“Lemme see the map,” McAllister said.
Feenie gladly handed it over and waited for him to admit that he couldn’t make any more sense of it than she had.
Someone tapped on the Jeep’s plastic window, and she jerked her head around. Two brown-faced boys stood alongside the Jeep, holding their hands out.
“Don’t open your door,” McAllister told her, tossing the map in back. And then to the kids, “Vengan acá!”
He held up a ten-dollar bill, and the children rushed to the driver’s side. McAllister opened his door and exchanged some words with them in Spanish.
She studied the kids’ faces as they talked to him. They couldn’t have been more than eight years old, ten at the most. Their clothes were grubby and torn, and their cheeks looked hollow. McAllister must have said something funny, because both kids laughed. Then he passed them the ten and closed the door.
“About two kilometers south, next to a pink can-tina,” he reported.
He made a U-turn, and a few minutes later, they passed the dive shop. It didn’t look all that familiar, but it was the only one in the area. They were on the outskirts of town now. The motels and tourist shops had thinned out, replaced by scrub bushes and the occasional ramshackle dwelling. Her shoulders tensed as she looked up and down the highway for any gravel roads.
“This seem familiar?” McAllister asked.
“A little.” She hoped she hadn’t brought him here on a wild goose chase. It was entirely possible this trip Was a waste of time. Even if she could find the place where Josh had taken her, who knew what they’d find there?
They passed several primitive roads, all leading away from the water. The one she wanted would lead toward it. She’d seen a barge, too, which meant there would have to be some sort of shipping channel nearby, a place for boats to dock, as they obviously couldn’t just pull up to the beach.
The road bent westward, and the landscape become marshy. She spotted a bridge up ahead, spanning the mouth of a river. As they neared the bridge, a gravel road came into view. A wooden sign posted nearby said “Alvarez Distributing.”
“There!” Feenie said. “I think that’s it!”
McAllister passed the sign without slowing, probably so as not to draw attention to the Jeep.
Feenie surveyed the place. The chain-link fence topped with barbed wire was new, but this was it. It had an electronic gate, and behind it, the road curved toward the water and disappeared into a clump of trees. Shoot. How would they get past the gate? McAllister passed the turnoff and pulled over just before the bridge. The ground was soggy, and cattails grew in abundance by the water’s edge.
“Be careful,” she said. “You don’t want to get stuck.”
He pulled off the road and eased between some shrubs. The plants were slanted and misshapen from the strong winds blowing off the gulf. Tucked among the bushes, the Jeep would be fairly well hidden from the casual passerby.
“Four-wheel drive, honey.” He smiled at her. “Aren’t you glad you brought me along?”
She was, more than he knew. Not only had he helped her ditch Marco at Rosie’s and lose any FBI tail they might have had on the way out of town, but his Spanish had been useful. Plus, he was a man, and six feet two inches of towering, muscled male might come in handy if she should find herself in a dicey situation.
Feenie hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Their mission was pure information gathering. They were planning to scope out the place, take some photographs, and possibly even talk to a few locals to see what kind of business, if any, was supposedly being conducted on this piece of property. The food bank was cutting huge checks to something called Alvarez Distributing here, but that could mean anything.
McAllister pulled a pistol out of his scuffed brown cowboy boot and checked to see if it was loaded.
“I was wondering why you wore jeans,” she said.
He tucked the gun back inside the leather. “You ready?”
“One sec.” She unzipped the fanny pack she’d brought, which was clipped around her waist. She packed it with a few necessities from her backpack: gun, Mace, cell phone, the camera she’d borrowed from Drew.
“You look like a tourist with that thing on,” McAllister said.
“That’s the plan.” She smiled. “If someone asks me what I’m up to, I’ll just pretend to be lost.”
She slipped some money into the pocket of her jeans shorts, along with her passport. Then she decided to clip the Mace to her belt loop, so she’d have it within easy reach.
“Ready,” she said, rubbing the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm.
McAllister clasped her shoulder. “Stick to the plan, okay? Don’t draw attention to yourself. And if anyone approaches, let me do the talking.”
“I will.” She patted his hand. “McAllister…thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”
“No problem.”
“I have to ask you something. Do you know what guera is?”
He frowned. “What? Like in Spanish?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled. “Did Juarez call you that?”
“Yes. What’s it mean?”
“It’s like ‘blondie.’ Someone fair.” He looked at her closely. “You need to be careful here, Malone. He’s not going to give you what you want, you know.”
She didn’t reply. It was too late to be careful.
“Malone?”
“Come on, let’s go,” she said, pushing her door open and ending the conversation.
They got out of the car and locked it. They crossed the road and walked briskly back toward the gravel driveway, taking care to stay close to the bushes.
“Give me your camera,” McAllister said. “I’m going to sneak over and get a photo of that sign. Try to keep out of sight, okay?”
Nodding, she unzipped her pack and handed him the camera. After he disappeared into the foliage, Feenie ducked behind a wind-whipped palmetto and checked out the entrance again. There didn’t appear to be a secondary gate. No easy access. She glanced from the electronic gate to the fence. Even if she could climb it, the barbed wire on top looked menacing.
