Sinclair Justice

by Colleen Shannon

  Biting back tears behind a perky smile, Emm bubbled over her shoulder, “Sure, I’ll look forward to it!” This was the first and last time she’d lie to him. He’d find her long gone....

  “Emm, my mom and aunt don’t realize how cold and arrogant they can be. Once you get to know them . . .”

  “I’m sure. I have my own share of family members like that. No problem. Thanks for listening to my presentation.” Safely outside the house now, Emm became the professional again. It was best to end all contact with him as it began: just business.” More calmly, she said, “After I complete my recommendation to the office that the buildings merit restoration, I’ll e-mail you a copy and forward you the signed original for your records. You want me to send it here or the office?”

  “Here.”

  She nodded, hefted her laptop strap over her shoulder, and started down the steps, letting momentum and the tap of her heels drown out his soft, “Wait.” He hovered on the steps, but his father bypassed him and caught up with Emm before she was able to open her car door.

  For her ears alone, he murmured, “I’m sorry for my wife’s and sister-in-law’s attitude, but they’re accustomed to getting what they want, and they’re very protective of Ross.”

  Emm smiled at him perfunctorily. “That was apparent. I’m sorry if I spoiled your reunion, but I had to give my honest, professional opinion or I’d be negligent in my new job.”

  He nodded. “I understand that. Tell me, are you any relation to Edgar Rothschild?”

  “He’s my grandfather.”

  “I saw the box of cigars you gave Ross. You have exquisite taste.” He eyed her up and down approvingly. “If we decide to continue with the redevelopment, would you be willing to talk with us about leading it?”

  Emm knew only the need to escape before she burst into tears. He was being very kind, but this final leave-taking would be much easier if he’d been as cold as his wife. It was easy to see where Ross got his empathy. She managed, “I can’t operate as your developer as long as I’m employed by the Parks Service, but that’s very kind of you.”

  She opened her car door, nodding at him in thanks a final time. As she got into her BMW and carefully maneuvered between the other expensive vehicles, she knew he still stood there watching her, so she waved and drove off very sedately.

  She grabbed her sunglasses out of her bag. Later, she wouldn’t even recall the trip into town. It was the sun, bright and intrusive, she told herself, that brought tears to her eyes. They blurred her vision so much that she swerved off the road once and had to pull over to grab a tissue. Back on the road again, she glanced at the clock. She should reach Curt’s hotel right on time for their luncheon appointment.

  But as she drove carefully back into town, much slower than was her wont, she couldn’t totally quell the tears as she envisioned Ross and his new bride in his mansion. Elaine obviously had much more money and class than some poor little relation of the Rothschild dynasty. Elaine would be a better mistress of the growing ranch, and Ross’s aunt and mom obviously liked her.

  Besides, Emm didn’t want to stay in Amarillo. Not really. Too dry, too desolate, too hot, too cold at night. Too . . . She tried to focus on the bright day, but as the long, winding road led her away from Ross’s door this time, the lovely sunshine illuminated only a very dull future.

  Inside the study, Ross glared at everyone present but focused the bulk of his ire on the three women. Even his mother had the grace to shift under his fury, but she burst out, “She has no right to stop us from utilizing our own property—”

  “She has every right. That’s her job. And she has a PhD in historic preservation. Her initial analysis was spot-on, if you read the detailed survey. She knows what’s she’s doing.”

  “If she’s not in collusion with the engineer . . .” Eugenie’s insult faded away as Ross’s fury turned in her direction.

  “Very well; if we can’t agree on the proper way to proceed with the development of these buildings, I have a solution.” Ross went to his desk and pulled out the checkbook attached to his oil and gas accounts. His father entered just as Ross started writing a check.

  He was puzzled and went to look over his son’s shoulder. His eyes widened. “Now wait a minute, son. We need to talk about this.” He glared at all three women. “The three of you were quite rude. I only hope this doesn’t get back to Edgar Rothschild.”

