mena screeched, stepping out of her heels and walking past him.

  Julian studied the luggage, lining it neatly against the living room wall as he struggled to swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat. His back muscles tightened as he slowly removed the duffel bag and backpack from his shoulders and placed them against the floor.

  “It’s way too soon for bells to be ringing. But, if that changes, you’ll be the first to know, I promise. I gotta go. Love you, bye,” Mena said, tossing the cell phone onto the round ottoman before free-falling back onto the caramel-hued leather couch.

  “Can you believe her?” Mena said, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. “She just met you, and she’s already trying to force us down the aisle. Why can’t she stay out of it?”

  The subject of marriage was an IED that he had no plans of stepping on. Despite the tugging at his heart, Julian knew he had to take things slow with Mena. She’d gone through a bad marriage and an even worse divorce. Both of which he couldn’t seem to get her to open up about. He couldn’t blame her for being wary about entering into the institution of matrimony again. Mena would come around eventually, but until then, he needed to keep a wrap on his hopes for their future.

  Julian stepped away from the luggage and walked over to Mena, leaning down to kiss her soft lips. “Nothing wrong with your mom wanting you to settle down with a handsome ex-Navy SEAL, you know. But we’ll have plenty of time to focus on that in the future. No need to rush into things.”

  “Exactly. I’m so glad we’re on the same page. Just because we’re in no hurry to get hitched doesn’t mean we’re not madly, passionately in love with each other,” Mena said, placing her hands on the sides of his face and pulling him close to her. His lips found hers again, indulging in a hot kiss that aroused all of his senses. Her sweet mouth was like candy, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

  Mena broke the hypnotic spell of the kiss far too soon for Julian’s liking.

  “You hungry?” Mena asked as her stomach growled.

  Julian laughed. “Only for you, but I guess I should feed you before I ravish your body.”

  “A snack would be good. I have a feeling you aren’t going to get much sleep tonight,” Mena teased, biting her bottom lip.

  Reluctantly, Julian pulled away and headed into the kitchen. Opening the drawer, he lifted a stack of take-out menus and placed them on the counter. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Pizza, maybe? Something with lots of carbs,” Mena said as she scooted off the couch and headed toward the luggage.

  Julian watched her rummage through one of the bags, his eyes locked on the backpack nearby. He should have taken it into the bedroom and placed it in the closet out of her sight. After the “why rush marriage” talk, he didn’t want her to find what was hidden inside.

  “Why can’t people let us be happy like we are? What’s the big deal about getting married anyway? I’ve done that, and believe me, it’s not the fairytale that you dream about growing up,” Mena said, digging an arm deeper into the suitcase as she maneuvered the contents around.

  “Not always,” Julian said, thinking about his parent’s marriage and then about Dawn and Broman. The love between both couples was evident, but there was enough dysfunction in those relationships to make anyone hesitate about getting married. But now that he’d found Mena, he wanted everything with her—marriage, kids, dog, white picket fence.

  “There are people who have good marriages. Take Omar and Charlie, for instance. Perfect love, perfect marriage, the type any couple would kill to have. But are they the exception? Is that a realistic expectation for the rest of us?” Mena asked, moving to the other luggage. Unzipping it, Mena let the contents fall out, and she began rooting through the clothes and shoes inside.

  Julian rubbed the knot tightening in his shoulder. “Every couple is unique. Comparing us to any other couple is pointless. We don’t need to be like anybody else.”

  “True, but it’s good to have role models. Did you know Omar and Charlie dated for years before they got engaged? Like five or six years! You and I haven’t been together for a full year yet. There’s so much that we still need to learn about each other,” Mena continued.

  “What’s wrong with learning and exploring more about each other while we’re husband and wife? Do we really need to wait until we hit some arbitrary length of time as a couple before we get married?” Julian asked, a hint of edge to his tone.

