by Eve Gaddy
The dipshit had recovered enough to threaten and curse him. After Mitch flex-tied his ankles and wrists, he hauled him up. “Shut up.”
“¡Chingate, pendejo!”
Mitch smacked him and said it again. “Cállate, boludo.” He sat him in a chair and asked, “Who sent you?”
“No lo sé.” He was a short, wiry man who was completely unremarkable. Other than the fact he stank, but that wasn’t too shocking given his profession.
“He says he doesn’t know,” Mitch said to Glenna. “Too bad. Call the cops.”
“No policía.”
He continued the conversation in Spanish. “Then talk. Who sent you?”
After a lot of back and forth, it was clear the man didn’t know who had hired him and his partner. Or if he did know, he wasn’t saying. “This is pointless,” Glenna said, and picked up the phone.
“No, no,” the man said. “No policía.”
“Tell me something useful, then. Why do they want her? What was the plan? What were you supposed to do with her?”
“I don’t know. My partner might. We were told to take her to a house in Santiago and await instructions. And bring her belongings with her.”
“Address. Give me the address.”
He gave it reluctantly and Glenna wrote it down.
“Did you have any more instructions?”
He leered at Glenna. “No. Just to wait until we were contacted. Pero ella es muy bonita.”
That simple sentence implied a lot. Mitch looked at Glenna. She looked disgusted. The man was openly grinning now. Deciding to wipe the smile off his ugly face, Mitch punched him in the stomach. While he was gasping Mitch said, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to call your partner and tell him you need help and he needs to come up here.”
“Why should I?” he asked when he’d recovered his breath.
Glenna walked over and casually pointed the gun at him. “Because if you don’t I’ll shoot you,” she said in Spanish. She held the muzzle against his knee. “Right here. I understand being shot in the kneecap is painful. Very painful.”
Chapter Ten
He must have believed her, Glenna thought. He told Mitch the number and when Mitch held the phone up to his ear, he asked his partner to help. A short time later, the other kidnapper opened the door, and inside of a minute, Mitch had him disarmed and on the ground, flex-tying his hands and feet.
“You’re awfully good at that,” Glenna said.
“Practice. I’ve done it a time or two.”
More than that, I bet.
Mitch asked the second kidnapper the same questions he’d asked the first one, with no better results. After gagging them both with pillowcases, Mitch searched them, took their phones and what money they had and then pulled Glenna aside. In a low voice, in English, he said, “You have a choice. Wait and tell the cops everything. If we do that, God knows how long we’ll be stuck in Valparaiso. The other choice is to get dressed, pack up and leave, following our original plan. In that case, these two won’t face kidnapping charges because we won’t be here to corroborate it.”
She thought about it, but not for long. “No, I’d rather go and take care of it there.” She followed Mitch’s lead and didn’t say where they were going, or what they were going to take care of. She wasn’t sure how much the men could hear and understand but it was better to take no chances.
“Good. I think that’s our best course of action. As for these assholes—” he jerked a thumb toward them “—odds are high that they both have extensive criminal records. I doubt they’ll get out of jail anytime soon. Especially since they won’t have any money. Anyway, we’ll be gone.”
She wanted to ask questions but knowing they couldn’t talk freely, she held her tongue. Ten minutes later, they left the hotel and stopped by the kidnappers’ van so Mitch could search and disable it. The search yielded nothing, which at that point was no surprise.
Not long after that, they were on their way. “What happens when we get to Santiago? Are we going to take the counterfeit money to the police?”
“Yes. We have all day tomorrow—I mean today—and tonight to wait until our plane leaves. I want to put distance between us and get rid of this car just in case they manage to talk themselves out of jail.”
“Do you think they will?”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. It’s why I took their cash, their phones and disabled the van.” He shot a sharp glance at her. “Are you all right?”
Feeling a little hysterical, she laughed. “No. Not at all.”
“I can’t blame you. It’s a lot to take in.” He paused and added, “You’re not going to cry, are you?”
She smiled at the wary note in his voice. “Not at the moment. I think I’m cried out. But I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” She looked out the window but it was dark and she couldn’t really see anything. “I’ll feel better once all the counterfeit money is out of my hands.”
“We’ll go to the station first thing. I’ve got some law enforcement contacts in Santiago.”
“You have a lot of contacts everywhere.”
“I’ve spent a good deal of time down here.”
“Don’t you have some contacts in Valparaiso? Maybe we should have stayed there after all.”
“I would have if we didn’t have time constraints. Plus we can’t be sure how much the Villareals—if it is them—know about your whereabouts. Better to disappear, I think.”
“What about the car? Can they trace it?”
“Possibly. But we’re going to switch cars with a friend of mine in a little town on the way to Santiago. He’ll take our car back to the rental place and pick up his at the airport after we’ve left the country.”
“You said if it is the Villareals. I thought you were sure that’s who is after me.”
“It’s the most likely scenario. Especially considering what you’ve got on them.”
A short time later, they’d switched cars with Mitch’s friend and were on their way to Santiago again.
