Killer Moves Read online

  Sweat trickled down the side of her face and her T-shirt—wet with perspiration—clung to her skin. A humid breeze from the ocean sailed through the Crepe Myrtle trees that ran next to the jogging path. Aisha Khatri, petite in size, was an everyday sight in the park.

  Four minutes later Aisha slowed down, coming to a stop near a chipped green bench rife with engravings by lovelorn couples with sharp blades. Sinking on the bench, Aisha grabbed a thick wad of tissues from her track pants and used them to reach under and pull out a fanny pack. Ninety-nine percent of people not wanting to touch anything undesirable used gloves; Aisha used her tissues. Those who observed her would probably label her a “germaphobe” and Aisha would not correct them. Only she knew that it wasn’t the bacteria, a living organism, that she was avoiding. She was avoiding something far worse and rather dead.

  Taking out a small water bottle, she drank the few ounces in a long swallow. Sitting back, Aisha caught her breath and watched the other runners, comparing their style and form with her own. After nearly two decades of jogging, she could distinguish the experienced runners from those who were merely trying to break their new shoes.

  “Morning, Aisha!” A buxom older lady with short salt and pepper hair, a broad smile, and broader hips, sank on the bench nearby.

  Inwardly Aisha groaned. “Morning, Roberts aunty!”

  “So, done your fifty kilometers?”

  Aisha smiled at the standard joke between them. “Nope, did a hundred today!”

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Just run to Lonavla instead?” Aisha finished for her.

  Ms. Roberts harrumphed. “So, tell me, what happens to that girl who was hit by the car on Friday?”

  Aisha tossed her a sly smile. “You know I’m not going to reveal the suspense of my show.”

  Mrs. Roberts harrumphed again.

  “Aisha, I have a senior citizen kitty at my place tomorrow. Please ask your father to join us. I have asked him so many times.” Mrs. Roberts’ fair and flabby face crinkled in a most unbecoming way. Aisha was reminded of a pug.

  “You know how he is!”

  Fifty-something, Diana Roberts nursed a crush on Aisha’s father, sixty-six-year-old retired Supreme Court Judge Rakesh Shankar Khatri, who could give men a decade younger an inferiority complex with his straight back, fit appearance, and brilliant wit. After Aisha’s mother’s untimely demise sixteen years ago, her father had never remarried. Aisha knew in her way—like the woman of the house does—that her father liked the company of the fairer sex and vice versa. However, he had never brought anyone home or remarried.

  Aisha flexed her foot as she glanced at her watch. “I’ll see you la—”

  Diana Roberts wasn’t finished. “I saw Kiara’s latest picture in Vogue. Very nice but very exposing. Almost her private—”

  “I thought she looked great!” Aisha snapped, her eyes narrowing. The older woman took the hint and stayed quiet.

  Aisha had raised her twenty-year-old niece Kiara Khatri, aka Kia, as a mother. Kiara’s parents had died when she was an infant and her paternal grandparents had adopted her. Kiara’s mother’s side of the family was not the kind you wanted to raise a child in. That is why even Kiara’s mother had run away from home when she was sixteen.

  Four years after her brother and sister-in-law’s demise, Aisha’s mother too had died after a short but painful struggle with pancreatic cancer. That was the day Aisha had changed. Literally. Aisha had been fifteen then.

  Aisha realized that Ms. Roberts was staring at her, expecting her to say something. “Gotta go! I’ll ask Papa one more time.”

  Grabbing her fanny pack, Aisha briskly headed outside the park, nodding to the regular folks but not stopping to talk to anyone. Once inside her building complex—Villa Bell Towers, Aisha waited for the elevator, her mood introspective.

  Tactless old bat!

  Diana Roberts, with her judgmental comment about Kiara, had crushed whatever happy endorphins had been swimming in Aisha’s blood stream.

  Aisha and Kiara were always thick as thieves, compadres in crime, mother and daughter, sisters and best friends! But not since the past year. To be exact, not since Kiara had decided to follow her late mother Zara Kaur’s footsteps and became a model.

  Aisha frowned while punching the elevator buttons, the thick wad of tissues between her fingertips and the elevator button.

