by Beth Rhodes
Jamie tilted his head, studying them as they argued their way up the stairs. “Lord have mercy,” he muttered and came around to where Malcolm still sat at the computer.
“What’s up?”
Jamie glanced over Malcolm’s head toward the stairs. “Nothing. Just…work dynamics.”
Malcolm sent a look in the same direction. “Kiana and Bobby? I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. Where we at?”
“Let’s go upstairs. Tan should have transportation taken care of by now.” Malcolm clicked through a few programs on his computer, shut the lid, and lifted the laptop.
In the living room, the team gathered, at ease as they waited for orders from him. Kiana stood, leaning back into the corner, her head rested on the wall behind her. John had the loveseat, and Marie was in the wicker chair, her legs tucked under her, a book in her lap. Bobby had disappeared.
They were his family and they’d been here, no questions asked.
Tancredo came in through the kitchen door. “We’re heading to a spot just outside of Veracruz. Roberto contacted the private company we usually use for our flights. However, the plane is in flight here and won’t be ready until 0300.”
“Shit—” Six hours? “Sir. That’s not—”
“You need to sleep—” Tan said, firmly.
“I can’t sleep,” he growled, even though he did need to. He hadn’t slept…when had he slept? An hour or so on the flight from Colombia. Before that, he’d caught a few minutes here and there while they were being held at the clinic. His brain was definitely…starting to falter.
“If you don’t sleep, you’ll be grounded. And I’m going to call Hawk and he’s going to be forced to pull you from the team.”
No. He swallowed. “I…” don’t know how to sleep without her.
“Just try.” Tan’s voice softened. “And get your go-bag ready. See if there’s anything Missy will need or that she left behind. You might be able to determine if they let her pack a bag.”
His hands shook. Had they let her pack a bag? He hadn’t let himself dig too deeply into the worst-case scenario. He’d go crazy thinking of all the kidnappings they’d dealt with as a team. All the horrors they’d witnessed and been unable to stop.
His throat closed. He pressed his fingers against his eyes, squeezing them shut. The front door opened, and he felt the shift in focus. Bobby came in, face grim.
Tan’s hand came down on Jamie’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s get ready to go, folks. Bobby, can you handle putting together rations? Fill the two coolers downstairs, make sure you add water bottles.”
“Yes, sir.”
They all knew this place as well as Jamie did, even though Jamie called it home, The Shack was headquarters for their Central American operations. Not to mention used as a place to debrief or reconvene when things went to shit on a mission.
Jamie left them behind and crossed the living room into his bedroom.
He opened the door to the balcony. The moon had risen into the sky. The air moved up off the water and brushed against his face.
He would never leave her again.
Walking to their closet, he opened the door and was crushed by the scent of her.
He ran his hand over the clothes hanging on his right. In the back of the four-by-four space, he pulled out an old bag. The canvas felt rough on his hands. She’d never gotten rid of it in twelve years. The zipper stuck when he pulled it, and he tugged harder, brought it back to close, and tugged again, forcing it past the crooked zipper tooth. The seam ripped. “Shoot.”
He dug into the bag, looking for the small book she’d brought from her old life.
The black leather cover was stamped with a cross. It looked like a bible. It would be overlooked by anyone looking for valuables. He flipped through the thin pages all the way to the back. Tucked between the last page and the cover was a folded piece of loose-leaf.
On it was a list of names and phone numbers.
Jamie spread the paper open and smoothed it against the nightstand where her mother’s emerald ring sat under the soft glow of the lamp. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.
She never took it off.
With his phone, he snapped a photo of the list of numbers then opened his messages and sent the image to Malcolm. Need help finding these people, he texted quickly. Some were old friends from school. A few, though, had been mentors in her short first year as a journalism student. He’d heard the stories, her stories, and some had struck fear deep inside of him. She hadn’t been innocent. She’d been passionate, a fighter.
He’d admired her, through the letters she’d written him.
Joining the military was the closest thing he’d ever done to becoming passionate about the greater good of anything. By the time he’d been recruited—no—convinced to join up with Hawk, his passion had become rote. Hawk had visited him about ten times, before he’d given in. He’d had thoughts about opening a boating business, digging his feet into the sand
On it. Will have answers by the time we hit Veracruz.
Jamie knew too much about Martinez and his rise in power to be comfortable with the fact that Missy was somewhere out there even in the same region.
He grabbed a few of her favorite pieces of clothing, running shoes, socks, and a couple pairs of underwear. He took a sweatshirt and stuffed it into the bag as well. Then quickly added his own things. He reached up onto the shelf and pulled the small, wooden box from behind a stack of construction paper. The lid flipped open with ease when he touched the lock, and he took the small gun and two clips and threw them into the bag, too.
“Hey, Siri, call Roberto,” he said to his phone. When Roberto’s voice echoed into the room, Jamie made arrangements to have a cleaning crew over to clean the house.
“No problem, for my favorite American.”
Jamie could practically hear the man’s grin.
“You bring back our Missy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jamie hung up and tossed his pack to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes, and laid back against the cool spread.
