“Blue is Jennifer’s favorite color,” Emm said dully. Somehow, she knew the swatches of fabric belonged to her sister and niece. She covered her face with her hands, holding back tears. No one had to tell her the unspoken message of two feminine scraps of fabric found in the pocket of a dead man. It was a message. And while on the one hand, if the fabrics had belonged to her niece and sister, that meant until twenty-four hours ago they were in Mexico City and had not disappeared into Europe’s murky underworld, on the other hand, it also meant . . . A distressed sound escaped her clasped hands and she began to cry.
Helplessly, Ross looked at Abby.
Abby put a gentle hand on Emm’s shoulder. “There’s more. I’m sorry, but you asked to be kept in the loop. Please be aware that you cannot share what we’re about to tell you with anyone, for any reason. Agreed?”
With a deep, shuddering breath, Emm lifted her head and wiped away her tears. “I swear.”
“I can’t tell you how,” Abby said, “or all the agencies involved, but our side has had a certain mansion on a hilltop outside Mexico City under surveillance for over a week with the approval of the Mexican government. They’re not happy that the border wars between the various cartels are spilling over into the capital and they want it stopped. They’ve found numerous victims from both the Los Lobos and Knights Templar cartels in the last month, indicating the rivalry is heating up.”
“The assassination MO for Los Lobos is cutting out the heart.” Ross took up the sordid tale when Abby hesitated. “The Knights Templar generally behead their victims.”
The fact that he didn’t mince his words despite her distress was proof enough to Emm that he was angry at her refusal to cease and desist. Emm covered her mouth again, but this time she had to swallow back the acid upwash of her breakfast. After a minute, she angrily dashed her tears away. Then she dropped her hands and looked at both serious faces. “And this Jesús—was his heart cut out?”
Both of them nodded.
“About thirty hours ago there was a huge party with international guests.” Ross finally, slowly, offered her the picture he held as if he had to but didn’t want to. “This picture was taken at approximately twelve thirty a.m. Mexico City time outside the mansion.”
Emm accepted the picture. It had obviously been taken with night vision technology, and the images were grainy, but she recognized the proud tilt to that finely shaped head and the strange zigzag part that had been the bane of Yancy’s existence. No matter how she tried to comb her hair into a neat upsweep or side part, her hair always settled back to natural dishevelment, something that Emm had told her teasingly added to the wild sexuality that drove men crazy. It was also obvious that both women in the photo had fair hair that stood out against the dark background of the brick wall behind them. Even in her distress, she made a mental note of the details of the wall and its immediate surroundings. But she only whispered, “Yancy . . . Jennifer.”
“Are you sure?” Ross asked. He had to clear his voice.
“Yes. They’re in Mexico City?” She studied the picture for another long moment. It seemed as if both women were looking toward someone rounding the car parked before them. Both of their postures were very tense.
“They were about twenty-four hours ago. We also got one shot of both Arturo and his son Tomás getting out of the same limousine. So they’re either living at this compound or were guests. So far we haven’t determined which, because the ownership is through a convoluted set of partnerships we haven’t fully traced yet. But he was definitely in the company of two fair-haired women.”
“Were you able to confirm they’re wearing the same fabrics as the samples you found?”
“As you can see, visibility isn’t great, but our analysts say the patterns are consistent with the samples.” He still sounded very grim.
“Los Lobos knows you’re watching, don’t they?” Emm stated. At Ross’s jerky nod, Emm cried, “We have to go there, now!”
Ross took a deep breath and caught her hands, as if he’d been expecting this reaction. “Emm, this is the first actual confirmation we’ve had that Jennifer and Yancy are being held by the Los Lobos cartel. And if we’re right, and the scraps of fabric mean what we think they do, then it’s likely both Yancy and Jennifer are no longer even in the compound. They’ve been . . .” He couldn’t finish.
“Discarded?” Emm filled in bitterly. “Trash. Expendable. Used up . . .” She would have continued, but her voice broke. “Why do you think Los Lobos sent this message?”
“If they know we’re watching, I think they want us to know both women are no longer there. And it may be a warning. That the women will be killed if we seize the compound. If they’re still there. This is the only shot we had of the women, so we couldn’t tell if they were in the limo when it drove away.”
Emm was so anguished that she broke a nail as she gripped the arm of her chair. “We can’t just do nothing! They were still alive twenty-four hours ago, but what about tomorrow?”
Ross rounded his desk and knelt in front of Emm to take her hands. He tenderly kissed the broken nail and said into her fingers, “This is out of my hands now. You should know that I’ve resigned, effective as soon as my division chief finds a replacement.”
Her startled gaze leaped to meet his. But his deep blue eyes were veiled as he continued, “I have no control over what the international task force decides, and ultimately the Mexican government will make the call on whether to try to seize the compound or not. They won’t do it if they can’t confirm that Arturo Cervantes is nearby. It will be a hugely expensive operation and they’ll only green light it if they think there’s an excellent chance of success.”
Emm snatched her hands away. “Meaning Yancy and Jennifer are expendable. Tiny little pawns in the big, bad game of international chess.”