  Kiara with her five-feet-eleven slim build and sharp looks was an instant success in the modeling world. Agencies opened their doors for her like a mother embracing her child. Aisha had fought with Kiara to continue in academics for she was a brilliant student, but Kiara had chosen to pursue both.

  Eventually, Kiara had modeled more and studied less. Aisha’s father—Kiara’s grandfather—had declared himself as a ‘no fire zone.’ Aisha was fighting a lonely and losing war.

  All I’m trying to do is save Kia from becoming a disaster like her mother!

  Chapter 4

  Aisha took the elevator to the seventh floor and used her keys to open a dark double-paneled wooden door that had a festive gold and red toran2 hanging above.

  Her father was sitting across from the window in the living room and glanced up as she came inside. As always, he had an autobiography in his hand. Today it was Steve Jobs.’ “There you are. The driver is here. You are getting late for work.”

  “Yes, Papa. Going for a shower.” Aisha turned to the young girl sitting at the dining table, wearing a bright frock of yellow and pink flowers and oiled hair neatly tied in two braids. She had a fifth-class English book open in front of her. “Pinky is breakfast ready?”

  The maid pushed the chair back. “Yes, Didi.”

  “No, no, you study. I’ll serve myself after the shower. Is Kia up?”

  Pinky burrowed herself in her book.

  A quick shower later, Aisha donned one of her many cotton skirts and a short-sleeved peasant blouse. She tied her waist-length dark hair in a sloppy bun on her nape, lined her eyes with eyeliner and then took some time in choosing her favorite accessories—jhumkis3. Shoving her phone and charger in her colorful cloth bag, Aisha cast a last glance at her neat room and walked out. Pinky was no longer on the dining table.

  The door of Kiara’s room was shut.

  I’ll say a quick bye if she is not sleeping.

  Aisha knew the door would be open; Kiara never remembered to lock doors, be it her room or the house. The room was empty and moderately untidy.

  Where has she gone so early in the morning? A cold sensation crept up her spine. Aisha shivered. This is not good.

  Aisha quickly moved away from the door. “Papa, Kia is not in her room.”

  Her father continued to read his book. Pinky came out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee and a plate of toast in her hand. “Pinky, where’s Kia?”

  Darting quick glances at Aisha’s dad, Pinky offloaded the food on the table. “Didi . . . breakfast.” She fled to the safety of the kitchen.

  “Okay stop! What is going on? Where is Kiara?”

  Her father shut the book with a snapping sound. “Aisha, come and sit here,” He used his ‘judge voice,’ the one that silenced hardened criminals and seasoned lawyers alike.

  Aisha sank in the chair across from him. Her nerves danced and tingled as if a spider was crawling on her skin.

  “How old are you?”

  “Seriously?” Aisha muttered.

  “Speak up and don’t mumble.”

  “Thirty-two this April. Also, I’m getting late for work. As you said, the driver is waiting.”

  “And how old is Kiara?”

  “Twenty, but she acts twelve.” Aisha puckered her heart-shaped mouth, irritated.

  “So, you are not prehistoric, and Kiara is not a baby. Let her breathe and you go live a life. You have done enough for her and me.”

  “Papa, I have a life and a career.”

  “Your career of writing dialogs and concept notes for TV shows is the only thing that is fake about you, Aisha. I k
now you don’t like your job.” His father’s sharp eyes bore into her.

  “Papa, it has paid our bills along with your pension. That is what has helped us live a certain lifestyle, so I’m very appreciative of it.” Aisha played with the ring on her finger.

  “Yes, it has, and you are right. But now you can take it easy. Kiara makes more money than you and I did in the last decade.”

  Aisha snorted. “Money is not the only criteria. She has to enjoy what she does.”

  “She enjoys it, Aisha. You are not seeing it because you don’t want to.”

  “Papa, the industry she works in is shallow and superfluous. Vain . . . exploitative. I could keep going.”

  “You are confusing Kiara with Zara.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not calling Kia a druggie or a sl—” Aisha felt her chest tighten.

  The retired judge adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Kiara has an excellent upbringing. She is strong, confident, has a good head on her shoulders, and is smart enough to judge people and situations aptly. Thanks to you.”