“You did good back there.”
For a moment she couldn’t think what he was referring to. “I didn’t do anything except pick up the gun and threaten to kneecap him. I was tempted to do it anyway after hearing him say—imply—they were planning to rape me.” She shot a glance at his grim profile. “Thank you for punching him.”
“You’re welcome. If we’d had time, I’d have done more.”
“He seemed surprised when you punched him.”
Mitch shook his head. “The guy is as dumb as a box of rocks. His partner’s no better.” He shot her a glance. “Try to get some sleep. It’s going to be at least another hour until we get there.”
“What about you?”
“Sleeping while driving’s not a good idea.”
“Ha, ha. I meant do you need me to stay awake and talk to you so you don’t fall asleep?”
“No, I’m good.”
She wadded up her coat, placed it against the window, and laid her head on it. Glenna didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d sleep but she closed her eyes anyway. And slept.
“You have to go.”
“Not without you.”
“I can’t. I can’t leave Bartolo and he will never go.”
“But if you stay—”
“I love him,” she said, “whatever he’s done. And Bartolo loves me. I’ll be all right. But you, you must leave, Glenna. Before the Señor realizes you are carrying his child.”
Valencia was right, but still Glenna hesitated. “I’m afraid for you. If he finds out you helped me he’ll kill you.”
“He won’t find out.”
He was heir to an empire. Autocratic, cruel and possessive. His charm, that charm that had so seduced her, was a façade. If she stayed she condemned her child as well as herself to be under his rule, powerless, with no way out.
Mitch decided to get a room at the large hotel across the street from the airport and try to get some rest
before tackling everything they had to do. Since they’d need a room anyway for the night, until their plane left the next day, there wasn’t any reason to wait. He could function on no sleep but he preferred having at least a couple of hours of shut-eye.
He would call his friend, Felix, later in the morning after he’d had some sleep. Felix Vasquez was a cop Mitch had known since he’d first come to South America looking for Eliana. Mitch had been back many times over the years. They’d become good friends. Mitch thought Felix would be more sympathetic to their time constraints, and he trusted him absolutely to look into what the Villareals were up to after he and Glenna had left the country.
If he could talk Felix into coming to them, so much the better. For all he knew the Villareals had decided to prosecute Glenna with some kind of trumped-up evidence. Depending on whose palms her former employers had greased, the Chilean police could very well send her back to Argentina.
Which was not going to happen on his watch. He pulled under the porte-cochère and looked at Glenna. She was sound asleep, with her head on her coat, leaning against the window. She looked young and vulnerable, her face pale, her freckles standing out in stark relief. He knew she was thirty, but right now she looked about eighteen. Twenty at the outside. As he watched she moaned and said, “No. No, you can’t.”
Mitch reached over and touched her arm. “Glenna, wake up.” No response. He shook her arm gently and said her name a little louder. She opened her eyes, looking totally at sea. “We’re at the hotel.”
“Hotel? What—Who—” She sat up with a jerk. “Oh. Mitch. I was dreaming.”
“You seemed upset. Did you remember something?”
“It’s all mixed up. I was talking to my friend, Valencia. I think she lived on the ranch. She wanted me to leave, to run away. We were both afraid...of him.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I never saw his face or thought his name. But I was afraid for myself, and my baby.”
“You’re starting to remember. That’s good.” She didn’t look like she agreed with that. “Anything more?”
“No, just impressions. Fear, mostly. And...anger.”
“It’s a start.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Not much of one.”
True, but at least it was something. He changed the subject. “It’s still really early so I figured we’d get some sleep before I call Felix.”
“Who’s Felix?”
“My friend who’s a Santiago cop. Come on, let’s go in. Put your scarf on.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
He looked at her hair, a long, lush dark red that would draw notice even in a country filled with redheads. Which Chile wasn’t. “Yes. Put it on.”
“I should have just kept it brown,” she grumbled.
“Once you get on the plane it won’t matter.”
He signed them in as Mr. and Mrs. Garcia. Since they both spoke Spanish like natives it seemed prudent. Glenna took the couch and he took the bed and both of them passed out fully clothed.
Mitch had a fleeting thought just before falling asleep. What would it be like if Glenna wasn’t a job and, therefore, wasn’t off limits?
Which undoubtedly explained why he dreamed about her.
Chapter Eleven
Mitch’s cop friend, Felix Vasquez, was, in a word, gorgeous. Tall, with dark curly hair and dark brown eyes, a blinding smile, and movie star good looks. Glenna did a double take when she met him. This guy is a cop? In Chile? When she found out he was a proud father and family man, she was even more surprised.
He was very charming after Mitch introduced them, but the “cop” expression in his eyes, as well as the way he shook her hand and held it a moment, said he was sizing up everything about her. She decided right then and there to let Mitch do the talking and only speak when directly spoken to.
Have I been in trouble with the law before? Or is being familiar with the “cop” stare just from her recent experiences? In the last few weeks she’d spent a lot of time avoiding the cops. Knowing she was hunted but not knowing who was hunting her made her leery of everyone, cops included.
