Sweet Redemption

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter One

Grand Cayman Islands

The man exiting the private clinic set back from the ocean and hidden away behind scrub and a high wrought iron fence was a different person from the one who’d entered some six weeks earlier.

Joel decided to take one last brisk walk along Seven Mile Beach, before he’d board the private plane he’d hired to take him back to Florida.

This was the end of the road. He would no longer be Joel C. Smith when he left here. His new identity would be Jeremy Carter Stokes, and he had all the documents to prove it.

He raised a hand to shade his eyes against the bright Caribbean sun and grinned, when he spied the sign reading Hell 5 km. Tourists loved to visit and get their passports stamped or just send a postcard to prove they’d been to Hell and back. It was nothing more than a small patch of land with a tiny post office, where an overhead sign said just that one word: Hell.

Dressed in beige designer slacks, a soft blue DKNY dress shirt and expensive loafers he fit the role of a wealthy businessman on vacation. Once he was stateside again, he would assume that persona. A change of name hardly added to the emotional baggage Joel carried already, but he had big dreams, big ideas of turning back the clock and becoming the man he’d once set out to be as a college freshman.

He did not want to think further about the detours his life had taken since those days, but executed a quick U-turn to march back to the clinic in determined strides to wait for the cab he’d ordered. This was the end of the line for Joel. Hello, Jeremy Carter Stokes.

* * *

A week later Jeremy kicked back in his upmarket chair and surveyed his newly furnished office in downtown Orlando.  He’d accomplished so much in so short a time. Sighing in appreciation he lifted his size twelve boots to the highly polished surface of his desk, crossed his legs at the ankles, then laced his fingers together to cradle his head. He chuckled wryly. If he craned his neck just right, he got a glimpse of the Suntrust Bank Center. Hell, he didn’t care about the view. There was no view. He didn’t even worry whether his private detective agency would take off. In fact, he doubted he would have any clients for a while, even though he’d placed an ad on-line that he was available for private investigations. He had to do something to stay busy, while he would figure a way to help those in need without calling attention to himself.

A fleeting image of his former self, nothing more than a mental flash, crossed his vision. He didn’t like to remember his days on the streets, the time after he’d come back from Iraq, a changed man, one without guidance. His moral values had taken a nose dive by witnessing too many senseless deaths. He’d hit rock bottom. At the time he didn’t think he could sink even lower, but he had.

The sound of his front door opening jerked him back to the present. Glad that he did not have to walk down memory lane any longer he slammed his feet to the ground and stood up to greet his visitor—a woman.

The collar of his shirt felt suddenly too tight, his mouth went dry. He hadn’t expected any clients today, much less the one who stood before him in platform heels and a skirt so short—he mentally shook himself to regain his composure. His blood supply had all gone south the minute she walked in, but hell, this woman was every man’s wet dream.

Jeremy’s nerves were strung so taut they would have zinged if they were made of piano wire. What can I do for you? he asked, pretending casualness.

The young woman sauntered further into the room. Some of the swagger left her step, when she stood directly in front of him. Her tongue snaked out from between lips that were the color of red ripe cherries.

If you are Jeremy Stokes, the detective advertising on the internet, then I hope you can help me.

He waved her to one of the upholstered chairs grouped in front of his desk and sank gratefully into his own. Damn, he couldn’t have stood much longer. His knees were shaking. He randomly picked up a pen and twirled it idly between his fingers to cover for his nervousness. It took him by surprise that he would feel on edge. He was used to be in control at all times. Had the past couple of months softened his resolve?

He almost lost it, when the girl sat down, crossed her legs. He swallowed hard trying to decide whether he’d had a glimpse of a black satin thong or a thatch of pubic hair. He was still trying to breathe normally, when she leaned forward to afford him a glimpse of a pair of gorgeous breasts, barely covered by a black lace bra that sent his libido into overdrive. Judging by the slight jiggle of those puppies they were real. Oh god, down boy, this is no time to rear your greedy head, he mentally told his penis as he crossed his legs in defense.

So what is it exactly that you need help with, Miss....?

Swallowing, she said, The name is Melanie Roberts. And before you get the wrong impression, I am not some tart or hooker. I am working my way through college.

Hell, she could have fooled him.

