“You mentioned the mafioso. What mafioso?” I asked.
“He didn’t know.”
“I would guess Mexican cartel heavies,” I said, thinking back on my conversation with Nick about the Chihuahua cartel and the whispers about terrorists and mafia in our Petro-Mex meeting. I shared it with Kurt now, and then asked, “Could Monroe’s death have something to do with one of the cartels?”
“Monroe wasn’t Mexican, was he?”
“No, he was American, and plain vanilla Caucasian. Petro-Mex gave us his file, and I want to say he was from some little town in Louisiana. In his picture, his hair was strawberry blond.”
“I asked him if they talked about St. Marcos or a dead man. He said they didn’t,” Kurt said.
Victor cut in. “Perdóname, señor, pero yo recuerdo algo.” I could figure out that one: Pardon me, sir, but I remember something. He continued, and Kurt’s eyebrows rose into peaks.
Kurt translated. “This is interesting. Victor said Elena and the man were lovers. Kissing, stroking.” Victor said something else, and Kurt continued, “Calling each other by lovers’ names. The mother was not very involved in the conversation. She sat in the front with Victor.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You’re kidding me! Mrs. Monroe was sucking face with some mystery guy, and running off to the DR with him one week after Mr. Monroe died? And Nick was their pilot? My Nick, who was supposed to be investigating Monroe’s death?” My Nick, who was not sucking face with Mrs. Monroe, no matter what his father thought?
“What in the world is going on?” I yelled.
Kurt and Victor shrank back.
I took a breath. Down, girl.
Kurt asked me, “How long ago did the Monroes marry?”
“Only six months ago.” I bumped my palm against my forehead. “Oh man, I completely forgot to tell you something. When I was in Tutein’s office, he said that Petro-Mex gave Elena to Monroe as a retention bonus. He called her the ‘mail-order mamí.’”
Kurt didn’t blink at this information. “So, no love match?”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
My excitement tapered off quickly. Nick had still lied to me about something, more than one something, and hadn’t told me where he was going. I couldn’t exactly anoint him a saint.
The harried doorman leaned over the hood of the Cutlass and smacked it sharply with his palm, once, then twice. Victor shouted what sounded like Dominican curse words back at him.
Kurt continued. “Does the guy sound familiar to you, Katie?”
I squinted my mind’s eye back and it pulled up an image of the man who had pulled Nick aside at the Ag Fair. “Yes. Yes, he does. When we met with Elena, she took Nick’s card, which identified him as a pilot, not just an investigator. She remarked specifically on that. Three hours later at the Ag Fair, a guy who could match the description Victor gave you pulled Nick aside and talked to him for about ten minutes. Young, Latino, and on the tall side. Mustache. Top button undone like ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt.’ I remember a flash of gold on his chest, too. I asked Nick about him later and he lied.”
“Nick lied to you? About what?” Kurt sounded as disconcerted as I’d ever heard him sound. You and me both, Kurt. Do you still want to lecture me about your unhappy son and his fat wife?
“Yes, he lied. He left me with the girls while he took Taylor to the bathroom. When he came back, he told me that he had walked Taylor straight to the potty. But it wasn’t true. I watched him. He took a ten-minute detour out of sight with that guy before he returned and went to the bathroom.”
“That’s odd.” Kurt was staring out the window, his lips tight and brow furrowed.
“Very. I was pretty mad at him about it,” I admitted. Am. Am pretty mad at him.
Kurt said, “I’m sorry, Katie.”
“Yup,” I said, borrowing a play from his book.
Victor had been watching us like we were tennis players in a lengthy volley. His eyes glowed like Gabriel’s had when he was helping us. We were much more exciting than the average fare, vacationers talking about food, alcohol, golf, sun and sex. Certainly not talking about Elena and Nick. Or had they?
“Kurt, did anyone else ask him about Elena’s group, or about Nick? And can you make sure he knows what Nick looks like?”
Kurt showed Victor the picture of Nick and him with the airplane as he relayed my question. Victor replied in the negative and Kurt stated the obvious. “No one asked about them.”
