A Killer Margarita (Nikki Sands'/Wine Lover's Mystery Series)

by Michele Scott

  Hear No Evil

  Chapter One

  Eleven-year-old Hope Mitchell was running for her life.

  She should’ve listened to her mother, listened to the rules...and now they’d found her. But God, being holed up in the compound. Day in, day out. Her mother always crying. The doctors. “What do you hear Hope?” “If you focus here and listen, do you get anything?” No, I don’t get anything. Leave me alone. Leave me alone was what she always wanted to shout. Then the teachers. “You can do better than that, Hope. Here’s the correct way to write the character in Chinese. No, that’s not how you say it in French.”

  The machines they hooked her up to, the tests...all of it...impossible and stupid, and she wanted out.

  She thought for some time that she had them fooled. Thought if she played dumb, they’d let her and her mom go. They had with that other kid—Joey Reynolds. Or at least, she saw them all get into a car one day and leave. One of the doctors and a teacher and Joey and his mom. Everyone knew that Joey didn’t have the gift. It didn’t take much or long to figure that out. Did they drop him and his mom off somewhere with a house and a pool and a neighborhood with normal kids who didn’t see or hear or know things that no one else did?

  Feet pounded behind her and her heart raced. She couldn’t let them catch her. Tears started to cloud her vision. No. Don’t cry. Can’t cry. Keep running. Get safe and tell someone. Tell them where mommy is. Would anyone believe her? It didn’t matter. They had to.

  “Hope. Stop. Come on. You’re a little girl. You’ll get lost out here. There’s hungry animals,” one of the men yelled.

  Bushes scraped against her legs, scratching them. The smell of sage tickled her nose. She hated that smell—sweet, sour, strong. The teachers burned it all the time in the meditation room saying it was good to clear out any negativity. Negativity? Who were they kidding? They had to burn a lot of sage for that in that stupid place.

  The mountain ahead of her was huge. How could she climb it?

  The men continued shouting. “It’s okay. Stop, Hope. Stop. We won’t hurt you. Your mother wants you to come home. She could get sick without you.”

  One of the voices came closer. The tears started again and this time they wouldn’t be shoved down. What if they hurt her mom? But if she didn’t find help, if she didn’t tell someone, then Mom and her would be trapped in that place forever. She could see it in her mom’s eyes—the fear, like her own. Her mom tried to act like it was all good, like they were normal and that they should feel lucky they were so well taken care of, but her mother wasn’t kidding anyone, least of all Hope. She wasn’t exactly a stupid kid. No. She had to find a way out to save her mom.

  The feet were right behind her. She sped up and ran as fast as she could. Don’t let them get me. I’m faster. I can do it. I can beat them and get my mom and then we’ll be okay. We’ll get a house. We’ll get a dog. I’ll go to a real school.

  She pushed ahead and the voices grew farther away, still yelling for her. If she could get over that mountain she knew, she just knew she’d find somewhere safe to go because on the other side of that mountain was a highway. She knew it was there because she could hear people sometimes in their cars talking to each other, listening to the radio, or speaking on their cell phones.

  Her chest ached and her stomach hurt so bad. Don’t barf. Can’t barf. Keep running.

  She hadn’t fooled them at all. Had she? Trying to play dumb, getting bad grades, sitting in the headmaster’s office being punished. They told her to stop it, they knew what she was doing and they knew she wasn’t dumb at all. If she helped them she could go back to her apartment and be with her mom. But if she didn’t help them...

  They never said what would happen, except that she might not ever see her mom again, and so she told them everything she’d heard. It was scary. She didn’t understand it, but after she told them, they let her go back and be with her mom and she was so happy to see her and be held by her. Mom smelled like peaches and vanilla from this lotion she bought at the compound store, and that night she’d made Hope her favorite meal—tacos. Then they’d laughed and watched Survivor on TV. That’s what she was now—a survivor—and she’d win. She had to. It was worth way more than a million dollars.

  And now, since she’d told them, they wanted more and more from her. But she was smart. Wasn’t she? She’d watched, waited and planned how to get out and away.