She uncrossed her long legs and sent his fantasy into another spiral. "I’m not here about myself. I am hoping you can help me find my roommate. Jessica hasn’t come home for two days, and that is not like her. She doesn’t answer her phone or my texts.

You see we strip once or twice a week at The Tamarind. We come in disguised and we walk out incognito as well. In fact, the bouncer on duty escorts us back to our cars or calls a cab. It pays well and it is safe. It’s a really upscale club.

She saw doubt cloud his eyes. It’s better than selling yourself at the Sugar Babies sites. Sex in return for college tuition, she fumed. The owner of The Tamarind accommodates Jess and me, because the clients are mainly older men, who don’t mind dropping a bundle in a night. They actually request college students and get their rocks off watching us dance. I couldn’t begin to guess why they do that, but hey, as I said, it pays my college loans. I could waitress, I tried it once, but I got groped a lot, and I don’t like anyone touching me. She shivered.

So you are dressed for the evening, Miss Roberts?

In a way—but before I enter The Tamarind I’ll put on a wig. She cut him an exasperated look. That’s really unimportant right now. I came about Jessica. I am worried sick.

Okay, so what do you want me to do about Jessica?

Melanie licked her lips again. First I have to tell you that I don’t have a lot of money to spend, but I thought since you advertised on-line you might be more affordable. She blushed.

Jeremy relaxed. The girl was definitely not a cheap piece of ass. There was something wholesome in her demeanor. It blew his mind that she should blush. Did anyone do that anymore? He also found it endearing that she would lick her lips, which proved to him that she was not as worldly wise as she tried to make him believe.

Let’s first hear what you want me to do and then we’ll talk money. If he took the case he intended to do it pro bono. The girl didn’t look as if she could afford extra expenses. After all, it was his intention to make up for the wrongs he’d committed during the life he wanted to forget.

Melanie fidgeted with her mini skirt before she scooted to the edge of her chair. "There was this guy. He is either Hispanic or Middle Eastern. It’s hard to tell in the smoke filled room with the lights dimmed all around except the stage. All I know is that he was dark complexioned. It’s only a guess, but I think he wears one of those skinny beard lines with a close cropped goatee.

"Anyway, this guy had been coming in for almost a week and he stuffed hundred dollar bills into Jessica’s G-String. That went on until the night she disappeared. I am still trying to figure out how that could have happened.

You see he requested a private lap dance, and at first Jessica had serious reservations. We discussed it during our break. He’d offered a cool thou to have her dance for him. That covers a lot of tuition. So, we tossed the idea back and forth between us. And in the end we felt it was safe, since you only gyrate over their laps, jut your boobs at them and generally just pant. The customer is not allowed to touch you. Besides, there is a bouncer right outside the door at all times. She only needed to call for help. The rooms have but one way out, so if she’d walked out with the guy, the bouncer would have seen them, now wouldn’t he?

Jeremy nodded. Actually, he wished she hadn’t painted such an elaborate picture. He’d been at the other side of those lap dances before and he knew what they could do to a man. That makes sense. But how can you be sure the bouncer was there the whole time?

Melanie threw him a look of pure disgust. The bouncers look after us, because when we have a good night we pay them extra for escorting us to our cars.

How many bouncers does The Tamarind employ?

I think there are four guys on different shifts. We mainly deal with Joe and Bob.

So you don’t know for sure who covered the door to the room that night?

I have to be honest. I never asked.

What if Jessica was outbid?

What do you mean by that? Melanie’s eyebrows shot up in confusion.

I mean what if her John or whatever you call those guys greased Joe’s or Bob’s palm ahead of time? You said the client stuffed Jessica’s G-String with hundreds. What would keep him from bribing a bouncer to turn his head or be absent for a few minutes, while he smuggled Jessica out? Or could she have willingly gone with him?

I doubt Jessica would have gone with the man. She’d joked that he was sexy, lean, dark and dangerous. She shivered when she told me that. At the time I thought she was excited about doing a lap dance for him, but now I think it was more a case of nerves.

Do you think he could have persuaded her to go with him of her own free will?

Melanie shifted in her seat. The bouncer would have seen her leave. She would have said something, I would think. But Joe swears that his man didn’t see her leave.