  Ross tore the check from the book and stalked over to his mother, thrusting it into her face. “This is the current per square foot valuation of each structure, per the tax rolls, which you have records of. I want to buy both buildings outright.”

  For the first time, Clara’s gaze softened. She barely glanced at the generous sum. She moved Ross’s arm away from her face and clasped his wrist. “Ross, you know we don’t want the money. It’s the principle involved—”

  “You mean the principle that states I own a majority share in the trust and have the right to buy the buildings at my discretion? Or that I’m managing member and am ultimately responsible for the details of the development? Well, I’ve made an executive decision. Mercy Magdalena Rothschild is going to develop these buildings, with or without the trust’s approval.”

  Elaine gasped. Ross’s cold gaze turned on her. “Elaine, I don’t want to be rude, but you should have notified me you intended to come—”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Elaine protested. “Your mother and aunt invited me—”

  “And I would have asked you to please stay away if I’d been warned. If I’d had any doubts about my feelings for you, this has settled them, so I thank the three of you for that.” Since his mother refused to take the check, Ross tucked it in his father’s shirt pocket. “Now, please let this be the end of the debate over the buildings so we can all enjoy our two days together. I’ll have my attorney draw up the appropriate contracts and forward them to you next week.”

  Ross went to the door and opened it. “José has breakfast ready, and his biscuits can only be appreciated piping hot.” Though he didn’t know it, he looked very like his mother at that moment as he eyed his family members one by one, daring them to argue. They trooped to the door, but his mother exited last and looked up at him.

  “Ross, I’m only trying to protect you from an opportunist. I had this girl investigated before we came, and her part of the Rothschild family is penniless. They only have what they earn. From all accounts, her father is . . . in sales. He’s not very close to his family, and I’ve heard this girl’s older half sister is, well, scandalous. Elaine is a much better match for you.”

  Ross’s eyes lost their icy sheen, becoming incandescent as his pupils expanded in anger. “I don’t want Elaine. I want Emm. Deal with it. She’s going to be my wife—if she’ll have me after this fiasco. And if you don’t make amends with her, it will be her decision whether you ever darken my door again. Now leave me the hell alone before I say something I’ll really regret.”

  And Ross marched out, leaving his mother staring after him openmouthed.

  Emm was still crying when she reached town, and she had to drive around for a bit to calm herself before her luncheon with Curt. She repaired her makeup in her car mirror, took a deep breath, and entered the restaurant. He was tapping his fingers on the tablecloth when she entered. She was glad of the low lighting.

  She plopped down in the booth across from him. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve just come from the Sinclair homestead, where I gave my presentation on the buildings to Ross’s family.”

  Curt’s reporter’s ears pricked up. “How did that go? I’ve heard the older females of the family are . . . trying.”

  Emm laughed shortly. “That’s a more charitable way than I’d put it.” She sipped her ice water, unaware she was still trembling slightly until her teeth chattered a bit against the glass. She set it down, taking deep breaths.

  Sympathy softening his face, Curt shook his head wryly. “We don’t always want what’s good for us, do we?”

  �
�No, but in this case I think what’s good for me tastes bitter but will be efficacious in the end. We’d never . . . have worked out anyway. What would I do in Amarillo, Texas?” She took a sip of hot tea as soon as the waitress delivered it. The warm mint steadied her enough for the shaking to stop. “But enough of my love life, such as it is. We’ve been friends for a while, so I’ll be crystal clear. I had an ulterior motive for inviting you here.” She reached across the table to cover Curt’s restless hand.

  He stiffened. “And what’s that?”

  “I need you to fly to Mexico City with me. Today, if possible.”

  “What?”

  “I know you have a charter jet service, and that’s perfect for this particular. . . outing. We need to get into the city quietly, and we’ll probably need to get out even more quietly. The private jet will be much harder for anyone to track. Both outgoing and incoming, preferably straight back to Baltimore.”

