by Lois Greiman
But a knock on the door had them jerking apart.
Chapter 17
Rolling over, Shep reached for his boot and pulled out the knife he kept there. “Who is it?”
“Jeffrey. From the restaurant?” The kid said it like a question, as if he just might be mistaken. “Doris told me to talk to you about your sister?”
Carlotta was out of bed before Shep could stop her. Scrambling toward the door without a second thought, she ripped it open.
The boy in the hallway actually gasped when he saw her. He was blue-eyed and pale with hair dyed as black as a banker’s soul. “Hey! I… Hey,” he said.
Shep stepped up behind Carlotta, shoved the Bowie in the back pocket of the jeans he’d so judiciously worn to bed, and refrained from popping the kid in the face. Why, he wondered vaguely, did he even want to?
“Ms. Osorio?”
“What do you know?” she rasped.
“They said you looked like the chick on Modern Family, but I didn’t think—“
“Dammit sideways,” Shep said and, snatching a sheet from the bed, draped it over Carlotta’s shoulders.
She tugged it together against her chest, barely noticing. “You have seen her?”
“What?”
“My sister!” she breathed. “You have seen her?”
“Oh! No. Doris asked if I had, and I said no ‘cause…you know…I didn’t, but after I got done with work last night, I was hangin’ with some friends. You know, just chillin’, listening to some tunes when She Wolf come on and—“
“You make no sense!” Carlotta snapped.
“She Wolf…by Shikira. You Colombian chicks are… Well, anyway, could be nothing, I suppose, but it seemed kinda coincidental, you know?”
She shook her head, trying to sort through his ramblings.
“The people in the restaurant a few nights back. The girl looked sorta like Shakira.”
“Come in and shut the door,” Shep said.
He did so, but not without a glance of uncertainty. Maybe he wasn’t quite as brainless as he seemed.
“What people?” Carlotta asked.
“A couple.”
“From Colombia?” Carlotta’s question was breathless.
“Yeah.”
“What are the names?”
“I dunno.”
“How you know then that they were from my country?”
“I heard ‘em talking about Bogotá. That’s in Colombia, right?”
“How’d the girl look?” Shep asked.
“Well, you know, like Shakira.”
“Which is?”
“You don’t know Shakira? Man, you’re missing out. She’s—“
“How she look?” Carlotta snarled and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt.
He retreated a cautious step. “Hot?”
“Can ya be a little more specific?” Shep asked and gently disengaged Carlotta’s fingers. He kept his tone soothing. Apparently, the poor little Goth wasn’t quite prepared for the Colombian pinup to turn feral.
“Well…she had a real good smile, you know? And chocolate eyes. Her lashes were about a mile long. And she wore little heart-shaped earrings.”
“What color her hair?”
“Blond, but not real long…like it was in the Addicted video. You know?”
Maybe it was Sofia in disguise, Shep thought. But if she’d been kidnapped, why would she be out in public at all?
“How tall she was?”
“Not as tall as me. But pretty close.”
“So under five-foot-seven,” Shep said.
“Five-seven and a half,” he corrected. “And I’m still growing. My brother, Gregory, he didn’t—“
“It is not her,” Carlotta said.
Shep scowled. “She coulda been wearin’ heels.”
“She would not.” Carlotta shook her head. “My sister, never has she worn such shoes. She cannot understand why any would bear such discomfort.”
“Can you describe him?” Shep asked.
“He was a dude,” Jeffrey said and shrugged.
“Dark or fair?”
“I don’t really remember.”
“You know everythin’ but the girl’s shoe size and don’t know the color’a the guy’s hair?”
He grinned, sheepish. “It was kinda dark, I guess. Wore a blue shirt. Maybe. Might have had some beard?”
God help them. “Any distinguishin’ characteristics?”
“What? Naw. Nothing I remember.”
“How long ago they are here?” Carlotta asked.
Jeffrey bumped a shrug. “Three, maybe four days ago?”