Ross sat back on his heels, but his only response was a small nod. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but that’s the way the system works.”
Emm leaped to her feet and ran from the office. Tears streamed from her eyes, making her path down the steps blurry, but she finally fumbled out her keys and got her car door open. She pressed the Start button, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and roared out of the lot, uncaring that she broke about three laws as she did so.
On the steps, Abby and Ross peered after her.
“She’s going to look for them herself,” Abby said softly.
Ross raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “Why do you think I asked to be replaced as head of the task force? I’m also taking a leave of absence as soon as the reunion ends so I can chase after her if need be.”
Abby looked up at him, her wide mouth stretching into a skeptical half smile. “And what if you have to arrest her for interfering in an investigation?”
“As you know, even off-duty Rangers have that right, when the situation warrants it. And I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep her safe, even if it means tossing her in a jail cell.” Ross spun on his heel and stalked back up the steps, leaving Abby walking down in a contemplative mood, wondering what she could do to help. It seemed to her Emm and Ross were made for each other, but her own limited forays into romance had ended disastrously, so who was she to play matchmaker?
On the other hand, she could certainly use her considerable expertise to help keep Emm safe. And the only thing that would make Emm back off was a breakthrough leading to Yancy and Jennifer’s locations.
Abby paused when she got to her car to look at the latest e-mail message in her secure account. There it was, the one she’d been waiting for. The undercover DEA operative in Mexico City had found three pharmacies that had recently filled the script for Yancy’s unusual hemophilia medication. They’d hacked into each store’s database and found evidence that one pharmacy had supposed US ownership, so large sums were being wired back and forth between Mexico and the United States. It smelled like money laundering to the operative, as it did to Abby.
A bit more digging yielded the
fact that a maid at an estate outside the city had filled a huge variety of prescriptions, among them Yancy’s favored hemophilia medicine, Effluenatasis, Xanax, and the morning-after pill. The maid had been followed once, when she’d come to pick up an entire bag full of scripts, back to the estate where she worked. Nothing could be seen behind the walls, even with the latest technology, for they were too thick, but the link had been deemed strong enough to warrant electronic surveillance.
Which was how the task force had finally been able to get pictures of Yancy and Jennifer in their finery; they’d sent a drone high overhead with the blessing of the Mexican government. After immediately forwarding the e-mail to Ross for his inclusion in the database, Abby started her car, wondering if she should go straight to Emm’s hotel. She decided it was best to let Emm calm down before she told her they’d tracked down Yancy’s prescription at the same mansion where they’d taken the picture of the two women.
Besides, she had more digging to do.
The night after the interview, Emm ignored her phone calls and increasingly urgent texts from Ross to meet him for dinner. Even though it was still early, she wore her teddy as she folded her arms over her knees and stared into the darkness. Her room service sandwich and soup sat untouched on her nightstand. She knew Ross was worried about what she’d do, and well he should be. Her duties here were almost done. If tomorrow she was able to convince the Sinclair family to redevelop both buildings instead of tearing them down, her first assignment would end a success.
Then what? Logically, she should return immediately to Baltimore, write up her final recommendation, and get her next assignment. Her boss probably wouldn’t be happy if she asked for a leave of absence so soon after being hired, but he’d accept it if she used her sister’s health as the reason.
Tomorrow was the first day of the Sinclair reunion, and it was the only free time the partygoers would all be unoccupied and together to hear her PowerPoint presentation. She’d worked on the presentation for over a week now, trying to perfect it, for she’d known what the complete survey would say just from following the engineer around: The buildings were both structurally sound. And only yesterday, he’d e-mailed a detailed report that showed exactly that—borings, elevations, steel beams, building sections, foundation, soils survey, and all. He’d agreed with her that the crumbling base around the bigger structure was only a cosmetic curtain wall and easily enough repaired, though it would be costly because it would require a skilled hand mason. Virtually the entire interior, from the doors to the stairways to the wood floors, even to the old elevator, could be repaired and preserved to save the historic character.
As challenging as the project had been, her thoughts were only for Yancy and Jennifer. She wished she could save them so easily. While she’d initially felt a jolt of relief that both were alive, still in Mexico City, given the careful placement of the fabric from their dresses, it was obvious their days were numbered.
Emm appraised the sequence of events and the various players, trying to deduce the best way to get into Mexico City. Finding the mansion would not be difficult; she’d appraised the wall behind the limo and it was pretty distinctive, brick with ornate wrought-iron pillars that looked more English than Mexican. Massive, on the hills outside the city. Google Earth was a handy piece of software . . . but what good would it do to breach the compound as an historic expert interested in Mexico City architecture only to find them gone?
No matter how she looked at it, Curt Tupperman was her best potential lead. She believed him when he said he still cared about Yancy. She suspected he was involved somehow with Los Lobos, though at this point she was sure of nothing. However, whether he was an investigative reporter or a criminal, she had few options. He could help her get access to the compound where Yancy and Jennifer had been sighted, and that was all she cared about.