  Curt was already shaking his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea where Yancy is; you know that. All this speculation about my affairs is just that, and I’m not happy you think I could be even peripherally involved in something so distasteful as human trafficking.”

  “At this moment, I don’t care whether you’re involved or not, though the brutal truth is if you are, it would certainly give us easier access. I’m not doing this in collaboration with any authorities,” Emm said grimly. “In fact, if Ross knew what I’m contemplating, he’d probably throw me in jail for obstruction.”

  “Emm, this is not only dangerous it’s suicidal—”

  “Yancy and Jennifer will be dead in a few days if we don’t go.”

  That shut Curt up. After a moment, he said slowly, “How can you make a definitive statement like that? For all we know, they’re both somewhere in Europe by now.”

  “The DEA, CIA, FBI, yadda yadda yadda, WTF is a better name for every damn one of them as far as I’m concerned; anyway, they have their uses. They’ve had a certain compound outside Mexico City under surveillance for a number of days. I wasn’t supposed to share this info, so you absolutely have to keep it between the two of us, no inclusion in your book. But Ross showed me photos of both Yancy and Jennifer, wearing evening attire, standing by a limo outside the gate. Snippets of their dresses were found in the pockets of a dead Los Lobos lieutenant who was supposedly feeding information to the Knights Templar. His heart was cut out.”

  Curt absorbed this, his handsome face now grayish as he listened. Finally, he said, “So you just want to drive around outside the city hoping to find them? And this is an armed compound? How would we get in, even if we stumble across it?”

  Emm snapped her cup down in her saucer so hard the china clanged. “Please, give me a bit more credit than that. I spent hours on Google Earth. The ironwork and brick wall in the background of the photo are very distinct—a European, not a Spanish or Mexican style. I only found three homes that match.”

  Curt blinked rapidly. “Are you insane? Even if we pick the right one, do you think we can just waltz into the compound of one of the world’s most ruthless drug lords and ask to see his mistress?”

  Emm smiled and rummaged in her purse. She offered him two cards, one his own, which she’d saved in her card case, and her own as historical preservation consultant—the title she’d used before landing her most recent job—with a Maryland address. She knew better than to offer anything with even a whiff of association with the US government.

  She tapped the cards, her voice lowering to be sure no one heard her. “I’ve been doing my own research. And the last Mexican high lord of crime, El Chapo, who was apprehended several years ago, actually gave interviews on occasion. We live in a digital world, and the latest cocaine czars like Arturo Cervantes need notoriety to oil their international connections and spread fear. I believe he’ll happily let us inside if we present ourselves properly and promise to keep certain incriminating details vague. What do you think it would do to your book sales to have such inside . . . well, forgive the pun, dope on your story?”

  Finally, Curt looked intrigued.

  Not far from the compound under discussion, but in a much seedier area of Mexico City, Yancy yanked yet again at the handcuffs that held her securely to the iron bedstead by one arm. She was nude, had been for the last couple of days. The two Chechens had taken turns with her. At first she’d fought and bit, which had only led to her being cuffed and brutalized. She pretended to be comatose when she could, and that had helped some because they hadn’t pestered her now in over twenty-four hours. They’d even sent a girl in, apparently of Chechen descent, because she spoke neither Spanish nor English, to bathe and feed her.

  Like cattle, Yancy thought bitterly, being prepared for market. But she knew she needed all the strength she could muster, so she forced herself to eat whatever they brought. And with every bite, her rage at Arturo grew. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know when, but she would help bring him to justice if she died trying . . . He was the poisonous head of the snake. While there would always be other bosses ready to take over, none of them were as resourceful and ruthless. Just disrupting the flow of funds and drugs Los Lobos funneled around the world would give the authorities time to rescue some of his human trafficking victims before another head of the hydra grew powerful enough to take over.