“How ‘bout you start at the beginnin’,” Shep suggested.
“Okay. Yeah. Well, Max works the morning shift. Gets off about three, so he asked—“
“’Bout the couple from Colombia,” Shep corrected.
“Oh…sure, but there ain’t much to tell, really. I was working a double last week. Trying to make a few bucks. Saving to buy a VR headset, you know? Gonna be awesome. Can’t—“
Carlotta made a sound in her throat reminiscent of some feral animal that might just devour unsuspecting teenagers who ramble on too long.
Jeffrey stopped in his proverbial tracks and rolled his eyes toward the she-wolf in question.
“Might be best to stick to the point, son,” Shep said.
“Uh-huh,” he agreed cautiously. “Anyhow, they were sitting at a table near the window. Real close, you know? Heads together, talking quiet.”
“About what?”
“Hey, I ain’t no eavesdropper. Owen’d clear my decks if he thought I was disturbing customers. But when I asked them for their drink order, they said they were celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Carlotta asked.
The kid shrugged, already seeming to fall, once again, into Carlotta’s deep-water eyes.
“Did ya check their ID?” Shep asked.
“What?” Jeffrey pulled himself reluctantly from her gaze.
“Their identification. Legal drinkin’ age’s twenty-one, right?”
“Oh, sure, yeah. ‘Course I checked it. I mean….” His Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork at sea. “It’s the law.”
He hadn’t checked it, Shep deduced but asked the obligatory question anyway. “How old was she?”
“Legal. She was legal. Otherwise, I couldn’t have served her a—“
“What her name?”
“I don’t know. I mean, it was days ago and—“
“What else you know?”
“Not much,” he said, which Shep was pretty sure was gospel.
“Where they go from here?” Carlotta asked.
“They didn’t say. I mean…if I was with a babe like that, I know where I’d go if I had the cash.”
“Where?” they asked in unison.
“Little Gem.”
“¿Qué?”
“Tiny island. Twenty maybe thirty miles east of Key Largo. Just got the one cabana. Uber isolated. You can only get there by boat. Or ‘copter maybe.”
“They are there?” Carlotta asked.
“What? No. I mean…I don’t know. They could be anywhere. Like…hey! I think the dude said something about a big score. Planned to go somewhere to get paid.”
“Where?” Carlotta rasped.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me where they go!” she demanded and stepped forward.
The boy retreated hastily. “I don’t know! For reals! I mean…”
“Simmer down, Lotta,” Shep soothed.
“They have my sister!” she growled.
“We don’t know that. We don’t even know who they were.”
“You can find us their names?” she asked.
“Huh?” the boy said.
“Maybe you could take a look at the registry,” Shep suggested.
“Umm… Well… We’re not really supposed to do that. I mean, it’s kind of confidential Information.”
“But you could do so,” Carlotta said
and, smoothing out her tone, gave the boy a winsome smile.
The poor kid looked dizzied by the quick-as-hell turnaround. Perhaps this was proof that Carlotta Osorio could make any man giddy. Or maybe this particular boy was experiencing a perpetual state of vertigo. Either way, he sounded woozy when he next spoke.
“Sure,” he said, “I can do that.”
“I will go with you,” Carlotta breathed.
“Holy crap, the kid already looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Shep said.
“¿Qué?”
“At least put some clothes on.”
She looked peeved, but she complied. Reaching up, she snatched his shirt from the bed’s footboard and tugged it on. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, the tail brushed her derriere with intimate softness. Shep would have sworn she couldn’t look sexier than she had moments before. But he would have been mistaken. There was something about a woman in a guy’s button-down shirt that made every man in the vicinity think about unbuttoning it.
Digging into his duffel, Shep pulled out a fresh shirt for himself. In a moment, they were following the kid to the lobby. Seconds passed as he skimmed the desktop PC.
“Huh!” he grunted finally.