  Mena paused, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

  Damn, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He wondered what she thought of his outburst. Was she surprised? Concerned? She had to know how he felt about her. He would do whatever she needed him to do, even if that meant putting aside his own desires for their future.

  “Just saying, you know, hypothetically speaking. I’m not in a rush for you to slap a ball and chain on me,” Julian said, slipping his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Oh, really? Don’t want to give up your bachelor card for me?” Mena asked, pressing her hands against her hips as she stared up at him.

  “I’d give up everything for you. You wouldn’t need to ask. But, marriage is a big step and not one we have to think about right now. Pepperoni and bell peppers?” Julian asked.

  “What?” Mena stammered.

  Julian responded, “On your pizza? Just pepperoni and bell peppers, right?”

  Mena nodded, a smile curving at her lips. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

  Julian placed the delivery order, then walked over and grabbed his backpack from the floor.

  “Wait, I think I may have put something in there,” Mena said, reaching for the backpack.

  “What are you looking for?” Julian asked, keeping it out of her reach.

  “The receipt for the mask Wangari bought me,” Mena said. “I got an email saying it was ready when we were in Jacksonville and printed it out at my mom’s house.”

  “Why don’t you print another copy?” Julian asked, remembering how he’d had to babysit the team of artisans hired by Wangari Irungu, the Director of the Tribal Museum. The pretentious artists had damn near taken over their condo between Thanksgiving and the week before Christmas, visiting six times to evaluate the décor and proposed placement to get inspiration for the commissioned artwork, a welcome to Africa gift from Mena’s boss.

  “Because I’m hungry and horny, and I don’t feel like going back downstairs to the business center to use the printer,” Mena leaned forward and grabbed the bottom of the backpack, pulling it toward her. “Wangari was so kind to commission a one-of-a-kind mask for me. I don’t want it sitting in the gallery one more day, which is why I need you to pick it up Monday morning.”

  “Monday?” Julian asked, frowning, taking a step toward the backpack. He watched as Mena unzipped the bag, reaching her hand inside.

  “The gallery is closed this weekend for a private event. Monday is the earliest I can get it,” Mena explained, lifting his belongings out of the backpack one by one. A hitch caught in his throat as he took another step toward her. He had to do something. Now before it was too late. It was only a matter of minutes before she found the box.

  Mena turned the backpack over. Julian scrambled forward as he watched his belongings, littering the floor around her. Squatting next to Mena, Julian extended his leg, blocking her view of the robin egg blue box.

  “I’ll get it on Tuesday. I don’t want to miss your presentation,” Julian said. He sat across from Mena, absently rearranging the contents of his backpack, hoping to bide his time until he could sneak the box into his pocket.

  “You’re not going to miss my presentation because you are going to get to the gallery first thing when it opens. That will give you plenty of time to pick up the mask and bring it back to the condo before heading to the museum,” Mena said, straining her head to see around him.

  “I don’t know. I think that may cut things to close. Don’t you?” Julian asked, stretching forward to conceal his atte
mpt to grab the box. Fumbling it in his hand, Julian held on tight as he stood up and walked toward the kitchen island.

  Mena leaned over as she looked up at him. “What are you hiding over there?”

  Julian licked his lips slowly. He gripped the box in his left hand, tucking his arm behind his back to shield it from Mena’s view. He wasn’t ready for her to see what was inside, but he’d be hard-pressed to avoid it now. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “I have ways of getting the information out of you,” Mena said, rising from the floor. She walked over, stopping inches from him, then slipped a finger along the inside of his waistband. Her soft touch triggered his arousal. Julian took a deep breath as he watched Mena’s hands move slowly toward the button of his jeans, pushing it through the hole as she rested a hand against his abs.

  “You’re not being fair,” Julian said. As much as he liked this game, there was no way he wanted her to find what was inside the box. It was too soon. He didn’t want to do anything to freak her out or cause her to shut down emotionally. He wanted things to go back to normal first. The synchronized cadence of domestic bliss they shared as they built their life together in Nairobi without any stress or strain.