He’d have to add Tom to his list of contacts to make after they arrived at Nina’s. And Padre Franco as well. His old contacts would be even less willing to help than they had the last time. But hopefully not completely unwilling.
Their journey twelve years ago had taken three days. Through torrential rains, a bit of desert, then straight down into the heat of Guatemala and finally Belize. Not exactly a vacation.
He smiled, though, thinking about it, and his limbs became heavy from the fatigue.
God, she’d been so stubborn, so determined. But her penchant for laughter drove them. She’d been such an easy companion, even as a stranger. She’d make a joke. That or she’d make fun of him. His Spanish had been pretty rusty back then, still was sometimes.
He took a deep breath.
The door creaked open.
“Hey, you.” Missy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a smile on her face. The balcony doors were open, and a breeze drifted through, moving the long skirt against her legs. She came to him, and light from behind her silhouetted her lithe form.
She set two wet-with-condensation beers on the nightstand and pressed a finger to his shoulder. “Lazy bones,” she teased, her voice barely a whisper. She kneed her way up on to the bed planted her hands next to his head and leaned over him. He ached, reached for her waist, and gripped, pulling her down to his side.
She rested her chin on his deltoid, rubbing it softly from side to side, and tucked her arm against his side. “What are you doing, love?” she said against his shoulder. “Don’t come for me.”
“I have to,” he answered, plain and simple, as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
A sharp knock on the door jerked Jamie out of his subconscious. He reached for his gun, but his hands only knocked over the lamp on the table. “Shit.” It was dark. He shook confusion from his brain. Heat rode across his skin
, and a glance behind him showed the balcony door closed. His heart pounded. He was alone. He rubbed at his eyes. He’d actually slept and dreamed of her.
The knock again.
He got up, stretched the creaks from his shoulders and hips, and opened the door. His eyes squinted against the light from the living room.
“Leaving in thirty,” John said.
Jamie nodded then cricked his neck to make it crack and loosen.
It was time to get her back.
Chapter Twelve
Antonio entered his boss’ office.
A large guard followed him in and stood behind him, arms crossed over his very large, muscular chest.
The last time Antonio had been brought to this office he’d been put on a clean-up detail for one of the unfortunate accidents in the processing plants. He still believed the explosion had been a result of the rebellion group in Veracruz. Anything that threw a monkey wrench into Martinez’s works was a good day for the people. It had put a huge dent in drug production.
Martinez’s desk, on the raised platform in the middle of the room, put him slightly above eye level. The ornate chair was more like a throne, and his gaze entrapped Antonio’s, as if in challenge.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Güero.” A nickname to match how the scars had left him after the fire, his skin almost white. Because of the scarring, Martinez had never connected him to his brother Diego, or the Fuentes family.
Hate burned in Antonio’s gut, another reminder to remain silent. Speak only when necessary…or risk revealing too much. When the silence dragged on, Martinez finally nodded, as if Antonio had passed a test. “You have worked your way up in rank for two years.”
Antonio nodded.
“You’ve been crucial in building a system for the farmers to bring in their product.”
Antonio shrugged, even as pride burst through him. “Only a few tweaks were necessary, el jefe.”
“You implemented a bonus for the workers, which resulted in twice the production of cannabis. The development of the coca plant, twice as strong and clean, along with new regulations in the processing and cutting rooms has made your input beyond valuable. The people love you.”
His heart pounded in his chest at the praise. He hadn’t been looking for praise. He’d merely been making sure he wasn’t expendable, while making sure his people stayed safe. With his hand on the heart of the operation, he could help them.
“You’ve been busy,” his boss said, in approval. “Today, you will bring her to me.”
Marguerite. A small bead of sweat dripped down his spine. Had he been discovered?
“She lived here a long time ago, as a child, and disappeared after her father died. Of course, I am anxious to see her.” He stood and turned to the window, clasping his hands at his back. The man wanted Marguerite, the same as he’d wanted Marguerite’s mother all those years ago when Carmen chose Diego. Always back to Carmen Fuentes, the beloved.
The hate of Martinez had rained down on the Fuentes family for years.
When Martinez almost killed Carmen, Diego had lost it. And he’d moved his wife away. They’d had Marguerite a year later, in a small village in the mountains. And Carmen died in childbirth. They’d been too far from a hospital to get help.
Diego never truly recovered. He would have killed Martinez. Except he hadn’t planned; his hate had been filled with passion and emotions, and what he’d needed was focus.
But Antonio never forgot, not Carmen nor his brother. And he stayed focused. He didn’t let his hate grow so big that he couldn’t think. He was a thinker. And right now, he had many thoughts.
Marguerite could be Carmen’s twin. At the same time, she was even more beautiful than her mother. “She will be here tomorrow,” he promised.
Martinez tilted his head in thought and continued, “She has not protested?”
“She wants peace,” Antonio conceded. He thought it was true. He hoped it was true enough for her to follow his lead.
“Ah, so perhaps not quite the willing visitor?”