Ah, so Joe blames the other man, which could mean that my guess is correct and he was paid off to turn the other way. And when did they realize that the room was empty? Someone is covering up or outright lying, because that someone wasn’t on duty, when he should have been. Have you contacted the police?

Melanie’s hands flew to her throat. Heavens no. First off they want to wait forty-eight hours before they declare a person missing and second nobody can know what we are stripping.

Jeremy scratched his head. Tell you what. I’m going to check out The Tamarind tonight and see what I can find out. Where can I reach you?

She gave him her cell number. But we haven’t discussed your fee yet, she said softly, her eyes boring into his with a desperate plea for understanding.

I haven’t done anything yet, and I don’t know what I can accomplish. So, as far as I’m concerned you don’t owe me anything. When the time comes, we’ll discuss it again.

Something flashed across her eyes. Her expression became drawn, then her voice followed suit and her sentences became clipped. I’m a stripper, not a hooker. I intend to pay. I have a little saved up and to me it’s worth spending where Jessica’s safety is concerned. We’ve been friends since high school.

Jeremy eyed her through narrowed eyes. Christ, she’d misunderstood him. She thought he wanted to take his fee out in trade. During their conversation he had gained a better insight about her. It cut him right to the bone that his suggestion had put her on the defense. It awed him that she was willing to spend whatever piddling savings she managed to set aside to help her friend. Not many people would offer to spend their hard earned money these days on someone else, friend or not. He wanted to confide in her about his own checkered past, his need to make good, but he knew better than to dump that kind of baggage on a stranger.

He cleared his throat to rid himself of that pity party thought and cast her a steely look. Let’s get this straight. I don’t get involved with my clients. Since you are my first one at this location I decided to take on your case on a pro bono basis.

He almost exhaled a sigh of relief for having come up with the line of at this location. He held up a hand to quell the protest he saw coming. No, I really want to do that. If it pans out, it will be great publicity for me. Of course, I would never use your name. That remains client privilege. So don’t worry.

He stood, indicating that their discussion was over. I’ll be there tonight. What time will you go on?

Melanie blushed again. I start at five o’clock and get off at eleven. My boss understands that I need to study.

She rummaged through her purse, pulled out a photo and scribbled something on the back before she handed it to him. That’s Jessica just a couple of months ago. Oh, and her last name is Parker. That’s my cell number on the back.

He accepted the photo and stared into a pair of guileless blue eyes peering candidly back at him from a face that looked sun kissed and filled with hope. Once, an eternity ago he must have looked that way himself. That was before Iraq, before losing friends to I.E.Ds in a war he would never quite understand after fighting spineless enemies dressed in women’s clothing or hiding in Mosques.

He looked up in time to see Melanie sashay out of the office with the same confident strut she’d walked in, but now Jeremy knew that it was nothing more than an act.  The real Melanie Roberts was shy and reserved, though the Melanie Roberts who tried to work her way through college could put on the believable act of a regular siren.

Chapter Two

As soon as Melanie closed the door behind her Jeremy opened his laptop. He googled Sugar Babies. He was no stranger to these disreputable sites that could allege legitimacy, since they claimed to do thorough background checks on all clients and according to their disclaimers they dealt only with consenting adults.

Yeah, he was familiar with those sites all right, since he’d trolled worse ads for his former boss. Backpage.com came to mind. A site where pimps can advertise their hookers without consequence. Worse yet, he was aware that it accounted for seventy percent of America’s prostitution ads. Of course, the attorney general from California was striving hard to put an end to the site. Even if she succeeded there was no guarantee that a site just like it wouldn’t pop up elsewhere. In the meantime young unsuspecting girls were put into the path of harm.

Jeremy snorted his disgust. Few people wanted to believe that white slavery wasn’t a far-fetched idea. Hell, it happened every day right here in America. Young girls and boys were sold into a sordid world of illicit sex and drugs, and most of them were never seen again.

Had Jessica landed in one of these horror houses? He raked a hand through his hair. If she was anything like Melanie, then she was a babe in the woods. The girls stripped for a lark, thinking the money was easy and would pay off their student loans. Good grief, they had no idea what could befall them.

It rankled him that Backpage was owned by Village Voice Media and that companies like Goldman Sachs, Trimaran Capital and Alta Communications had stakes in that shameful site. Why was everything about the money these days?