  No alarms had gone off. No dogs. Nothing. She’d done it, made it under that super small space she’d seen in the fence the other day when she’d walked home with her friend Teresa Spiro. And then, ten minutes later, the men shouting and running after her. How did they know? How did they find her?

  When she’d crawled under the fence it cut into her back. The pain meant nothing now. Not compared to the blood pounding in her ears, making it sound like a river was rushing between them, and her heart still racing and her feet thudding along the ground. No, pain did not matter. Freedom mattered. Hope understood that a price couldn’t be put on freedom. The voices were yet farther away. She was halfway up the mountain. She was getting out. She was going to make it!

  “Where is she?” one of the men yelled. Then lights, bright flashlights scanned the side of the mountain. “There. Right there. Get her.”

  Keep running. Don’t look back. But she did. She looked back, and then she tripped.

  A fierce hot pain shot through her leg like nothing she’d ever felt—not like a bruise or a scrape. A white flash rushed in front of her eyes. Her mind dizzied into a swirl of bright lights, shouting voices and her own voice telling her to get up and run. Keep going. She got to her knees. Oh God. It hurt. Her leg twisted up and would not follow directions. Stupid leg. “Mom, Mom, Mommy?” The tears came freely as a man stood above her and knelt down.

  “You’re okay. We’ll have that fixed up soon.” He lifted her up and walked toward three other men.

  She didn’t recognize these men. They weren’t any of the guards she was so afraid of. Maybe they were here to save her. That had to be it. Thank God. Yes. The man was so nice. That’s why they were here. She sighed and even with the shooting pain soaring up her leg and throughout her body she breathed a sigh and leaned against the man’s chest. His heart thumped through his army green shirt.

  Then her relief suddenly changed when she heard one of the other men already inside his car speaking into a cell phone. “We’ll have her on the helicopter in fifteen. She’s hurt. Looks like a broken leg. Have a doctor meet us at the airstrip. Yes, we’ll be in Malta by tomorrow.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and started to squirm.

  “Hey, some sedation over here. She’s agitated.” Another man joined them. They kept walking at a fast clip. The man held on tight to her as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. His voice raised, not so gentle this time. “Knock it off kid.”

  They rolled up her sleeve. Alcohol burned her nose as someone rubbed it onto her arm with a cotton swab. Then the sting of the needle. The pain in her leg lessened, a tickle fluttered and settled through her body, numbing it. Closing her eyes, she knew that these men were not from the compound. She would’ve been so much better off if they had been.

  Hope Mitchell was quite aware that the one thing she’d been warned of, that all of the kids had been warned could happen to them if they ever tried to leave, had happened to her.

  Chapter Two

  My wrists ached from the tightened knot around them behind my back. This was really not good at all. In fact, this was really, really bad.

  Domingo Rodriguez stood above me, his reddened eyes bulging and hateful. “You filthy whore,” he screamed. “You thought you could fool a man like me? How stupid are you and whoever it is you are working for.”

  Pretty stupid, I was afraid. I really wanted to kick this guy in the balls for calling me a whore—and a filthy one at that. But, saving my life was looking to be taking precedence at the moment.

  Where was the team, dammit? Hadn’t they realized by now t
hat the locator device I’d worn inside my bra was no longer working? Only moments before the lovely fuckwad Domingo had torn off my shirt, reached his massive hands inside my bra, which really hurt considering that I am pmsing and ripped out the dot bug. Yeah. Kylie Cain, PSI agent screwed. Big time.

  I shifted in the hard wooden chair inside Domingo’s bedroom. The samba CD he’d put in his stereo moments before played loudly within the room, decorated in colors of red and burnt orange. The cold floor under my feet was patterned together with adobe tiles.

  The room smelled of cigars, expensive woodsy cologne and tequila, which we’d been drinking together moments ago. Right before things turned bad for me.

  A sharp scalpel sewn inside a small pocket in the back of my panties pricked at my backside. The tequila softened my reflexes. Not good. What the hell had I been thinking to drink shots of tequila with drug kingpin Domningo Rodriguez? Oh yeah—I had been thinking that I needed this ass to keep believing my story, and that the team had my back. Damn though, because of the liquid poison, I apparently hadn’t been quick enough when Domingo grabbed me from behind as I’d stood to pour him another shot. My initial plan was to put some more of the barbiturate inside his shot glass, making it easier to take him down. So much, for my initial plan.

