by Tarah Scott
The captain nodded. “Dealing with kidnappers is never easy. Just stick to the plan. That’s our best bet for beating them.”
Two heartbeats later, Ben’s cell phone chimed a text. He snatched the phone from the desk. The ESAT leader had texted a snapshot of a map with a pushpin located south of the border on the busy Bulevar Oscar Flores in Juarez. He showed the message to Medina, then Wilt.
“He’ll be lost on that busy street by now,” Wilt said. “Not that it matters. He could be standing on the Juarez side of the Del Norte waving at us, and we couldn’t cross the border to get him.”
Ben shoved to his feet. Wilt grasped his shoulder and eased him back onto the seat.
“Breathe, little buddy,” Wilt said. “Sanchez wants you as bad as you want your lady friend.”
Ben hoped like hell the big man was right.
* * *
Liz rose, reached for the hand railing and cautiously felt her way down the stairs. After eleven steps, she discerned a hint of light she realized seeped through a small black-painted window. She reached the basement floor, then stopped and cocked an ear, straining to hear past the beating of her heart. The breathing had quickened. Who—or what—was in the room with her?
She took a step forward. “Hello.”
There came a muffled whimper—female.
Liz froze. Was it possible?
“Christina?” she said.
“Who are you?” The young voice trembled.
Tears sprang to Liz’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Christina, I’m Liz Monahan. I was kidnapped just like you.”
“How do you know my name?” the girl demanded.
“I know your grandparents.”
“How?”
“I met them at a party three days ago.”
“How’d you end up here?” Christina demanded.
“I’m acquainted with one of the law enforcement officers looking for you.”
“So they kidnapped you to blackmail him like they’re doing with my grandparents?”
“That’s right. They think he’ll leave them alone if they threaten to kill me.”
“They’re going to kill me.” Christina’s voice cracked. “But they’ll do things to me first.” She began sobbing.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Hands outstretched, Liz eased toward the girl until she touched a cinderblock wall. The crying came from the right. Liz inched along the wall. Her knee hit a bench. Liz sat down and gently reached out. She struck the girl’s arm. Christina flinched and Liz drew her hand back.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Liz said.
A body unexpectedly collided with Liz and she caught the girl. Liz found her shoulders and drew her close, holding her tight.
Christina wailed and Liz stroked her hair. “Shhh,” Liz whispered. “We’ll be okay.” She rocked the slight frame until her sobs subsided.
“Can you talk a bit?” Liz finally ventured.
Christina nodded against Liz’s chest, then pulled away.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Liz asked.
“I think we’re in Mexico,” she said. “I was somewhere else, but they moved me here yesterday. I was tied up in the back of a van, but the men stopped somewhere and when the driver got out I heard a man’s voice—like maybe we were at a gas station or something. The guy spoke Spanish and I heard a radio playing Spanish music.”
“My kidnappers didn’t cross the border when they brought me here,” Liz said. “And a lot of El Paso radio stations play Spanish music. Do you remember anything else?”
“They drove on circles, but we weren’t on a highway for long. They had me blindfolded the whole time.”
“So you don’t know where you were before this?” Liz asked.
“No, but they brought other people there, girls, mostly. They brought a boy once.”
“Did they bring many?”
“Five, maybe six times the last couple weeks.”
Liz’s heart broke at the thought of those young girls sold into slavery. “Is there a light switch here?” she asked.
“No light or running water,” Christina replied. “It sucks. Do you have a phone? Can you call for help?”
“No, but I’m sure help will come.”
“Are you the woman whose boyfriend they’re going to kill?”
“What?” Liz blurted.
“They don’t know I speak Spanish. On the way here I heard them talking. They’re going to kill some woman’s boyfriend. Is that you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Liz murmured
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Ben redialed the number an hour later, the phone rang three times before someone answered the call.
“Adam Billings,” Sanchez’s smooth voice came over the line. “Or would you like to tell me your real name?”
