by Sasscer Hill
“You have a home in Miami?” I asked.
His chest expanded with pride. “Much better. I have a yacht.”
Bingo! Currito’s image blurred as Klaire’s words played back in my head. Her vision of Jade on the water. Surrounded by the sea.
I realized my lips were parted and closed my mouth. I fought to produce a poker face. Currito traded more than cocaine. He had abducted Jade. A slave trader, like Chakri. But high end. He loved the finer things. Pedigree and beauty meant a lot to him.
Suddenly his puffed up arrogance shifted to another direction. Whatever substance he was on, it seemed to rise and fall in waves of intensity. His eyes became greedy.
“I want you on my yacht. La Sirena is beautiful, like you. You will love her. She has her own helicopter. A swimming pool. She was built for me by Blohm and Vosshis!”
I had no idea who Blohm and whatsis were, but I didn’t like the direction our conversation was heading.
“We should finish your reading.”
“No. That is not important to me.” He listed to one side of his chair, then giggled. “You could do a reading for my onboard guests! I am famous for my entertaining.”
I didn’t doubt it. “Let me see your palm again,” I said, hoping to end his fortune and get him to leave.
“No!” He rose unsteadily from his chair, then half fell, half lunged across the table. He grabbed at my breast with one hand and caught hold of several hair extensions with the other. I jerked back, feeling a sharp pain as two hair pieces ripped free, probably taking strands of my hair with them. He stared at the long locks in his hand, then my head. I could see the realization hit him.
“Nikki? What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I…”
“What game do you mean to play?” Anger narrowed eyes. His darker self took over. “Perhaps you are a whore like the others?”
He put a knee on the table, then scrambled across. I stood up fast, knocking my chair over. Turning to run, I saw Klaire come through the gold curtain. She pointed something at Currito. He cried out and dropped off the table like a cockroach. Twitching violently, he lay on the floor. Stun gun. Klaire threw several objects into the crowded ballroom. My God, she’d brought smoke bombs.
“Nikki, this way!” She dashed back through the gold curtain. Smoke billowed at me from the ballroom. My eyes stung, my nostrils burned. I ran after her. Ajeet parted the fabric of the final white curtain, exposing an exit door in the ballroom wall. The three of us fled through it into a service hall. When the door slammed behind us, we paused, dragging in breaths of smoke-free air.
I dug into my pockets, performing a mental inventory. Cherry bombs had to be lit. Knock out drops had to be administered. I pulled out the can of pepper spray and held it by my side.
“Ajeet,” Klaire said, “I told you where Nikki found the girls. You know this place. Take us there. Now!”
We flew down the concrete service corridor paralleling the back wall. We turned right and continued running until Ajeet pushed through a fire door and we rushed up a staircase. We must be shadowing the route of the stone staircase. Slamming through another fire door, Ajeet led us to the same branch in the service hall where I’d decided to go right earlier.
I broke into a dead run, passing Ajeet, then the beverage kitchen, and flew up the steps. I yanked open the door to the room that held Jade. It was empty.
“No,” I cried, turning to Ajeet and Klaire as they burst into the room. “They were here, chained to those bolts.” I pointed at the metal rings. “I promised her. How could Currito’s people have gotten her out so fast?”
“Now that I know who he is,” Klaire said, “I can assure you he has people everywhere. They saw what was happening downstairs and got the girls out. But we have delayed the auction.”
“I know where they’re going,” I said, and explained about La Sirena.
“Of course,” she said. “It means ‘the Mermaid.’” Then she passed a hand over her eyes as if she didn’t like the picture my words painted.
“Klaire!” Ajeet hissed. “There’s no time for this. We have to get out!”
We fled from the room, back into the corridor, retracing our steps to the first floor, running down a length of hall before easing into a large service kitchen filled with anxious caterers. The smell of smoke was strong.
“What is it?” a woman yelled at us. “A bomb?”
“I think so,” I said. Might as well add to the general pandemonium.
