Good for him.
I stepped onto the back deck and took deep breaths of air, trying to regain control. When I felt that I could speak without sobbing, I tugged my phone out of my pocket. There were twenty missed calls, all from just the past two hours, all from Carrington. He wanted to know where the hell I was.
He was the last person I wanted to give that information to. I had enough on my plate without having to worry about some Mahoney loyalist taking him out.
I knew I was being watched. I knew Mahoney had those still loyal to him watch me to report back what I was doing. I knew they wouldn’t hurt me because that wasn’t the end game, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t go after Carrington.
I’d promised I’d keep him in the loop from now on, but that was before Mahoney raised the stakes.
I deleted the record of Carrington’s calls and dialed Mike Spencer at the FBI.
“Riva Tyran,” I barked into the phone the moment he picked up. “Do you know that name?”
“It sounds familiar. Who is she?”
“She’s the woman who was talking to my daughter over Skype.”
“Your friend was able to recover the files?”
“Yes. Can you find out who she is, please?”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“It’s not easy, is it?”
I glanced over at the man who’d come to stand beside me as I disconnected the call. Kipling McKay. He was a former Green Beret who ran David’s operatives here at this incarnation of Gray Wolf. And, if I recalled properly, his wife and daughter had been murdered in their home by a member of the Bazarov mafia a few years before they popped up on Gray Wolf’s radar.
Small world.
“Please, don’t give me the lecture about letting law enforcement do their job and just sitting back, twiddling my thumbs, and waiting for them to bring my baby back to me.”
“I would never say that.” He regarded me with a look of utter disgust on his face. “If that was my wife out there, I’d raise holy hell to bring her back.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“But I wouldn’t do it alone. I made that mistake once.” He shook his head as he turned to look out over the property. “I wouldn’t do it again.”
“I’m the one Mahoney’s after.”
“But you’re not the only one he’s hurt.” Kipling slapped his leg. “I owe him for the pins they had to put in my leg after that botched raid.”
The botched raid Carrington planned and had Mahoney’s men execute.
I was a little relieved Kipling blamed Mahoney for all that and not Carrington. He was one enemy I really didn’t want to make.
“Everyone keeps saying things like that, but I can’t ask anyone to get involved in this. It’s my child. It’s my past that brought me to Mahoney’s attention. It’s my mistake that allowed this woman to get close to my daughter.”
“I used to think that, too. That it was my fault my wife and daughter were brutally murdered in their beds.” He leaned on his hand where they were resting on the rail, turning his head to look at me. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have gone on another tour with my unit in Afghanistan. I should have quit like she kept asking me to do. If I’d been there…” He stopped, sitting up a little straighter and taking a deep breath. “But then I realized that it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Jesse’s fault and it definitely wasn’t Grace’s fault. The only person at fault was the person who killed them.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is.” He leaned forward again. “And the truth of it all? I might have found their real killers a lot sooner if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own guilt. It wasn’t until I began to let go of my guilt and accepted help from the least likely source that I finally learned the truth of what happened that night.”
“I don’t have time to worry about other people. I have to find her.”
“Sure, I get that. But here’s the thing, Joss: your friends aren’t normal people. We’ve all served our time in the military. We’ve all seen danger in our chosen line of work. We all know how to take care of ourselves. We can help you.”
“And you all have wives and children. You all have something to live for, someone I would have to explain my story to if something were to happen to you. I can’t do that.”
I pushed away from the railing and turned to go inside. Before I reached the door, however, my phone rang.
“I have her. She owns a place in Mexico…”
Chapter 3
Joss
I walked into the guest room, tugging at my uniform in a vain attempt to cover my ass a little more. I’d been here five days and I still wasn’t used to the damn thing. Whenever I bent over, it was like someone suddenly turned up the air conditioning. And this being a maid stuff required a lot of bending over.
Mike discovered that Riva Tyran was actually Anita Tyson, the former wife of Rahul Rush. Rush, who was now a guest of the federal government, was coaxed into telling Mike about this hotel in Manzanillo. I didn’t ask how he got the information—didn’t really want to know. All that mattered to me was that this was the only lead we had to find Aidan. If there were some clue as to where Tyson was now, it would be here.
I flew down the day Mike called and got a job here the following morning. People were wary around me, being the new girl and all that, but they were beginning to open up. I was hoping to get some information soon enough. The manager had an office behind the front desk that he rarely locked. I was going to try to sneak in there tonight and see what I could find.
In the meantime, I had to scrub these toilets and make the beds.
I dragged the supply cart into the doorway, using it to keep the door open while I worked. Wipe down the counters, scrub the toilet, spray the shower. Replace the towels. Strip the beds. Replace the linens. It was mind-numbing work, but if it led to more information, it’d be worth it.