“Where are the women?” Ben demanded.
“I know many women.”
A flush of anger heated Ben’s neck. “One way or another, I’m coming to Mexico. Either I’m coming for you, or coming as your prisoner.” Medina’s eyes narrowed, but Ben ploughed on. “The first way, I’ll find you and kill you. You choose.”
“Your life for the old one,” Sanchez snapped. “I will have the district attorney drop all charges against her.”
“Both women—Liz and Christina Remmey—or no deal,” Ben said.
Sanchez laughed. “You think yourself valuable, no?”
“You have more to lose than I do,” Ben said.
“You come across the border and I will release the two women.”
“You bring the women. They walk across the border while I walk across.”
“The Del Norte,” Sanchez said.
“I’m not stupid,” Ben said. “You can have someone shoot all three of us while we’re crossing the footbridge.”
“You are a suspicious man, Mr. Billings.”
“My way or no deal,” Ben said.
“You know the Onate crossing?” Sanchez said.
Ben knew it well. The U.S. government wanted to construct a fence there, near the site of the first Fort Bliss, and activists didn’t want to see another fence go up at the crossing where the Spanish explorer Don Juan de Onate crossed the Rio Grande in 1598.
“The Rio Bravo is nothing more than small pools and marsh there,” Sanchez said. “You and the women can cross, and the district attorney will be there to take you into custody.”
Then Ben would disappear into an unmarked grave—if he wasn’t gunned down on the spot by some ‘unknown assailant.’
“Midnight, tonight,” Sanchez said.
The line went dead. Ben pressed the end call button on his cell phone.
“He hung up just in time to keep us from tracing him,” Wilt said. “A pretty slick deal, when you consider it. Sanchez involved Gomez to make the trade look legit, but there’s no mention about how Liz Monahan and Christina Remmey came to be in District Attorney Gomez’s custody.”
Ben looked at Medina. “Can the Juarez Police Chief talk to Gomez?”
“Gomez doesn’t answer to Loyola, but I can see what he thinks.”
“You might be careful there,” Wilt said. “If Gomez or Sanchez thinks anyone on their side is getting nosy, they might not show.”
Medina nodded. “Maybe Loyola can assign a couple of plain clothes officers.”
“Talk to him,” Wilt said.
Ben rose. “I have to get my team to the Onate crossing. I want to know how many men Sanchez sends in and where they’re placed before I get there.”
“Just remember, your team can’t shoot into Mexico,” Medina said.
“But you can get shot making the exchange,” Wilt interjected. “All Gomez has to say is that some bad guy got you and he doesn’t know a thing about it. But I got a few guys who can help out,” he added with a grin.
Ben scooped up his phone and dialed the first call to his team.
* * *
Liz scraped her fingernail along the basement’s painted window until the a
che in her arm reached her shoulders. Then she scraped harder. Her finger skidded to the side and a sharp pain tweaked the digit. She leaned her head against the wall, breathing hard. A third nail broken, and no progress in scraping away enough layers of paint to reach the windowpane.
“It’s no use,” Christina said, and Liz had to, at last, agree.
Her earlier examination of the basement had only turned up a piss pot and two small windows painted shut. Her efforts to pry them open with her fingers hadn’t budge them even a hair. Even the bench they sat on was bolted to the floor. Their abductors weren’t taking any chances.
The door to the basement opened. Liz whirled as a bag came flying down the stairs. She took two steps before the door slammed shut on the afternoon sunlight.
“It’s our food,” Christina said. Rustling sounded, and she said, “Wow, you must really rate. It’s burgers and fries.”
Liz felt her way back to the bench and sat down. “You don’t normally get burgers and fries?”
“Sometimes I don’t get anything.” Paper rustled. “Here.” Christina’s hand bumped Liz’s arm and heat told her Christina held the warm burger.
“You go ahead,” Liz said.
