by Paula Cox
But where to start? Her cell phone was switched off, more than likely smashed, so he couldn’t run a trace on that. He had absolutely no idea where Isaiah Bernal was staying in L.A., presuming he was behind this. Who else might have that information? He wrung his brain to figure out an angle he could use, but drew a blank. The prick lived over on the East Coast. Dax didn’t know anyone out there who could help him with this.
He jumped behind the wheel and took off, hoping an idea would come to him if he kept moving, like a hunter using his instincts to find prey.
***
Monte called while Dax was waiting at a red light. He picked up immediately and ignored the horn-honkers behind him when the light turned green. This conversation needed his undivided attention.
“Find anything?”
“I think so. The car is registered to a Reggie Martinez, fifty-seven years old. Get this: he has four separate residences listed, all in California, two in Santa Barbara, one in the Mojave Desert, and one in L.A. I’m texting you the L.A. address now, but I did a quick check and I doubt the kidnappers would take her there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s a penthouse apartment. No private access. They’d have to be pretty stupid to take her up five floors.”
“True. I’m gonna try it anyway. Best to eliminate it than keep guessing.”
“Agreed.”
“Meantime, see what you can find out about the other addresses.”
“Will do. Purely in terms of distance, Santa Barbara is lot closer than the Mojave address, actually about half the distance. But it’s also a lot busier, not as remote. Abductions usually require a remote location. I wouldn’t like to bet either way.”
“Me either. Let’s pray it’s the penthouse.”
“Roger that.”
“Anything from Tiana’s GPS?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll keep an eye out though.”
“Thanks, Slats. Send me any new info you get.”
“Will do, brother. Watch your back.”
***
It took Dax a little over twenty minutes to reach the penthouse and discover that Monte was right. Nobody was home. And the apartment building was part of a plush, tropical-themed resort. Too public. Too exposed. No kidnapper in his or her right mind would bring anyone here.
He now had two options. Santa Barbara or the Mojave.
This was the crunch decision, he knew. If Tiana was still alive—and he had to believe she was, no matter what happened—then time was the critical factor now. The longer they had her, the more damage they could inflict. And after everything she’d been through with Thad Hollis, this new ordeal might be too much for her. Even if she survived, she might never recover.
Don’t even think it. Focus on solving the problem. The rest will take care of itself.
So, the desert or the coast?
He snatched up a rock and hurled it at the nearest wall in frustration. Without more intel, he was just guessing. Picking the wrong one would cost him several hours—hours she didn’t have! Santa Barbara was closer, just under a two-hour drive by the book—make that an hour if he floored it all the way. If he went there first, he’d at least be eliminating two more addresses. That would leave the Mojave property.
Shit, there was no guarantee this Martinez guy even was the kidnapper. Maybe he’d just supplied the car. Maybe the real kidnappers were right here in L.A., tracking Dax’s every move, laughing their asses off at him chasing his tail like this.
Some protector he’d turned out to be. Christ, he’d never felt so freaking useless in his life!
He checked his phone for messages. Nothing.
Fuck it. I need to make a decision, even if it’s a wrong one.
He plucked a quarter out of his pocket. Heads, the coast; tails, the desert. He tossed it.
Heads.
After taking a huge swig of cool water, he set off for Santa Barbara at top speed.
***
He was almost there when his phone rang. The salty sea air and the wind rushing in through the open windows had lulled him into a grim, almost Zen-like autopilot. He almost didn’t hear the ring tone. It was the phone’s vibration that alerted him, and as soon as he saw Monte’s name in the center of the display, he snapped into real-time focus. Closed the windows so he could hear properly.
“Hey. Anything new?”
“Where are you right now?” There was a sharpness in Monte’s voice Dax hadn’t heard since the Middle East.
“About ten minutes outside Santa Barbara. Why?”
“Okay, turn your ass around right this second and head out to the Mojave.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope, and you’re wasting time. Tiana’s locator just flashed a signal. Only a blip, no more than a few seconds, but the GPS pinpointed her northeast of somewhere called Tecopa. It’s out in the desert.”
“Son of a bitch!” Waves of relief and anger clashed together inside him. “So it is Martinez.”
“Looks that way. I’ve been researching him for the past hour or so. He’s an investment banker, owns stakes in some pretty high-end hotels, casinos, and sporting venues in Vegas and L.A. At least three of them are frequent MMA fight venues. Maybe more. That links him to the IMMAF, to Bernal, and probably to the Vegas gambling cartels. It all fits, bud. With guys like this bankrolling him, Bernal will absolutely do whatever it takes to bury Tiana’s testimony.”
“Does Martinez strike you as somebody who’d get his hands dirty?”
“Not really. He’s a behind-the-scenes player. No criminal record. He probably has hotlines to half a dozen senators. Walks between the raindrops. That kind of thing.”