Mitch told his friend the entire story, not leaving anything out. Which obviously meant he trusted this man completely. She wondered what they’d been through together to make Mitch trust him utterly, when it was clear Mitch was not normally the trusting type. She’d known that even before he told her the story about his deceitful ex-wife.
“She really has amnesia?” Felix asked when Mitch stopped, shooting her a skeptical glance.
“I know how it sounds, but yes, she does. She might remember bits and pieces, though we can’t be sure of that. Basically, she can’t remember a damn thing before waking up in the hospital after the bus accident. I’m convinced it’s for real and so are her brothers. We video chatted with them last night.”
Some kind of unspoken conversation passed between them. “¿Es verdad?” Felix asked finally.
“Sí, es verdad.”
Apparently satisfied, Felix nodded. “That’s some story. The Villareals. I wonder if they’re related to the Peruvian Villareals?”
“Who are they?”
“One of the top counterfeiting crime families in Peru,” Felix said dryly. “I’ll look into it, but if these Argentine Villareals are counterfeiting then I’m betting the two families are related. That makes me wonder, though, if they’d bring the cops into it if they are running a counterfeiting operation.”
“I wondered too, but the local cops could be on their payroll.”
“True,” Felix agreed. “That’s certainly a possibility.” He got up to leave saying, “I’ll call you later. You should probably lay low until I find out if Glenna’s got a warrant out for her arrest in Argentina and whether we’ve been apprised of it. When are you leaving?”
“Our plane leaves early in the morning. Tell Lila and the kids hi for me.”
“Will do. Next time you need to come over for a meal. Lila’s going to be pissed she missed out on seeing you.” He shook Mitch’s hand, nodded at Glenna and left.
“Looks like it will be room service,” Mitch said, picking up the menu and handing it to her.
They both ordered sandwiches, which arrived quickly. Glenna waited until they’d both eaten before she broached the subject that she’d been wondering about almost since Mitch had convinced her of her true identity.
She wiped her mouth and hands with a napkin, set it down on the rolling table and said, “Tell me about myself.”
“You have no idea how weird that sounds,” Mitch said.
“I’m sure it does, but I don’t care. Tell me.”
“You should talk to your family. They know a lot more than I do, obviously.”
“They don’t feel like my family. I don’t remember anything about them. I want to hear it from you.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. Dylan had filled him in on the part of Glenna’s history that seemed important, but it wasn’t by any means the whole story. She was depending on him. More and more the longer they were together. He knew why. Hell, she didn’t know another soul in the world. He’d found her, convinced her of her real identity, and saved her from being kidnapped. Not to mention, he hadn’t hit on her, either. Why wouldn’t she depend on him? It should have made him want to head for the nearest exit, yet it didn’t.
“Your name is Glenna Leigh Gallagher. You’re thirty years old. You have four brothers and you’re the next to youngest child.”
“I know all that. Tell me things I don’t know. Why did I leave home? When did I leave home? How did I come to be working in Argentina? What about my parents? Are they alive or dead?”
He took the last question first. “Your mother died when you were seven or eight. I got the impression you and Dylan, the youngest, were close. I think you mothered him after your mother died. Your father died a few years ago. You came in for the funeral and left within the day. No one knows why. Even though you said you had to get
back for work, they suspect it had something to do with your father’s will.”
“Why?”
“You always wanted to be a rancher, according to Dylan. Your father didn’t believe women were suited for that kind of work. You left home at eighteen, after a big fight with your father.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Your brothers don’t know for sure but they believe your father told you about his will. He split everything equally between all his children, but your inheritance is held in trust until you either turn thirty or get married. If you marry by the time you’re thirty, you get your portion. If you don’t, it goes to your brothers.” He paused and added, “You could still marry and get your inheritance. If you do it before your next birthday.” Of course, they couldn’t be positive she wasn’t married already. To the father of the baby she’d lost.
“That’s... That’s... Oh, my God. That’s the stupidest, most chauvinistic, Neanderthal thing I’ve ever heard. No wonder I left.”
“Yeah, once your brothers found out about that, they weren’t surprised you left. They said it was just like you to head off to a completely different country to prove him wrong. The next they heard from you, you were working on a ranch in Argentina. Not the Villareals, but another. Some time before your father died you went to the Villareals’ ranch and worked your way up to managing it. Putting you in the perfect position to embezzle, according to the Villareals.”
“But they—the Gallaghers—don’t believe I embezzled.”
“No, and neither do I, for all the reasons we discussed.” He added, “I got the impression you were a hellion when you were young. But being a hellion and being dishonest are two different things.”
“Only when I was young?”
He smiled slightly. “I don’t think they know much about your life since you left home. You kept in touch sporadically until a few months ago. Dylan tried to get in touch with you to ask if you planned to come back for your newest nephew’s birth. Your oldest brother Jack married again and their baby was due around Christmas. That’s when Dylan found out you’d disappeared from the ranch. Not long after that they hired me to find you.”