“You gotta eat,” Christina said.”
“I’m not hungry.” He stomach churned too much to think about food.
“You sure? Christina said, but Liz heard the hope in her voice.
“Positive. You go ahead, honey. Eat it.”
While Christina ate, Liz racked her brain for something that might give them an edge, some way to get them out of this basement. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from turning to Ben and the strength of his arms around her last night; the warmth of his mouth on hers. The way she’d felt safe when he was inside her. When she’d woken that morning and crept back to her room, she’d lain in bed wondering how she could return to Dallas as if nothing had happened. Something had happened. She didn’t understand how, but she’d started to care for him. And his responses seemed more than a young man’s crush.
Liz released a breath and returned to the present. There had to be a way out of this basement. Ben would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. That was worse than if she broke his heart by leaving as if nothing had happened between them.
It took some doing, but half an hour later, Liz boosted Christina up and she unscrewed the one light bulb in the middle of the ceiling. Their abductors would be expecting light in the basement, which would be their first surprise. Their second surprise would come when they opened the door.
Now, hours later, they waited as the light around the painted window grew fainter and floorboards creaked in the house above them. Muffled voices as if in argument drifted down to them.
“Have you ever heard voices before?” Liz asked Christina.
“Nope.”
“Something’s happening. We better get ready. You think you can go ahead as we planned?”
“Yes.” Christina’s voice held a small tremble. “I don’t want to die.”
Liz slipped an arm around the girl’s slim shoulders and squeezed. “Me either.”
Liz grabbed the piss pot and, in the darkness, led Christina across to the stairs, then up to the door. They both pressed into the tiny space on the hinge side.
They waited for what seemed like an hour before Liz whispered, “You all right, Christina?”
“Yeah,” she whispered back, and fell silent again.
The sudden rattle of the door latch caused Liz to jump. She lifted the piss-pot over her head with a jerky motion and tensed. She prayed Christina was bracing to bang the door closed on whoever came though. What if this was Ben or one of his men?
The door swung toward them and Liz wanted to cry when moonlight illuminated the stairs.
“Pendejo,” a man said. “What’s wrong with the light?” he asked in Spanish.
“Mija,” the man called. “Come out,” he said in English. “We are letting you go free.”
When Christina didn’t answer, he cursed and started down the stairs. Footfalls followed behind him.
Liz waited until the first man stepped into view on the step below them then shouted, “Now!”
They shoved the door, which slammed into the second man with a jarring thud. Liz whirled and swung the pot down where she’d last seen the first man’s head. Christina cried out in unison with a man’s curse and Liz spun. The second man had pushed the door back, trapping Christina between the door and wall.
Iron fingers seized her arm. She swung the pot, but her attacker knocked it from her grasp as if she were a child. Christina screamed. Liz’s captor drew back and the back of his hand collided with her cheek. Pain splintered across her face and her surroundings blurred. She staggered back, but he held her upright. Her vision cleared and she glanced up the stairs to see the other man emerge from the basement, dragging Christina, who beat the hand that gripped her arm.
“Stop it.” The man shook her. They reached Liz and her captor. “We’re letting you go.”
“Liar!” Christina screamed and the man yanked her against him and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“I’ll beat you, bitch. Shut your fucking mouth.”
The men started toward a white van parked in the driveway. Liz “dragged her heels. “Why would you let us go?” she demanded.
“Your boyfriend made a deal. Him for you.”
Relief and fear tangled in a chaos of emotion. Ben was alive! He was alive. But he was trading himself for her and Christina. Christina whimpered and Liz snapped her gaze around to see her captor nuzzling Christina’s hair.
“I’m going to taste you first, Bonita,” he said.
Liz strained against the iron grip on her arm. “You said you were letting us go.”
“Leave her alone,” the man holding Liz snapped.
“You promised me,” the second man replied.
They neared the van.
“Where are we going?” Liz demanded.
