Stone Cold

by Kristi Belcamino

  I followed him warily, keeping most of my body shielded at first until I saw what he was talking about. The two men were kicking up sand and racing back toward the boat.

  “Do they think a helicopter can’t follow a boat?” I said. But then I noticed that the helm of the boat held a small machine gun. That had been the first sound of shooting I’d heard when the boat had approached the shore.

  The bone-thudding chop of the helicopter was right on top of us, but I couldn’t see anything. Then it rose like a specter above the rocky outcropping beside us.

  The two men reached the boat. One man hoisted himself into the boat and hopped behind the machine gun as the other pushed the boat with a thrust into the waves.

  But by then the helicopter was upon them.

  A man with a shotgun was leaning out the open door of the helicopter. He picked the men off one-by-one. They crumpled into the boat where I could no longer see them.

  The phone rang again.

  Nico’s face scrunched as he tried to listen over the noise of the helicopter, which was now leaving, heading back over the rocks from where it had come.

  “Yes. Give us five minutes.” He hung up and reached for my hand with his right one. I noticed a splotch of blood was seeping through his shirt’s fabric at the shoulder. That’s when I realized he’d fired the two guns using both hands.

  He tugged at me and started walking back along the beach in the direction of his house. About five minutes later, we reached a spot where the beach was once again at the same level as the road that ran parallel to it.

  A big dark SUV pulled up, and we hopped in the back.

  He strapped on his seat belt. I didn’t.

  I turned my entire body to him.

  “Let’s talk avocados,” I said.

  38

  “It is a billion-dollar industry in Michoacán,” he said.

  Michoacán was between this beach town and Mexico City, which was some 400 miles inland.

  “You said billion. With a ‘b’?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories of the violence in that area. It all stems from the war over the avocado industry. We’d taken it over last year. I didn’t like how the Rivas Cartel was treating the workers. And the money was being funneled toward more drugs. So, we took over control of the industry. We keep it separate from the drug trade.”

  “And reaping some of those billions was no motivation at all for you, was it?” I said.

  He ignored my sarcasm. “Recently, the Rivas Cartel has been intercepting our deliveries and killing our soldiers in very public and horrific ways. Not only to shame me, but to make me look bad to the rest of the world.”

  “Like what?”

  “You heard about the dance floor?”

  I squinted, remembering. When I did, my eyes popped open. “The one where they rolled five heads onto the dance floor at that club?”

  I didn’t tell him that ever since Rosalie had come into my life, I had been paying a lot of attention to the news out of Mexico.

  “Yes,” he said and winced. “They were the heads of five of my top soldiers in Michoacán. It was before we knew they had moved in. It was an ambush.”

  I remembered hearing that there had been retaliation for those slayings. Five bodies had been strung up on a wall in town with a warning sign that El Jefe’s vengeance was swift and deadly.

  It was tit for tat.

  It was also, if I remembered correctly, what had prompted the president of Mexico to officially declare a war on drugs.

  “That’s your war?” I said looking at the driver’s head in the front seat. If he was interested in what we had to say he was hiding it well.

  “Si,” he said. He’d slipped into Spanish.

  “You are at war, and yet you want me to hand over a small child into your care?”

  He sighed loudly, clearly exasperated.

  “Yes, Gia. As I mentioned earlier, I am never without armed guards. My house in Mexico City is a fortress. Nobody can get within three miles of it without receiving a welcoming committee that would make your U.S. Special Forces team proud.

  “I believe that,” I said. “That’s why I, um, decided to meet up with you here instead.”

  “She will be utterly safe. I pledge my own life to this.”

  “What kind of life would that be for her?” I said. “Locked in some mansion in Mexico City?”

  He didn’t answer. He just looked out the window.

  We pulled up to the gates to his house. They opened and the SUV slipped into a subterranean garage.

  Before he opened the door, he turned to me. “Would you care to visit my home in Mexico City?”

  “Sure,” I said. Why not?

  The truth was, I had no idea what the hell I was doing in Mexico with Nico Ortiz Morales. I sure as hell wasn’t talking him out of going after Rosalie. At least it didn’t feel like it. Although he had paused when I asked him what kind of life he would be giving her as a prisoner in a Mexico City fortress. I’d keep pressing that point.

  Since I was fairly confident I was not going to kill him unless he tried to kill me first, persuading him to see my side was my only hope.

  39

  Anthony was livid.

  Nico didn’t blame him.

  The attorney called while Nico was in the car driving to his estate in San Miguel de Allende with Gia.

  “I find it completely and utterly irresponsible and foolish for you to have dismissed your guards at the beach house. Do you have a death wish, Nico?” he said. He didn’t wait for a reply, he just kept ranting. “You will not be a very good father to the child if you are dead. We spend hundreds of thousands of dollars each year to keep you safe. The budget for the security team we employ is insane. Not to mention, I spent the entire last week trying to make peace with the Mexican president who is ready to disavow you to curry world favor. And this is how you repay me? You thank me by nearly getting yourself murdered?”