I spoke to Mike last night. There were no new developments on his end, but he finally got permission to visit Jack Mahoney at the prison in Wyoming. Clint Butler had agreed to go with him in the hopes that he might hear or see something during the visit that he could interpret as a clue. Clint had spent most of his professional career investigating Jack Mahoney. Out of everyone in our small circle of investigators, Clint was probably the one most qualified to explain Mahoney’s words and actions.
Maybe if this didn’t pan out…
I pushed the cart back out into the hallway and moved to the next room on my list. My back hurt and my stomach was churning. It was late in the day, the heat almost unbearable despite the ancient air conditioning that seemed to run constantly. The morning sickness had passed for the day, but now the heat was doing its thing, making my entire body feel as though I was working my way through the thickest sludge ever formed. I wasn’t sure if I could make it through the dozen or so more rooms I had left on my list.
Who would have thought that with all the strange and dangerous and uncomfortable situations I’d been placed in as an operative for Gray Wolf, working as a maid in Mexico would be my downfall?
I knocked on the door of the next guest room and automatically moved to unlock it with my universal key. The rooms were almost always empty when I came to clean them because the rooms were most often booked by tourists who spent this part of the day out sightseeing or on the beach, so I was startled when the door was suddenly wrenched open.
“If you could just leave some extra towels…”
I stepped back, my heart leaping into my throat. Carrington, his pale skin reddened by the heat, stood tall and handsome right in front of me. I was so thrown that I gasped.. Then anger burst through me. I slapped his chest, as reassured by the solidness of it as I was annoyed by his unannounced arrival.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His eyes flicked to both sides of the hallway. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me into the room, kicking the door closed with his foot.
“Why d
idn’t you tell me you were coming down here?” he demanded.
“I told you I’d take care of this.”
“And I told you to stop being a fucking martyr and start involving me in all of this.”
“That was before they took Aidan.”
His expression tightened. “Then you think now is a good time for our family to be more splintered than it already is? McKelty’s in Illinois, my mother’s in hiding in New York, and Aidan’s gone.” Pain flashed in his eyes when he uttered our youngest daughter’s name. “I’m supposed to just stay home and wait while my wife goes all over the world tracking down the bastards who did this?”
“I can’t be distracted by you. If you got hurt—”
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
I snorted. “Mahoney already sent a man to kill you while you were standing in the kitchen with our daughters. Do you really think he’d think twice about killing you while you’re investigating a kidnapping he doesn’t want anyone but me solving?”
Carrington stepped back, tossing his hands up into the air. “Okay, Joss, no one’s as damn smart as you are. No one else can solve this thing. But Aidan is my daughter, too.”
“I know that.”
“I can’t just sit at home waiting for a phone call I never want to get.”
Again, pain flashed in his eyes. I looked away because I couldn’t stand to see it. I didn’t want to see all of this from his point of view. I didn’t want to be reminded of everything that was on the line with this case.
This wasn’t just another case. This was my baby. My family.
“I need you to go home, Carrington.”
“I refuse.”
My head snapped up, anger bursting through me again. “You have to go, Carrington! If they see your name on the hotel computer—”
“They won’t. I’m not that stupid.”
“But they require identification.”
“I had a friend make me a new ID.” He tilted his head to one side. “You’re not the only one who thinks of things like that.”
“David?”
“Ricki, actually.”
“How did you know?”
“Someone sent me a text.” He came toward me, his hand raised, but hesitant to touch me. “Told me you were in Austin. David was most happy to tell me you were in Mexico when I arrived, after I explained that I wasn’t just waiting at home, hoping Aidan would miraculously show up.” He tilted his head to one side, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Was that the best you could do?”
“It’s getting harder for me to think on my feet. Sorry.”
He rested his hand on the side of my face, his thumb caressing the center of my chin. “We’re in this together, whether you like it or not, Joss. This is our daughter.”
I nodded slowly, leaning my face into his hand. I closed my eyes for a long moment, a heavy sigh escaping my lips. “I just want to do this right. I want my daughter back.”
He drew me into his arms. “I do, too.”
I took a deep breath, his scent so familiar that I almost couldn’t breathe. I was so overwhelmed by his presence. My mind had been going a mile a minute, but now it slowed, taking in this moment, this man. I let him hold me for a long time, too long. But there were so many cautions we should be taking, so many things we should be doing…
“You can’t acknowledge me if we pass in the hallway. You have to keep your distance.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll try to stop by tonight so that we can talk about everything, but I’m on the clock right now. Someone might notice if I don’t get back to work.”
He touched my face again, the back of his fingers brushing over my cheek. “You look exhausted.”
I gestured toward the windows that looked down on the baked streets. “It’s hot. There’s no escaping it.”
“It’s November! You’d think it would be cooler this time of the year!”
“The humidity is a killer.” I brushed my hand over my forehead, my palm immediately damp. “I’ll get your towels.”