  Aisha could only stare at her father. Emotional words were as rare to him as Halley’s Comet.

  “It’s true. I was selfish like most men are. We had barely got over your brother’s death when your mother passed away.” His eyes turned down. “I let you, a child herself, become that person who held this family together. You helped Kiara and me to breathe and function normally. You helped us rise above the tragedy. It was my job, but I let you do it because it was the easier option.”

  Aisha leaned over and squeezed her father’s knee. “It’s okay! I loved being that person. It’s an honor to be that person.”

  Her father patted her hand rather quickly. He wasn’t big on physical gestures. A pat was an equivalent of a hug, and he had patted her hand twice already. “Kiara is your life and you are hers. Don’t dig in your heels, Aisha. Don’t force Kiara away. Otherwise, she might start hanging out with the wrong set of people. Also, you should now start doing things women your age do.”

  Aisha raised an eyebrow. “And what do women my age do?”

  “They have a family, a husband, a few kids.”

  “I have a kid.”

  “Kiara is your niece, not your child. You need to realize that. Someday, she will find out about what really happened to her parents. She will need you most then.”

  Aisha blinked. “Why would she find out? Did she say something to you? Did you say something to her?”

  Her father shook his head. “You coerced our relatives and me to lie about how her parents died. And now, in hindsight, I don’t think it was a good idea. I’m just saying it is better she hears from us than from some stranger. She is meeting many people now. The truth is bound to come out.”

  “How do I tell Kiara that her mother was dealing drugs to socialites or getting high and sleeping with half of the fashion industry? Or that her mother was the reason Kiara’s honest-to-god cop father—my brother and your son—was shot multiple times? Kiara was a foot away from him in her crib.” Aisha’s chest heaved and there were red spots on her cheeks. “Somewhere, I have made peace with the cancer that took mummy away from us, but I can’t forgive my brother’s murder because of the bi . . . witch of his wife.”

  “Zara was murdered too.”

  “She brought it on herself.” Aisha sucked in her cheeks.

  “They burned her alive, Aisha. Nobody deserves that.”

  Aisha rubbed her eyes. She could feel a headache developing behind her eyes. That was not good. “So, where is Kiara, Papa?”

  “Handle it like an adult, Aisha. Kiara said yes to the whiskey calendar shoot and has gone to Goa for a week. She will be back on Sunday.”

  The chills found her again. The sun dimmed, plunging the bright room in unexpected darkness.

  Aisha shot from her chair. The darkness disappeared. The room became bright again as it was a few seconds ago.

  Spooked, Aisha rubbed her forearms trying to flatten the goosebumps on her skin.

  What is going on? What the heck just happened?

  “Aisha! Are you okay?”

  “I am. I am.” Aisha caught the concern on her father’s face. Taking a few deep breaths, she sat back in her chair. “Can’t say the same for your granddaughter. I should have spanked her when she was younger. How can she go off like this? And to Goa? For a beer calendar?”

  “It’s whiskey! Aisha, you can’t watch over Kiara every minute. Tell her about her parents so she can understand why you are so neurotic about her going out of town. Everyone should know the truth about themselves. Kiara is your niece and one day you will realize that you need and deserve more. In your shows, you get your women characters married five times even though they represent the most regressive kind of thinking. Yet, you can’t find one man for yourself.”

  “We do that just for the ratings,” Aisha grumbled.

  Retired Justice Rakesh Shankar Khatri shook his head and went back to his book. “Stop bothering me and go to work.”

  Aisha turned on her heel and went to her room. “I’m going for sure but not to work!” With a frown playing on her forehead, she started throwing some clothes in a bag.

  Where are all these cold sensations coming to me from and why? This hasn’t happened before. Is Kiara in danger?

  2 Torans are used to decorate the main entrance of the home.

  3 Jhumkis are hanging earrings.

  Chapter 5

  Around the Same Time, Inside an SUV

  Somewhere on Mumbai-Goa Highway

  Kabir Rana rested his elbow on the leather console, adjusting his dark shades as he steered the wheel with his other hand. Kabir had dropped the “Prince” tag from his name more than a decade ago. Now he was simply Kabir Rana, an Ad Maker and fashion photographer. His cell rang. He took the call on the SUV’s Bluetooth.