“What is it?” Carlotta asked, tone breathless.
“People have funny names. Listen to this one. Daphne Dangerfield. Or this one. Penelope Parker. Do you think she’s Spiderman’s—“
“Let me see,” Carlotta insisted and, stepping to the other side of the desk, crowded up beside him.
“Hey, you really ain’t supposed to—“ he began, but she bumped him with her left breast, intentionally or otherwise, and he fell silent, probably dropping into some kind of hormonal haze.
“When was this day?” she rasped, attention hurrying over the screen.
“What?”
“This day these people were here,” she said. “When was it?”
“Oh, yeah, I think it was Wednesday. I remember now because my buddy and I were—“
“Wednesday. Wednesday.” She skimmed the information, fingers flying, lips moving as she read. “Frederic Pena, Lola Grant, Peter Garcia, Cattleya…“ She stopped.
“What is it?” Shep asked.
“Pena,” she breathed.
“Who’s Pena?” Shep asked, but she’d gone pale, still.
“Dios mío!” she said and slumped.
He caught her before she hit the floor, half carried her to the couch in the lounge.
“Hey, is she all right?” The kid was fidgeting like a junky.
“I must go,” she said and shifted in his arms.
“Sit down. Just sit for a minute.”
“I cannot. There is no time.”
“No time for what?”
“I do not know. I do not—“ she rambled and attempted to rise again, but he held her down.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?”
“You were right.”
“What?”
“I have been the fool.”
“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”
She swallowed, dropped her eyes closed, then exhaled carefully and met his gaze. “I know where she is?”
“Sofia? Where? How?”
“The clues. They are there. Always they were there. Such the schmuck I have been. Such an idiota. Sofia is not here. Never has she been.”
“Then where is she?”
“All this time, she has been in the New Orleans.”
“I thought you said—“
“Do not mind what I say. The truth is clear now. I must go there. I must find her,” she said and jerked to her feet.
“Hold your horses. Just one minute,” he said, rising with her. “What about the Colombians.”
“¿Qué?”
“The couple here at the hotel.”
“I do not know.” She flipped a restive hand. “There is no law against my countrymen coming here. But the name on the computer…Pena…” She shuddered, almost swooned. “It brought Joaquin to mind.”
“Who?”
“Joaquin Peya! Do you not see? The disjointed letters on her card post, they spell his name!”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I am sure. Joaquin, big man, frightening man, he work for Señor Tevio. Always he watches me when he is near. But I did not think he would do this thing.”
“So, Peya has her?” Shep said.
“I did not believe…” she began, then winced, closed her eyes, shuddered. “I knew the señor was more than the man of business. Long I knew this, but he was good to me, and I did not wish to believe he was the drug runner. And never…never did I think he would do the thing like this to my sister. To me.”
“It’s not about you,” Shep said. “It’s me, he wants. Guys like Santiago…they don’t like to lose…especially to an American. He took your sister, knowin’ you’d do anythin’ to find her…even come to me.”
“Dios mio.” The words were weak, pale.
“Once he has me, he’ll let Sofia go. I’ll make sure of it,” he said and turned away.
“No!” She grasped his sleeve with frantic fingers.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “At the hotel. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I will not let you go alone.”
The couple that’d just arrived at the front desk turned to stare at them.
Shep stepped back to Carlotta, nerves stretched tight with impatience, with understanding, with the need to do. “It’s gonna be alright.”
“But you cannot—“
“I can,” he vowed, squeezing her hands in his. “And I will.”
Her fingers felt cold and stiff. “But the señor…” She winced, terror bright in her eyes. “He has much power.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo either, darlin’,” he said and grinned.
She held his gaze with hers, soft, worried, caring, and when she spoke, her words were no more than a whisper. “I cannot bear if something happens to you, Linus Shepherd.”
“I’ll be alright,” he insisted, but she shook her head.
“You cannot go alone.”
“Sure I can.”