“Shut your mouth,” the man holding her ordered.
They reached the van. Liz’s captor yanked open the rear doors and shoved her inside. She banged her knee, but bit back a cry. Christina’s captor swung her around to face him and grabbed one of her breasts. Christina screamed and clawed his face. Liz lunged for him, but his comrade yanked Christina out of his grip and shoved her inside. She fell into Liz’s arms, crying.
The man who’d held Christina said something Liz couldn’t discern, and the other man replied in Spanish, “They’ll be dead soon anyway.”
Then the doors slammed shut.
* * *
At midnight, Ben stood on the Texas side of the Onate crossing. A full moon illuminated the marshy Rio Grande where brush grew as high as his chin in some spots. Beyond the riverbed, cars zipped along Bernardo Norzagaray Boulevard. He scanned the quiet neighborhood that faced the busy street. Only the most skillful sniper could shoot from that range and kill someone making the crossing.
Behind Ben, on the other side of the canal, his best sniper waited on the roof of one of the two apartment buildings built on the site of the old Fort Bliss. But as good as that sniper was, he couldn’t stop a shooter he couldn’t see.
For the right price, US military-trained ex-special ops mercenaries could always be found. Sanchez hadn’t had much time, but he might have a sniper on the payroll who was as good as Ben’s man.
Ben had wished like hell for clouds, but the Texas night sky shone down in all its blazing glory. Liz and Christina Remmey had to traverse two hundred feet of ground, from the edge of the Rio Grande to the riverbed center, where an imaginary line demarked the Texas-US border. Ben’s men, hidden in the brush, waited to pull the women into the foliage once their feet touched US soil.
Another half dozen team members had crawled through the grass to ensure no enemy crouched there, then took up concealed positions throughout the riverbed.
Wilt and two of his best undercover officers waited with Medina in the third floor apartment of the
nearest building, watching, and monitoring the mike attached to Ben’s collar. They’d all agreed to leave the Feds out of this operation. Ben hadn’t informed the Remmeys of the possibility they might get their granddaughter back for fear the Feds would get wind of the operation.
A black car pulled off the boulevard and parked, then the headlights shut off. Minutes later, a white van pulled off the road a few feet behind the car and parked. Two men got out of the van, while one man got out of the car and approached the van’s front fender. Ben tensed when the two men went around to the side of the van and disappeared from view. A moment later, they came around the front of the vehicle with two smaller figures between them. One of the men turned on a flashlight and they started toward the bank.
Ben’s phone rang. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and tapped the receiver. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Billings.” Ben recognized Bryan Gomez’s voice. “Two police officers will escort the ladies to the border. Please proceed forward now.”
“We cross the border at the same time,” Ben said.
“Of course,” Gomez said. “All charges have been dropped against Ms. Monahan. She is free to go.”
Ben quashed a demand to ask how Gomez justified Christina Remmey’s detention, said, “All right,” and closed the phone. “Here we go folks,” he murmured for Medina and Wilt’s benefit as he shoved his phone into his back jeans’ pocket. He flicked on his own small flashlight and started toward Mexico.
Ben kept his gaze on the approaching figures as he picked his way across the soft riverbed. Like him, they sometimes disappeared into the shoulder-high grass, and Ben trampled the overgrowth in an effort to keep the women in sight. In two minutes, he reached the incline that demarcated the central riverbed and slowed to make sure they were keeping pace with him.
As Ben drew closer, he envisioned Liz’s gaze fixed on him. Keep walking, honey, he mentally ordered. No delaying, no pleading, no crying, no begging me to turn back.
Ten feet from the border, the Mexicans halted among waist-high grass. Ben stopped. Both men lifted their hands and pointed weapons at the back of the head of each woman. Christina whimpered.
“Drop the flashlight,” the man who held Liz ordered in a thick Mexican accent. “Then take off the jacket and put your hands in the air—and keep them there. If you make a bad move, both women die.”