  “Life ain’t fair,” Mena said, reaching inside his boxer briefs and wrapping a hand around his cock.

  Julian let out a low moan as the backpack slipped from his arm.

  In a quick motion, Mena tugged at his left arm and slipped the box from his grasp, then rushed across the living room, cackling with laughter.

  Panic struck Julian as he lunged for her, stumbling over the ottoman and falling to the ground.

  “Mena, wait, don’t— “

  “What’s this?” Mena asked, holding the Tiffany’s box tied neatly with a white ribbon.

  Julian slumped onto the couch, staring back at her. “Open it and see.”

  “We said we weren’t exchanging Christmas gifts. We agreed that we would give each other the gift of togetherness, nothing more,” Mena said, a challenge in her tone.

  “It’s not a Christmas gift …” Julian said.

  “Then what is it?” Mena asked.

  “Open it.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s inside,” Mena said, her voice hitting a higher octave.

  “Calm down,” Julian said, a wave of sadness washing over him. “It’s not an engagement ring.”

  Not this time.

  Mena plopped down onto the couch next to him, a hint of excitement glinting in her eyes as she peeled the ribbon off the box slowly then opened the lid.

  Gasping, her hand flew to her mouth as she looked inside the box.

  He couldn’t have dreamed of a better reaction. The emotion etched across her face was pure elation and unconditional love.

  Julian wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his lips against her neck. “It’s a charm bracelet. Each year, I’ll give you a new charm to add to it. Something to remind you of me … of us.”

  Mena fingered the single heart-shaped charm attached to the rose gold thick chain. “It’s engraved. J & M. Julian and Mena.”

  “I could have done something cheesy and put 4ever underneath,” Julian said, lifting up four fingers. “But thought I might lose you if I did.”

  Turning to face him, Mena said, “You could never lose me. This is stunning. I can’t believe you got this for me. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Just like you. May I?”

  “Please,” Mena said, holding out her wrist.

  Julian secured it onto her arm. “Now, every time you look at this bracelet, it will be a reminder of how I feel about you.”

  “I love this, and I love you, Julian.”

  Julian pressed his lips against hers, his heart about to burst.

  “And I love you, Mena.”

  Chapter Two

  Thunder rumbled as Julian glanced up at the ominous storm clouds. Shadows from The Hub, a massive, open-air shopping mecca in Karen, an affluent suburb of Nairobi, loomed behind him. The overcast sky cast an eerie darkness onto the street. Stepping closer to the crosswalk, Julian pressed the button to cross then glanced at his watch.

  Ten a.m.

  Mena’s first lecture at the Tribal Museum started in one hour.

  She’d barricaded herself in the condo all weekend since their return, putting the finishing touches on her presentation. Julian had watched her in awe, amazed by her easy conversational style and breadth of knowledge on the Ghanian artist being showcased. He could almost recite the presentation by heart with her. Mena expected him to be there, and he wanted to be in the room to support her on this big day.

  The rain had caused extra traffic and delays and now it looked like he wouldn’t make it after all.

  A gridlock of cars on the road crawled past him.

  The steady drizzle of rain turned into a heavy downpour as he waited for the crosswalk signal to change. Tugging at the hood on his rain jacket, Julian glanced at the walk signal, pausing as several cars proceeded through the red light before making his way across the street to the Emershan Smith Gallery.

  Stepping toward the glass door, Julian pulled it open and entered. He pushed the hood from his head and tried to minimize the amount of water pooling onto the hardwood.

  “May I help you?” A woman asked, walking toward him. She glanced at the wet area, expanding around his feet with disdain, then motioned for another worker who appeared with a cloth to wipe the floor.

  “I’m here to pick up a piece for Mena Nix,” Julian said.

  The woman’s eyes grew wide. “The mask commissioned by Wangari Irungu?”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” Julian said, glancing around the gallery. Dozens of customers milled about the space perusing the paintings and sculptures.