And there goes the pot calling the kettle black he chided himself privately. He’d done his share of crimes, even if it was with the sanction of the American military. He did what he swore to do and many times he had to kill to save his own life. War was hell. General William Tecumseh Sherman said that as far back as 1863. Little did he know that hell could even get worse in the decades to come. You had to put it behind you and go on with your life. Only it wasn’t as easily done as you could repeat platitudes.

He buried his face in his hands to get his emotions under control, because he knew that every time he tried to get on with his new life, he hit a snag. Would he ever get past it? Could he redeem himself if to no one but at least to the man in the mirror?

He checked the time on his computer. It was almost six o’clock. No wonder his stomach growled. He’d forgotten to eat lunch. Cutting a glance at the glass fronted door, he unlocked the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a loaded Sig Sauer. He grimaced. It had always been his weapon of choice and he could still hear the FBI agent telling him that he could keep his gun. "We know that once we turn you loose, you’ll find another pistol within the day." That statement would forever run through his mind.

They’d known so damn much about him. It also reminded him that he could never be sure if he had made the right choice, when he decided against accepting their offer to put him into the Witness Protection Program. Shit, he still didn’t know what possessed him to hop on his motorbike and chase off into the night instead of going meekly along with the agents and start a new life. Maybe it had been the word handler that set him off. He wanted to be his own man, not someone’s trained puppy. Why he would still think about that scenario, he’d never know. There was no going back.

Shrugging, he checked the safety before he shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants and exchanged the jacket of his business suit for a casual one. After he’d packed up his laptop, he carefully locked the door of his office behind him.

With a quick look around he ducked into the nearby parking garage to retrieve his brand-new black Toyota Camry. Although he believed that the best way to hide was out in the open and right under the noses of those looking for you, he remained vigilant.

He chuckled without humor as he beeped the car. Wasn’t there a saying that thieves and murderers returned inevitably to the scene of their crimes? He was guilty of both, but he justified his actions by contending that he killed in self-defense and the money had been earned. Some day he hoped to clear his name. There was one witness who could attest to his innocence, but would she be willing to do so? Would it grant him his fondest wish that he could resume his former life?

He slid behind the wheel, setting his laptop on the passenger side floor and checked himself out in the rearview mirror. You fool, he spat at his image. The best you can do is what you decided when you chucked the idea of the Witness Protection Program. Go and help others. He savagely jammed the car into reverse and drove out of the garage.

Jeremy had googled The Tamarind and knew it was off Orange Blossom Trail. On the way he stopped at a Burger King and ordered a Whopper all the way with fries and a coke. He wolfed his meal down while driving, keeping a sharp eye out for the entrance to the club.

He expected an unpretentious façade and was not disappointed. The club resembled a Spanish style mansion. The cars parked in the adjoining lot ranged from Cadillac to Porsche to Mercedes. Melanie had not exaggerated when she boasted that The Tamarind was upscale. As he edged his Camry into a dark corner of the lot, a limo drove up.

Jeremy had doused his headlights the minute he drove through the gate. No need to give up his license plate to the hidden cameras he knew would be strategically planted. He avidly watched via his rearview mirror as the chauffeur opened the backdoor of the vehicle. An elegantly dressed man stepped out, adjusted the jacket of his stylishly cut suit, then held out his hand for another passenger.

Jeremy whistled under his breath, when a slender woman stepped from the limo, her face obscured by a dark curtain of exquisitely groomed long hair. The Tamarind apparently catered to couples as well as single men, or were these two here for a threesome? Then again, appearances could be deceiving. The lovely lady might not be a lady at all. He snorted in derision.

By the time Jeremy entered the foyer, the couple was nowhere to be seen. However, a bouncer doubling as Maître D’ intercepted him before he had a chance to go further.

"Are you here for the evening alone, sir, or are you meeting with another party? His tone of voice implied that Jeremy might not fit into the exclusive surroundings of The Tamarind.

Jeremy’s face remained expressionless, while he sized up the beefy man and wondered if that was Joe, the head bouncer. Slipping a casual hand into his pants pocket, he retrieved a gold money clip and extracted a hundred dollar bill, which he held between two fingers.

Do you think you could find me a table, kind of to the right of the stage and in the dark?