“Joss…”
He gripped my hand and pulled me back toward him. We kissed for a long moment, the familiar taste of him almost too overwhelming. It took every bit of willpower I had to pull away.
“Later,” I said softly, touching my lips as I headed toward the door.
***
“You finish your list?” the housekeeping manager demanded as I walked into the basement office. He spoke in English but his accent was thick.
“I did.”
“In record time,” he said, looking me over. “You sure you didn’t skimp somewhere?”
“Of course not. I do my job every day and I do it well.”
He chuckled softly. “Feisty for such a tiny girl.”
“Honest, too.”
I turned to go, pausing only to get my cheap purse out of my locker.
“Someone saw you go into one of the guest rooms without your cart this afternoon,” he called after me. “What was that about?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “A guest was in his room and asked just for towels.”
“A male guest? Are towels all you gave to him?”
A few things rushed to the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back. “Yes, sir. That’s all I gave him.”
“Too bad. Pretty girl like you? You could make good money giving favors to some of these guests. Especially the American guests.”
I just nodded, not sure that comment required further response. He seemed to have lost interest, anyway. He was staring at the teeny, portable television he had propped up on a stack of books on his desk, a chuckle rumbling his fat stomach as I walked away.
I knew it was too risky. Someone had seen Carrington and me together. What else had they seen?
I was trying to stay under the radar because logic told me that Mahoney would make sure his people knew what I looked like. He would want to know the moment I showed up somewhere important to his game. It was risky enough for me to be here. For Carrington to show up, too…it wouldn’t take very long for word to get around to the people holding Aidan. And then what?
I left the hotel and walked to the small room I was renting at a little villa down the road. It was owned by a nice old lady who didn’t talk much. She never asked me where I’d come from, never asked for identification or my signature on a contract. She saw the cash in my hands and she welcomed me like I was a long lost family member.
I stood under the cold water in the shower for a long time, feeling halfway human for the first time all day. When I was finally cool, I scrubbed my skin with the homemade bar of soap I’d bought at the local market, loving the scents of lavender and grapefruit that filled the narrow shower stall. There was a little lump beginning to grow above my pelvic bone, a roundness that only I could see, that only I was aware of. I ran my hand over it, remembering the swelling that had come with my last two babies. It had taken forever before I began to show with Isaac, but with Aidan, the lump seemed to appear the moment I was aware of her existence.
I needed this one to remain a secret for a little longer. If Mahoney learned of my pregnancy, there was no telling how that would alter his end game. He wanted to steal a child from me, and this child—after the years Carrington and I had struggled to become pregnant, a failure that had led to his straying from our marriage vows—would be the icing on the cake to him. First Isaac, then Aidan, and now this child.
I couldn’t let him do that.
Carrington didn’t even know I was pregnant. It had happened in the stupidest of ways, an accident that resulted from a sexual encounter fueled by anger rather than affection. I didn’t think I was capable of getting pregnant. Why would I bother with birth control? I didn’t even suspect the pregnancy myself until a month ago when a doctor in the emergency room discovered it while repairing a stab wound in my back—another gift from Mahoney.
I got out of the shower and dried off, dressing in shorts and a billowy peasant blouse. My hair, which I’d kept short fo
r so long I couldn’t remember the last time I grew it out, was now long enough for a tight braid to keep it out of my face. I glanced at myself in the mirror before stepping out of the room, once again failing to recognize the woman staring back.
The hotel was always quiet late in the evening. I’d intentionally waited until eight, the time in which the day clerk and the night clerk went over the books before changing guards. They were distracted enough that they didn’t notice me slipping into the manager’s office. I figured I had about five minutes before someone would wonder why the door was closed.
I hoped whatever I was looking for was obvious because I really had no clue what it was.
I dug through the paperwork on the top of the desk, then worked methodically through the drawers. When those didn’t pan out, I considered the file cabinets, but took a chance on the computer. In this country of siestas and four-hour lunches, the use of computers in business was still a fairly new concept. Even though Anita Tyson was American, I hadn’t seen the people in this hotel spend much time behind a computer monitor.
But I was always up for a surprise.
And there it was, in a file labeled Señora Tyson. It contained a travel itinerary that was only two weeks old. It even made note of her visit to Santa Monica.
I should have known better. It was a computer they’d used to get to my daughter in the first place.
I printed the itinerary and slipped out of the office. The two desk clerks were still sitting on a couch in the middle of the lobby that was meant for guests, head to head as they studied the paperwork generated from the day’s check ins, check outs, and complaints.
I took the stairs because they were tucked behind the lobby rather than the elevator, which required me to cross the entire room and stand out in the open until the elevator doors opened. And there weren’t cameras in the stairwell.
“I was beginning to worry you’d skipped town without me,” Carrington said when he opened the door. There was a room service tray on a coffee table in the middle of his room, clearly only recently delivered. “You looked like you could use some sustenance,” he added when he caught me looking at it.
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