Antonio lifted a shoulder. “You will not harm her?”
“I will not.”
“Then what choice does she have?”
Martinez grinned. “You have thought of everything. And I thank you.” His gratitude startled Antonio. The man didn’t thank people, he merely expected perfection.
“Yes, sir.” With a nod, Antonio bowed and exited the office, taking a wide step around the guard.
He hurried to his office, switched out his gun for a fresh one.
In the garage, Juan walked up with ease, a smile on his face. He handed over a set of keys. “You have come a long way. El jefe likes you. This is good.”
Antonio shrugged and waved off the compliment. “I think he is trying to impress a woman, more, eh?”
“A weakness,” Juan boldly stated.
He let it go, wouldn’t voice his agreement—not yet. “Thank you,” he said, jangling the keys. “I will bring her back in immaculate condition.”
Juan laughed. His reputation for keeping the vehicles in perfect condition was no secret. “Buena suerte, mi amigo.” Juan came up next to him, a towel in his greasy hands and a look of understanding in his eye. “Y vigila tu espalda.”
Antonio held the man’s gaze. He knew. Somehow Juan knew…
And if Juan knew, there could be others.
He would definitely need to watch his back.
***
Had it really only been two days ago that her uncle had swept her back into Mexico? Now, here she was, on her old stomping ground. Back in the city where her father had died, where her life had ended and begun again—in more ways than one.
Instead of feeling excited, Missy Bellamy Fuentes pretty much just wanted to throw up.
A deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, relieved some of the nausea. It didn’t help that she was hungry. They’d arrived in the city and set up in a small apartment. But there had been guards, not the kind that made her feel safe, either.
“Can we get something to eat, please?”
Tio Antonio glanced her way. Since they’d left Nina’s, he’d been cold and unmoving. She kept reminding herself that the real man was the one who was loyal to family, the one who wanted justice for her dad and wanted to protect her. It wasn’t working very well.
“We’ll be there soon.”
He hadn’t taken her phone. It was a lifeline. Unfortunately, she didn’t dare pull it out of the side pocket of her slacks. The chances of him taking it back were too high. He might be trying to do the right thing, but he’d still kidnapped her. And now he was delivering her to Martinez.
She lifted the camera and peered through the viewfinder, keeping her focus ahead of her. Photographs of the streets, the people. Not easy to get while moving, especially as out of practice as she was, but thrilling anyway, to have the camera in her hands. Each new experience awakened a part of her soul she’d buried.
She couldn’t help looking for Jamie as they drove, her gaze searching every car that past them, every dark alley they crossed. He said he would come. She’d told him not to, but a small, stupid part of her wanted him to come for her; she hated that part.
When they turned down onto another road, she sat up. “I remember this.”
The low stone wall, now covered in moss, ran alongside the road, down the straightaway to the next bend where a tall tree sat just inside the property.
They were very close to the Martinez compound. “Can you stop a minute?”
He glanced her way but slowed. She got out of the vehicle—you could run.
“Don’t run,” Tio said.
She leaned over the hood of the car and lined her shot up with the stone wall. Low income, small, rundown houses on one side of the street and the palace with manicured yards on the other. Even as a kid, she’d understood the contrast.
A woman walked toward them, a toddler at her side. She frowned at the sight of them stopped on the roa
d—suspicious. Missy waved, lifted her camera, and smiled.
The woman frowned and hurried around the corner.
Missy climbed back into the front seat. “Not much has changed, Tio.
“Do children still work in the processing plants?”
His silence was answer enough.
She had lost touch, being in Belize. Out of sight; out of mind. Her fear had stopped her from looking too deep. The bubble Jamie created had stopped her as well.
“He compensates his workers well.”
Anger spiked inside her. “So what? There is no future for these children. Most end up addicted to the drugs they are cooking and cutting.”
“When you were very little, you’d play with the children in the farming communities. There was a freedom there. You forget what that was like.”
“Don’t plie me with fond memories, Tio. It’s not going to work to make me…less angry. Or want to help you. What are you trying to do, anyway? You are about to put my life in Martinez’s hands. You have forced Jamie to take action against one of the most powerful men in Mexico.”
Tio opened his mouth to speak.
“He will come for me when he finds out,” she said.
“I’m sorry for that,” Tio answered with a shrug.
She growled under her breath.
“Since I took over security at the compound, deaths have been reduced by fifty percent. Children are surviving now because of the new regulations.”
“Do you hear yourself?” her voice rose. “Get on the other side of the law, Tio. Work against him. You know there are groups—”
“Who have very little power! He has power, even within the police and the government.”
“Like I said, nothing has changed.”
The stone wall rose in height as they reached the wrought iron gates at the front of the compound.
“I remember this,” she said again, not as surprised this time. The memories were returning.
Tio Antonio glanced in her direction.
“I don’t often take the time to reminisce,” she continued, hoping something she said, anything would convince him to let her go. “But there are glimpses, sometimes feelings of what life was like before. There were nightmares for a long time, but in those, I never know what’s real or not.”