The bouncer didn’t flinch, but snatched up the money with practiced ease. We do have a cover charge for the evening. He named the price and Jeremy peeled another couple of bills from the wad he carried without so much as a murmur of protest.

If you follow me, I have just the table you are looking for, sir. There was grudging respect in the man’s voice as he led the way into the main room. Jeremy allowed his mouth to curve into a cynical smile thinking that the man would definitely remember him, if he came again, and he certainly would respond to money.

Jeremy took quick stock of dark interior. He counted a total of ten single men sitting at small private tables within easy reach of the stage. Some had stacks of bills in front of them, while they idly sipped or even gulped mixed drinks.

His eyes cut to the stage, where three girls in varying stages of undress gyrated their lithe bodies in sexual innuendo. Damn, but those girls were good. He hadn’t come to get turned on, but he suddenly felt a sliver of heat creeping up his collar. He almost missed the bouncer’s curt wave at the table he’d picked for him.

A waitress sidled up to him with sensual smile. What can I bring you, doll? She was dressed in a pink knock-off Playboy bunny suit that fit her as if someone had poured it on her.

Jeremy refused to react to her little game. He ordered Scotch on the rocks. Plain, no garnish.

Coming up, sweet cheeks, the girl chirped and wriggled her ass as she left.

His attention was drawn to the stage at that moment when they started to play a tune by The Eurythmics. He remembered it vaguely as Sweet Dreams are made of this. Something about some people want to use you, but he couldn’t remember it all. Besides, he was too busy to check out the new girl, who had entered the stage.

The schoolgirl outfit she wore came off in quick stages to reveal a body that had the power to make Jeremy forget the reason he’d come to The Tamarind. His mouth went dry and he was glad the waitress had brought his drink, because he needed it. He gulped down a good portion of the Scotch, no longer feeling pity for the rest of the men gawking helplessly, aware that he’d just joined the masses.

Good Lord, he’d never seen such long, elegant legs. Those breasts would fill his hands, and they were real. Her waist was small and her ass looked so tight he was sure she could crack walnuts if she cared to do so. She was not some cheap floozy, she was a class act.

And at that moment it dawned on him that he was staring at Melanie. Heavily made-up eyes, a beauty mark at the side of her lacquered lips together with a red wig transformed her into the seductress she tried to portray.

Jeremy felt the greatest urge to storm the stage and drag her off it. Geez, where had that idea come from? He had no right. She was old enough to make her own decisions. But damn it, she was too good to have strangers stare at her and get their rocks off by fondling themselves under their tables.

Someone reached for her, but she playfully danced out of the man’s way, though she accepted the money and tucked into the red satin G-String that barely covered her Mons and ran between her butt cheeks like a road marker to sin.

Jeremy realized he was sweating bullets. He ran a hand through his hair and motioned the waitress to bring him another drink.

As she sat it down, she murmured, I can take a request to her if you like. She shoved a fresh cocktail napkin toward him. FYI. She is very popular, but apart from dancing on tables, she never does lap dances. She chuckled throatily. You look like you could use more than just a lap dance, buddy. Leaning closer, she whispered, I’ll get a break in fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you out back if you want. It’ll cost you, but at least you won’t go home with blue balls. Joe turns a blind eye to what we do on break as long as we give him a cut. She sashayed off, the silk of her stockings a whisper of seduction.

Jeremy hadn’t been with a woman for several months. There had been the recuperation period in The Cayman’s to begin with, and since he’d come back to Orlando he simply hadn’t had time nor had he felt the urge to take one to bed. If nothing else, this waitress might be able to supply him with answers to some questions.

By the time he looked up again Melanie had finished her dance and left the stage. He drank the rest of his Scotch and got up.

The night air did nothing to cool his skin. Man, he was hot in more ways than one. Looking right and left, he disappeared behind the building. He wished he had a cigarette, but he’d given them up months ago and he wasn’t about to start again.

It surprised him that the area directly behind The Tamarind club had been groomed into a lush garden paradise. Several hibiscus bushes were arranged into semi circles that hid upholstered swings from direct view. Judging by the grunts and giggles it appeared that some clients had gotten there ahead of him. Christ, what was he thinking? He was not some horny kid.

He turned to leave, when the waitress came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Her hand went straight for his