Horns blared behind us. Victor turned around and shook his open palm at the other drivers. I suspected the doorman had put them up to it.
What else should we ask Victor? My head swam with all the little knowns and unknowns floating through it. I fished for their relevance, but caught nothing.
Kurt tipped Victor an amount equal to a week’s earnings and arranged for him to pick us up the next morning. To the doorman’s relief, Victor finally pulled away.
We entered the hotel through yet another open-air entrance, this one into a vast lobby with massive ferns on each side of a central corridor and tongue-in-groove ceilings that reminded me of Annalise. Kurt stopped in the reception area amid a stream of golfers on their way toward the smoky bar.
My heart rate slowed down. Here, the tourists spoke English. I could read the signs directing us to the restaurants and the pool. Nick was missing, I was in the Dominican Republic, but I felt less foreign. I relaxed a little. And then Kurt said, “Katie, I don’t want to scare you, but I think we need to be very careful.”
OK, maybe not so relaxed anymore.
“What makes you say that?”
“This whole time, I’ve thought Nick had a simple plane wreck or was in a car crash. That he had amnesia or was unconscious. Or at worst, that he ran off somewhere.”
“I—” I started to jump on him about his earlier comments, and then just stopped. I wasn’t going to get into it with Kurt again.
“But now I’m concerned about foul play. And if someone went after Nick and we’re here nosing around asking questions, well, we could end up in the same predicament. Hell, Katie, I’m convinced now that the man who called the airport today was looking for you.”
Had someone killed my husband?
The familiar cadence of American English around me changed from a comforting hum to a distracting arrhythmia. Snatches of conversations assaulted my eardrums. I winced. Were there people here watching Kurt and me?
I let my brain process my thoughts, but it was my heart that spoke.
Nick told you he was all right.
And so he had. In my dreams, he’d told me to search until I found him. That was real enough for me. Maybe someone had hurt him, but I had to believe him, and to keep myself safe so I could find him.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice lower than before. “How about we change our rooms to a suite. And then we can eat and strategize.”
“Yup. I will feel better if I’m there to protect you,” he said.
Protect me? With what? Kurt had only his bare hands. Big hands, strong hands, but that was it. That flare gun he carried yesterday would have eased my terrors right now. Or the machete. But Annalise wasn’t here to toss one into our hands. I didn’t even have the pepper spray I kept in my car back on St. Marcos. The best idea I could come up with was stealing our steak knives at dinner, and if that was all we had, we might as well just carry ballpoint pens. We could use them to stab our attackers’ eyes out. Or write, “Stop, you cad!” on a paper napkin and wave it at them.
“OK. How about I get us a table at one of the restaurants while you work on the rooms?” I asked.
“No, let’s stick together.”
I eyed the growing crowd.
Yes, I liked his idea better.
Chapter Fifteen
After a forty-five-minute wait at the bar, during which we worked out our strategy, we dined at La Yola, a restaurant shaped like a fishing boat. It was right on the water, with a glass floor to the sea life below. Somehow, the 360-degree v
iew calmed me, even though I wasn’t expecting the Chihuahuas’ mafioso to come up at me through the floor. We didn’t see anyone watching us, anyway.
The restaurant smelled like dead fish, which matched how I felt. Kurt ordered pork roast but visions of Wilbur revolted me. I opted for the penne pasta with fresh vegetables. When it arrived, the food looked decent enough, but everything tasted like sawdust. Kurt pushed his pork around on his plate. We stared at our food in uncomfortable silence.
After dinner we headed back to our new accommodations, which the hotel called a casita rather than a suite. Same difference. We had paid the exorbitant in-room wifi charge at check-in, and after I’d showered and changed I booted up my laptop at the small dining table and perched on a chair with a red velour seat. It matched the sofa upholstered in cream with giant red hibiscus. Red everywhere, like flags in front of the bull: me. I longed for a mellow blue and a soothing green.