“Hey, babe.”
Her skin bristled at the familiar voice. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
Marco stood a few yards in front of her, well camouflaged in the dense thicket of leaves and branches near the fence. He wore brown cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and some type of lace-up military boots.
“Following you,” he said.
She hustled toward him, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. “How did you find me?”
He gave her a half-smile. “I told you before, you’re easy to track.”
Her cheeks warmed. How could he have tailed them? “But how did you—”
“You left an atlas on your kitchen table with a sticky note on it. Once I got to town, it wasn’t hard to find the two lost Americans cruising around.”
She gaped at him, too infuriated even to yell at him, which wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway, as she was trying not to get caught trespassing.
“So,” he said, eyeing the fence. “Where are we, and why are we here?”
She had two choices: stand there and argue with him and then let him follow her, or let him follow her.
“We need to get past the gate,” she said. “Any ideas?”
A truck rumbled up the highway and slowed near the gravel road. Marco pulled her closer to the bushes.
“Just one,” he said, watching the gate open.
“I thought of that already. There’s a security cam.”
“Good catch. Okay, I’ve got another way.”
He unzipped one of his many pockets and took out the most elaborate pocket knife she’d ever seen. He quickly flipped open some pliers. “We make our own gate.”
“Well, what do you fucking know?” McAllister strolled over and handed Feenie the camera. “It’s a Mayfield reunion.”
Marco stared at him, and McAllister stared ri
ght back. Feenie could feel the hostility crackling between them—two alpha males who obviously disliked each other. Feenie figured the animosity had its roots in the news article about Marco’s drug bust.
McAllister turned to Feenie. “I’m going around the north side of the property. I want to get a view of the place from the water’s edge, see if there’s any boat traffic.” He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and Feenie knew he was wondering about Marco. “You want to come with me?”
“She’s staying with me,” Marco said.
Feenie rolled her eyes. “I’ll stay here,” she told McAllister. “We’re going to explore inside the fence.”
“Okay, then let’s meet back here in thirty minutes.” He gave both of them a hard look. “Stay outta trouble.”
When McAllister left, Feenie zipped the camera back into her pack and turned to Marco. He’d crouched down near the chain-link fence, and she squatted beside him.
“Those pliers don’t look strong enough to…”
Her voice trailed off as he held a long blade of grass up to the wire mesh. Was he testing for a current? Nothing happened, so he tossed the plant aside and touched the fence with the pliers. In minutes, he’d cut out a two-foot square.
He pocketed the tool and stood back. “Ladies first.”
She crawled through the hole, snagging the back of her T-shirt as she went. He unhooked the fabric and followed her through.
“Now what?” he asked.
“We’re looking for a building. Beige, I think. Corrugated metal.”
“And what are we hoping to find there?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I think we’ll know it when we see it.”
He looked her up and down. Sweat beaded at his temples, and his T-shirt was plastered to his chest. It had to be a hundred degrees out and a hundred and fifty percent humidity.
“You came all the way down here, and you don’t know what you’re looking for? You guys could get shot, and no one would even blink an eye. The law around here’s pretty lax.”
“Look,” she said, exasperated, “I didn’t invite you to come, okay? So spare me the lecture. I think we’ll find evidence here. Josh bought this place just before he started moving money through the food bank.”
“The food bank, huh? And this is what you and Johnny Boy were talking about last night?”
“Yes! Now, can we look around, please? I don’t know what’s here, but I think it might be worth seeing.”
He shrugged. “Good enough for me.” He took his gun out, checked the clip, and tucked it back into his pants. “But follow my lead.”
She fell in behind him, and they picked their way through the vegetation. Looking past the leaves, she saw a row of parked cars and two beige buildings made of corrugated metal.
“Which one?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The newer one, maybe? It’s closer to the water.”
He set off for the newer-looking building. The other had broken windows and some graffiti scrawled across one of the walls. It didn’t look very secure, so she guessed whatever it housed wasn’t that valuable.
They skirted the parking area, trying their best to stay out of sight. The front door to the building lacked a security camera, but workers streamed in and out, carrying crates and boxes. Some were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, some just in shorts. Many had shirts or bandanas tied around their heads, probably to absorb the copious amounts of sweat that streamed off everyone in this heat. Feenie’s gaze veered toward the back of the building, where several men milled around near a forklift, smoking and spitting in the dirt.
“We need another door,” Marco said. “Stay behind me.”
They crept to the other side of the warehouse, but no other doors came into view. Luckily, Feenie spotted an open window. Unluckily, it was at least ten feet off the ground.
“Hoist me onto your shoulders, and I’ll peek in,” she said.
Marco gave her a look that said “Get real.”
“I’m serious. Hoist me up there, I’ll get the lay of the land, and then we’ll decide what to do.”
He hesitated.
“It’ll just take a minute. You really want to go in blind?”