She also knew something Ross and Abby apparently didn’t: Curt had a small interest in a private jet network. He’d told Yancy when he swept her away to Aruba for a long weekend while they were dating that as costly as it was, given the peripatetic nature of his work, it ultimately saved him time and money because he often had to travel on a moment’s notice. Ross and Abby also didn’t know Yancy had a good friend on the company’s executive board. Someone who could pull up all reservation records.
In the quiet of her reflections, Emm recalled that Miami area code and why it had stuck in her memory. Emm even remembered the woman’s name: Louise. She’d actually e-mailed her sympathies to Emm when she’d heard the news about Yancy’s abduction so soon after Jennifer. Emm turned on the light to check her watch. Eight p.m. her time, nine p.m. Miami time, where the company was based. Emm grabbed up the pad next to her bed and scribbled several phone number combinations. She stared a moment at the numbers and was pretty sure she had the last four right, but she wasn’t certain about the first three. She wrote down several combinations, picked up her cell phone, and started dialing.
As she waited for someone to answer, she made a mental checklist. After she spoke to Louise to find out if Curt had made any recent reservations, or had flown to Mexico around the time of either kidnapping, she’d pack. Tomorrow, immediately after the reunion, she’d approach Curt again and try to get him to go with her to Mexico City. If he refused, she’d book a flight on one of the majors.
Even as the scholar coolly, systematically went through her phone list, the soft, tender, lonely Emm was crying inside.
After tomorrow, she would never see Ross Sinclair again. But she’d have at least one happy memory to pull out and enjoy as she got old . . . For that, she couldn’t be sorry.
When she got back to Baltimore, hopefully accompanied by Yancy and Jennifer, she’d stay so busy that the desolation lapping at the shadows would recede back where it belonged. At the edges of her life, kept at bay by a career she loved and a fractured family that needed her.
Ross slammed his desk phone down, frustrated. He drummed his fingers on the top of the desk in his study, debating just showing up at Emm’s hotel, but he knew where that might lead, and his family arrived in the morning. He’d also seen the e-mail and final analysis from the engineer and skimmed the write-up carefully enough to realize both how comprehensive it was and that Emm had been right in her initial analysis. She was going to recommend they first be fined and cited with possible huge fines and then felonies if they tore either building down in defiance of a federal stay . . . He’d already checked the statutes.
The family would not be pleased. Sighing, he printed out six copies, one for each member of the LLC they’d formed to develop the building, but as he did so he wondered if Emm would still show up to try to persuade them to save her buildings. Her buildings. For some reason, he liked the ring of that.
His doorbell dinged. Ross went to the door himself, thinking it might be one of his guests, arriving early. He was surprised when he opened the door to see Chad standing there. He wore a jacket and his badge, so he was dressed for business. “Hey, Chad, what brings you here so late?”
“Can I come in?”
Ross stood back. “Of course.” He led the way to his favorite spot, the two chairs before the fire, which was still crackling in the spring chill. He poured them each a drink and sat down, waiting for Chad to begin.
As usual, Chad didn’t mince words. “They want to make me head of the task force, and I had to ask how you felt about that. You know I’d never take your job behind your back.”
Ross nodded, unsurprised. He swirled his brandy, searching for a tactful way to say this. There was none but the plain truth. “I asked to be removed, actually.”
Chad tilted his hat back, as he did when he was confused about something. “Why in God’s name would you do that? Pulling off this investigation would get you to Austin.”
“If I wanted to go to Austin. Which I don’t.”
“Okay, but that’s still an extreme reaction unless . . .”
Ross tossed back the rest of his brandy. “Unless I have a blatant
conflict of interest.”
Chad took off his hat and cradled it on his lap. “Ah, I see.” He peered more closely at his former boss’s shadowed face. “I take it Ms. Rothschild is the conflict?”
Ross nodded, hoping his flush couldn’t be seen in the dim lighting. “I’m going to ask her to marry me at the end of the reunion.” He smiled, as if mystified a bit at his own haste. “If nothing else, that will get her to shut up for five minutes.”
Chad laughed. “Don’t count on it.” He sipped his own drink more judiciously. “Isn’t your family likely to be opposed?”
“Yep. At least my mom and my aunt will be. If Emm had won a Nobel Peace prize and a Pulitzer and personally owned the Rothschild trust fund, they’d still be opposed. Why do you think I’m rushing things?”
Chad grinned ear to ear. “Fait accompli, in your fancy-schmancy, Yalie parlance.”
“That ‘aw shucks’ BS may work with Jasmine—”
“Actually, it never did—”
“But it doesn’t work with me.” Ross stood and offered his hand to his friend. “You’re the first to know about my resignation from the task force and about my marital plans. I don’t have to ask you to keep them quiet. Even from Jasmine.”
“I’ll try, but Jasmine reads me like a book. She knows I drove here to talk to you and she’s going to ask me what happened.”
Ross grinned. “So can you read her yet?”
Chad smashed his hat back on his head. “I’m working on it. Ask me again in about, say, fifty years. . . .”
Ross’s laughter followed him toward the door. But before he exited, Chad turned back to Ross. “And if we have to go into Mexico? Do you want to be in on that operation . . . in an advisory capacity?”
Sinclair Justice Page 18