  Nico waited until Anthony had stopped talking, and the only sound through the phone was heavy breathing.

  “It all turned out well,” he said.

  “That is all you have to say?”

  “No. Any luck with finding some accountants for us to interview?”

  Anthony exhaled loudly before answering. “Yes. I have three lined up. For next week. Thursday at ten. In your Mexico City loft. We will stay the night there Wednesday.”

  “Excellent,” Nico said. “I will call the avocado attorney and tell her we will meet with her and her staff in two weeks’ time.”

  “Maybe we should wait until the meeting with the accountants.”

  “No,” Nico said quickly. “I’m done waiting.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’m on my way to the estate. But I have a guest. A woman. I would prefer not to be disturbed for at least the next forty-eight hours. Then I will meet you at the loft before our meeting.”

  “You have a guest? It’s that woman, isn’t it? What are you doing, Nico?”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Nico growled and shot an irritated glance at Gia.

  “Just a second, Nico,” Anthony said. Nico heard someone speaking to Anthony. The conversation was muffled. Then Anthony returned to the line. “I’m sorry but there is something pressing that cannot wait. I need you to come to Mexico City immediately. We can have the accountant candidates meet us tomorrow afternoon instead.”

  “What is it, Anthony? Why the urgency?” Nico was on alert, triggered by the tone of his attorney’s voice.

  “It has to do with Rosalie’s mother and the family.”

  “Spill it,” he said impatiently.

  “I have someone here who claims you are not, in fact, Rosalie’s father.”

  Nico’s breath caught in his throat. His heart thudded in his chest. No. Impossible.

  “What?”

  “Please come immediately.”

  “I’ll be there at four.”

  40

  “This is where she wou
ld live,” Nico said as we walked into his home.

  The home wasn’t actually in Mexico City, and it wasn’t actually a house. It was a fucking luxury estate with breathtaking views.

  We were in an area some 200 miles northwest of the capital city. This village was high above Mexico City, which I had just learned was nestled in an area called the Valley of The Damned.

  During our drive, El Jefe explained that Mexico City lay in a highlands plateau that stretched across Mexico and was surrounded by mountains and volcanoes. The valley was the hub for ancient civilizations such as the Teotihuacans, Toltecs, and the Aztecs.

  “I have a penthouse in the city, but I never stay there,” he said. “It was mainly where Sylvia stayed when she went into the city. That is where I need to meet Anthony today. But first I wanted to get you settled in.”

  It was the first time he’d said his wife’s name. I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see if he would seem weird when speaking her name to me. He didn’t react at all.

  This home in San Miguel de Allende was gorgeous. The property was gated and thick with trees. After we left the main road and entered a gate heavily guarded by at least four men, we drove another half mile to the top of a small hill where the house was, behind yet another gate and fence. More armed men were at this gate, and I could see several others stationed along the fence line to both sides.

  “You probably need a nice piece of the avocado action just to pay for your small army of guards,” I said.

  To my surprise, he laughed and shook his head. “True. Very true.”

  There was a small space in front of the house where a car could park, but we dipped to the right and drove around the massive structure to an attached garage tucked at the back of the home. I craned my head to look up at the house above us. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like the top of the garage space might be a massive patio covered with potted palms and overlooking the valley below.

  As soon as we walked inside, a man had taken Nico’s arm and whispered in his ear.

  “Excuse me just a moment, Gia. I have an important call I must take.”

  I wandered the first floor, admiring the art on the walls and the sculptures scattered strategically around on flat surfaces. I didn’t know a ton about art, but it all looked fucking expensive. And tasteful.

  Nico returned, looking as if he were now miles away. But still he smiled at me.

  “My apologies. My attorney is very bossy. He demands I come immediately.”

  “You don’t need to show me around,” I said.

  “Please. I am not a heathen,” he said.

  We stepped into an elevator with one of the armed guards who stood with his arms crossed, face expressionless. He wore his rig on the outside of his shirt in case anyone had any doubt he was packing.

  Nico ignored him entirely. I decided to follow suit.

  The elevator doors opened up to a massive living room filled with plush seating arrangements, two fireplaces, and windows that offered sweeping views of the city below on one side. The arches between rooms were whimsical curves, and heavy wooden beams gave the room a slight cave like feel.

  Nico turned to the armed man, who’d stepped out of the elevator with us.

  “Please wait for us here as I give my guest a quick tour of this floor,” he said.

  The man nodded and leaned against the wall by the elevator door.

  El Jefe gestured to the windows. “The glass is bulletproof,” he said.

  He led me through an ornate living room and into a kitchen that opened up into a massive interior courtyard filled with plants and fountains and mosaics inlaid in tables, walls, and the patio floor.

  We walked to the center of the courtyard. Looking up, I saw that the second and third floors were rimmed by an open hallway looking down on the courtyard, but on the side facing the valley there was a solid wall.

  “That is where the master suite and guest room are,” he said, noticing my gaze. “They are separated from the rest of the estate for privacy and security. It also contains a safe room. Come, let’s go into the kitchen pantry.”