  “Hi! Heading to Goa?” A familiar voice flooded the car’s interior.

  “Hello to you too, Shreya! Yeah, for the annual week-long calendar shoot. Young beautiful women, aged whiskey, and beaches! What more could a man ask for?” Despite his answer, Kabir’s expression was not that of a man looking forward to the things he had just described, but rather that of someone angry at the thought of what he would have to endure.

  “Try and enjoy, Kabir. Do mingle, socialize, and date, for goodness sake. It has been six years since the incident.” Shreya’s tone was gentle.

  Kabir was silent. They both knew what Shreya—his best friend of so many years and a psychiatrist—was alluding to. Six years ago, Kabir’s beautiful young wife Lavina Salve had committed suicide by jumping from their twelfth-floor apartment. She was only twenty-seven. Many in the media and police considered Kabir the murderer—the one who got away. After all, Lavina had jumped off while he had been sleeping in the next room.

  Suspicious. Damning.

  Kabir’s knuckles on the wheel tightened to the point they whitened.

  “Hey, you there?”

  “Sorry, was just reading a text.” Kabir lied, pressing his foot on the pedal.

  The scenery whizzed past him. In his rearview mirror, he saw the vehicles following him that carried the models, his ad team, and the personal staff reduced to specks.

  “Why don’t you talk about it? I won’t even charge you!” Shreya teased.

  A side of Kabir’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “I will pay you to stay out of my head.”

  Shreya chuckled. Kabir could imagine her shake her short bob as her small eyes crinkled at the corners. He reduced the speed of the car.

  “Fine, have it your way. Now, give me the details. Who is the best-looking model?”

  “Since when did you start batting for the other side?” Kabir quipped.

  “Ha ha! I wish. Just want to know my competition . . . in case I ever decide to become a model.” Shreya retorted.

  “I would make you a model for sure . . . but twenty years—” Kabir ended his thoughtless utterance. That was the time he had suffered a loss that had scarred him forever. It h
adn’t left Shreya unscathed either.

  “Give me a name, Kabir.”

  Shifting in the soft leather seat, Kabir played along. “Kiara Khatri.”

  “Kiara! Hmmm. Describe her?”

  Kabir smiled. “She’s five-eleven with doe-shaped dark eyes, classical Mehr Jessica cheekbones, a full mouth, deep brown thick hair, and legs that don’t end.”

  “You already sound half in love with her.”

  “That was my professional opinion as her boss.”

  “I’m sure her personality is rocking too!” Shreya insisted.

  “Kiara has been with my agency for years now, but this is her first shoot with me.”

  “Kabir, you have to take her out for at least one date.” Shreya egged him on.

  “I’m her boss, Shreya.”

  “Then fire her and ask her out on a date.” Shreya laughed.

  Kabir smiled at the sound. Shreya’s happiness was fundamental to Kabir. He knew that she knew that, but she also knew that Kabir would never say it.

  Kabir changed the topic. “So, when do you get back?”

  “In a month and a half. What, are you missing me already?”

  “Always!” Kabir replied with no hesitation.

  Shreya was his only family even though she wasn’t related to him. His life was a cracked mirror in an empty house—it could reflect light but owned no light of its own.

  “May I remind you, I’m just a seventeen-hour flight away?”

  Shreya was in Boston, USA, for a couple of months, pursuing essential certifications related to her profession.

  “We’ll grab dinner when you get back.”

  “And a movie?”

  “Yes, and a movie as long as I get to choose.”

  “Fine, deal! Hold on; I’m getting a text.” Shreya paused. “Darn it. This is important. Don’t forget to ask that Kiara out. Gotta go. Bye, bud!” She disconnected the call.

  “Bye!” Kabir murmured to an empty car.

  Shreya was a whirlwind of energy, hard to pin down. Here a moment and gone another. She always blamed her lousy organizing skills, but Kabir knew better. Having lost her mother at an early age, then her father when she was eighteen, and after one short-lived and unhappy marriage, Shreya—just like him—was focused on work.