Dax waited for the next gap in oncoming traffic, then pulled a sharp U-turn. The drivers behind honked and cursed him. He flipped them off.
“You sound popular,” said Monte.
“Yeah, and they’re gonna just love me in Tecopa.” He punched the address into his navigation system. “Jesus. Two-hundred and thirty miles!”
“You always did have a boner for night ops.” Monte paused before he added, “Want some backup?”
Dax’s first instinct was to jump at the chance. There was no one he’d rather have fighting alongside him. And two Marines were better than one. But in his heart he knew it was a bad idea. The warrior known as Slats had never returned home from Afghanistan. He’d died out there. And the man who’d come back, brave and smart and loyal as he was, still hadn’t recovered from that trauma. Maybe he never would. Monte was a great pal, but when it came to combat, he was all fought out. They both knew it.
“You’ve already got my back, bro. I need you to keep feeding me intel. As much as you can find out between now and Tecopa. The layout of the property. Who else lives there with Martinez. Family members? Security personnel? Find out who else Bernal and Martinez might be in league with. Start joining the dots. If anything happens to me, I want you to use it all. Go to the Feds if you have to. Just make sure you bring these bastards down. Okay?”
“Copy that, pal. I’m on it.”
Hearing those words somehow settled Dax a little. His anger was still there, but it was no longer red hot. He heaved a big sigh and found that it helped him focus. The obstacles to success kept piling up in his mind. Together, they scared him. Alone, however, none of them were insurmountable. And that was the only way he was going to win this thing, the only way he was going to bring Tiana back alive: one move at a time. No mistakes.
“Monte?”
“Still here.”
“What else do we know about Bernal?”
***
There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t either ache or throb with pain. It was the posture mostly, standing on the balls of her feet for what must have been over an hour. Maybe two. The muscles in her feet had cramped several times. But whenever she took her weight off her feet, the ropes chafed against her wrists. The skin had peeled off by now, and the flesh underneath was raw. No matter what she did, agony
was the result.
At least Isaiah Bernal and the other man, the one who’d caught her trying to escape after the crash, had stopped yelling in her face. It had numbed her to their threats in a way, the sheer volume of their shouts. But ugh, they’d kept at it until they were hoarse. Her ears still rang, but it was quiet in here now. They’d taken a break. Left her alone to contemplate her fate.
If she didn’t retract her statement about Thad’s condition, they would kill her. If she didn’t sign the document exculpating Bernal, they would kill her. If she had any further contact with the IMMAF or the authorities regarding this investigation, they would kill her. If she had any further contact with Dax Easterling, guess what?
If I did all that, I might as well be dead anyway.
Strange, how she could hold out like this under all this physical and mental torture, when just a few weeks ago, she’d gone to pieces in the complete safety of her niece’s bedroom. Bernal and his man hadn’t made a dent in her resolve. Not even when they’d taken turns caning her back. Not even the slaps to her face, or those two punches to her stomach that had knocked the wind out of her.
What would they try next? Waterboarding? Gang rape? Tiana reckoned not. As sick as Bernal was, he was trying to wear her down, not destroy her. After all, he hadn’t let his goons strip her naked. Not yet anyway.
But where was Dax? Was he even on his way? She felt sure she’d activated the distress signal. Shit. What if the signal was out of range? What if the hills were blocking it? She’d pressed the button twice, but had the second press been quick enough? Had she done it right on the first try and cancelled it out with the second?
No way to reach it again. Either he was on his way, or she was dead. It was that simple.
Jovial voices grew louder at the far end of the rec room. They were coming back, descending the stairs. Tiana closed her eyes tight and concentrated on steeling herself for what she’d have to endure next. If Dax could whisper in her ear, what advice would he give?
We’re better than they are. We’ve got right on our side. That makes us stronger. So just hold on.
How could they be sharing jokes at a time like this? The first session had been so grim, so intense, with so much shouting, these didn’t seem like the same men. But they were. Isaiah Bernal had changed into smart trousers and a black cotton shirt. He’d showered, too, and slicked his hair back.
“That part about not having any further contact with Dax Easterling? You don’t need to worry about that anymore. We’ve taken care of it for you.” He addressed her so casually, he might be talking about a carton of milk he’d picked up from the market, not the man she loved.
“W-what do you mean?” Tiana’s lips cracked as she spoke.
“I mean he’s dead. Try to keep up.”
“You’re lying.”
“Have it your way.” His nonchalant shrug sent shivers down her sore spine. He strolled behind her, whistling to himself. His torture partner lowered his shades, flicked Tiana a wink. She didn’t believe them. No. She couldn’t. Dax? Dead? It was just another mind game they were playing, another attempt to break her spirit. Dax was a decorated Marine, and one of the toughest guys anywhere in the world. No way he’d let these bozos take him down.
They were bullshitting.
Or were they?