“This way,” Ajeet called.
The three of us burst through a door to a wide, paved driveway filled with catering trucks. The back wall of the mansion rose above our heads and frightened workers flowed out the service door. Ajeet ran straight into the gardens, racing down steps and along a stone path that lead to a wide lagoon. I could see the ocean in the distance, feel a damp breeze stir against my face.
When we reached the lagoon, two armed guards appeared out of nowhere and trained their weapons on us.
“Bomb!” I shouted.
Ajeet placed his hands on either side of his head as if terrified of a pending explosion. “Run for your life!”
The guards paused, exchanged questioning glances before they lowered their guns and ran toward the house. We kept going toward the ocean.
CHAPTER 46
After dropping Ajeet off, Klaire sped us toward her home on Blue Water Way. I decided not to call Carla. She might confide in Rick and word could reach the wrong person. What could I do? Did immigration handle people smuggled out of the country, or only those coming in?
“Can’t we call the Coast Guard?” I asked. “They wouldn’t have to wait for the local police to get involved, would they?”
“I doubt it. Let me think.”
Klaire stopped the Jag on the street two houses down from her bungalow, but left the car idling. Overhead, the streetlights cast a dim glow, and a sharp breeze swayed the palms, making the small branches of nearby tropical plants rise and fall as if a spirit moved among them.
“Someone is in my house!” she said. “I didn’t think they’d be here this fast.”
“I don’t see anything. Who is it?”
“Bad people.”
Currito? Though the Jag windows were closed, I felt a chill, as if the breeze had slipped inside and found me.
“You have your car keys?” she asked.
I pulled them from my tote and the metal winked at her in the dash lights.
She eased the Jag forward, pulling up next to my car near the end of the block. Fortunately, when I’d parked the Toyota hours earlier, there had been no spots available in front of her house.
“We must separate, then flee!” she said, looking anxiously back toward her house. “Do not call me on my cell. I will get in touch with you.”
“But—”
“Just get out and get in your car!”
I did, running from her car to mine, slamming into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. Klaire screeched the Jag forward, turning into a driveway. I followed in a squeal of rubber. The driveway was more like an alley and cut through to the next street over.
Moments later we were gone.
* * * *
I circled around the Sand Castle parking lot, all my nerves on full radar. I had the windows down so I could listen. The breeze off the ocean had sharpened, making the palm fronds overhead rattle and drop debris onto the pavement. Did the coconuts up there ever drop on pedestrians’ heads?
I needed a shot of bourbon, hair extension removal, and a double-lather shampoo. I’d had too many adrenalin rushes that evening and wanted to lie down. More than anything, I wanted to do something about Jade. Who could I call?
I parked the Toyota close to the exit, face out. Leaving the car, I headed for my room, avoiding the streetlights as much as possible.
A figure separated itself from the shadow of the motel’s wall and hurried toward me. I froze, then heard a familiar voice.
“Nikki?”
“Stella?” W
hy was she whispering and wandering about after midnight?
“Don’t go to your room,” she said. “That schmuck with the tattoos has been hanging around your door for the last hour. I think he’s lying in wait.”
“His name’s Gonzales.” I was too tired for this. Shit.
“Whatever, he’s a putz,” Stella said.
“Exactly. Thanks for the warning, Stella. I gotta disappear. Don’t talk to him, he’s dangerous. And for God’s sake, don’t tell him you saw me!”
“My lips are zipped. You can count on me. Listen, that nice guy, Will, came by earlier looking for you. Brought Lou and me a six pack.”
Will! I could be so obtuse. That’s who I should call.
“Yeah,” I said. “He is a nice guy.” When he’s not lying.
“You be careful,” Stella said.
I gave her a little salute and hurried back to my car. After pulling from the lot, I drove down several side streets, keeping an eye on my rearview. No cars in sight. I wasn’t being followed. Stopping the Toyota, I eased it backward into a driveway, cut the lights, but left the engine running. Then I called Will.