  “Give me a moment to get it prepared for you,” the woman said, giving him a warm smile. “Please feel free to look around and see if any other pieces are to your liking.”

  Julian nodded, then walked over to a small nook where a series of tall ebony sculptures were arranged in a circle on a pedestal. Slipping a finger under the tag on the shortest one, a male figure with a protruding belly, Julian almost choked at the high five-figure price tag.

  A soft vibration fluttered against his leg. Julian reached into his pocket, grabbing the cell phone as he looked out the window at the rain pelting the ground.

  “Hey, Kendrick,” Julian said, balancing the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

  “Happy New Year, my friend. How were your holidays?” Detective Kendrick Caillouet asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. The St. Basil Police Department detective was Julian’s closest friend and the one who’d tried to talk him out of going back to Florida for his first holiday with Mena. He should have listened to his friend.

  “Pretty much what you predicted,” Julian mumbled.

  “That bad?” Kendrick asked. “Sorry to hear that. How are you and Mena?”

  “We’re good. I made up for things by taking her to South Beach for New Year’s Eve. That helped her to forget about the disaster that Christmas turned out to be,” Julian said, even though he wasn’t sure Mena had forgotten her disappointment over not meeting his father.

  “Well, at least you had someone to share the holidays with. My bad luck in love has dragged into the New Year, despite all my efforts to turn the corner. I swear women don’t want the good guys. Until I do something edgy, I’m not going to get the girl,” Kendrick said, glumly.

  “Don’t give up. You’ll meet the woman of your dreams before you know it,” Julian said, hoping to encourage his perpetually single friend.

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Kendrick said. “But I didn’t call to drag you into my pity party.”

  “You have an update on Dumay’s case?” Julian asked. Priscilla Dumay, the former owner of the Genesis Gallery, a museum for ethnographic art in St. Basil, had led a sophisticated organization that stole embryos scheduled for destruction from cryobanks. After genetically modifying the embryonic DNA, Dumay kidnapped
women and forced them to be surrogates for the designer babies she sold for top dollar to infertile desperate couples.

  “Evidence keeps piling up on Dumay. There’s no way she’ll be able to wiggle out of this, despite all of her attorneys’ stall tactics. But trying to get Tufa has been close to impossible,” Kendrick said.

  “Seems Dumay did everything to protect her brother. The surrogates weren’t able to finger him as one of the doctors that monitored the pregnancies?” Julian asked.

  “Not one of them remembered him being involved. They were all sedated for the embryo transfers and I’m guessing that’s how Dumay used his services. Just no way to prove it.”

  “Damn,” Julian muttered under his breath. The thought of Dr. Quentin Tufa not paying for his role in the crimes wasn’t sitting well with him but wasn’t much he could do from thousands of miles away.

  “Adam Russell is still claiming to have damning evidence against Dumay and Tufa, but his lawyers are playing hardball trying to negotiate complete immunity for him before he hands anything over. PIIB has placed him in witness protection while they negotiate the terms. With Adam, you and Mena, and the surrogates, Priscilla Dumay will get convicted and likely serve the rest of their lives in Tiverton,” Kendrick said.

  “No better place for them,” Julian said. Dubbed hell in paradise, Tiverton Prison was a maximum-security facility located on a remote island in the Palmchat Islands chain.

  A hand brushed against Julian’s arm. He turned to see the gallery attendant holding a clipboard with various papers attached.

  Julian said, “Thanks for the update. Keep me posted if anything changes.”

  Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Julian reached for the clipboard.

  “Just a couple of release forms for you to sign, Mr. Nix,” the woman said.

  Julian almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of her assumption but caught himself. Her label for him wasn’t too far from the truth. Mena was by far the breadwinner in the relationship, supporting them with her stipend from the fellowship. Julian contributed where he could by dipping into his savings, but it wasn’t exactly fifty-fifty.