  I should’ve been more aware. Stupid mistake. I’d let my guard down. I was really wanting to blame the predicament that I was in on the Tequila, but I knew better. Where the hell were Noah and Ayden?

  “Tita Esquivel, huh? That’s not your real name. Interesting choice, though. You read Like Water for Chocolate? Yeah, me too.”

  Wonderful. A drug lord who liked decent literature, and a romance at that. Who knew? Yeah, I had chosen the name Tita Esquivel for this operation, thinking I was soooo smart, I combined the author Laura Esquivel with my heroine Tita in one of my all-time favorite books—for the recipes of course, because I think romance is basically a waste of time.

  Domingo breathed heavily, beads of sweat forming around his graying temples, his large gut drooping grotesquely over his belt as he paced back and forth with a gun pointed right at me. “I would’ve bought all of it, your line, everything. I even liked your name. But women who look like you don’t become whores, especially not in my country. They become mistresses of men like me. That really should’ve been your disguise to try and get me, Señorita Esquivel.” He spat and laughed at me. He raised his arms and shrugged, his fingers wrapped around the gun that waved in the air like a butterfly made of steel. “So, when I see you, I think to myself, interesting name. I watch you as you pour the Tequila, and I think about our dinner. Not only did your magnificent beauty impress me but also, the fact you had some intelligence. Too much intelligence for a whore.”

  What could I say? I’m a smart whore?

  “I’m a wanted man, Tita,” he said, slurring his words. “Governments, bad men, good men, they all want a piece of me. I’m a simple businessman. I don’t like being picked on, especially by a stupid whore.”

  First filthy and now stupid. Yeah. This guy was going to pay for that shit.

  “You’re trying to pick on me, Tita. Not too good for you. Not too smart.” He shook his head and looked at me smugly, crossing his arms in front of him.

  I thought about shouting, “Brilliant assessment, Dick Tracy.” He obviously knew books.

  “Everyone wants me for their reasons. What’s yours? My pecker? All the ladies want my pecker.”

  Right. That’s what I want. Your pecker. I tried not to roll my eyes at him, because I had not forgotten that this was some serious shit that I was in.

  “I got something like fifteen kids, Tita. You want a baby with me, too. That’s what you want from me, huh? I got babies all over this country. What’s another baby? Let’s make a baby, Tita.” He snorted.

  I observed him starting to sway while walking back and forth across the tiles. How long would it be before his henchmen came into the room? It was a well known fact that Domingo Rodriguez didn’t like to do any killing on his own. He left that up to the thugs he employed. I knew the layout of the villa, and I’d put money on it that at least one if not more bodyguards stood right outside Domingo’s bedroom door. A trickle of sweat slithered down my spine, and it didn’t feel good at all.

  “Nah. You didn’t come here for my pecker. I don’t think you want my child.” He shrugged. “Tell me. Which agency do you work for? DEA, CIA, FBI. Homeland Security?” He laughed. “Homeland security. Pinche gringoes, you know nothing ‘bout homeland security. Me. My country. Mexico. I am homeland security. You piss me off, I kill you. You don’t. You live. Wait. Maybe Pedro Cesar’s family sent you? Who, Tita? And what is your real name?” He laughed maniacally, the sound filling the room, drowning out the music. “Mios Dios, I love the name! You have good humor, whore. Yes, you do.”

  He was insane. Freaking insane drug lord—at least that fit. I didn’t answer him but continued to eye him spitefully. He stood in front of me and lowered his voice. “I like your name,” he whispered, “but I don’t like being lied to and played for a fool.” He slapped me hard across the face. The sting of his hand against my flesh sent my head into a spin. Stars burst inside my skull. I shook it off and regained focus. No time for weakness. I was done with this! I spat at him. He smacked me again on the other cheek. Nice. Really nice. If I ever got out of here I would have two black eyes. I straightened myself in the chair.

  Domingo sat down on his bed facing me, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Was he getting tired?