He muttered something in Spanish and headed for the window. Thanks to four summers of cheerleading camp, she was on his shoulders in seconds. He wobbled underneath her, and she was reminded that she weighed more now than she had in her pom-pom days.
“Grab my ankles to steady me,” she instructed. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” he said gruffly. “What do you see?”
She peered through the window. Her eyes adjusted, and she was looking into a second-floor room. The warehouse had a loft, apparently. File boxes and crates filled the space. Something hummed off to her right, where a man was standing next to a document shredder. He was young, twentysomething at most, and his clothes were soaked with perspiration. He stuffed page after page into the machine, oblivious to his audience. Behind him, a rotating fan churned the air and created little paper tumbleweeds.
“It looks like an office and storage room,” she whispered down. “On the second floor of the warehouse, I think.”
“Any people?”
“Just one. I’m going in for a better look.”
“Goddamn it, Feenie!” Marco staggered backward, but it was too late. She’d already grabbed the windowsill and pulled herself over—thank you, medicine ball.
“I’ll just be a sec!” she whispered.
He stared up at her, his face reddening with fury. She ducked behind a box of files and took a good look around.
It looked like a storage room, but it felt like an oven. Sweat streamed down her back as she nudged aside the top of one of the crates and peeked inside. Canned goods. She read the labels: corn, pineapple, peaches. She picked up a can and gave it a shake. It sounded like fruit, but who knew? Maybe it contained some type of contraband. She unzipped her fanny pack, which she wore in front for easy access, and stuffed it inside. She noticed the gun. Now might be a good time to have it handy, especially since Marco wasn’t nearby. She tucked it in the back of her shorts and hoped she wouldn’t shoot herself in the butt.
The man in the office pivoted toward her and entered the storage room. She crouched behind a tower of boxes as he shuffled around. When his footsteps receded, she peered out. He’d hauled another box into the office and was shredding again.
The entire loft area overlooked a large warehouse. Some sort of hulking machinery occupied one side of the building. A canning machine, maybe? Whatever it was, it was sleeping at the moment. Men bustled past it, carrying boxes and crates and stacking them on pallets near a giant garage door. A forklift moved the pallets onto the bed of an eighteen-wheeler.
A patch of green water was visible just beyond the truck. And a pier. She saw a couple of giant cleats for tying up boats but no boats in sight. Her gaze fell on a row of crates lined up by the door. They were stacked four high, and a pair of feet in red sandals poked out from the far side of the row.
Women’s sandals.
The minutes ticked by as Feenie waited for the crates to disappear. Men loaded them systematically onto the truck in a process that seemed to take forever. Finally, someone picked up a crate, and Feenie saw a woman with long dark hair seated near the door. Actually, she looked more like a girl. Given her position, though, she couldn’t have been the owner of the shoes. As more crates disappeared, more girls became visible. When the entire row of crates had been loaded, Feenie counted six girls seated in a row.
Now what? Any moment, those children could be hauled away like the rest of the cargo, headed for God knew where.
She pulled out the camera and snapped a few shots of the girls. Then she took several pictures of the crates surrounding her in the storeroom. The photographs wouldn’t look like much without an explanation, but she’d worry about that later. She had to get back to Marco now so they could reconnect with McAllister and come up with a plan for the kids. She turned t
o leave.
And smacked right into the paper-shredder guy. He didn’t look happy.
She reached for her .38 just as he pressed the cool, black barrel of a pistol against her temple.
What the hell was taking so long? Juarez kept his gaze trained on the window. He should have expected this. He had, actually, but then he’d fallen for those damn puppy-dog eyes.
He caught a flash of movement at the edge of the window and waited for Feenie to reappear. She didn’t, which meant she was in trouble. Shit. He ducked behind an oleander bush just as someone leaned out the window. The guy made a visual sweep of the area and said something into a walkie-talkie.
When the guy disappeared, Juarez emerged from the bushes and crept around to the waterfront side of the building. The area was crawling with people, but he had to get inside. Right now. He might be able to pass himself off as a worker, but Feenie sure as hell couldn’t.
He had to get her out of there, and he had to do it fast.
Feenie sat on the concrete, surrounded by blackness. She had no idea how much time had elapsed since she’d been shoved into the graffiti-covered warehouse, but it felt like hours. Sweat trickled down her arms, stinging the cuts at her wrists. The man hadn’t been gentle with the rope. Her ankles were on fire, too, burning whenever she shifted positions. The gag tasted like dirt and had absorbed every drop of saliva in her mouth. She needed some water soon, or she’d probably pass out.
She craned her neck around and tried to see what lay behind her, beyond the rows of crates and metal drums. The only light was a beam of yellow coming through a broken window pane high up near the ceiling, but that didn’t help much. A truck rumbled outside, its sound receding as it moved away from the compound. Truck four. She’d been counting them since she’d been dumped here. Four trucks had come and gone, and still neither McAllister nor Marco had come for her.
Where are they?
She shut her eyes and tried to think about something less worrisome, like how desperately she needed water. Anything was better than wondering what must have happened to keep them away.
One Last Breath Page 25