He answered on the first ring. “Nikki, where are you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me.”
I did, and he listened without interruption until I finished.
“So,” I said. “I guess you were right about watching Currito. I just wish you’d told me.”
“We can worry about that later. Right now, you can’t go back to your motel. And you need to ditch your phone.”
“I can’t ditch my phone—”
“You’re not thinking, Nikki. They’ll use it to track you.”
“I’ll just turn it off.”
“That won’t work, Nikki. You have a brand new phone. They make ’em so they track on or off.”
I didn’t respond. The world was too complicated
“Nikki, please make sure you’re not being followed, check into a motel under a false name—you got cash?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Listen to me. Get to a safe place.”
I felt like things were slipping more and more out of my control. “Do you want to know where I go?”
“No,” he said softly. “You don’t trust me, remember?”
“That was low, Will.”
“I need to make calls to the right people,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “If we’re lucky, we can stop the Sirena before she takes Jade into international waters.”
“But how will you find the yacht?”
“My contact in the DEA can alert the Coast Guard. You’ve done enough. Stay out of it!”
“Okay, okay,” I said, as a deep exhaustion hit me. It was time to drop the reins.
“You’d better get going,” he said and disconnected.
I threw the phone onto the seat in frustration. Will got to me in more ways than one. I focused on the phone instead, giving it a hard look.
“You cheap little spy.” I got out of the car, lay the phone on the pavement before the front tire, and drove over it. I could feel the back tire hit the thing, too. Nikki takes charge.
* * * *
I didn’t want to go to a motel. Instead, I did what I’ve always done when things are at their worst and I need to be comforted and have a safe place to sleep. I went to the barn.
Sleeping in stalls was nothing new to me, and I’d learned from long experience that horses are careful not to step on you and will usually stand over you while you sleep. If they know you and like you, if they consider you part of the “herd,” their instinct is to guard you.
An added benefit is no one ever expects to find you asleep under a horse.
It was almost 1:30 a.m. when I drove past the stable gate and into the relative safety of the backstretch. The stables were quiet, the hour too early for anyone to be around. I parked the car out of sight behind a dumpster and went right into the stall of my old friend Imposter and buried my face in his neck, drinking in his horsey smell.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. I removed the gypsy skirt and blouse, then went to the wash stall hoping the bottle of Mane-and-Tail shampoo I’d seen there earlier was still lying about. It was, and after a few curses and bobby pin gouges, I removed the extensions and threw them in the trash barrel with the gypsy clothes.
Turning on the water, I waited for a warm flow, then doused my head and slathered on shampoo. I scrubbed away the hair color and grease paint, being mindful to keep my cargo shorts dry. After a rinsing, I shook my head like a dog. Short hair has its advantages.
Rubbing my head with a towel and pulling on one of the extra tees I keep in the tack room, I returned to Imposter. He’d always been neat about pooping in one area of his stall, and I curled up in a clean corner on a mattress of fresh alfalfa, silently blessing Orlando for being a conscientious groom.
Imposter’s warm breath tickled my head as his curious lips nuzzled my damp hair. I put a hand up and patted his soft nose before settling myself deeper into the hay.
* * * *
Imposter’s restless pacing and inquisitive whinny startled me awake. A low vibration purred through the barn. A truck engine. Imposter nudged me with his nose then moved to the stall gate, his ears and eyes forward, intent on whatever was out there.
I scrambled to my feet and peered outside. A two-horse trailer pulled by a Dodge pickup with a diesel engine idled outside. Parked right beside our shedrow. What the hell?
I dove away from the see-through wire gate as lights flicked on in the stall next door. Diablo’s stall. Whoever it was had gone in there before I’d had a chance to see them. I moved to the side of the stall and peeked through a tiny gap in the boards.