  “I paid for something.” He arched a bushy eyebrow, his eyes wide with anger, insanity, sociopathy.... “And I aim to get it.” He stood back up, the bed creaking as his weight lifted off the springs. He walked around the backside of the chair and draped his free hand on my shoulder, then slid a finger across her neck.

  Yes. My skin did crawl.

  He Placed the palm of his hand beneath my chin, tilting my head back hard. My eyes met his. “That something is you.” He clucked his tongue.

  Oh no. Oh holy hell. Then he brought the gun square between my eyes. My stomach sank. I had to do something quick. Where was my team?! I used my right hand to fiddle with the insert in the back of my panties, and I spoke a silent prayer to a God I’m really not sure that I believed in anymore.

  “You’re going to be a good girl.” He bent down on one knee and wobbled. “But I don’t trust you. If you do what I ask maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you go. Maybe I’ll even make you a real whore. I have connections as I’m certain you’re aware of.” He winked at me, placing his hand on my knee, rubbing it along my leg while maintaining the gun at my forehead. He stood again and unzipped his pants.

  I thought I might be sick as revulsion sent a wave of nausea through me.

  “Open your mouth,” he ordered.

  It was now, or never. I opened my eyes and looked down at my bare feet, toenails painted a garish red in order to play “the part of a lifetime. For the job. For the higher good.” That was how Simms had put it to me anyway, telling me that I would be bringing down the man responsible for thousands of people’s deaths, many of them children. Job of a lifetime. Right. Bringing down a madman. The tables had turned. Unless...

  “I said, open your mouth.”

  My fingers tightened around the scalpel. My hands pulled free as I worked the knots, and before Domingo had time to think and pull the trigger, I went for it bringing the sharpened instrument around in a swift motion, slicing him in his most vulnerable area. Yeah. Karma is a bitch. That word stupid sent me over the edge. I could deal with filthy, but stupid. Not so much.

  Domingo fell to the floor screaming, his eyes wild with shock, blood streaming everywhere. I scrambled to my feet as the drug lord’s bedroom door swung open. Sliding on Domingo’s blood, I fell back onto the tiles hitting my head against them. That smarted. I reached out to grab the gun that had been held to my head only seconds before. In one swift motion I retrie
ved the weapon and rolled to the side behind the bed, a bullet whizzing past me. Domingo bellowed like a wild animal, his screams echoing off the walls.

  The scent of tuberose wafted into the room on a slight breeze. Someone had opened the French doors to the balcony outside Domingo’s room. Oh no. There had been a henchman waiting for the first sign of trouble. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Trapped and in real trouble now. The bodyguard who’d come through the front door took another step forward. He was large, bulky and one ugly son-of-a-bitch. Of course he was. I crouched down further as the bodyguard fired off a round of bullets. One grazed my shoulder. Thank God I was amped up on adrenaline. The sting zinged down my arm as blood seeped out. Scooching under the bed, I heard the bodyguard reloading. My vision was blocked some from the chair next to the bed, as I tried to get a lock on my target.

  There was no time to waste or wait knowing he was going to start firing again at any minute. I eyed the man’s knees and pulled the trigger, getting him on the side of the leg. He yelled out and fell to one knee, giving me just enough time to get out from underneath the bed. I aimed again and this time it wasn’t at his knees. The man fell to his death from my last shot. There were no bullets left in the chamber. I scurried out from behind the bed and ran over to where the bodyguard’s gun lay, and grabbed it—semi-automatic.

  Loud shouts came from the downstairs foyer, above the samba music. “Get down, get the fuck down! Now!”

  Thank God! I recognized the voices as I spun around to see Noah Kensington, his light blue eyes trained on me. “Nice work,” he said. He grabbed me by the arm and shoved me back down as another round of gunfire ricocheted off the walls inside the expansive master suite. Two more bodyguards entered the room, their weapons blazing as Noah and I rolled opposite off one another, headed into corners where we could take better aim at the enemy. The guards were shooting randomly. Not good. I couldn’t see Noah. Images in the room blurred between bullets spraying chips of plaster off the walls, glass shattering and loud music blaring over the speakers.