While the startup sequence ran, I checked my phone. The old iPhone hadn’t rung all day. No message indicators, either. Surely that couldn’t be right . . . I pressed and held the home and start buttons for a reboot.
The two screens came to life almost simultaneously. I logged into email on the laptop like a fisherman pulling up a lobster trap. And I had a catch.
I spoke loud enough for Kurt to hear from the bathroom, where the sound of the shower had ceased a minute earlier. “Kurt, I have an email from A. Friend, and I should have the same message on my iPhone but don’t. Apparently, my iPhone isn’t transmitting data. It looks like it came in hours ago, about three o’clock.”
Kurt walked in, freshly dressed, hair wet. “What does it say?”
“Mrs. Kovacs: Very sorry to hear about Nick. He didn’t say where he was going. We assumed he was just going back to St. Marcos. A. Friend.” I made an “arggggggggg” sound and thumped my forehead against the table. “Not very helpful, A. Friend.”
“Well, it confirmed Nick was coming home,” Kurt said as he walked back toward the bathroom.
“Not really. It was only a guess,” I called after him. “I wish that A. Friend had said who they are and what’s going on. And what package Nick delivered,” I said, recalling the original message. I looked down at the iPhone, which now had message indicators for texts and email. Lost time again. I’m sorry, Nick.
I scrolled through the texts. There were none from any of the numbers Kurt had copied from Nick’s phone for me. One from Julie caught my eye, though. “Your brother called. I told him what’s going on. He said he’ll land in Punta Cana tomorrow at 1:35 p.m.”
Collin. My big brother by eleven months. Collin worked anti-drug operations with the New Mexico state police and was truly a badass, even if I was his proud little sister. He had always bossed me around some, but when our parents died two years before, he had taken on the father role to me in a way that made my throat tight.
I called his mobile and got his voicemail. “Collin, I hear you need a ride from the airport in Punta Cana tomorrow. Coincidentally, I will be at the airport just at that time. You didn’t have to come, but I’m so glad you are. We are really scared. I love you.”
I took in the casita. Hell, we had room for him here if we spent another night. One room held a queen bed and the other had two twins.
I walked over to see what progress Kurt had made while I was on the phone. He had positioned himself at the coffee table in the sitting area with a laminated map of the northwestern Caribbean spread out in front of him. Beside it were a pen and yellow pad for notes, and he held a big dry wax pen for marking the maps.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to plot search areas,” he said.
“Won’t the Coast Guard do that?”
“I don’t trust them. I trust myself.”
“Oh. How do you know where to look? He could be anywhere between here and St. Marcos, couldn’t he?” Hopefully between here and St. Marcos.
“Yes, but I’m going to start broad tonight. I’ll familiarize myself with the direction the water moves and the bodies of land in the area. Tomorrow I’ll look for more information to pinpoint the search area.”
I trusted him, come to think of it, much more than he trusted the Coast Guard.
I needed his help. He needed mine. We didn’t need friction between us.
“Kurt, I’m sorry I got mad at you earlier. I have to be able to handle the truth, and you didn’t say anything I wasn’t already worried about.”
He grunted. “It was stupid of me to say any of it. I know my son loves you and the kids. Every man gets a little antsy now and then, especially with a house full of babies. Doesn’t mean anything.”
I wondered if he was right. Well, I couldn’t dwell on it now. Onward.
“My brother is coming,” I told him. “I just got the message from Julie.”
Kurt had met my brother several times and they got along well.
“Good. He’s just the right person to have with us,” Kurt said.
“I think so, too. Hey, I’m going to see if I can get Julie and the kids on Skype. I’ll let you know when it’s time to say hello, if you’d like.”
“Yup,” he said, and he dropped his attention back to his maps.
Notwithstanding hurting my feelings earlier—a lot—Kurt was the right person to have, too. His maritime expertise and aeronautical knowledge were godsends. Kurt had pursued an airplane pilot license almost as a joke. “Everybody thinks I fly a plane when I tell them I’m a pilot, so I might as well.” He had twenty-five years of experience in the air to go with his thirty-five on the water.