“You think me weak,” she gritted, expression hardening. “You think me soft like the conejito. But you are wrong. I will not stay behind.” He considered arguing, but she was already shaking her head. “Neither will I change the mind.”
“Alright,” he agreed finally. “We’ll go together….if ya promise to do exactly as I say.”
“Sí. Yes,” she breathed. “Whatever you say.”
“The first thing is for ya to get some clothes on.” He was entirely unsure whether the couple by the desk was staring because of her tears or her attire.
“But—“
“Exactly as I say!” he reminded her.
“Sí,” she acquiesced.
“Hurry,” he said and, tugging her to her feet, nudged her toward the elevator.
She scowled over her shoulder at him. “You do not come?”
“I’ve got a couple more questions for the kid. I’ll be right here when ya come back,” he said, but he lied.
He wouldn’t be there. Because Carlotta was wrong. The disjointed letters did not spell Joaquin Peya. They spelled Pequeña Joya…Little Gem, in English. The tiny island just east of Key Largo.
Chapter 18
It took Carlotta a matter of moments to reach her room, less time to pull on jeans, roll the sleeves of Shep’s shirt to her elbows, and bag the rest of her possessions. But she did not rush back to the elevator. Instead, she hurried down the stairs to emerge, unseen, near the building’s back door.
She had lied, of course. Sofia was not in New Orleans.
She was here. Close. For reasons unknown, she’d been kept at the very inn Carlotta had shared with Shep. But she had used an alias. Cattleya Peya. None other would choose such a name. The lovely cattleya, Sofia’s favorite orchid. And Peya…it was the surname of Señor Tevio’s gardener. How often had Sofia sat amidst the old man’s raucous blossoms, questioned him
about his renowned techniques?
Carlotta saw it all clearly now. Sofia had indeed been taken from school, but she had not been so much abducted as compelled, coerced into leaving, only to realize too late that it was all a terrible mistake. Yet she had been wise enough to play along, to pretend all was well as she sent secret messages only her sister could decipher.
It was not difficult to flag down a cab. Not hard to convince the driver to take her to a pier on Key Largo. The difficulty came with the internal turmoil. The fear, the angst, the uncertainty. But she would do what she must.
Reaching into her bag, she felt the cold steel of the handgun she’d shoved into her bag. It had been frightfully simple to bring it to America. A permit, a locked case, and voila, it emerged on the baggage carousel like magic.
If only the remainder of her mission would be so easy. But she had known it would not be. Instead, it was fraught with a hundred worries, a thousand possible missteps.
The cab fare was astronomical, the boat rental even worse. The entire process was punctuated with warnings of shoals, sandbars, and offers to captain her little vessel at a reduced rate. But Carlotta had been manning her own craft since childhood and was relieved to finally be alone on the open water. Minutes passed like hours as she navigated the circuitous course. The sun beat down on her bare head, and doubts heckled mercilessly.
By the time she spied the island’s sandy beach, the air had begun to cool. Darkness was falling like a black curtain, stealing what little confidence she had retained. Throttling down while still far from shore, she anchored the sleek Bayliner.
But for the lap of soft waves against the hull and the squawk of a night heron, the world was silent. A perfect place to hide a kidnap victim…or for other nefarious deeds.
Chanting a silent prayer for heroes and fools, she retrieved a few necessities from her bag, shoved the pistol into her waistband, and slipped into the water. It rose to her thighs, cold and dark.
The cabana, a wooden structure with a thatched roof and multiple egresses, crouched far back from the shore, but the night was deepening, and the trees were full, offering cover until she was only a few strides from the door. Carlotta stopped in the blackest shadows, heart beating in her throat, hands damp as she checked the pistol hidden beneath her borrowed, oversized shirt.
Uncertainty crept up her arms, tingled in her fingertips while the small voice of fear warned her to return to the shore, to her boat, to her home. She glanced longingly in the direction she’d left the Bayliner, but she could not quit now.