A wizened man quietly threaded a chain through the rings in Diablo’s halter, getting ready to slide the metal links over the horse’s gum. The colt seemed to know him and wasn’t putting up a fight. An old groom from South America? Someone was helping him, but my view was so narrow I couldn’t see who. I moved further along the slat, peeked again. If not for the wooden stall partition, I could have touched the Poseidon tattoo. Stifling a cry, I stepped back. Gonzales.
They were here to take Diablo to La Sirena! The horse was so valuable and dear to Currito, he couldn’t bear to leave the colt behind. Diablo would lead me right to Jade, I knew it.
CHAPTER 47
Peering cautiously from the depths of Imposter’s stall, I watched the men try to load Diablo. As soon as he realized their plan, Diablo went ballistic. How dare they try to separate him from his fillies and his buddy, Imposter? The groom got him as far as the trailer ramp, where Diablo refused to place a hoof on its rubber matting.
The groom stood by Diablo’s head, coaxing, his Spanish words soft and gentle. Gonzales stood behind waving a whip at the horse’s hindquarters. Diablo threw a vicious kick at Gonzales, but missed. Rats.
The two men appeared to be at odds, the groom wanting to handle the horse with kindness, Gonzales preferring to whip the horse into obedience. He proved this assessment by cracking the whip hard on the horse’s flesh. Diablo responded with an angry scream, backing up so fast he dragged the groom off the trailer ramp. The colt continued his backward charge then shot a hind leg at Gonzales. The connection sounded like a home run hit. I had to restrain myself from cheering.
Gonzales doubled over, his hand clutching one thigh. The tone of his curses made me glad my Spanish wasn’t good. The man’s leg held, apparently not broken. Furious, he limped to the cab of the truck and removed a nasty looking cattle prod. He spewed some words at the groom, his gestures indicating that the man was to move the colt back to the edge of the ramp.
“No es necessario!” The groom’s voice shook as he eyed the prod. But apparently he decided Gonzales was more lethal than Diablo and worked to coax the colt back to the trailer ramp.
I was on my hands and knees staring through Imposter’s front legs as the nervous gelding watched the battle outside. Did Gonzales have the papers to get the
horse off the track? If I’d had my phone, I would have called the security guard at the stable gate. But he’d probably been bribed, anyway. Currito’s people had too much money and power, and I had to stay out of sight. No one knew where I was and I needed to keep it that way.
The groom tried to quiet Diablo with soft words while rubbing his head. Gonzales hissed something, and the groom again urged Diablo to step on the ramp. Gonzales leapt forward and struck the horse with the electric prod. Diablo screamed and burst up the ramp. He dragged the groom, who still clung to the lead shank, with him. The groom stumbled and fell forward into the trailer. Diablo trampled him as he exploded inside. Gonzales sprinted forward, yanked the ramp up, and fastened the security bars in place. He worked furiously to lock the upper Dutch doors, then ran to his Dodge pickup.
The trailer rocked wildly and I could hear the screams of the groom beneath Diablo’s hooves. The other horses neighed frantically. One of my fillies whirled in her stall. Anxious whinnying sounded from neighboring barns.
Why didn’t someone come? Probably because the fight with Diablo had only lasted moments. I glanced at my watch, almost three a.m., at least an hour before anyone showed up.
Gonzales didn’t waste any time firing his engine and driving away. I didn’t waste any time going after him.
* * * *
As soon as the trailer rolled out of sight, I ran to my Toyota and followed. Damn Will for telling me to lose the phone! But if he was right and I called for help, Currito’s people could intercept my call and know exactly where I was and what I was doing.
When Gonzales neared the stable gate, I feinted right as if going toward the track kitchen. This way, he wouldn’t see me in his side-view mirror when he stopped for the guard. But he didn’t stop. The security bar rose and the rig sailed through. Someone had paid the guard.
I pulled back onto the drive and slowed at the gate. Since my license hung from my rearview, the guard waved me through. If I’d had a trailer behind me, he would have forced me to stop, demanded papers, and checked them against my cargo.