  But as she ate with one hand while the frightened girl cleaned her with a rough washcloth and a bowl of soothing warm water, Yancy had to gag down the last of the stale tacos with a filling that was indistinguishable, but didn’t taste or feel like meat. While on one level of her brain she knew the poor quarters and supplies were a frightening indicator of her value to the Chechens, at the moment there was only one human trafficking victim she was concerned about. When they’d arrived, Yancy had heard Jennifer’s screams down the hall, but in the last twenty-four hours the deadly quiet had been even more terrifying than her daughter’s pain.

  Yancy swallowed the bile of her own fear. She pointed down the hall, lifted a hank of her own dirty but still fair hair, and used a word even those not fluent in Spanish sometimes understood. “Niña? Muy bonita?” Yancy mimed sleeping by folding her hands and resting her cheek. She nodded down the hallway.

  The girl’s eyes flickered but she only shrugged and collected the water and the rag.

  Yancy pulled viciously at the cuffs, which the girl had never undone. Her wrist was raw and she knew if she kept pulling she’d begin to bleed, so she forced herself to desist. When the girl turned to the door, Yancy begged, “Please, help us.”

  The girl’s shoulders sagged a bit, but she exited without a response.

  Yancy was alone in the dark, left to her own initiative. She should be used to that, she thought vaguely. But this time, she was fresh out of ideas.

  This time, when the tears came, she couldn’t stop them.

  CHAPTER 13

  Back in Amarillo, Curt still waffled. “Emm, we can’t do this without help. Neither of us even knows how to shoot.”

  Emm leaned across the booth to spear Curt with her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, even if we were both Marine snipers, we’d be idiots to try to shoot our way into a compound that’s probably stocked with every machine gun known to man and plenty of drug dealers willing to use them. This situation requires negotiation and finesse, something we’re both good at.” When he stared at the napkin in his lap, she softened her tone. “Okay, you say you still love Yancy. You say you have no other interest in the cartels except as fodder for your stories and your next book. I need your help in Mexico City to find them, and eventually you’d have to go there anyway, wouldn’t you, to collect information for your book? Why not now? Help me save Yancy and Jennifer. I have nowhere else to turn, at least not to anyone who can move in time.”

  Curt finally looked at her. “What, are you going to hold me at gunpoint and force me to order the jet?”

  Emm said simply, “No. I’ll sell my car if I have to, but one way or the other, I intend to be in Mexico City by tomorrow night.�
��

  “I can’t talk you out of it, whether I go or not?”

  “No.” One word, but rife with determination.

  Curt sighed and picked up his cell phone. “I don’t know if they’ll pick us up in Amarillo. We may have to go to Dallas first. We have to deal with our cars, but let’s go get your luggage first.”

  Emm leaped to her feet to kiss his cheek. “Lay on.” She almost added, Macduff, but given the outcome of that particular tragedy, she held her tongue.

  Ross paced his hallway that night, aware of his mother’s concerned gaze but uncaring. He’d been trying Emm’s cell all day, and she hadn’t returned his calls. He understood her well enough to know that she felt used and discarded after seeing Elaine in his home. And if he’d come across her old lover being included in intimate family events, he’d likely have concluded exactly the same thing. Every instinct in his body demanded that he go to her hotel to explain in person, but he was host of this damn jamboree.

  “Ross, please come and eat some of this delicious barbecue,” his mother pleaded from the doorway that led to the outside tables and festivities. LED lanterns manufactured to look like old kerosene ones lit the scene, more gaiety added by strings of colored lights and the country-western band Ross had hired for the evening.

  Ross was still angry with her, but he managed stiffly, “In a minute.”

  Helplessly, she turned back to the merrymaking.

  Ross pulled out his cell phone yet again, but this time he dialed Abigail Doyle.

  By the time she was able to get away from an intelligence-gathering meeting led by Chad Foster, Abby was bleary-eyed with tiredness, but she’d promised Ross she’d check on Emm. Ross hadn’t been specific, but if the presentation on the buildings hadn’t gone well, that was reason enough, along with Emm’s fears for her sister and niece, for her to refuse Ross’s calls.