The sound of the cane smacking the floor made her jump. The memory of those sharp slices of pain made her sick to her stomach.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Bernal said from behind her. Again, there was no venom in his words. He was calm. Almost workmanlike in his efficiency. “You can stop this at any time,” he reminded her. His calmness was unnerving after how aggressively he’d interrogated her at first. It left her wondering whether he was telling the truth about Dax, and he now considered himself completely untouchable. Like a dark seed in her heart, the idea sprouted and quickly grew thorns. She started shaking at the thought of having to endure all this for nothing. If Dax wasn’t there at the end of it, what was the point?
Then the cane struck her ribs, and she cried out.
For the first time, Tiana doubted her resolve. She just didn’t know how long she could hold on without him. No. Those two words may have just broken her.
He’s dead.
She tried to banish the thought from her mind, but the blows kept on coming. Soon she went limp under them, and the ropes dug further into her wrists.
Chapter Twenty Five
The wreckage of the burnt-out car still smoldered at the bottom of the verge. When Dax had first spotted it, he’d feared the worst. But there were no bodies inside. The blood on the sand outside could be anybody’s. It made no sense to drive Tiana all the way out here to kill her and leave this evidence behind so close to Martinez’s estate. No, something unexpected had happened here. Maybe she’d tried to get free and during the struggle she’d inadvertently caused the driver to swerve off-road.
What about the duration of her distress signal though? If she did manage to get free, why the single blip? Unless they’d clocked what she was doing it and ripped it off her?
The lights of the estate had been visible for miles, since before Tecopa. There were other large residential properties in this area, but they were off to the southeast, clustered around some kind of hot springs resort. Martinez’s home stood alone, more or less in the middle of nowhere. The perfect place to conduct private business…of all sorts.
He switched off his flashlight before he climbed back up the verge to his Jeep. After sending Monte a final message saying he was about to start his incursion, Dax backed the car up to a safer distance off-road, behind a small hillock. Then he strapped on his Kevlar vest and armed himself for the assault. He’d considered not taking the M16a4 assault rifle because it had a fairly long barrel and was therefore cumbersome when climbing. He had to be agile tonight and be able to improvise.
But he didn’t know how many men he’d be dealing with, or how heavily armed they were. Sneaking around was all well and good, but there would inevitably be a confrontation when he made his move to snatch her. He needed the rifle. It came with a strap, so he could sling it onto his back. Next, twin Beretta M9 USMC 9mm pistols, identical to those that had saved his life umpteen times at close quarters in the Middle East. Throwing knives, always handy for stealth attacks. And lastly, a pair of L-3 binocular night-vision goggles, the most effective way of evening the odds against a superior force at night. If it came to a firefight that would be his first move: kill the lights, keep them in them dark so he could pick them off using his infrared.
Monte had found a bird’s eye photo of the compound taken by a tourist during a scenic tour flight in a Cessna. Not the best quality, as the snap had been taken from high up, but the white buildings were clear enough. Monte had made out a horse stable, a garage for a fleet of cars, a helipad (but no chopper), and an L-shaped configuration of the four main buildings, which all adjoined. The largest, probably Martinez’s residence, constituted the corner of the L. It was located on the western edge of the courtyard, difficult to access from the front because it was so exposed; the stone fountains might provide some cover, but it was not a great way to approach the house. Luckily, the guy liked his plants. There were shrubs, creepers, and small trees all over the place.
A quick scout around the perimeter didn’t give him much, but it did reveal a potential way in. He still had to scale the high, Stucco-rendered wall, but some sections were in better shape than others. In places where the finish had crumbled away or been disturbed by tenacious vines—one or two had almost manage to poke their roots through the wall itself from the inside—he might be able to gain some purchase. They were at best meager handholds and footholds between the old stones underneath, but it was worth a try. It was either that or rig up some kind of grappling hook, which would make more noise, and he wouldn’t know if it had raised the alarm or not until he reached the top of the wall.
No time to waste.
He attacked the climb, really digging his
fingertips into the cracks. But he was also careful not to put all his weight on a hold until he was sure the stone wouldn’t crumble. It was a very old wall, much older than he’d assumed. This section of it hadn’t been repaired in decades. Here and there it did crumble, and he wound up clinging to practically nothing with fingertips that shook with the strain of his weight. Christ, why had he gone and bulked up so much? Climbing was a skinny guy’s sport. Skinny he was not.
The last meter or so proved impossible. Dax was at full stretch already, and he couldn’t see any more handholds above him. There was a promising area to his left, with plenty of cracks and crevices, but it was a full arm’s length out of reach. The way his legs were positioned meant that any shift of weight in that direction would be an all-or-nothing gamble. Either he purchased new holds with both his hand and his foot on the first try, or he’d plummet twenty feet onto a thin layer of sand over solid rock. A leg-breaking fall, maybe worse.