  He led me through double doors to a large pantry and over to a tall metal rack of pots and pans along one wall. He pushed a small lever at the back of the rack and it swung forward revealing a door. “This is a secret staircase that leads to the safe room on the upper level or to the garage on the lower.”

  “You know people would kill for this information,” I said.

  He shrugged.

  “Now that Sylvia is gone, you and my attorney and architect are the only ones who know about it,” he said. “It would be easy to narrow down who the snitch was.”

  “True. That architect is sort of slimy,” I said. He didn’t respond.

  “Speaking of my attorney, he wants to meet you,” he said.

  I was surprised.

  “Anthony is, well, let’s say, a bit abrasive at times, and he’s not very happy that you are here with me.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I said.

  I followed him back through the living room to the elevator.

  “You don’t take stairs?”

  He shrugged and stepped inside. I followed. The armed guard got in last.

  This time he hit the button that said “P,” which I assumed stood for penthouse.

  “The floor between the main living area and the penthouse is for people like Juan here and others who are employed at the estate,” he said. “My room is on the penthouse level. There are also two guest rooms. That is where you shall stay.”

  He led me straight from the elevator into a master suite—a large room with red velvet curtains on all four walls. One wall of curtains was intersected by French doors leading to a balcony. On the large balcony was a table and chairs to seat six, a fire pit, a few lounge chairs, and a view of the pool area below. The pool was a brilliant rectangle of turquoise. Beyond it lay a large pool house, and on the other side was an uninterrupted view of the valley below.

  I saw movement down below and gasped. A sleek black panther emerged from the jungle-like area beside the guest quarters and walked leisurely over to the pool where it dipped its head and lapped water.

  “Why I don’t chlorinate the pool this time of year,” he said.

  “What in the fuck is that?”

  “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

  “Is that why you didn’t take me to the pool area downstairs?”

  “Yes. I let her roam the grounds during the summer months. In the winter, she will often hibernate and stay in her cave, but during the summer, I like to have her near.”

  “That’s the biggest water bowl I’ve ever seen for a pet,” I said, then turned to him. “Is she a pet?”

  He whistled and the beast’s head snapped up to look at us.

  “She is.”

  “Huh.” I was rarely speechless.

  “Of course, I would never let her roam once Rosalie moves here. She is fine in the jungle surrounding the estate. I’ve been lenient since Sylvia’s passing. She was mainly Sylvia’s pet, and she is lonely.”

  “I don’t know what to think of any of this,” I said, gripping the rail and staring at the beautiful wild animal below that was still looking up at us as her tail swished back and forth.

  “I know I should put her in the zoo, but I just can’t believe that life would be better for her,” he said. “I have a good friend who is the director of the Mexico City Zoo. I suppose I should ask her.”

  Something in his voice when he said “good friend” let me know it was a woman even before he said “her.”

  He turned and went back into the house. I followed him. He walked out of the master bedroom and turned right. The door to the bedroom next to his was wide open.

  “This is Rosalie’s room.”

  The room was painted a light pink and contained a bed with pastel bedcovers and a canopy. The bed was piled with stuffed animals. There was a matching vanity with a pink satin-tufted seat and a big oval mirror strung with H
ollywood starlet lights. A small, delicate music box with a ballerina in a pink tutu sat on a dresser along with a silver hairbrush, comb, and matching hand mirror. Posters of unicorns and other magical creatures hung on the walls.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  He pressed his lips together and exhaled audibly before speaking. “As soon as I knew Rosalie was alive, I began making arrangements to bring her home. This had been my wife’s office.”

  I waited a beat and then said, “Do you always get what you want?”

  “Yes. Until I met you.”

  41

  After showing me my room, El Jefe led me into a masculine office on the main floor. It was all dark wood and worn leather. He gestured for me to sit on one of the two armchairs facing the desk. He sat beside me.

  “This is where I do business.”

  “We’re in here to do business?” I asked. “As opposed to the bedroom, which is for fucking?”

  He winced again at the word.

  I wasn’t sure why I took such perverse pleasure in watching him squirm when I said “fuck.” But I did. I’d found myself saying it instead of “making love” just to see his reaction. I didn’t usually talk like that. Sure, I thought it, but usually restrained myself from saying it out loud by thinking of my Grace Kelly-elegant mother.

  His cell phone dinged. He glanced down and then quickly typed something.

  “Sorry about that,” he said when he looked back up.

  I shrugged and waited for him to speak. This was his play.

  “I’d like to make you a business proposition,” he said.

  “I want, more than anything in the world, to be part of Rosalie’s life,” he said. “The only thing I want more than that is to ensure she has a good life.”

  I swallowed. Something about the sincerity of his words had gotten to me.

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking since you came into my life,” he paused.

  Again, the way he phrased it sparked something inside me: “came into my life” implied something positive, didn’t it? Or was that wishful thinking on my part. I was horrified at the thought. I suddenly cared what this murderer thought of me? And holy fucking shit—did I want him to like me? I was a disaster. Full stop.