Nick had first soloed and earned his pilot’s license while he was still in high school, but he had quit flying until his father moved to St. Marcos. He had earned his instrument rating just a month ago, which allowed him to fly in bad weather and poor visibility by relying just on his instruments. Really, though, while he was a naturally gifted pilot whose instructor said had a feel for the air, he hadn’t logged many more cockpit hours above the requirements. Maybe not enough hours.
But he had visited me in my dreams and told me he was all right.
Have faith, Katie, you have to have more faith.
I texted Julie for twenty minutes to no avail, trying to get her to join me via video on Skype. Finally, I gave up and just sent her an email update and a message to read to Taylor. I missed my three little munchkins. What I wouldn’t give to curl up with my warm husband and warm babies around me right now.
I ran back through the rest of my texts and emails quickly. Rashidi reported that he and his searchers had turned up nothing. I let him know that Nick had shown up in and left Punta Cana, presumably back to St. Marcos. I hesitated to suggest he call off the search, but I wanted him to know the likelihood of finding Nick on St. Marcos had decreased. Theoretically, it was possible that he had made it back and someone else had taken the plane after his return. Possible, yet unlikely.
Ava had sent me an update on their graveyard sleuthing. My God, I’d forgotten about the Annalise problems. Rashidi had put her in charge and she was working with the friends he’d told me about, Rob the curator and Laura the librarian. No breakthroughs yet.
The rest were messages of support from well-wishers. I pulled out the spiral notebook and updated my lists, then put my head down on my forearm and closed my eyes. I would answer the messages later, much later, when I could tell everyone our worries were over, and that Nick had returned home with me.
A little while later, I pried my eyelids open and lifted my cheek off the puddle of drool on my arm. “Kurt, I’m going to try to sleep,” I said.
“Yup,” he responded. “Think I’ll do the same. ’Night.”
Kurt walked to the couch and starting pushing it across the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“If bad guys show up, I’d like to have some advance warning.”
I pitched in and we made a barrier of sofa, chairs, and end tables against the door.
I went through th
e motions of getting ready for bed. Then I did something I hadn’t done in so long I couldn’t remember the last time. I knelt beside the bed with my hands clasped as my parents had taught me to pray.
“Dear God, please keep Nick safe. Please help us find him as fast as possible. I know I don’t tell you often enough, but I am so grateful for my husband and kids and all of our blessings. I can’t promise I’ll always do better, but I can promise I am appreciative. Amen. Oh—and please, when this is all over, please help my husband understand that he has to be more careful, truthful, and communicative.”
Before I got in bed, I created a booby trap against my bedroom door with the desk, lamp, and chair. Much better.
I was almost afraid to close my eyes. Nearly every time I’d fallen asleep since he had disappeared, Nick had visited my dreams. I longed to see him, and I feared waking up if I didn’t. Somewhere along the way, the decision was taken from me, and I lost myself to slumber. But the dream that came was very different, and yet wholly familiar.
After I met Nick but before we got together, I dreamed about him a lot. The result? Sexy, realistic nighttime experiences that I called spontaneous combustion. Teenage boys call them wet dreams. I awoke flushed, sweating, and moaning. God, don’t let Kurt hear me. As fantastic as I felt, it was short-lived. I woke up remembering that Nick was missing.
My body was torturing my heart, and they both cried out for Nick.
Chapter Sixteen
My phone alarm rang at 6:30 a.m. I listened for the sound of my father-in-law stirring, but it was quiet. I pushed snooze and fell back asleep.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you last night, honey, because you seemed like you were having a good time, but I need to talk to you. Can you wake up for me?” It was Nick, sitting at the foot of my bed in my suite at the Puntacana Resort.
“I’m up, I’m up, I’m up,” I said. I reached for him, but he was too far away to touch.
“I can talk to Annalise from here,” he said.
Finding Harmony (Katie & Annalise Book 3) Page 12
